A Place To Call Home

by June Francis

  ‘What did he have to say?’

  ‘Flabbergasted and thrilled that Gran was alive but sad to hear about Mum and the kids.’

  ‘I bet he had a lot to say about Mother,’ said Rene, grim faced.

  Greta said smoothly, ‘I’m saying nothing about that but you can be sure he doesn’t blame you. He sent you his regards and said that he has fond memories of when you were a kid walking to school with Mam.’

  Rene’s expression softened. ‘Did he mention about you and your gran going to stay in Wales?’

  ‘He says we’re very welcome but that the weather at this time of year can be filthy and treacherous and Spring’s a busy time. He suggests that we wait until the end of April, the beginning of May, says it’s lovely then. Which suits me down to the ground.’ Greta smiled. ‘He seems to have got the impression probably from the newspapers that everything is OK here now, that the worst of the bombing is over.’

  There had been no raids worth mentioning since Rene and Greta had been caught in the blast. Who could say, though, how long that would last?

  ‘What was so interesting in that newspaper you were reading?’ asked Rene, as they walked up the street.

  ‘I was thinking of showing it to you.’ Greta took the newspaper from her pocket and handed it to Rene. ‘I didn’t mention this before but Alex and I got into his uncle’s house and … ’

  ‘How did you manage that?’ asked Rene, taken aback.

  Greta looked shame faced. ‘He didn’t do any damage … just got a door open with his Swiss Army knife. All he took was a photograph of his uncle and sisters.’ She hurried on before Rene could ask any more questions. ‘In the back of the frame was that page of the Crosby/ Herald. It’s dated 1936 when the Abdication was big news. I’d forgotten I had it until the other day. Alex said it was just backing at the time but I think it could be significant.’

  Rene raised her eyebrows and said dryly, ‘Where am I supposed to read?’

  Greta pointed at a heading. ‘It’s a book review.’

  Rene began to read and soon realised the article was about a local crime writer, who’d had the idea of turning a so called suicide, following the Wall Street Crash, into a murder. In his research, he had turned up information about several similar cases and questioned just how much the Great War had affected the mental health of the suicide victims. A number of them had invested their money in land and the newly developing industries of film, gramophone records and the wireless, tying up the income in trusts to provide for their children until they came of age.

  Rene lifted her head and stared at Greta. ‘Are you saying such a thing could have happened in Alex’s father’s case? That the coroner’s verdict was wrong and his death was really murder? I’ve always been of the opinion that Sal and Mrs Armstrong believed he took his own life! But are you thinking that there could be money tied up in a trust for Alex and his sisters? Because I don’t see how that could be true. Mr Armstrong moved his family to a smaller house. Would he have done that if he had money?’

  ‘I don’t know! I didn’t know the man. Alex is convinced his father wouldn’t have committed suicide. What if his brother, the solicitor, somehow managed to make use of the money and lost it? Say Alex’s father got into difficulties and wanted to get to the money but his brother refused to help him out. Alex said there was a big argument between the pair of them and his father stormed out of the house.’

  Rene smiled and handed the page of newspaper to Greta. ‘You and that writer have some imagination.’

  Greta’s face fell. ‘You don’t believe it could have happened like that?’

  ‘Why should the brother murder Alex’s father? If he was already in control of the money there wouldn’t be any need. This is real life, luv, not a Whodunnit. Besides, didn’t he and his wife take Alex’s sisters into their home? Would he have done that if he was a murderer?’

  Greta scowled. ‘You’re forgetting he was also responsible for putting Alex in an orphanage! Not so Mr Nice Uncle to him!’

  Rene said, ‘Sorry! You are right there. But what you’ve just had me read is about a work of fiction. Enough said?’

  Greta nodded but felt completely deflated and could only speak in monosyllables during the rest of the journey into town.

  That evening Rene almost collided with Jeff in the blackout as she walked down the street, having missed seeing Greta on the tram on the way home. ‘Sorry!’ she said tersely, the beam of her torch shooting in several directions. She would have carried on walking if he hadn’t seized hold of her arm.

  ‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’ said Jeff, clicking off his torch.

