by June Francis
‘You mean if the Orange and Green clash?’ said Tilly, having read about such conflicts in the local press in the past.
‘Yeah! And what with the troubles in Ireland right now and the violence between Sinn Fein and the Black and Tans, there could be even worse trouble than usual over here.’
‘Surely the police will stop any fighting,’ said Tilly, frowning.
‘It depends if they want to get involved. Some have been badly injured in the past, you know.’
Tilly did not know but she was suddenly feeling a long way from home. Liverpool appeared to belong to a different country altogether compared to Chester. ‘I suppose I’d still better take a chance,’ she murmured. ‘I can’t be putting it off. I need to get a job as soon as I can.’ If she didn’t then she was going to be in financial trouble despite the crisp two pound notes she had found inside Kenny and Hanny’s birthday card.
Tilly drew the brim of her hat further down so as to keep the rain out of her eyes and stepped outside, wishing she had not forgotten to pack her umbrella before she left home. She was about to cross the road to the tram stop when she collided into someone and he stood on her foot. ‘Ouch!’
He threw her a hasty, ‘Sorry, love.’
Then he was gone, leaving her with a brief impression of a fairly good-looking, clean-shaven man in his early twenties with nice teeth. When she turned round he had vanished and she presumed he had gone inside the shop. She dismissed him from her thoughts and crossed the road. Almost immediately, a tram came rattling along and she climbed aboard and found herself a seat. She gave the conductor the money for her ticket and then gazed out of the window at the passing scene. Fortunately there was only the one hold up at the top of Brunswick Road, where they had to wait while a bedraggled procession marched past from the direction of Shaw Street.
Once in town, Tilly had little trouble finding the Women’s Employment Bureau and filled in the relevant registration forms. At that moment there were no jobs available but it was suggested that she call in several times a week to see whether any work had come in. She decided not to get despondent so early in her search. After all it was her birthday and she did have money and was free to wander around the shops, even if she planned on keeping her money where it was, safely in her handbag.
She soon discovered that there were several summer sales on. The Bon Marche had Shantung silk at two shillings and eleven pence, ha’penny a yard. She could not help thinking about Alice and what she could do with a few yards of the fabric. With her sister’s eye for design and skilful fingers, she could create a lovely dress in no time. She wondered if there might be a card from Alice, Seb and the children when she arrived back at the Wrights’ home. She had hoped but not expected one from Don, so would not be too disappointed if one didn’t arrive, despite his never having missed her birthday since they met. With her father being so forgetful, she didn’t think that he would remember her birthday.
She continued to wander around town despite the rain and, eventually, came to another clothes shop called Phillip’s and its window was full of blouses: crêpe-de-chine ones, beautifully smocked in shades of champagne, sky blue and pink. She longed to buy one but at twenty-nine shillings and sixpence, they were well out of her price range.
She wandered on and eventually came to WH Smith and Son in Tithebarn Street. She went inside and scanned the shelves of books, observing the titles and names of publishers and reading the opening pages. There was a notice advertising the latest and forthcoming releases. Tilly was always on the lookout for new titles. She could not afford to buy books but made a note of the titles and authors, making a resolution to join the local library and order them. Thinking of this reminded her of the piles of books above the shop and that she was supposed to be doing something to make money with them. Perhaps she should see if there were any second-hand bookshops in Liverpool.
Tilly was on her way out when she saw another notice propped up on a table. It read: Red Letter novels, No 1 out on sale today.
Red Letter! thought Tilly, the magazine read by Alice, Wendy, Minnie and Mrs Wright, as well as thousands of women in Britain today. Obviously, the publishers were breaking out into another line. She could not resist buying a copy of the slim novel as it was reasonably priced; after all, it was her birthday.
After making her purchase she left WH Smith’s and, as it was still raining and she was feeling a little tired now, she decided to catch the tram and go to visit her father.
* * *
‘Hello, Tilly,’ said Joy, emptying some scraps on a plate just outside the back door. ‘I believe it’s your birthday today. Many happy returns. I suppose you’ve come to see your dad?’
