by Maureen Lee
But how was he to get near that goal?
The ball was being knocked about in a desultory fashion mid-field. Dominic signalled to his inside left to let him have it. The knobbly lad immediately jabbed him aside with a vicious thrust of his elbow and went for the ball. For the first time, Dominic deliberately jabbed him back.
‘Stay away from me,’ he threatened, ‘or I’ll gouge your eyes out!’
The knobbly lad fell back, startled. Dominic scooped the ball between his feet and began to run with it towards the Wilson Carlyon goal. He had the same feeling as before. He was going to score, he knew it.
‘Come on, lad,’ a thousand voices yelled.
He reached the penalty area. The goalie was poised like a gorilla in the goal. Dominic had drawn back his right foot, knowing there was nothing that could stop him now, the goalie was wasting his time, when a leg appeared from nowhere and kicked the ball offside.
Dominic, his wits all about him, and remembering the goal he should have scored in the first half, flung himself over the outstretched leg, and began to roll on the ground, groaning in agony.
‘FOUL!’
‘Dominic! Are you hurt bad, luv?’ Sheila called plaintively. ‘I’d best go and see to him,’ she said to Brenda.
‘I wouldn’t if I were you, Sheil. He’d never forgive you if you did.’
Jimmy Quigley was already kneeling beside the injured player. ‘You okay, lad?’ he whispered.
Dominic groaned dramatically. ‘I’ve never felt better.’
‘Just look at this ankle!’ Jimmy said angrily when the referee came up. ‘It’s a miracle it’s not broken.’ Dominic gave another agonised groan.
The whistle sounded and there was a cheer from the crowd. ‘What’s happened?’ muttered Dominic.
‘We’ve got a penalty. Are you up to taking it?’
‘Just try and stop me, Mr Quigley.’
It was obvious to all that Dominic was in great agony as he slowly and painfully got to his feet. The ball had already been placed invitingly in front of the goal. He limped towards it, remembering to grimace from time to time. The crowd fell silent, but as far as Dominic was concerned the crowd and the other players no longer existed. All that remained in the entire world were himself, the leather football at his feet, and the goalie in the net in front of him.
Dominic just knew he was going to score.
It seemed a bit anti-climactic to catch a tram back to Bootle after all the excitement. The gold-plated cup, which had been presented to Dominic, the team captain, by the Lord Mayor of Liverpool to wild cheers from the crowd, would be displayed in the window of a shop in Marsh Lane over Christmas, a symbol of Bootle’s pride.
Sheila Reilly sat on the top deck of the tram watching her eldest son. He was kneeling backwards on the front seat, facing an adoring audience of schoolmates and neighbours. There was no sign of Jimmy Quigley, who was equally fond of the limelight, and Sheila noticed him a few seats behind sitting beside that horrible Theresa girl who’d been two years ahead of her at school and had the reputation of being a bully.
‘Any minute now, someone’s going to touch our Dominic’s hem or kiss his feet and expect a miracle,’ she thought to herself. She felt a little scared, as if she’d lost him, as if he no longer belonged just to her, but to all these other people. He didn’t seem like her Dominic any more, but someone else much grander, a stranger who’d never need his mam again.
‘They’ll all go. One of these days, all my kids’ll go. The time will come when none of ’em will want me.’ She glanced at her dad who was sitting on the far side of the tram, staring out of the window as if he were miles away. She remembered when he’d been the most important person in her life, but although he was still dear to her, it was Cal and the kids who mattered most.
They got off the tram at the top of Marsh Lane and began to walk home, Sheila still full of dark thoughts. Then Dominic caught up with her and laid his head briefly against her arm. ‘Me ankle isn’t half hurting, Mam,’ he complained.
‘I’ll bathe it with iodine the minute we get in,’ she promised.
‘Can we have chips for tea, as a special treat, like?’
‘Y’can have home-made ones. I can’t afford them from the chippie.’
‘That’s all right, Mam. I like your chips best, anyroad.’
Sheila breathed a sigh of relief. He was a little eight-year-old boy again who needed his mam – at least for now.