  ‘I don’t think we’ve got anything to say to each other,’ she retorted.

  ‘Why not?’ His fingers bit into her arm. ‘We could have had a good night out if only you’d been prepared to let yourself go. I’m surprised you’re so prudish. Although, maybe that bitch of a mother of yours kept you under her thumb, determined not to have you take risks and have fun the way she did during the last war.’

  ‘Let me go! I don’t want to hear it.’ She struggled but he was not about to release her.

  ‘She liked coons, the Yankee kind. How do I know? I had a navy mate who lived close by a school which had been turned into a hospital, where some were billeted. I saw her with my own eyes when I was home on leave. She was arm in arm, slobbering over one of them. But then I can understand your mam’s taste for coons. Had a darkie girl myself once. She was really something, double-jointed, could move her body in some interesting positions. Could teach you a trick or two!’

  Rene’s cheeks were aflame. ‘What’s Mother’s business is her business and what’s yours is yours. I have no part in your life so let me go.’

  ‘Not until you give me a kiss.’

  ‘No!’ She struggled to free herself but was hampered by her torch, handbag and gasmask. He fastened his mouth over hers, crushing her lips against her teeth. She attempted to hit him with her handbag but he imprisoned her arms. Then she heard footsteps and the beam of a torch caught them in its light.

  A voice came out of the darkness. ‘Sorry!’

  She recognised Harry’s voice and managed to pull her head away but, before she could speak, Jeff put a hand over her mouth and twisted her arm up her back. She struggled to free herself, despairing as she listened to Harry’s footsteps fade into the distance. Jeff released her abruptly. ‘That was a close call! I don’t think ol’ Harry likes me.’

  ‘I’m going home,’ she said, almost choking on tears.

  He made no move to prevent her but called, ‘That was an I’ll be seeing you kiss! I’m sailing in the morning. Save yerself for me, girl! You haven’t seen the last of me.’

  Rene shuddered and fled.

  Greta sat the breakfast table with an open letter in front of her on the tablecloth.

  Dear Greta,

  You’re not going to believe this but I got an address and went to it, only to find that Uncle David, his family, Mum and my stepfather have moved out. The landlord said that they complained of the cold and so have gone to the States. You can imagine how bloody fed up I felt. I went out and got drunk! Back to square one again. I don’t know what to do next about carrying on the search for Mum, but I’m hoping you might have had some luck in finding the girls. With this war there’s no chance of my getting home just yet. We’ve picked up some … and … to

  ‘Damn censors!’ muttered Greta under her breath, wondering what the missing words were.

  Hope you are well and will go to Wales. I know getting there won’t be easy, travel being what it is at the moment, but I’m sure you’ll try. I want you there, not just to look for the girls, but because, like your dad, I’d feel happier knowing you were away from the bombing. I miss your funny little ways. Take care of yourself. Love to you all Alex. X

  Greta’s eyes were damp by the time she came to the end of the letter. She brushed the tears away with the back of her hand.

  ‘Well?’ said Cissie, staring a
t her. ‘Tears could mean one of two things.’

  ‘He found his uncle’s house but the whole family, including his mother and stepfather had left and gone to America.’ Greta’s voice quivered. ‘He’s really fed up. I just wish I’d been there with him.’

  ‘There’s a war on, luv. We can’t always be where we want,’ said Cissie. ‘What do you say, Harry?’ She had to repeat herself.

  ‘What?’ said Greta’s father, appearing to pull himself back from somewhere.

  ‘You’re in another world, Harry! It’s a letter from Alex,’ said Cissie, jerking her head in Greta’s direction. ‘I don’t know what’s up with you lately. You don’t appear to hear half of what I say.’

  ‘I know what you mean, Gran,’ said Greta.

  Harry stared unblinking at the pair of them. ‘It’s you two. I worry about you. I’ve kept quiet about you going to Wales, so far, and I know Fred and his wife don’t seem to want you there until the end of April, but I’d really like you out of Liverpool before then. I’m sure the Luftwaffe haven’t finished with us yet.’

