They all enjoyed these excursions. Usually they went first to Sheil Park and played on the swings, then walked on into Newsham Park. There they had their lunch and played on the grassy hill, then watched the tennis players or the boats on the lake, before going to the pond.
Mick and Freda’s son took jamjars and fishing lines, made from bamboo canes and black cotton, to catch “jacksharps” in the pond. Mick was always successful and usually collected a crowd of onlookers as he quickly filled his jamjar, but Cathy was always glad to leave the pond.
She hated to see the unemployed young men who stood or crouched around the pond with makeshift fishing rods. Gaunt and shabby, without work or money, they tried in this way to fill in their long, empty days, and it grieved Cathy to see the waste of young lives.
Mrs Parker disapproved of her jaunts with Freda. ‘Her own street isn’t good enough for her,’ she said loud enough for Cathy to hear, but otherwise resolutely ignored her. Cathy never stopped to talk to her neighbours except to comment on the weather, but one day as she returned from the park, she was hailed by a group of women standing at the end house.
‘Have y’heard about Grace Woods?’ one said. ‘Got took to hospiddle.’ They all began to talk at once, but the first woman had the loudest voice and soon shouted the others down.
‘In Lipton’s, she was getting syrup when she was took bad. Miscarriage. She lost the baby and the manager got the ambulance and she got taken off to the hospiddle. I seen where they had to put fresh sawdust down on the floor.’
‘And how is she? How’s Grace?’ Cathy asked, but the woman shrugged her shoulders and looked mournful.
‘Not many come out of them places once they go in.’
Another woman said, ‘I believe she was real bad, screaming and crying when she got took away.’
Cathy was conscious of several children listening, including two of Grace’s, and said brightly, ‘She was bound to be upset but I’m sure she’ll soon be better.’
She looked at the woman who had spoken last and jerked her head at the children, and the women said hastily. ‘Oh, aye, she will. I’ve took Lizzie and she’s going to sleep with our Nellie, aren’t you, love?’
Other women announced that they too had taken in one of the Woods children and Cathy left them and walked home, thinking that her neighbours had good points too. They were enjoying the drama of Grace’s misfortune but they had immediately offered to look after her children who would be comforted and well treated.
Cathy said this to her mother when she went to Egremont Street the following morning, and Sally agreed.
‘I don’t like the children playing out there though,’ she said. ‘A lad of Mick’s age asking a question like that! They’re better playing round here if you can’t take them out.’
‘I’ll have a job to get Mick away from here from now,’ Cathy said with a grin. Lawrie had managed to acquire a set of pram wheels and Greg had built a wooden seat on them so Mick was now a proud owner of a go cart or “trolley” as boys called them.
The only stipulation was that the trolley must be kept at Egremont Street. Mick was out now with a group of boys, proudly steering the cart by a rope attached to the front wheels.
Grace Woods was in hospital for ten days. Shortly after her return, she came to the back door to thank Cathy for the cake and sweets she had sent. Cathy invited her in for a cup of tea, and Grace seemed glad to accept. She looked thin and pale and Cathy asked if she could do anything to help.
‘No thanks. You can’t help what ails me,’ Grace said. Cathy thought that she was referring to the baby she had lost and tried to comfort her.
‘You’ll soon feel better now you’re at home with your children,’ she said, but Grace smiled bitterly.
‘I was glad to get away from them. And even more to get away from Billy.’
Cathy sat in silence, not knowing how to reply. Grace went on, ‘I’ve had time to think there. To realise what a mess I’ve made of my life. I didn’t want to come back here, Mrs Redmond, and that’s the God’s truth.’
‘You’re bound to feel low spirited. Everyone does after a miscarriage,’ Cathy comforted her, but Grace shook her head.
‘No, it’s not just the miss. I was glad of that, to be honest. I was thinking about my life. I bet I’m younger than you, although I don’t look it. I had our Harry when I was sixteen.’
‘You were only a kid yourself then,’ Cathy said sympathetically.
‘It was me Aunt Maud made me get married,’ Grace said.
