Rose of Tralee (15 page)

As soon as Jack was settled his passengers, mainly men, scrambled aboard, some immediately making for the top deck, others cramming onto the long slatted seats, though the majority had to stand. Georgie came amongst them with his ticket machine and Rose, watching, longed to take the money, turn the little handle, punch and click, but knew it would be less a help than a hindrance at this very busy hour of the morning. She bought her ticket, however, with the money her father had given her, and wondered whether there would be an inspector brave enough to come out at this very early hour with the weather so bitter, and hold the loaded tram up on its rush down to the Pier Head.

They were stopped once, at the corner of Spellow Lane, but the inspector did not get aboard. He just
checked Jack’s number and time, and waved him on.

‘Good thing he din’t decide to check tickets an’ all, or we’d ha’ been late, an’ missed the ferry,’ Georgie bawled to Rose above the rattle of the tram. ‘Ah, here comes the hill you’re so keen on, queen – you can stand by your dad if you hang onto the post wi’ both hands.’

Fascinated, Rose edged out of her seat and forward until she was just behind her father’s broad, black-clad back. She watched as he spun the brake-wheel and turned the ratchet handle as far to the left as it would go, slowing the tram as much as possible. Then she saw his foot jabbing the brake and heard the slither and crunch as the tram wheels stopped sliding along the rails and ground the sand into powder when the brakes bit. The wheels shrieked a protest, a sound shrill enough to set your teeth on edge, but no one in the tram noticed. They came to work this way six days out of the seven and never, Rose was sure, stopped to consider whether the driver was doing a good or a bad job.

There was an altercation going on between two of the men standing; one had accused the other of
something
, but Rose was blowed if she could even guess what it was above the racket. When they reached level – or fairly level – ground once more she made her way back into the body of the tram to where Georgie leaned against the stairs. ‘What were they quarrellin’ about?’ She shouted. ‘I couldn’t hear a blinkin’ thing where I were.’

Georgie shrugged and bent to put his mouth close to Rose’s ear. ‘A woman, mebbe. Or a footie match,’ he suggested. ‘I don’t try to listen, me. I got better things to do than listen to two dockies blindin’.’

‘Yes, me too,’ Rose said quickly, ‘Coo, look at that!
There must be twenty people standing there!’ ‘That’ was a crowd of would-be passengers, stamping and shivering under the gaslight on Robson Street whilst their breath steamed round their heads.

‘I see ’em, but we won’t stop,’ Georgie said. ‘Unless someone wants to gerrof, which I hope very much . . . oh, that’s done it.’

A burly man had reached up and tugged the leather strap once. Georgie sighed and Rose saw her father pull the handle to the left once more and begin to spin the brake-wheel. Georgie pushed his way to the edge of the platform and addressed the crowd. ‘One only,’ he bellowed. ‘Jes’ the one this trip, mates! We’re full, but one feller’s gettin’ down.’

The burly man pushed his way out and the crowd surged forward, but as soon as Georgie heaved the first man aboard he blew his whistle twice – he could not reach the bell from where he stood – and Jack obediently started up once more.

‘Enjoyin’ it?’ Jack asked as they stopped at the Pier Head.

She had returned to her perch near his shoulder the better to look out across the sullenly heaving Mersey and at her father’s question she nodded vigorously. ‘It’s great, Dad. Wish I could take her round the loop.’

Her father laughed. ‘Oh yes, if I wanted to get me cards there ’ud be no better way.’ He glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Georgie finished unloadin’ yet?’

‘Yup. First new ’uns comin’ aboard now,’ Rose reported proudly. ‘But a good lot o’ these will get off in the centre, Georgie says.’

‘That’s it. You goin’ to ring the bell when they’re all aboard, chuck? Two for go, don’t forget.’

‘As if I could,’ Rose said with mock indignation. ‘Oh, there’s someone running – do we have time to
wait?’

‘Just about,’ Jack said. He spun the brake to ‘off’ and slewed round in his seat to watch the last passenger board. ‘That it, queen? Go on then, pull on the strap!’

By the end of the day Rose had so much to tell her mother that she actually wanted to hurry home. It had been wonderful; even the weather had been kind to them. Very soon after the sky lightened the sun had come out and shone, palely but gamely, until it sank in a bed of crimson cloud in mid-afternoon.

When Jack’s shift was over they returned to the depot in the tram, which was handed over to another driver who would take folk home from the various picture houses and theatres in the city, and she and Jack caught a Number 25, which took them along Netherfield Road to the corner of Cornwall Street.

