A Liverpool Legacy

by Anne Baker

‘Good.’ It wasn’t yet lunchtime, Mum had no idea what the time was, she’d lost track. ‘This is Mr Maynard my boss, Mum. He brought me home.’

  Miriam Hathaway tried to lift her head from the pillow but it required too great an effort. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ The bedclothes moved and it seemed she was about to put out her hand but that also needed more strength than she could find.

  ‘I’m sorry to see you so poorly, Mrs Hathaway,’ he said but her eyes were closing again. ‘Who looks after you?’

  It was Millie who answered. ‘I do.’

  He took her by the arm and steered her back to the living room, closing the door softly behind them. ‘Do you have anyone to help you?’

  ‘The neighbours do and Ryan McCarthy did. He was very good to us.’

  ‘He got you into this mess. If you weren’t having this baby, you might have managed.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s no good blaming him, is it?’

  He smiled and gave her a look that spoke of affection. ‘That’s the only way to look at it now. Your mother needs proper nursing, she’s really ill. You can’t possibly cope with an invalid as well as a job and everything else.’

  ‘I still have a job?’ Millie sniffed into her damp handkerchief. ‘I thought you’d said you were going to replace me.’

  ‘I am. Millie, I’m going to find a nursing home for your mother where she’ll be more comfortable. You’re not well enough to cope with all this.’

  ‘Mum will be fine here with me now, really she will. You’ve done such a lot for me, paid out so much money.’

  ‘You’ve managed marvellously well until now. You’re very brave and tougher than you look, but neither Arthur Knowles nor I saw you struggling, and we should have done. You must be worn out.’ He was taking out his wallet again and put two more pound notes on the table. ‘Buy some food, you both need to eat. And get some rest. I’ll see what I can fix up for your mother and come back to let you know.’ He patted her on the shoulder and walked briskly out.

  Looking round her unchanged living room, Millie found it hard to believe. Mr Maynard had come in like a fairy godfather, waved his wand and made everything seem almost rosy. She was not battling this alone any more. She went back to tell her mother, but she wasn’t sure whether she understood. She sat by her bed for an hour holding her hand.

  Pete Maynard went back to his car and sat in the driving seat for a few minutes to think. He’d rarely seen such raw poverty yet all was orderly and neat and clean. Her mother seemed close to death, but she was loved and cared for. He couldn’t help but admire the girl being able to cope with all that as well as an unwanted pregnancy and a boyfriend who had deserted her in her hour of need.

  He would have anticipated that from Ryan McCarthy. He’d had his fingers in the till for a long time. He should have had the guts to sack him when Sam West first voiced his misgivings about him. He hadn’t deserved the second chance he’d been given. Yet it had not soured Millie, she hadn’t blamed him for her predicament. She might be only seventeen but she had a real inner strength that he had to admire. She was only a couple of years older than his eldest daughter Valerie and to think of her in a similar position was heartbreaking. And Valerie would never have coped in the way Millie had.

  That evening, he told his daughters that he felt sorry for the girl but the truth was he felt guilty. How could Millie take care of her mother, look after herself and run a home on the pittance he paid her? All she needed was more money and she’d have managed it. Except her pregnancy meant she couldn’t work and that would cut off what little income she had and give her another mouth to feed.

  Millie had caught his eye as she’d flitted about the laboratory like an exotic butterfly, beautiful and intelligent and always jolly as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Arthur had taken to her and said, ‘She’s really interested in perfumes, always asking questions. She’s a lovely girl, a very attractive girl.’

  She was too attractive for her own good. He couldn’t let her sink.

  It was about six o’clock that evening when Millie answered a knock on her door to find Mr Maynard with two young girls on her step.

  ‘These are my daughters,’ he told her. ‘Valerie is only two years younger than you and Helen is almost four years younger.’ They each put out a hand to shake hers.

