by Rosie Harris
‘That’s right.’ Now that it had actually happened he felt on top of the world; free; his own man at last.
Miles Walker’s threats that he would never work again on Merseyside were so much hot air that they didn’t bother him in the least. There was always a need for qualified drivers with his sort of experience. He might even go to sea again. Perhaps a few months apart and Megan might miss him and then …
He brought his wandering thoughts back to the present, knowing that going back to sea was the very last thing that he wanted to do. Being able to see Megan was as much part of his life as breathing or eating.
He wanted her so badly that it was like a continual throbbing ache inside him. The days when he didn’t see her were filled with a sense of unease, an irrational sense of impending disaster, a feeling that she might need him and he wouldn’t be there to help.
She looked at him shrewdly. ‘Did driving for me have anything to do with you losing your job?’
He shrugged. ‘Indirectly, yes. It was Miles who had your lorries sabotaged.’
‘I thought it might have been!’
‘We’d have a job to prove it was him, of course, he’s made sure of that; but Barney Wilson let it slip. I tackled Miles about it and …’
‘And he denied it and sacked you in the same breath,’ Megan finished contemptuously.
‘Something like that.’
‘So what will you do now? I’d give you a job but I’m not sure we can afford anyone … not yet. Unless you’re interested in part-time work?’ she suggested tentatively.
He shook his head. He wasn’t sure it would work if he felt under an obligation to her.
As if reading his mind, she grinned. ‘You don’t fancy me as your boss, is that it? Well, what about this for an idea. You provide your own lorry and work for me on a self-employed basis.’
He looked at her and frowned.
‘It will still be my company and my father will still be in overall charge of the transport arrangements,’ she pointed out.
‘We could certainly give it a try,’ he agreed cautiously. ‘It might take me a while to get the right sort of vehicle, though.’
‘Fair enough! Until you do you could drive one of ours and leave me free to organise the office side of things.’
It took Robert a fortnight to find a suitable lorry and another week to have it fully serviced. While he was driving one of her lorries, Megan insisted that he received a percentage of the net profit on each load he transported, the same as he would if he was freelancing.
‘I don’t really know how I am going cope when you aren’t here to help out with our lorries,’ she confided. I still haven’t been able to find anyone suitable to work in the office.’
‘I still think you should hire a driver and run the office yourself,’ he told her. ‘You can’t beat personal service. People hate having to deal with an office junior. All these promises that someone will phone you back are no good. They want a quotation immediately and to be able to fix up when the load will be moved. Otherwise they simply go elsewhere.’
‘You could be right,’ she agreed. ‘I had no idea I would be so busy. And there’s so much paperwork to get through!’ She indicated the dockets and forms piled up all over the desk. ‘When I was at Walker’s the work was split up between so many people that I had no idea how time consuming all this form-filling and invoicing could be when you have to do it single-handed,’ she admitted.
The morning Robert drove up in his own lorry, Megan was as excited as he was. ‘I should have brought in a bottle of champagne so that we could have had a launching ceremony,’ she teased.
‘You didn’t?’ Robert pretended to look disappointed. ‘In that case, we had better go out tonight and celebrate.’
‘You’re on! The Nelson at half-past eight? I know my dad will join us and I’ll try to persuade Mam to come along as well.’
Robert bit his lip, not wanting to upset the rapport between them, but a family gathering wasn’t quite the sort of celebration he’d had in mind.
* * *
In the months that followed, they were so busy, working flat out, that they had little time to think of anything else. The weather had turned wet and foggy and everything seemed to take twice as long. Ships were held up at the Bar because even with tugs to guide them it was too murky for them to make their way upriver.
In the run-up to Christmas, Megan was bombarded by calls from firms who wanted goods collecting before they closed down for the holiday, or who were waiting for deliveries and were worried in case there were any hold-ups.
