The Leaving Of Liverpool (44 page)

‘Dad went back to Liverpool,’ Megan pointed out, ‘and we never saw him again.’

‘Well, that’s not going to happen with me,’ she assured them, wishing Megan had kept her big mouth shut. ‘You’ll be happy with your Auntie Hazel and Uncle Finn. You’ll have loads of cousins to play with, lots of lovely food, and there’ll be no more air raids.’ She wanted to cry. She’d never thought a time would come when she would be separated from her children. ‘Oh, you’ll have a fine time, I feel sure of it,’ she said, her voice breaking slightly.

‘What about Dandelion?’ Brodie’s lips quivered. ‘We should have brought him with us. Who’ll take care of him in the raids?’

‘
I
will,’ she promised. ‘Dandelion’s a town cat. He’s not used to the countryside. I was worried he’d run away in such a strange place. What would you have done then, Brodie?’

‘I’d have cried,’ Brodie said simply.

‘Well, now there’s no need to cry, and you can help Auntie Hazel look after Bubbles - don’t forget he’s Dandelion’s brother. Anyway, I’m not going to the shelter again. From now on, Grandma and I will sit under the stairs with Dandelion when there’s a raid.’ She was fed up with shelters. Lots of people took refuge under the stairs. She turned to Joe, who looked very pale. ‘’Bye, son. As I just said, Mammy will be here for Christmas and I’ll bring some lovely presents for you all.’

‘I don’t want presents, Mammy, I want you.’ He was on the verge of tears. If he cried, then so would she.

‘I want presents, Mammy,
and
I want you,’ Tommy declared.

Hazel yelled, ‘The bus has arrived, Mollie. You’d best get a move on. I’ll run out and tell the driver you’re coming.’

Mollie virtually ran out of the room. She boarded the bus, sat on the back seat, and sobbed her heart out all the way to Kildare. She was still shedding the odd tear when the boat docked in Liverpool.

 

Irene objected fiercely the following night when Mollie put on her coat and announced she was going to the Rotunda. When the war had first started, she’d thought she was out of work as the government ordered all the theatres and cinemas to close. She’d been desperately looking for another job when the government had changed its mind and announced they could re-open.

‘What happens if a raid starts and you’re not here?’ Irene’s eyes were wide with terror. It had happened twice before at the Rotunda; the manager had come on to the stage and advised the audience that the siren had just gone. A few people had left. The rest including the performers, preferred to stay where they were. ‘At least we’ll die having a good time,’ someone had said. Mollie had had to wait until the money had been counted, then race like a mad woman along Scotland Road to be with her family.

‘Irene, love,’ she said patiently, ‘I can’t leave the theatre, can I? We’d have no money to live on.’ Once a month, she intended to send a postal order to Duneathly. Finn would object, but she didn’t care. It was a matter of pride that she contributed towards the upkeep of her children.

‘But, Mollie, what will I
do
?’ Irene persisted.

‘You’ll just have to go next door for a while, or sit under the stairs by yourself. It won’t be for long and I’ve made it nice and comfortable in there.’ She’d bought two canvas garden chairs from a second-hand shop, brought down some of the bedding from the children’s beds, and provided a tin of biscuits and some bottles of lemonade. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I possibly can.’

 

There was a play on that week,
Gaslight
; it was dark and creepy and full of atmosphere. The audience, their nerves more on edge than normal, gasped so loud that Mollie could hear them in the box office where she was sorting out the takings. As soon as she’d finished, she took the bags to the manager’s office and left the theatre.

It was a beautiful, moonlit night - perfect for a raid. Every building was clearly visible from the sky, including the docks, the lifeblood of the city and the prime target of enemy bombs. There were few people about, though the pubs, shrouded in darkness, were full of revellers. ‘We’re gonna hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line,’ they sang. ‘When the lights go on again, all over the world,’ they were singing in the next pub she passed.

In Duneathly, O’Reilly’s customers would be singing ‘Danny Boy’, or ‘The Black Velvet Band’; Finn and Hazel would be listening to the wireless, most of the children would be in bed, and Thaddy and Aidan would be out with their girlfriends - Thaddy was getting engaged at Christmas, but Mollie hadn’t had time to meet his girlfriend, Ellen.

