by Joan Jonker
He let out a cry of happiness as he held her close to him. He rocked her to and fro, his warm breath on her cheek. For the first time, he whispered, ‘I love you, Jill.’
Bridie and Bob stepped from Molly’s hall into the street. ‘You’ve cheered yer ma up, anyway,’ Bob said as he pulled his cap over his eyes. ‘She’s been as miserable as sin for the last few weeks.’
‘Away with yer now!’ Bridie said indignantly. ‘It’s not yerself that has to be dustin’ the house every five minutes.’ She turned her head and saw Jill and Steve standing under the streetlamp at the end of the street. ‘Is that Jill, or are me old eyes deceiving me?’
Molly popped her head out. ‘That’s her all right, and Steve! Love’s young dream isn’t in it.’
‘Ah, well,’ Bridie said. ‘Weren’t yer young once yerself?’
‘It’s that long ago, Ma, I’ve forgotten.’
‘Thanks very much!’ Jack laughed. ‘Was me first kiss that exciting yer can’t remember?’
‘Kiss me in bed tonight, an’ see if me memory returns.’ Molly poked him in the ribs, bringing a grimace to his face. ‘Yer’d better make it good, ’cos me memory’s terrible these days.’
‘I feel sorry for yer, lad,’ Bob said, taking his wife’s arm. ‘Yer’ve got yer hands full with this daughter of ours.’
‘I’m saying nothing.’ Jack winked. ‘I know which side me bread’s buttered.’
Jill was the first to see her grandparents walking towards them and quickly stepped from the shelter of Steve’s arms. Blushing and feeling guilty, she croaked, ‘Hello, Nan, Granda!’
‘Hello, me darlin’.’ Bridie smiled. ‘Good evening, Steve, how’s the world treating you?’
‘Fine, Mrs Jackson!’ Feeling brave, Steve put an arm around Jill’s shoulders. ‘Couldn’t be better.’
‘’Tis glad I am to hear it.’ Bridie turned to Bob with a twinkle in her eye. ‘D’yer not think they make a handsome couple, Bob?’
‘That they do.’ He gave his wife a gentle push, hinting that they should be on their way. ‘Almost as handsome as we are.’
Bridie took the hint. ‘It’s way past our bedtime, so it is. We’ll be on our way and wish you goodnight an’ God bless.’
There was a tender look on Jill’s face as she watched her grandparents walk up the street, arm in arm. ‘They look like Darby and Joan, don’t they? I love me nan and me granda. They’re so kind and gentle, never raise their voices to each other.’
Steve took her hand and turned her towards home. ‘We’ll be like them. Never fight or argue.’
‘Better not,’ Jill said, as they stopped outside her door. ‘Start shouting at me and you won’t see me for steam . . . I’ll be off!’
Steve glimpsed a figure out of the corner of his eye. ‘Here’s Mrs Clarke,’ he whispered before stepping back.
‘You’re out late, Mrs Clarke,’ Jill said. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘No more than usual.’ Ellen Clarke moved the front of her coat to reveal the jug she was hiding from prying eyes. She was fed up making excuses, telling lies to cover up. What was the use? ‘My feller was workin’ late an’ he fell asleep after ’is tea. He wasn’t very happy when he woke up an’ found it was nearly time for the pubs to close.’ She let out a deep, weary sigh as she closed her coat. ‘Of course I got the blame, as usual. I should’ve known he’d want to go for a drink and woken ’im up, he said. So because I didn’t, and to teach me a lesson, he made me go to the pub on the corner for a jug of ale.’
Jill could think of nothing to say except, ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Clarke.’
‘I’ll come in with yer,’ Steve moved to Ellen’s side, ‘in case he takes off.’
‘No, thanks, lad.’ Ellen shook her head. ‘I’ll be all right, I’m used to it.’ With a droop of her shoulders she walked away.
Jill and Steve watched in silence as Ellen rapped on the knocker, the sound echoing in the empty street. Then they heard the door open and a loud roar followed by a sound that sent shivers down Jill’s spine. It was the sound of a heavy blow, followed by a whimper.
Steve rushed forward, but Jill grabbed his arm and held on tight. ‘No, Steve! Mrs Clarke wouldn’t thank you for interfering. She’s the one that would suffer after you’d gone.’