‘Mrs Parker!’ Cathy exclaimed. ‘How are you related – I mean, is she related to your father or your mother?’
‘Me father, he’s like her too. Me mam died in childbed when I was fourteen and I was terrified when I found out I’d got caught at sixteen. I was sure I’d die over it, and went crying to Aunt Maud. I said to her, “I’m sure I’ll die like me mam,” and she said, “You’ll die, all right, if your Dad finds out.” And she got hold of Billy and made him marry me. I’d only been with him four times and he throws that up to me when we have a row. Me aunt didn’t do me no good turn marrying me to him. The beatings I’ve had!’
‘Never mind, the boys are growing up and they’ll stop him,’ Cathy tried to console her, but Grace laughed bitterly.
‘Don’t you believe it! They’ll all clear off as soon as they’re earning and old enough. I’ve seen it with other women like me. A kid every year till you’re too old for any more, then they all go off and you’re left to be the only punchbag for him. Unless you’ve snuffed it, and then your feller gets married again in a couple of months. I know what’s in store for me.’ Cathy could only pour more tea for her in silent sympathy, then Grace said, ‘I don’t suppose your feller’s ever lifted his hand to you, has he?’
‘Er, no.’ Cathy said. She was in a dilemma. She felt that if she praised Greg it would be tactless but if she criticized him it would be disloyal as well as dishonest, so she said no more. But Grace was intent on her own troubles.
‘Me only chance is if he snuffs it first. There y’are now – I’ve said straight out and I mean it. I hate him. I’m terrified of him and so are the kids – and no wonder. There’s fellers on the docks frightened of him too. The only one he’s afraid of is me Aunt Maud.’
‘Then why don’t you get her to warn him?’
‘She wouldn’t. She thinks a feller’s got a right to beat his wife if he wants to. She told me that once.’
‘Did her husband ever hit her?’ Cathy exclaimed.
‘No, but she might have belted him once or twice,’ Grace said. They giggled together, and finished their tea in a more cheerful mood but before she left her neighbour said to Cathy, ‘Don’t let on about me being in here, will you, or what we’ve talked about?’
Cathy promised. As she closed the back gate after Grace she reflected that Billy was not the only one afraid of the redoubtable Mrs Parker.
The children all enjoyed their holidays and returned to school very reluctantly. Soon Sarah had even more cause to be downcast. She was now in the Juniors and the system in her school was that at about eight years of age several promising pupils were selected to form an elite class which leapfrogged up the school, making up by homework for the classes that they missed. When they took the scholarship examination at eleven years old they were working with the fourteen year olds in the top class, Standard Seven, and the school was assured of a virtually one hundred per cent success rate for the examination.
Sarah was one of the girls sent for to receive a letter for her parents from the smiling headmistress. The other girls were pleased and excited, knowing what the envelope contained, but Sarah walked home slowly, wondering how she could persuade her mother to let her leave school at fourteen and become a florist.
Cathy was delighted when she read the letter. ‘It says you’re going into the scholarship class, love,’ she said. ‘You’re almost sure to pass when you’re picked for that class.’
‘But I don’t want to, Mam,’ Sarah
said. ‘I want to leave when I’m fourteen and be a florist with Elsie.’
‘Oh, no, Sarah. I know you like playing about in Elsie’s shop but this is such a chance, love. You could do anything – be a teacher in a posh school or go into politics like Margaret Beaven or Miss Rathbone. This is why we fought for the vote, and soon we’ll have it for all women, not just those over thirty. There are women doctors now. You might even be one of them.’
Cathy’s eyes were sparkling as the words tumbled from her lips, but Sarah looked down, her own mouth set stubbornly.
‘I don’t want to, Mam,’ she repeated. ‘I want to be a florist.’
‘Don’t be stupid!’ Cathy cried. ‘I’d have given my right arm for a chance like this. I know what’s best for you and I don’t want to hear another word about Elsie’s shop.’
Cathy seemed to think that the last word had been said on the subject as she put the letter away and went back to her cooking, but Sarah sat twisting the belt of her gymslip, dry-eyed but determined that she would never give up her dream.
