The Mersey Daughter: A heartwarming Saga full of tears and triumph

She had always carried on as if she was a cut above everyone else, and had raised her son Charlie to feel the same. She’d never troubled to hide her resentment of Rita, who had never been good enough for her beloved son. Rita had married Charlie knowing all this only too well, but she’d had little alternative as she’d been pregnant with Michael. She and Jack Callaghan had been young sweethearts, but too young and naïve to realise what they were doing. When Jack had been sent away on his apprenticeship, Rita had panicked – making the worst decision of her life. Many a time over the past eight years she’d berated herself for the choice she’d made, but she had made her bed and now had to lie on it. The living quarters had been crowded when they’d all lived there, with Winnie’s bedroom right next to Charlie and hers, and even more so when baby Megan had arrived on the scene. Rita had treasured the dream of finding a place of their own, away from Charlie’s interfering, domineering mother, hoping that this would be the solution to the widening cracks in her marriage. She’d been foolish to think that, she now realised. Now she was wise to Charlie’s callous and vicious nature, but here she was, trapped with the poisonous Ma Kennedy, Charlie goodness knows where, and her children far away from Empire Street.

She sighed at the thought of her children; she ached at being apart from them. However, she knew Megan and Michael were safe, away from the air raids, living on a farm in Freshfield all the way out in Lancashire. Tommy Callaghan was with them, which would liven things up, and she tried to visit them when she could, always amazed at how they thrived away from the air raids. They looked so different from the pale children of the city who remained; those whose parents couldn’t bear to part with them and who now roamed the bombsites of Merseyside, exposed to many dangers. Thank God the farming couple had welcomed them with open arms, and Rita knew the children would have the love and security they needed – not to mention all those fresh vegetables and meat, and the cream of the milk and the rich golden butter they could never have hoped for in Empire Street.

She pushed open the inner door to the shop. Winnie was slumped behind the till, her eyes dead. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ She could barely summon the interest to speak.

‘Of course it’s me. I’m late because the shift didn’t finish on time.’ Rita thought it best not to say she’d stopped off for a cup of tea next door. ‘Shall I put the kettle on? It’s freezing in here.’ No wonder there were no customers, she thought.

‘Certainly not. Tea’s rationed, as you should know.’ There was a trace of the old Winnie, snobbish and sharp. The fact that she had a case of tea stowed away in the cellar was not to be mentioned. Rita bit back the retort.

‘If you’re sure? Then I’ll go and get changed.’ Rita let herself out of the shop again and made her way upstairs.

Winnie’s situation was all of her own making. She’d kept a secret for twenty years or more and it had only come to light during a terrifying raid just before Christmas. Dolly, as fire warden, had had to make sure everyone left their houses and went to the bomb shelter at the end of the street, but Winnie had resisted, even though the roof of the shop was alight. She’d been desperate to rescue a box of papers from the loft. Dolly, at great risk to herself, had managed to persuade her difficult neighbour to get to safety and had looked after the box. In all the confusion of the raid it had finished up in the Feeny family home. Both Dolly and Rita were now aware of its contents.

Far from relying on the income from the shop, it transpired that Winnie had been the owner of three properties: the shop and its living quarters, a large house in Southport and a guesthouse in Crosby. All those years Rita had dreamed of moving out – and Winnie had said nothing, like a dragon sitting on a pile of gold. She’d been far more keen on keeping Charlie tied to her apron strings, where she wanted him.

Charlie had had other ideas, and while his mother had boasted to all and sundry about his job in insurance, he’d used it to pay calls on well-heeled women on their own in the afternoons. Winnie had either turned a blind eye or refused to believe it was possible – just as she’d managed not to notice the marks on Rita when Charlie’s rage turned against his wife. Charlie had finally taken off to the house in Southport, supposedly so the children would be safer, which was managed by a very accommodating woman called Elsie. He’d even put it about that she was his wife. Rita had eventually tracked them down and taken the children away – just in time, as a stray bomb had ripped the front off the once-grand house, and the children had been left standing in the road.

Rita’s parting shot had been to hand Charlie his call-up papers. He was a coward, all bluster and smarm; the only fighting he was capable of was to hit a woman behind closed doors. She had no idea where he was now and she didn’t care. That was Elsie’s problem.