Steve banged a clenched fist into his palm. ‘One of these days someone is goin’ to give Nobby Clarke what he deserves, an’ I hope that someone is me.’
‘Forget it, Steve, please?’ Jill took his hand and held it between hers. ‘God will pay him back.’
Steve closed his eyes and gulped in the fresh air. When his heartbeat had slowed, he gazed into Jill’s anxious face. ‘I swear to God I’ll never lay a finger on you.’ He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘You an’ me, we’ll never be like the Clarkes.’
‘I know. We’ll be like me mam and dad, or Nanna and Granda.’
Steve searched her face. ‘Yer did it mean it when yer said yer’d marry me when we’re older, didn’t yer? You’re the only girl for me, always ’ave been. If I can’t have you, I’ll never marry anyone else.’
‘Steve, you’re my boyfriend. There is no one else. We love each other, so let’s be happy.’
When his face split into a wide grin, his dimples deepened. ‘I’m the happiest feller in the whole of Liverpool.’ He kissed her briefly before turning her towards the door. ‘Time for you to go in before yer mam comes after me with the rollin’ pin.’
Chapter Twelve
‘Jack, will yer be careful, for heaven’s sake? This ladder’s rocking like mad!’ Molly, her two hands gripping the sides of the ladder, looked up to where her husband was perched on the second rung from the top. ‘Me hands are red raw, tryin’ to hold it steady!’
‘Molly, how the heck can I hammer nails in without moving? Stop moanin’, will yer, and let me get on with the job.’ Jack, hammer in hand, gazed down at the worried expression on his wife’s face. ‘Look, love, I’ve nearly finished, just two more nails.’
With its being a national holiday for the coronation, all the men were off work. They would have been happy having an extra lie-in, but their wives had other ideas. From eight o’clock the street had been a hive of activity, and while she hung on to the ladder like grim death, Molly felt a glow of pride at the result. Everywhere was a mass of red, white and blue. Bunting was stretched across the street from house to house, and even wound around the lamp posts. Union Jacks, their poles securely jammed by the window frames, swayed gently in the slight breeze that was blowing, and coloured balloons had been tied to the door knockers. In most windows there were pictures of the King and Queen and the two Princesses, Elizabeth and Margaret.
‘That’s it!’ Jack stepped carefully down each rung of the ladder. He grinned into Molly’s face. ‘How about a cuppa for the workman?’
‘You can make it,’ she said. ‘I’ve got too much to do.’ A frown creased her forehead. ‘I hope they’ve all done what they said they would, otherwise we’ll be in queer street.’
‘Molly, will yer stop being such a fuss pot? Everythin’ will run like clockwork, just wait an’ see.’
‘Huh! It’s all right for you, Jack Bennett, you wouldn’t care if yer backside was on fire! There’s about two hundred people in this street, countin’ the kids, an’ that’s a lot of mouths to feed.’
‘You’ve had parties before, for Empire Day, an’ they’ve turned out all right. Everyone enjoyed themselves.’
‘They were hit an’ miss ones, where everyone brought what they wanted . . . a few cakes or sarnies. This one is different,’ Molly said. ‘We’ve been savin’ up for weeks for it, an’ it better be good or a few of us are goin’ to have to leave town.’ Her imagination took over and she could see herself running down the street, with Nellie, Mary, Vera, Lizzie and Ada hot on her heels, and their neighbours chasing them with mops and brushes.
Jack saw the amusement in Molly’s eyes. ‘What’s the joke?’
‘I’ll tell yer some
other time.’ She scratched her head. ‘What shall I do first? I know, I’ll slip up to Nellie’s and see where we go from here.’ She walked away a few steps, then turned her head. ‘Take my advice, Jack, and sit an’ have yer cup of tea in peace. ’Cos in about an hour, our house is goin’ to be like Casey’s court.’
‘Tommy, walk our Ruthie round to me ma’s for us, get her from under me feet.’ Molly saw rebellion on her son’s face and quickly added, ‘The corner shop’s open, I’ll give yez a penny each for sweets.’
‘I’m comin’ back for the party, aren’t I?’ Ruthie’s mouth quivered. ‘Me an Bella want to sit together.’