  Cissie and Greta exchanged looks. ‘Sorry, Harry! But we’re not leaving until our Fred and his missus are ready for us,’ declared the old woman. ‘I don’t want to go to strangers uninvited.’

  ‘Me neither,’ said Greta, tilting her chin. ‘If the country in winter is as bad as Uncle Fred says it is, then it’s the last place I want to be. Besides it won’t be easy getting there at this time of year. We can probably only get there by train. The carriages will be unheated, I bet, and we’d have to change trains, there could be all kinds of delays. Besides everything’s been quiet here for weeks. They’ve given up and gone home.’

  Harry said angrily, ‘You’re a stubborn pair. But on your head be it,’ and he stood up and walked out. For a moment he considered visiting Edith. It was some time since he’d seen her and he felt guilty about that. He sighed and came to the decision it was best to let things stay as they were. It would be wrong to use her to work out his frustrations. Having caught sight of Rene in Jeff’s arms he had wanted both to knock Jeff’s block off and ravish Rene.

  ‘Temper, temper,’ murmured Cissie.

  ‘I don’t know what’s got into him. He didn’t seem to listen to the news about Alex,’ said Greta. ‘I’m really disappointed in him. I bet Rene will be interested, though.’

  *

  ‘Rene!’ yelled Vera. ‘Where are you?’

  Rene entered the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘What is it, Mother!’ She gazed down at the hunched figure in the chair.

  ‘I’m uncomfortable. I need the lav! Then I’ll go to bed. Perhaps you could light a fire in the bedroom for me … and give me a piggyback up them stairs. I’m finding them real difficult these days.’

  Rene fought down her despair. ‘Don’t be daft, Mother! I couldn’t carry you upstairs. Who do you think I am? Samson! As for having a fire up there … we have to watch the coal.’

  Vera’s mouth quivered and then she snarled, ‘You don’t know what it’s like being me. Stuck here day in, day out! I ask for one little thing from you but all you can think of is saving money.’

  Rene sighed. ‘It’s not only to do with money, Mother. You know there are all kinds of shortages now. I can make a suggestion, though. Why don’t you consider having my single bed brought downstairs and put in the parlour and I’ll use your bed. That will save you the stairs and you could have a fire in there during the day instead of in here. We could try and buy a second hand gas stove to cook on instead of using the fire. That would save us money in summer when it’s warm enough to do without a fire.’

  Vera frowned and made no comment. Rene was just about to return to washing the dishes when her mother said, ‘I’ve always slept in a double bed and at night I really need turning because I get that stiff and sore.’

  Rene spoke in a conciliatory tone. ‘It would be easier to turn you on a single bed and you’d be able to watch people through the window. You’d feel more in touch. You wouldn’t have to wait for the neighbours to come in and tell you everything that’s going on.’

  Vera’s eyes brightened. ‘You’ve a point there. I’ll do it as long as I can have the wireless in there, too.’

  Anything for a bit of peace, thought Rene, who was still upset by the episode with Jeff. At least he had left Liverpool but she dreaded his return. She thought of Harry, whom she had seen going in and out of next door a couple of times in the last week. She was convinced his manner had been cool towards her. He must have recognised them and drawn his own conclusions. She sighed, telling herself she had to stop thinking about Harry or she would go mad. After all she had plenty of other things on her mind.

  The next day Rene and Wilf brought down the single bed and installed Vera in the parlour. Rene hoped that life for the three of them would be easier now and if there should be a raid, it would be less difficult getting her mother into the cellar.

  At the end of the first week in March the British army marched into Ethiopia and, during the following week, word got out that the American Congress had agreed to a Lease and Lend Bill to help Britain replace her losses and win the war. It was on the Wednesday evening of that week that the Luftwaffe returned. They arrived at a quarter past seven dropping flares on the docks, the commercial heart of the city, and the factories on its outer rim. Rene was on fire watch duty and frantically threw sand on the fires caused by the flares as they landed on the roof of the company building. She was assisted by a couple of older men and another woman but there were so many flares that it was terrifying. Gradually the sound of aeroplane engines died away to give them some blessed respite but from where they were they could see over the rooftops, towards the docks, that other buildings were still burning.