They went into the house the front way, Sheila first. Her heart nearly turned over when she entered the living room and a figure rose from the chair in front of the fire.
‘I was beginning to think me family had all left home for good,’ the figure said with a grin.
Sheila burst into tears. ‘Cal! Oh, Cal!’ She flung herself into his arms.
‘Our dad’s home!’
Calum Reilly fell back laughing in the chair as he disappeared beneath the weight of his tearful wife and six excited children.
‘How long are you home for?’ asked Sheila. They’d had their tea, Dominic’s ankle had been bathed and bandaged, and the match described in detail.
Sheila glowed. Since the war, it was rare they had the chance to sit round the fireside together, Cal Reilly, his wife and his children. In fact, Mary, the youngest, born a week before the war started, had seen little of her dad, though you’d never think so. She was sitting on his knee, completely at home, as if it was something she did every day. Ryan was on his other knee and the other kids were draped around their dad so that in some way they could touch him. Dominic had managed to get behind the easy chair and was leaning on the back with his arms around Cal’s neck.
‘I’ll be home till the thirtieth,’ Cal replied. ‘I’m changing ships.’
Niall did a quick calculation. ‘That’s ten whole days, Dad!’
‘Ten whole days!’ Sheila thought she could quite easily burst with happiness. It was the longest he’d been home in years.
‘You’ll be here on Christmas morning when we open our presents,’ Siobhan sang happily.
‘I certainly will, luv.’
At eight o’clock, with some difficulty, the children were persuaded to bed. Calum had a shave, changed out of his uniform and went along to the King’s Arms for a quick pint – everyone would have been hurt if he hadn’t turned up to say hello after so many months at sea. The neighbours had tactfully stayed away that night, but Sheila knew that tomorrow the deluge would begin and the world and his wife would be popping in to see Calum Reilly.
She put the iron on the stove to press her one and only nightdress. She used to have a best one, kept specially for when Cal came home, but it had been lost when number 21 was bombed.
‘Still, it won’t be on for long,’ she thought. Her stomach gave a pleasant little lurch when she thought about making love with Cal. She felt just as thrilled as she’d done on their honeymoon ten years ago. That was a good thing about being married to a Merchant Navy man – perhaps the only good thing. It meant life was a whole series of honeymoons.
She finished the ironing, folded the nightdress neatly and placed it on her pillow upstairs. The children were still wide awake. She could hear them talking to each other, the boys in the rear bedroom, the girls all squeezed together in the double bed which took up the entire boxroom.
‘Be quiet the lotta’yis,’ she called.
They stopped talking for a few seconds, but by the time she was halfway down the stairs they’d started again. Now, if Cal were to say the same thing, they’d have stopped dead and not spoken another word, yet they knew he’d never lay a hand on them. He never had. There was just something about Calum Reilly that made everyone want to please him; a sort of quiet dignity that commanded respect despite the fact that he looked so youthful, almost boyish. He’d scarcely changed since they were first married.
Sheila returned upstairs to the front bedroom where she regarded her reflection worriedly in the wardrobe mirror. No-one would guess she was two months younger
than Cal. She’d put on weight and her figure, what was left of it, sagged pathetically. She drew her stomach in and tried to hold it, but it burst out again of its own accord.
‘I need a new brassiere. Our Eileen asked what I wanted for Christmas. I’ll tell her I want a brassiere. And I’ll eat less bread and less taters – as soon as Christmas’s over, that is.’
Cal was coming in through the backyard when she went down again. She caught her breath. He wasn’t exactly handsome, Cal, but as far as Sheila was concerned, his calm clean-cut features had a beauty and an integrity all of their own. He’d had his hair cut before leaving ship and it was clipped close to his neck. She noticed there were little arches of white skin where it had been shaved neatly around his ears. Somehow, it made him appear even younger and very vulnerable. She’d noticed the same thing with the boys after a haircut, as if some of their virility had been removed at the same time.
‘You weren’t long,’ she said, taking off her pinny and smoothing down her skirt so she’d look her best for him. She patted her own hair, remembering she hadn’t combed it since that morning.
