John and Mick and Sarah went to join the merrymakers at the other end of Egremont Street, and Sally and Lawrie went to bed.
A few hours later Sally woke to hear the sound she dreaded, of Lawrie coughing and wheezing as he drew breath. With the speed of long practice she immediately did everything possible to bring him relief. More pillows to prop him higher in the bed, a dose of her home-made cough mixture to soothe his cough, and a fire lit in the bedroom grate.
‘I’m sorry, Sal,’ he wheezed. ‘I didn’t want to disturb you, girl.’
‘Don’t be daft, Lol,’ she said. ‘Keep that blanket up round you.’
‘Come back to bed then,’ he pleaded. ‘I’m fine now.’
‘I’ll make a hot drink for both of us, then I’ll come,’ she promised. When Cathy came over at nine o’clock she was surprised to hear her father coughing and to find him propped up in bed. ‘What’s happened, Mam?’ she asked. ‘He seemed all right last night, but that cough sounds awful, doesn’t it?’
‘He’s better than he was a few hours ago,’ Sally said. ‘He must have caught cold last night but I think I’ve caught it in time.’
She looked pale and tired and Cathy insisted that she must go to bed for a few hours. ‘I’ll put the hot water bottle in the bed in the little room,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, Mam, I’ll keep up the fire in Dad’s room and stay here to look after him.’
Lawrie had fallen asleep, and Sally sat by the fire and sipped a cup of tea until the hot water bottle had warmed the bed in the small bedroom.
‘Pity there’s no grate in that room,’ Cathy said when she came downstairs. ‘There’s ice on the inside of the window.’
‘Josh said he’d have a lie in. He’s not working today but I’ll have to do his breakfast when he gets up,’ Sally said wearily.
‘I’ll see to that,’ Cathy said. ‘You just settle down in bed and have a good sleep. You’ve got nothing to worry about, honestly.’
Sally smiled at her. ‘You’re a good girl, Cathy,’ she said. ‘What would I do without you?’
She went to bed and Cathy did the housework quietly and cooked breakfast for Josh when he came downstairs. From time to time she peeped in at her father but he still slept and she thought his breathing seemed easier.
She put the meat and vegetables on for barley broth then took a bucket of coal upstairs, but she was alarmed to find that her father had slipped down in the bed. The sound of his wheezing filled the room.
Cathy tried to lift him higher on the pillows and he woke and looked at her blankly, then smiled.
‘Hello, love,’ he gasped. ‘Where’s Mam?’
‘She’s lying down, Dad,’ Cathy said. ‘I put the hot water bottle in the bed in the little room and she’s asleep now.’
‘That’s good. I disturbed her last night, Cath, and we were late getting to bed anyway,’ Lawrie said. His breathing seemed easier while he was sitting upright, but his voice was hoarse and Cathy suggested another dose of her mother’s cough mixture.
They spoke quietly, but the next moment the door opened and Sally appeared.
‘Oh, Mam, I thought you’d have a good few hours,’ Cathy exclaimed.
‘I’ve had a good rest, love,’ Sally said. ‘The bed was lovely and warm although that room’s like an ice house. How do you feel now, Lol?’
‘I’m fine, Sal, fine,’ he assured her. She looked at him critically, at his flushed cheeks and over-bright eyes, and put her hand on his forehead. ‘You’re still very hot,’ she said.
‘No wonder, girl, with the blankets you’ve got on me and the hot water bottle burning my toes.’
‘Well, you know you’ve got to sweat it out of you. Keep that blanket up round you.’
‘Don’t grumble about being too hot, Dad,’ Cathy said. ‘Not many people are in this weather, believe me.’
‘Aye, I only worked this to dodge the bad weather,’ Lawrie said, winking at her.
Cathy replenished the fires and then went home to attend to her own house, and when she came back her father was asleep again. ‘It’ll do him good,’ her mother said. ‘Sleep and warmth are what he needs now.’
While Cathy was there to watch over Lawrie, Sally took the opportunity to go in to help Peggy Burns.
‘Poor Peggy,’ she said when she returned. ‘She’s worried to death about Meg. She’s started running after lads now and she throws these terrible tantrums if Peggy tries to stop her. Anything could happen to her, though.’
