Rainbow's End (47 page)

Chapter Thirteen

1918

‘I’m just off, Mam,’ Deirdre called as she slipped through the front door and into Mere Lane. ‘I’m in good time, so I’ll go for Tolly.’

‘Right you are, queen,’ her mother shouted back. Because of rationing and the inevitable food shortages that the war had brought, Ada’s help was no longer needed at the sadly understocked cake shop, so she was working in a munitions factory on Great Nelson Street, which meant that sometimes she and Deirdre walked to work together. Deirdre had worked at Jacobs biscuit factory on Dryden Street ever since she had left school, a far cry, she had told her mother ruefully, from the farm that she and Donal had longed for.

‘But if you was to find gold at the end of the rainbow right at the start of your workin’ life, you’d not appreciate it the same as if it came after hard work, an’ tryin’,’ her mother had said. ‘It’s in me mind that you’ll marry a farmer, mebbe, or perhaps Donal will get hisself a farm an’ you’ll keep house for him. That ’ud be rainbows’ ends for the pair of ye!’

And Donal, Deirdre thought wistfully as she turned left along the dark pavement – for in November she walked both to and from work in the dark – was well on the way to his own particular rainbow’s end. He had continued to work for the butcher who had employed him part time once he left school, but not for very long. His employer had taken to sending him to the lairage, in Birkenhead, to pick out likely beasts for the shop and quite soon, because of the shortage of able-bodied young men in the trade, he had been offered a full-time job in the lairage in Birkenhead. It meant more money and better prospects, but the best thing about it was that it included assisting the grizzled old man who journeyed out to the Welsh farms to select both cattle and lambs for slaughter and Donal was openly hoping that he would get taken on by one of the farmers once he was a bit older.

So Donal was happy, but the job at the lairage meant that he had to leave the house at an incredibly early hour in the morning and scarcely ever got home before ten at night.

Deirdre missed him badly, of course she did, but when Tolly first came out of hospital he had stayed with them for a few weeks and liked to practise walking with his sticks, swinging companionably along the pavement at her side. That way, he walked her some of the way to work and often came and met her coming out, too.

But then, Deirdre reflected sourly now, disaster had struck. Tolly had met up once more with Liza Bartlett, who had nursed him when he first came back to Liverpool. And once his wooden leg had been fitted and he had managed to get a job, he had thanked the Dochertys kindly for their hospitality and told them that it was best he moved out now, learned independence.

Deirdre hadn’t suspected a thing at first, when he told them that he’d got a room on St Domingo Road, over a small tobacconist shop. She had not realised that, because of the war, Mrs Bartlett had moved from her old home and taken on the shop, which had previously been run by her elderly uncle. And of course, she told herself now, proximity had done the rest. Tolly was on the best of terms with Liza, the pair of them sang with the Songsters together, went up to the Citadel together . . . and though there was nothing in it, because Tolly was Ellen’s feller, it still made Deirdre uneasy that Tolly was so much in Liza’s company.

So whenever she could, she reminded him, if obliquely, of his obligations by walking part of the way to work with him and by calling for him on her way home too.

Tolly was a clerk in Gaddish’s dairy, on Priory Road, and since Deirdre had to pass it each day, that was excuse enough to call for him whenever she and her mother were not able to go together, because of Ada’s shifts. Sometimes she thought there was a shade of reluctance in Tolly’s face as he saw her waiting for him, but she scolded herself for a too-vivid imagination. Tolly was her dear friend and Ellen’s feller, he didn’t really want to go about with Liza, it was just that they were both Salvationists and lived in the same house. So call for him she would . . . she owed it to Ellen, she told herself confusedly.

She reached the end of Mere Lane and turned right into St Domingo Road. The Bartlett shop was out of her way, but not by very much and she particularly wanted to remind Tolly that Ellen would be coming home very soon. Everyone knew the war was as good as over; by the coming Christmas Ellen would he back with them . . . and the boys, of course. Not that Tolly needed reminding, she told herself. He was an honourable bloke and would never let anyone down, but two days previously she had seen him in the street with Liza, her hand tucked into his elbow, their heads close. Anyone who hadn’t known, Deirdre had told herself angrily, would have leapt to a very false conclusion. It behoved her to keep an eye on them for their own sake as well as for Ellen’s.

She reached the corner of Penrose Street and broke into a run to get across before an approaching bicycle, her winter boots clattering on the frosty surface. The bicycle rider hallooed cheerfully.

