The White Empress (25 page)

‘We could end it all right now, Cat.’

She looked up at him through eyes misted with tears and confusion. ‘You mean tell them?’

‘I mean marry me? You already call yourself Mrs. Calligan and the baby has my surname.’ The words were spoken calmly, measuredly.

She dropped her head and tears splashed unheeded on to their hands. Never in all her life had she been so touched. She felt
humble, so very humble. He was worth a hundred David Barratts. She knew she would never respect any man the way she respected
Joe. Dear, kind, loving Joe. It would be so easy. So easy just to open her mouth and let the word slip out. It formed in her
mind, it rose in her throat, her heavy heart urged it to the tip of her tongue. She raised her head. She couldn’t see him
clearly through the tears.

‘No. No, I couldn’t do that to you, Joe. I couldn’t let you take on another man’s child. Another man’s . . . cast-offs! You’re
too good, too honest for me. I’m not worth it!’ The words wrung her heart and hung suspended in the air.

He didn’t speak and she looked away, afraid of what she would see in his eyes.

‘Oh, Joe! Why do I always hurt the people I care most about? I’m unlucky, Joe! Everything I touch turns sour. Banjaxed, Ma
would have said. I . . . I can’t do that to you, not to you, Joe!’

He still held her hands tightly. ‘Cat, you’ve always known how I feel about you. I swore to myself I’d put you out of my heart
forever. And I did, for a while. I won’t lie, I’ve had other girls. But it doesn’t work like that, Cat, I couldn’t forget
you! I can try to forget the
past if you can? Marry me, Cat, for I’ll not ask again. I have my pride. Marry me, let’s have some time together before, well
. . . I’ve joined the Royal Navy.’

Into the quiet, peaceful parlour where dust motes danced in the rays of light filtering through the curtains, the war with
all its implications thrust itself.

‘Joe, isn’t that even more reason why you shouldn’t saddle yourself with a wife and child? More reason to worry? You know
how I feel about you, Joe, and God knows I’ve missed you! I’ve missed your strength, your comfort, your understanding. I’ve
never needed to lie to you, Joe. You know where I come from, what I’ve come from. But I can’t do this to you, you’re too good
a man to waste your life on me!’ She felt calmer. She had stopped trembling, her eyes were dry. She withdrew her hands and
placed them lightly on his shoulders and looked up into the dark, handsome face. ‘Thank you, Joe, for offering me your life
and your love. The most precious gifts of all. Wealth and ambition are nothing beside them. I’ll never forget it. I’ll never
marry. I’ve been hurt and I couldn’t hurt you – ever again.’

He took her hand and raised it to his lips. She had never looked as beautiful as she did now and he had never loved her quite
so much, not least for her honesty. She understood him. She knew that because of the child, the shadow of David Barratt would
always lie between them. That there was a chance, a very slight one, that one day David Barratt might try to claim the child
and he knew that if that day ever came, he would kill him.

It was Mrs Roberts’s intervention that separated them and diffused the emotionally charged atmosphere. She
set down the tray, told them to help themselves and left. The tea and scones lay untouched as they sat together in silence.
A silence of resignation and understanding on both their parts. At last he spoke.

‘What will you do?’

‘I don’t know. I have some savings, I’ll manage for a while. What about you?’

‘I’ve been assigned to a frigate as engine room artificer. That’s why I came today. I’ve to be back late this afternoon. The
convoy sails tonight.’

Dear God, was this what war meant? she thought. He faced two enemies. The Nazis and the sea. She looked at him with real concern.
‘Is the danger from the U-boats very great?’

‘I’ll be honest, Cat, they scare the daylights out of me. It’s one thing being able to see the enemy, to shoot back, but it’s
the uncertainty, the silent enemy that strikes before there is chance to hit back, that really scares me. And even if you
manage to survive there is always the sea.’

She remembered Miss Sabell’s words. She remembered the storms, the tail-ends of the hurricanes they had caught and how a ship
as big as the White Empress had been tossed about like a child’s toy boat on a park lake. She knew how he felt. There was
no greater enemy than the sea if it turned against you.