There had been one more document in Winnie’s box that if anything had been even more startling. It was a birth certificate for a child called Ruby, born to Winnie Kennedy, but two years after her husband had died. The father’s name was left blank. This baby would now be coming up to twenty-one years of age. And when Rita had tracked down Charlie and Elsie, the neighbours had been keen to point out that the couple were often in the pub of an evening – but the children were looked after by a young woman called Ruby.

So things had come to an uneasy standoff. The people of Empire Street were mostly a good lot, but prone to suspicion and gossip. Charlie’s disappearance, and the fact that he’d never been seen in uniform, was a gift to the likes of Vera Delaney, who would love to wipe the smug smile off Ma Kennedy’s face and take her down a peg or two. Only a few Feenys knew the full truth. Winnie was slowly going to pieces waiting for her big secret to be blown.

Rita, meanwhile, harboured a secret of her own. When she’d gone to rescue her children, she hadn’t done it alone. Jack had taken her: Jack Callaghan, Kitty’s big brother, her childhood sweetheart and – as she’d finally confirmed to him – Michael’s real father. She’d tried to be a good wife to Charlie, to forget everything that had passed between Jack and her; they’d been too young, and fate in its many forms had made it impossible for them to be together. Now he was back doing his duty, escorting naval convoys across the vital supply routes of the North Atlantic. How she missed him. How she wished they’d somehow found a way all those years ago to overcome all the obstacles – but that hadn’t happened. Now she had to face the fact that her feelings for him had never died, but that she could not have him. The fact that Charlie had broken every bond of duty to her as a husband was neither here nor there. Divorce wasn’t a word you’d ever hear in Empire Street; no matter what a husband had done to his wife, she’d be expected to stand by him. The best she could do was to write. Rita had promised that to Jack and she wouldn’t break her word. The letters were hurting no one, and if they kept his spirits up through those dark nights on the Atlantic, then that’s what she’d do, and to hell with the holier-than-thou attitude of the rest of the world – couldn’t they have those precious words to share, if nothing else? But now Kitty had left, she would have to find another way of receiving his letters to her. Next to the children she adored, the letters were the one chink of light in this miserable life she was stuck with.

A noise at the top of the stairs startled her. A slight figure with huge pale-blue eyes and a frizz of pale- blonde hair emerged, smiling nervously, almost like a frightened child.

Rita took a long look at her, and noted again how much she looked like Winnie, her mother. Not so much her hair, but her nose and her eyes were very similar, though the young woman’s had a gentleness to them which Winnie’s certainly didn’t. Something else for the gossips to get their teeth into … Rita forced herself to get a grip and spoke steadily and comfortingly. ‘Hello, Ruby, come and have a cup of tea, love.’

As Ruby tip-toed down the stairs towards her, Rita looked around her at the shabby, care-worn kitchen – she saw the loose tea that Winnie had tipped into the sink, the chipped cups on the drainer and the cold grate that had been left for her to make up herself. She sighed deeply – if she didn’t have Jack’s letters as a lifeline, then she didn’t know how she would keep on going.

CHAPTER THREE

‘Are you sure you don’t mind me taking the top bunk?’

Kitty shook her head. ‘No, I don’t like heights at the best of times. I’m much better off down here.’ She thumped the hard pillow into something she thought might be a more comfortable shape. It was never going to be soft, but at least all the bedding was clean. She’d heard horror stories about some service accommodation, and apparently the Land Army girls often had to put up with worse.

‘Bit of a coincidence that we ended up being billeted together, isn’t it?’ asked the elegant young woman from the train, whose name was Laura Fawcett. They’d introduced themselves on the journey, Kitty explaining she’d come from Liverpool, and learning in turn that Laura, although from Yorkshire, had spent lots of time in London and knew it well. ‘I’m glad we got the chance to get acquainted before the others turn up. Looks as if they’re expecting a lot of new recruits.’

Kitty had been taken aback on arrival in the capital and had been glad to have the much more confident Laura to guide her to their new home in North London. Although she was well used to the bustle of Liverpool city centre, this place was on a different scale. The sheer number of people was overwhelming, many of them in uniform of one sort or another, all weaving around each other at baffling speed. Kitty had gripped her new friend’s arm, totally disoriented. Laura had taken it in her stride, mildly annoyed to find that holes in the road meant she couldn’t take the route she’d originally planned, but swiftly deciding upon a new one. She’d plunged into the Underground and Kitty had followed immediately behind, terrified at the thought of getting separated. That had been her introduction to the Northern Line.