  Millie’s first impression was that they were still children and years younger than her. They were strong, healthy looking girls, Valerie resembled her father and Helen was especially pretty. Both were innocent, fresh-faced and beautifully dressed and she could see the Maynard family was on close terms. That he’d brought them to her house embarrassed Millie all over again, but she felt she had to ask them into her dismal living room.

  ‘I want you to start packing,’ Mr Maynard said. ‘I’ve booked your mother into the St Winifred’s Nursing Home and they’ll send an ambulance to pick her up at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. I really do think that’s the best thing for her.’

  Millie nodded with gratitude. She couldn’t fight him over this, couldn’t fight any longer. ‘You’re very kind, but I don’t know where St Winifred’s is.’

  ‘It’s in Mossley Hill, a short walk from where I live. It might be difficult for you to reach from here. Probably it would mean taking a couple of buses in each direction. I thought perhaps I could find you better rooms nearby, but there’s such a shortage of accommodation after the bombing that it looks impossible. When I asked my daughters what I could do about it, they suggested we give you a room in our house while your mother’s there, so you can walk down and spend time with her whenever you want to.’

  Millie could hardly take it in. ‘We’ll look after you,’ Valerie said. ‘Dad said I must be sure to tell you that.’

  ‘We have a biggish house,’ Helen added, ‘with several guest rooms. You won’t be any trouble.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Millie faltered. She could hardly take it in, that all her difficulties were being eased so rapidly.

  ‘You don’t have to say anything. It’ll do you good to have a change and a rest from here. I suggest you pack a bag for yourself as well as your mother and go in the ambulance with her. It’s Saturday tomorrow so the girls won’t be at school, they can pick you up from St Winifred’s after your mother has been made comfortable.’

  Everything turned out as Mr Maynard had said it would, and Millie felt there was no kinder man in the world. She had never felt so grateful and wished he was her father. There was an aura of peace about St Winifred’s and her mother settled almost at once. Millie sat in the bright airy room with her until her eyes were closing.

  Then it seemed the nuns had telephoned the Maynard house and Valerie and Helen came to collect her. Mossley Hill was an old, well-established and genteel suburb of Liverpool. They walked along two residential roads with large houses half hidden by walls and trees.

  ‘This is ours,’ Helen said and led the way through a high wrought-iron gate with the name Beechwood on it. The garden was vast with manicured lawns and lovely flowers, and the house looked as though it had been home to several generations of the Maynard family. It was large and had been freshly painted and had gleaming brasses on the front door.

  ‘Our great-grandfather had this built in eighteen eighty-seven,’ Valerie said. ‘There’s the date over the front door.’

  Once inside, Millie was led from one enormous room to another. Everywhere sparkled with cleanliness and order. ‘This is our sitting room,’ Helen told her, ‘and this is the drawing room but we don’t use it much. This is our dining room,’ a large table took up much of the room, ‘we all have our meals here together, including Mrs Brunt and the gardener if they’re here working.’

  ‘Later you’ll meet Mrs Brunt, she comes on weekday mornings to do the heavy work and Mungo is a nice old man who takes care of the garden,’ Valerie explained, as she hur
ried her on. ‘The kitchen is this way,’ it seemed to be a whole suite of rooms, ‘this is the pantry, this is the cold room and the storeroom, and here is the laundry and the ironing room.’

  ‘What are those?’ Millie paused under a row of bells along one wall.

  ‘In the olden days they were for summoning the servants,’ Helen told her, ‘but Dad has had them disconnected as we don’t have proper servants any more.’

  ‘There’s only Hattie now. Come and say hello to her, she’ll be in the library.’ Millie followed them in, and a slim, elegant lady in late middle age got up from the desk where she’d been writing. ‘I do hope you’ll be able to rest here,’ she said, ‘and that you’ll soon feel better. The girls will look after you, but if there’s anything more you need, just let me know.’

  ‘Hattie is a sort of relative, she was married to Dad’s cousin but was widowed when she was quite young,’ Valerie said when they were out of earshot. ‘When our mother was ill, she came to live here to look after her and us too. She takes care of the housekeeping. Both she and Dad are very family-minded and think we should take care of each other.’

