By the Waters of Liverpool (18 page)

There was a small silence between us while he drew on his cigarette, which I broke by asking, ‘Do you go to sea?’

‘Yes, Miss. Engineer. Got my Master’s, though. And how did you know?’

‘You walk like a seaman. And what is a Master’s?’

‘Master’s Certificate. One day – maybe – I might get a ship of my own.’

‘Master of your fate?’ I teased.

‘And Captain of my soul.’ The voice had an odd, defensive note in it. The hall was cold and I began to shiver.

His arm tightened round me, and he exclaimed, ‘You’re getting chilled. Come on, little lady, let’s dance.’

So we danced, and I heard a great deal about the problems of being an engineer. Then he was silent as he led me round the room. I forgot that there were other men with whom I normally danced. I was content to let myself float in the arms of this most peculiar man, a man who looked as tough as an old boot, yet with a speech that was almost as civilised as my own.

I remembered suddenly that he had not told me
where he had met me before, and I wondered if perhaps it was a long time ago, when I had stayed with my grandmother. He might have lived in the same village.

Norm put on the record with which he always closed off the evening, a waltz called ‘Who’s Taking You Home Tonight?’

My partner was very quiet as we slowly circled the floor. He looked down at me and asked, quite humbly, ‘Can I see you home?’

I was suddenly flooded with shyness. ‘It’s all right,’ I murmured, turning my face away. ‘You don’t have to bother. I’m quite safe by myself.’

My face felt flushed. I looked up at him and was subjected to a sober, searching look. He sighed, and agreed, ‘You’re quite right, my dear. When are you coming here again?’

‘Tuesday, all being well.’

‘Well, I’ll see you here. It’ll be a day or two yet before we sail.’

The information that he would shortly leave Liverpool, perhaps sail out of my life as swiftly as he had sailed in, was not pleasant. I was suddenly painfully aware of the U-boats sitting outside the Bay, reminded of the mourning women in the waiting room. I licked my lips and smiled up at him. ‘I’ll be here – but I may be late.’

‘That’s my girl,’ he said more cheerfully and did a flamboyant, wild spin which would have made Norm wring his hands in horror had he spotted it.

‘I don’t know your name,’ I ventured.

He laughed. ‘God bless my soul! You don’t, do you? Well, it’s Harry O’Dwyer. And Doris said yours is Helen Forrester, right?’

‘Yes,’ I whispered. What was I doing? I must be crazy.

He whirled me into the corner reigned over by the collection of gold cups, and stopped. The last few bars of the music slowly trailed to an end, and Norm turned off the lights, except for the one over the gramophone table. He always said it was romantic to do so.

For a moment he held me close to him. It seemed to me that life had stopped, and he and I were suspended in a warm, cosy space of our own. Then, slowly he let go of me, and said, ‘It’s been a good evening, hasn’t it?’

I came out of my trance, and agreed. ‘It was fun.’ With my hand still on his shoulder, I laughed softly, and asked, ‘Before you go, tell me – where have we met before?’

‘Don’t you remember?’

‘No.’

‘Dear me. And I always thought I was such an unforgettable character!’ He chuckled. ‘Remember walking on Georges Landing Stage with an old man – your Dad, I imagine?’

Enlightment dawned. ‘You were the man who kindly picked up my spectacles? And you wanted to meet me again – you said something about it earlier this evening? You really did?’

‘Of course I did, dear, innocent, little Miss Helen,’ he mocked gently. He took my hand and led me over to the door, through the crowd making its way into the hall. He gave a small old-fashioned bow, and said, ‘See you Tuesday.’ He went away to join his friends and the crowd closed round him.

In a daze, I went to retrieve my shoes from the untidy pile in the big hall cupboard.

‘My, my!’ exclaimed Gloria, while she poked in the pile of shoes. ‘You
have made
a conquest.’

I was offended, stood up straight suddenly and hit my head on the chin of a girl jostling me from
behind. I apologised, and then said to Gloria, with a quiver in my voice, ‘What nonsense! Me? I may have made a friend, Gloria.’

We crawled out between the pressing bodies, each with shoes in hand, and she said, as she wobbled on one foot while she put a shoe on the other one, ‘Why not? Don’t be upset. You’re a proper nice girl – always said so. Keep yourself to yourself. And he’s a fine looking fella.’ She jabbed an elbow in my side, and added, ‘Wish you luck, I do.’

Disarmed, I laughed self-consciously. ‘Oh, Gloria.’

She giggled at me as, with shoes on, we straightened up. ‘Lovely hair he’s got.’