‘It’s been the best day of me life,’ Rose sighed as the two of them walked along Cornwall Street, Rose now kicking at the frozen slush as they went, for the pristine snow of earlier on had all but disappeared from roads and pavements, the sunshine had seen to that. ‘I wish I could drive a tram really, Dad!’

‘Yes, but you know you can’t, Rosie,’ her father said, trudging along beside her. ‘And all days ain’t like this one, queen. When it pours down wi’ rain, or when there’s a grey sky pressin’ down on you an’ a bitter wind, an’ all your passengers is bad-tempered an’ someone starts in to fightin’, it’s a diff’rent story, honest to God. You’re goin’ to be a young lady one o’ these fine days, doin’ a young lady’s job. That’s what your mam an’ me want, queen. An’ now you’re fourteen it’s a good time to start thinkin’ serious-like about your future.’

‘What if I marry?’ Rose demanded. ‘When you marry babies come, an’ you have to keep house an’ that. Then it wouldn’t mek no difference what job I’d been doin’, I’d still have to give it up like Mam gave up shop work. As for tram drivin’, acourse I know I can’t, Dad. But there must be somethin’ out o’ doors that I could do.’

‘Most out o’ doors jobs is poorly paid,’ Jack said. ‘An’ bein’ out in all weathers don’t do much for your complexion, Rosie. Mam doesn’t want to see you wi’ skin like an old brown gladstone bag afore you’re twenty.’

Rose giggled. ‘Like the old girls in Clayton Square, sellin’ flowers? But they’s a bit older’n twenty, Dad!’

Her father laughed too. ‘Yes, mebbe,’ he said. ‘But I dare say they sowed the seeds of their leather skins when they was norra lot more’n twenty. Look, love, try to think! If you definitely won’t go for teachin’...’

‘Cousin Mona works out o’ doors,’ Rose said suddenly. ‘I’ve not seen much of her or Aunt Daisy lately but I saw Mona carryin’ a big bunch o’ flowers, walkin’ along Lime Street before Christmas, when Mam an’ me caught a tram up to Lewis’s, to do some shoppin’. I axed Mam what Mona were doin’ an’ she said she must ha’ changed her job. Dad, if you’re in a flower shop, that’s as near out o’ doors as meks no difference, I dare say. They keeps the big doors open so’s the flowers can breathe, an’ someone delivers all over the place from the bigger shops. What about that, eh?’

‘That’s a rare clever notion o’ yours, queen,’ her father said as they turned into the jigger which led along behind their house. ‘It may not pay as well as some things, but if you’d enjoy it . . . you’re right an’ all, girls do deliver flowers more than young fellers
do. Yes, I reckon you’ve hit on a good idea, queen. We’ll ask around.’

‘You could ask Aunt Daisy, or better still, Mona,’ Rose said, hurrying ahead of him down the jigger and opening the green wooden door which led into their tiny backyard. ‘If she’s working for a florist she’d tell us anythin’ we wanted to know. Mona’s all right – I like her better’n Aunt Daisy.’

‘Yes but – but perhaps it’s best to find out for ourselves,’ Jack said. ‘Come along in, Rosie, an’ you can start tellin’ Mam about your day at once!’

Later that night, when Rose had been long abed, Jack told his wife what Rose had said about seeing Mona with a sheaf of flowers in her arms, before Christmas.

‘Oh, I know! I didn’t mention it before, love, because I weren’t too sure meself what she were doin’. Ever since Daisy an’ I fell out I’ve not been goin’ round there, so I couldn’t ask, exactly, could I? But it’s possible, ain’t it, that Mona really is workin’ for a florist? That she may have decided to – to be a sensible workin’ gal? Except . . . well, she weren’t dressed like a workin’ gal an’ that’s the gospel truth. However, if Rosie really does want to work for a florist I’ll have a talk around, ask a few questions. But I don’t think I’ll ask either Daisy or Mona! Better to let sleepin’ dogs lie.’

Jack agreed fervently with this sentiment. Over the past few years, ever since he had first raised his worries about Mona and he and Lily and discussed their niece with complete frankness, they had not talked much about the Mullinses. And since the quarrel the mere mention of Daisy’s name had upset his wife, so they kept off the subject altogether.

The quarrel had come about because Lily had
decided that she simply must have a word with Daisy about Mona. ‘You’re right, folk are talkin’,’ she had told Jack worriedly. ‘All them smart clothes, all that make-up, an’ all them different fellers – well, what can you expect? I’m goin’ to have a work wi’ our Daisy, Jack.’

