‘It’s better than I expected,’ John said modestly, but Greg told him that he had been sure that the report would be good. Lawrie commented on the word “industrious”.
‘That means that you’re working hard, doesn’t it? Don’t forget what you’re working for, lad.’
‘I won’t, Grandad,’ John promised. In spite of all his other interests, John still occasionally attended meetings of the unemployed with his grandfather, and read accounts of Council meetings in Lawrie’s newspaper. He also discussed them with Joe Furlong who had passed the scholarship examination the same time and was now in his form at College.
Now he told Lawrie of a discussion he had had with Joe. ‘He said I was a Communist like Bessie Braddock. Are the Communists any good, Grandad?’
‘No. I’ve got no time for them,’ Lawrie said. ‘They don’t stand up for the working man. Where were they when the General Strike was on? I admire John and Bessie Braddock though, lad, and they’re not Communists.’
‘Joe said they belong to the International Social Club in Byrom Street,’ John said.
‘Aye, they did,’ Lawrie said. ‘But they were out of it by 1924. You’ve got to remember, lad, people were desperate to get something done after the war. We were just beating our heads against a brick wall, and I suppose the Braddocks thought Communism might mean a just society. They found out their mistake though. The Communists just wanted to carve the country up, and they tried to tell Bessie what to do.’
‘She wouldn’t like that,’ John said with a grin.
‘What! She told them what they could do with themselves and I don’t think they’ve recovered yet,’ Lawrie laughed. ‘By the way, do you ever see Sammy Roche these days?’
‘No. I think he dodges me,’ John said. ‘He was so disappointed because his dad wouldn’t let him take the scholarship.’
‘That’s a shame,’ Lawrie said. ‘But he can still do well, even without the scholarship.’
‘Yes. He was the cleverest of all of us,’ John admitted. ‘And I like him the best. I think Joe’s sly.’
‘Give him a wide berth, then,’ Lawrie advised. ‘There’s nothing worse than a false friend.’
‘It’s all right, Grandad. He doesn’t want to be friends with me,’ John said. ‘His dad told him he should be making friends with people who could help him when he left school.’
‘Well, by the hokey!’ Lawrie exclaimed. ‘That’s ripe. Does he know he’s aping his betters, as the saying goes? That’s the main reason rich men send their sons to posh public schools – so that they can make contacts.’ He laughed heartily, and John laughed with him.
All the adults in the family forgot their various worries in their efforts to make Christmas happy for the children. Greg used scraps of wood to make presents for them: a doll’s cradle for Sarah, a toy farm for Mick – with green-painted sawdust for grass, a broken mirror as a pond, and a tiny farm cart filled with hay – and an elaborate pencil case for John.
Cathy bought a celluloid doll for twopence, and dressed it to go in the cradle, and made a rag doll for the baby, and felt that they were well prepared for Christmas.
Sally had sewed new clothes for all the children: a coat and bonnet for Kate, a warm dress for Sarah, and jerseys and trousers for the two boys.
‘What would I do without you, Mam?’ Cathy exclaimed when Sally showed her the clothes. She had been cleaning and blackleading the grate in Egremont Street, and there was a smear of black on her cheeks, but her eyes sparkled with excitement, and Sally thought that she still looked like a young girl.
‘Everybody’s been so good to us,’ Cathy said. ‘Dad buying all that fruit and the sweets, and a man at work brought a pile of little farm animals in for Greg that his own son used to play with.’ She thought but did not say that Mrs Cain had done her the greatest kindness of all in relieving her worry about her debt at the shop.
Sarah had been spending a lot of time at Elsie Hammond’s shop, helping to prepare frames for the many wreaths which had been ordered. Although so young she was quick and deft, and on Christmas Eve spent several hours making bunches of flowers in the back room while Elsie and Celia were busy in the shop.
The flowers would be bought by people who visited the graves of relatives on Christmas Day, and Elsie was delighted when she saw them.
‘You’ve mixed them colours lovely,’ she said. ‘You’ve got a real gift with flowers, love, there’s no doubt.’