She wished she was with her children so much that it hurt. She noticed Charlie’s fish and chip shop on the other side of the road, but couldn’t tell whether it was open or not, and wished Harry were still alive, even if all they did was talk. ‘If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride,’ someone used to say, almost certainly Nanny.

A tramcar passed, going slowly, the windows painted black and the headlights barely visible. It was like something out of a nightmare and she imagined it being full of ghouls and banshees behind the darkened glass. The emptiness of the road, the fact that there wasn’t another human being in sight, was getting to her.

Tomorrow, she’d go and see Agatha, cheer herself up a bit. Surely Irene wouldn’t object to her going out during the day? The trouble was that Agatha reminded Mollie of all the things she’d lost when Tom had died. Phil was now in plainclothes and a detective sergeant. In August, they’d gone on holiday to Blackpool where, Agatha said, you’d hardly believe there was a war on apart from the blackout. The fairground was still open and the kids had had a lovely time. They’d all gone to the pictures to see
The Wizard of Oz
. In the hotel where they’d stayed, they’d had dances and floorshows. ‘So it didn’t matter about the blackout,’ Agatha had enthused. She’d sent Mollie a box of kippers and sticks of Blackpool rock for the children.

No, she wouldn’t go and see Agatha. It would only make her more miserable than she already felt.

 

The children sent letters saying how happy they were living with their Auntie Hazel and Uncle Finn. Brodie drew a girl in a tutu on hers and said she was going to ballet lessons with Kerianne, and Tommy drew a lion devouring a nun. According to his letter, it was Sister Swastika whom he didn’t like. Mollie assumed he meant Sister Scholastica, who’d taught at the convent when she was there. She hadn’t liked her, either. Megan claimed she was top of the class: ‘I know all sorts of things the others don’t.’ Joe was missing his mammy badly and really looking forward to Christmas.

Hazel enclosed a note of her own:

Mollie was upset to think that another woman was cuddling her son, even if it was Hazel. It should be
her
doing it. She lost her temper with Irene when she gave her letters to read and she remarked that Megan was a snooty little so-and-so: ‘And cousins
can’t
get married. The church wouldn’t stand for it.’

‘Then the church can go to hell.’ She recalled Harry’s caustic comments about the church, that religion was the opium of the people.

Irene took offence and disappeared into the parlour. Mollie stayed in the living room simmering with anger until it was time to leave for the theatre. When she came home, Irene was in bed. At three in the morning, the siren went and the women sat under the stairs, listening to the bombs falling. Irene clutching Mollie’s arm so tightly that she had to prise her fingers loose when her arm started to go numb.

‘I’m sorry, luv,’ Irene said humbly. ‘I didn’t mean what I said before. Megan’s a lovely kid. It was my fault we didn’t get on. And I really appreciate you staying with me, girl. I’m just a daft old woman who’s got no right to keep you from your family. I know how much you must be missing them. Go to Ireland, Mollie,’ she said stoutly. ‘Go tomorrow. I can manage on me own.’

Irene had offered her an opportunity to escape, but Mollie couldn’t bring herself to take it. It just wasn’t in her to desert her mother-in-law at such a time.

 

During November, the raids got worse and lasted longer, culminating in one terrible night at the end of the month when 180 people were killed in a single incident. It was a night when it seemed as if the whole of Liverpool was on fire, and the sky turned red from the flames. Ambulances and fire engines raced through the city, which resounded to the sounds of bombs exploding, buildings collapsing, and the sinister crackle of fires.

It was an unexpected relief when the first three weeks of December passed without a single raid. Mollie went to town and shopped for presents for the children - sometimes Irene came with her. Despite the worsening situation, Irene had become less clinging of late. Mollie could tell she was determined to be brave. She didn’t object to her going to Duneathly for Christmas and had agreed to stay with Brian and Pauline while she was away.