O
N SUNDAY
, 8
SEPTEMBER
she told Mrs Roberts that she was returning to Liverpool.

‘I can’t stay here forever, my savings are nearly all gone. I have to work, not only to keep us but for the war effort. Marie
has written that everyone is working, that women are desperately needed in the munitions factories and the voluntary services.
The port is working flat out!’

‘But you can’t take the baby back to that, Cariad! Who’ll look after her while you’re at work?’

‘Mrs Gorry.’

‘But she’s got enough to do and they’ve already started dropping bombs! No one will be safe! Leave her with us, please, Cariad?
A city at war is no place for a baby, especially one as important as Liverpool. Come and see her whenever you can, she’ll
be safe with us here!’

‘But you have enough to do already!’

‘Margaret will help me, give her some practice, see.’
She smiled. Her daughter-in-law was pregnant and she was delighted with the thought of being a grandmother again. But this
time her grandchild would not be thousands of miles away in Canada as the others were.

So she had left Hilary behind although it had nearly broken her heart to board the bus alone. But she could not refute sound
common sense. A city in wartime was no place for a baby.

‘Joe’s home.’ Marie informed her as she met her off the ferry at the pierhead. She had got the bus as far as its terminus
at Birkenhead.

She looked around her. Little seemed to have changed except that the trams had been painted grey and there was wire mesh over
their windows, hoods over their headlights and the front bumpers painted white. But there were uniforms everywhere. Even Marie’s
tailored suit looked like a uniform and there was a gold WVS badge on the lapel. During the day she worked in one of the offices
of the Ministry of Defence.

‘When did he get back?’

‘Last night. They limped back into the river about midnight.’

‘How many?’

‘Six out of eighteen and four of them are badly damaged. Holed, rigging mangled and twisted.’

A shudder ran through her. The wind seemed suddenly colder.

‘They have to keep the port open. It’s the lifeline of the country. You remember our last trip, when the King and Queen came
home from Canada, when the little
princesses came aboard to meet them? That’s why they went, to strengthen our ties with Canada and America. Everyone knew this
war was coming.’

Everyone, except me, she thought. She had been too engrossed with her own affairs to think much about politics. ‘When do I
start work?’

‘I’ve arranged it all, everyone’s needed. Dad will take you out to Kirkby on Wednesday, but tomorrow you can come with me
to the Angel Club. We provide meals for servicemen. An evening meal for 1s 6d, a clean tablecloth and decent dishes, too.
Then they often go next door to the State because it has a dance.’

Cat was greeted with a warm welcome from Mrs Gorry and both Doreen and Marlene who made it a practice to ‘look in’ on their
parents frequently. She hardly recognised Eamon. He had grown up and it was with a shock that she realised that he was now
eighteen. It was even more of a shock to see that he was proudly wearing the tight-fitting jumper and bell-bottomed trousers
of an able seaman in the Royal Navy. This couldn’t be the scruffy, back-crack boy with the shock of unruly hair? Not this
tall, smart young man who was grinning at her with the shadow of his impudent smile.

‘Eamon! Eamon Cleary! You’re so . . . so grown up! When did you join up?’

‘Nearly a month ago. Everyone’s needed, isn’t that why you’ve come back? How’s my niece, I’ve not even seen her? I can’t get
used to being an uncle!’

She laughed and hugged him. ‘Oh, she’s fine and next time you’re on leave I’ll take you to see her!’ She’d
missed them all so much but she hadn’t realised just how much until now.

On Wednesday morning Mr Gorry drove her out to the village of Kirkby, some miles outside the city boundaries. There was a
church with a square tower, some pretty cottages, a few shops, the Railway pub beside the station, and then beyond, the long,
low buildings of the munitions factories. She reported at the gate and was sent on to an office, given her official papers
to sign, her identity pass, a list of rules and regulations and her hours of work. She was also given a medical and declared
fit. It was a very perfunctory affair. The doctor asked her if she had any of the following, which he read rapidly from a
printed list, to all of which she answered ‘No’. He sounded her chest, looked in her eyes and ears and that was it. She would
start work on the 7 a.m. shift the following morning.