Sarah blushed with pleasure. ‘I’ll have to go home now,’ she said shyly. ‘Mam said I had to be back by twelve o’clock.’
‘All right, love, but tell your mam you’ve been a real help to me,’ Elsie said. She took half a crown from her pocket and gave it to Sarah. ‘That’s for helping me.’
Sarah flew home and showed her mother the money and gave her Elsie’s message. ‘Can I keep the half a crown, Mam?’ she said eagerly.
‘Yes, but don’t waste it,’ Cathy said. ‘Buy some new hair ribbons for yourself and a pair of stockings – you’ll still have plenty left.’
Sarah raced to Brunswick Road, and bought the gifts she had been planning since she received the money. Tiny bottles of 4711 eau de cologne for her mother and grandmother, a rattle for Kate, a monkey on a stick for Mick, and a flat tin of De Reske Minor cigarettes for her father. Then she dived into a second-hand book shop. It was easy to find a copy of Treasure Island for John, but she found it hard to decide between a copy of The Diary of Samuel Pepys and a leatherbound copy of a book of sermons for Lawrie. Both were priced at fourpence but she dithered between them for so long that the old man who kept the shop came to her aid.
‘Is your grandfather a religious man?’
‘No, but he likes books with nice covers,’ Sarah said. ‘He often comes in here.’
The man asked his name, then put the book of sermons back on the shelf. ‘Take the Samuel Pepys, love,’ he said. ‘You can have it for threepence and he’ll be made up with it.’
Sarah was so pleased that she was half-way home before she remembered her hair ribbons and stockings and had to go back for them. She also remembered Josh and bought a box of dates for him.
As usual the family gathered at Sally’s house for the Christmas dinner and soon after Cathy and Greg and the children arrived, a hamper from Fortnum and Mason, ordered by Mary, was delivered. There was much hilarity when it was unpacked.
‘Quails in aspic,’ Lawrie read out. ‘Peaches in brandy. Pâté de foie gras. This must have cost a fortune, Sal, and all fancy stuff. Mary must have forgotten scouse is my favourite food.’ He chuckled but Sally looked worried.
‘You’re right, Lol. This must have cost the earth. I know their intentions are good but I don’t like them throwing their money away like this.’
‘They must be able to afford it,’ Cathy said. ‘Gentlemen’s Relish… that should be all right on toast, and you can eat the smoked salmon and crab and peaches, and things like that.’
‘But those quails – ugh!’ Sally said. ‘And some of that other stuff – I couldn’t face that.’
‘Give it to Peggy,’ Lawrie advised. ‘Jimmie Burns would eat a horse between blankets. He’ll soon polish it off.’
‘Aye, that’s a good idea,’ Sally agreed. ‘As long as they don’t think our Mary’s showing off, sending this stuff.’ There were also carefully packed bottles of brandy, whisky and gin which Lawrie ranged on the dresser.
‘We’ll drink their health when we’ve had our dinner,’ he said cheerfully. The gift seemed to bring Mary and Sam, though so far away, close to them in spirit, and Sarah always remembered that Christmas as a particularly happy one. It was the first time she had been able to buy gifts for the family and everyone had been delighted with her choice. Josh had been particularly pleased at being included, but Sarah felt that all the family seemed content that Christmas.
January was a miserable month with wet cold days and foggy nights, and in spite of Sally’s precautions Lawrie caught a chill which rapidly became bronchitis. Greg
and John carried the kitchen sofa upstairs and brought down instead the single bed from the third bedroom. The fire was kept going day and night.
‘He’s better in the kitchen than stuck upstairs,’ Sally told Greg. ‘The company does him as much good as the warmth.’ She applied her well-tried remedies to such good effect that Lawrie was up within a few days and talking of going back to work by the end of the week.
Sally objected, and Peggy Burns who had called in told him he would be a fool to go back on Monday.
‘The first three days aren’t counted for sick pay,’ she said. ‘So if you go in on Monday you’ll only get two days. If you wait till Tuesday to go in, Saturday and Sunday’ll be counted for sick pay.’
