Goodnight Sweetheart

by Annie Groves

  * * *

  Well, wasn’t life just the funniest thing, Molly reflected tiredly as she tiptoed towards her bed, determined not to wake either Lillibet or June. Who would have thought that she would actually enjoy being kissed by Johnny Everton? But she had, she admitted. As she snuggled down under her eiderdown, she touched the ring Eddie had given her, which she still wore. Sudden tears blurred her eyes. What would he have thought about Johnny kissing her? Would he have understood that even though she would give anything for him to be alive, there were times like tonight when she needed to be held in a pair of strong warm arms? This war was changing so much about the way they all lived their lives.

  ‘Has anyone heard anything from Aggie? Only I heard as how her street got it last night.’

  ‘I haven’t heard nothing,’ one of the girls responded to Irene’s query as they all hurried to remove their wet coats and get out of the small, damp, cold cloakroom with its smell of wet wool, and upstairs into the relative warmth of the machine room.

  ‘What about you, Molly?’ Irene called out. ‘You was on emergency services duty last night, wasn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but not down that end. We were on a call down by the docks,’ Molly answered her tiredly.

  The visible pall of smoke and soot that hung over Liverpool from the devastation of its buildings was partnered by the invisible pall of misery that was engulfing its people. Not that anyone was going to say they were miserable – not likely, when so many were suffering far worse than they – but it was there in their faces all the same.

  ‘Ten to one if her street has bin hit, she’ll have gone to that aunt of hers wot lives out Chester way,’ Lettice Rooney, one of the new girls, told Irene. ‘She was only saying t’other day that she was sick to death of Jerry and his bombs.’

  ‘Huh, wot makes her think it’s any different for the rest of us?’ Irene asked sharply. ‘But you don’t see us tekkin’ off to blummin’ Chester. ’Oo the hell does she think is goin’ to mek parachutes for our lads if we all tek ourselves off out of harm’s way?’

  ‘Will your hubby be home on leave for Christmas, Irene?’ Molly asked, wanting to change the subject before it developed into a full-scale row. Irene, like Molly and one or two of the others, didn’t live right down in the dock area, where most of the girls, including the missing Aggie, lived, and where they had endured the worst of the almost nightly bombing, with whole streets reduced to rubble and whole families wiped out in one bomb blast.

  Molly stood by Irene as the other girls slid into their seats and started up their sewing machines. Once they were working it was almost impossible to hear what anyone said over the noise.

  ‘No such luck. Not where he is,’ Irene answered grimly. ‘He’s not like some who dropped lucky and got posted on home duty.’

  There was a small silence whilst the girls avoided looking at one another. Every regiment in the British Army consisted of two divisions, one of which was traditionally always kept ‘battle ready’ whilst the other provided backup. Now, with the country at war, every regiment had one half of its men on active overseas duty whilst the other half remained at home to guard the country. If you were lucky enough to have your menfolk stationed on ‘home duty’, even if that meant they were living at the opposite end of the country, you could consider yourself to be very fortunate indeed.

  ‘Just because my Bobby’s posted on home duty doesn’t mean he isn’t doing his bit,’ one of the other girls defended her own husband now, her face flushed.

  ‘Did I say that he weren’t?’ Irene retorted angrily.

  The machines started to whirr, cutting off whatever response might have been made, but it was plain that Irene hadn’t finished having her say, because ten minutes later, she stopped her own machine and said loudly, ‘I’m willing to bet, though, Nancy, that your Bobby is coming home on leave at Christmas?’

  Nancy White stopped her own machine, tossing her turbaned head as she answered back smartly, ‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong, because he isn’t.’

  It was dinner time before the matter was referred to again.

  Molly, who was eating her cheese sandwich as slowly as she could to make it go further and trick her stomach into believing it wasn’t hungry, heard Nancy White giggling as she confided to her friends, ‘A right bossy so-and-so that Irene is. I’d have given a week’s wages this morning to stand up and tell her that the reason my Bobby is not coming home this Christmas is because I’m going down to Aldershot to see him. He says as how they’ll be havin’ a right good knees-up at the Naafi canteen, and no need to worry about rationing. And he’s got me a room at some lodgings down there, so as we can spend a bit of time together, you know, private, like.’ She giggled again. ‘’Oo knows, I might come back wi’ sommat in me belly instead of me Christmas stocking.’

