by Joan Jonker
‘Some hope yer’d have of getting a lot of money out of me, sunshine, I’m always skint. Anyway, why are yer so late?’
‘Well, its like this, yer see, girl. I’ve only got one pair of stockings what haven’t got holes and ladders in, and I forgot to wash them last night before I went to bed. So I rinsed them through this morning and put them over the fire-guard, but they’ve taken ages to dry.’
‘What’s the use of putting stockings on the fire-guard to dry when yer haven’t got a ruddy fire!’ Molly’s eyes slid down to the stockings which were being held up by a piece of elastic. ‘Are they still wet?’
Nellie began to look pleased with herself, having finally won her battle with the dress. ‘No, I dried them, see, so there! I’m not as thick as yer think I am. I rubbed them in a towel first and got most of the wet out of them, then I stuck them in the roasting tin and put them in the oven for a quarter of an hour. Bone dry they are now.’
‘Nellie McDonough, I don’t know what I’m going to do with yer! One of these days yer’ll set the ruddy house on fire. I wonder what George would say if he knew what yer get up to?’
‘Well, he won’t know if you don’t tell him. Anyway, what I had to do this morning is all your fault, and if the house had burnt down I’d have told him that.’
‘My fault! How d’yer make that out? I wasn’t even here when yer stuck yer stockings in the oven! If I had have been, I wouldn’t have let yer.’
‘Would yer have gone out with me with ladders running up me legs and holes in me heels? No, yer wouldn’t, yer’d have told me off and left me behind. I’m not proud, I don’t worry about what I look like, but you do. Every hair must be in the right place, nails clean, stocking seams straight and definitely no holes in the heels. Oh, and shoes polished as well. I feel as though I’m in the flaming army with the sergeant eyeing me up and down.’
Molly’s imagination took over. She could see her little fat friend standing in a line of soldiers and looking up at the sergeant. And she could hear her telling him where he could stick his ruddy gun.
‘What are yer laughing at, girl?’
‘You! Yer wouldn’t last two minutes in the army ’cos yer’d never take an order from anyone. And yer’d never get up at five in the morning, get washed in freezing cold water and be ready for parade and inspection by six.’
Nellie was slipping into her coat by this time. ‘Ye’re right there, girl, I’d be telling them to sod off and going back to sleep.’
Molly spotted the front door key on the sideboard. ‘Don’t go without that, sunshine, I don’t feel like climbing through the kitchen window to let yer in.’
Nellie pocketed the key. ‘Let’s hope something comes out of today, eh, girl? So shall we wish ourselves good luck.’
‘You’re my good luck charm, sunshine, I’m relying on you.’
Her friend looked really pleased. ‘Yer’ve never told me that before, girl! D’yer really think I bring yer good luck?’
‘I never told yer ’cos ye’re big-headed enough. But, yeah, I’ve always felt that yer brought me good luck. So let’s hope it works today, eh?’
Nellie linked her arm and squeezed. ‘It might not happen today, tomorrow or next week, girl, but I’ve got a feeling in me bones that we’re going to touch lucky and find someone who knew Phil’s father.’
They were walking down Marsh Lane when they passed a picture house. ‘Ay, girl, that’s the Marsh Lane Palace. They call it the flea pit ’cos no one goes in there without coming out scratching themselves all over.’
‘Yer only need a couple of people to have fleas and they could contaminate everyone there. Fleas jump from one person to another, and in the warmth of a picture house they’d be breeding like mad.’
‘Ay, there’s Bullen’s Terrace, girl. We found that easy enough, didn’t we?’
‘Finding that was the easiest part, sunshine, it’ll be all uphill from here.’
They stood on the corner wondering which side of the road to start on. There were large houses on one side. Molly guessed they were eight-roomed, with several steps leading up to the front door. There were iron railings to the front of each house, and they could see windows below street level which meant they had large basements. On the opposite side, the houses were much smaller with only one front door step.
Nellie was looking at the pub on the opposite corner. ‘Ay, girl, how about trying the pub when it opens? We’d probably find out more there than we will do knocking on doors’
‘I was thinking that meself, sunshine, but I’d rather be knocking on a few doors while we’re waiting. We can’t afford to waste any time.’