‘Yes, thanks. Is he around?’
‘He’s down under the trees at the bottom of the garden.’ Joy straightened up. ‘He’s been acting stranger than usual today.’
Tilly’s heart flipped over. ‘Strange in what way?’
‘The talking to himself is not unusual but his asking for a prayer book certainly is,’ said Joy with a faint smile.
‘A prayer book!’
‘Exactly. Why should your dad want a prayer book? According to Alice and Kenny he was against the church.’
Suddenly, Tilly thought of a reason why her father might want a prayer book. ‘Did you have one handy?’
‘Of course. I go to church off and on. I’m thinking of going along to St Margaret’s next Sunday. I believe it’s high church,’ said Joy. ‘Smells and bells, I rather enjoy that kind of service. Theatrical.’
‘Kenny does, too. I’d sometimes go to the cathedral with him,’ said Tilly, smiling. ‘Anyway, I’d best go and see Dad.’
‘If you find out what he wants the prayer book for, let me know.’ called Joy after her.
She raised her hand in acknowledgment and went down the garden. Fortunately it had stopped raining and she was keen to discover if her father had managed to get a tin box for the baby bones and whether he was preparing for a burial service. She soon discovered that was exactly what he was about. She found him, gazing down into a hole with what looked like a large cash box on the ground beside it.
‘Hello, Dad! Were you going to go ahead without me?’ she asked.
He glanced at her and his weather-beaten face broke into a smile. ‘I willed ye to come and here yer are.’
‘Yes. I’ve been to the Employment Bureau and thought I’d pop in and see you before going back to my digs.’
‘I’m glad yer did. I was hoping yer could say a few words over the little lad. I’ve looked in the book but there’s too many words and I thought you could pick something short.’
‘Why a little lad, Dad?’ she asked, curiously.
‘We lost a lad, Flora and I,’ he murmured.
Tilly was filled with sadness at the thought of this dead little brother she would never know. Taking the prayer book from her father, she noticed that he had placed a marker at the beginning of The Order for the Burial of the Dead. Silently, she read the first reading from the New Testament before flicking over the pages and deciding that simply saying the prayer of committal and the Lord’s Prayer would be adequate.
‘When you’ve placed the tin in the ground, Dad, I’ll begin,’ she said, a tremor in her voice.
He stared at her and did as she said and then asked, ‘Is there anything else I should do? I was thinking that perhaps I should scatter some soil on the lid.’
She nodded. ‘Of course!’
He did so as Tilly intoned, ‘“Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear…’ she hesitated and then took a deep breath, ‘brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ; who shall change our vile body, that it may be like unto his glorious body, according to the mighty working, whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself. Amen.’”
Mal muttered
, ‘Amen.’
‘Now the Lord’s Prayer, Dad, that we can say together,’ she said huskily, noticing the uncertainty in his face. ‘Surely you know the Our Father?’
He nodded. ‘But I can’t imagine what it’s like having a father that cares. Mine left when I was only little and Mother hated him for it.’
Tilly wondered if this was a reason why her father hated the Church and its God. ‘Would you like me to say it?’
‘Aye, lass.’
Tilly did so and then closed the prayer book. Mal began to shovel some earth on top of the makeshift coffin. ‘I bought a rosebush,’ he said. ‘It’s a bonny one with a red flower and several other buds. I’ll plant it now, shall I?’
‘I don’t see why not.’ She watched him at work in silence and when he had finished, he looked up at her as if for approval. ‘That’s lovely, Dad. You’ll always know where the baby is buried now.’
‘Aye.’ He looked satisfied as he put the spade away just inside the door of the outhouse. Then he turned to her. ‘Am I right in believing it’s yer birthday today, lass?’
‘Did Joy tell you?’
‘Aye, lass. I’m sorry I didn’t remember by myself. I thought perhaps we could do something together. Is there anywhere that yer’d like to go?’
