She sang as she ran round exploring the house then helped her mother to hang curtains and make up the beds. John was helping his father to lay linoleum and her grandmother was unpacking dishes. Just as Sarah began to feel tired and hungry Sally called, ‘Come on, Cathy. We all need a break, and dinner’ll be ready.’
They went over to her grandmother’s house where her grandfather welcomed them, singing, “Come to the Cookhouse Door”. ‘You didn’t know I could cook did you?’ he said to Sarah, as he served them with spareribs and cabbage. To her it was the food of the gods. She sat smiling to herself with pure happiness.
For all the family, but particularly for Cathy, there was a sense of homecoming as they settled in to the house in Egremont Street. She had never openly quarrelled with her neighbours in Norris Street but she had never made any friends there either. Her friends were still the friends of her youth who lived in and around Egremont Street and thankfully she settled back among them, while her ties with her mother and father grew stronger and deeper.
She knew that Greg too was happy in the new house. In Egremont Street he became friendly with a man named Tom Faulkner who walked with a limp as a result of a war wound, but who was an enthusiastic member of the St John’s Ambulance Brigade. Greg enrolled in the same unit.
For John the greatest advantage of the new house was that he now lived just across the road from his grandfather. He was still studying hard, spurred on by the hope that he would fulfil his grandfather’s ambitions, although he had no clear idea of exactly what he would do when he left school.
Cathy’s greatest pleasure in returning to live in Egremont Street was being able to see her childhood friend Josie Mellor, or Meadows as she now was, every day. Josie still lived with her mother in the house opposite Sally’s.
Cathy had been able to see Josie briefly on visits from Norris Street, but now there was time for a chat over a cup of tea or a joint expedition to town. Old Mrs Mellor had always been fond of Cathy, and although now very cantankerous she welcomed Cathy and told her she should never have left the street.
Josie had been a noisy scatterbrained girl when she was young, and not such a close friend of Cathy’s as another girl, Norah Benson, but after the War, when Norah had married and moved away and many of their friends had died or been scattered, Cathy and Josie drew closer together.
Four of Josie’s brothers had been killed during the war, and she had been constantly worried about Walter, now her husband, who was serving at sea. Grief and anxiety had made Josie quieter and more sensible, but like Cathy she had an irrepressible sense of fun.
Although the Redmond family were happy, elsewhere in Liverpool misery and hardship were on the increase as the shock waves from the Wall Street crash were felt around the world. The queues outside the Labour Exchanges and the Assistance Board grew longer, and the bitter weather when even the sea froze made the plight of the destitute even worse.
Some of the girls in Sarah’s class were ragged and neglected, or wore the distinctive navy serge dress piped in red and clogs issued by the police charity, but most were poorly but neatly dressed.
Many of them were undernourished and it was not unusual for a girl to faint and fall to the floor. Sarah was class monitor and often would be told to sit with the girl who had fainted while the teacher took the class out for playtime.
When the teacher returned Sarah would be told to wait in the corridor while the teacher asked the girl what she was getting to eat. It was impossible for Sarah to avoid hearing some of the conversations.
‘What did you have for your breakfast, dear? And your tea last night? And when you went home yesterday dinner time?’
Invariably the answer was, ‘A jam butty, Miss.’
Then the teacher would come into the corridor and send Sarah for a ham barmcake and a gill of milk from the carters’ café near the school, with a warning that nothing must be said to the other girls.
Most of the teachers were strict and hard with their large classes of forty or more girls, but Sarah saw the kinder side of many of them.
‘If only I could give my girls a cup of milk every day,’ Cathy heard one teacher say to another, ‘it would make such a difference.’
‘Save the lives of some of them,’ the other teacher agreed.
‘At least four of mine show all the signs of consumption, but what can you do?’
Sarah told her mother but Cathy could offer little comfort.
‘We’ll just have to hope that Miss Rathbone can get Parliament to give Family Allowance, pet,’ she said. ‘I’d be more hopeful if they weren’t nearly all men there.’
