Coming Home to Liverpool

by Kate Eastham

  It took her straight back to the morning when they’d seen New York for the first time. They’d been standing on deck after a week on an Atlantic Ocean where, most days, the sea was so calm that she’d felt like they were drifting in a dream. Excited as she’d been to board one of the small boats waiting to take them on the last leg of their journey, she’d felt a pang of sadness to leave that ship. But as they’d approached the shore and the Emigrant Landing Depot at Castle Garden, she’d sensed the rising excitement of Harry and Alfred, and her own heart had begun to beat faster. Maud and Harry – two newly-weds with their adopted son and the dog – all of them together, standing in line to go through registration, and then waiting on the wooden benches, sharing hot coffee and fresh pastries with families from Germany and Russia and a small boy from Ireland, all alone, with a ticket pinned to his jacket.

  ‘She’s a lovely ship, isn’t she, Maud?’

  ‘She is indeed,’ murmured Maud, thinking of how Alfred and Harry had explored every inch of the vessel on the journey out, learning all the nautical names for things, peering over the side to watch the ship’s bow cutting through the water, breathing in the salt air.

  ‘Come on, Maud,’ called Alfred, striding towards the ship. ‘All aboard!’

  Once they’d shown their tickets and were safely on board, she went straight to the side and stood, clutching the rail, scouring the faces of the crowd for any sign of Harry. Despite the fury that had brimmed inside of her all the way to the port, she couldn’t help the longing she had for her husband to turn up and wave goodbye. Glancing down to Alfred, she could see the tension in his small body and she knew that he was also willing Harry to appear.

  Maud could see the excited faces of those who had gathered to say farewell to their loved ones. It made her feel desolate, knowing that she and Alfred had no one to see them off.

  She felt a swell of recognition from the crowd as the crew prepared to pull up the gangplank. Time was short now. Maud knew that it had to be too late for him to come. She let go of the handrail and glanced down at her black woollen coat with its row of neat buttons tightly fastened down the front. She took a deep breath and reached for Alfred’s hand, making herself smile at him. She didn’t want this sad scene to be his last memory of New York. After all, he had blossomed here. He’d gone to school, he’d made some friends – and Mrs Kelly, she’d absolutely adored him. Thank goodness for that, given that Harry had been so occupied with his business dealings and she’d been at the hospital all hours. Alfred had been required to spend a great deal of time with Mrs Kelly.

  She took another breath and gave his hand a squeeze. Then she reached up to check that her felt hat with the bright blue feather was sitting perfectly square on her head. Harry had turned up with it the other day and she’d felt a glow of pleasure, that morning, as she’d swept back her dark hair and pinned it securely in place with the two brand-new hat pins that Mrs Kelly had given her as a leaving present.

  The steam whistle sounded and the crew started to pull up the gangplank. Maud could feel her heart hammering in her chest. And in the split second that she gave up hope and reached down to pick up her bag, Alfred pulled at her sleeve. ‘He’s there, he’s there!’

  Maud dropped the bag, frantically looking in the direction that Alfred was pointing. Her breath caught when she saw him, with the dog, Rita, bounding at his side.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he mouthed, staring at her in desperation. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Maud felt a tightening of her heart before she beamed a smile, waving now and blowing a kiss to her husband, with his mane of dark curly hair and his beautiful face. There was nothing she could do but forgive him.

  ‘We’ll see you back in Liverpool,’ she and Alfred shouted, their voices lost amidst the clamour on deck.

  ‘One month,’ he mouthed in return.

  Maud blew him a kiss as the crowd cheered and the ship edged away from the pier. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He stayed there with the dog by his side, watching them leave, until he looked like a small and lonely figure. Only when the Abyssinia turned to attain her proper speed, gliding away from the spires of the city, was he gone from view.

  ‘Right, Alfred,’ she said, fishing in her pocket for their ticket and the details of the cabin that Harry had managed to arrange for them through a friend of his at the docks, ‘let’s go and find where we’ll be stationed.’

  Alfred balanced the bag on his head and hummed a tune as he led the way to the right deck and the right set of cabin numbers.