‘Why is Meg like that, Mam?’ Cathy asked. ‘She doesn’t look different, like Joe Angus or Philomena M’Quade.’
‘I think she was damaged at birth,’ Sally said. ‘Mabel was on her own when Meg was born. She’d asked that ne’er-do-well husband of hers to go for the midwife but it was raining heavy and he wouldn’t go till it went off. When he got back with the midwife, Mabel was lying on the floor and the baby was born. That’s when the damage was done, I think.’
‘It’s a terrible worry for Peggy,’ Cathy said. ‘And Meg’s so big and strong. I could hardly manage her when she came to me while Jimmie’s funeral was on. Makes you realize how lucky we are that our kids are all healthy.’
Lawrie’s cough seemed easier although he still seemed weak and slept for most of the day. The family were convinced that Sally’s prompt treatment had saved him from another severe bout of bronchitis.
‘It’s Sally’s cough mixture that’s cured you,’ Peggy Burns said when she came upstairs to see him. ‘It’s better than the chemist’s stuff any day, although Mr Norton’s very clever. He only failed his last exam, or he’d have been a doctor.’
‘That last exam must be tough,’ Lawrie teased her. ‘I’ve heard that about every chemist in Liverpool. None of them can beat Sally’s jollop though. I think she puts knock-out drops in it. I’ve done nothing but sleep.’
‘It’s well for you,’ Peggy said. ‘Lying there nice and warm and sleeping all day. It’s not fit for a dog to be out in this weather.’
After a few days Lawrie spoke about getting up, but Sally insisted that he stay in bed. Cathy urged caution too. ‘No sense in getting up and getting fresh cold, Dad,’ she said. ‘You couldn’t go out in this weather, and you’d only be reading. You can do that just as well in bed, in warmth and comfort.’
‘I don’t want Mam up and down the stairs running after me, though, Cath,’ he said. ‘She’s not fit for it.’
‘I can do all the running round that’s needed,’ Cathy said firmly. ‘There’s nothing to stop Mam sitting by the fire up here and keeping you company. Why don’t you tell her that you want to get up because you’re fed up being up here on your own, then she’ll stay up here to keep you in bed.’
‘Cathy, I didn’t think you could be so devious,’ Lawrie exclaimed. ‘There’s crafty, as the Welshmen say.’
She blushed. ‘I’ve got to do something to make her take more care of herself,’ she defended herself. She was beside the bed, plumping up Lawrie’s pillows, and he took her hand.
‘You’re a good daughter, Cathy,’ he said. ‘It’s made all the difference to me and Mam having all of you so close. Taken a weight off me, girl, knowing you and Greg are there to look after her.’
Cathy’s head jerked up and she looked at him in wide-eyed alarm, but he was smiling cheerfully and before she could answer him there was a knock on the bedroom door and Josh came puffing in.
‘How’re you doing, Lawrie?’ he panted.
‘I’m fine, Josh,’ Lawrie said. He still wheezed as he spoke and now he laughed. ‘We make a good pair, I think, with bellows to mend.’
‘It’s the weight with me,’ Josh said. ‘Sally looks after me too well.’
‘She has a talent for it,’ Lawrie said. ‘And here’s another one. Our Cathy. Waits on me hand and foot.’
‘Aye. Your mam said you did the fire in me bedroom,’ Josh panted. ‘Thanks, Cathy. Makes a difference these nights, I can tell you. I reckon I’m very lucky, Lawrie.’
Cathy left the two men t
o talk and went downstairs. She told her mother what Josh had said, and Sally replied, ‘I don’t mind what I do for Josh because he appreciates it, and he tries to save me trouble as much as he can. That reminds me, though, I’ll have to listen out for a coalman.’
With fires now burning in both bedrooms and in the kitchen and parlour downstairs, Sally’s stock of coal had been quickly depleted, but she stopped a passing coalman and had the coal place filled again.
‘This is where I feel the benefit of that money from Sam,’ she told Cathy. ‘I can buy the extra coal without worrying about the money for it.’
‘Well, that’s what he sends the money for, isn’t it?’ Cathy said. ‘I wrote to our Mary last night and told her Dad has had another bout but is getting over it. Can you imagine them sitting in sunshine when you look at our weather? It seems to be getting worse.’
