by Pam Howes
‘How did you get these?’ Dora asked.
‘Joanie’s mam gave them to me,’ Mam said, tapping the side of her nose. ‘She did a favour for Cook last week. I gave her a couple of loaves in exchange.’
Dora smiled. Their mams had met when they both worked at Knowsley Hall. Joanie’s mam was a part-time housekeeper there, and was friendly with Cook, who nearly always paid for a favour with a bit of food.
‘That’s really kind of her,’ Dora said. ‘We’ll have the best wedding cake this village has tasted for years.’
‘We’ll have the best wedding, never mind cake,’ her mam declared. ‘In fact, it’s the first wedding since the lads came home. Well, apart from Sadie Jones’s rush-job.’ She folded her arms, lips pursed.
Dora thanked God she’d managed to keep Joe’s amorous advances at bay. She thought back to last Thursday night’s dance at the village hall when he’d walked her home and they’d taken a short cut through the nearby woods. They’d stopped to kiss beneath a large oak tree, fuelled by a couple of drinks. It was getting harder to say no when his kisses were so passionate and demanding. She felt she deserved a medal for her efforts in restraint. She loved him so much and was desperate to belong to him, but she wouldn’t cause her mam and dad any grief now, even with Joe’s little diamond ring on her finger. They’d just have to be patient for a few more weeks. Their pals, Sadie and Stan, had been so relieved to be back together following his safe return from Egypt that they couldn’t wait, and were now the proud parents of a beautiful baby.
The front room door opened and Frank and Dad walked in. Mam shook her head as they trod dried mud onto her spotless, varnished floorboards. ‘How many times have I told you two to use the back door? Look at the state of my floor now.’
Frank winked at Dora as she made to escape up the stairs. He dug into the old army rucksack in which he carried his dinnertime sarnies and bottle of tea, and pulled out a jar of brown gloopy stuff. ‘Got this today.’
‘What is it?’ Dora asked, frowning.
‘Molasses. Sugary treacle for the cake. It’ll give it colour and help sweeten it too. A cask split down the docks and a bloke said it was good for cakes.’
Mam took hold of the jar and stared at the contents with a suspicious eye. ‘Where did the jam-jar come from?’
‘A fella on board ship. And yes, I washed it, before you ask. He kept his maggots in it for fishing,’ he teased, ducking as Mam reached out and clipped him around the ear.
‘Ouch! I’m joking. It’s clean, I promise you.’ He laughed and gave her a hug, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously. ‘Right, if nobody needs the carsey, I’m off down the garden.’ He tucked the Liverpool Echo under his arm and strolled out of the kitchen.
‘Don’t take all night,’ Mam called after him. ‘I’ll be dishing up in a few minutes.’
Dora sat down on her narrow bed in the large front bedroom she shared with Frank, a curtained partition hung down the middle to give them some privacy, and she fingered the length of lace that he’d brought home last week. If they tinted it with leftover tea it should end up the perfect colour to trim the edges of the sleeves of the bridesmaids’ dresses.
The dresses were cut from a bolt of pale green silk that Frank told her came from France, along with the leftover white lace and taffeta that her own dress had been made from. He said he’d got it at a good price from a merchant who supplied the more exclusive draperies in Liverpool city centre. She hadn’t questioned the fact that the material had arrived on his back, on the motorbike, bundled up in an old, but thankfully clean hessian sack, rather than in the fancy paper a receiving draper would expect to see… and it had a peculiar odour that she’d tried not to put a name to. But once her mam took charge and cut it into lengths, a few days of hanging outside in the garden in a nice fresh breeze had lifted the smells. The leftover fabric had been cut into strips to dress the village hall with swags and bows that would be decorated with some of her dad’s pretty summer flowers. Her bouquet would be cut from Dad’s prize pink rose bush too, and tied up with white ribbons.
Joe had his navy pinstripe demob suit to wear for the wedding and a white shirt and navy tie, and he’d managed to arrange for Murphy’s Dance Band to play. Dora knew it was going to be a day to remember.
