by June Francis
‘Should we change the subject?’ suggested Deirdre. ‘I think they’re too young to learn about war. Let’s have another nursery rhyme instead.’
‘Can I choose, Miss?’ asked George. ‘Can we have “One, Two, Buckle My Shoe”?’
‘I’d like “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep”,’ chimed in one of the girls.
‘What about me? Can I choose one?’ chorused two of the other children.
‘Shush, all of you!’ Irene ordered. ‘Or we’ll go back right now instead of going to the beach.’
The children fell silent.
Irene glanced at Deirdre and said mischievously, ‘Shall we teach them “She Sells Seashells on the Seashore”?’
Deirdre’s lips twitched. ‘You’ve got a wicked sense of humour. Imagine the noise out of them if we attempted that! Let’s have “Little Miss Muffet”.’
‘You’re asking for trouble,’ said Irene sotto voce. ‘One of them is bound to ask what a tuffet is or what curds are.’
‘It’s obvious that a tuffet is something you sit on and as for curds, they have something to do with milk.’ Deirdre stopped abruptly. ‘Which reminds me …’
Irene gazed at her expectantly. ‘Are you going to suggest that we heat up their milk?’
Deirdre nodded. ‘The wind off the sea will have a real edge to it and I think they’ll need a warm drink. I know these children have to learn that life isn’t going to do them any favours as they grow up, but even so …’
Irene agreed. She couldn’t see any harm in heating up the milk that the Government provided free. Matron might think differently, however. Her mind drifted. She was aware of the children chanting ‘Little Miss Muffet’ while at the same time she wondered how best to approach Miss Molyneux, who was in charge of the under-sevens, to suggest taking some of the children to see a pantomime.
Thinking of pantomimes she was reminded of Marty McGrath. Why had he kissed her after the party? One moment he had appeared to disapprove of her and the next he had turned all friendly-like. She had decided he had done it just to see her reaction. Perhaps she should have slapped his face; that would have made him think twice. Probably she was making too much of it. After all it had been New Year’s Eve, a time when people often kiss perfect strangers. More puzzling was what he had meant by that again? Had Peggy told him that she had a habit of interfering in her life? She could not remember doing so. Jeanette might have done, so perhaps he’d mixed the pair of them up.
She was roused from her thoughts by one of the children saying, ‘You’re not singing, Miss.’
‘Yes, come on, Nurse Miller, you pick the next one,’ said Deirdre heartily.
Irene was aware of George’s big brown eyes on her face and remembered his request. ‘We’ll have “One, Two, Buckle My Shoe”.’ It was a good counting rhyme and would help the children learn their numbers.
By the time they had sung it three times, they had arrived at the shore. The tide was on its way in, but there was still enough sand for them to walk on and the children were able to watch the waves rolling in with a faint hiss.
‘There’s a ship, Miss!’ shouted one of the boys.
Irene pointed out that there was in fact more than one vessel and counted them aloud and had the children repeat the numbers after her. She was enjoying their company and the outing, with the feel of the breeze on her face and the smell of the sea and talking to them about the driftwood, seaweed and the variety of shells that littered the high tide line. There was even a short length of frayed rope and a mermaid’s purse.
She suggested the children collect some of the shells, a length of seaweed and the empty case of fish eggs and she put them in a hessian bag, thinking they could go on the nature table.
‘Do you think it’s cold enough for snow, Miss?’ asked May, sidling up to Irene and slipping her hand into hers.
At that moment a snowflake landed on Irene’s cheek and then another and another. She looked round for Deirdre and saw her hurrying towards her with her group of children. ‘I think it’s time we were getting back,’ she said.
They wasted no time hurrying from the beach and making their way back to Fair Haven, thinking how much more pleasant it would be for the little ones once spring arrived. But first things first, she must have a word with Miss Molyneux about that pantomime trip. Even if she could not go with the children herself, one of the nursery teachers and Deirdre could accompany them.
Of course, this extra expenditure on the children meant that Miss Molyneux would need to consult their patron, a spinster lady called Miss Talbot, from one of the old land-owning Lancashire families. During the war, she had given over two of the houses she owned for the provision of orphaned children. The work had continued after the war. In particular, she favoured those with some kind of disfigurement or handicap, although not all of the children were visibly damaged. It was said that the lady herself had been born with a cleft palate.