Now Kitty glanced uneasily around the large room they were in, full of bunk beds in readiness for the arrival of trainee Wrens. She was used to sharing a house with her brothers, and not having a minute to herself, but her bedroom, basic though it was, had always been her sanctuary. She’d done her best to soften it with her eiderdown and the few bits and pieces that remained of her mother’s possessions. Here there would be room only for the most functional items. She wondered what sort of bedroom Laura had had and what her home was like – nothing like Empire Street, she was sure of that.

Laura appeared to have no such doubts and finished packing away the small amount of clothing they were recommended to bring in no time, somehow managing to cram in some very elegant-looking frocks as well. ‘This place must have been a school, just look at it. Certainly wasn’t made to sleep in.’ She glanced around at the huge windows and high ceilings. ‘Bet it’ll be freezing. Oh well, maybe they’ll work us so hard we won’t care. Can’t be as cold as up north, that’s for sure. I’m used to the wind howling over the moors so I probably shan’t even notice. How about you?’

Kitty smiled, remembering the force of the westerly gales that came in over the Atlantic with such regularity. ‘Oh, that won’t worry me,’ she said lightly. ‘We have to put up with that all the time in Liverpool. At least they’ll give us uniforms to keep out the worst of it. I’ve been wearing dungarees for work in the NAAFI and this uniform is much nicer – warmer too.’

Laura held up the bluette overall she’d been issued with. ‘It’s a bit stiff, isn’t it? It’ll be itchy as anything.’

Kitty grinned, thinking that her pretty new friend probably wasn’t used to anything but the finest material, and would not have had to wear anything practical, certainly not like the often-patched clothes she’d had to put on for scrubbing down the NAAFI canteen after it closed every day. She smoothed down the blue-and- white bedspread on her narrow bunk, running her hands over the anchor motif. She couldn’t help wondering what her brother Jack would be doing, out there on his aircraft carrier, facing God knows what.

‘Let’s go and see where that canteen is that they told us about,’ Laura suggested, hanging up the overall once more. ‘I shan’t wear that until I have to. If this is going to be my last day in my own clothes for a while, then I’m going to make the most of it. Two weeks of basic training and then heaven knows what we’ll be in for or what we’ll have to wear.’ She shrugged into her pale-yellow cardigan, which Kitty was fairly sure was cashmere. It perfectly set off Laura’s mop of beautifully cut blonde curls.

They made their way to the lower floor and uncertainly down an echoing corridor, trying to remember what the officer who’d welcomed them had said. There were so many doors – but then the unmistakable smell of cocoa hit them and they followed their noses to what might once have been the school refectory. A woman in her forties was standing by a large urn. She wore a bright turban on her head and Kitty reflected that up until a short while ago this would have been her, greeting the servicemen and sometimes -women who’d come through the doors of her own canteen.

‘Hello, girls,’ the woman said, immediately friendly. Steam rose from the urn. ‘I can do you tea or cocoa. What’ll it be?’

‘Cocoa,’ Laura and Kitty said immediately. Kitty couldn’t remember the last time she’d had cocoa. Before the war, at home in Empire Street, there hadn’t always been enough to go round; it was ironic that rationing meant that some people were better fed now than before the war. Kitty’s mother had died when she’d been a young girl, and Dolly Feeny, their neighbour, had been the closest thing to a mother she’d had since. Kitty’s father had liked a drink – too much sometimes − often spending down the pub what was intended for the housekeeping. Thank God for her brother Jack, and for Dolly, who’d made sure that the Callaghan kids didn’t go without. The Callaghan and Feeny children had been as thick as thieves growing up. Eddy had been like a brother to her – and Frank, of course, though in the last few years, Kitty knew her feelings had changed into something deeper, something enduring. Kitty pushed thoughts of Frank Feeny from her mind again – he’d never see her as anything other than a little sister, and it was time to put away her childish dreams and look to the future. The smell of cocoa drifted tantalisingly up to her nose. This was a treat not to be missed.