Peggy was held to be an authority about such things but it was the weakness in his legs rather than the prospect of extra sick pay which made Lawrie stay off the extra day.
Sally made him wear a flannel vest soaked in camphorated oil, and so many layers of clothing that he protested.
‘Good God, Sally, I won’t be able to move never mind work if I wear any more.’ But she was adamant.
‘You’re not taking any chances, not in this weather, not while I’m here to stop you,’ she said firmly.
He had returned from the morning shift and was sitting by the fire when Greg and John came to take the bed upstairs and replace the sofa while Lawrie declared that he was “as right as ninepence”. Greg was surprised to see John, who usually evaded shows of affection, put his arms round his grandfather and kiss him.
‘I’m glad you’re better, Grandad,’ he said.
Lawrie said with a laugh, ‘Aye, there’s life in the old dog yet, lad.’
Greg watched them sadly, wondering at the difference in John when he was with his grandfather. The boy had been the cause of another quarrel between his parents only a few days earlier.
He took his books upstairs directly after the evening meal every night, and Cathy had been furious when he came home with red and swollen hands after being given six strokes of the strap for scamped homework.
‘It’s not fair,’ she raged to Greg. ‘He was working from tea time till ten o’clock last night. You’ll have to complain to the headmaster.’
‘I can’t do that, Cath,’ Greg protested. ‘Were other boys punished?’
‘No. Only our John.’
‘Then their work must have been satisfactory, and they must all have the same amount.’
‘I don’t care about them. I only know how long our John was upstairs with his books, and so do you,’ she declared.
‘I know how much time he spent in his bedroom but he can’t have been working all the time. He must have been reading or day dreaming,’ Greg said mildly. ‘I can’t complain about his punishment if he deserved it.’
‘He didn’t deserve it, and it was too much anyway. The palms of his hands were all red and swollen. If you won’t complain I’ve a good mind to go myself, but I know they’d take more notice of a man.’
‘It would be the wrong thing to do, Cath. It’d only make life difficult for John with the masters and with the other boys. He’ll have to learn to stand on his own feet.’
‘He’ll get no help from you, that’s for sure,’ she snapped.
Greg made no reply although his expression was grim. He took a packet of cigarettes from the mantelpiece and lit one. Cathy pushed past him to bang the flatiron against the glowing coals.
‘You’d go quick enough if it was one of the others,’ she fumed. ‘But John—’ She was near to tears. Greg glanced at her face and checked an angry retort, then he went out to the shed. Cathy could hear him hammering something as she angrily pushed the iron over the clothes. It was some time before the hammering ceased and he came back into the kitchen.
They had both had time to cool down and Greg said quietly, ‘If I thought it was the right thing to do I’d complain, Cathy, but I know it isn’t, and John wouldn’t want me to.’
‘But the state of his hands, Greg. It was cruel.’
‘I know, but at Sheldrake we had far more than that to take and no one ever complained. The prefects had more or less a free hand to punish the younger boys, and it wasn’t a few strokes on the hand either, but bending over with trousers down and being beaten. There was one prefect – boys couldn’t sit down for days after he’d beaten them.’
Cathy was horrified. ‘Did nobody stop it?’ she demanded.
‘One of the masters had a word with him, I think, because he was easier later. He was a big boy who didn’t realise his own strength.’
‘But that’s disgraceful – and you wanted to send John there!’
‘It happens in all schools. Men approve because it’s a way of toughening boys up for later life. It’s a hard world for men and John will be grateful later on for this discipline.’
‘It’s not such an easy world for women,’ she retorted. ‘I’m hoping both our girls will have a good education, but there won’t be any nonsense like that in a girls’ college. Women have got more sense.’
She said no more about complaining to the headmaster, however, and Greg hoped that the punishment had taught John a lesson. He felt that the good report had given his son false confidence in his abilities and hoped that he would now work harder. It seemed that he did as there were no more punishments.
Mick came home from school one day with a swelling in his neck and as soon as Sally saw him she said that it was mumps.