As it happened, a visit to a pantomime had already been arranged for the children. A performance of Aladdin was to be put on by an amateur dramatic society at a local church hall. Irene was pleased that someone else had thought of the idea as well. Which meant she could just fix her thoughts on going to the pantomime in town with her mother – as long as Maisie was feeling up to a night out.
Irene stared at her mother and said, ‘Smile again!’
Maisie bared her new dentures. ‘So what d’you think? Wasn’t I right getting all my old teeth out?’
‘Definitely – and you’ll never have toothache again, Mam.’
‘And that can only be a good thing,’ said Maisie, looking pleased with herself. ‘What I need now is a new hairdo.’
‘You mean have a perm?’
‘Not just a perm. I thought of getting my hair dyed.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with the colour of your hair.’
‘I thought auburn,’ said Maisie, preening herself in front of the mirror. ‘I’ve always fancied being a redhead like Maureen O’Hara in The Quiet Man.’
‘Mam, aren’t you a bit older than her? Besides, I think she’s a natural redhead and has the right skin tone to go with the hair.’
Maisie placed her hands on her hips and glared at her daughter. ‘Don’t you criticize me, girl! I’m not too bloody old to make the best of meself.’
Irene took a step back. ‘I’m not saying you are, but it’ll cost a bit!’
Maisie sniffed. ‘It’s my money! Terence left it to me. I might as well spend some of the little I have, rather than leave it to you and our Jimmy to squander.’
Irene was annoyed. ‘I’m not after your money! You can dye your hair sky blue and pink with a finny-haddy border for all I care.’
‘Don’t be daft!’ Maisie jutted her chin. ‘I want to look nice for my birthday, so I’m meeting Gertie at the hairdresser’s and we’re going into town together afterwards because I want to buy a new dress.’
‘But I’ve bought tickets for the pantomime at the Empire for you and me on your birthday,’ Irene blurted out.
‘Pantomime! I don’t want to go to any ol’ pantomime on my birthday! I want to go dancing!’ cried Maisie.
Irene’s mouth fell open. ‘Dancing! With Gertie? But, Mam, I’ve paid out good money for these tickets. It’s Jimmy Jewel and Ben Warriss in “Babes in the Wood”. Joan Regan is in it, as well. You like her singing.’
‘So I do, but I don’t want to spend my birthday sitting in a theatre with you, watching a pair of comedians and a singer. I want to go dancing. You can take someone else! And you don’t have to buy me a present, seeing as how you’ve already forked out money.’ Maisie continued to bare her teeth at herself in the mirror.
‘I can’t not give you a present,’ said Irene, upset. ‘Why d’you have to be so awkward, Mam? You could go dancing with Gertie another evening.’
Maisie’s face turned puce and she raised a hand. ‘I’ll choose when I go dancing. Now get out of my sight before I clout you one.’
Irene turned on her heel and stormed out of the
kitchen. She put on her coat and hat and left the house. She would go to the box office at the Empire and see if she could exchange the tickets for another time. Then she would visit Wilson’s, her favourite bookshop on Renshaw Street, as it was on the way to the milk bar in Leece Street and she wanted to see Jeanette. She would treat herself to an espresso and a sausage roll for lunch and hopefully have a chat with her friend.
She met with little luck at the box office in getting tickets for another evening. The show was fully booked every single night and the only seats available were for a matinee in a fortnight’s time, so she changed the tickets for that afternoon, hoping Deirdre would be willing to help her out by changing shifts with her. She wasted no time heading along Lime Street, past the Adelphi Hotel and up Renshaw Street towards the bookshop.
The last person Irene expected to see there was Marty McGrath. She was browsing the shelves on the ground floor and had just decided to buy a cut-price calendar for her mother’s birthday, when to her surprise she saw him coming downstairs from the children’s department. She had not considered him the type to go in bookshops, thinking he’d probably go to Blackler’s basement where one could find bargains. In his hand he carried a small parcel which presumably contained a book. Suddenly he caught sight of her and she knew she had surprised him. She could feel herself going hot in the face and was annoyed with herself.
‘Seen anything interesting?’ he asked.
Her mind went blank and then she remembered the calendar. ‘I’ve bought this for my mam. It’s her birthday.’
‘I thought you were taking her to the pantomime.’
She had forgotten that she had mentioned that to him. ‘She decided that she didn’t want to go.’ Irene’s voice cracked, to her embarrassment, not having realized just how hurt she had been by her mother’s refusal.