‘Now, as though we’d ’ave a party without you! Of course yer comin’ back! Tommy will bring yer home at two o’clock. That’s when the fun starts.’
Molly watched him dragging his sister along by the hand, and could hear him threatening, ‘Make a show of me, an’ I’ll clock yer one.’
‘Tut! He’ll batter ’er as soon as they turn the corner, but there’s nowt I can do about it, I’ve got too much on me mind.’
‘What d’yer want me to do?’ Jack asked.
‘Help me get the table into the street.’ Molly whisked the oilcloth off and folded it. ‘Let’s turn it on its side, it’s easier to get through the door.’
‘Molly, I’ve done it before, don’t forget. I’m not exactly stupid!’
‘I’m sorry, love, me nerves are shattered.’ She glanced at Jack and grinned. ‘I’ll make it up to yer later.’
‘If I’ve got the energy,’ he growled as he lowered the table on to its side. ‘Yer’ve got me worn out.’
Molly took hold of two of the table legs, a smile on her face. She had been a bit rough on him, had him running around like a blue arsed fly. But, like she said, she’d make it up to him. If she had the energy! It was no easy task getting the big, heavy table through the living room door, down the hall and into the street. Both were breathing heavily as they set it down on the pavement.
‘Blimey, they’ve been quick!’ Dozens of tables, all shapes and sizes, were standing outside, waiting to be placed in a row down the middle of the street. ‘Heave ho, Jack, let’s get cracking.’
As soon as the Bennetts’ table was set down, all the neighbours followed, adding on to the line, regardless of whether they matched for width. Then the men disappeared. They’d done their bit, now it was down to the ladies.
Molly beckoned to the committee members and they formed a small circle. ‘Now, if we all do what we said we would, our own little jobs, the tables should be well ready for two o’clock. Are we all organised?’
‘Our end is,’ Ada McClusky said. ‘Three other women are goin’ to give us a hand so we’ve plenty of help.’
‘An’ I’m so organised I’m ahead of meself.’ Nellie shook with laughter. ‘My feller’s threatened to leave ’ome three times ’cos I haven’t let him park ’is backside since he got up.’
‘What about the drink?’ Vera Porter asked. ‘Who’s seein’ to that?’
‘We’ve got the lemonade for the kids, that’s in Mary’s house,’ Molly said. ‘An’ Nellie’s got the barrel of ale in her yard. The men can carry it out when the kids ’ave eaten.’
‘Another thing,’ Vera asked, ‘what about music? It’s not goin’ to be much of a party without music.’
Molly started to rub the side of her nose. It was a habit she’d had from when she was a kid. When she’d had her dummy taken off her, where most children suck their thumbs, Molly had taken to rubbing her nose, and the habit had stayed with her. ‘We thought Corker would be home, and he’d be playin’ his concertina. He said he would be, but so far there’s been no sign of him.’ She changed hands to rub the other side of her nose. ‘We’ll have to ask Tommy Wilson if he’ll have a go with his mouth-organ, or get someone to bring their gramophone out. Somethin’ will turn up. We’ll worry about it when the time comes.’
‘Yer’ve done well, Molly, the tables look grand.’ Jack put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. ‘It was worth puttin’ up with yer fussin’ and yer temper.’
‘Jack, I didn’t do it all on me own,’ she said, a happy smile on her face. ‘The others did as much as me.’
But even Molly hadn’t expected things to turn out so well. True, the neighbours had all coughed their money up each week without complaint, which was a surprise. But a bigger surprise was the amount of food they’d brought out today, to add to what they’d already paid for. The tables were groaning under the weight of dishes of trifle decorated with hundreds and thousands, cake stands full of jelly creams, plates piled high with fairy cakes, iced buns, and wet nellies. There were plates of brawn, egg, paste and sardine sandwiches, and sausage rolls cut in half. The children, wide-eyed with amazement at the sight of so many goodies, were so overcome they made no effort to touch anything until Nellie McDonough bawled, ‘Get stuck in, kids!’ Then squeals of delight filled the air as the children grabbed for whatever took their fancy. The exceptions were the Clarke children. They sat like outcasts, with their heads down and hands clasped between their legs.