Tilly thought about his suggestion and said, ‘What about if we go to the Palladium and see a film?’
‘If that’s what would please yer, lass, I’m willing,’ said Mal. ‘I’ve never seen a film before.’
‘Never! Honestly, Dad?’
He grinned. ‘Honestly.’
Tilly smiled. ‘Then you’re in for a treat.’
‘It’ll be my treat,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay because it’s yer birthday.’ She was not going to argue with that but decided she would buy a bag of sweets from the shop for them to eat inside the cinema. ‘We’ll go this evening. I’ll need to go home and get changed and have something to eat.’
‘I’ll smarten myself, too,’ he said, ‘and see yer later, lass.’
‘Will we meet outside the Palladium? You do know where it is, Dad?’
‘Aye,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ve dropped off Mr Bennett there once or twice.’
‘We’ll meet about five o’clock,’ said Tilly, kissing his cheek and thinking that she would return the prayer book to Joy and then be on her way. As she walked up the garden, she experienced that feeling again that she was being watched. She glanced towards the neighbouring wall and spotted a woman’s face.
‘Hello!’ she called, changing direction and heading towards the wall. Instantly, the woman vanished. Tilly tried to find a foothold in the brickwork to hoist herself up but it was a no-go. She decided that the woman must have something to stand on. Had she seen Mal bury the box and heard Tilly say prayers? If Miss Parker had, did it really matter? She decided not and returned to the house.
She found Joy in the kitchen and there was a mouthwatering smell of baking. ‘So what did he want the prayer book for?’ asked the older woman.
Tilly decided she could trust Joy with the truth. ‘Dad found a baby’s skeleton in the garden and decided it needed a Christian burial.’
Joy stared at her as if she didn’t quite believe her. ‘Pull the other one.’
Tilly smiled. ‘Honest! I said a couple of prayers and he’s planted a rose bush to mark the spot. Here’s your prayer book back.’ She placed the book on the table.
‘I wonder if it was the old woman’s,’ said Joy. ‘Perhaps she got herself into trouble and the father went away and never came back. Maybe he died.’
‘Gosh, Joy, you’ve as much imagination as I have,’ said Tilly, startled.
‘Perhaps it was stillborn.’
‘I thought of that. Poor little mite.’
Joy nodded. ‘Best say nothing to anyone else.’
Tilly agreed and then remembered the neighbour. ‘By the way, next door was spying on us again. Is the master of the house back yet?’
‘I haven’t seen him but then I’m not forever looking out of windows or over walls.’ Joy went over and cautiously checked the contents of the oven. Then she turned to Tilly and said, ‘Are you doing anything special for your birthday?’
‘Yes. Dad’s taking me to the flickers this evening. I don’t think he’d object if you wanted to come, too,’ said Tilly.
‘No thanks. I see enough of your father but come back here with him and we’ll have a drink and a piece of cake.’
Tilly’s eyes lit up. ‘Is that the cake in the oven now?’
‘Yes. I might even put a few candles on it.’
Tilly hugged her. ‘You are kind, Joy.’
Joy smiled and pushed her away. ‘I don’t need any soft soap. I hope the pair of you have a nice evening together.’
So did Tilly, still surprised that her father had never seen a film in his life. Of course, he might have forgotten doing so but whatever, she felt certain he would enjoy the treat.
* * *
Tilly linked her arm through her father’s as they headed for the entrance to the cinema. It was a continuous performance and there were two films showing. One called Eye for an Eye and the other Island of Adventure. Tilly felt a stir of excitement and could not wait to get inside the auditorium. The famous Russian actress, Alla Nazimona, was in the first film that, according to the poster outside, was a tale of vengeance. The other one was said to be set on a South Sea Island. How she wished films could be in colour instead of black and white. Perhaps one day they would be but for now she had to content herself with things as they were.
