by Joan Jonker
Sweet Rosie
O’Grady
Joan Jonker
Copyright © 1996 Joan Jonker
The right of Joan Jonker to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2012
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN: 978 0 7553 9198 1
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
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London NW1 3BH
www.headline.co.uk
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Also by Joan Jonker
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Joan Jonker was born and bred in Liverpool. Her childhood was a time of love and laughter with her two sisters, a brother, a caring but gambling father and an indomitable mother who was always getting them out of scrapes. Then came the Second World War when she met and fell in love with her husband, Tony. For twenty-three years, Joan campaigned tirelessly on behalf of victims of violence, and it was during this time that she turned to writing fiction. Sadly, after a brave battle against illness, Joan died in February 2006. Her best-selling Liverpool sagas will continue to enthral readers throughout the world.
Joan Jonker’s previous novels, several of which feature the unforgettable duo Molly and Nellie, have won millions of adoring fans:
‘Wonderful … the characters are so real I feel I am there in Liverpool with them’ Athena Tooze, Brooklyn, New York
‘I enjoy your books for they bring back memories of my younger days’ Frances Hassett, Brixham, Devon
‘Thanks for all the good reads’ Phyllis Portock, Walsall
‘I love your books, Joan, they bring back such happy memories’ J. Mullett, Lancashire
‘I’m an ardent fan, Joan, an avid reader of your books. As an old Liverpudlian, I appreciate the humour. Thank you for so many happy hours’ Mrs L. Broomhead, Liverpool
Also by Joan Jonker
When One Door Closes
Man Of The House
Home Is Where The Heart Is
The Pride Of Polly Perkins
Sadie Was A Lady
Walking My Baby Back Home
Try A Little Tenderness
Stay As Sweet As You Are
Dream A Little Dream
Many A Tear Has To Fall
Taking A Chance On Love
Strolling With The One I Love
When Wishes Come True
The Girl From Number 22
One Rainy Day
Featuring Molly Bennett and Nellie McDonough
Stay In Your Own Back Yard
Last Tram To Lime Street
Sweet Rosie O’Grady
Down Our Street
After The Dance Is Over
The Sunshine Of Your Smile
Three Little Words
I’ll Be Your Sweetheart
Non-fiction
Victims Of Violence
To my many friends for all their support.
And to the people of Merseyside whose humour has helped me write my books.
Chapter One
Nellie McDonough laced her chubby fingers together, then laid her hands flat on the table. ‘D’yer know what, girl? If I could get me hands on that Hitler feller, I’d wring his ruddy neck! I was sayin’ that to George last night, when we were havin’ a quiet talk before we went to bed.’ She shook her head in indignation, sending her layers of chins swinging from side to side. ‘One man causin’ all that trouble, it fair makes me blood boil.’
‘I agree with yer, Nellie,’ said her friend Molly Bennett. ‘I can’t understand why someone hasn’t bumped him off before now!’
‘Put a gun in me hand, point me in the right direction, an’ I’ll bump him off willingly!’ Once again Nellie’s chins did a dance. ‘Mind you, someone would ’ave to show me how to use the ruddy thing first, otherwise I’d be shootin’ me own toes off.’
A smile played around Molly’s mouth as she eyed her friend with affection. ‘Nellie, isn’t it a pity Chamberlain doesn’t know about you? ’cos if he did, all his troubles would be over. All he’d have to do would be to lock yer in an empty room with Hitler just for five minutes, an’ there wouldn’t be no flamin’ war.’
When Nellie grinned, the fat on her cheeks moved upwards to cover her eyes. ‘Ye’re right there, girl! There wouldn’t be no Hitler, either, ’cos I’d pulverize him!’
‘Pulverize or marmalize, Nellie, I wouldn’t be fussy how yer did it, as long as yer put him out of action for ever. A flamin’ madman, he is! Did yer read in the Echo that some mothers are sendin’ their kids away to places in the country? It’s not natural that, it would break my heart to send our Ruthie away.’
‘So even if a war does start, an’ evacuatin’ becomes compulsory, yer wouldn’t let her go?’
‘Would I heckers like! I’d never know a minute’s peace if I let her go to strangers!’ Ruthie was the baby of the family, and because she’d come along seven years after Tommy, the only boy, Molly was inclined to spoil her. ‘I mean, how would I know if they were good to her, if she was gettin’ enough to eat and if her clothes were being aired off properly?’ The very idea sent a shiver down Molly’s spine. ‘Takin’ a child away from her family an’ stickin’ her in with strangers, it doesn’t bear thinkin’ about, does it?’
‘Don’t let’s think about it then.’ Nellie gazed around the room, a knowing look on her face. ‘But before we stop talkin’ about it, can I say how jammy yer were, gettin’ all this new furniture when yer did? With most of the factories on war work, pretty soon yer won’t be able to get furniture for love nor money.’
‘I’ve thought about that meself, Nellie! Jack winning that twenty pounds on the pools was a godsend.’ Molly noticed the time and jumped to her feet. ‘I’ve got a few bits of washin’ to peg out, so d’yer want to hang on an’ we can go up to the shops together? It’ll only take me five minutes at the most.’
