by Annie Groves
Dolly was impatient now. Little Georgie had been fractious all night, and she’d been too preoccupied with him and Winnie’s whingeing to see where Tommy had got to, though Violet said something about him seeing a school friend in the crowded shelter. She watched as George’s little body shuddered under the force of a dry sob and her heart went out to him. An air raid shelter was no place for a teething baby.
The sound of explosions ripped all through the night, making tired neighbours impatient. When they took to shushing the irritable child, Dolly sang him lullabies and eventually, exhausted, he nodded off. Nevertheless, she could well do without the likes of Madam Kennedy coming over all hysterical and waking the child up again. Dolly, like a lioness protecting her young, knew that if this child made one peep of protest at Winnie’s whingeing, she was going to sling Madam Kennedy out to the Germans herself!
‘I forgot to pick up my box of policies.’
Dolly sighed. Those policies must be worth a small fortune. Dolly had never seen anybody get so aerated! However, it must be awful for Ma Kennedy being on her own night after night, Dolly mused, now Charlie had done a bunk to Southport, and Rita could hardly give up her job at the hospital to stay at home and look after the cantankerous old so-and-so …
‘This raid can’t go on much longer,’ she whispered, omitting to tell Mrs Kennedy she had put the box on her table and forgotten all about it when she left. She had a bit more to think about than stupid policies – like the welfare of her family, who were all out there, in the thick of it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘Is that bloody dog going to howl all night?’ a huge man with a flat, broken nose said as they loaded another carton onto a flat-backed wagon. ‘It’ll have the bobbies here in no time.’
‘It’s a bit late to worry now,’ Alfie Delaney said. ‘They’re on their way over.’
They both watched the dock police hurrying to a burning warehouse, from which Delaney and his oppo had just relieved numerous crates of booze, which would be gratefully received at this time of year, no questions asked.
Delaney decided he would get the knocked-off booze out of here while everybody else’s attention was on the warehouse.
‘It’s only Monty!’ he said. ‘He follows Tommy Callaghan everywhere.’
‘If he doesn’t pipe down he’ll attract attention. You’ll have to shut him up – he knows you,’ Harry Calendar said through gritted teeth.
Alfie Delaney hesitated only for a moment. He knew that if the dog was howling then Tommy would be lurking around somewhere. Probably up to no good! Leave him to it, Alfie thought, aware that his share of the money was at stake.
‘He’ll have the rozzers here any minute – go and shut the bloody thing up!’
Alfie decided he would rather take his chances with the dog than with Harry in a strop and he headed across the road towards the howling dog. The warehouse was blazing away but no matter how much he tried to lure the snarling mongrel from the doors Monty was not budging.
‘Come on, fella,’ Alfie said as the scorching heat made the buttons on his braces too hot for bare skin. ‘Where’s Tommy – hey? Where is he, fella?’ Something akin to cold dread now filled Alfie’s body. No! Tommy could not be in there, surely.
‘Tommy! Tommy, are you in there, you daft little bugger?’ Alfie called through the huge wooden doors while Monty jumped and bounced eagerly, yapping around his heels.
There was nothing for Alfie to do but go in to check. ‘Tommy!’ he yelled, his voice cracking under the effects of the smoke. Suddenly he caught sight of the young lad lying on the floor. His foot was jammed fast under a girder and flames were beginning to lick around the bottom of the wood. Alfie knew he had to act fast. The wood was paper dry. The flames would not take long to run up the scantling. Gathering his strength again, Alfie kicked the log with the heel of his boot. It did not budge. Tommy, obviously overcome by fumes, wasn’t moving now.
‘Over here!’ Alfie yelled to the dock police, who were now battling with a fire hose. A crowd of dockers surged forward, piling into the warehouse. Alfie was flung to one side as two burly stevedores heaved the wood from the little boy’s lower leg, while another man slid Tommy out of the way.
‘Is he all right?’ Alfie asked, but the docker, picking Tommy up, ran without a word towards the hospital.
Pop, heading back towards Empire Street along the dock road, knew it was far too dangerous to try to get back now. The docks were burning. He directed the stragglers who had yet to seek shelter to the railway arches in Bentinck Street, used as an unofficial shelter by the people of Vauxhall.