‘I was much too long.’ It was the first opportunity they’d had to be alone. He caught her in his arms and they stood together, not speaking, for a long time. ‘I’ve missed you, Sheil.’
‘And as if I haven’t missed you,’ she answered shakily.
He began to touch her, but she stopped him. ‘Not here, luv. Wait till we’re in bed. The kids are all wide awake. One of ’em might come down.’
‘The little buggers,’ he grinned. ‘I’ll go up and have a word with them.’
Sheila busied herself making tea. She could hear Cal’s quiet voice upstairs, together with the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece and the faint strains of music coming from the Kellys’ wireless next door. This was all she’d ever wanted from life; herself, her husband and her children, all safe under the same roof.
‘It’s not much to ask, is it?’ she murmured aloud, though she’d always accepted the fact Cal would never leave the Merchant Navy. He’d joined when he was thirteen and it was in his blood. She’d married him realising she’d be alone for most of the time, that she’d be worried for his safety, but never dreamt it would turn out to be so dangerous. Ever since the war began she’d been petrified he’d be killed. She was convinced she would die herself if anything happened to Cal.
During the Blitz, the boot had been on the other foot for a while, and it was Calum’s turn to be petrified he’d lose his family. ‘If we hadn’t gone to Eileen’s cottage that night in May, we’d be dead, all seven of us,’ Sheila thought in horror for the umpteenth time.
‘We’ll have to keep an eye on our Dominic,’ Cal said when he returned. ‘He’s growing far too big for his boots.’
‘We?’ Sheila raised her eyebrows as she handed him a cup of tea.
‘You, then. It’s our Niall I’m worried about. He’s a bright little chap and I don’t want him growing up in the shadow of his big brother.’
‘Perhaps you should have a few words with Dominic before …’ Sheila paused. She’d nearly said, ‘before you go back,’ but she didn’t even want to think about him going back, let alone mention it, not when they had ten blissful days ahead. She intended to enjoy every single minute. ‘Oh, I wish you were home more often, Cal,’ she burst out. ‘I mean, when the hell’s this war going to be over? Nothing seems to be happening …’
‘Nothing’s happening!’ Cal’s voice was mild, but Sheila could tell he was annoyed and wished she’d kept her big mouth shut. ‘Nothing’s happening! Don’t you listen to the wireless or read the paper, Sheil? Don’t you know about Pearl Harbor? There were more than two thousand American seamen killed. Two weeks ago, America entered the war.’
‘I know that, Cal, but what difference will it make? They’ll only be fighting the Japanese.’
‘I think you’ll find it’ll make quite a bit of difference, luv.’ He smiled tolerantly, as if she were a child. ‘And that’s not all that’s been happening – or not happening, as you seem to think. The Barham was torpedoed only recently, and over six hundred crew were lost. The Prince of Wales has gone, as well as the Repulse. The Japs are attacking in the Philippines, Hong Kong may well fall soon. All of a sudden, we’re at war with Hungary, Romania and Finland …’
‘Finland! I thought we were on the same side?’
‘We were – once.’
Calum recalled, yet again, the incident which had occurred only hours before the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, although he hadn’t known that then. There’d been a full moon that night and the seas were friendly, flat and glistening like the smoothest of silk. He was on the night watch and several ships in the convoy were clearly visible, including one of their naval escorts. The dark vessels sped silently through the water spurting silver froth in their wake. He used to love the midnight watch, just him, the helmsman, the silence and the sea, but no more. These were the hours when danger most threatened. The scene might look peaceful, but beneath the friendliest of seas German U-boats lurked, like sharks in search of prey.
Less than half a mile ahead of the Chrysalis, slightly to port, sailed the Magnolia, a freighter with a mainly Canadian crew. Cal had become friendly with a few of the men last time they docked in Malta. One had six children about the same ages as his own. He trained his binoculars on the ship, but there was no sign of life, which was only to be expected. Cal’s hands were hot and sweaty inside his thick woollen gloves. He felt nervous, on edge. In fact, he felt terrified. He tried to think about Sheila and the kids. When the war was over he’d get a shore job. He was no longer in love with the sea.