  ‘Come upstairs,’ Helen said, ‘and see our playroom and Dad’s study.’

  Millie was dazzled. ‘You have a room just to play in?’

  ‘Yes, and then we have to go up to the second floor to our bedrooms.’ Valerie was throwing open the doors as she walked along the corridor. ‘Dad thought this would be the best room for you, it’s next to mine and Helen’s.’

  Millie found herself installed in a bedroom with a floor space greater than that of the whole flat she’d left. It had a lovely view over their garden and seemed luxurious, but it took her some time to feel at ease in her new surroundings. She found Hattie was kindness itself and took her under her wing, making sure she’d booked a hospital bed for her delivery and that she also saw a nearby doctor.

  Millie was able to rest more and still spend many hours with her mother. The nuns were very kind and attentive to her needs, but Millie could see she was fading and found it agonising to watch her strength ebbing away. She eventually lapsed into a coma and died three weeks after the move to St Winifred’s. Millie was heartbroken at losing her but knew how much her mother had suffered and that she hadn’t feared the end.

  Hattie arranged a simple funeral for her and Peter Maynard paid for it. Mungo helped her pick flowers from the garden to put on her coffin. Millie ached with her loss and was overwhelmed with gratitude. The Maynard household attended the funeral service at the church with her, but apart from Mr Knowles, there was nobody else.

  It left Millie feeling in an emotional turmoil and she knew she’d reached another crossroads. She was alone in the world and frightened of what the future would bring. She was dreading going back to the flat but at the same time she was embarrassed by the never-ending kindness of the Maynards and was half expecting them to say, ‘Enough is enough, you can’t expect to stay here for ever.’

  At dinner the next day she thanked them for their hospitality and all the help they’d given her but said she felt she should go home and not be a further burden to them.

  ‘You’ve come through a very difficult time,’ Peter Maynard said, his eyes kindly and full of concern, ‘that can’t be just shrugged off. You need peace to grieve and time to rest to get over it. I think you should stay another week or two at least.’

  ‘So do I,’ Hattie said. ‘You don’t look well, how could you? You need building up.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Valerie said, ‘it’s your birthday on Friday, you can’t go before then, Hattie is planning a special dinner that night.’

  Millie let them persuade her to stay. She was going to be eighteen but on the morning of her birthday, while the girls were at school and their father at work, she felt her first pains. She was panic-stricken and doubling up as she ran to find Hattie. ‘I think the baby’s coming,’ she wept, ‘but it’s three weeks early.’

  ‘What a good job you stayed with us,’ Hattie told her and took charge. ‘This is no time to be on your own.’

  Millie’s pains were getting worse and she could think of nothing else. She was scared stiff of giving birth but thanked her lucky stars that help was at hand. It was Hattie who called a taxi and took her to the hospital. Her baby girl was born that night, weighing six pounds four ounces. She named her Sylvie and was delighted to hear the doctors say her baby was healthy and normal in every way.

  Millie knew all newly delivered mothers had a two-week stay in hospital to ensure the baby was thriving and they had sufficient rest. The hospital almoner came to see her to ask how she would pay, and feeling humiliated all over again Millie had to explain her circumstances and say she’d been living on the charity of others for the last few weeks.

  The almoner told her she would put her down as a charity case and the hospital would provide free treatment. She was relieved that Peter Maynard would not be asked to put his hand in his pocket for her yet again, but found having to rely on the charity of others very hard. She had to get back to work as soon as she could, but how could she do it when she had a baby to care for? She was in an impossible situation and it terrified her. She could think of little else.

  The following day, a vicar came round to talk to the patients. She didn’t know him but he seemed to know something of her circumstances. He was kind and sympathetic and suggested she think seriously about having her baby adopted.

  ‘I have thought about it but I feel it would be wrong,’ she said through her tears. ‘I want to keep her and bring her up myself.’ It was what her mother had done for her, wasn’t it?