She had tried to see Joe that day but he had not been at home and so she tried again after finishing her shift at the factory
on Thursday, before going to help the ladies of the WVS in the dining room of the Angel. He was sitting at the table reading
the
Liverpool Daily Post
.

‘I’m back, Joe. I started work in the munitions this morning.’

There was no uneasiness, no tension between them. They had parted friends and besides, war left no time for festering enmity.
He looked tired and his skin seemed drawn tightly over his cheekbones.

‘How was it?’ she asked.

‘The same as usual. Stinking hot, smelly, dirty, all engine rooms are the same, only the sizes differ.’

‘Oh, I hate to think of you down there, if anything were to happen, you know what the chances are.’

‘Don’t say it, Cat! Don’t say it! I’m superstitious enough to believe that to name a fear is to experience it. It must be
the Irish in me.’

‘Where is everyone?’

‘Mam’s gone to the shops. The rest of them are away. Dad on convoy. Jimmy’s in a sub somewhere in the Mediterranean and Kevin’s
on the
City of Benares
.’

‘Your poor Mam. All of you at sea.’ She sat down at the table.

‘Did you bring the baby with you?’

‘No. Mrs Roberts persuaded me to leave her, it will be safer for her. I’m going to try to visit her at weekends, but it all
depends on the work, its shifts, but I’ll go as often as I can.’

‘I don’t suppose we’ll see much of each other, with you on shifts?’

‘I’ll see you each time you get home. Even if it’s only for half an hour. When do you leave again, or is that “classified”?’

‘It’s supposed to be, but tomorrow night.’

‘So soon?’ Mentally she calculated the date. Friday, 13th September. Dear God what an omen, he wasn’t alone in his superstitions.

‘We have to get the supplies in as quickly as possible. They’ve already realised that if they can completely blockade the
ports, they’ve got us! We’ll be under seige, the whole bloody country! The supply lines have to be kept open, no matter what
the cost, or we’ll all go down the plughole, as Dad says!’

She wished she had stayed in Wales. There the war had seemed so distant, it hadn’t touched her. Here, everyone was preparing
for a seige and she was afraid. The skin on the back of her neck prickled.

He folded the paper. ‘Can I take you out dancing tonight?’

‘It will have to be after I’ve finished at the Angel. I help out there.’

‘Fine, we’ll go to the State. What time?’

‘I might be able to get away about 8.30.’

‘I’ll meet you outside.’

She rose, then bent and kissed the top of his head.

She had been late leaving the Angel for the crews of all the ships in the convoy were enjoying their last night’s shore leave.
The State was packed to capacity and so they decided to sit in St John’s Gardens at the back of St George’s Hall. It was a
fine evening, one of those mellow, golden autumn evenings and as the fulvous light gave way to dusk, she leaned her head against
his shoulder.

‘It’s so strange to see a city without lights. I got used to it in the country, but here . . .’

‘Will you take care of yourself, Cat, munitions work can be dangerous?’

‘I will, will you? You won’t . . . you won’t go risking your life with heroic deeds?’

‘We’re all cowards at heart, Cat, at least those of us who know and respect the sea are. Do you want me to keep my eye on
me laddo? I see he’s with us. I never thought I’d see the day Eamon Cleary would be an ABS. That scruffy kid!’

She smiled. ‘Neither did I, but I won’t ask that of you. He’s old enough now to look after himself.’

‘Have you been to see your Pa?’

‘No, and I don’t intend to!’

‘Things change, must change.’

‘Not between him and me and it wasn’t just over Ma, it was Eamon as well.’

They fell silent watching a flight of pigeons head into the darkness above the bulk of the
Echo
offices.

‘What about Shelagh?’

She drew away from him.

‘Well, if not for her then for her lad, Sean, he’s nearly five and he’s your nephew and your Ma’s grandson; would she want
him to be living like he is?’