  ‘It must be just along here, I think,’ murmured Maud. ‘Yes, this is the one, here.’

  She put her bag down and tried the door, but it was stiff, it wouldn’t budge. She tried again, but it seemed to be locked, and when she peered in through the small round window, she could see boxes stacked up and bags of what looked like provisions.

  ‘That’s strange,’ she murmured, checking the number on the door against the ticket that she held in her hand.

  ‘You wait here, Alfred,’ she said, ‘I’ll have to go and find someone, make enquiries.’

  She didn’t need to go far; there was a steward just along the deck, assisting a woman wearing fox fur who had a great deal of luggage. Maud stood and waited politely until the woman was safely installed in her cabin, thinking to herself that at least she and Alfred would be able to sort themselves out.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said to the red-faced steward, who was pocketing what looked like a large tip. ‘I wonder if you could advise me about our cabin?’

  The man looked her up and down and then took the ticket that she was holding out to him. He gave a small snort of laughter.

  Maud straightened her back and glanced down to check that the buttons on her coat were still perfectly straight.

  ‘There must have been some mistake, my darlin’,’ he said with a smirk, ‘because this ticket is for a cabin that is not currently used for passengers.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Maud, setting her mouth in a firm line.

  ‘I’m certain. You might have a ticket but you definitely do not have a cabin.’

  ‘But can you not clear it for us?’

  ‘Not possible,’ said the steward, handing back the ticket and starting to move away. ‘That particular cabin is always used for stores. Captain’s orders. We can offer you a berth in steerage, and that’s as far as it goes.’

  Maud gasped and scrutinized the piece of paper in her hand one more time before glancing at the retreating steward.

  ‘Well, where is this steerage?’ she called, working hard to stem the tears of disappointment that were springing to her eyes.

  ‘Down the ladders,’ shouted the steward over his shoulder. And then, turning, he pointed, ‘Those ladders, there. Keep going and you’ll find it all right.’

  Alfred led the way down all the ladders until they found the right place. The further they descended, the warmer it became – and the louder the sound of the ship’s engines. On the lowest level they could hear voices and the mournful wail of a man singing. Maud and Alfred exchanged a glance. ‘This must be it,’ she said, trying to smile. But when they walked through the door into what would be their accommodation for the full week of their voyage, she gave a small gasp. It was packed with bunk beds and full of men.

  ‘That way,’ said a man with a fresh red scar down his cheek. ‘You women are through there.’

  Maud nodded her thanks and turned on her heel, walking through a partition door to be met by an equally crowded area, this time full of women and children and, over to one side, what looked like bales of cotton.

  Her stomach tightened and she started to feel light-headed as they stood in the midst of everything. It was hot and stuffy, there was a smell of sweat, and the sound of the engines seemed louder than ever. The passengers were packed into every bunk or sat on the floor, and it seemed that children were shouting and playing everywhere. She couldn’t see any free space. It must be first come first served, she thought, and we are the last
in. We might have to sleep on the floor at this rate.

  Alfred put down his luggage and glanced up at her; even he didn’t seem to know what to do.

  ‘Just you and the boy?’ called a woman with dark blonde hair, getting up from a bunk with a small child clinging to her.

  Maud nodded.

  ‘Right, we can make room for you, my darlin’, don’t you worry,’ said the woman, who was smiling now as she crossed the space between them.

  ‘I’m Tessa Coyle and this is my youngest, Barnaby … just one thing to check, though,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to sound rude or anythin’ but, given you and the boy are dressed like you are, are you sure you’re looking for a bunk in steerage?’

  ‘Yes, there was some mix up with the ticket,’ said Maud, trying to smile at the woman, but her face felt tight.

  ‘Right then, we’ll make space for you,’ she said, reaching out to give Maud and then Alfred a firm handshake.

  ‘I’ll have to budge up my girls, so that we’re only taking up two beds and not three. They probably would ’ave ended up together anyway, that lot. Would that be all right for you and your boy?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Maud, a little breathless. ‘It is so kind of you to help us.’

