Queen of the Mersey (17 page)

‘You’ve done wonderfully well,’ he told her one balmy day in March. ‘One more visit and you won’t need to come again. Your shoulder’s a bit stiff, but that’s all. What are you going to do with yourself once you’re better?’

‘Get a job,’ Queenie said promptly. ‘I’d like to do some sort of war work.’

‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘We’d all like to do our bit towards the war, but you’re very young, only fifteen, and it’d be best not to strain your arm for a few months yet. Take it easy, you’d be better off with a nice, pleasant job, in a shop, for instance. Lots of women have either joined the forces or are working in factories, so you’d be welcomed with open arms. Anyway, off you go, Queenie. Have a nice Easter.’

‘The same to you, doctor.’

When Laura came on Sunday, she thought Dr Hollis made perfect sense. ‘You’ve been through a hard time, Queenie,’ she said, though she didn’t know the half of it. ‘A nice, pleasant job is exactly what you need.’

Three weeks later, Queenie started work in the children’s clothes section of Herriot’s, a small, dead posh department store in Lord Street, in itself one of the poshest shopping venues in Lancashire. She was interviewed by the manager, Mr Matthews, a friendly man in his sixties with lovely silver hair. He’d been on the point of retiring, he explained, when the war had started and the assistant manager, Mr Mackie, who’d been about to take over, had been called up straight away as he was already a sergeant in the Territorial Army.

‘Do you have any retail experience?’ he enquired, peering at her through his half-moon glasses.

‘No. I’ve been working as a governess since I left school and I did some part-time teaching in a school in Wales.’ The governess idea had been Laura’s.

‘It’s true, in a way,’ she insisted. ‘If they want proof, tell them to write to me. I’ll give you a glowing reference.’

Mr Matthew’s lips twitched with amusement. ‘That’s rather an achievement for someone so young. What did you teach?’

‘Reading, writing and arithmetic.’

‘Although retail experience would have been desirable, such an amazing knowledge of the three Rs is good enough for me, added to the fact that you’re very presentable, even if your accent is a bit rough. Can you start on Monday?’

She was told she had to wear black, an eventuality Laura had already foreseen and had given her the money to buy an outfit. ‘And you’ll need shoes, your first grown-up pair. You’d better get stockings and a suspender belt too.’

On her way out of Herriot’s, Queenie glanced at the prices in the Ladies’

Clothes Department and was shocked to the core. Two pound, ten and sixpence, just for a skirt! The same for a blouse, even though it was very smart; black georgette with lace inserts on the front. On the assumption that not everyone in Southport was a millionaire, she went outside, turned off Lord Street and found herself by the station. Nearby, she came across a street of inexpensive shops where she bought a gaberdine skirt for seventeen and six, a black satin blouse with pearl buttons for thirteen and elevenpence halfpenny, a pink brocade suspender belt and two pairs of rayon stockings. Shoes proved more difficult, she hadn’t known there was a shortage, but eventually she found a pair of black court shoes with daringly high heels.

‘You’re lucky, only taking a size three,’ the assistant said. ‘We’ve a few eights in stock, but are completely out of the sizes in between.’

Back in Sea Shells, she managed to avoid Mrs Palfrey who had trapped one of the few real guests in the hallway. She went upstairs, put on on her new outfit, though it took a while to understand the suspenders, and examined her reflection in the wardrobe mirror.

It was hard to believe she was looking at the same person who had nervously knocked on Laura’s door almost two years ago because her mam had gone away and she didn’t know what to do. Her silvery blonde hair was thick and smooth and she wore it shoulder length; sometimes loose, sometimes tied back with a ribbon. The black outfit – she’d never worn black before – made her slim body look even slimmer, and the high-heeled shoes accentuated the curves of her legs. She felt quite tall.

‘You’re pathetic!’ Mam used to say, but she didn’t feel pathetic now. She wondered where Mam was, and what she would say if she knew about all the things that had happened and the job she was starting on Monday. Most importantly, what would Mam think about her arm, now perfectly straight, exactly the same as the other? Also, she would like to ask Mam exactly how her arm had been broken the first time and why she hadn’t been taken to the hospital to have it set.

The transformation, from the pathetic little girl she used to be, to the pretty, smartly dressed young woman she was now, was so great, so astounding, it was almost as if a miracle had happened and she had become a completely different person.