Someone told him that Blackstock Gardens had taken a direct hit and that there were hundreds killed. Dolly’s sister lived in Blackstock Gardens!
‘Get in here!’ he shouted. ‘You’ll get killed out there!’ The arches were considered a safe place, given their reinforced structure.
Soon the shelter began to fill up and it wasn’t long before the German bombers’ approach caused everybody momentarily to hold their breath and look up towards the concrete dome. All they could do was wait and pray. Pop, who had just got everyone in before the bombers appeared, and so had sheltered there along with everybody else, let out a relieved sigh as the planes passed over without dropping their load. However, they were now heading towards the docks. Along with everybody else, Pop began silently to pray again when the distant thud of dropping bombs sounded once more.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, pray for us this night.’ A woman of indeterminable age pulled her shawl more tightly around herself and the baby sitting on her hip, blessed herself and looked to the heavens, while a young lad of no more than nine darted towards the street.
‘Joey. No!’ the woman cried, not quite quick enough to grab the excited youngster’s collar. He wanted to see the ‘fireworks’.
Instantly, Pop was after him.
‘Come here, you young fool,’ Pop called as he hurried out of the shelter along Bentinck Street heading towards Regent Road. Along with the Athol Street gasworks, the railway and the nearby docks, this was probably one of the most dangerous places in Liverpool right now. ‘Get back, lad! You’ll get yourself killed!’
But the young lad either didn’t hear or didn’t want to as he carried on down the street.
Just then, Pop heard another wave of bombers approaching only moments before they came into sight. All of a sudden, they were overhead, strafing the ground with bullets.
‘Come back, lad.’ Pop could feel the cold rivulet of perspiration trickle down his back. ‘You’ve got to get back to your mam!’
He watched the lad stop dead in his tracks, twisting as he did so that he was now facing the shelter. A look of horror swept his dirty face. There was a sickening thud. A deafening crash. The fall of masonry.
Turning, too, now, Pop watched the railway arches crumble and fall as if in slow motion. They were full of men, women and children and they had just taken a direct hit! The little boy opened his mouth and for a moment, no sound came. Then his horrified scream pierced the freezing air.
‘Mam!’
When the all clear sounded, Winnie Kennedy got out of the shelter so fast she elbowed aside small children in her way. Dolly could only shake her head in wonder. Everybody was in the same boat. It was a rare person indeed who had nobody to worry about except themselves.
Back in the familiar surroundings of her sitting room at the back of the shop, Mrs Kennedy noticed the cigar box was not where she had left it. Alarm shot through her like an electric shock. The story of her life was inside that box. She would never be able to hold her head up again if anybody got their hands on that lot.
‘I wouldn’t have known he was there if it hadn’t been for Monty!’ Alfie said later as he gave Dolly and the rest of the family the news. He had hoped to see Kitty, to wallow in her gratitude, but she was at the hospital with Tommy. However, he did wonder what had happened to Danny, who had not been seen for ages.
‘Tommy has a perforated eardrum, but
we’re hopeful his hearing will eventually return,’ the doctor told Kitty when she arrived at the hospital. ‘We’re just not sure how long that will take.’
‘Can I stay with Tommy until he has calmed down a bit?’ Kitty asked, knowing he did not like hospitals after spending last Christmas in one.
‘We’ve given him something to help him sleep,’ the doctor said. ‘We will keep him in for observation because of the deafness …’ Dr Fitzgerald saw Kitty’s look of alarm and assured her Tommy would be fine after a few days’ rest.
‘He’s like a cat with nine lives! I’ve never come across a kid so lucky,’ Dr Fitzgerald smiled.
‘He scares the life out me,’ Kitty sighed. She was surprised that Alfie Delaney had actually done some good for a change. ‘Tommy must be well on the way to his ninth life by now, the scrapes he gets himself into!’ She noticed the doctor’s kind eyes. They were blue, like Frank’s.
‘We’ll throw him out when he’s good and ready, don’t you worry.’
