The Mersey Daughter

by Annie Groves

  She had no idea for how long she lay under the table, but gradually the confusion lessened and the air began to clear. The dim light bulb hadn’t gone out – she had thought everything had gone dark but maybe she’d hit her head and it had just seemed like that. Now she could make out that the explosion had dislodged items from the shelves around the walls, but the small station was still basically intact. Jean’s chipped mug had fallen nearby and smashed to pieces. Distractedly, Sarah pushed the shards out of the way; they were sharp and shouldn’t be stood on, but they could be cleared away properly later. Groaning, she rolled over on to her hands and knees and crawled from under the table. She slowly got to her feet, almost laughing to see her neat rows of bandages still in place. How could everything around be falling apart but those be so straight and orderly? Then she shook her head. Get yourself together, she thought. Tidy this place up and get ready for the onslaught. A banged head and dizzy spell is no excuse for shirking your duty.

  Still shaking, she quickly set about restoring order, and then it hit her that the screams had stopped. Gingerly she made her way to the door and stepped out. The sky was bright with the light of blazing fires, and the smell was overpowering. She gazed upwards, bemused by the orange glow, shuddering at what it might mean – for the city, for the docks, for the houses around. Where were her family? Were they safe? She bit her lip. If they weren’t, there was nothing she could do about it now. She mustn’t think about it or it would overwhelm her.

  Not far ahead of her, along the street, something dark lay on the pavement. With a growing horror filling her, she ran to it and crouched down. The familiar dark material of a nurse’s cloak was easily recognisable even in these conditions. ‘Jean, Jean, are you all right? It’s me. Listen, I’ll help you up.’ Sarah reached out to the older woman and gave her a little shake. There was no response. Carefully Sarah pulled back the cloak, and then sat back on her heels with a gasp of horror. Jean’s face was intact but her head was at the wrong angle, and there was blood across the upper half of her body, pouring from an unseen wound. Cautiously Sarah felt the woman’s neck and then reached for her wrist – but she knew it was futile. Jean was dead.

  ‘No, Jean, no, you can’t die. We need you.’ A desperate sob rose in Sarah’s throat. She didn’t want to be on duty alone; she now felt desperately afraid and unable to cope, and swamped with sorrow for her colleague, who had been chatting and drinking tea only a matter of minutes ago. And her children – she had two children. Sarah’s head dropped to her chest as she cried for her fallen comrade.

  ‘Come now, nurse, this is no place for you.’ The voice of the ARP warden rang out. It was not Pop, but his colleague who patrolled this area. ‘What have we here? No, I’m afraid you can do no good by staying with her. Friend of yours, was she? We’ll get her taken care of, don’t you worry, but you can’t stay here. There’ve been a lot of fires at the docks. We’ve got to expect injuries from all the flying debris.’

  Dimly Sarah recalled that the docks had suffered an onslaught yesterday as well. She shook her head but allowed the man to help her to her feet.

  The ARP warden noticed how young this nurse was, how pale her face in the light from the fires all around, but he knew that showing sympathy now would be of no avail. It would help nobody if she broke down. So he took her firmly by the arm and walked her back to the nurses’ station along the road, talking to her all the while. ‘That’s right, you’re doing well. I’ll get reinforcements sent across to help you, but you are needed at your post. Plenty of places near here have taken a battering and that’s only what we have heard of so far. I’m sorry about your friend but you have to prepare for a busy night, nurse.’

  Sarah nodded, wearily wiping her eyes. Her breath was returning to normal. She couldn’t let herself fall apart or Jean would have died for nothing. Whatever happened, she had to keep the nurses’ station open and functioning – people’s lives depended on it. She brushed the charred smuts from her sleeves and straightened up.

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ she assured the warden.

  ‘That’s the spirit.’ They had reached the door of the station. Already they could make out the shape of an ambulance racing down the street. ‘Chin up, nurse. We’re relying on you.’