‘Okay, girl, I’m game if you are.’
They’d reached the first gate when Molly saw a woman walking towards them, her basket over her arm. She looked to be in her sixties, old enough to remember families who’d lived in the area before the war. There was no harm in trying anyway.
‘Excuse me, love, I wonder if yer can help me?’
The woman smiled. ‘I will if I can. Are yer not from around here?’
‘No, we live a few miles away. But we’re trying to trace the family or any relatives of a man named Bob Mitchell. We know he used to live somewhere around here.’
‘Oh, Bob Mitchell died about fifteen years ago, queen. They used to live in that house over the road, number eight, the one with the railings painted green. But when the father died, the family moved to a smaller house and that’s the last I saw of them.’
‘It’s a big house,’ Molly said, ‘they must have been a large family?’
‘They were, and they were a lovely family, the salt of the earth. But they suffered a lot of heartache. I was sorry when they moved and I missed them. But where they moved to I have no idea.’
It was Nellie who asked, ‘So they don’t live around here any more?’
‘That I couldn’t tell yer, queen, ’cos I don’t get out much. I’ve suffered with rheumatism in me hands and feet for years now and the furthest I can walk is to the shops around the corner. The Mitchells could be living quite near for all I know.’
‘Would anyone else in the street know, d’yer think?’ Molly asked. ‘It’s quite important that we find them.’
The woman thought for a while, then she nodded to a house next to the Mitchells’ old home. ‘Yer could try the Waltons in number ten. They used to be very friendly with the Mitchells, it’s possible they’ve kept in touch.’
‘Thank you, we’re beholden to yer.’ Molly smiled. ‘You take care of yerself now.’
The two friends watched as the woman walked away, her pace slow, as though each step was an effort. Then Molly looked down at her friend. ‘Well, we haven’t really found out anything, but I’ve got more hope than when we started out. So let’s try the Waltons in number ten and see if we can go forward a few more steps.’
Their knock was answered by a small, thin woman. Molly mentally put her age at about seventy, but she wasn’t very good at guessing and could be ten years out either way. ‘Mrs Walton?’
The woman nodded, her hand on the door latch. ‘Can I help yer?’
‘We’re trying to find a family by the name of Mitchell who lived in this street years ago. We were told you were friendly with them and might know where they’re living now?’
The woman came to the edge of the step and folded her arms. ‘Yes, I knew them well. We were good friends and neighbours. They’d had a lot of trouble, more than most people, and had to move to a smaller house. The mother, Maggie, said she’d get in touch when they’d settled in, but she never did. I was sad about that ’cos we were good friends.’
‘So yer’ve no idea where they moved to?’
‘I’m sorry, love, but I haven’t. It could be the other side of Liverpool for all I know.’
Molly’s hopes were dashed. But she wasn’t going to give in without exploring every avenue. ‘I don’t suppose yer can think of anyone who might be able to help? We have some news for them which I’m sure they’d be de
lighted to hear.’
Mrs Walton pursed her lips and looked down. Then, after a minute, she said, ‘Yer could try Alf, the landlord of the George on the corner. It’s possible he’s heard something over the years ’cos the boys used to drink in there. So did their dad, but he died not long before they moved. In fact, I think that’s why they went. They couldn’t afford to pay the rent here when his wages stopped coming in.’
‘We’ll try the pub then,’ Molly said. ‘And thanks for talking to us, it was kind of yer.’
‘I’m just sorry I couldn’t be more help. Ta-ra, and good luck.’
Molly gave Nellie her hand to lean on as they went down the steps. ‘Well, the pub it is, sunshine, they should be open by now.’ She began to chuckle. ‘What would Jack and George say if they knew what we were up to? Two women going in a pub . . . they’d do their nut.’
The pub was open but there were no customers yet. The landlord turned out to be very friendly when Molly explained why they were there. ‘Yeah, I knew the Mitchells well, they were a lovely family, and I know they’re living somewhere in the vicinity ’cos the two lads come in now and again for old time’s sake. I’m calling them lads, but they’re well into their forties. In fact the eldest, Jim, must be knocking on fifty.’
‘But yer don’t know their address?’
