by Pam Howes
The results of her dad’s recent X-rays and sputum tests had not been good. Her mam needed Dora’s support to get through the next few weeks. Mam had always been there for her, and now it was Dora’s turn to give something back. The X-rays showed a large shadow on his left lung and a smaller shadow on the right. The sputum had contained blood. Malignant tumours were the diagnosis. Terminal lung cancer in an advanced state, the specialist called it. It was a lot to take in and most of the information went over Mam and Dad’s heads, but Dora understood some of what was said and was glad she’d attended the appointment with them. There was an operation called a lobectomy that could help the larger tumour; it involved part of the lung being removed. And they’d also been told that a new treatment may be offered, depending on how well Dad recovered from the operation. The new treatment, cytotoxic chemotherapy, was still in its early experimental stages but had been successful in slowing down the growth of certain tumours. They’d gone home to digest the news over a cuppa and discuss what her dad wanted to do. Dora thought back to the conversation that had ensued.
‘I’m not having it,’ he said, banging his mug down on the coffee table and slopping tea over the rim. ‘That bloody operation I mean, or the treatment. It’ll make me ill and I want the last few weeks to be as nice as they can be for us all.’
‘But, Dad, it’ll slow down the spread of the cancer. That’s what the specialist said,’ Dora cried. ‘It will give you a bit longer with us. Please, Dad, think about it. We need you.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve done nothing but think about it, and the answer’s still no. You heard what he said, it’s terminal. It won’t save my life; we all know it’s too late for that now. All it’ll do is drag the end out and what’s the bloody point in that? I want a nice quiet family Christmas with you all. It’s our Carol’s first and we should all be together here, not me stuck in hospital and you all having to visit in bad weather. I want everything we’ve gone through in the last twelve months to be put behind us for a few days and I’m saying no more on the subject.’
Dora and her mam knew better than to argue with him and resigned themselves to the fact it would be the last Christmas they spent with him. Dora planned to make it the best she could for them all. She wasn’t looking forward to it, and although they could do with the extra money, Joe had told her he was opting out of working with the band for Christmas and New Year, which hadn’t gone down well with the other members as it was their busiest time.
She’d told him to just go ahead and do it, but he wouldn’t; he told her his family needed him. She was glad of his support.
All Dora could think about, as she half-heartedly wrapped presents and placed them under the little Christmas tree on Christmas Eve, was how last Christmas had been so special with the news of Frank and Joanie’s engagement, and then she thought about her little lost daughter Joanna and how she should have been having her first Christmas alongside Carol. It would be the same each year – the memories would always be there; diminishing as time went by, but never quite going away.
Christmas dinner was a subdued affair. No one seemed to be hungry, but they did their best, as Dora had worked hard. Carol had started trying to crawl and kept them all entertained with her antics, rolling over with no effort to get under the tree and pulling at the tinsel and baubles. She rolled over and over until she got to Uncle Frank and looked up at him, beaming. His eyes full of tears, Frank swung her up into his arms and kissed her.
‘Thank God we’ve still got this little one,’ he said, his voice husky with emotion. ‘Treasure her, you two,’ he said to Dora and Joe.
‘We will,’ Dora said, wiping tears from her eyes.
‘Always, mate,’ Joe said. ‘Always.’
Frank lay in his bed, unable to sleep. He couldn’t get Joanie out of his mind. They’d had so short a time together, but it had been precious and he would never forget the girl he’d loved with all his heart. This time last year he’d walked her home with his ring on her finger, both of them thinking they had a lifetime of loving to look forward to. In three months’ time he’d have been getting ready for his role as a father. She’d been so excited at the prospect of being a mother. He didn’t know how he’d cope when March came around. He’d been hitting the bottle to drown out his sorrows, but it wasn’t the answer and such a waste of money. Maybe one day he’d be ready to move on, but tonight he felt nothing other than an overwhelming sadness. They should have cancelled Christmas this year. But his dad had insisted they go ahead, because he knew it would be his last and they couldn’t let little Carol’s first Christmas Day go by without at least making an effort. Frank was glad it was over. He closed his eyes, willing sleep to come.