‘Who’s got lovely hair? Have I?’ Her husband came from behind and put his arms round her waist, while I tried to remember what kind of hair Harry had.

‘Not you, you old so-and-so,’ she replied affectionately. ‘You’re going bald on top. That man Helen was dancing with.’

My face was scarlet. I heaved myself into my coat. I wanted to escape from their frank appraisal.

Her husband took his face away from its resting place on his wife’s back, and gave her a push. ‘Get away. You’ve got the girl all upset. She’s as red as a beetroot.’ He turned to me, his plain pasty face
friendly. ‘Don’t take any notice of her. She’s always looking for romances.’

I did my best to smile, but my lips were tight. I was nearly dead with embarrassment as I said, ‘Good night,’ and followed the crowd down the dark steps.

The blush slowly dissipated in the sharp September air, and I marched steadily home in the moonlight, trying to face the fact that the evening had been different from any evening I had ever spent – and that I could hardly wait until Tuesday. Common sense was saying, ‘Don’t be a fool. He’s a sailor. Girls in every port. Experienced. And you’re not much of a catch, despite Mother’s efforts with clothes and things. Perhaps he won’t even be there on Tuesday.’

Mother was still up when I arrived home, but I could not bring myself to tell her about the strange engineer. I feared her sarcastic tongue and the amused discussion that would probably go on behind my back. And suppose he did not come on Tuesday – I could not bear public humiliation. Mother, however, was anxious to discuss Fiona’s latest escort. ‘She’s gone out to dinner at the George and then to dance,’ she announced. ‘He’s a fully fledged General from the barracks. Said he saw her every morning waiting for the tram and had
wanted to ask her for ages. So suitable, don’t you think?’

‘How exciting,’ I responded absently, as I poured a cup of tea from the pot on the hob. I wondered if Mother realised that Generals, usually men of good family, did not pick up girls from tram stops with any particularly honourable intention. I was anxious. Mother babbled on, however, and finally with no further comment I went to bed.

Probably Mother did not see Fiona’s General in the same light that I did. She would think of him as an equal making himself known to an equal, a situation where he would tend to be much more careful of Fiona. I hoped wildly that Fiona was as big a prude as I thought her to be.

As I shivered in bed, I ticked myself off for being so stupid as to spend money on dancing, when what I really needed was a pair of thick blankets on my bed. I was as stupid as my mother, I upbraided myself. I determined to try to save up for this very expensive item, and the ache in my legs the next day reinforced the resolution. And then I remembered that if I bought a blanket, Mother would pawn it the first time she was short of money.

That week I cried for a city. Warsaw, brave, defiant old city, faced its final martyrdom, as German
troops entered it. No point any more in trying to find its valiant voice on the radio. Another tragedy to add to that of the submarine,
Thetis,
which at that moment lay in Liverpool Bay while frantic efforts were made to raise her, though her crew were long since dead. In the office, my senior colleague faced not only supplicating hordes, but an ever growing pile of Government instructions which had somehow to be read and understood and explained to our volunteer helpers. Her eyes were nearly as blackly ringed as mine. She scarcely stopped to eat and took a load of work home every night.

I often worked late at the office, but I never took work home. I could not face it. I walked a razor’s edge. Though slowly recovering from years of privation, I was still by any normal standards in very poor health, still not well fed or properly warmed. Dancing had proved a real mental therapy but I tired easily. The war added its daily strain of perturbation. I worried about Alan and fretted about the children, though they were probably better looked after than if they were at home.

On Tuesday, as anticipated, I worked late. The trams taking me home seemed to crawl through the darkness. I ached with impatience. The house
was in darkness, and I was greeted by an ecstatic dog and a note from Mother, who had thankfully gone to the cinema now it was open again. ‘Gone to Rialto. Boil an egg.’

I duly boiled an egg, shared a slice of bread and margarine with the importuning dog, washed up a collection of dishes and made up the fire. It seemed as if invisible hands pulled at my skirt and made me slow. I washed carefully and then, holding the candle in my left hand, I made up my face. In its flickering light, I combed my curls softly round my face, peering anxiously into the piece of broken mirror wedged into the kitchen window. Would he be there?

Norm had left the front door unlatched, as he usually did on lesson nights, so I let myself in. I stood quietly in the big hall, shoes still dangling on my fingers, and stared through the open ballroom door.

