Shattered Dreams

by Vivienne Dockerty

  So it came as a bit of a shock to most ordinary people, when the picture houses started showing scenes of this ruddy man called Hitler; goose stepping about with his army and threatening all the countries around him. The newspapers reported that Poland had fallen and soon Czechoslovakia would be governed with military rule.

  Who was he? people thought, what made him think he could take over the world? The British Army would soon sort him out and give the swine a bloody nose. It was all so far away, though, and most people got on with their lives. It was only time to worry if the sod came over there.

  Irene was out shopping one morning and, as she came out of the grocers, she saw a group of people standing together looking up at the sky. She glanced up as well and saw six tiny silver specks high up below the clouds. Someone in the group shouted that they were spotter planes, which caused widespread panic amongst them and they hurriedly dispersed.

  Irene’s heart thudded against her chest, as she ran as fast as she could with the pram and her shopping down the brow to the cottage, then trembled for the next half hour with thoughts of what was to come. She had only just read that morning in the Daily Mail that civilians in the captured countries were being massacred as they fled ahead of the advancing army of Germany and there were harrowing stories of refugees mown down by the aircraft above.

  War had been declared on September 3rd and literature had been sent around to each household telling people what to do in the event of an air raid, but somehow it didn’t sink in. It wouldn’t happen in England, it was too far for a plane to come over from Germany and anyhow there wouldn’t be enough fuel in the aircraft to get it over here. It was irritating that they were compelled to buy yards of blackout material for the windows, or affix some paper panels there instead. A typical war-time joke that began to circulate was:

  Air Raid Warden: “Hey Missis. You’ve got a chink up there.”

  Lady of the house: “Nonsense officer, it’s the Japanese ambassador.”

  A week later, though, as Irene was putting Gina to bed, the wail of the siren frightened everyone rigid as night raiders flew over Merseyside, dropping bombs in their wake. The noise of the Ack Ack units added to the feeling that their world was going to be blown to pieces, so Eddie, Lily and Irene, who was carrying Gina, stumbled down the cellar steps to take their shelter there.

  None of them had thought to provide emergency seating or lighting, there was no food or water and the place smelt of the recently installed gas supply. The cellar housed the coal and logs, a dank, cold place, the only air coming from the ill-fitting lid above the coal chute, and so they shivered together for what seemed hours until the All Clear siren sounded.

  They crawled out of the cellar early next morning, as the first flush of daylight mingled with the clear cold air. Thrushes sang high up in the trees of the orchard, whilst the family looked around for damage to their home.

  Thankfully there was none, but the bread man who came to call later that day reported that a number of civilians had been killed or wounded in the next street to him. The news on the wireless that evening said that Hitler was reported to be gloating because his Luftwaffe had bombed ports and installations in Britain and it wouldn’t be long before the country was brought to its knees.

  Eddie came home from his work in Liverpool one evening and announced that he and Irene were going to move to somewhere safer. Pear Tree Cottage was too near the docks for comfort and he had seen the devastation wrought on the city as he had travelled by bus to the housing estate.

  Whole rows of buildings had been blown apart, shipping had been sunk in the river, people were homeless, wandering around with their possessions tied up in bundles. There was no way they were staying with Lily when they had a child to rear.

  “So what am I supposed to do then?” asked Lily, bitterly. “Stay here and get blown up or catch pneumonia in the cellar?”

  “I’ve thought of that too, you can go and stay with Isabel. Southport will be very bracing at this time of year and she’ll probably need a bit of help with the children now she’s got three of them.”

  Deep down Eddie was happy to use the excuse of the bombing to get away from his mother-in-law. He’d be back in familiar surroundings if they moved back to Irby. He was sure that Aunt Miriam would make room for them at her bungalow and he’d be nearer to his mother as well. He missed his mum. Even though he and Irene now visited each Sunday afternoon, it wasn’t the same with his wife itching to be away again.

  They left the following afternoon, Irene putting Lily on the ferryboat first, with her suitcase packed full of her clothes and any little ornaments that she could fit in. Lily wailed that her vegetables would rot in the ground and what a waste of all that time she’d spent with the planting, she was going to miss her rose bushes and who was going to pick the fruit from the trees? But before they’d left they’d had a visit from the landlord, he had wanted two months rent in lieu of notice before he would allow them to go.

  Eddie had been out trying to get the loan of a handcart from somewhere when the landlord arrived, worried over his livelihood as he saw a mass exodus of his tenants trying to flee from the troubles ahead. He wasn’t going to have one put over him by the widow who lived in Pear Tree Cottage and two months rent would tide him over nicely for the next week or so.

  Lily had sat in the parlour frightened and intimidated by the pompous individual pontificating about his rights. She needed her money to get over to Southport and wanted to give Isabel a bit of housekeeping, as it didn’t seem right for her to be an extra mouth to feed. Irene listened from the kitchen, where she was packing up some boxes with pots and pans, dishes, tableware and tea towels. It made her blood boil to hear the man having a go at her mother. Though Irene was usually even tempered, the stress of the air raids and sleepless nights were beginning to take its toll. She flew into the parlour and told the man to leave her mother alone.