  Danny looked around at the mostly familiar faces crowded into the shelter. Rita had fallen asleep, her head resting on Violet’s shoulder, while Violet had nodded off with her head bent over little Georgie, safely wedged on her lap. He’d been fractious to start with but had soon calmed down, with his devoted aunts playing with him and soothing him. Rita had assured them all that Nancy would have gone with her detested mother-in-law to the shelter nearest her house, so there was no need to worry on that score. Ruby, that strange young woman who nobody knew much about, had remained awake for ages, cautiously taking note of everything around her, but had finally dropped off about ten minutes ago, sitting bolt upright as if ready to flee at any moment.

  Danny sighed, wondering if Sarah was all right. She was so brave, taking on so much work at such a young age. She got it from Pop and Dolly, of course. It made him all the more frustrated not to be helping in any significant way. He’d gone back to work on the docks but was restricted to light duties, which mainly meant going round with a clipboard counting crates. All right, someone had to do it, but it didn’t have to be him. Tommy could have done it, it was so simple and repetitive. It exercised neither his body nor his mind, and he was bored stiff. Come to think of it, Tommy would have been as well. He was better off where he was, chasing the goats and causing cheerful mayhem on the farm.

  Danny’s irritation at the world in general was keeping him awake, although he reasoned he could do his job half-asleep anyway. Still, he was finally beginning to doze off, wondering in a confused way what Jack was up to at that moment and what he’d like to do on his leave, when he was jolted back to consciousness by an earth-shattering detonation. Immediately Georgie started crying, and he wasn’t the only one. The shelter shook with the reverberations.

  ‘Keep calm, everyone, keep calm, we’re all right in here,’ he said loudly. He hoped it was true; that explosion had sounded terribly close. Even though he wasn’t in uniform, he had been surprised to find people listened to him these days. They didn’t consider him the young tearaway any more; after they’d learned he had been a hero in the fire that had nearly cost him his life, he’d earned a new respect on the streets around the Dock Road. Now he realised it was his job to contain the situation here. There simply wasn’t room for a mass panic.

  Slowly he moved around the over-full shelter, trying not to step on anyone, offering reassurance that all would be well as long as everyone stayed put and didn’t try to rush outside or have a screaming fit here. He looked in alarm at Ruby, who seemed on the verge of losing control, but Rita had woken fully and was now with her, gently talking to her. Violet was shushing Georgie, who’d been yelling at the top of his lungs in sheer terror at the loud explosion. Danny shook his head. You and me both, pal, he thought. There’s times I feel like letting go like that too. But now was not the time or place.

  Keeping his steady smile fixed to his face, he made his way back to his narrow space on the bench at the back. There was now nothing to be done but wait until the all-clear. But what would they find when they finally emerged from their shelter on this most terrible of nights for their beloved city?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Frank Feeny struggled to adjust to the bright glare of daylight after the relative dimness of the bunker, where he’d been on duty all night. It was a fine May morning, but all about him were signs of destruction. The centre of the city he thought he knew so well had been transformed. Carefully making his way over the remains of shattered buildings, he stared around him in horrified disbelief. Of course they’d known from their underground offices that there had been a severe raid taking place above ground, but knowing it in theory and seeing it in practice were two very different things. Now the grim reality hit him.

  He
found many of the roads were closed and he had to divert when and where possible. He had no plan in mind, but felt compelled to see as much of it for himself as he could before he attempted to get back to his billet – if it was still standing. He thought of the landlady, strict and severe. He hadn’t bothered making the effort to become friends; in fact their paths rarely crossed as his shifts were so irregular. But he didn’t wish her ill. While it could never be called home, his Spartan small room served a useful purpose and he could do with falling into the narrow bed right now. But he had to see for himself what the night’s raids had done.

  Picking his way through rubble and shattered glass, he found himself in front of one of the city centre’s biggest and most popular shops: Lewis’s. Or rather, what was left of it. He gasped at the scale of the damage. Not that he or his family had made a habit of shopping there; usually they made do with the goods in the local markets. But Kitty always talked about it as somewhere she’d buy her clothes if she could, and he’d often vowed to himself he would give her something nice from there – just as a token of friendship; of course there could be nothing else to it now that he was so badly injured. He grimaced. Getting around on his artificial leg on all the uneven pavements was more of a problem than he’d ever admit to anyone.