‘Mornin’ chuck! You’re goin’ in the wrong direction . . . decided not to do no work today, eh?’ It was Ethel, who worked beside her at the packing bench and had been at school with her too. Ethel put her feet down and trundled to a stop. ‘Want a lift on me bike, Dee?’

‘No thanks, Eth,’ Deirdre said, grinning at her friend. ‘I’m fetchin’ our Tolly to the dairy. I do it most mornin’s. Am I late or is you early?’

‘Dunno . . . guess I’m early. Me mam always tries to drive me out afore she gets the kids off to school,’ Ethel said. She sniffed and rubbed her watering eyes. ‘I’ve gorra cold comin’ on, I reckon. Well, see you later, then.’

‘I hope it ain’t flu,’ Deirdre called after her as her friend wobbled off down Heyworth Street. ‘There’s a lorra flu about, I’ve heard.’

‘Wouldn’t mind a day or two off,’ Ethel shouted back. ‘See you then, gal!’

Deirdre yelled a reply and set off once more, not tempted to look into the windows of shops she was passing since the lamplight reflected off the window glass and made it difficult to see within. Besides, she wanted to reach the Bartletts’ place before Tolly left. He liked to be at work a quarter of an hour before his official time so that he could, as he phrased it, ‘sort myself out’, but she should catch him, she usually did.

She ran the last twenty yards along the pavement and turned into the small shop. It was lit by an oil lamp which gave out heat as well as light, so it was pleasant in there after the chill outside. It was also quite full, for Mrs Bartlett sold home-made toffee as well as cigarettes and newspapers, and her shop was consequently well-patronised.

In fact, Mrs Bartlett, serving busily, did not notice her for a moment, but as soon as she did she smiled her broad and friendly smile and turned to shout up the stairs behind her, ‘Tolly, your bezzie’s ’ere!’

Deirdre grinned. She would not have described herself as Tolly’s best pal, but she was pleased that Mrs Bartlett had called her that for more reasons than one. She felt guilty over one thing: Ellen’s defection from the Salvation Army. The younger members of the family scarcely ever went to a church of any description, but Ellen had even worn the Salvationist uniform. Then, unexpectedly, she had written home to say, half defiantly Deirdre thought, that she had returned to the Catholic faith and had been attending a nearby Catholic church with her friends and had enjoyed the service. Mam had been pleased. ‘The Salvationists are good folk; look what care they took over Tolly,’ she had said. ‘But I’ll be happier wi’ Ellen back where she belongs, back in the fold. Gals tek odd notions in their heads when they first fall for a feller.’

Deirdre had been less certain that Ellen was really returning to the fold. Surely she had not given up on Tolly? Still, she reminded herself, Tolly didn’t know of her sister’s defection and once she was home, if she decided to revert to her former habits, the Army would not know, any more than Tolly would, so that would be all right. Because in her heart she knew that Tolly would not want to marry a girl who was not a member of his church, and it worried her that Ellen’s defection might be a temporary thing and might spoil their reunion, if Tolly ever came to hear of it. Not that he was prejudiced, she reminded herself hastily as he clattered down the stairs and into the shop. But if Ellen decided once again to go to the Catholic church by St Edward’s College on St Domingo Road just past the free library, instead of to the Citadel . . .?

‘Mornin’, Dee,’ Tolly said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Is it rainin’?’

‘No, but it’s cold; you’ll need your scarf,’ Deirdre said. She had bought him that scarf out of her first wages and had missed seeing him in it during the summer. ‘Oh!’ Her scarf, the one she had given him, had been a cheery green with yellow tassels, but the one he wound round his neck now was blue, with cream stripes at either end.

Tolly pulled on a pair of brown gloves and came out from behind the counter looking a trifle self-conscious. ‘Gorra new one,’ he said rather uneasily. ‘Liza bought it from one of the patients what’s keen on knittin’. Me other one’s kept for best,’ he added hastily, obviously taking in Deirdre’s downcast face. ‘Now come on, gal, best foot forward or the pair of us’ll be late. See you later, Mrs B.’

Outside, the cold nipped at Deirdre’s nose and she pulled her own scarf up to cover her mouth, then pushed it down again. ‘How’s your leg today, Tolly?’

Tolly grinned and took her arm to cross the side-road. ‘Pretty good,’ he said as he almost always did. ‘Reckon you can’t tell it’s a wooden one unless you know. I’ve gorra limp, but that could be a wound, eh?’