He was there. Draped over a chair by the gramophone, if such a solid block of manhood could be said to be draped. He was talking to Norm. Neither man noticed my entrance, so I took a good look at him, and such a wild delight filled me that I wondered for a moment what was happening to me. Gloria was right. He did have nice hair of a nondescript fairness. He wore it a little longer
than was the fashion. Without brilliantine, it curved comfortably round his forehead, a forehead which already had fine lines in it. Even relaxed, he radiated a considerable self-confidence. It was quiet, but it was there. It offered no direct threat, yet it suggested a powerful personality. Despite his easy manner and his light banter with me, he appeared a man not to be trifled with, either by a drunken seaman – or a flighty young woman.

I bit my lip, feeling hopelessly inadequate, and wondered if I should tiptoe out again. Where did he come from? Who were his people? His speech put him a cut above Norm’s other customers, yet he was not what Father would have called a gentleman.

The sound of his hearty laugh rolled through the door, and plucking up courage, I changed my shoes and sidled in diffidently. I could already feel a blush rising up my neck. What was one supposed to say? How should I behave?

He had seen me. He immediately got up and came over and ushered me in. ‘Hello, little puss,’ he said, and grinned all over his face, emphasising the lines on it.

He was so totally friendly that, as I opened my handbag to pay Norm, I smiled back feeling more relaxed, and said, ‘Hello.’ He might call me little puss, but he himself was not unlike a dignified,
amiable St Bernard dog. If he had had a tail I am sure it would have wagged in big, slow sweeps.

He put his hand over my bag and clipped it shut. ‘It’s fixed,’ he assured me.

‘Oh, but I can’t…you can’t,’ I flustered. I looked appealingly at Norm, who assured me, ‘Gentleman’s privilege, luv.’

I swallowed, and said doubtfully, ‘Well, thank you,’ and allowed myself to be led to one of the chairs at the side of the ballroom, out of the way of the stumbling tango beginners. He sat down beside me, one arm curved along the back of my chair. ‘I was afraid you weren’t coming.’

I apologised for being late and said I hoped he had danced with someone else.

His response was scornful. ‘With that bunch?’

‘They’re nice girls.’

He pursed up his mouth. ‘Not my cup of tea.’

‘Why do you come, then?’

‘I came to please my landlord’s wife last time. This time I came to see you.’

‘Really and truly?’ I smiled at him, flattered.

‘Well, of course.’ The gramophone struck up a quickstep. ‘Would you like to dance?’ he asked, unenthusiastically.

We danced. He was very quiet, and at the end he asked, ‘Couldn’t we go somewhere and get a
cup of tea – and talk a while? There aren’t any really nice places round here, but I know one which is very respectable.’ He looked round the shabby, smoke-filled room. ‘We’ll never be able to talk much here – and I’m sailing Thursday night.’

I looked up sharply. I was suddenly afraid for him. Fear must have shown on my face, because he said, ‘Don’t be scared. I’ll take good care of you. Ask Norm – he’s known me off and on for a long time.’

‘Mother will be expecting me home soon after eleven,’ I dithered, while my pulses beat madly.

‘I’ll get you home in time. Promise.’

He looked so wistful and inside me was stirring a crazy pleasure at being singled out by him. ‘Please, little Miss Helen.’

‘I’ll get my coat and shoes,’ I said, trembling inwardly.

We sat down opposite each other in a steamy little café. We were the only customers. A fat, white-aproned woman stood behind a small counter laden with two hissing gas rings with bubbling kettles on them. An assortment of plates covered with glass domes held sandwiches and buns. The woman came over to our plain deal table, and said, ‘’lo, Harry, me luv, what is it tonight?’

Harry looked inquiringly at me, and I said primly, ‘A cup of tea would be very nice.’

Harry ordered two teas.

‘Would your young lady like something to eat? I’ve got some fresh bath buns – or you could have something hot?’

I was, as usual, hungry, but I had no idea of his financial situation, so I said with a smile at the
friendly soul waiting in front of us, that a bun would be lovely. His young lady, indeed!

Harry was grinning at me like a small boy. He nodded towards the retreating female. ‘Come here for years for most of my meals, when I’m ashore. It’s quiet. Jack’s wife gives me breakfast – I eat my other meals out, so as not to intrude on them. He’s First Mate, and it’s like a permanent honeymoon there when he’s home. Ma here keeps me well fed, don’t you, Ma?’ He looked across at the counter, where a large pot of tea was in the making. Ma looked up and smiled and said she did her best.

‘Why do you have to work so late?’ he asked, stirring two spoonfuls of sugar into the cup of tea I had poured for him.

I bit into the huge bun brought me on a thick white plate. ‘It’s the sinking of the
Athenia
and the
Courageous.
Every boat that goes to sea seems to have Bootle men on it – and we’re looking after their widows.’ Then I remembered, as his face sobered, that he went to sea, too, so I added hastily, ‘I’m sorry, I should not have mentioned it.’