  Rene gazed in a strange kind of fascination as the roof of the main post office, just across the way, went up with a whoosh. The heat was terrific and made her gasp and she took several paces back, glad she was not alone. She turned to one of the men. ‘Hadn’t we better do something?’

  Before he could answer the warning siren went again. ‘I’m sure their own people have already phoned the fire brigade, but you can put a call through, just in case,’ he rasped. ‘Then, you women, get down to the shelter!’ The familiar drone of the engines of the German Junker 88s and Heinkel’s engines could be heard in the distance. Then came the boom boom of explosives from the direction of the docks.

  Rene and the other woman hurried downstairs and phoned as he had suggested, only to be informed that the telephone exchange at South John Street had their own fire. There were so many fires that calls had been put through to fire brigades in other districts to ask for help.

  Rene replaced the telephone and retreated to the shelter in the cellar, hoping and praying that, if the building above was hit, the reinforced ceiling could take the weight of the debris and that the rescue workers would be able to dig them out. She thought of Harry, Cissie, Greta, her mother and Wilf with a sinking heart and knew it was going to be a long night.

  *

  ‘Bleedin’ hell! There must be some fires burning in town,’ said Cissie, gazing out of the front bedroom window. ‘Look at that glow in the sky.’

  ‘I know! And Rene’s caught up in that! Come away from there, Gran! We should be down in the cellar. Dad would have a fit if he knew we were still up here. If a bomb was to drop in the street it would shatter the windows.’ Greta took hold of Cissie’s arm and dragged her away. She closed the bedroom door and hurried her grandmother along the landing. They had just reached the top of the stairs when there was an almighty bang. She clutched the banister and saw the front bedroom door blast off its hinges and skid along the landing. It crashed against the wall next to Harry’s bedroom door, narrowly missing them.

  ‘Oh Mary, Joseph and our Lord!’ cried Cissie, clinging to Greta’s arm and crossing herself with her free hand. ‘That was bleedin’ close! Someone up there’s keeping their eye on us, luv.’ Greta’s throat was so clogged up with shock that she cou
ld not speak. Cissie babbled on, ‘It’s as if yer had a premonition! But it’s no use standing here at the top of the stairs, luv. We’ve got to get down!’ She nudged her granddaughter with her elbow.

  Greta pulled herself together and gingerly felt her way downstairs. She could hear the tinkling of glass and the sound of raised voices. She thought of Miss Birkett and some of the other neighbours who were still using the surface shelter down the street and hoped they were safe. Her heart was pounding and she felt sick. The front door hung drunkenly to one side but she managed to slip through the gap, only to teeter on the threshold, as she caught the glow of a chunk of smouldering metal on the front step. The glow in the sky from the burning fires enabled her to see that the path was covered in shrapnel and debris. Further up the street in the middle of the road was a smoking crater. People had come out of their houses and the shelter and were heading for the crater but Greta crossed to the Millers’ step. She was about to walk over the door that lay flat in the lobby when she was caught in the beam of a torch.

  ‘Who-Who’s that?’ stammered Wilf.

  ‘It’s Greta! Thank God, you’re OK, Wilf.’

  He lowered the torch. ‘Where’s your gran?’ His voice was hoarse.

  ‘I’m here,’ panted Cissie, who would have had a worse struggle squeezing her ample figure through the gap between the door and the jamb. She stood on the step and gazed at the shattered front windows of both houses.

  ‘How are yer feeling, Mrs Hardcastle? Yer ticker OK?’ asked Wilf, shambling towards her.

  She smiled. ‘All things considered! That’s not to say it wasn’t a shock to me system.’

  ‘Can it take another?’ he said in a low voice.

  She stared at him and he brought his head close to hers so that they were almost eyeball to eyeball. ‘Herself is it?’ she whispered.

  ‘Dead as a doornail! Must have been the shock. She’s covered in broken glass and soot. The blast must have shaken it loose from the chimney. The place is in a helluva mess. I was seeing where the cat was because I’d already asked her did she want to go down in the cellar and she’d refused.’