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

‘What’s wrong, Ruby?’ Rita could tell something was bothering her, and her naturally warm heart went out to her. ‘Take your time.’

Ruby jerked her head away and muttered something before she managed to say, ‘I’ve not done nothing wrong.’ She turned to face Rita and her huge blue eyes glittered with unshed tears. ‘Honest, I haven’t.’ She began to shake violently.

‘Ruby, of course you haven’t. Who said you did? Why are you saying this?’ Rita asked gently, wondering what could have frightened her. Everyone had been living with frayed nerves during the bombings, but those had tailed off recently. Was it the fear of the planes returning that had upset the young woman so much? ‘Don’t be scared, you can tell me.’

Ruby took a deep breath. ‘The police came.’ She looked away again. ‘I haven’t done nothing, really I haven’t.’

‘Police?’ Rita’s hand flew to her heart, immediately wondering if anything had happened to her children. Then she reasoned that they would have come to the hospital to tell her if it had been that. ‘Did they say what it was about?’

Ruby gave a big gulp. ‘I … don’t know. I heard them. They had loud voices. Mrs Kennedy shouted at them. They were very angry. I could tell but I didn’t go down. Then Mrs Kennedy went away with them.’

Mrs Kennedy! Rita had to stop herself from exclaiming out loud. Winnie was this poor girl’s mother and yet she wouldn’t even allow her to call her by her first name, insisting on the full and more formal Mrs Kennedy. And surely she hadn’t just shut the shop in the middle of the day? Even though she was a shadow of her former self, she still had an eye for profit.

‘You don’t need to worry, Ruby,’ Rita said, thinking fast. ‘It will have nothing to do with you. Otherwise they would have asked to speak to you, wouldn’t they? You haven’t done anything bad. They will have wanted to speak to Winnie. Maybe one of the customers has caused trouble, something like that.’ But Rita didn’t believe that for one minute. If it wasn’t the children, then there was only one person who was likely to bring trouble to this place.

‘So they don’t want to take me away?’ Ruby gasped. ‘They aren’t going to put me in prison?’

‘Of course not. Why would they do that?’ Rita tried to keep her voice reassuring, but she wondered just what Winnie had been saying to the poor girl while she was out of the house. Winnie loved to have control over people and here was a sitting target for her malice, daughter or no daughter. There was no telling how deep her spite ran.

Ruby’s face had just begun to brighten when the all-too-familiar air-raid siren began to wail. ‘Oh no, not again,’ Rita exclaimed without thinking. Then she said, ‘Don’t panic, Ruby, just go and get your bag – you do have it ready just in case, don’t you? – and then meet me downstairs. We’ll go to the shelter at the end of the road. I’ll see what we can take to eat, to keep our spirits up.’ Wearily she began to shrug into the coat she’d not long taken off. Eight thirty in the evening and she hadn’t had a proper meal all day.

Down in the kitchen she put her hand to the kettle and found it was still hot, so she quickly set about making a flask of tea. She knew Winnie kept packets of biscuits where she thought nobody could find them, and hastily bent to put a couple into her bag. A shadow fell across her as she stood up.

‘And what do you think you’re doing?’ Winnie spat.

‘Getting ready to go to the shelter,’ Rita said shortly. She didn’t intend to waste time or energy on her mother-in-law. ‘You’d better grab your things and come with us.’

‘Go to that shelter again? I’ll do no such thing,’ Winnie protested. ‘You get all sorts in there, all squashed in together – it’s not hygienic. You don’t know where they’ve been.’ She caught sight of Ruby hovering in the doorway. ‘My point exactly. I’m not going anywhere where I’ll be seen with her, for a start.’ Her eyes gleamed. ‘I’ll be safe enough in the cellar.’

‘In that case I’ll take that pie for Ruby and me,’ said Rita, catching sight of a pastry crust under a dome of white netting. ‘We all know you’ve got enough to feed an army stocked away down there.’

‘That’s my pie …’ Winnie began to protest, but Rita was too quick for her.

‘That’s my supper. I only just got back from my shift and I opened up the shop first thing this morning, if you remember.’ Rita wrapped the pie in a clean tea towel and added it to her bag. She was about to head out of the door when she paused. ‘Winnie, what were the police doing here? Weren’t you going to tell me?’

Winnie’s head snapped round. ‘Oh, someone’s been gossiping, have they?’