Later Sarah was surprised to hear her mother and her grandfather disagreeing about Family Allowance.
‘You’ve got to see it’d be a good thing, Dad,’ her mother said. ‘Remember the war? Women who had never known how much or how little they would have to feed their families each week – once they got a regular amount every week, paid directly to them, and God knows the Army allotment was little enough, you could see the difference in the kids.’
‘I know Cathy,’ Lawrie said. ‘But you’ve got to realize that it would take away a man’s power to bargain for a pay rise or stop a cut in wages. And what about a chap on relief? He’d only lose the same amount and be no better off.’
‘The truth is, Dad, men don’t like the idea of women not having to depend on them for every ha’penny,’ Cathy exclaimed.
‘Now stop arguing, you two,’ Sally intervened. ‘I’ve said it before, Cathy – the best way of helping people is to do what’s next to your hand. You don’t have to go far to see someone you can help.’
Grandma’s the most sensible, Sarah thought, and put her grandmother’s ideas into action immediately. Jane Clark, who sat next to her in school, was a thin pale girl who always seemed tired. Sarah took a slice of bread and jam to eat at playtime and the next day gave it to Jane Clark, saying that she felt a bit sick and couldn’t eat it.
The school was in a poor area halfway up the ground which rose steeply from the river. The greatest poverty and deprivation were in the narrow streets and overcrowded courts below the school and near to the River Mersey, but after school Sarah walked up the hill to Egremont Street and better living conditions. She was sorry for the girls who lived in the slums but while she was giving away her playtime jam butty she felt that she was doing all she could, and for the rest of the time simply enjoyed herself, listening scornfully to John as he talked about speakers he had heard at the Pier Head.
He rarely spoke of these meetings or of his own ideas while his father was present, but one day when he was arguing with Sarah about them, Greg walked in unnoticed.
‘Keep away from those meetings, John,’ he said sharply. ‘Spend less time on politics that you don’t understand, and more on your school work.’
‘I do understand them,’ John said hotly. ‘I bet I could answer any questions you asked me.’
The unspoken inference was clear – that Greg knew nothing about the subject. He grew pale with anger. A small pile of books lay on the dresser. He picked them up.
‘Riches and Poverty by Chiozza Money; Life and Labour of the Poor of London by Charles Booth; Round about a Pound a Week, by Maud Pember Reeves… So that’s where you get your information. Well, you can take these back wherever you got them from.’
‘I got them from Grandad,’ John shouted, ‘and I’ve got more too, by Engels and Rowntree.’
Greg’s face grew even whiter. He put the books under his arm. ‘Then I’ll take them back, and tell him the use you’re making of them,’ he said as Cathy came in at the back door. She looked round at them, Greg as white with anger as John was red, and Sarah nervously twisting the belt of her gymslip.
‘What’s happened? What’s going on?’ she exclaimed.
Greg said shortly, ‘Nothing for you to worry about. I’m taking these books back.’
He walked rapidly down the lobby. John started after him. ‘If he makes a row – if he upsets Grandad
– I’ll kill him!’
‘Don’t speak like that about your father,’ Cathy cried. ‘What’s happened anyway? Good God, I can’t turn my back.’
‘I’m going out,’ John said, snatching up his cap and rushing out of the back door.
Cathy sat down, and Sarah said timidly, ‘It was just those meetings, Mam. John was telling me about them when Dad came in, and John had some books there from Grandad.’
Cathy shut her eyes and sighed deeply. ‘Dear God, I thought all that was over with them,’ she said. ‘I’d better go and see what’s happening.’
She stood up, but the next moment Greg came down the lobby. He was still pale but said quietly, ‘No need to be upset, Cathy. I’ve simply returned the books and told your mother that John was neglecting his school work to read them. Your father’s out.’ He looked round. ‘Where’s John?’
‘He’s gone out,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why you can’t agree.’
‘Agree?’ exclaimed Greg. ‘I’m his father, and by God he’s going to show me respect or I’ll know why. I’m having no more of his impudence.’