‘No, I don’t, though for some unknown reason I’ve always thought they lived in one of the streets going down towards Seaforth Docks. Both the lads work on the docks, so it would make sense to live near them. If yer want to put my hunch to the test, just turn left when yer get out of here, past the entrance to the railway station, and cross over. On yer right, in the distance, yer’ll see St James’s church. Yer want to turn down the road where the church is and keep on walking through to Knowsley Road.’
‘Oh, I know Knowsley Road,’ Molly said. ‘That’s where the Gainsborough picture house is. I’ve been there a few times.’
‘Yer shouldn’t have any trouble then. Because just past the Gainsborough, yer’ll come to some streets that were named after poets. There’s Eliot, Wordsworth, Scott and a few others. They’re only narrow streets of two-up-two-down houses where everybody knows everybody else. If they do live down there it won’t take yer long to find them. If I’m wrong, and I’m sending yer on a wild goose chase, then I’m sorry. But it’s the best I can do, and it’s somewhere for yer to start.’
‘We’ll take yer up on yer hunch and make a start today.’ Molly was thankful they’d got a friendly landlord, not one who would have turfed them out without even listening to what they had to say. ‘We’re very grateful, aren’t we, Nellie?’
‘Yes, we’re very grateful to yer.’ She was thinking if she didn’t get something to eat soon, her tummy would be rumbling. Molly might be able to go hours on end without food, but she couldn’t. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a café anywhere near, is there?’
The landlord chuckled. Here was a woman who liked her food and showed for it. ‘There’s one just around the corner, yer can’t miss it. It’s very clean and they do very good bacon butties.’
Nellie patted her tummy. ‘Thanks, mister, yer’ll be me friend for life.’
As they were leaving, Alf shouted after them, ‘If yer do find them, would yer let me know sometime? I’ll be interested in how yer got on.’
Molly nodded. ‘We’ll definitely let yer know. Scout’s honour. Ta-ra.’
Chapter 18
‘There’s yer pot of tea, me husband’s doing yer bacon butties.’ The woman in the café placed the pot in the middle of the table next to the cups and milk jug. ‘I’ll bring them as soon as they’re ready.’
‘Can yer see me nose twitching?’ Nellie asked. ‘It’s the smell of bacon frying, yer can’t beat it.’
The woman’s apron was as clean as the café itself. ‘Yer’d think I’d be sick of the smell of food cooking by this time, but bacon is the one smell I’ll never tire of.’
‘How d’yer manage with the rationing?’ Molly asked. ‘It must be a struggle.’
‘We’ve never been rationed for bread, though everything else was in short supply until recently. But we’re finding the other food-stuffs are getting easier to come by.’ There was a man standing by the counter waiting to be served, his fingers rapping impatiently, and the woman made her excuses. ‘I’d better see what that man wants, he’s giving me daggers. Enjoy yer tea, the butties will be along soon.’
‘She’s nice and friendly, sunshine,’ Molly said, pouring milk into each of the cups. ‘And the place is so clean yer could eat off the floor.’
‘There’ll be two cups each in that pot, won’t there, girl?’ The smells wafting towards Nellie’s nose had her tummy rumbling. ‘I could eat a ruddy horse, I’m that hungry.’
‘Don’t mention eating horse meat, it makes me feel sick. I believe they did that during the war and didn’t tell anyone. For all we know, half the time we’ve been buying what we thought was stewing beef, we’ve been palmed off with horse meat.’
‘Well, if we have, it hasn’t done us no harm, girl, and I ain’t about to worry about something that might have been.’ Nellie saw a man coming through a door at the back of the counter carrying two plates and wiggled her bottom on the chair in anticipation. ‘Here it comes, girl, and am I ready for it . . . I’ll say I am!’
‘Here yer are, ladies.’ The man was stocky, well-built, with a receding hairline and a smile that would put anyone in a good mood. ‘Eat them while they’re hot.’
‘They smell delicious,’ Molly said. ‘I didn’t think I was hungry until I came in here.’
‘If yer want a round of toast to go with them, ask the missus.’