‘John had them when he was two, didn’t he? The other two will probably get it now.’
She was right and both Sarah and Kate became ill, but fortunately the attacks were slight. Nevertheless, it was an exhausting time for Cathy, kept awake by the fretful baby and by Sarah and Mick needing attention, and confined to the house with the bored and quarrelsome children.
She began to look pale and hollow-eyed, and on the first fine Sunday after the children recovered Sally announced that she would take charge of them and Cathy and Greg were to go for a tramride.
‘A tramride. Where, Mam?’ Cathy said.
‘Anywhere. Woolton Woods or Calderstones Park,’ Sally said. ‘Anywhere you fancy so long as you’re out in the fresh air. Take some sandwiches with you and get a cup of tea somewhere.’
Within half an hour the sandwiches were made, and their clothes changed, and they were hustled out by Sally. They set off with a feeling of adventure and decided to board the first tram that came along.
It proved to be one for Sefton Park and they went on the top deck, determined to make the most of the sunny day. Once inside the park they walked around the lake, watching the ducks being fed at its verge, and the rowing boats setting off, to be inexpertly rowed by young men in their shirt sleeves and straw hats, with a giggling or admiring girl in each boat.
Cathy and Greg rested on a grassy bank by the lake, listening to the shouts of a man with a loud hailer calling in the rowers whose time was up, and watching the fishermen sitting round the lake, patiently waiting for a movement of their lines.
After a while they wandered on to see the aviary and the Palm House, strolling round in the damp warmth to see the exotic flowers and strange large-leaved plants, all with identifying name plates. Cathy craned to read one and a burly man beside her said, ‘I’d read it out to ya, girl, but I can’t speak Dutch.’
A youth with slicked back hair said superciliously, ‘It’s Latin, actually.’
‘Ho, is it?’ the burly man said. ‘We’ve got a smart one here. You read it out then, lad.’ The youth beat a hasty retreat and Cathy and Greg moved away, smiling, to join the crowd round the banana tree.
Later they found a quiet spot near the café, and unpacked the sandwiches and cake they had brought, and Greg brought cups of tea.
‘Isn’t it lovely and peaceful?’ Cathy sighed. ‘You’d never think we were so near the city, would you?’
‘No. We must do this more often, Cath. Bring the children next time.’
She agreed but looked up at him, smiling mischievously. ‘I’m g
lad they’re not with us now, though. I’ve seen enough of them lately.’
Her eyes sparkled and her dimples showed as she laughed, and Greg exclaimed, ‘You look better already, Cath.’ He put his arm round her and pulled her close to kiss her. A passing couple smiled at them.
‘I wonder what they’d think if they knew we were an old married couple with four children,’ Cathy said.
‘They’d never believe it,’ Greg said stoutly, ‘not when they looked at you anyway.’
They sat in silence for a while enjoying the sunshine, then Greg returned the cups and Cathy scattered crumbs for small birds which hopped and pecked around her. They walked on to see the Peter Pan statue and the Wendy House, and then to see The Jolly Roger moored in a small lake.
‘I don’t know why we haven’t brought the children here,’ Greg said. ‘We must bring them often this summer.’
‘We always went out on Sundays with Mam and Dad when we were children,’ Cathy said. ‘Mam always kept Sunday as a day of rest. She said her father insisted on it although he wasn’t a religious man because he said women should have a day off, too.’
‘He sounds a progressive sort.’
‘It’s strange,’ Cathy mused. ‘I only remember him as a bad-tempered, bedridden old man, but he must have been different once. Our old neighbour Mrs Malloy thought the world of him and she was a good judge. Dad admired him too. They used to talk about politics and world affairs, Mam said once.’
‘I think I fail your dad there, Cath,’ he said. ‘Perhaps that’s why he talks so freely to John.’
‘No. He’s always been close to John from when we lived there.’
They suddenly realised that they were touching on a controversial subject, and Cathy exclaimed, ‘Look, we’re at the park gates already!’
Greg said, ‘Look at the queues for the trams!’
There is a Season Page 5