Gratefully they warmed their hands on their cups as they made their way to a battered wooden table next to a window. Through it they could see a curving drive and, beyond that, down the hill, London was spread out beneath them. Kitty took a tentative sip to see how hot the drink was and smiled. ‘Delicious. Haven’t had that for a while.’

Laura smiled back ruefully. ‘Strange, isn’t it? How quickly one gets used to not having the everyday stuff.’ She took a sip too. ‘Heavenly. That’s made it worth joining up already.’

Kitty eyed her new companion curiously. She seemed to be about the same age as her. ‘Why did you? Join up, I mean?’

Laura paused. ‘Well, I suppose it’s a case of doing my bit. And I was tired of sitting at home, doing nothing.’

‘Did you really do nothing?’ asked Kitty. Even though she hadn’t known this young woman long, it didn’t seem very likely.

Laura snorted. ‘Oh, nothing much. I knitted for the troops and went to some WVS meetings with my mother, but that’s not really a lot of help, is it, when we’re facing a fight to save our country? I knew I could do more. Well, I hope so anyway. I don’t know what they’ll decide I’m best at, but I look forward to finding out.’ She took another sip. ‘What about you?’

Kitty gazed out at the trees coming into bud, swaying in the breeze. ‘I think it was seeing what my brothers were doing and realising I didn’t have to look after them any more. Jack’s with the Fleet Air Arm, Danny’s on the docks, though he’s off sick at the moment, and Tommy’s been evacuated. I’ve run around looking after them for years and now they don’t need me so much, I wanted to do something more – something that will make a difference.’ She met the other woman’s gaze. ‘I don’t know what I’ll be best at either. I hope it isn’t cooking. I’ve done that and I’ve loved it but I want to try something different. I’ve never left home before. Even though we’re at war, I can’t wait to see a bit of London. D’you think we’ll have time?’

‘We’ll make time!’ Laura declared. She raised her cup and chinked it against Kitty’s. ‘I know exactly what you mean about doing more … Here’s to having fun, and damn the war. Those Germans aren’t going to put a stop to me showing you the delights of our capital city. Freddy used to show me around every chance he got.’ She stopped suddenly.

‘Who’s Freddy?’ Kitty asked shyly, hating to be nosey but keen to get to know this force of nature. Being around Laura was exciting in itself; she made it seem like anything was possible. ‘Was he your chap?’

‘No, nothing like that.’ Laura’s voice caught but then she cleared her throat. ‘No, he was my brother. Is my brother. He’s missing in action, has been since November. He’s a pilot.’ She looked away quickly to the faint outlines of the buildings on the horizon. ‘He was only a year older than me, we did everything together – or at least we did until he was sent away to school and I had to stay at home and not bother my silly little head about serious subjects like maths and things like that. Still, we went everywhere together when he was home. He even taught me to drive.’

Kitty felt a bit awkward. She’d only known this woman a few hours, but they were going to be sharing a room and intimacy couldn’t be avoided. She desperately wanted to be a part of this new life and being shy wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She reached out her hand and took Laura’s shaking palm in her own. ‘Look, I realise it’s easy to say, but you mustn’t give up hope. I know. It happened to my brother Jack; his ship went down and we didn’t know where he was or what had happened to him. It was awful. It felt like a lifetime, but in the end we got news that he was alive and on the way home. He was shot but he says he’s better now and he’s back in active service. Don’t ever give up hope; it’s what keeps us going.’

‘Thanks.’ Laura seemed to give herself a mental shake and then smiled with determination. ‘Nothing I can do about it. Sitting around moping won’t help and Freddy wouldn’t stand for it, so I must buck up. Mummy’s furious with me for putting myself in danger but I told her not to be silly. They won’t actually let us fight, so I might as well go and make myself useful in whatever way I can. And if one of those ways is showing you around London, then all the better. Anyway, what about you – do you have a chap? With your looks you’re bound to have, hope you don’t mind me saying.’

Kitty furiously tried to stop herself from blushing. She’d got used to being called all sorts of things when behind the counter at the NAAFI, and fielding outrageously flirtatious remarks from many of the service-men, but to have her appearance commented on by this smart and very attractive young woman was an-other thing entirely. ‘Sort of,’ she admitted. ‘Well, nothing formal or anything, but I was walking out with a lovely man called Elliott.’ She could hardly believe she was going to say the next words. ‘He’s a doctor. He looked after my little brother Tommy when he was ill once.’