In the second week of January, Dora went on the bus to visit her parents, leaving Carol with Dolly as the weather was cold. Frank had called in last night and told her that Dad had taken to his bed and he and Mam were really worried about him. She let herself in at the front door. All seemed quiet, so she opened the sitting room door and went into the kitchen at the back. Mam was seated at the table, hands wrapped around a mug. Her hair fastened up in a blue turban and the faded wrap-over pinny indicated a cleaning day, but Dora couldn’t smell the bleach or lavender furniture polish that usually pervaded the air after a cleaning session. Mam’s face was tear-stained and her eyes red-rimmed. She looked weary. Dora’s heart went out to her.
‘Hiya, Mam. Any tea in that pot?’ Dora knew any big gestures of sympathy wouldn’t go down well. Her mam wasn’t one for showing her feelings.
‘Help yourself, chuck.’
Dora took a mug off the draining board and picked up the old brown tea pot that had been in the kitchen all her life. The knitted cosy was replaced regularly as and when Mam had spare bits of wool to make a new one. She put a spoonful of sugar in the mug and sat down. ‘Having a bad day?’
‘It’s always a bad day at the moment, love. I just took him a drink up but he’s flat out. He’s a terrible colour.’
‘Has the doctor been this morning?’
Mam looked at the clock above the table. ‘He’s due any time now. There’s not much he can…’ She stopped as a loud bang came from above.
They both shot out of the kitchen and flew upstairs. Dad was lying on the floor and his pyjama bottoms were wet. The bucket that he urinated in was on its side.
‘Trying to have a piss,’ he wheezed. ‘Can’t bloody stand up.’
Dora dashed out of the room and ran down the stairs to answer the front door to Doctor Owens. ‘Oh thank God. He’s fallen,’ she gasped and stepped aside as the doctor hurried up the stairs, indicating for Dora to follow him.
Mam had managed to prop Dad up against the bed and wrapped a sheet around him to preserve his dignity while she struggled to remove his wet pyjamas. Doctor Owens helped her and then listened to Dad’s chest. He checked his pulse and shook his head. He beckoned Dora onto the tiny landing.
‘Run down the road to Mr Jones’s house and ask him to call for an ambulance. It’s time your father was in hospital.’
Dora dashed out and ran down Sugar Lane as fast as she could. She gasped out her message and Mr Jones ushered her inside while he made the call. Then he accompanied her back down the lane and waited with them until the ambulance arrived. Mam was allowed to travel with Dad and she hurriedly pulled off her pinny and turban and ran a comb through her hair. Dora helped her into a coat and kissed her goodbye.
‘I’ll get there as soon as I can, Mam,’ she said and went back inside to check the kitchen door was locked. Mr Jones had gone to bring his car down and had offered a lift to the hospital. She wished there was a way of getting in touch with Frank at work, but there wasn’t. She’d call Joe from a phone once she got there and he could tell Eric to let Dolly know she might be gone some time.
At Fazakerley hospital, pneumonia had been diagnosed on top of the cancer and they were told nothing more could be done other than careful nursing and oxygen from a tank near Dad’s bed. Now a mask covered his wa
xen face and his eyes were closed.
Dora and her mam held a cold hand each and willed him to hang on until the boys arrived. Hopefully Joe would think to go and look for Frank at the docks once he got the message she’d left with one of his workmates. Dad’s chest rattled like Dora had never heard it rattle before and he was struggling to take in any air at all. Dora felt numb. Another loved one soon to be taken from her; three in just over a year. What sort of a God did this to people? Her Mam had faith but Dora didn’t, not any more. Maybe it was her fault because she didn’t go to church. But Mam did, and she’d lost the same people as Dora, so how did that work? She willed her dad to hang in a bit longer. Each time he seemed to stop breathing, Dora also held her breath, and then he’d start again with that awful rattling noise.