‘You’d think the world was coming to an end, the fuss some people make about a bank holiday,’ she grumbled as she handed a sheaf of papers to Robert. ‘All this mad rush and then the week after Christmas we’ll be sitting around twiddling our thumbs for days on end.’
‘How about coming to the Tower with me on New Year’s Eve?’ he suggested to try to cheer her up.
‘Yes, OK. Provided we are not still here working,’ she accepted rather ungraciously.
‘We have to get this lot cleared before Christmas,’ he reminded her. ‘There won’t be a lot happening then for about ten days, you’ve just said so yourself.’
‘You’re right, of course,’ she admitted. ‘Thanks, I’d love to come. What’s on? A dance?’
‘A Grand Ball, no less. It is New Year’s Eve!’
‘Yes, and I remember the first time you took me there! Lynn was furious because Dad wouldn’t let her come as well.’ Her eyes misted over with tears as she bent over her papers, and Robert cursed himself for his clumsiness in stirring up such painful memories.
‘So will you come?’ he asked softly.
‘I’ll look forward to it.’ She looked up and smiled.
Robert spent Christmas Day with them the same as he had done ever since they had come to live on Merseyside. This year, however, their celebrations were quieter, more subdued. Although no one mentioned Lynn, they were all acutely aware of her absence.
Megan cooked the meal. Kathy Williams tried desperately to be as bright as her flowered dress and to hide the fact she had been crying. As she watched her mother laying the table, Megan grew alarmed at the way she kept topping up her glass with wine.
‘Make sure that Mam doesn’t have too much to drink, Dad,’ she whispered worriedly. ‘We don’t want her back in hospital.’
Megan’s warning came too late. By the time Christmas dinner was served, her mother was already so befuddled that Megan persuaded her to lie down until teatime.
‘I’ll stay here and make sure she doesn’t have any more to drink,’ promised Watkin. ‘Why don’t you two go for a walk?’
‘A brisk walk along the prom at New Brighton will do us both good,’ Robert agreed.
It was crisp and cold with a blood-red sunset low over the sea by the time they reached King’s Parade. As protection against the gale force wind, Megan was muffled up in a warm coat, a matching close-fitting hat, and the fur-lined gloves Robert had bought her for Christmas.
‘I’m frozen in spite of all the layers I’m wearing.’ Megan shivered as they strode along the promenade, their faces stinging from the lash of wind and waves.
‘If you’ve had enough then why don’t we go back to my place and have a hot drink before I run you home?’ Robert suggested.
‘Do you know, it’s the first time I’ve ever been here,’ Megan commented as, shortly afterwards, she walked into his living room and looked round with interest while Robert stirred the banked-up fire into life.
‘I haven’t made many changes since my mother died,’ Robert told her as he drew the heavy velvet curtains. From a side table, he picked up a photograph of himself as a small boy and passed it to her with a smile before he went through to the kitchen to make their drink.
The hot coffee, laced with whisky, revived them both. Relaxed, Megan curled up on the settee with a sigh of contentment.
‘I find it hard to believe sometimes that everything is turning o
ut so well.’ She sighed softly.
He smiled, deliberating, marshalling his emotions. He wondered if she still only thought of him as a friend, someone to turn to when she needed advice or whether the time was right to voice his feelings and ask her to marry him. He savoured the moment, playing over in his mind the spiel he had rehearsed so often, but her next words shattered his complacency.
‘I never dreamed I would have so many customers so soon. I expected it to be an uphill struggle, but the work has poured in and we’ve plenty of bookings for the New Year, too. Are you happy about the way things are going?’
‘Business-wise, yes, but …’
‘You think you’ve done the right thing, then, in buying your own lorry and joining us?’
He sighed. ‘A lot of the men who still work for Walker’s are green with envy,’ he told her. ‘Half of them wish they were self-employed, too. It’s not just finding the work but having someone at the back of you to look after all the paperwork that’s so important. It’s what stops most of them from going on their own.’