Rita thought that was a bit rich, coming from the vicious-tongued old woman. ‘Just explain to me what happened.’

‘It’s you who’s to blame,’ Winnie hissed. ‘Going round saying things about my Charles that aren’t true. It’s all a mistake. They won’t be back here again to bother me. Not unless you start telling your pack of lies again.’

‘What are you saying?’ Rita was momentarily shocked into silence. Then the penny dropped. ‘I see, they’ve come about him being a deserter, haven’t they? His papers arrived in December and I bet he hasn’t shown up to enlist, so they’ve come for him at last.’

‘He’s in a reserved occupation,’ Winnie insisted, with whatever misplaced dignity she could muster. ‘He would never stoop so low as to desert.’

‘Winnie, this is Charlie’s wife you’re talking to, not one of the customers you’re trying to impress,’ Rita sighed in exasperation. She finished fastening her bag. ‘Since when is being an insurance salesman a reserved occupation? And he didn’t even do much of that.’ She buttoned her coat. ‘And he’s already well practised at deserting – he left me quickly enough for his fancy woman, don’t you remember? Why don’t you tell that to your customers – the ones we have left, anyway. Listen, Ruby and I don’t have time for this, we have to go. Stay in the cellar if you have to … and,’ she added in an uncharacteristic moment of sharpness, ‘do look after that precious box of documents, won’t you? You wouldn’t want them to fall into the wrong hands.’ Leaving Winnie open-mouthed, she hastily took Ruby by the arm and ushered her through the side door and on to the pavement.

Empire Street was lit by a beautiful full moon, but Rita didn’t have time to stop to admire the bright silver light. She knew it would make the bombers’ task easier – although the anti-aircraft gunners would have a better chance of hitting a well-illuminated plane. People were pouring out from every door of the short street, hastening to the communal shelter. There was Violet from her parents’ house, her gawky frame easily recognisable. She waved and came over.

‘You on your own?’ Rita asked her sister-in-law in surprise. The Feenys’ place was usually bursting at the seams.

‘I am,’ said Violet in her strong Mancunian accent. ‘Dolly’s out fire-watching, Pop is on ARP duty, Sarah’s at the Voluntary Aid Detachment post down the docks and Nancy went back to her mother-in-law’s after supper, taking baby George with her. I’ve just locked up, so it’s as safe as I can get it.’ She smiled ruefully.

‘No sign of Frank?’ Rita asked.

‘No, he’s at his digs. He’s doing a lot of night shifts this week,’ Violet said. ‘Hurry up, I don’t like being out in this, it’s like daylight.’

As the alarm continued to wail, the three women broke into a run towards the shelter. Once safely installed alongside their neighbours, they unpacked their provisions and settled down, knowing it could be a long night. Rita was full of admiration for Violet; she never seemed to tire and her spirits never seemed to flag. She led them all in a singsong, though Rita thought the notes of ‘Run Rabbit Run’ and ‘Pack Up Your Troubles’ sounded rather gloomy as they fought with the rumble from the guns and incendiaries outside. And none of it could hide the whispers and mutterings occasionally directed at Ruby from some of the ruder elements among the street’s residents. Rita pulled Ruby closer towards her and made soothing noises to calm the strange girl as they waited, for what seemed like an age, for the all-clear.

Warrant Officer Frank Feeny hurried down the concrete steps of Derby House, ready to show his ID for the second time since entering the building. Nowhere in the entire country was security taken more seriously than in this fortified bunker in the centre of Liverpool, which was now home to the command for the Western Approaches. It was no exaggeration to say that the fate of the war relied on what happened in these two storeys of underground offices, mess areas, and the vital map room, which served as the nerve centre for the Battle of the Atlantic.

He checked his watch as he handed over his pass. Just about on time – he hated to be late, as did everybody involved in this high-level operation. Even though today he would have had a valid excuse. Last night’s raids had caused damage to the city centre, with the General Post Office being hit and the telephone exchange being affected; emergency exchanges had been at work ever since to ensure there was no breakdown in communications, but it was still a major cause for concern. Derby House had its own direct telephone line to the War Cabinet down in London, as top-secret news had to pass between the two centres at all hours of the day and night.

Frank rubbed his eyes, berating himself for feeling tired. After all this time in service he should be used to the demanding shifts by now. Despite the loss of his leg, he was still young and fit, even if he’d never be a champion boxer again. He needed to keep alert and all his wits about him. There was no room for anyone to make a mistake, here of all places.