‘No, I’ll nip home and peel the spuds.’ Nellie spread her hands on the table and pushed herself up. ‘I’ve got me dinner cookin’ on a low light. It’s ham shank tonight, with onions, vegetables and barley.’ She rubbed her tummy and licked her lips. ‘Me mouth’s
waterin’ just thinkin’ about it.’
Molly gazed with affection at the eighteen-stone woman who lived three doors away. They’d been neighbours for over twenty years, since the day they’d both moved into the street of two-up two-down terraced houses as newly-weds. But over the years they’d become more than just neighbours … they were best mates. True, they’d had their fights when the kids were little, but their scraps had always ended up in laughter. They’d always been there for each other, sharing the good times and the bad times. And when the kids were little there were plenty of bad times … with not enough money coming in to make ends meet. Molly remembered now the day they’d sat at her table and emptied their purses. Ninepence ha’penny they had between them, and that was to feed two husbands, six children and themselves. Molly was in despair, but Nellie refused to be downhearted. With her basket resting in the crook of her arm, she’d marched down to the shops and come back with the makings of a huge pan of scouse which they shared between the two houses. Admittedly the meat was conspicuous by its absence, but there were no complaints. And for the rest of the week they’d lived on tick from the corner shop. But through it all there had been happiness, laughter and affection. And the bond between the two women had been strengthened a few months ago when Steve, Nellie’s eighteen-year-old son, had become engaged to Molly’s eldest daughter, seventeen-year-old Jill.
‘In the name of God, Nellie, what’s wrong with yer stocking? It’s all wrinkled round yer ankle like a concertina!’
Nellie tutted. ‘It’s me flamin’ garter, girl, the elastic’s gone.’ Gripping the back of a chair for support, she lifted her leg. ‘I can’t see that far down, these get in the way.’ She patted her mountainous bosom with the other hand. ‘It’s years since I saw me feet … in fact if it weren’t for me corns givin’ me gyp, I wouldn’t know they were there.’
‘Ah, yer poor thing, me heart bleeds for yer.’ Molly grinned as she stood up. ‘Do somethin’ with yer stocking before we next go to the shops, I’d be ashamed to be seen out with yer like that.’
‘I’ll walk behind yer if yer like.’ Nellie drew herself up to her full height, pretending her feelings had been hurt. ‘I mean, the last thing in the world I’d want to do is shame yer.’
‘Will yer go home, missus, an’ let me put me washing out? If we don’t get a move on, the shops will be closed for dinner.’
‘I’m goin’, I’m goin’.’ Nellie dropped her eyes to Molly’s legs. ‘Did yer know yer’ve got a dirty big ladder in yer stocking?’
Molly lifted her skirt and twisted her leg. ‘I can’t see a …’ She glanced up to see the sly smile on Nellie’s face. ‘Why you … you!’
Nellie’s chubby face was the picture of innocence. ‘I could have sworn I saw a ladder … must ’ave been a trick of the light.’ She waddled to the door and turned. ‘Ever been had, girl?’
‘One of these days I’ll get me own back on you,’ Molly called after her. ‘Just you wait an’ see if I don’t.’
Standing by the front door, Nellie chuckled. ‘Yer know, girl, after tryin’ for twenty years I think yer deserve to catch me out. Otherwise yer’ll be gettin’ one of those in … infer …’ She dropped her hand from the latch and walked back along the hall. ‘What is it yer get when ye’re always losin’?’
Trying to keep a straight face, Molly said, ‘Yer mean an inferiority complex?’
Nellie fluttered her eyelashes. ‘Aren’t I lucky to ’ave an edicated mate? Anyway, we can’t have yer gettin’ one of them inferiority things ’cos it could be painful.’
Molly picked up a cushion. ‘If ye’re not out of that door in two ticks, missus, yer’ll get this in yer physog.’
When Tony Reynolds caught sight of Molly and Nellie passing the window of his butcher’s shop, a huge grin covered his face. Turning to his assistant, Ellen Clarke, he said, ‘Ay out, here comes trouble.’
‘I heard that!’ Molly laughed. ‘If ye’re not careful, me an’ Nellie will take our custom elsewhere.’
‘Yeah!’ Nellie’s chins rippled like waves. ‘We’ll get the tram into town and get our half of mince from one of the stalls in St John’s Market. The fellers down there are always pleasant an’ accommodatin’, yer wouldn’t hear one of them insultin’ their customers … especially when they’re paying cash on the nail.’
Tony slapped an open palm on his forehead, nearly knocking his straw hat off. Feigning horror, he pleaded, ‘Don’t do that, ladies, please! I’d have to close the shop if you two took yer custom elsewhere.’
‘Ay, well, we’ll forgive yer this once,’ Molly said before smiling at his assistant. ‘How’s it goin’, Ellen?’