‘Sure it could,’ Deirdre said truthfully. ‘You haven’t half come on, our Tolly! You can walk faster’n me if you put your mind to it.’

‘Well, as fast as you, anyway,’ Tolly said as they hurried along the gleaming pavement. ‘You lookin’ forward to your sister comin’ home?’

‘We all are,’ Deirdre said. He had raised the subject himself so there was no harm in her asking a question or two. ‘Are you, Tolly? Lookin’ forward to seein’ our Ellen again after all this time?’

‘Yes, indeed. So’s Liza,’ Tolly said heartily. ‘They write, you know. Regular as clockwork.’

‘Do they? But I reckon Ellen writes to you oftener, don’t she, Tolly?’ Deirdre asked craftily. Now was her chance to remind him of his obligations! But the wind was promptly taken out of her sails.

‘No, she scarcely ever writes to me, ’cos she knows Liza reads me her letters,’ Tolly said serenely. ‘I add a note on the bottom, like, when Liza writes, though. And I know all the news that way. No point in her writin’ two letters when one will do.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ Deirdre said uncertainly just as they swung out across Heyworth Street and turned into Priory Road. ‘It just seems odd, Tolly, that our Ellen don’t write to you before she writes to Liza.’

‘It’s not odd at all; they’ve always been good pals and now they’re both in nursin’ they’ve a lot in common,’ Tolly said. He reached the yard with the shippon on one side of it and the office buildings on the other. ‘See you tomorrer then, queen.’

‘Or tonight. I’ll come tonight to see if you’ve finished,’ Deirdre said quickly. ‘Then we can walk back together, Tolly, and . . .’

‘Not tonight, chuck. I’m . . . I’m goin’ out tonight,’ Tolly said as he turned into the yard. ‘See you.’

And Deirdre was left standing on the pavement, staring after him.

Deirdre and Ethel were on their assembly lines, working busily, when half-way through the morning the factory whistle sounded. And it didn’t just blow off one blast, to let workers know that they should be in their places, or should be going home, it went on and on . . .

‘Hello! What’s up?’ Eth asked, her busy fingers continuing to pack as she spoke, however. ‘It ain’t time for our whistle yet, nor for anyone’s, come to that. What’s goin’ on, our Dee?’

‘Bloomin’ thing’s gorritself stuck,’ Deirdre grumbled, screwing up her eyes and ducking her head, for the sound was loud. ‘You sure it ain’t our whistle, Eth? Sounds bleedin’ like it to me!’

‘Course I’m not sure,’ Eth admitted. ‘My Gawd, what’s that when it’s at ’ome?’

‘That’ was the clangour of church bells, ringing so loud that they all but drowned the factory hooter, and a moment or so later other sounds came to their ears – small explosions, cars’ hooters, trams’ bells . . .

‘It’s the peace!’ someone further up the room shouted suddenly. ‘Mark my words, it’s the bleedin’ pleace, that’s wharrit is. Come on, gairls!’

Deirdre looked round, bewildered. Everywhere on the factory floor, girls were pulling off the caps which concealed their hair, dropping their work and making for the doors. One or two of the older girls – supervisors, senior hands – called a protest, tried to persuade the people nearest them to stay with their lines, but no one was taking any notice. Deirdre, joining the shouting, cheering crowd, with Eth close at her side, pushed her way out of the door too and was soon in the street. It was black with people, mostly cheering and waving something – head-scarves, aprons, even flags – and the traffic had come to a standstill, unable to progress through the crowds, but for once everyone was smiling. Tramd-rivers grinned from ear to ear and rang their bells, a motor-van driver hooted his horn . . . and above the shouts and cheers of the crowd the factory whistle continued to blast out and the church bells rang their joyful peal.

‘Is it the peace?’ Deirdre said breathlessly to a policeman, his helmet down over one eye, his cape pulled askew. ‘Is it really the peace at last?’

The policeman grinned. ‘Aye, they signed the Armistice at eleven o’clock and so the war’s over,’ he said breathlessly. ‘My, what a day, eh? Where’s you off to, then?’

‘We’s goin’ home,’ Eth said. ‘Wonder where they got the fireworks from?’

‘Nelson Street; the Chinks have crackers, fizzers an’ God knows what besides stored away for their New Year celebrations,’ the policeman told them. ‘They’ll have brought them out to celebrate the peace, though.’