  ‘Wot? And how will you go on then,’ one of the others derided her, ‘your husband in the army, and you with a kid to look after? There’d be no going out dancin’ every weekend then.’

  Nancy pulled a face. ‘No, and I wouldn’t have to come workin’ here neither, and have to listen to old misery guts every day. ’Sides,’ she added, tossing her newly peroxided hair, ‘like as not me mam will look after the kiddie for us.’

  ‘It’s all right for some,’ one of the other girls sniffed.

  And as Molly folded up the greaseproof paper

  that had held her sandwiches she couldn’t help but silently agree, when she contrasted her sister’s increasing anxiety over her baby’s routine with the casual attitude of girls like Nancy White.

  ‘Where are you off to then?’ June demanded when Molly came downstairs dressed to go out.

  ‘I had another letter from Anne yesterday. She’s coming home today and I thought I’d go down to Lime Street to meet her. She’s bringing Philip with her and she’ll have her hands full, what with him being in a wheelchair.’

  ‘Oh, I see, you’re going meeting Anne, are you? Well, that explains it then,’ June said bitterly.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s obvious what I mean, Molly Dearden!’ June replied sharply. ‘Anyone can see that she’s more important to you than I am. I could see that before she went off to Aldershot, but then, of course, I’m only your sister, and why should you stay in and keep me company when Anne’s coming home?’

  ‘June, it isn’t like that, and besides, I thought you’d be going round to Sally’s tonight, seeing as it’s her night off.’

  ‘What, and have her going on at me, saying that I’m not doing right by my Frank?’ June sniffed disparagingly. ‘Much room she’s got to talk, with her going working at the Grafton four nights out of seven and mixing with all sorts. Catch me doing that!’

  ‘Sally needs the money, June, you know that. She’s got those two kiddies and the rent to pay, and all she gets is what the Government gives her on account of her Ronnie being in the army.’

  Molly didn’t want to aggravate her sister any further by pointing out that June lived rent free under their father’s roof, as she did herself, and that with both their father and Molly working there was no need for June to have to work as well. Things might be a bit tight but they managed, and it was understood that June kept the money the Government paid to all service wives for herself and Libby. Sally, on the other hand, had no family to help her; no parental roof under which she could live, and she had two children to support.

  ‘She could work days, and put the kiddies in one of them new crèche things the Government has provided so as women can go and do war work,’ June defended her criticism determinedly.

  ‘What, work at one of them armaments factories?’ Molly asked her dubiously. ‘You know all sorts goes on there, June, with thieving and that, and they have to work twelve-hour shifts without a day off. Sally told me herself that with her tips and that, she earns enough at the Grafton for her to need to work only four nights a week, even after she’s paying for someone to sit in with the kiddies for her.’

  ‘Lucky
her, that’s all I can say, but I wonder if her Ronnie thinks it’s so lucky, seeing as what she might have to be doing to get them tips.’

  ‘June!’ Molly protested, scandalised. ‘How can you say such a thing? Sally isn’t like that, and you know it.’

  ‘Huh, how am I supposed to know what she’s like now, seeing as I hardly ever see her, and when I do all she does is go on about Frank’s mam and “poor” Frank?’ Suddenly, to Molly’s distress, June’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Oh, Molly, this time last year I were looking forward to me and Frank getting wed and now look at me.’

  ‘June, what’s wrong?’ Molly begged as her sister dropped her head into her hands and began to cry as though her heart was breaking.

  ‘I don’t know,’ June admitted. ‘I just feel so … so all churned up inside sometimes, Molly, what with all the worry of looking after Elizabeth Rose, and her crying that much. Do you know, Frank’s mam had the cheek to tell me that she thought my little Lillibet were hungry. As if I wasn’t feeding her regular.’