  ‘Frank! Frank Feeny!’

  A bright female voice jolted him out of the uncharacteristic moment of self-pity. Glancing down the street he caught sight of a figure with striking platinum- blonde hair, wrapped in what looked to be a very expensive long coat. There was only one person it could be.

  ‘Gloria! I didn’t know you were back in town,’ he called as she approached him. Impulsively he stepped forwards and gave her a hug. He’d known her since she was a toddler, and now her presence here brought him back down to earth.

  Gloria gave a wry smile. ‘Picked the right time to pay a visit, didn’t I? Nice of Hitler to send a welcoming committee.’ She shook her head. ‘Look at this place. And to think I was planning to go shopping there later. Don’t suppose they’ll be open today.’

  ‘Not for a while, if ever, I’d say.’ Frank gazed at the once impressive frontage of the tall building, now all but destroyed. ‘You’ll have to get your glad rags elsewhere, Gloria.’

  ‘Maybe I won’t bother.’ Gloria flashed him her brilliant smile. ‘Suddenly I’m not in the mood for shopping.’

  Frank raised an eyebrow. The Gloria he remembered of old was clothes-mad, which was just one of the reasons she got on so well with his sister Nancy. But war changed everyone. ‘Up here for work, are you?’

  Gloria nodded. ‘Can you believe I was singing last night at the Adelphi when this all began? We tried to carry on but it was no good. Usually I’m quite happy to keep on singing for as long as there’s an audience to listen, but this lot got a bit close for comfort. Have you seen much of it?’

  Frank shrugged. ‘I came straight from my night shift down in Derby House. I’ve been wandering round ever since. Fancy joining me for a while? I don’t know why, but I feel that as I’m here, in the middle of it all, I need to see with my own eyes what’s happened.’

  Gloria nodded. ‘I know what you mean. Yes, I’d be happy to – that’s if you’re all right?’ She automatically glanced down towards his leg.

  Frank bristled. He couldn’t bear to be thought of as anything other than the fully fit young man he had been until so recently. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I just meant, you must be tired if you’ve just come off duty,’ Gloria said hurriedly.

  Frank nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Not so tired that I can’t walk. I can sleep later. Now I need to see what’s happened around here.’

  As if in mutual understanding, they turned and began to head down towards the Mersey. For a while the devastation was so shocking they fell silent, just staring around them, taking it all in. The streets where they and their friends and families had strolled so often were utterly changed, many transformed into wasteland overnight. Every now and then Gloria gasped and pointed at one more familiar landmark now ruined. She swayed on her high heels.

  ‘Not the best choice of footwear,’ she said sadly. ‘I didn’t think of that when I packed – shoes for performing, yes. Shoes for picking my way through rubble, no. Forgot that.’

  ‘Bad planning,’ said Frank grimly, and gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘You’ve been in London, haven’t you? So what was it like down there?’

  ‘Oh, destruction follows me wherever I go,’ Gloria said lightly, not wanting to go into details of the overcrowded shelters and Tube platforms used whenever there was a raid on the capital. ‘I just keep on singing until they tell me to stop. Isn’t Kitty down there now? Nancy was saying she’d joined the Wrens and left them all behind.’

  ‘I believe so,’ said Frank shortly. ‘We don’t write.’

  ‘Oh.’ Gloria realised she’d touched on a sensitive topic, and hastily attempted to put things right. ‘Well, I’m sure she’s doing well. She’ll be safe, I should think; they wouldn’t put trainee Wrens in danger.’

  ‘I should hope not,’ said Frank, trying hard to keep his voice level and show no fear for Kitty’s safety. They were all exposed to risks, wherever they were – and, after all, she was nothing special to him, he told himself firmly. ‘Let’s turn down here, see if we can get through to the river. It looks as if there’s plenty of damage down here too.’