  “I don’t know who’s worse,” she shouted angrily. “Hitler, who’s responsible for driving decent folks from their homes, or you, whose only concern is making money for yourself. Have you no sympathy for someone like my mother who’s lived in this house for thirty odd years and now has to leave it? Who has paid you on the nail all this time and never been in arrears. Have you no humanity for your fellow being? Shame on you and as for rights, we’ve all got the right to live in a peaceful world.”

  The man had sat there stunned by this young woman’s outburst, then rose from his seat in defeat, though he reminded the two women that when the war was over, he wouldn’t be allowing them back.

  Irene caught the bus to Irby with Gina later, leaving poor Eddie the task of dealing with their smaller possessions. He couldn’t get a handcart for love nor money and was left to pile the old pram up with as much as he could, then push it all the way to Aunt Miriam’s, which was ten miles away. He decided that he would have to hire a van from somewhere to move the furniture, though where he was going to store the beds, the wardrobes, sofa, the chairs and tables and Lily’s precious ebony cabinet and piano, he hadn’t got a clue. Something would come up, it usually did and in that optimistic frame of mind he set off for Aunt Miriam’s bungalow.

  He trundled across the Penny Bridge, cut along by Birkenhead Park and was pushing the pram over Oxton Ridge, when an authoritative voice rang out through the stillness of the gloomy night and made Eddie jump with surprise.

  “Hey you,” the male voice shouted.“You can’t go that way, an unexploded bomb’s over in that woodland and it could go off any minute.”

  Eddie took a few seconds to reply. He couldn’t see the speaker, though presumed it was someone from the Home Guard, but he wondered if it was a wind up, why hadn’t the man appeared? He decided to take his chances, it was bad enough having to push the pram without looking for a diversion. It had started to sag to one side and one of the wheels was beginning to wobble dangerously.

  He started to explain to the unseen guard that he still had another seven miles to walk, then offered the m
an two options. He could shoot him or take his name to report him. The guard let him go, tutting impatiently.

  When Eddie arrived at the bungalow he was in a very poor shape, the sweat was pouring off him and he was so tired he could hardly talk. He spent the next morning in the bedroom still feeling all of a tremble, but the pram wanted fixing for Irene to take Gina out, so he had to get out of bed.

  Then that evening he went to visit his mother, who was all agog at the news she’d been hearing that the docks had been bombed again.

  “When?” asked Eddie.

  “In the early hours of this morning,” said his mother.

  “Oh no,” said Eddie. “Which docks, not the Wallasey docks?”

  “I don’t know,”she said.“All I heard it was the docks again.”

  Eddie had a horrible feeling. He didn’t think he would be hiring a removal van. When he visited the house a few days later, everything had been blown to smithereens.

  CHAPTER SIX

  At first Gina thrived in the pure country air, she was a charming child and the aunts got very attached to her. It was a bit of a squash with all of them living in the bungalow together, especially as Aunt Jenny’s bed had been moved into the parlour, so that Eddie and Irene could sleep together in Irene’s old room and Gina had a borrowed cot at the end of their bed. It was only at the weekends when Eddie was home that things got a bit fraught between them. With him having the role of the breadwinner, he always wanted the final say.

  The loss of the furniture and some of their wedding presents that had still been in the house caused Irene misery. It was one step back that the couple hadn’t needed, so the drive was on to save as much as they could for when they managed to find a place to rent. They had registered with a lettings agent and waited in vain to hear from them.

  Meantime, Gina was suffering from the war-time diet being fed to her. Her legs were not very strong and she wasn’t thriving as she had initially. The Ministry of Health handed out free cod liver oil and orange juice eventually, but it was too late for Gina who began to develop bow legs. Irene took her to the hospital in Birkenhead, where she was advised to give her toddler a spoonful of malt each day. Whilst at the hospital, though, they both got impetigo, a skin disease that had reached epidemic levels in the war.

  Irene managed to buy a pushchair from a neighbour whose child had grown too big for it. The doctor had said that she was to keep Gina off her feet as much as possible, which was very hard with a toddler. Irene walked for miles around the countryside, or across the hill at Thurstaston Common and sometimes as far as Thurstaston shore. As the weeks went by her child got stronger and Gina began to walk on her own again.

  The search for a house to rent went on for a very long time. The phone box in the village where Irene telephoned Lobley’s estate agents, became known to Gina as the ‘Lobley’ box, because her mother went there every day. Irene went there each morning with very little hope as she lifted the receiver. It was just a way of life now to give the agent a call and get a negative reply again.

  Then one morning, to Irene’s amazement, she was told there was a house to rent a few streets away. If she went to the office the following day she’d be given a set of keys. The wheels of the pushchair took wings, as she sped down the hill to give the good news to her aunties. They were just as pleased as she was, though they said they’d miss Irene and Gina if they moved away.