‘Fine thanks, Molly.’ Ellen was Molly’s next-door neighbour and had good reason to be eternally grateful to her and Nellie. Married to Nobby Clarke, Ellen’s life had been hell. He was a drunkard, gambler and wife beater. She had four children and none of them had known what it was to have a full tummy, decent clothes on their backs, or a fire in the grate. They all lived in fear of the violent man who lashed out with his hands or feet whenever the mood took him. But in the end he’d been his own worst enemy. One day he’d drunk himself into such a stupor he’d walked straight into the path of an oncoming tram. His legs had been so badly mangled they had to be amputated. He was in Walton Hospital for months, and although Ellen knew his violence towards everyone was part and parcel of his make-up, the staff at the hospital put it down to the trauma he’d suffered. Eventually though, he’d been diagnosed as being mentally insane and was now in Winwick Hospital.
They had been dark days for Ellen. With no money and nothing of value to sell, it would have meant the poorhouse for her and the children if these two neighbours hadn’t stepped in to help. They’d cadged clothes for her, set her hair, made her face up, then found her two part-time jobs. One had been with Tony, and he’d been so impressed with her work he’d taken her on full-time. It was still hard making ends meet, but at least she had something she’d never had during her years of marriage … an easy mind, pride in herself, happy children and laughter in a house that was now a home.
‘I think I’ll have a tin of corned beef, Tony,’ Molly said, pointing to the tins stacked in a pyramid. ‘We can have corned beef hash tomorrow night … a nice easy meal.’
‘I was sayin’ to Ellen just before you came in, you ladies would be wise to start buying extra tins of food, getting a little stock in,’ Tony said. ‘There’s bound to be a shortage of food.’
‘Oh, ay, moneybags! Who can afford to be buying extra?’ Molly turned the tin upside down to make sure the key was attached. The tins were awkward enough to open with the key, but without one they were impossible. If she had a penny for every time she’d cut her hand on the jagged edge of a corned beef tin, she’d be a rich woman.
‘It’s a good idea, though, isn’t it?’ Nellie puckered her lips, deep in thought for a few seconds. ‘I know a way we could make a few bob … we could try our luck down Lime Street!’
‘Wishful thinkin’, Nellie!’ Molly’s head fell back and she roared with laughter. ‘We’d have to pay the blokes!’
Once again Nellie pondered. Then a smile curved her lips. ‘I know … we could take Ellen! She’s younger than us, an’ she doesn’t look bad when she’s all dolled up.’ The big woman’s tummy rumbled as a laugh made its way up to her mouth. ‘Anyway, we could always find a dark entry, then they wouldn’t be able to see what she looks like.’
Ellen’s face was the colour of beetroot. Fancy them talking like that in front of her boss! It was enough to make a saint blush! Mind you, it was funny … but she’d wait till she got home to laugh about it. ‘Don’t you two be draggin’ me into any of yer crazy schemes.’
‘She’s an ungrateful bugger, that one,’ Nellie huffed. ‘Here we are, out of the goodness of our hearts, tryin’ to help her make a few bob, and look at the thanks we get! I mean, it’s not as though we were expectin’ her to go on her own! Me an’ Molly would have gone along to help her carry the
money, wouldn’t we, girl?’
‘Shut up, Nellie, ye’re makin’ the girl blush.’ Molly was searching the compartments in her purse. ‘I could have sworn I had a shilling, but it’s disappeared. Ah, no, here it is.’ She held the coin aloft. ‘I’ll have another tin of that corned beef, Tony. It won’t go to waste if there’s no war.’
‘Oh, there’ll be a war, Molly, yer can bank on it.’
Molly was reminded of Tony’s words when, three days later, on the first of September, German troops invaded Poland. And two days after that, Britain and France declared war on Germany. Newspaper headlines screamed the news, and solemn-sounding commentators on the wireless issued bulletins throughout each day. Everywhere you went it was the topic of conversation, but because people’s lives weren’t being affected, they didn’t feel as though there was a war on.
But on the eighteenth of September, everyone in the country was jolted out of their complacency when the aircraft carrier HMS Courageous was sunk with the loss of five hundred men.
‘They didn’t stand a chance, blown to smithereens,’ Jack snarled through clenched teeth. ‘We’re supposed to have the best navy in the world – how the bloody hell did it happen?’
‘I don’t know, love.’ Molly could sense Jack’s anger. ‘Don’t get yerself all het up, yer’ll make yerself ill.’
‘Don’t get meself all het up! Molly, five hundred men, the backbone of this country, have been killed … or murdered would be more like it.’ Jack gave vent to his rage by banging his clenched fists on the arms of his chair. ‘And every one of those men has left a family behind, don’t forget! A wife, children, mother, girl … can yer imagine what they’re goin’ through right now?’
‘They must be goin’ through hell,’ Molly said softly. ‘I don’t think I could bear it if it happened to one of mine.’
‘By God, that bastard Hitler must think he’s hit the jackpot! I bet he’s struttin’ up and down rubbing his hands in glee.’ Jack ran a hand through his mop of dark hair. ‘D’yer know, if I was a few years younger I’d join up meself.’