‘Oh, hello. Can’t you sleep either?’ It was a young woman who spoke, one of Mrs Palfrey’s guests.

‘I don’t feel the least bit tired.’ Queenie was sitting on an iron bench in the back garden of Sea Shells, her eyes fixed on the blood red cloud suspended over Liverpool.

‘It’s well past midnight, but I can’t stop thinking about my husband. Do you mind if I sit with you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘My name’s Madge. What’s yours?’

‘Queenie.’

‘Have you got family back there, Queenie?’ Madge nodded towards the red cloud, then took a puff of her cigarette.

‘Not exactly. Just some close friends, but they’re almost family.’

‘I’ve loads; Mum and Dad, a brother and two sisters, in-laws and, of course, Paul, my husband. He’s a voluntary ARP warden.’ She sighed. ‘If it weren’t for the children, I would have stayed, but John’s only six months old and June’s two. It didn’t seem fair to risk their lives.’ Madge had arrived at about six o’clock that evening with her two small children. The baby was teething and she’d gone straight to her room.

May had brought air raids the likes of which no one in Liverpool had known before. For two nights in a row, the bombs had rained mercilessly down. The dull sound of the deadly explosions could be clearly heard miles away in Southport.

Now, the third night, and the Luftwaffe weren’t letting up. The onslaught had begun a few hours ago.

‘It looks as if the entire city is on fire,’ Queenie murmured.

‘They drop incendiary bombs first to start fires and to help identify targets,’

Madge told her. ‘It’s like being in hell. We weren’t the only ones to leave today. Paul brought us in the car and we passed hundreds of people on their way out carrying bundles of bedding. We gave a woman and her little girl a lift.

They were going to sleep in a field, anywhere to escape the raids. We’re lucky, being able to afford a hotel.’

Despite Madge’s words, Queenie almost wished she were in Bootle, underneath the blood red cloud, not miles and miles away. So far, she’d avoided the worst of the war, but since coming to Southport, they’d been back to Glover Street a few times and witnessed the devastation wrought by German bombs. She’d felt, most unreasonably, that she was missing out on all the excitement.

Laura said she was crazy to think like that. ‘You’re best out of it,’ she advised, but Laura had made no attempt to get out of it herself. She actually enjoyed her job as a riveter, being in the thick of things, queuing for food and making do.

She gasped when there was an extra-loud bang and the red sky lightened for a moment. ‘That’s the Malakand,’ Madge explained. ‘It was lying in Huskisson Dock with a thousand tons of ammunition on board when it was hit. Every now ’n’

again, there’s another explosion. Honestly, Queenie,’ she said impatiently, ‘I think the world’s gone mad.’

‘That’s what me friend, Laura, always ses.’

Madge lit another cigarette. ‘I’m smoking meself to death. I never smoked until this bloody war started. I didn’t swear either. Would you like a ciggie? I didn’t think to ask.’

‘No, thank you.’

‘It dulls my brain, or so I tell myself. Stops me worrying about Paul quite so much.’ There was the suggestion of a sob in her voice. ‘Perhaps I should start drinking, too.’

Queenie supposed she should tell her not to worry, that Paul would be all right, but what did she know? Many people would already have died that night beneath the red cloud. One of them could be Paul and another could be Laura, who had a vitally important job to do and couldn’t get away.

‘I wish I could get in touch with me friends,’ she said. ‘I’ve been worried about them all week.’

‘Where do they live?’

‘Bootle.’

‘We live on the other side of Liverpool, by Sefton Park, otherwise I’d ask Paul to find out for you. He promised to ring in the morning.’

‘Thanks, anyroad. If I’ve not heard by Sunday, I’ll go and see if they’re all right. I’d go before if it wasn’t for me job.’

‘Where do you work?’ Madge asked.

‘Herriot’s. It’s a big shop on Lord Street.’

‘I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been in. It’s like Freddy’s in Hanover Street; dead posh, quite beyond the pocket of a schoolteacher’s wife. Oh, did you hear that!’ She threw her cigarette to the ground and stamped on it. ‘John’s crying again. If that bloody tooth doesn’t come through soon, I don’t know what I’ll do. It didn’t help, me forgetting to bring his teething ring. He’s been using my finger instead. It’s nearly gnawed right through. Goodnight, Queenie. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Goodnight, Madge.’