The door opened just after four and Frank and Joe came in together. The rigid two-to-a-bed visiting rule had been lifted.
‘It’s just a matter of time now,’ Dora told them, choking on her words. ‘His breathing is hit and miss, but he’s got the oxygen to help.’
‘Have you two had anything to drink this afternoon?’ Joe asked, putting an arm around her shoulders.
Dora nodded. ‘The nurses have been really kind. They brought us tea and biscuits earlier.’
Joe got a chair each for him and Frank and they settled in for a long night.
Her dad passed away just after nine o’clock and Dora felt her heart would break. Joe held her as she wept against his chest. Frank held Mam and the four of them joined hands around the bed and Mam said a little prayer. He looked at peace, all pain gone from his face. Her eyes red-rimmed, Mam smoothed her worn hand across his brow and told him to behave himself up there with the angels, which made them smile.
‘I love you, Dad.’ Dora dropped a kiss on his forehead and Joe led her from the room. Mam followed with Frank and the kindly ward sister took them to a family room, where tea and sandwiches waited for them on a small table next to a group of comfortable armchairs.
‘Just take your time. There’s no rush to go. It’s been a long day, especially for Mrs Evans and Mrs Rodgers. And I suspect you young men have come straight from work on empty stomachs too. You all need to keep your strength up.’ She left them to it and closed the door quietly on her way out.
Although Dora felt her heart had been ripped out, she helped her mam make the arrangements for Dad’s funeral and supported Frank the best she could, the memories of Joanie’s funeral not even a distant memory. At the end of January, Jim Evans was laid to rest in the same plot as his parents and little granddaughter, and close to Joanie’s grave, in the small graveyard at Knowsley Church. People from the village he’d lived and worked in all his life attended the funeral. His work pals from Knowsley Hall turned up to pay their last respects and Joanie’s mam and her friend the cook had prepared refreshments for the mourners in the village hall. Dora was grateful and relieved; it was one thing less to worry about. Her mam had been so upset and concerned this last week, because the cottage she’d lived in, since the day she married Jim, came with his job. Frank had spoken to the estate manager, who’d told him not to worry; Jim’s part-time job wasn’t to be replaced in the gardens due to staffing cutbacks. He’d mentioned that there was a strong possibility of Frank and Mam remaining in the cottage as tenants, paying a nominal rent to be discussed at a later date, which had brought some relief to them all.
Dora sighed as Agnes came over and gave her a hug. The tears she’d held back all morning ran down her cheeks. ‘I can’t believe he’s gone,’ she cried.
‘I know.’ Agnes patted her back. ‘When my dad died it hurt like hell. But we’re all here for you, and for your mam and Frank too.’
‘Thank you.’ Dora wiped her eyes. ‘He’s had a good turnout. I bet he’s smiling down now at seeing how well respected he was in the village.’
‘Well he was, bless him. Never heard anyone say a bad word about your dad. Listen, I’ve got tomorrow off work too, so I’ll come over and keep you company if you like. Help you with Carol.’
‘That would be lovely, Agnes. Joe goes back to work tomorrow and I don’t fancy being on my own all day. I hope she’s being a good girl for Dolly. She’s trying to crawl now. She’ll be into everything soon.’
Joe was talking to Frank and Alan, while keeping a close eye on Dora. He’d been worried sick that the shock of losing her dad so close to losing Joanie might send her back down the depression route again, but she’d been an amazing rock, staying strong for them all over the last two weeks, and he felt so proud of her for coping like she had done. He’d had a bit of bad news himself from work, but had said nothing yet. He’d tell Dora when he felt the time was right. The ROF factory at Kirkby was again rumoured to be closing down at the end of the year. The company was apparently losing money, the demand for munitions and small arms no longer as high as during the war. There’d been rumours of closure since before he married Dora, but they’d come to nothing, except the workforce had had less overtime for a while now. He’d need to look for another job if it happened, but for now they still had a wage coming in and there was his paid band work for any extras. They’d manage somehow. But like Dora’s dad, their home came with him being employed at the ROF. No one had said anything about losing their homes, and surely it would make sense to let them pay rent to a landlord instead of direct to their employers, rather than evicting them all. Time would tell and he wasn’t going to lose sleep worrying about it just yet, or worry Dora with it either.