He sighed heavily, and put his elbows on the table and clasped his hands, big well-shaped hands with scarred knuckles and very short nails, broken in places.

‘That’s all right,’ he said and was quiet, biting absently on his knuckles. ‘I’m a Bootle man myself. My Mum and Dad still live there. Dad’s retired. He went to sea – ship’s purser.’

‘You don’t stay with them?’ I inquired, guardedly.

‘No.’ He appeared to be cogitating over the question and continued to chew his knuckles. ‘I’m too old to be bothering them now. I got used to living away from them – for a while Mam wouldn’t have such a limb of Satan over the doorstep.’

‘What?’ Despite a mouthful of glutinous bun, I had to laugh.

‘It’s true,’ he said ruefully. ‘She’s still a bit edgy with me.’

Still laughing, I asked, ‘Whatever did you do to offend her so?’

‘Decided I’d never make a priest – so I went over the wall.’

It was a totally unexpected answer, and I stared at him in astonishment. ‘Really? A priest?’

‘Yes. Why not?’

I nodded. Why not? So many Catholic families hoped to have one child enter the church, either as a priest or nun. The child would be brainwashed almost from infancy, so that it would never consider doing anything else. But this was the first rebel I had ever met – or even heard of.

‘Did you study for it?’

‘Yes. At first I thought I’d make it. Then it was as if part of me was dying inside. Don’t know how to explain it. Like being slowly strangled, if you understand.’ He was spreading out a watery ring on the table, and the blue eyes glanced up at me, as if to judge how I was taking his admission. ‘I guess I didn’t have the necessary discipline.’

‘What did your teachers do?’

‘Oh, them. They were very good. They made me mull it over good and plenty – because it costs money to educate a priest – and I think some of them really cared. But they don’t want discontented men, and finally I left – with their blessing. They did it without making me feel guilty. But my Mum – that was a different matter.’

‘What about your father?’

‘Oh, he’s a real old philosopher. Nothing gets him. But he does what Mum says while he’s home. He’s got to live with her! Neither of them takes kindly to him being home all the time. She’s used to running the place – because of him being at sea all the time.’

I had seen enough seamen’s wives to understand the matriarchal setup. ‘So what did you do?’ I asked.

‘Never even unpacked after I came home from
the seminary. Got shown the door. God, she was furious. I went to stay with my married brother for a day or two. Then I got a job sweeping out a warehouse. I didn’t know what to do – jobs are as scarce as hens’ teeth. Then I met a pal – a lad I’d known at school – and he got me a job with him aboard a miserable little tub – Goddam awful boat – excuse the language – and I was as sick as a dog the first week. It was rough – my God, it was. But having a pal aboard a bit older than me made all the difference – saved me from the worst, till I got to know the ropes.’

‘Are you always sick?’ I asked. I wondered with dim horror what the worst was. All the seamen I had ever interviewed spoke of vermin, poor food and low wages.

‘No. Never been sick since, oddly enough.’ He smiled at my empty plate, and signalled Ma to bring another bun.

‘Don’t you go to see your mother?’

He sighed. ‘Yeah. But she’s never forgiven me and never lets me forget it. So I don’t go every time I’m ashore. I give her a little allotment, so that if ever I stop one she’d get a bit of a pension. See my dad more often and my brother.’

I looked at the old, young face in front of me, the openness and geniality of it, and wondered how
any woman could be bitter enough to show a son like that the door.

‘Your mother doesn’t realise what she is missing,’ I said impulsively.

‘Och, you’re a sweetheart,’ he said with sudden cheerfulness, and drank up his tea.

‘Being used to study must have helped you pass your exams to be an engineer – though it is so very different.’

‘Well, I had to start from scratch. But grammar school is a good place for learning to learn – and the Fathers at the seminary certainly reinforced it. They wouldn’t have any backsliding. You can learn anything if you’re really set on it.’

The room was hot, and he opened his navy-blue jacket, to show a creased waistcoat with a watch chain across it. He also wore a wristwatch with an expanding gilt band. Inwardly I smiled at the creases on the waistcoat. I could not remember seeing a merchant seaman whose clothes were properly pressed. I suppose, if they took them to sea, they kept them rolled up. And this man had no one to look after him ashore. He picked up the conversation again, and continued, ‘I don’t drink, except the odd glass of wine – tried as a youngster, of course, and threw up a good many times before I gave up. So I’ve time to read – makes you a bit
cut off from your mates at times – and I saved – so it was easy for me to take time out for Courses.’

‘It’s unusual for a seaman not to drink. I thought they all
lived
on rum, more or less.’