  Molly didn’t know now what to say. She had noticed herself how greedily Lillibet sometimes took her bottle, only to reject it and then start to scream as though she were in pain. She was a small baby, delicately made, June liked to say, like their own mother.

  ‘Frank even told me that his mam said that Lillibet had colic and that it was my fault for keeping waking her up to feed her,’ June confided angrily.

  ‘I expect he thought he was helping you, June,’ Molly tried to placate her, but June was having none of it.

  ‘Help me! Hinder me, more like. This is not what I thought it were going to be like when I wed him, Molly, and if you want the truth, I’m beginning to wish that I hadn’t.’

  ‘June, you can’t mean that,’ Molly protested, but June wasn’t listening. Instead her face was taking on a weary resigned expression as they both heard the wailing coming from upstairs.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ Molly told her hurriedly, ‘otherwise I won’t get to Lime Street in time to meet Anne’s train.’

  She was wishing now that she hadn’t arranged to meet her friend and that she could stay with June, whose comments had left her feeling very anxious. June couldn’t have meant what she had said about wishing she hadn’t married Frank, surely?

  SIX

  Molly spotted Anne before her friend saw her. They were almost the last off the train, Anne, in her smart ATS uniform, drawing envious looks from some of the women passengers, and wary ones from others. The ATS girls had begun to get a very racy reputation in certain quarters, and Molly had read that some parents were refusing to let their daughters join up, fearing for their moral welfare.

  The man in the wheelchair she was pushing had to be Philip, and there seemed to be some good-natured repartee between those who had helped them to get the wheelchair out of the guard’s van and Philip himself, to judge from the laughter Molly could hear.

  Her spirits started to lift. She couldn’t help worrying about June, though. Although her sister would never admit it, Molly guessed that June was missing seeing Sally. Perhaps if she called round at Sally’s and had a word with her …? Her mind busy with plans, she waited until the crowd of people leaving the train had thinned out a little before hurrying along the platform towards Anne.

  ‘Molly!’ Anne exclaimed happily. ‘You look wonderful. Look, Philip, here’s Molly.’

  ‘Hello, Molly. Forgive me for not standing to greet you.’ He nodded towards the arm of the wheelchair briefly. He was smiling but Molly could sense his tension. His face looked thinner and drawn with pain.

  ‘Hello, Philip,’ Molly responded. ‘I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since I last saw you!’

  ‘Last Christmas. Christ, is that only when it was? So much has happened since then. It feels like another life.’

  ‘Molly, you’re going to be the first to know,’ Anne broke in excitedly, extending her hand so that Molly could see a lovely diamond ring glittering. ‘Me and Philip are formally engaged now.’

  There was no need for Molly to ask if Anne was happy. Her friend was positively glowing with delight as Molly admired the ring and congratulated Philip.

  ‘Have you decided on a date yet?’

  ‘We wanted to talk to Mum and Dad first. I want them to be pleased for me, but I intend to marry Philip no matter what they say. It isn’t Philip’s fault that Richard’s dead and he’s alive,’ Anne told her, her glow dimming slightly as she added quietly, ‘We want to get married as soon as possible. Philip will have to move to a new hospital in the New Year, and it could be that he would be moved so far away that I wouldn’t be able to visit him. But once we’re married, I could leave the ATS and look after him myself.’

  ‘Rubbish. You aren’t giving up your own life to nurse an invalid,’ Philip told her sharply. ‘I won’t have it.’

  ‘But you won’t be an invalid once you’ve get your new legs, darling,’ Anne protested in a low voice, and Molly guessed that this was an argument they had had many times before.

  ‘They’re not new legs, Anne, they’re artificial limbs,’ Philip corrected her. ‘Pieces of metal, that’s all. I shall still be an invalid, just an invalid with a pair of artificial legs.’

  ‘You aren’t an invalid. You’re the man I love,’ Anne said softly.

  ‘I haven’t got any legs – that makes me an invalid,’ Philip argued grimly. ‘And I’m not going to let you sacrifice yourself for me.’

  ‘We’ve already been through all this, Pip. It isn’t a sacrifice, it’s what I want to do. I love you and … and I want to spend every minute I can with you.’