  ‘You should think of the baby’s needs not your own,’ he told her gently. ‘Would your baby have a better life with an older married couple who can’t have children of their own? They would be able to give her a good home, a settled home, and they would love her as much as you do.’ He left her a card giving his name and telephone number and told her to get in touch if she changed her mind and needed his help.

  Millie spent two terrible hours with her head buried in her pillows, torn to shreds in indecision. Should she keep her baby or give her up for adoption? If only her mother had lived long enough to see Sylvie, she would have been such a help and comfort.

  She was no nearer to making up her mind when Sylvie woke up. She was due for a feed and began to whimper. Millie picked her out of her cot and hugged her. Sylvie opened her big round eyes and stared up into her face and Millie made her decision. She couldn’t possibly give her up.

  An hour later, the almoner came back to the ward to give her a parcel of baby clothes and a dozen napkins. They were not new but there was still plenty of wear in them. Millie accepted them with yet more gratitude. She’d made the right decision and was pleased her baby would have some clothes to wear when she went out. She’d cope somehow.

  Hospital visiting was strictly limited to two hours on Wednesday and Sunday afternoons, and for new fathers half an hour between seven and seven thirty on the other evenings. Hattie came on Wednesday afternoons and the girls on Sundays, bringing little gifts for the baby.

  ‘What a way to spend your birthday,’ Valerie laughed. ‘We’ve brought your presents as you’d gone before we gave them to you.’

  Millie unwrapped them with a lump in her throat, feeling she didn’t deserve such affection. There was a book from Valerie and chocolate from Helen. ‘Thank you,’ she choked, ‘you’re both very kind.’

  Helen said, ‘Although you weren’t there we had the special dinner to celebrate, it was roast chicken. Hattie had it all prepared and we wished you a happy birthday.’

  Millie couldn’t stem her tears when they’d gone. She longed for her mother, and she couldn’t begin to imagine how she was going to manage when she went back to their flat. She didn’t expect to have any visitors in the evenings and felt very alone and uncomfortable at those times. She tried to read he
r book, it did interest her but it wasn’t enough to shut out the cooing of new fathers and the delighted chatter from all the other beds.

  But one night when visiting was already in full swing she looked up to see Peter Maynard advancing towards her bed with a great armful of big bronze chrysanthemums. Her heart turned over and she felt reduced to an emotional tangle of nerves.

  ‘I’ve come to see the new baby,’ he said, peering into the cot that swung on the foot of her bed. ‘Very pretty. I hear you’ve called her Sylvie.’ He put the flowers down on the end of her bed. ‘Mungo picked these for you from the greenhouse.’ He sounded like a fond father as he pulled out a chair to sit down. ‘How are you, Millie?’

  ‘I’m glad it’s over but thrilled with my baby. She’s lovely.’

  ‘You look surprisingly well. Nice rosy cheeks.’

  Millie’s cheeks were burning. She was blushing and knew it was bashfulness at his unexpected visit.

  ‘You must come back to my house when you’re discharged from here,’ he went on. ‘You’ll need to get your strength back and you’ll have this new baby to look after. Better if you have Hattie around to start you off.’

  His thoughtfulness brought the ever ready tears rushing to Millie’s eyes again. How many wakeful nights had she spent wondering how she’d manage when she went home to Wilbraham Street without any income. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to overstay my welcome with you,’ she choked. She couldn’t look at him.

  ‘Millie, you’ll never do that.’ Her hand was on the counterpane and he covered it with his. ‘You’re welcome to stay. The girls love having you. They talk of nothing else but your baby and they’re knitting bootees and bonnets for her.’

  The sister came to the ward door and rang a bell. ‘Time’s up, fathers, time to go.’

  Millie said, ‘You’re very kind. You’re all very kind.’

  He stood up and she felt him give her a fatherly peck on the cheek, then he paused to look down at her sleeping baby. ‘She’ll be a real beauty when she grows up, you mark my words.’