They had missed the start of Island of Adventure but it was obvious something exciting was happening because of the accompanying music. It was really stirring stuff full of crashes and rippling key notes. As they lowered themselves into their seats. Tilly could see that there were natives up on the screen fighting with white men and the faces of the women there expressed terror. She took a bag of sweets from her handbag and offered it to her father. She needed to give him a nudge and hold the bag out in front of him because his eyes were glued to the screen.
Without looking his hand fumbled inside the paper bag and he drew out a toffee twirl and rammed it in his mouth. She took a pear drop and relaxed in her seat. Somewhere nearby a boy was reading aloud the words up on the screen. Probably to a granny or granddad who was either unable to read or due to bad eyesight could not make out the words. Half an hour passed. Suddenly Mal sat bolt upright, muttering to himself as there came another loud crash of music.
Tilly darted him a glance. ‘You OK, Dad?’ she whispered.
‘It’s not right,’ he said. ‘They shouldn’t be doing that. It’s cruel. It’s wrong.’
‘It’s only a film, Dad. They’ll get their comeuppance, you’ll see.’
He was silent for a few minutes and then he shot to his feet and shook his fist at the screen. ‘Get out of there, lassie!’ he shouted. ‘Ye’re in danger!’
Tilly jumped out of her skin. ‘Sit down, Dad,’ she hissed, pulling on his jacket.
‘Nooo! She needs help,’ he cried.
‘Will yer shut up and sit down, old man,’ said a man behind them. ‘Yer spoilin’ the film.’
‘I canna sit down,’ said Mal, turning on him. ‘Not when the lassie is in trouble. Where’s yer heart, man?’
‘In me bloody chest! Where d’yer think, Granddad?’
‘I’m no yer granddad,’ growled Mal. ‘Now shut yer mouth or I’ll shut it for yer.’
‘Is that a threat?’ asked the man, getting to his feet.
‘Sit down, Dad,’ said Tilly, worried that a fight was about to break out and he might get hurt.
Mal looked down at her. ‘Is that you, Flora?’
Tilly’s heart performed an odd leap. ‘No, Dad. It’s Tilly.’ She was suddenly scared and stood up. ‘Perhaps we’d best go.’
‘Tilly!’ His tongue seemed to be savouring the name.
‘Yes, Tilly. I’m your daughter.’ She clutched his sleeve. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’
> ‘About bloody time,’ said the man behind them. ‘Let them past, folks, and then we can get back to the bloody film.’
Mal stiffened and he turned back to the man. ‘I don’t like yer language. There’s women present.’
‘What’s going on here?’ interrupted a new voice.
Tilly looked towards the aisle at the end of the row and saw an usherette standing there with the commissionaire.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ she said politely. ‘My father’s just having one of his funny turns. The war, you know.’
‘The war! He’s too bloody old to have fought in the war,’ said the troublemaker behind them. ‘He’s a loony,’ he added with a snigger.
Tilly saw red. ‘My dad is not a loony!’
She pushed the man and he fell backwards. His seat had sprung up, so instead of landing in comfort, he caught his back on the hard edge. A yelp of pain escaped him and he slid to the floor.
‘Oh my,’ said Mal. ‘Yer shouldn’t have done that, lassie. I think we’d better get out of here.’
Tilly was horrified by what had happened. ‘Yes, we’d best. Sorry, sorry,’ she said.
‘Let them out, let them out,’ ordered the commissionaire. The people in the rest of the row got to their feet. A woman gave Tilly a push in the back. ‘Go on, queen, get out before yer land yerself in anymore trouble.’
Once Tilly and Mal were outside in the foyer, the commissionaire wanted their names and address. Without a second thought Tilly gave him false information and then, seizing her father’s hand, she ran out of the cinema with him, knowing she would not dare show her face at the Palladium again for a long time.
It came as a surprise to find that the sun was shining outside.
She and her father exchanged glances and he chuckled. ‘Yer might not be Flora but ye’ve got plenty of guts, lass. I don’t know what I was thinking of getting myself all worked up the way I did. But those pictures, they seemed so real.’
Tilly agreed but felt concerned that her father had not been able to distinguish make-believe from reality.