Apart from the monotonous hiss of the waters breaking as the ship thrust through the gentle waves, there was not another sound to be heard. Jocko Dougall, the helmsman, was a taciturn man who scarcely spoke a word once he got behind the wheel. Jocko preferred his pipe to human company. He was puffing away, his dark silhouette wreathed in clouds of smoke. Cal wished he was more communicative. He would have rather liked someone to talk to just now.
Suddenly, without warning, the Magnolia erupted in front of them. It exploded like a firework, showering sparks and flames. Cal quickly went outside. He could hear the crackle of burning and the sizzle of red-hot metal as parts fell back in the water. He could hear men shouting and screaming for help.
‘Oh, Jesus Christ!’ he groaned aloud. He returned to the bridge. ‘Jocko?’ he whispered hoarsely.
Jocko shook his head slightly. ‘No, mate. Y’know what the orders are.’
The orders were not to stop for any reason, no matter what emergency might arise or tragedy occur. The Chrysalis forged ahead at ten knots. Some of the men down below must have heard the explosion and had come up on deck. By now fifty or more stricken seamen could be seen struggling in the water, several directly in their path. Cal watched helplessly as they seemed to bounce on the bow-wave of the Chrysalis before being sucked towards the propellers at the stern.
The ship sailed onwards. Still watching, Cal saw the bodies in the water gradually disappear from sight. He noticed a lifeboat emerging from behind the burning wreckage of the Magnolia. It must have been thrown off, apparently undamaged. He looked through his binoculars. ‘Please, God,’ he prayed. ‘Please God let there be someone on it.’ To his relief, there were at least a dozen men on board. They were searching the water for mates who might still be alive.
Soon, there was nothing left to see. The convoy sailed onwards, every ship at the same speed. The sky began to lighten in the east and the smooth waters below were tinged with gold, heralding the rising of the sun. It was going to be a lovely day.
‘What are you thinking about, luv?’ asked Sheila.
‘Nothing,’ smiled Cal. How could he tell her, when he knew she was already worried sick? But it dismayed him when she said there was ‘nothing happening’. It had been the same in the pub, where all the talk was of the football match that afternoon, as if they’d grown so used to their country being at
war, it was so much part of their everyday existence, they no longer took any notice of what was going on elsewhere unless tragedy hit their own particular family.
Cal held out his hand to his wife, thinking how remarkable it was that she hadn’t changed a jot in ten years. She was still his pretty Sheila, the only girl he’d ever loved, the only girl he’d ever wanted – and he wanted her right now more than he’d ever done before.
‘It sounds as if the kids have dropped off. Come on, luv. Let’s dampen down the fire and go to bed.’
‘I suppose,’ said Jack Doyle, ‘folks are mainly concerned with their own particular struggle. The fighting’s in the background, yet they never forget it’s there. They’re grateful, Cal. They couldn’t possibly be more grateful for what you and your like are doing.’ He lit one of the cigarettes which Calum had brought home from America. Cal wished he’d given him only half the hundred pack and kept the other half till Christmas. At the rate he was going, five ciggies during the short time Cal had been there, the whole lot would be gone by Christmas Day.
‘I know,’ murmured Cal. ‘I was just surprised last night in the pub when everyone seemed to think a football match more important than Pearl Harbor.’
‘They don’t,’ Jack assured him. ‘The match merely took their minds off things a bit, that’s all. It’s like the pictures, not that I ever go meself, but there’s queues a mile long of people trying to escape the war for a few hours. Same with the wireless. We all look forward to programmes like ITMA with Tommy Handley. I mean, I bet it’s not gloom and doom on the ship all day long, is it?’
‘No,’ Cal conceded. ‘We have a good laugh mostly.’
‘There! As regards our Sheila,’ Jack went on, ‘she has enough on her plate trying to keep six kiddies fed and warm as well as worrying about you. She hasn’t the time to bother her head with what goes on outside Pearl Street.’