‘If they have their own lorry they’re welcome to come along on a freelance basis,’ Megan told him. ‘I’d take care of all the paperwork, but they would have to understand that I’m in charge and I allocate the loads.’
‘It’s a great idea and I know several of them who would jump at it, but it would mean more work for you,’ he warned.
‘They’ll be responsible for maintaining their own lorry, I’ll simply contract out to them. It’s the quickest way I know of expanding until I can afford to buy more lorries and employ my own drivers.’
‘And is that what you really want from life, Megan?’ asked Robert softly. ‘To build up a successful business?’
‘Yes, and I intend to do it.’ As she turned to face him, her face glowed in the firelight and her brown eyes shone with enthusiasm.
Robert longed to take her in his arms, kiss her as a woman ought to be kissed, not the chaste peck on the cheek or brow that he usually gave her. Once again, though, he sensed it wasn’t the right time. Her enthusiasm for her business enterprise stymied him. He was quite sure nothing would distract her from her plans; certainly not the prospect of marrying him.
Chapter Thirty-five
1930 STARTED WITH an avalanche of work. Christmas Day having fallen on a Wednesday, there had been no movement of shipping at all during the rest of the week. With New Year’s Day also a bank holiday most companies had decided not to start work until the following Monday, the 6th of January.
When Megan arrived at her makeshift office at eight o’clock on the first Monday in January, she found a pile of letters waiting for her attention. She was busy sorting through them when Robert and her father came in to let her know that their lorries were loaded and they were about to leave.
Watkin was travelling eastwards to the Pennines and Robert north towards Scotland, so both men were concerned by the weather forecast and the snow-laden skies.
‘Further inland, it’s probably already snowing,’ warned Robert. ‘The salt in the air keeps Merseyside pretty free of snow. I’ll try and phone in and let you know if everything is OK, but don’t wait around for me to get back, Megan. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.’
‘What about you, Dad?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘No, you stay here. Judging by that pile on your desk you’ve got enough to do as it is. Apart from that,’ he added when he saw she was about to argue with him, ‘if you came with me and we couldn’t get back, it would mean your mam would be left all on her own overnight.’
After he’d left, Megan tackled the estimates waiting for her attention. Her spirits soared at the number of new customers. At midday, she was clearing a space on her desk so that she could eat her sandwiches when she was interrupted by a tall young man with red, fuzzy hair, asking for Robert.
‘I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment. Can I help?’
‘It’s you really I came to see, Miss. My name’s George Willis, but everyone calls me Sandy on account of me red hair. Robert said you might take me on.’
Megan frowned. ‘You do understand that it would be on a freelance basis and that you’d have to supply your own lorry and keep it serviced? The arrangement would be that I would pay you a percentage on deliveries.’
‘Yeah, I know. Robert explained it all. Smashing idea. I’m planning on getting wed and my girlfriend’s old man said he’d draw out all his savings and fix me up with a lorry if you’d agree to take me on. So what about it? I can start right away … as soon as I get hold of a lorry.’
Megan was impressed by his eagerness. ‘There’s a freighter in Canning Dock carrying pig-iron for delivery to Shotton. If I let you use one of my lorries, can you load up and deliver before five today?’
‘That’s great! You’re a real corker! Sorry, Miss, no disrespect meant.’ His face turned the same shade as his hair with embarrassment.
As she handed over keys and dockets, Megan wondered if she was doing the right thing. He looked honest enough, but she knew nothing about him except his name. If Robert had told him to come for a job he must be OK, she reasoned as she went back into the office and phoned through to Shotton to tell them the pig-iron was on its way.
‘I’m sending a new driver so do you think you could let me know as soon as you’ve taken delivery,’ she asked before she replaced the receiver.
She tried not to think about Sandy Willis for the rest of the afternoon, but as five o’clock approached she became edgy and she was more than relieved when the call came through to say the load had arrived.