All the scrimping and scraping and planning and organising was coming together. She was lucky that she could turn her hand to anything with a sewing needle, and had even made the rest of her trousseau from some parachute silk her brother had brought home. French knickers and a camisole for under the wedding dress; and a pretty nightdress for the honeymoon, trimmed with ribbon and white lace. Her friend Agnes had found a lovely blue garter in a gift shop and had given it to her for her last birthday. All she needed now were stockings, fine silk ones, if possible, and Frank was on the look-out for those. Hopefully there’d be no need for the usual gravy-browned legs with a seam drawn up the back.
Her mam said she’d wager a bet that not even the Princess Elizabeth would look as nice as Dora on her wedding day. As far as she knew, the princess and her fiancé, Philip, hadn’t set a date yet. She and Joe had beaten them to it for the wedding of the year.
Joanie moved the poncher up and down in the dolly tub where the lace was steeping.
Dora brought two cups of tea outside and tipped what was left in the pot into the tub. ‘Mam said we can’t have any more tonight or she’ll have no tea ration left for the rest of the week.’ She dashed back inside and brought out a small plate with a scone split in half and spread with jam. The girls sat down on a couple of old deckchairs by the back door and enjoyed their supper in the warm evening air. The scent from nearby flowers and a neighbour’s freshly cut grass wafted over them in the gentle breeze. It was a pleasure to enjoy the garden again without the sounds of planes droning overhead, air-raid sirens, and the bombings in Liverpool centre, followed by the stench of burning, and the feeling of overwhelming fear. Sitting night after night with her mam and the neighbours in the nearby Anderson shelters during the blackouts, she’d felt that the war would never end and she wouldn’t see her beloved Joe or her dad and brother again.
‘Sorry there’s no butter, it’s been saved for the cake,’ Dora apologised, pushing thoughts of the war away. It was bad enough waking in a cold sweat at night on occasion, without the memories invading a peaceful evening.
Joanie licked the jam from her fingers. ‘Your mam’s scones are a treat, no matter what’s on them. They’re even better than Cook’s up at the hall. It’s nice that your mam’s doing the wedding buffet.’
Dora nodded, pushing the last morsel of scone into her mouth. ‘It is. And Dad’s grown loads of stuff for salads,’ she said, pointing to a makeshift greenhouse near the bottom of the garden where tomatoes and cucumbers were growing. ‘And over there, he’s got spring onions, lettuce and radish. We’re so lucky he’s green-fingered. I’m really excited, I can’t wait.’
Joanie laughed. ‘Bet you can’t. And I bet Joe can’t either.’
Dora rolled her eyes, feeling her cheeks warming. ‘Well yeah, but you know it’s for different reasons. I want to walk up the aisle like a princess, and Joe’s desperate for the honeymoon! Typical man.’ They both laughed and turned their attention back to the lace, which was taking on a dark creamy hue. ‘Shall we rinse it now? It’s been steeping for long enough and we don’t want it to go orange. We’ll dry it on the line and then sew it to the sleeves tomorrow night.’
Joanie smiled. ‘Once the village women see what we’ve made, they’ll all want something. I reckon we could get out of Palmer’s and work for ourselves by next year.’
‘Me too,’ Dora said. It hadn’t been too bad during the war when they felt they were helping the war effort in their own little way. But now, well maybe it really was the right time to try something new. ‘As soon as I’m back from my honeymoon we’ll put a card in the paper shop window, and maybe one on the notice board in the village hall, see what happens. Joe will be working a couple of nights a
week with the band, so it will give me something to do. We need every penny we can save for our own place. I really don’t want to live with Joe’s mum for too long. Can you imagine? She’ll be listening to every little noise we make.’
Joanie laughed and her cheeks flushed slightly. ‘Where’s your Frank tonight?’ She lifted the lace from the tub, not quite meeting Dora’s eye as she squeezed out the excess tea.
‘Out for a drink with his mates, but he said he’d be back early enough to walk you home.’
‘I’ll be fine walking back on my own. He doesn’t need to spoil his night out.’ Joanie blushed a deeper shade of pink. She went inside, dropped the lace into the sink and turned on the tap to rinse it.