Cathy was not sure whether Lawrie tried her suggestion, but her mother began to spend more and more time sitting by the fire in the bedroom, and gradually the heart of the house seemed to move from the kitchen to Lawrie’s room. His cough and his breathing seemed easier but he said no more about getting up, and seemed content to lie in bed, dozing and waking throughout the day.
Kate and Mick called in to see him after school every day, and Sarah and Greg came over every evening. The visits were usually fairly brief but John spent every evening sitting with his grandfather, and Sally often left them together to go downstairs to potter about and talk to Josh. John always carried buckets of coal up to both bedrooms, and filled the two coal scuttles downstairs before he left, and Sally never hurried him away but left him to talk to his grandfather for as long as he liked.
John and Lawrie usually talked about local politics or items in the newspaper, but often they spoke about the dreams they shared of a better future for the poor and deprived.
‘It’ll come, lad,’ Lawrie said one night. ‘Some time there’ll be no one hungry or homeless, and you’ll never see a barefoot child.’
‘We’ll see that that day comes, and soon,’ John declared. ‘We won’t beg for justice, we’ll demand it.’
Lawrie smiled at him fondly. ‘Aye, I think you will, lad. You’ve got the education, y’see, and the confidence. I’ve struggled for better times all my life very near, but there’s not much to show for it.’ He sighed. ‘A bit better, but not much for all the effort.’
‘But it’s happening. Remember that poem you told me? Anyway, we’re only building on what you and your generation have done, Grandad. You laid the foundations for us, and you taught me what needs doing.’
‘Aye, and that means everything to me. Having you to talk to and to know you understand and will carry on the fight.’
They sat in silence for a while with John gripping his grandfather’s hand, then Lawrie said suddenly, ‘We had a little lad, you know, John. Stillborn. But I’ve had you, lad. We’ve been good pals, haven’t we?’
‘The best, Grandad,’ John said huskily. He blinked rapidly and swallowed, unable to say any more, and Lawrie lay with his eyes closed and a smile on his face.
He opened his eyes. ‘Remember when you were little, John? You recited “Kick the Kaiser up the Bum”.’
‘No, I don’t remember,’ John said in mock indignation.
‘Aye. Your mam and your grandma went mad and told me off for laughing at you,’ Lawrie said. ‘Your dad had just come home from the war and they’d taught you a poem to recite for him, but you said that instead.’ He laughed. ‘You were an independent little beggar even then.’
‘That’s right. I vaguely remember something about that day,’ John said, ‘but no details.’
‘Poor Greg,’ Lawrie said with a sigh. ‘He missed the best of you. We were the gainers, having you living with us, but he was the loser, like a lot of fellows then. Your mam had your photograph taken and sent it to him, but it wasn’t like seeing the real thing.’
‘I’ve seen that photo,’ John said.
‘Your dad was made up with it. Your mam carried the letter he sent her around with her until it fell to pieces very near. Poor Cathy, it was hard for her too. War’s hard on everyone, except the ones that start it.’
‘Do you think there’ll be another war, Grandad?’
‘No, because with aeroplanes and bombs and the guns they’ve got now, nations can destroy each other’s countries, and the fellows who make armaments are as likely to be killed as an ordinary soldier,’ Lawrie said.
‘You’re a cynic, Grandad,’ John said. ‘Dad believed in the League of Nations but I think that’s been useless. The Japanese invaded Manchuria and China, and the Italians went into Abyssinia while they were still members of the League, didn’t they?’
‘Yes, and when Germany pulled out of the League in 1933 that finished it, I think,’ Lawrie said. ‘Herr Hitler’s the fellow they need to watch.’
‘But I thought you admired him,’ John said.
‘He’s done well for Germany. Pulled them up by their bootstraps and given them hope and confidence in themselves, lad, and if he sticks to his own country he’ll be all right. I think he’s getting big ideas, though, and I don’t like the way he deals with people who oppose him in Germany.’
‘Two of the lads from the office went on a walking holiday in the Black Forest and they said the German people idolize him.’
‘Aye, well, his mate Herr Krupp is as likely to be flattened as anyone else if there’s a war, so I think they’ll all make a lot of noise but every country will think twice before they start anything. “Sabre rattling” they used to call it, but nothing will come of it.’