  Gloria gasped inadvertently when she saw the devastation before them. The road had opened out and now they had a clear view looking along the waterfront, all the way down to the docks. She put her hand to her throat. ‘Oh Frank, I hope everyone is all right out in Bootle. Maybe I should try to get back to see Mam and Dad. It doesn’t look good that way, does it?’ She shivered in sudden fear.

  Frank took hold of her arm. ‘Don’t think about it. There’s nothing you can do one way or the other. I considered going there as well, but we’d only be in the way. They’ll still be clearing up any damage, there won’t be any transport for the likes of us, and we’d be better off staying out of it. Sorry, that sounds harsh, but it’s true.’

  Gloria gulped. ‘You’re right, of course. It would be selfish to put extra strain on the emergency services by adding to the crowd.’ She wobbled again on her high heels. ‘Sorry. I don’t know what came over me just then.’ She shook her hair in the breeze that was coming off the river. Then she pivoted around and pointed. ‘Look, Frank. Look up there.’

  ‘What?’ For a moment he couldn’t see what she meant. Then he followed the line of her index finger and the penny dropped.

  Despite the devastation all around, there, on top of the Royal Liver Building, were the famous statues of the Liver Birds, standing guard over the city, undamaged and intact. Gloria tugged on his arm, and he could see there were tears in her eyes.

  ‘They’re still there, Frank. Somehow Hitler didn’t get them. They’re still there.’

  Silently, he nodded.

  ‘It’s an omen, isn’t it?’ she said, staring in wonder. ‘I know it sounds stupid but I really feel it is. They are up there; it’s almost as if they are protecting us. It shows we won’t be beaten. Hitler can drop all the bombs he likes, but the people of Merseyside will come through. It’s a miracle how they haven’t been destroyed but they are still there.’

  Frank blinked hard. It was miraculous that the graceful creatures hadn’t been toppled in the overwhelming force of the raid. Maybe Gloria was right. Part of him said it was superstitious nonsense, but the other part of him agreed wholeheartedly that these, the very symbol of the city, were a source of strength and hope for all who saw them.

  ‘We will come through,’ he assured her. ‘It’ll take more than nights of bombing to defeat us. One way or another, we will come through this.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Kitty snatched up the letter from her pigeonhole, recognising the writing. She decided to take it back to her dormitory and read it in peace so that she could savour it. Then she could put her feet up at the same time – a welcome break,
as they were being worked harder and harder, the sessions of cramming in the various training establishments growing longer.

  Other letters she’d received recently weren’t so welcome. There had been no definite news about the destruction of her home city in the newspapers or on the radio, just reports that somewhere in the northwest had been targeted. But rumours soon flew about, and she had realised with a sinking heart that Merseyside had taken a pasting. Then came the letters from home.

  Rita wrote to her sadly that old Mrs Ashby had been killed in the big raid. She’d been too frail to make it out of her house, and Dolly had found her, had tried to get her out, but it had been too late. A piece of burning debris must have landed near her back window and set fire to the flaking wooden frame, as Dolly reckoned it had been smoke inhalation that had done the damage, though the whole house was now uninhabitable. Rita reported that Violet had been the most upset of anyone, even though she’d known the old lady for less time than the rest of them. Apparently they’d become quite close when Violet had helped her with the shopping. Kitty sighed in sorrow. She’d been fond of her old neighbour, and Empire Street wouldn’t be the same without her. Nancy and Mrs Kerrigan had had a very narrow escape getting to the shelter, and Mrs Kerrigan had hurt her leg, and was now going round on crutches claiming to be a victim of the war just like her poor imprisoned son. Nancy was consequently spending even more time at her parents’ as she couldn’t stand her mother-in-law’s moaning.

  Sarah had been a heroine, running the nurses’ station single-handedly for a while before they got reinforcements to her after her colleague was killed. ‘I can’t believe she’s only seventeen,’ Rita had written. Yes, thought Kitty, but war meant Sarah’s last years of girlhood had been taken from her. She’d had to bear responsibilities nobody could have dreamt of. Yet again Kitty thanked her lucky stars that Tommy was safe out on the farm. Otherwise he’d have no doubt tried to be in the thick of it, collecting shrapnel souvenirs as the docks burnt about him.