Cathy showed the letter to Greg while Sarah was out, and told him that she had said that she wanted to leave school at fourteen. Later, before Sarah went to bed, Greg put his arm round her and drew her to the side of his chair.
‘Your mother tells me that you don’t want to enter the scholarship class, Sass.’ It was his pet name for her.
She slipped her arms round his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. Her mother was busy in the back kitchen. Sarah whispered, ‘I want to be a florist, Dada. I’d have to start when I was fourteen, Elsie says.’
‘Yes, but you see, pet, that’s what you want now. Don’t forget, Sass, you’re only eight. You might change your mind.’
‘But I won’t, Dad. I’ve always wanted to be a florist and I always will. Elsie says I’ll be a good one.’
‘I’m sure you would but a lot can happen in six years. Although you think now that you won’t change your mind, in a few years’ time you might wish to enter for the scholarship and you’d have missed your chance with this peculiar system they have,’ Greg said.
He seemed to have forgotten for the moment that he was speaking to a child, until Sarah raised her head and kissed his cheek. He smiled at her and said gently, ‘On the other hand, love, you can resign from the scholarship class with no harm done if your ambition doesn’t change. Your mother only wants what’s best for you, pet.’
Sarah smiled her agreement and hugged her father, and a moment later Cathy came into the room.
‘Come on now, Sarah, up to bed and don’t make a noise,’ she said. ‘I hope I’m not going to hear any more whingeing about the scholarship class. You’re lucky to have the chance, you know.’
‘Yes, Mam,’ Sarah said meekly, but she gave her father a conspiratorial smile as she kissed him goodnight.
The next day she accepted the congratulations of her teacher and the envious remarks of the other girls without mentioning her own doubts. As she was always quiet, her lack of enthusiasm went unnoticed.
Cathy believed that Sarah had accepted her decision and said no more on the subject, and Sarah meekly accepted being moved into another class and given homework, but decided that she was going to be a florist, no matter what.
Chapter Six
Cathy had worked hard for the Votes for Women campaign before the war, and as 1928 drew near she was excited by the prospect of women between the ages of twenty-one and thirty being able to vote, as well as those over thirty, and by the fact that Liverpool had a woman Lord Mayor.
Margaret Beaven was well respected and popular, known as the “little mother” of Liverpool because of her charitable work. With her as first citizen, Cathy felt optimistic about the future.
The early months of 1928 brought sadness to the city, however, with the death of Archbishop Keating in February and Bishop Chavasse in March.
It also brought more trouble between Greg and John. On the day that Bishop Chavasse died, Greg came in with the Evening Express in his hand.
‘Cathy, Bishop Chavasse is dead,’ he said in a loud excited voice as she came through from the back kitchen. ‘God, this brings back memories.’ His face was flushed and Sarah and John looked up in surprise at their father, usually so quiet and reserved.
‘What sorrow that man endured,’ he went on, ‘but no man ever had braver sons.’ He looked at their uncomprehending faces and exclaimed, ‘Captain Noel Chavasse – what a man! He was awarded the MC and two VCs, the second one after he had died of wounds after saving other men. He was the kindest, bravest man – no medal was enough for all he did. He was a hero every day that we fought.’
Greg’s voice was uneven as he went on, ‘And now his father’s dead. Poor man, he lost another son on the Somme too, but how proud he must have been of his family.’
Sarah looked up at him with shining eyes, but John muttered defiantly, ‘I don’t see why. Grandad doesn’t believe in war. He says working men are only cannon fodder. They should all refuse to fight, then war would stop.’
Greg looked as though cold water had been thrown in his face. He started towards John, but Cathy grabbed the boy’s arm and thrust him into the back kitchen.
‘Get out,’ she hissed at him, ‘and just you wait, m’lad.’
She turned back to the kitchen and took Greg’s arm. ‘Sit down, love. You’ve had a shock. What else does the paper say?’
But Greg said through clenched teeth, ‘That young fellow’ll go too far one day. If I start on him, I’ll kill him.’