‘Good evening, Frank.’ One of the teleprinter operators looked up as he passed by and gave him a cheeky smile. ‘Manage to catch up on your beauty sleep today, did you?’ She raised one eyebrow, and if Frank hadn’t known better he’d have thought she was flirting with him.

‘Can’t you tell? I’m handsome enough already,’ he managed to say automatically as he headed for the next room along. She was quite pretty, he recognised, with her hair in its victory roll, just like his sister Nancy liked to style hers. But he didn’t have time to think about girls. They were a distraction and he couldn’t afford that. One small slip and the consequences could be fatal in this line of work.

He was glad he’d settled into service accommodation rather than move back in with his family. He told himself it was because they were full enough, now his brother Eddy’s wife Violet lived there while Eddy was back at sea with the Merchant Navy, and even his little sister Sarah was little no longer and serving her own shifts as a trainee nurse. They didn’t need him waking them up at all hours. He’d have loved the comfort of his mother’s cooking and the reassurance of his father’s hard-earned wisdom, much of it gathered from the last war, but that was an indulgence he couldn’t afford.

He didn’t want to think about the other reason he stayed away. He would have had to look across the road at that other front door and know that Kitty was not going to step through it. When he’d first learnt that he was going to be stationed back in Liverpool, his heart had soared, despite his best attempts at reasoning, at the prospect of being near her. Somehow over the past couple of years she’d gone from being almost another sister to the one woman who made his pulse race, whose face he looked for in every crowd. But then he’d lost his leg and he knew no woman in her right mind would look at him twice. He had his pride; he wouldn’t beg. And he absolutely would not hold her back. In his current state he would be a burden to any woman and he didn’t want that – least of all for Kitty. It would be unbearable. He knew she was friendly with a doctor now, someone who had his full complement of limbs in working order, and whose job was to save lives; he was a lucky man and Frank hoped he knew it. But he cursed to the heavens above that just as he had returned to his Merseyside home, longing to see her again, Kitty had enlisted and been posted to the other end of the country.

CHAPTER FIVE

Nancy heard the flap of the letterbox rattle against the door and rushed to see what the postman had brought. She made a point of being the first to do this as she didn’t trust her mother-in-law not to open her letters; for an old woman who complained she was ill all the time, Mrs Kerrigan was surprisingly quick off the mark. She had just managed to stuff the two envelopes bearing her name into her waistband and cover them with her cardigan when, sure enough, her mother-in-law emerged from the dining room.

‘What is it?’ she demanded. ‘Is there anything from my poor boy?’

‘Must have been the wind,’ said Nancy brightly. ‘There’s nothing there. We can’t expect Sid to write all the time, can we? He’ll have other things on his mind. Oh, that’s Georgie crying again, I’d better go.’ She almost ran through the parlour door, ignoring the venomous look Mrs Kerrigan shot at her.

The parlour was gloomy, but at least it was Nancy’s own space, which she rented from her in-laws in addition to the room she’d shared with Sid and insisted on keeping. She’d go mad without some privacy in the daytime. They had plenty of room, which was about the only good thing she could say for the cold, unwelcoming place. Now she drew a chair as close to the window as she could, to catch what meagre daylight managed to filter through the heavy net curtains.

Georgie looked up expectantly, crawling over and trying to pull himself up with the help of the chair leg. Nancy regarded him sadly. It was a shame that Sid would miss his son’s first steps – it wouldn’t be long now. Then George would be all over the place and she’d never have a moment’s peace. George had never known his father, and she had almost forgotten what he looked like herself. She glanced over at the picture on the mantle of them both on their wedding day. She smiled at the picture, admiring her own shapely figure and the way the fashionable dress hugged her curves. It suited her to ignore the memory of the swell of Georgie in her tummy and how it had taken several goes to zip up the dress, and the bitter tears she’d cried that morning over the revelation that Sid had been carrying on with a fancy woman in the run-up to their big day – if she hadn’t been in the family way then they’d never have made it up the aisle. Her smile drained away. Sid, well, he just looked like Sid, didn’t he. ‘Good boy,’ she said wearily. ‘Mummy’s just going to read her letters, then she’ll play with you.’