Next day, Queenie bought a teething ring for John, the last one in the shop, but when she got home, Madge and her children had gone. ‘Her dad came for her this morning and took her and the kids away,’ Mrs Palfrey said. ‘Apparently, her hubby was killed in the raid last night, poor chap.’

There were no trains running to Liverpool on Sunday morning. ‘Marsh Lane Station was wrecked last night,’ the woman in the ticket office said when Queenie asked for three tickets to Bootle. ‘It was the heaviest bombing yet. I’d be surprised if there’s anything of Liverpool left. You can get the bus as far as Seaforth, but you’ll have to walk the rest of the way.’

Hester and Mary insisted on coming with her. She hadn’t told them about the raids, but there’d been talk in school and they were aware something odd and very worrying was happening.

They held hands on the bus to Seaforth and hardly spoke. Queenie’s tummy had tied itself in a knot and a pulse in her throat was throbbing madly. She stared out of the window. It was a lovely day, sunny and warm, and the gardens of the houses that they passed were full of flowers. People, in their best clothes, were on their way to and from church. Only the numerous gas masks gave any sign the country was at war.

The bus stopped by the railway bridge where Seaforth ended and Bootle and the docks began. Here, the air smelt different; acrid and smoky. They got off the bus, walked under the bridge, and into a completely different world, of jumbled bricks and flat landscapes where people’s homes had once stood, of gaping roofs on skeletal houses, broken windows with tattered pieces of curtains fluttering through. Everywhere was thick with dust and men were tearing away at the rubble.

For a while, they stood silently, unable to take in the horror that faced them, until Hester said timidly, ‘What are they looking for?’

‘I dunno,’ Queenie said. Bodies, she supposed.

Mary, who always pretended to be so brave, started to cry. ‘I want me mam and dad.’

‘In a minute.’

They walked on, stepping over someone’s front door, avoiding the craters, the scattered bricks, the charred pieces of wood. The landmarks of a lifetime had disappeared and Queenie was no longer sure where Glover Street was. She made for the Dock Road where a fire still blazed amongst the remains of a building that she vaguely remembered had used to be a pub. Half a dozen firemen were standing around the engine, hoses limp on the ground.

‘No water, luv,’ one of the men said, shrugging helplessly, when they passed.

‘No water, no gas, no electricity. There’s nothing left.’

They reached Glover Street, but it was a Glover Street they’d never seen before.

Both ends had disappeared; the little shop on the corner where Laura had bought her groceries, along with the first three houses on both sides had been reduced to a jumble of bricks, and the wall of the grain silo at the far end was now no more than a few feet high. Incredibly, halfway along, an elderly woman was sitting in the doorway, sunning herself. Another woman was scrubbing her step, not the sort of thing usually done on a Sunday, but the everyday standards of normal life no longer applied.

‘Our house is still there,’ Hester said in a quivery voice.

‘So’s ours.’ Mary started to run.

‘Mind the crater,’ Queenie shouted. The bomb had left a deep, wide hole and there was very little pavement left.

Mary disappeared into the Monaghans’. Hester ran ahead, pulled the key to her own house through the letter box, and unlocked the door. Ben Tyler came into the hall. He gasped when he saw them. ‘How did you get here? I didn’t think there was any transport running. Laura’s been threatening to walk all the way to Southport this afternoon, despite the state she’s in.’

Laura was lying on the settee when they went in, her head heavily bandaged.

‘Don’t look so alarmed, both of you,’ she said, laughing. ‘It looks much worse than it is. I fell down that damn crater in the dark, that’s all. Ben’s been looking after me. Isn’t he kind?’

‘You should be in hospital,’ Ben chided.

‘I’ve been in hospital, but last night people were being brought in who’d been hurt far worse than me. I felt ashamed to be taking up a bed. I came home and not long afterwards the hospital was bombed. Come along, sweetheart,’ she held out her arms and Hester fell into them, ‘Mummy’s not an invalid and she’d appreciate a hug. And from you, too, Queenie.’

Ben offered to make everyone a cup of tea until he remembered there was no water and no gas to boil it on. He went upstairs to look for lemonade, and Queenie told Laura she’d been watching the raids from Mrs Palfrey’s garden. ‘I was dead worried,’ she said. ‘Is everyone all right?’

‘Not really.’ Laura made a face. ‘Billy Monaghan has been captured in Egypt and is now officially a prisoner of war, and Dick has been reported missing at sea –