Sarah had slipped away. Cathy put her arms round him. ‘I know, love,’ she soothed him. ‘Take no notice. He’s too young to realize, and too stupid.’
‘Yes, Cathy, but your dad – he speaks too freely to John.’ He sat down and picked up the poker to stir at the fire in agitation. ‘I’ve never said this but I’ve thought for a long time – it’s not wise. Your father talks to him man to man, but that fellow half digests the ideas and thinks he knows everything.’
Cathy stood beside him looking into the fire, her face troubled. Greg took her hand and said more calmly, ‘I’m not blaming your dad for John’s impudence. That’s something I should have done something about long ago.’
‘I’ve thought myself once or twice that Dad shouldn’t say so much to him,’ she said. ‘I think he likes to talk over his ideas and you know how impulsive he is. He says himself that he speaks first and thinks later, and he doesn’t realize how far ahead of him John’s jumping.’
‘I’m not criticizing your father, Cath – you know how much I respect him and I agree with many of his views – but I don’t think he allows for John’s undeveloped character and for how impressionable he is.’
‘And how cheeky,’ Cathy said grimly. ‘Dad would go mad if he heard him giving lip to you like that.’
Greg sighed. ‘It’s difficult,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to hurt your dad’s feelings, Cath, but something must be done. Do you think you could give your mother a hint?’
‘I’ll have to, I suppose. If it was anyone else she’d see the danger but where it’s something that makes Dad happy, she just doesn’t see past that.’
Cathy fully intended to alert her mother to the situation but there never seemed to be an opportunity. However, she spoke sternly to John about his behaviour.
‘Don’t you ever dare speak to your father like that again,’ she said. ‘Trying to be smart! Noel Chavasse was a doctor and his brother was a padre so you’d got hold of the wrong end of the stick, as usual.’
‘It doesn’t make any difference,’ John said sullenly. ‘I was only repeating what Grandad said, and I agree with him. It’s stupid to talk as if there’s anything good about war.’
Cathy’s hand shot out and boxed his ear. ‘You damned little upstart!’ she said furiously. ‘Making out your dad’s stupid.’
John stood speechless with shock and she went on, ‘D’you think your grandad would speak like that? He respects your dad too much, and by God you’ll show him respec
t or I’ll know why. Most fathers would have given you a good hiding long ago for your cheek, but you’ll try your dad too far one of these days and then you’ll get the shock of your life.’
She clattered dishes together angrily and John took his cap and slipped out. He walked for miles, shocked and humiliated by the blow from his mother, and thinking of her words, not with shame or repentance, but with growing resentment towards his father. He felt that his father had turned his mother against him, and was angry that they had criticized his grandfather who was the cleverest man he knew.
When he returned home he seemed quiet and subdued and Cathy, always optimistic, congratulated herself on having solved the problem without upsetting anyone. She regretted striking John but believed that he had been thinking over her words and gave him a loving hug when he returned. With his mother John had always been a good son, quick to see if she needed help with heavy jobs in the house, and to notice if she was tired and urge her to rest. The close relationship between them was soon restored.
Greg and John managed to avoid each other for a few days until their tempers cooled, but Greg’s anger was deep and he was determined to keep a tighter control on John in the future, while John was equally determined that he would take all his ideas from his grandfather, not his father.
Cathy still watched them anxiously. She felt that since the quarrel on the day of the death of Bishop Chavasse, Greg had become sterner and more critical of John, and he had avoided his father as much as possible. She grieved about the situation, and loving them both felt torn between them.
She had always been on the defensive with Greg about John because she had brought the boy up alone while he was away during the war, and felt that any criticism of John was a criticism of his upbringing by her. But she had begun to see clearly how headstrong and self-willed the boy had become, and how impudent to his father.
She loved Greg deeply, but thought that he failed to realize how over-ready he was to find fault with John, and that he was less loving towards him than his other children. Cathy could see too that John’s closeness to his grandfather widened the gulf between his father and himself and how he was constantly comparing the two men to Greg’s disadvantage. Still, she consoled herself, it was only a phase. As John grew older, the situation would change.
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