‘Thank you,’ Nellie said, hoping he wouldn’t stand talking. She couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into the bacon she could see sticking out of the sides of the sandwich. He must have guessed what was going through her mind because he raised a hand in salute and made his way back to the kitchen. ‘Oh, boy, oh, boy, am I going to enjoy this, or am I going to enjoy this?’ As an answer wasn’t called for, she picked up half of her sandwich and put it to her mouth. Before Molly had time to pick hers up, Nellie’s had been demolished.
‘In the name of God, sunshine, what’s the hurry? And wipe yer chin, there’s fat trickling down and it’ll go on yer coat.’
‘Oh, girl, I was ready for that. It was the best bacon buttie I’ve ever eaten. Shall I order another two?’
‘Not for me yer won’t! This will keep me going until my dinner tonight. Anyway, I can’t afford to be throwing me money around, yer know that.’
Nellie looked longingly at the half sandwich left on her friend’s plate. ‘I wish I could eat slowly, like what you do. But two bites and this will be gone.’
‘That’s because yer’ve no control over yerself. Take yer time, take smaller bites and chew it for a while. That way yer’ll enjoy it more.’
Nellie gazed down at her plate and muttered, ‘You behave yerself. Don’t be pushing yerself into me mouth in one go.’ She picked the sandwich up and took a dainty nibble. ‘Ay, girl, how come yer didn’t mention Phil’s dad?’
‘What, and have it all around Bootle in no time? None of the people we talked to mentioned the son who got killed, so I wasn’t going to. What we have to say is for the ears of any family we find, not Tom, Dick or Harry. So you be careful what yer say, sunshine, or yer’ll spoil the whole thing.’
Nodding her head, Nellie wiped a hand across her chin. ‘I’m me own worst enemy, aren’t I, girl? Never know when to keep me trap shut.’
‘I’ll be keeping me eye on yer today, and if I think ye’re going to come out with something yer shouldn’t, I’ll put me hand over yer mouth.’ Molly grinned. ‘Either that or smack yer bottom and send yer home with yer tail between yer legs.’
Nellie watched her friend refill their cups, then her eyes slid to the counter and the scones stacked on a glass cake stand. ‘I’ll mug yer to a scone, girl, yer’d like that, wouldn’t yer?’
‘No, thank
s, sunshine, I’ve had enough. But you have one by all means.’
‘Not if you’re not having one.’ Nellie tried to sound sincere, but failed miserably. ‘Yer’ll only think I’m greedy.’
‘Of course I won’t think ye’re greedy! It’s your tummy, and you should know when ye’re hungry. And it’s your money, too, so yer don’t have to ask my permission.’
Even before Molly had finished speaking, Nellie was beckoning to the woman behind the counter. ‘Could I have a scone, please?’
‘Just the one, queen?’
‘Yeah, me mate’s not hungry. She had a big breakfast, yer see.’
‘D’yer want butter and jam on it?’
Nellie thought her ship had come in. ‘Oh, yes, please.’
Molly dropped her head to hide a smile. When it came to food, her friend was like a child. It was no wonder she didn’t lose any weight. But if she was happy and contented as she was, why should she starve herself? ‘That looks nice,’ Molly said when the woman put the plate before Nellie. ‘Did you make them?’
‘Well, me and me husband between us. All the cakes are homemade and we only use the best ingredients.’
‘Yer must work very hard. What time do yer open?’
‘Seven o’clock in the mornings, queen, and that’s our busiest time. A lot of men come for their breakfasts on their way to work, and others buy sandwiches for their carry-out.’
Nellie was eating as she listened, jam lodged in the corner of her mouth. If Molly hadn’t been with her, she’d have mugged herself to another scone.
‘What time d’yer close then?’ Molly asked, wondering how the woman stayed on her feet so long.
‘Five o’clock weekdays, six on a Saturday. And I can tell yer, I’m glad to see me bed at the end of the day. But I enjoy the work and most of the customers are regulars so we have a laugh and joke with them. If yer want money in yer pocket, yer won’t get it sitting on yer backside, will yer?’
‘True enough.’ Molly’s eyes never left the woman’s face yet she still didn’t miss the quick flick of Nellie’s tongue around her lips to lick up every trace of jam. ‘And I bet it’s more pleasant than standing in a factory all day behind a noisy machine.’