She opened the first envelope with its familiar handwriting. Mrs Kerrigan must never see this, must never know that Stan Hathaway was still writing to Nancy. The pilot’s looping script was instantly recognisable and it would be evident to anyone who saw it that the letter came from someone in the services – not something from a POW camp forwarded by the Red Cross. She hoped the postman could be relied on for his discretion, but she was far from sure he could. Her heart was hammering as she tore open the flap, careful not to rip the flimsy paper inside.

It was a short note, as Stan claimed he didn’t have much time. Still, he wanted her to know he was thinking of her – Nancy could just imagine the gleam in his eye as he wrote that and exactly what he was thinking of – and couldn’t wait to see her again. He wasn’t able to say exactly where he was, but he was being kept busy, defending the skies. He wasn’t sure when his next leave would be but maybe in another six weeks or so, if he was lucky. Nancy sighed with longing. She remembered how his touch made her feel, the sheer delight of being held by him making her reckless. Six weeks seemed like for ever. She didn’t know how she’d be able to sneak past the dragon-like figure of her mother-in-law but she’d manage somehow. She’d have to. Nothing could keep her from the warm embrace of the gorgeous Stan Hathaway. Carefully she folded the precious piece of paper and reached to tuck it in her skirt pocket. She’d hide it away in her bedroom later. Mrs Kerrigan would think nothing of coming into the parlour if she was out and snooping about to see what evidence of her daughter-in-law’s flightiness she could uncover.

‘Mmm-mmm-mm.’ Georgie reached for his mother’s pocket, keen to see what the fuss was about.

‘No, that’s not for you,’ Nancy said shortly. Then she saw her son’s face fall and the trembling of his chin that heralded another bout of wailing. Hurriedly she relented, bending down and scooping him up to place him on her lap. ‘Look what Mummy’s got. This is a letter from Aunty Gloria. Shall we see what it says?’

She opened the envelope with the huge handwriting on it and George snatched it from her, happily tearing it in two and stuffing one bit into his mouth. Nancy debated whether to take it from him, knowing that even used envelopes should be saved as paper was so scarce. Then again, it was keeping him quiet, and as long as he didn’t actually swallow it, it would probably do him no harm.

She unfolded the letter from her best friend, written on lavender-coloured notepaper and bearing a faint trace of Gloria’s favourite perfume. Even though there was a war on, she’d never gone short of it, as there had always been an eager queue of men willing to do anything to present her with a bottle or two, no matter how it had been come by. Nancy felt a twinge of jealousy. She knew she was pretty but Gloria Arden was something else, with her natural silver-blonde hair and her golden voice. She looked like a film star and carried herself like one, for all that her parents ran the Sailor’s Rest pub at the end of Empire Street. She had gone to London and been taken on by a leading impresario, who was arranging far more glamorous concerts for her than her old regular spot at Liverpool’s Adelphi Hotel.

Nancy skimmed the page and gasped. The concerts had been a roaring success, Gloria reported, and she’d been asked to do more and more. London just loved her. The impresario, Romeo Brown, was talking about getting her to make a record. In order to whet the nation’s appetite for that, he’d suggested a tour. She’d be heading up north, and a date had already been booked in Manchester. So she was going to persuade them to add a date in Liverpool. Then she would be able to stay for a while to see her family and, of course, her best friend.

Nancy was torn between the envy she always felt at Gloria’s success and anticipation of her visit, when she would be able to bask in her friend’s reflected glory. Life with Gloria was never dull, that was for certain. Trouble and adventure seemed to follow her around wherever she went. Nancy paused guiltily as she remembered that Gloria hadn’t had it easy these past few months, as her posh pilot boyfriend had died saving her, shielding her from a blast during an air raid. Giles had only just proposed and it should have been the happiest night of Gloria’s life, but tragedy had struck right at the moment of her triumph. So perhaps it was only to be expected that she would throw herself into her singing career.

‘Well, Georgie, things are going to liven up a bit at last,’ Nancy cooed to her son, as she retrieved the soggy paper from his mouth. ‘Let’s see what Granny Kerrigan says about that.’

And, she thought to herself, Gloria would know what to do about the other matter that was bothering Nancy. Not that there was really anything to worry about. But just in case it did turn out to be what she feared …

‘Winnie not well again?’ asked Vera Delaney, her lips pursed as she rubbed her finger along one of the shelves in the shop. ‘That’s a shame. Without her behind the counter this place is going to rack and ruin.’ Dramatically, she held up her fingertip, which bore a trace of dust. ‘Still, I suppose you’ve got more shelves to clean now there’s not so much stock.’