  The rest of the day was a whirl, as the women discussed curtains and furnishings, while Irene couldn’t wait until Eddie came home from work. As soon as they had finished their meal he wanted to go immediately to view the house. It was at the bottom of Whaley Lane; a house that used to belong to Eddie’s father, which was bittersweet really when they came to think of it.

  It was just around the corner from Acorn Drive where Eddie’s mother lived. A small semi with a downstairs bathroom, so very different from the place where Irene used to live. It had two large gardens, one either side of the driveway and a small one at the back of the house, where grew a profusion of blackcurrant canes.

  The couple stood outside the house looking at it longingly, hoping that they could afford the rent, planning the vegetables that they would grow and agreeing that the exterior walls could do with a coat of paint. Irene kept worrying: what if for some reason they didn’t get the keys, what if they had to wait for something else? She really loved this place and she didn’t want her dreams of a rosy future to be shattered. Eddie told her to wait for a moment and disappeared off to his mother’s, coming back shortly with an old wooden coat stand. He stood it by the front door and used one of the heavy pegs to break one of the small glass panels in it, then hopped inside to claim his ownership. “Meredith,” he shouted, using an old music hall expression, “Meredith, we’re in!”

  Irene paid the first week’s rent next morning, collected the keys, then she and Eddie went round to the house again the following evening. This time they walked up to the door and opened it with the key. Eddie had brought some glass and putty and busied himself repairing his break in, while Irene measured the windows and looked around. This was to be their little palace, little being the operative word after having all that room at Pear Tree Cottage. The bedrooms were tiny, the living room was small and the kitchen shared its wall with the bathroom and toilet. But they had all the land, plenty of ground to dig over for the war effort and they could be self sufficient if they bought some chickens and a couple of sows. It would be wonderful to be together without others poking their noses in, they both felt happier than they had been since they were wed.

  The nights were peaceful now, the Battle of Britain had been won and Winston Churchill gave his famous speech... “Never had so much been owed by so many to so few”.

  There was hope in people’s hearts that things might start getting back to normal, although whole streets lay shattered, bomb craters were much in evidence and as the work force was being depleted daily with men enlisting to the Forces, not much building or repair work was done. But after people had mourned their dead, found somewhere new to live and got on with the job of living, the future looked a bit more hopeful for a while.

  Eddie was directed by the Ministry of Works to help with the repair of bomb-damaged property in Liverpool. Though he didn’t have much time after his day’s toil, he worked enthusiastically on the house and the garden. The place had been neglected by the previous occupant; she had been elderly and couldn’t do very much other than try to keep body and soul together. He filled the garden with vegetable seedlings that Irene had nurtured in the small wash house attached to the semi, then he dug out trenches for potatoes and onions, bought a couple of fruit trees and built a small wooden hen house. It was lovely working in the garden with the thrushes, blackbirds, robins and chaffinches whistling away merrily, as they waited for their share of worms.

  Eddie was working in Liverpool again, as tradesmen were badly needed in the dock area that had taken most of the bombing during the blitz. Any house that could be repaired and made fit to live in was finished as quickly as possible, so that owners who were eager to return could move back again.

  Irene never knew of the conditions that Eddie was working in, as he would strip all his clothes off in the wash house, then streak into the bathroom to scrub himself clean. It was only when she came to use the wash tub, that she saw the fleas jumping about all over the place.

  But conditions were bad anywhere at that time. A friend of Isabel’s had volunteered to work in munitions. She didn’t have to because she had a family, but the thought that her efforts might bring the end of the war closer made her leave her children with her mother each day. One night she had come in from work exhausted, she slumped into a chair and put her elbows on the table. Her head itched and she rubbed it mechanically, but to her horror a little insect dropped out. Within minutes the table was covered with lice, something she had never seen before in her life!

  One day Eddie was working in one of the back streets near the docks when a small boy approached him.


  “Me mam wants to talk to you,” he said.

  “Oh,” said Eddie. “Who is your mam and where does she live?”

  The boy looked up hopefully, he was very thin and his large brown eyes seemed to occupy most of his face.

  “Me mam’s name is Mrs Brown and we live in that end house.” He jerked a dirty thumb towards the end of the street.

  Eddie felt surprised, he didn’t know anybody around there and he was puzzled as to why the boy’s mother would want to see him.

  “Tell your mother that I’ll be along at dinner time. Is it about your house?”

  “Yes,” the boy answered a bit uncertainly.

  Eddie put his hand in his pocket and drew out a few coppers to give to the undernourished little soul. The boy’s face brightened and he dashed off to the corner shop, coming out again with a bulging paper bag in his hand.

  After Eddie had eaten his lunch of spam sandwiches, he walked along the street to inspect the house. He stepped into the road to get a better view of the roof; there was a gaping hole in it. The door of the house opened and a woman came out to talk to him. She had been pretty once, but time and suffering had taken its toll.

  “Do you think you could mend my roof please?” she asked in a pleading voice.