She had done her best to be tactful, but Daisy had been furious. ‘What do it matter what folk say or think?’ She had shouted when Lily falteringly began to explain why she had raised the subject. ‘So they say she’s no better’n she should be – well, what’s wrong wi’ makin’ a bob or three on the side, eh? She’s a pretty, lively girl, why shouldn’t she use her looks to better herself? Eh? It’s whar’ I did you’ll say next, an’ what choice did I have, wi’ a kid to bring up an’ no feller? But I were just like our Mona in them days, so I took advantage of it, like. I went to dances an’ it’s surprisin’ how generous a feller’ll be in exchange for a few cuddles an’ a kiss or two. You’re not goin’ to say I should have let me kid go hungry sooner than use me wits to make a bit o’ extra?’

For some reason, this remark really riled Lily. She stared, open-mouthed, at her elder sister, then rushed into rash speech. ‘Use your wits? It weren’t your wits you were usin’, Daisy Mullins, it were your . . . your . . .’

Fortunately, perhaps, words failed her at this point, but they had not failed Daisy, Rearing herself up to her full height Daisy fairly screamed at her younger sister, ‘Why, you ungrateful little bitch! You was glad enough to be took to the picture ‘Ouse or to Seaforth Sands for the day, wasn’t you? You held out your hand for any extrys goin’, from whar’ I recall, an’ now you’ve got the cheek to go all prissy an’ holy joe on me
And
you’re criticisn’ me only daughter, sayin’
she’s no better’n she should be when she’s done nothin’ that I didn’t do. An’ wharrever I did I did
gladly
Lil, for the sake of me child.’

‘Oh, sure,’ Lily had said austerely. ‘Well, no wonder your feller walked out on you, Dais, since as I ‘member, you were bringin’ in more money than you should’ve been right from the moment you left school. My, an’ you’ve allus pretended it were him walkin’ out on you for a younger woman, when all the time ...’

‘’Course he walked out on me for a younger woman,’ Daisy shrieked. ‘I were a child bride, innocent ...’

‘Innocent my bleedin’ foot! You was on the game, Daisy, an’ well you know it. An’ your precious daughter’s the same. Why should I bandy words wi’ you, eh? Jack said ...’

‘Oh aye,
Jack said, Jack said
,’ Daisy mimicked savagely. ‘It’s never the fellers’ fault in your book, is it, Lil? Why, my Mona’s telled me the number of times she’s seen her Uncle Jack drivin’ his tram real slow along Lime Street, whilst he eyes up the gals – an’ her amongst ’em. Oh Jack’s a saint, eh? Why, I could tell you ...’

That had been the end so far as Lily was concerned. Describing the encounter to Jack she had admitted to flying across the short space which separated them and tugging out a considerable amount of Daisy’s straggly, dye-streaked hair, whilst at the same time ’telling Daisy a thing or two’.

She had not elaborated, but Jack had seen the long scratch down one cheek and the incipient black eye. ‘You were foolish to tek on a woman twice your size, queen,’ he had said worriedly. ‘She’s hurt you. I’ve a good mind ...’

‘Hurt
me
? You should see her,’ Lily had told him. ‘Half her greasy, horrible hair’s lyin’ on the kitchen floor an’ I had to scrub under me fingernails for hours to get her bleedin’ skin out o’ them.’ She laughed grimly. ‘That’ll teach her to bad-mouth me husband, the best feller as ever lived.’

Jack had been touched by her faith in him, though none knew better than he how well justified that faith was. He had never looked at another woman since he and Lily had wed and what was more he was now so embarrassed over his niece’s activities that he seldom turned his eyes from the roadway as he drove along Lime Street. ‘Well, Lily luv, perhaps it’s all been for the best,’ he had said, taking his bruised and battered wife in his arms. ‘At least you won’t have to go rushin’ round to Daisy’s place wi’ presents two or three times a month. And whiles we’re on the subject, why
did
you feel you had to take her things?’

‘I think it was because I felt guilty for not likin’ her very much now she’s a woman growed, even though she were good to me as a kid,’ Lily said, her voice muffled against his chest. She was crying, too – he could feel her tears soaking into his thin shirt. ‘I knew I should have liked her an’ been grateful, but I just couldn’t. So – so I give her presents, instead.’

Jack had nodded portentously. ‘Thought so. Well, flower, that’s all at an end, I hope?’

Nod nod went Lily’s head against his chest. ‘I don’t know as I’d
dare
go round Daisy’s place agin,’ she said with a rather watery giggle. ‘I do hate quarrellin’, our Jack, I’d rather steer clear in future.’

‘Grand. Then good’s come out of it, because I don’t want our little Rosie mixin’ wi’ that Mona, an’ I don’t reckon Daisy’ll be any keener’n you to be pals, after
that quarrel. Now dry your eyes and blow your nose, and we’ll get on wi’ our own lives an’ let Daisy an’ her girl get on wi’ theirs.’