He laughed. ‘Get away. There’s always a few that don’t. My father never did.’

‘Well, what do you do when you’re in a strange place?’

‘Sometimes there’s a Sailors’ Home or some place, where you can get a game of billiards – or you can go to a show or a match or into the bazaars. There’s another chap, a Methodist, and he doesn’t drink either, so we sometimes go together.’ He looked at me slyly, and added, ‘Pick up a girl occasionally.’

‘Do you consider that you picked up me?’ I asked tartly.

He grinned, hesitated, and then said, ‘No. I hope I’ve made a permanent acquisition.’

I was so happy that I simply glowed. It must have been obvious to him, because he caught my hand across the table and gave it a hearty squeeze. For a moment we were united, and then bashfully I withdrew my hand, and asked shyly, ‘What else do you do?’

‘Well, not a great deal. Often enough, you’re too busy to have much time ashore. I read a lot
– take a pile of books with me. Get fed up at times – particularly not having a home to go to.’ He lit a cigarette and blew a neat smoke ring into the air. ‘Enough of this old man. How about you?’

This was a question I had been dreading. What should I tell him? How could I explain my odd parents? If I explained my origins, would he think I was swanking and despise me?

My unease must have shown on my face, because he said gently, ‘It doesn’t matter, luv. I can see you’ve had a bad time – it’s written all over you.’ Then he leaned forward and took my hand again. ‘I don’t care what you are – or anything. I know a good thing when I see it. I did when I picked your specs up off Georges Landing.’

He astonished me. Did I really show what had happened to me? Or what did he think I was – something dreadful? I sat looking down at my hands clasped over my handbag on my knee. I had to acknowledge an overwhelming desire to keep his interest, and was mortally afraid of not being able to do it. I wanted so much that he should think well of me.

He was sitting, elbows on table, a long ash on his cigarette, as quietly as if he were waiting for a badger to emerge from its burrow in the evening light.

The silence between us continued, until he began to smile at me, and as if to help me, began to talk again.

‘You know, a man in my position doesn’t often get the chance of meeting a decent woman like you – unless you strike lucky. When you don’t have a home base, you can be cut off, like. And when you start out to be a priest, you try not to think about women – in that kind of way, if you know what I mean,’ he muddled on, going a bit pink himself.

I smiled back at him. ‘Yes, I understand. You wouldn’t be taking out the girls who lived near you – the ones you’d normally meet – when you were in your teens, for example.’

He chuckled. ‘Right.’

Suddenly I felt more at ease. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I’ve been cut off in a way, too.’

He looked at his wristwatch. ‘Do you feel like walking home?’

I nodded agreement, and he signalled to Ma. She eased herself round the counter and he paid her. With his money in her red hand, she smiled down at me in a most approving way, and winked at Harry. I blushed yet again, and, as I rose, I thanked her.

Harry ushered me through the narrow door of the café and somehow his arm stayed round my waist as we slowly walked up the hill. He had a
sailor’s eyesight and steered me safely in the dark, overcast night. The whole city seemed still.

‘Tell me how you came to be cut off, too,’ he demanded.

It was easier talking in the dark, to a comfortable, warm presence strolling by me. A man I felt to be honest deserved honesty, so slowly, sometimes with pain, I told him what had happened to our family and its consequences to me.

He heard me through, with only an occasional exclamation. As we neared our street, I fell silent. What is he going to think of such a crazy family? I wondered. So unbalanced, not established, unpredictable except in their stupidity.

‘You poor kid,’ he said compassionately, and tightened his arm round my waist.

At the top of our road, he stopped and turned me to him. He paused, as if considering something for a moment, and then very carefully kissed me on the cheek. ‘What’s your office phone number?’ he asked. ‘I’ll be busy now. Won’t be able to see you until we dock again. I’ll phone you as soon as I’m back – and we’ll make a proper date. Officially, I’m not supposed to know where we’re going – allow five weeks. OK?’

I was trembling in his confining arms, with a scarifying, overwhelmingly strange feeling within me.

‘Yes,’ I whispered.

‘Which is your house?’ he asked.

‘It’s the seventh – no, the eighth – down on this side.’

‘Right. Just in case I can’t get you on the phone, I’ll know where to find you.’

‘Do you have an address?’ I asked nervously, trying to sound normal when I felt far from normal.

He immediately gave me the address of his lodgings. I wanted instinctively to put my arms around him and beg him not to go, but I was too shy.

A number of short voyages and happy reunions later, he told me that to gain my full confidence was harder than making friends with the disillusioned ship’s cat, who regarded the cook as his sole friend, and then persuading the beast to come on to his lap.