Dr Elliott Fitzgerald made a stab at humour even though he was exhausted, though he tried so hard not to show it. He had been on duty for three days straight, catching moments of sleep only when the influx of injured people eased. However, the snatched catnaps were not enough to sustain him as a new influx of casualties filled the corridors, and he was ready to drop. He remembered Kitty Callaghan from when she had visited Tommy and Frank Feeny, the young naval officer who had lost his leg when it had become infected. There was something about her that he was drawn to. He could see that Kitty was no longer the shy awkward girl she had been a year ago, but there was still an innocence about her that was refreshing. Catching sight of himself in the glass of the door to the ward, the doctor thought Kitty must think him a sight. He did indeed look like a man who hadn’t slept for three days.
‘Come and sit over here where it’s quiet,’ he smiled, guiding Kitty to a bench beneath the spiralling stairway. The girl looked exhausted too. She told him she worked in the NAAFI canteen, keeping the men and women of the forces supplied with food and drinks while they battled with the dock road blitz. Kitty was consumed with guilt once again as she told him that Dolly, their family friend, had been looking after Tommy while she had been at the NAAFI.
‘It isn’t Dolly’s fault that Tommy went missing. He’s a handful and runs rings round us all, and what with everything that’s been going on … but I don’t want to send him away again, Doctor.’
‘Don’t feel that this is your fault; there is no one as resourceful and wily as a schoolboy, Kitty. Your job is important, too.’
‘I’ve been dishing out tea and sympathy, that’s all,’ Kitty said, feeling now that the NAAFI wasn’t half as important as her little brother.
‘Tea and sympathy sounds just right to me.’ Dr Fitzgerald knew the docks were the main artery for the import of essential supplies from America and the Colonies. Liverpool was always going to be a major target.
The fact that the authorities refused to give out any information regarding Merseyside, the newsreels stating only that a town in the North-West was lightly attacked, and there were a few minor casualties, was a bone of contention amongst the locals. They felt the rest of the country did not understand their plight and had less admiration for the people here than for those in places that were well publicised as ‘going through it’. The doctor was astounded at the grossly understated way the news was delivered: an ‘incident had occurred’ it was reported, when in fact the port had been all but annihilated. He suspected that if the authorities could have got away with it, they would have made no reference to Merseyside at all.
Who could blame these brave, stoic people for feeling aggrieved when they were being battered, maimed and killed on a daily basis? Their homes were being blown from under them and razed to the ground in ‘incidents’. Outside of London, Liverpool was the most frequently bombed port in the country.
His London home had suffered the same plight as Liverpool, but London citizens at least had the sympathy of the whole country as well as America.
However, Dr Fitzgerald never failed to be amazed at the enduring way that these people ‘took it’. Night after night, they balled their fists at the skies and carried on regardless. They must, they said – what else could they do? Let the Nazis defeat them? He remembered one proud woman who had come into the hospital without her left hand after a raid and thanked God that she was right-handed.
‘I’m off duty now; can I walk out with you, Kitty?’ he asked. Kitty nodded, suddenly shy. Dr Fitzgerald had been good to her family. She credited him not only with saving Tommy’s life but Frank’s too. She was a little over-awed at his friendly overtures. Why would a doctor want to talk with a NAAFI canteen manager like herself?
They walked the half-hour journey back to Empire Street. They were surrounded on all sides by the devastation and destruction that had been inflicted by the Luftwaffe. As they passed the smouldering wreckages of houses, shops, churches and schools, it seemed that there was no part of the city that had not been affected in some way. As they got to Southey Street, nearer to the dockside, Kitty let out a gasp of shock. A whole row of houses that had stood yesterday were now gone, just heaps of rubble in their place. Kitty could see the upstairs floor of one house, the entire side wall destroyed and the contents of the bedroom exposed for all to see: a wardrobe; a bed; the mirror on the wall. She felt it was almost indecent to look at such an intimate scene, bared to the world. As they walked slowly by, something caught her eye. A little brown bear. This must have been some beloved toy – but where was the child it belonged to? She and the doctor looked at each other, each thinking the same unbearable thought. At that moment, a woman passed them, pushing a giant pram filled with what was left of her belongings. Trailing behind her were two children, both toddlers, looking bewildered and tired. One of them, a little girl, wore a dirty grey coat, covered in soot and ash. She was grizzling and Kitty’s heart went out to her. She bent down and held out the little bear. The child immediately stopped crying and reached out for the tatty toy.