‘Well, there is a war on.’ Rita struggled to keep her welcoming smile in place. ‘What can I get you, Mrs Delaney?’

Vera hesitated. When Winnie was in charge she could get all manner of extras under the counter, but she was convinced nobody else knew about this, so she had no intention of asking Rita for any favours. She was all too aware Winnie distrusted her daughter-in-law. ‘I’ll just get my sugar ration,’ she said, pursing her thin lips.

‘Awful how it goes so fast, isn’t it?’ Rita said, trying to make conversation. She hated it when the atmosphere in the shop felt unfriendly.

Vera ignored her comment. ‘Still no sign of your husband, then?’

Rita looked up from the counter. ‘I’m sure Winnie told you, he went away to look after the children safely.’

Vera rolled her eyes. ‘Dodge conscription, more like.’ She reached for her sugar and handed over her coupon. ‘Don’t you try to lie to me, young lady. Word is out that your man is a deserter, plain and simple. I feel for Winnie, really I do, but when I think about what danger my Alfie is in down the docks it makes my blood boil.’

Rita didn’t reply as she took the coupon, even though there was plenty she could have said about Alfie Delaney. True, he had a job on the docks and was therefore in theory in the most dangerous place on Merseyside, but he spent most of his time appropriating goods for the black market, some of which found their way into Winnie’s cellar. He was far from the only dock worker helping himself to any extras that were available, but Alfie took it to a new height. When he wasn’t doing this he was usually skiving. Admittedly he had performed one heroic deed, saving Tommy Callaghan from a burning warehouse, but that had been months ago. Vera couldn’t resist mentioning this again.

‘And him pulling that young rascal from the flames, when he had no call to be there! Putting his own life at risk like that! That’s something we won’t find your husband doing, I’ll be bound.’

Rita smiled tightly, knowing that to say anything would be to give Vera even more ammunition. Somehow she had to ride out these snide remarks and hold her head high. She cursed Charlie for his cowardice. His reputation threatened to ruin her own, but she couldn’t let that show.

Vera drew closer. ‘Maybe you could let me know when Winnie will be back at work?’

Aha, thought Rita, that’s what she’s after – her usual parcel of ill-gotten luxuries. Before she could say anything, the shop door opened again and a gust of wind blew sharply down the narrow aisle.

‘Morning, Rita!’ Violet’s lanky frame appeared silhouetted against a rare burst of sunlight. ‘Hello, Mrs Delaney. Cold out, isn’t it? Brass monkeys, as my brothers would say.’ She threw her head back and gave her braying laugh – which took some getting used to – and her bright scarf slipped sideways on her poker-straight hair.

Vera shot her an infuriated glance. ‘Well, if you’d tell Winnie that I asked after her …’ She beat a hasty retreat. Violet beamed at her cheerfully.

‘Bye, Mrs D, sorry you couldn’t stop!’ she called as the door slammed shut. She turned back to Rita. ‘Horrible old bag, what did she want?’

Rita shook her head. ‘Her sugar ration. Or that’s what she said, anyway. Really she wanted to carp about Charlie and to find out when Winnie’s back in charge so she can get bits and bobs on the QT.’

‘Still no word from him then?’ asked Violet sympathetically. She had never met the man, but had heard all about him from the rest of the family. Nobody had a good word to say about him.

‘Not a dickie bird. He’s as good as vanished,’ Rita confirmed. She couldn’t bring herself to mention the shame of hearing about the visit from the police. ‘I can’t pretend I’m sorry, and the children never even ask about him. We’re better off without him. I just wish people wouldn’t tar me with the same brush.’

‘No, you mustn’t think like that,’ Violet said, immediately reassuring. ‘Everyone knows how hard you work. How are Michael and Megan? Have you heard from them recently?’

Rita’s expression changed at the thought of her beloved children. ‘Yes, they write all the time – well, Michael writes, and Megan mostly sends drawings. They love it down on the farm. Joan and Seth, that’s the couple who run the place, spoil them rotten. Now they’ve got Tommy as well, they’re made up. He’s big enough to help out with the animals. They’ll never want to come home.’ She shook her head. ‘I miss them of course. It’s like going around without one of my limbs. But knowing they’re safe and happy helps.’