Cathy had been annoyed with John but instantly her anger turned on Greg. ‘He’s got compassion for other people,’ she snapped. ‘What’s wrong with that? I don’t know why you have to make these scenes.’
Sarah was still standing where she had been when the row started and Cathy said sharply, ‘Don’t be standing there listening in, Sarah. Get out and play.’
‘Everyone’s at fault except your precious son,’ Greg said furiously. ‘Even Sarah who’s done nothing.’
‘Of course you can’t see any fault in her,’ Cathy said. It was a childish tit for tat retort, but Sarah heard it as she reached the door and was pleased to think that she was her father’s favourite.
She ran down to call for Edie Meadows and told her that her parents were quarrelling about John.
‘I think your John’s awful hardfaced to your dad,’ Edie said frankly. ‘We wouldn’t dare talk like that to my dad. He’d murder us.’
‘I wish Dad and John didn’t fall out all the time.’
‘Fellows are soft,’ Edie said. ‘My Auntie Mary hates men.’
‘All men?’ Sarah asked.
‘Yes. Mam told me it was because her husband was cruel and everybody was glad when he got killed in the war.’ She giggled. ‘She’s buying new shoes for me and our Sophie but she won’t buy any for the lads.’
‘Good job you’re a girl then,’ Sarah said with a grin.
Sally had been uneasy about Greg’s appearance when he returned the books, and spoke of it to Lawrie when he came home.
‘White as a sheet, he was,’ she said. ‘All he said was that John was neglecting his school work, but there was more to it than that. There’d been a row there, I could tell.’
‘But John hasn’t just borrowed these books,’ Lawrie said. ‘He’s been taking them gradually for months.’ He jumped to his feet. ‘I’d better go over and explain.’
‘No, leave it, Lol,’ she said. ‘Let it simmer down.’ But she still looked worried.
They sat in silence for a few moments, Sally knitting and Lawrie scraping out the bowl of his pipe, then Sally put down her work. ‘John’s getting very cheeky to Greg, you know, Lol, and our Cathy doesn’t back Greg up like she should when he checks the lad.’
‘Don’t worry, Sal. John’s just finding his feet, that’s all,’ said Lawrie.
‘But I’m wondering if we spoiled him,’ she said. ‘When he was a baby and Greg was away at the war, we all made much of John. You remember how he resented Greg when he came home?’
‘Good God, love, how old was he then? Three or four years old. He’s long got over that, Sal.’
‘I hope so, but I don’t like to see trouble in the family. Greg’s been like a son to me and I don’t want him hurt.’
‘It’s just a spell,’ Lawrie comforted her. ‘Most lads go through one like this. It’s just like their voice breaking.’
‘I suppose so, but if John grows up half as good a man as his father he’ll do well, and I hope he realizes it,’ Sally said.
There was a strained atmosphere in the Redmond household for a few days but the books were not mentioned again, and John said nothing of the reason for their having been on the dresser. He had been planning to put them in the parlour, ready to pick up on his way out to school the following day, to lend to a friend there.
The cricket season had started again and John had been chosen for the school team. Through this he had become friendly with a boy he would not otherwise have met, the son of a local doctor, and through him with the son of a solicitor, whose elder brother was at Cambridge.
Gerry, the doctor’s son, had heard John talking about a meeting which had been broken up by the police, and had invited him to supper at his house.
Cathy and Sally were delighted that John was making such “nice” friends but they would have been horrified if they had heard the discussions which took place in Gerry’s bedroom after supper. Gerry and Peter, the solicitor’s son, were greatly influenced by Peter’s brother who was a member of a Communist group at university. Their talk of social reform was wild and unrestrained.
John had been slightly overawed at first by these well-dressed, confident boys, but soon forgot his shyness when the discussions started.
‘There’ll be trouble in Germany,’ Peter declared. ‘My brother says the so-called Peace Treaty was a mistake and Jewish financiers have moved in to wreck the country.’