  Molly was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She could see the love between them but she could also see Philip’s frustrated bitterness.

  ‘Philip!’ Anne begged emotionally.

  Remorsefully he reached out and took hold of her hand. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. I suppose I’m just feeling a bit anxious about how your parents are going to react to the fact that their lovely daughter is throwing herself away on a cripple.’

  ‘We’ve had some pretty bad bombing raids since you left,’ Molly told Anne, tactfully changing the subject. ‘You heard about the one at Durning Road?’

  ‘Oh, yes, that was dreadful. Over three hundred killed, I heard.’

  ‘Yes,’ Molly agreed. ‘It was a terrible night.’

  ‘There were three thousand killed when the Lancastria went up,’ Philip cut across their exchange bitterly.

  Anne gave Molly an uncertain look that was part anxiety and part plea.

  ‘Darling, I don’t think—’

  ‘You don’t think what? You don’t think I should talk about it? Why not? Because the bloody Government doesn’t want this country to know how three thousand men lost their lives – men like your brother. He would have been alive today but for us getting on that ruddy ship. Plenty of room, they told us, saving it for you RAF lads, they said, go and get yourselves something to eat, we’ll be sailing soon. For hours we were on board her, packed in like sardines – worse than sardines – women and kiddies as well. It’s a wonder the damn thing didn’t sink. Do you know how many she was registered to carry? Not even half of that, and three thousand is only them as they counted. If you want my opinion there was damn-near twice that many on board.’

  ‘Darling, please don’t. You’ll only get yourself all upset,’ Anne was pleading.

  ‘Anne, let me give you a hand pushing Philip’s wheelchair,’ Molly suggested.

  ‘Oh, I hadn’t realised it would be as bad as this!’ Anne exclaimed as they walked up through the city, both her expression and her voice revealing her shock at the bomb damage as the two girls took it in turns to push Philip’s wheelchair.

  ‘Jerry’s trying to put the docks out of action, but it’s the streets down by the docks that have suffered the worst of it. Thousands have been made homeless, and hundreds killed and injured. There’s bad feeling up here on account of us not getting any mention in the papers. Folk are saying
that every time you open them it’s all the East End this and the East End that, and never a word about Liverpool and what we’re having to put up with.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s because the Government doesn’t want the Germans to know how much damage they’ve caused,’ Anne suggested.

  Molly nodded. Maybe she was right.

  The grey December afternoon had already given way to a dirty damp darkness and the kind of cold that seeps sourly into the bones. Anne shivered and huddled deeper into her coat, admitting wanly, ‘I’d forgotten how cold and damp Liverpool can be.’

  Molly smiled at her, puffing slightly as she pushed the heavy chair up the long hill towards Edge Hill Road. Philip hadn’t said a word since they’d left the station.

  ‘Here, wait a minute,’ Anne protested, going to the front of the wheelchair to fuss round Philip, making sure he was well wrapped up whilst Molly stood behind it to check it didn’t start to slide backwards.

  ‘There’s no point in you doing that,’ Philip snapped sharply at Anne as she kneeled down to wrap the tartan rug round his lower half.

  Watching them, Molly thought how very hard it must be for both: Anne constantly apologetic because she was healthy and whole, and Philip angry and resentful as any man would be at the loss of his freedom; perhaps resentful too of his dependence on Anne.

  It wasn’t her place to question their relationship, Molly knew, but all around her now she could see the evidence of the way war was affecting relationships between men and women.

  ‘Nearly there now,’ Anne told Philip cheerfully.

  ‘For God’s sake, stop treating me like a child. I was a bloody navigator, for God’s sake, Anne. I know we’re “nearly there”.’ Almost immediately he reached for her hand and said apologetically, ‘Sorry, sweetheart, that was bloody rude of me. It’s just this damn leg is giving me such gyp at the moment. Funny old thing, having an amputation: the bloody leg still aches even though it isn’t there.’

  Anne gave a small, slightly forced laugh, and Molly managed to join in, even though inside she was filled with pity for them both.