  ‘No problem, we travellers ’ave to stick together – and I think your lad will get on just fine with my lot. Do you ’ave a fella in with the men?’

  Maud shook her head. ‘He’s making his own way back,’ she added, feeling the need to offer some kind of explanation.

  ‘Same as me,’ said Tessa. ‘My Daniel’s followin’ along in a few weeks’ time.’

  With her next breath Tessa gave a whistle and all of her girls came running. ‘Right, you lot,’ she said, ‘I want you to clear that bottom bunk for this fine lady and her boy. Go on, look sharp.’

  ‘I’ll help,’ called Alfred, leaving his bag and running off after the girls.

  ‘I’m sorry we don’t have many chairs down ’ere,’ said Tessa. ‘But maybe you could sit yourself down on that big bag that your boy was carrying while I just get you a nip of brandy.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Maud, lowering herself and perching awkwardly on the cloth bag, with her back straight, her coat still neatly buttoned and her felt hat perfectly square on her head. She tried not to feel sad – she tended towards a mournful expression at the best of times – but she felt like an abandoned child as she sat there amidst the chaos of steerage.

  That night, as Maud lay fully clothed in the narrow berth, with her new coat and hat carefully stashed beneath the bunk, she knew that she wouldn’t sleep. Every spike of straw from the mattress needled her. The whispering and snoring and giggling of the women and children, and one woman’s loud singing, all conspired against her. And the heat and the relentless noise of the engines right next to them were almost unbearable. Her only consolation was the steady sound of Alfred’s breathing as he lay beside her on the bunk. There was barely room but he’d gallantly squeezed into the narrow space between her and the partition wall, and he’d fallen straight to sleep.

  Maud lay with her dark eyes wide open, staring into the poorly lit hold, hoping that the few candle stubs that she could see would last till morning. She must have fallen asleep eventually, because she woke with a start to the high-pitched wail of a frightened child. It took her a second to realize something was wrong; the bunk was pitching, and she could hear the sliding of what could only be pots and pans across the floor. She heard Tessa soothing her children. ‘Hold tight, you lot.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Maud,’ murmured Alfred from over her shoulder. ‘The sea’s got a bit rough, that’s all.’

  Maud lay without sleep for what seemed like for ever. When the light started to flood down from the decks above, some of the passengers moved carefully out of their bunks. Maud knew that she couldn’t even try. She was feeling queasy and had started to break out into a cold sweat. ‘Alfred?’ she ventured. ‘I feel very sick.’

  Instantly he was slipping out of the bunk and quickly came back with a wooden pail.

  ‘Oh no,’ groaned Maud, grabbing the pail and heaving into it.

  ‘Sorry, Maud, it looks like you’re in for it, this time,’ he said softly, dabbing her forehead.

  She tried to reply but her mouth started to water again, her stomach gave another heave, and she grabbed the bucket again.

  Maud lay on the bunk for days, taking only small sips of water, drifting off to sleep but then haunted by dreams. She was regularly woken by the heaving of her stomach and the sounds of other women groaning and retching. Each dark night, Alfred lay beside her, his small hand stroking her arm if she became restless and his calm voice murmuring words of comfort as the ship tossed and dipped and scooped through the ocean.

  It was three whole days before the sea calmed and Maud could sit upright at the side of the bunk. Alfred brought over a fresh bowl of water and a clean flannel. He dipped and squeezed the cloth, helping her wipe her face and lips, and then she took it herself and cleaned her hands. Starting to smile, she handed the cloth back to the boy who stood in front of her with his feet planted square and a solemn expression on his face.

  ‘This reminds me of what I did for you when you were in hospital with your broken arm,’ she said, reaching out a hand to move a stray lock of blond hair that had fallen over his eyes. ‘But you were covered in soot.’

  ‘I will always remember …’ said Alfred quietly, his pale blue eyes shining. ‘You were the one, the special housemaid, who saved me from being sent back up to sweep that chimney, and took me to hospital. At least now I’ve grown, I’m probably too big to be a climbing boy again.’

  Maud gave a small shudder and pulled the boy close. ‘You are never going back to that life, Alfred. When we get into Liverpool you’re off to complete your studies at the Blue Coat School.’