‘He’s also Pa’s grandson!’ she snapped. She didn’t want to know anything about Shelagh or her son. She had enough worries
and he was spoiling these few hours of peace by mentioning them. ‘He’s not my responsibility!’

‘He should be someone’s! He’s left on his own most of the time, so I hear from Maisey. Don’t you remember Eamon’s childhood,
Cat?’

‘Eamon is my brother, at least we knew who his father was!’ As soon as she’d said the words she regretted them. A sense of
family was very strong in both of them. Poor little Sean Cleary was a bastard, like her own child, but worse off – at least
Hilary wouldn’t be left alone to run the streets. At least she had known and loved Hilary’s father, however painful the memories.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she muttered.

He squeezed her arm.

He had given her a goodbye peck when he left Marie’s and she had hugged him tightly, before releasing him.

‘Joe, take care and God go with you – with you all!’

‘I will.’ His voice was husky.

She knew it was uncertainty he was fighting for he was no coward, but everyone feared the unknown – even herself.

‘I’ll keep my eye on Eamon, Cat!’ he called.

She stood at the gate listening to his footsteps and in the darkness of the quiet street she thought she heard him whistling.
The tune was familiar. ‘It’s not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me, but my darling when I think of you.’

Three days later as she was coming home from work she heard the news vendor’s cry and, thrusting the penny into his hand,
she virtually snatched the copy of the paper from him. Her stomach began to churn and her hands trembled as she read. She
felt suddenly faint and leaned against a wall for support. The old man peered at her.

‘You alright, luv?’

She nodded.

‘Shape of things ter come, luv! God ’elp us all!’

She finished the long column then closed her eyes, tears seeping beneath her lashes. So soon! Oh, dear God, so soon! Convoy
CB 213 had sailed on Friday, 13 September, nineteen ships had passed the Bar Light heading for the Atlantic and Canada. She
remembered the
City of Benares
, a fine modern liner. Joe’s brother’s
ship. She had been carrying ninety children amongst her passengers and cargo. In a gale and in heavy seas she had been torpedoed
and sunk. Most of the crew were lost and so were seventy-seven of those children!

She bent her head and wept unashamedly, thinking of her own child and Joe. Joe, who must have watched the death throes of
the
City of Benares
knowing . . . knowing . . . yet unable to help. She thought of his words about Sean Cleary. She thought of those children.
Something would have to be done for the child. She straightened up and wiped her face with her handkerchief. The old news
vendor was right. God help us all, she prayed.

It took her a week working in munitions to begin to hate it. The work was dirty, monotonous and dangerous. The buildings were
set out with two rows of small rooms running down each side, with a wide, blast-proof corridor between them. Four girls worked
in a room and were grouped in numbers 1 to 10. Group 1 was the most dangerous for the women there fitted detonators. She had
been allotted to Group 8 where she filled anti-tank mines with TNT which had a strong, obnoxious smell and needed stirring
to stop it clouding. The nose and mouth were protected by a mask, the hands with gloves. She also filled 3.8 inch shells which
then went on to Group 1. There were frequent accidents in all groups, but mainly in Group 1 and every week women were maimed
and injured.

There was a set procedure which she soon found tedious. When you arrived you were, conducted, like
sheep, into what was known as the Dirty Room where shoes, clothes, hair clips and jewellery were removed and placed in lockers.
Wedding rings were taped over. You were then moved into the Clean Room where one was issued with navy blue cotton overalls,
white turban and flat shoes, rather like plimsoles. From there you went to your work room. She worked with two older women
both of whom had husbands in the Army, and a girl of her own age who lived in Fazakerley, the nearest city suburb to the factories.
Nancy was engaged to a soldier. The hours dragged by. At first she had to concentrate on her tasks while the others chatted,
until she, too, became so proficient that she could hold a conversation. She had little in common with Lucy and Ivy, but with
Nancy she discussed the arrangements for Marie’s wedding which had been brought forward to October.