CHAPTER 25
MARCH 1948
Dora and Agnes sat at the dining table surrounded by the wedding dress sketches Dora had made. Agnes had been dropping in on a Saturday for the last few weeks and Dora was glad of her company. She missed Joanie dreadfully; the last five months had been lonely without her, and she’d been dreading starting work on Agnes’s dress. But she knew deep down that Joanie would have insisted she went ahead and made it. It was a particularly hard month as Joanie’s baby would have been due next week.
She was worried about her brother. The death of their dad had hit him hard coming so soon after losing Joanie, and she knew he’d been drinking more than he used to. She voiced her worries about Frank to Joe and Alan, who’d taken Frank under their collective wing, making sure he spent time with them rather than on his own or in the pub.
Liverpool FC were playing at home at Anfield against Huddersfield Town today. An important match, apparently. Dora knew little about football, so just took Joe’s word for it. But the fact that her brother had arrived earlier and told her the same tale convinced her. It had been good to see him showing a bit of enthusiasm for something that didn’t come out of a bottle. There’d been great debate as they’d all left, convinced a win for their team was on the cards.
Carol was having her afternoon nap and Dora and Agnes sipped tea in peace.
‘Would you like a slice of Mam’s Victoria sponge?’ Dora asked, jumping to her feet.
‘I’d love one.’ Agnes nodded and waved a sketch in the air. ‘This is it, this is the one. It’s perfect. I love the long bell-shaped sleeves and that square neckline.’
Dora took hold of the drawing and smiled. ‘That’s the one I thought you’d go for.’
‘I’d like a veil too, but nothing fussy. Something similar to what you and Joanie wore would be nice.’ Agnes looked at the sketch again. ‘Definitely this one. If you work out how much material we need, I’ll get Mam to meet me in town on my dinner break one day next week and we’ll go and shop. Now are you sure there’ll be the time to make it as well as yours and Carol’s? I mean, it’s March the sixth now and we’ve only got twenty weeks until the end of July. I really don’t want you to feel under pressure with this.’
‘We’ve plenty of time. I’m not taking any other work on at the moment. I couldn’t face it. But making your dress is special and Joanie would never forgive me if I let you down. Right, let me get that cake and make a fresh brew before I take your measurements and calculate how much fabric we need.’
Joe, Frank and Alan piled out of Anfield football ground, buzzing with excitement. ‘Are we calling for a pint before we go back?’ Joe asked. ‘Don’t want to be home too early or we might interrupt the wedding dress committee meeting.’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Frank said as they followed the crowds into The Albert pub on Walton Breck Road and queued for a pint of ale. They drank standing up; shoulder to shoulder with supporters who were talking about the outcome of the match, in which Liverpool FC had beaten Huddersfield Town by four goals to none, as though they’d all played on the pitch themselves. Backs were patted and pints consumed and a party atmosphere was in full swing when Joe spotted the time on the clock above the bar.
‘Shit, we’d best make this our last,’ he said. ‘Dora’s mam’s coming for tea and Dora won’t be happy if me and Frank get home late.’
Frank nodded. ‘We’d never hear the end of it. Thanks, lads, for making me come out with you today. I’ve enjoyed it. It’s done me good.’
Joe swallowed hard, patting Frank’s shoulder, and they finished their drinks and made their way to the tram stop.
Joe suggested they call at the outdoor licence when they got off the connecting bus on Childwall Valley Road. ‘Let’s treat the girls to a bottle of sherry while I can still afford it.’
‘Have you not told our Dora about the factory closing yet?’ Frank asked.
Joe shook his head as they piled into the small shop that stank like a brewery with the distinctive aroma of hops. ‘No point in worrying her unless I have to. Eric’s not told his missus yet either. Should have brought a jug and we could have got some more ale.’