In the next few months she took on two more freelance drivers: Jock MacDonald, a dour Scotsman who said very little but was a steady, reliable worker; and Fred Greenford, a back-slapping jovial character whose idea of a good time was going for a ‘bevvy’ or a ‘nosh’.
Megan was kept so busy that she knew she would have to take on someone to help in the office. Robert agreed with her wholeheartedly. ‘You can’t go on for ever working ten hours a day or you’ll crack up,’ he told her. ‘You didn’t even get away for a holiday in the summer.’
‘Neither did you!’
‘Only because you kept us all working so hard that I couldn’t take any time off.’ He grinned.
‘Am I really such a slave driver?’
‘You certainly expect everyone to have the same energy and enthusiasm as you have. Your father looks worn out … He didn’t get a break either!’
‘He will next year, I promise. My New Year’s resolution is to send him and Mam off on a holiday.’
‘Is that your only resolution?’ he asked softly.
‘For the moment … except to treat you better. I might even consider letting you have a few days off to go on that walking holiday you put off for my benefit,’ she promised.
He drew in his breath sharply. ‘And would you come with me?’ he asked, looking straight at her.
She picked up her desk diary. ‘Was there any particular date you wanted, Robert?’ she asked, struggling to keep her voice level.
He shrugged. ‘Forget it! Let’s get on with running the business … that’s what really matters to you, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, at the moment it is,’ Megan said, ignoring his jibe. ‘I’m worried about what effect the Wall Street Crash in America last October is going to have on shipping. It’s causing consternation throughout the world so it’s bound to make a difference to our business.’
In that, Megan was right. Lifestyles changed overnight. The dockers were dismayed because the shipping on both sides of the Mersey, south and north, and the river itself, seemed to come to a standstill. Ships lay at anchor right out to the Bar as the Port of Liverpool ground to a halt. Cargo boats jammed Gladstone, Canning, Canada and all the other docks.
When she had first started her own company, the men on the quayside were full of admiration for her pluck in setting herself up in business. Now, the very same men suddenly seemed to turn against her because sh
e was doling out work in as fair a way as she could instead of letting them adopt a ‘first come first to get the job’ system.
‘Wouldn’t fancy having a woman boss,’ one of them told Sandy Willis.
‘Yer talking daft, whacker! It’s no different to having a man,’ defended Sandy loyally.
‘Hen-pecked, that’s what you lot are. Working for a woman, having to do whatever she says.’
‘What the hell you on about?’ growled Jock, his massive fist curling and uncurling with anger. ‘We’re partners, we pull together as a team, which is more than you bloody lot do. Megan doesn’t give us orders, not in the way you mean.’
‘Bet she creams off all the best jobs for her old man and her fancy man, Robert Field,’ taunted the docker.
Contact between Jock’s fist and the speaker’s jaw cut short any further observations. The scuffle that followed brought the police onto the scene. They didn’t press charges. There were far too many hot-headed squabbles for them to take them seriously, unless someone was badly hurt.
As the months merged into one another, Megan found it increasingly difficult to keep her drivers busy. She shared the loads out on a strict rota basis, but even so none of them wanted to look for employment elsewhere.
‘You’ve spoiled us, Megan,’ laughed Sandy. ‘We’re used to big pay packets so the sort of wages we’d get working as a driver for anyone else would seem like chicken feed.’
‘Yes, that’s probably true,’ she agreed, ‘but it only applies when there is work coming in.’
‘Most of us have a bit put by to fall back on the weeks when it doesn’t,’ affirmed Fred. ‘Got to be prepared to take the rough with the smooth, you know,’ he added philosophically. ‘That’s what you told us when we joined you and so far you’ve always kept to your word.’
Jock MacDonald was the one who was really worried. He had a wife and three children and only one wage packet coming into the house and no savings to fall back on. He said very little but his dour look and taciturn manner told their own story.
When, after two weeks of no movement, a single lorry was needed to carry a load to South Wales, his dismay was obvious to everyone when he realised that he was second on the list.