‘Oh, well done you!’ Laura beamed. ‘A doctor – that’s jolly nice. Oh God, I sound like Mummy. But you know what I mean. Doesn’t he mind you going away? Did he beg you to stay at his side?’

‘No, the very opposite. He said if it was what I wanted, I should leap at the chance,’ said Kitty, aware now that pride had crept into her voice. She knew she was lucky to have such support from him. ‘Also, he’s from London, so he wants to come and see me when he next has some leave.’ Her face fell as she remembered his workload. ‘That doesn’t happen very often though. And even when he thinks he’ll have time off, he’s often called back to the ward for an emergency. We really have been through a lot over the past few months. The bombing felt non-stop over Christmas.’

‘Oh, I know.’ Laura’s face was instantly sympathetic. ‘Even though they never give the name of the city on the radio, just say it’s in the northwest or wherever; we only heard about it afterwards, though word sort of gets around, doesn’t it?’

Kitty nodded sadly. ‘Should we even be talking about it now?’ She glanced around nervously. There was hardly anybody else in the room, as so many of the new recruits wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, but all the same she was aware that the least said the better.

‘Well, it’s over and done with,’ said Laura pragmatically. ‘I don’t suppose it can do much more harm. But anyway, that’s wonderful that your chap might be down to visit. Maybe he can show us some places I don’t know about.’ Her eyes brightened. ‘He can take us out on the town. D’you think he’d like that?’

‘I’m sure he would. He’s very kind – and he’s a very good dancer.’ Kitty smiled but felt an odd prickling of something else – not pride, not anxiety but … could it be jealousy? Wouldn’t Elliott be far better off with a girl from his own background, someone exactly like Laura? No, she mustn’t think like that. Elliott had been surrounded by gorgeous young nurses from every walk of life and yet he had chosen her. She had nothing to worry about. And, furthermore, if she was prepared to feel jealous, then that must mean she was over Frank Feeny, mustn’t it? But, as she settled herself into the unfamiliar bed that night, it wasn’t just the strangeness and excitement of her new surroundings that gave her a fitful sleep, but the blue of Frank Feeny’s eyes that seemed to invade her dreams.

CHAPTER FOUR

Rita stared at herself in the mirror in the bedroom she used to share with Charlie and thought how much weight she’d lost. It was no wonder: rushed off her feet all day, walking to and from work as often as not, serving in the shop when she wasn’t on duty, and all on less food than she was accustomed to. By the dim light of the overhead bulb she could see her clothes were beginning to hang loosely on her, but she couldn’t exactly go out and buy a whole new wardrobe in a smaller size. She had once been proud of her curvy figure, and Jack had loved it … now there wouldn’t be much left for him to catch hold of. That was if he ever came back. And anyway, she wasn’t going to go down that route again; there was no future in it but heartbreak. So really it didn’t matter what shape she was, as long as she could keep body and soul together. Shivering, she knew it meant that she felt the cold more keenly. Still, it was March now and the weather would soon turn warmer.

There was a gentle knock at the flimsy door. Rita started. It wouldn’t be Winnie, that was for sure. She would just barge in – or at least the old Winnie would have. Now she no longer bothered, which was a relief. ‘Come in,’ Rita called.

Ruby stepped into the room, as cautiously as a mouse peeping out of its hole to see if the cat had gone. ‘Rita? Um … can I come in?’

Rita wondered what this was about – Ruby usually kept herself to herself, and in fact she felt she knew the younger woman no better than when they’d first met, three months back. Even though they shared the same house, they barely saw one another, as Ruby kept to her attic room and Rita rarely had time to sit around downstairs. She sat down on the bed and patted the space beside her. ‘Come on in, Ruby. Make yourself comfortable.’

Shyly the young woman stepped forward and then sat where she’d been asked to, all without looking directly at Rita. Even though she was nearly twenty-one, she acted like a child, a timid one at that. Rita didn’t know if it was because there was something wrong with her, or because of how she’d been treated all her life. Being raised by that hard-faced Elsie Lowe would have been no picnic.