When it came to toys, there were few to be had in the shops. The country was at war and factories had turned to producing more important things. Mollie managed to get Tommy a camouflaged aeroplane and a popgun, which he would no doubt use to frighten the cat. Brodie loved clothes, so she bought her a pretty frock and a lacy cardigan. At ten, Joe had become a voracious reader and Mollie was thrilled when she found a collection of virtually new boys’ adventure books and comics in a second-hand shop. It was Irene who discovered the perfect gift for Megan: a dressing-table set comprising a hand mirror and brush with flowers painted on the backs and a matching comb.

‘She’s a young lady now and won’t want toys,’ Irene said, adding tearfully, ‘I wish we’d got on better when she was home. I scolded her too much. I know that now.’

The presents were wrapped in red and green crêpe paper and put on top of the piano ready to take to Ireland, along with bags of sweets and chocolate for Mollie’s nieces and nephews - she’d been saving her sweet coupons for months. Now all she had to get was something for Irene.

 

Lily had come up with the idea that they buy a present between them for their mother-in-law. ‘We could get her a nice piece of jewellery,’ she said. ‘She’d be more pleased with that than talc, posh soap, and a box of hankies from each of us.’

Mollie, Pauline, and Gladys were inclined to agree. They met in town one afternoon a few days before Christmas and toured the jewellery shops, eventually choosing a gold St Christopher medal on a chain. Feeling satisfied with their purchase, they went into the Kardomah for coffee. Everyone was in good mood; the war had brought people closer together. Lily and Pauline rarely bickered these days and had been getting on better with their mother-in-law. Gladys was far more tolerant of her husband’s family.

It was Gladys who suggested they all went to the pictures. ‘
Goodbye, Mr Chips
with Robert Donat is on the Forum. It’ll be a nice treat; this is the first time the four of us have been out together.’

Lily looked dubious. ‘What if there’s an air raid?’

‘There hasn’t been one for ages,’ Gladys replied. ‘Personally, I think we’ve seen the last of them.’

‘Irene will be worried if I’m late home,’ Mollie said, but Pauline argued that Mollie was a grown woman and entitled to a life of her own.

‘Anyroad, it won’t be all
that
late. It’s not quite four o’clock now.’ Gladys got to her feet. ‘Let’s go round to the Forum and see what time it starts.’

Minutes later, they were studying the times in the cinema foyer. The supporting picture still had half an hour to go and would be followed by the Pathé news and the interval.
Goodbye, Mr Chips
started at five to five and finished at quarter to seven.

‘You’ll easily be home by seven, Moll,’ Gladys pointed out.

‘Oh, all right.’ Irene would be expecting her home before it went dark. She hoped she wouldn’t be too upset. After all, Mollie wasn’t a little girl who had to answer to her mother. There was very little excitement in her life these days - in fact, none at all that she could think of - and a visit to the pictures was just what she needed.

 

The film was incredibly moving. Mollie’s handkerchief was soaked with tears in no time, yet she was enjoying it immensely. She’d never seen Robert Donat before; he had a kind, gentle face and the most beautiful voice she’d ever heard. The film was about three-quarters of the way through when a notice appeared on the screen to say a raid had started. The audience groaned and a few people stood to leave, Mollie amongst them, ignoring the pleas from her sisters-in-law to stay and see the film through to the end.

Outside, the blackout took her by surprise. It always did. She was never quite prepared for the intensity of it, of sometimes not being able to see her hand in front of her face. It was like being buried in black cotton wool.

Somehow, she managed to find her way to the tram stop where she waited, hoping and praying a tram would come soon. It was up to the driver whether or not to continue once a raid had started. Most kept on the move; it was no more or less dangerous than standing still. There were other people waiting at the stop. A man struck a match to look at his watch. A woman said, ‘Well, I can’t see any sign of a raid, can you?’

The words were hardly out of her mouth when the heavy drone of planes could be heard. Mollie felt sick to her stomach. She’d never been out in a raid before. A tram glided up and the conductor shouted cheerfully, ‘Come on, let’s be having yer.’ Everyone climbed on, the conductor rang the bell, and the tram set off.