Dora smiled as she followed her. ‘He enjoys walking you home, you know that. He’s not bothered about leaving his mates early. Anyway, I thought you liked him, I mean, really liked him?’ Dora knew Frank was sweet on Joanie and she wished her friend would admit she felt the same. But apart from walking her home from the dances at the village hall and on nights when she came over to help with the sewing, Frank was yet to ask Joanie on a date.
‘Um, yes, I do…’ Joanie muttered, bundling the lace into a chipped enamel bowl. ‘There, all done. You can peg it out now.’
‘Stop changing the subject! You could do worse than our Frank.’
‘I’m not really looking for a boyfriend.’
‘Well he’s looking for you; you know he is, so think about it. Then maybe we could go out on double dates.’ She winked at Joanie in encouragement.
Dora knew her friend was shy and she was hoping the wedding would be the right time to get them together. With a few drinks and romance in the air, Joanie might just respond to her brother’s charms. Frank was a good-looking lad with his big blue eyes and shock of blond hair; they really would be the perfect match.
Joanie stumbled and caught the heel of her shoe in a rut on the dirt pavement. She held her breath as Frank reached out and grabbed her arm to save her falling head-first into the road. It was dark on the lanes and he’d borrowed the lamp from Dora’s bike to light their way. As he shone the light into her face and smiled, she felt the flutter of butterflies in her stomach.
‘Whoops!’ He grinned. ‘Better hold my hand. Don’t want you breaking your neck or our Dora’ll never forgive me.’
She looked away from his teasing blue eyes as his hand gripped hers and he pulled her along. She really liked Frank, but was never sure if he was serious or just messing around. In spite of Dora telling her that he enjoyed walking her home, she wouldn’t allow herself anything beyond a daydream that his feelings for her were more than just friendship.
The tiny terraced cottage where she lived with her family came into view, the upstairs windows ablaze with light, and she tried to pull her hand away in case one of her brothers was peeping through the curtains, but Frank held on tight and gave hers a squeeze.
‘Are you coming to ours tomorrow night?’ he asked as they drew level with the gate.
‘Probably.’ She nodded. ‘We’ve got to sew the lace on the sleeves.’ She could feel her cheeks heating as he looked at her and she glanced towards the front door to avoid staring into his eyes. ‘I’d better go in. Mam will wonder what’s keeping me.’ Why did he make her feel like such a blushing, dithering wreck in his presence? He’d never ask her out at this rate and he probably still thought of her as his little sister’s friend whose pigtails he used to pull.
He lifted her hand and dropped a kiss on the back. ‘See you tomorrow, then.’
Joanie stared after his retreating back and raised her hand as he turned on the corner and waved. She sighed and hurried up the garden path. No doubt Frank had plenty of girls after him, with more sophistication about them than she had. He was always out with his mates, so wouldn’t be short of admirers. Ah well, there was always tomorrow.
With her parents in bed, Dora had a strip-wash in the kitchen. She slipped her nightdress over her head and put a pan of milk on the stove to boil. She’d make a jug of cocoa for when Frank got back from walking Joanie home. Mam and Dad always went to bed early, and on nights when she wasn’t seeing Joe, she loved the half hour before bedtime, chatting in the kitchen with her brother. He made her laugh with his tales of dockside labouring. It was a hard job, but he seemed to enjoy the camaraderie.
Frank was a clever lad and never one to miss a trick. He’d passed the eleven plus exam, but with no spare money to buy him a uniform and books, he’d forgone the opportunity to go to the grammar school. He’d never borne their hard-up parents a grudge for his missed education, but as soon as he could he left school and joined the army to see the world, and then war broke out. Since being demobbed he’d gone straight to the docks, even though Joe told him he should try to get a job at the Royal Ordnance Factory in Kirkby, where Joe had been employed since his demob. But Frank said he’d stay where he was. He’d heard rumours that the ROF would soon be closing now the war was over. No need for munitions factories any more.
Dora really hoped he was wrong about that, because Joe needed the job, and had told her that once they were married, he’d be eligible to apply for one of the prefab bungalows built for the workers. It would be a dream come true to have a home to call their own, and the space to set up a proper dressmaking business.