‘Wouldn’t be much sense if it finished with every country destroyed,’ John said.
There was a knock on the front door and the sound of someone entering the house. ‘That’ll be your dad,’ Lawrie said. ‘I told him I was worried about old Fred in the Royal and he said he’d go and see him for me. He’s a good lad.’ The next moment Greg came upstairs and into the bedroom. He greeted them and told Lawrie about the old man and his pleasure at the gifts Greg had taken him.
‘He ate the Cornish pasty right away,’ Greg said. ‘And I put the bunloaf and mince pies handy for him. They’ll be gone by now, I’m sure.’
They all smiled and Lawrie said cheerfully, ‘Thanks, lad. Did you tell him I’ll get to see him as soon as I’m able?’
‘Yes. I explained to him and he sent his regards. I’ll go again next week if the weather’s not fit for you,’ Greg said.
John noticed that his father looked intently at Lawrie’s hands, and a little later he said he would go and leave him to rest. The hint to John was plain and he soon followed his father downstairs. They had a cup of cocoa with Sally, and before they left Greg said quietly, ‘I think it might be wise to call the doctor tomorrow, Mam.’
John expected his grandmother to protest, but she only said as quietly, ‘If you think so, Greg. You know what you’re talking about.’
‘I know you’ve done wonders for him,’ Greg said, ‘but a doctor might be able to give him something different, some drugs that might help him.’
‘I’ll do it first thing in the morning,’ she said. ‘Thanks, lad.’
She kissed Greg and he said gently, ‘Don’t worry too much. He’s got a fighting spirit. That’s better than anything.’
‘Yes, and he’ll fight the idea of the doctor but he’s having him,’ Sally said firmly.
John was silent with shock, but as they stepped out of the house he gripped his father’s arm. ‘Why do you think he needs a doctor? I thought he was getting better?’
‘He’s getting over this, but every attack weakens him and I think a doctor might help him, that’s all,’ said Greg.
‘But you must have some reason for thinking that. I saw you look at his hands,’ John said.
Greg hesitated, then said, ‘I looked at his nails, John. There was a tinge of blue in them, and in his lips. That means the bronchitis has weakened his heart. The doctor could give him some drugs to help that.’<
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‘Then he’s very ill,’ John exclaimed, looking stricken.
‘He needs help, son, but as I said to Grandma, his fighting spirit is his biggest asset, so don’t worry too much.’
They had reached their own house and Greg muttered, ‘Don’t say anything to your mother. She’d worry all night. I’ll tell her tomorrow morning about the doctor before I go to work.’
They went in and Greg spoke again about old Fred’s pleasure in the food he had taken to the hospital. ‘He ate your Cornish pasty, and Mam’s bunloaf and mince pies would be eaten tonight, I think, but I left him some sweets and a few Woodbines and matches. He’s up now so he can smoke in the lavatory.’
‘I hope Dad doesn’t want to go there as soon as he’s up,’ Cathy said. ‘In this weather.’
Greg and John glanced at each other and Greg said easily, ‘No. I’ve told Dad I’ll go again next week.’
They went to bed a little later but John lay awake for a long time, thinking over all that had been said that evening. He tried to remember his grandfather’s hand as it had lain on the coverlet. It had looked just the same to him, the hand of a working man, broad and capable with spatulate fingers, but his father’s trained eye had seen the warning signs.
John thought with a glow of happiness about his grandfather’s comments on how much he had meant to him, and then about his reminiscences of John’s childhood, and his words about what his father had missed. He tried to remember that time but could only remember what had seemed to him an immensely tall man with rough-textured trousers kissing his mother. He could remember pushing between them, shouting, “She’s my mama,” but nothing after that except a vague idea that the man had taken his place in his mother’s bed, and he had to sleep alone.
He could remember quite clearly the time he had spent with his grandfather: at the Landing Stage looking at ships, at the allotment, or going with him to see people who cried and were comforted by Lawrie, or angry men that his grandfather had talked to and calmed down.
John’s thoughts returned to his father. Grandma and Grandad seem to be very fond of him, and it was hard on him missing seeing me as a baby, he thought. John was unwilling to admit that he had been wrong about his father, but decided that his father had changed.
There is a Season Page 27