Molly had been keeping her eye on them. She’d had a job persuading Ellen to let them come, so she was determined they would enjoy themselves. God knows, they got little enough in life. Their dad was probably propping a bar up somewhere, spending money that should have been putting food in their bellies. She stood between two of them and said quietly, ‘Come on, kids, eat as much as yez can before it all goes.’ She waited until they’d got over their shyness then moved to stand behind Ruthie’s chair. It was then she spotted Miss Clegg standing at her door. ‘Come on, Victoria, sit down an’ join the party.’
Miss Clegg shook her head. ‘Let the children enjoy themselves.’
‘Don’t be so daft! Yer only a slip of a girl yerself, aren’t yer?’ Molly would have had to walk to the bottom of the street to get around the tables, so she shouted to Mary, ‘Make room for Miss Clegg next to Corker’s mam, she’ll have someone to talk to.’
Mary didn’t need asking twice. She was very fond of her neighbour, a real lady she was. And she’d insisted on contributing as much to the party collection each week as those with big families.
Victoria Clegg allowed herself to be led to a seat, even though the noise of the children was deafening. It was nice to be included, made to feel wanted. Heaven knows, she spent enough time on her own. Hers was a lonely life, especially since that fall she’d had. It had left her unsteady on her feet, and the furthest she walked was to the corner shop. The neighbours were good, though, she didn’t know how she’d manage without them. Every day one of them called, without fail, to see what shopping she needed.
‘Molly!’
Molly turned her head to see Nellie doing a little jig as she pointed down the street. And when she saw the cause of her friend’s excitement, Molly let out a shout of delight. Strolling up the street, a huge grin on his face, his seaman’s bag slung casually over his shoulder, was Corker.
‘Boy, am I glad to see you!’ Suddenly the weight of worrying whether everyone enjoyed the party was lifted from Molly’s shoulders. With Corker there, playing his concertina and singing sea shanties, it couldn’t fail to be a success.
Molly didn’t know how right she was about Nobby Clarke. When the Black Horse pub by Walton Church opened its doors, Nobby was leaning against the wall waiting to be let in. To hell with their stupid street parties, he thought, I’ll celebrate in my own way. He had it all planned out. Start at the Black Horse, then a pint in as many pubs as he could get to before they put the towels on. Then home for a bite to eat and a few hours’ kip until it was opening time again and he could meet up with his cronies down at the local.
There were a lot of pubs on the stretch of road Nobby had chosen, and even with his capacity for ale, that was a lot of pints. His eyes were becoming blurred, his steps unsteady. Several angry remarks were shouted after him by people he barged into without a backward glance or an apology. But he was so drunk he was incapable of
thinking straight. It was pure instinct that took him staggering into a small pub on County Road, where the barman took just one look before giving the aye-aye to the manager who was standing at the far end of the bar talking to two of his regular customers.
‘Leave it to me, Ted,’ the manager said, ‘I’ll deal with him.’
Nobby was holding on to the bar for support, his head lolling, spittle running from the corners of his mouth. His glazed eyes tried to focus on the man behind the bar. ‘P-p-pint – bither.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, I can’t serve you. You’ve had enough, and I think you should go home.’
Nobby’s chin fell on to the counter. He tried to speak but the sounds that came from his mouth were unintelligible, like those of an animal. The manager shrugged his shoulders. ‘Give us a hand to get him outside, Ted, otherwise he’s either going to conk out or be sick all over the place. And I’m not having him do either, not in here.’
Taking an arm each, the men lifted Nobby’s feet from the floor and carried him out of the pub to prop him up against the wall outside.
‘Wait till his wife gets a load of him,’ Ted laughed, ‘she’ll flay him alive. I know my missus would.’
The manager wiped his hands down his trouser legs, a look of disgust on his face. ‘Why do some men never know when they’ve had enough?’
Jimmy Pearson was driving his Green Goddess tram down County Road. It was his usual number twenty-two route, from Fazakerley terminus to the Pier Head. He liked his job, did Jimmy, but today he was feeling hard done by. All the factories and shops were shut down for the national holiday, but a skeleton bus and tram service was running, and it was just his luck to have been one of the drivers told to turn in. He could see everyone enjoying themselves at the street parties taking place in all the little side streets, dancing and singing away to beat the band, and here he was, driving a flaming tram! Still, he knocked off at five, there’d still be enough time to join in the fun.