‘Teddy needs a cuddle,’ said Kitty, and the little child took the brown bear and hugged it to her, giving Kitty a gummy little smile.
‘Thanks, love,’ said their mother. ‘We’ve been bombed out.’ She nodded towards the pram. ‘This is all we’ve got left.’ For a moment, she looked as if she was going to cry. Kitty couldn’t even tell how old the woman was, so wretched did she look, and Kitty thought that the experience must have added years to her.
But then the woman raised her eyes to heaven and said, ‘Bloody Jerry. Well, if he thinks he’s got us beat, then he can think again. Right, kids?’ She turned to her children and held out her hands. ‘Come on, let’s get to Auntie Jill’s. She’ll have a nice cup of cocoa and a slice of buttered toast for us.’ And with that she went on her way.
Kitty felt her heart would burst with pride at what the people of Liverpool were coping with. They’d show Hitler yet.
‘That was kind of you, Kitty,’ said the doctor.
‘Anyone would have done the same, Doctor.’
‘Please, Kitty, call me Elliott. It seems silly to stand on ceremony this morning.’
Kitty blushed. She wasn’t sure how she felt about calling him by his first name. She stole a glance at him as they continued on their journey. The name Elliott suited him; it was strong, yet gentle.
They neared the docks, where another Atlantic convoy of about fifty ships was sailing out, bringing a lump of patriotic pride to the doctor’s throat.
‘I’m toying with the idea of joining the navy,’ he told Kitty. ‘Then again the army is quite appealing. Of course, I could stay here in Liverpool – they need all the doctors then can get – but it wouldn’t seem right.’
‘I should think they’d be glad to have you in either. You’re a very good doctor.’
‘No better than any other, Kitty. But thank you.’ Elliott Fitzgerald wasn’t a vain man but he couldn’t help but feel a frisson of pleasure at her p
raise. ‘My brother is in the Fleet Air Arm,’ Kitty said, and then quickly covered her mouth with her hand, knowing that loose lips sank ships. The young doctor wasn’t about to go over to the enemy, that would be ridiculous, but he would think her a silly blabbermouth for saying it. Briefly, she wondered why it mattered what he thought of her. ‘Do you live far from here?’ he asked, politely ignoring her indiscretion.
‘Empire Street,’ Kitty answered, quickly trying to cover her embarrassment. She suddenly felt awkward, as he was watching her now.
‘Ahh,’ Elliott said knowingly. ‘Yes, I knew that. I’m staying in digs on the other side of the city, in Walton.’
‘It’s nice there,’ said Kitty. ‘Or was.’ She knew that the suburb had also taken its fair share of bombardment.
They continued on past more of the docks, now harbouring another vast armada of ships docked, refitted, reloaded and repaired on a daily basis.
Men were unloading the cargo the country depended upon for survival, while others mended the sheds and the roofless warehouses that had been bombed. They were turning the ships around to sail right back out as soon as was humanly possible, to do it all again.
Elliott and Kitty watched in silent fascination as huge American bombers were unloaded from the ships. They would be down the other end of the country by teatime and probably over Germany tomorrow.
Of course, Elliott thought, women like Kitty propped up the men who fought the war. They were the ones who did much more than offer tea and a sympathetic ear, when the troops visited NAAFI all over the country for a well-earned rest. These women were the backbone, keeping everything ticking over with the least amount of fuss. He had much admiration for women like Kitty Callaghan …
‘Will Tommy be all right, Doc— Elliott?’ Kitty asked.
‘Oh, yes!’ he answered, ‘we have given him something for the pain.’ He put his hand on Kitty’s arm in a gesture of reassurance when he saw the look of panic cross her face. ‘He will be fine in a few days; he will still be with us for Christmas, in which case Santa will visit him at the hospital.’