  The boy pulled a tattered exercise book from inside his jacket. ‘I’ve been keeping up with my lessons in mathematics,’ he said, opening up a page to show Maud a row of calculations.

  ‘These are wonderful,’ she said, taking the book from him and flicking through the rest of the pages. ‘And you seem to be able to do this so easily.’

  ‘I like doing it,’ he said.

  Maud’s chest tightened with pride. ‘You are going to do very well indeed, Alfred,’ she said.

  Alfred grinned at her before running off in response to a shout from Tessa’s eldest, Cathy. She and Alfred seemed to have become firm friends.

  Maud lay back down but was soon sitting up again, irritated by the straw prickling through the mattress, needing to stand up, to straighten her hair and eat something. She had to try and keep some food down.

  ‘Good to see you’ve made it back to the land of the livin’,’ called Tessa from where she sat, wedged between some sacks of provisions, with Barnaby on her knee.

  Maud tried to smile, but her face didn’t seem to be working properly. ‘Not quite there yet, but I will be soon,’ she said, reaching down to straighten her skirt. And then, wondering what might have happened to her belongings, she started rooting around under the bunk.

  ‘Your coat slipped out with all the other luggage, and it was a while before I could find it,’ said Alfred, appearing in front of her with the dusty piece of clothing in his grasp. ‘But I kept it safe, and Tessa had a go at it with a sponge. It doesn’t look too bad.’

  Maud took the coat from him. She could see a few stains on the black wool, but all the buttons were still there. Ordinarily, she would have tutted and fussed but, seeing the concern in Alfred’s eyes, she merely gave the garment a bit of a brush with her hand and tried to smile.

  ‘We didn’t find the hat for a few days,’ said Alfred quietly, ‘but when we did, well, it hasn’t come off too well …’

  ‘Not to worry,’ murmured Maud, feeling a little sad. Apart from her wedding ring, it was about the only thing that Harry had ever given her.

  Alfred rummaged under the blanket at the bottom of the bed and pulled out a flattened ob
ject with a detached brim.

  ‘Ah, I see what you mean,’ said Maud, starting to giggle. ‘It really is a bit of a mess, isn’t it?’

  ‘Tessa saw one of the women wearing it – the one who sings a lot and likes to get drunk. She had to sneak it off her head when she fell asleep.’

  ‘Oh dear. Well, at least the feather’s still intact,’ said Maud, pulling out the bright blue adornment from the band and running it through her hand. ‘I can keep this and use it for another hat, when I get one. Thank you, Alfred, for all your efforts and for looking after me so expertly.’

  ‘I’m just glad you’re feeling better,’ said the boy. ‘And we only have two more days left, and then we’ll be home.’

  As Maud stood on deck, packed in with all the other passengers waiting to see their first glimpse of Liverpool, she held tight to Alfred’s hand. It felt so good to be out in the open air at last; she hadn’t realized how cramped she’d felt down in the dark, low-ceilinged hold of the ship.

  ‘There she is! There’s Liverpool!’ Alfred shouted as the steam whistle sounded and a huge cheer went up from all those on deck. Maud felt her heart soar and then, as a man on the deck struck up a few notes on a fiddle, unexpected tears started to well in her eyes. Fishing for a handkerchief in her pocket, she dabbed at her face. Then she smiled and nodded at Alfred, who had reached to take her hand.

  ‘We’re home, Maud, we’re home!’

  Alfred still held tight to her hand as he balanced the big cloth bag on his head and disembarked – leading the way for Tessa with Barnaby, Cathy carrying Maud’s bag, and the other girls running backwards and forwards excitedly up and down the gangplank.

  ‘Come on, you lot! We need to go and find our trunk,’ shouted Tessa as they stepped on to dry land.

  Maud didn’t realize how weakened she was until she took her first steps ashore. ‘You all right there, Maudie?’ murmured Tessa, appearing at her elbow. ‘You’re lookin’ mighty pale and anxious, now you’re out in the light. I didn’t realize ’ow much weight you’d lost till I saw you buttoned into that coat of yours.’