‘My grandfather says one man in four is on Public Assistance in Germany,’ John said. ‘It’s not only in England that the working man is suffering, it’s in every country.’
‘Money’s useless in Germany. Men who are working are taking their wage home in a handcart yet it won’t buy enough to eat,’ said Peter. ‘Financiers cause wars and profit by them.’
My grandfather says if all working men refused to fight there would be no more wars,’ said John.
He had looked forward to telling his grandfather about the talk but when he did Lawrie looked very dubious. ‘And this brother is against the Jews, you say, lad? Are you sure he’s a Communist? I don’t like the sound of it, John.’
‘The Jews are good people,’ Sally said. ‘Your mam worked for a Jew, Mr Finestone, and he was a real good old man.’
John felt exasperated. Old people don’t understand, he thought, for the first time including his grandfather in that category.
He determined to say no more about the meeting but a few weeks later, Gerry’s father overheard some of the wild talk and the meetings were promptly stopped. Homework had been increased as the time for the Matriculation Examination drew near, and John had little time anyway for any other reading.
Greg made a point of praising John for working hard. ‘This final year is important if you’re going to get a good result,’ he said. ‘I’m pleased to see you preparing so well.’ He was careful not to repeat his mistake at the time of the scholarship by regretting that John must leave at sixteen years old, and John refrained from saying why he was working hard, so there was peace between them.
Cathy felt that she could stop worrying, but soon Mick was the cause of more anxiety. He often rescued animals or birds which had been injured, and one day climbed on to the roof of a warehouse to release a pigeon which had been trapped by a loose slate.
He managed to release the bird but it flew up in his face, causing him to lose his balance and fall from the roof. He was lucky to suffer nothing worse than a broken collar bone and arm, but was admitted to hospital where his temperature rose alarmingly.
Cathy and Greg rushed there when they heard the news. They were told that the collar bone and arm had been set, but there might be internal injuries causing the rise in temperature. They were allowed to see Mick for a few minutes. Cathy bent and kissed him.
‘Is it very sore, love?’ she asked.
Mick said in a die away voice, ‘Very, Mam.’ He closed his eyes and composed his features in
to a look of suffering.
‘Do you have pain anywhere else, son?’ Greg said. ‘In your chest or your stomach?’
‘Everywhere,’ Mick said in the same die away voice, and closed his eyes again. They had to leave after kissing him and telling him he must be brave, and Cathy’s tears flowed as they left the hospital. She felt that she had never loved Mick enough and regretted scolding him so often.
‘You only told him off for his own good, to try to make him more careful,’ Greg said.
‘I know, but I wish I’d cuddled him more and made more of a fuss of him. Oh, Greg, what will we do if anything happens to him?’
‘I’m sure he’ll be all right,’ he said, and looked thoughtful. ‘D’you know, Cath, I’ve got a feeling that Mick’s enjoying this, in spite of the pain.’
‘Enjoying it? How could he enjoy being in pain?’ she said indignantly.
‘Just an impression I got. I think he’s a born actor. Now he’s playing the part of an injured hero, as he sees it.’
Cathy was annoyed. ‘It’s no effort for you to play the part of a heartless father,’ she stormed, increasing the speed of her steps until Greg had to hurry to keep up with her.
‘I don’t mean he’s not in pain, only that he’s enjoying playing the part,’ he said, but Cathy could only think of her child’s suffering.
Visiting was only allowed twice a week, on Sunday and Wednesday afternoons. The following Wednesday Cathy and Sally hurried to be first in the queue outside the hospital. Anxious inquiries at the hospital lodge had met only with the formula “As well as can be expected”, and Cathy longed to see for herself how he was.
The Ward Sister met them with a grim expression on her face. ‘How is he, Sister? Is his temperature still high? Have you found out why?’
The nurse answered the last question first.
‘We have,’ she said sternly. ‘He has chicken pox and has probably given it to the rest of my patients. The ward is closed to visitors.’
There is a Season Page 13