CHAPTER 3
Joe grabbed Dora by the hand as the pair ran along the waterfront towards the ferry boarding point. He bought return tickets at the booth and they hurried on board the Royal Daffodil. Up on deck they breathed in the salty tang of the Mersey as the ferry pulled away, leaving the river foaming in her wake, the seagulls swooping and diving for titbits in the murky waters.
‘That was close,’ Joe said, reaching into his jacket pocket for a packet of Woodbines and matches. He lit up, threw the spent match overboard and took a long drag, relaxing as he inhaled the strong nicotine. They stood side by side and leant on the rail, looking back at their home city, damaged so badly during Hitler’s seven-day Blitz in May 1941. Some of the waterfront buildings were amazingly still intact. They scanned the skyline, admiring the Royal Liver Building, with its two mythical Liver Birds standing atop the clock towers, one looking out across the river and the other keeping a protective eye over the city. The Three Graces had been such a welcome sight for all the troops of Liverpool as they’d arrived home from their wartime battles abroad. Joe always felt a lump in his throat when he looked at the buildings. The very fact that they still stood proud after Hitler’s wave of destruction was proof enough to him that Liverpool could triumph over anything.
‘We should have a good few hours in New Brighton now we’ve caught the early ferry,’ he said, taking another drag on his ciggie. ‘Might even get some dancing in too with a bit of luck.’
Dora smiled as he slipped his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him.
‘I’m not really dressed for dancing, Joe. And I want to sit on the sands and get some sun on my legs, they’re too pale!’
He raised an eyebrow and grinned. ‘They look all right to me, and you look good enough for dancing later.’ Her pretty short-sleeved cotton dress, with red and yellow flowers on a white background, and white peep-toe sandals, looked as nice as anything he saw other girls in the dance halls wearing. Dora always looked lovely, even though she made and restyled most of her clothes from jumble sale finds. She was clever that way and he was proud of her resourcefulness.
He felt he was the luckiest man in the village that she’d waited for him, even though sometimes he’d had to wait weeks and months for her letters to reach him and often they came in threes. When she’d written that she’d been to a couple of dances at the American airbase in nearby Burtonwood with Joanie and their friend Agnes, his heart had been in his mouth in case the next letter was a ‘Dear John’. A few of his comrades had lost their girls to the American airmen, but not him. Dora had been there on the dockside waiting when his ship berthed. She’d run into his arms and he’d vowed never to be away from her side again
.
The cinders crunched beneath their feet as Dora and Joe strode around the New Brighton fairground. They shared a stick of fluffy pink candy floss as the steam organ on the Gallopers ride belted out ‘Blaze Away’. They’d spent a few lazy hours sitting on a couple of stripy deckchairs on the beach. Joe treated them to ice-cream wafers after they’d eaten their Spam and salad sarnies, packed up for them by Dora’s mam, and they’d bought a jug of tea from a stand near the prom. Children rode up and down the sands on donkeys, laughing and giggling as the lad in charge made the animals run.
A Punch and Judy show on the promenade had attracted a large audience, and childish laughter floated down. It was good to hear kids enjoying themselves again. Some of them had no doubt been conceived on a weekend pass from the barracks, and then arrived while their fathers were billeted away. Dora thought of the children who had been evacuated from Liverpool and the surrounding areas in the early war years, and packed off to Canada for safety on the SS City of Benares steamship that had sailed from their own dockside in 1940. While far out in the North Atlantic, the ship had been torpedoed by a German U-Boat. It sank, taking eighty-seven precious little lives with it, as well as many adults, leaving devastated families to cope with more than Hitler’s bloody bombs.
On the way to the waterfront, they’d walked down from Lime Street station, through several streets of bombed-out properties, now under demolition, blackened and damaged houses, schools and shops. Some of the families living in those slum streets had been wiped out, children who hadn’t been evacuated as well as adults. But many were still living there in appalling conditions. It had brought it home to Dora just how lucky her family had been that, although affected financially, they’d suffered no loss of life or damage to their home.