‘Shame! So what are you going to do?’ His blue eyes were sympathetic as they gazed down into hers.
‘Ask someone else to go with me.’ She cleared her throat. ‘What have you been buying?’
‘A book.’
She felt embarrassed. ‘Of course, stupid me!’
‘It’s called Harry the Dirty Dog.’ He smiled. ‘It’s for Josie’s birthday. Have you heard of it?’
Irene could not resist that smile. ‘It’s really popular with the children.’
‘The woman upstairs told me it was a best seller. I’m hoping my daughter will like it.’
Irene felt shock go through her but she made a quick recovery. ‘How old is she?’
‘She’ll be two. She’s a bright kid, though. Talking already.’ He shrugged. ‘Probably down to there being so many women in the house, all nattering at once.’
‘You … you mean you don’t just … live with your wife and daughter?’ He did not immediately answer. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. None of my business,’ said Irene hastily.
He gave a twisted smile. ‘It was me that mentioned it. It’s my mother-in-law’s place. My sister-in-law and niece live there as well and her other sisters visit with their kids.’
‘I see,’ said Irene carefully, thinking it mustn’t be easy for him living in such a household.
‘This book!’ He waggled the parcel. ‘You said you worked with kids …’
She nodded. ‘It only came out the other year but the kids at the nursery nearly all love Harry.’
‘But not all of them?’
He’s quick, thought Irene. ‘No, some children don’t get on with dogs. Big dogs especially can be terrifying if they come bounding up to the children when we take them for a walk on the beach.’
He frowned. ‘I take it that you’re not alone and keep the children away from the water, especially at this time of year?’
She stared at him in astonishment. ‘I’m no fool! There are rules. I couldn’t handle ten small children on my own. We look for shells and the like. They won’t go near the water until summer and then they’ll just paddle.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Satisfied?’
He nodded. ‘I presume you keep an eye on the tide. We used to go to New Brighton on the ferry. I loved it when I was a kid. Ma always used to make a bit of a fuss over us getting sand in our hair, between our toes and in our clothes.’
‘I hated getting it in my—’ she stopped abruptly.
He grinned. ‘You don’t have to say it.’
She smiled. ‘Have you taken your daughter to New Brighton yet?’
‘Not yet.’ He changed the subject. ‘I was thinking of getting her a paint box as well. If I put some newspaper down, she can enjoy herself messing about.’
‘We use poster paint at Fair Haven. I used to love filling in paint books at home. Mam would go mad when I sucked the paintbrush. My tongue would go a funny colour and she’d say that if I wasn’t careful, I’d poison myself!’
‘Mine told me the same. Remember magic painting books?’
‘Yeah, and they’re best when it comes to painting books for toddlers. At that age they don’t have the dexterity to paint inside the lines of ordinary ones,’ said Irene.
‘Thanks for the tip.’
There was a pause and they smiled at each other.
‘I suppose I’d better go and pay for this calendar,’ said Irene.
He nodded. ‘I’ve got to go, too. I’m on my lunch hour and have to get back to work. See you again sometime, Irene.’
She watched him leave the shop and it was only afterwards, when she was paying for the calendar, that she thought about asking about that photo of his brother she had suggested at New Year.
She hurried from the building and stood outside, looking up and down Renshaw Street, but she could see no sign of him. She wondered where he worked. With a shrug, she set off up the street, paying no attention to the businesses and shops, feeling disappointed that Marty McGrath was married with a daughter. He was easy to talk to and she had enjoyed their conversation – although he had been a bit sharp with her when she had talked about taking the children to the beach.
She sighed and put him to the back of her mind as she turned the corner into Leece Street and stopped outside the milk bar opposite the bombed remains of St Luke’s church. She peered through the window and saw that several of the tables were occupied by teenagers, but a couple were vacant. She was pleased to see Jeanette behind the counter, so she went inside and wished her a happy New Year.
‘Same to you,’ said Jeanette, a smile lighting her pretty dainty features. ‘It’s great to see you.’
‘Same here. So how are things with you and Davy?’
‘There’s plans afoot for us to share a house with Mam and Dad.’
Irene could not conceal her surprise. ‘I thought they lived in a country cottage in Wirral!’
‘They do! But Dad’s finding it too quiet since he retired and Mam’s friend, Beryl, who looked after her, has met someone and is getting married. I think it’ll be too much for Dad seeing to Mam’s special needs all on his own.’
‘Where are you planning on living?’ asked Irene.
‘New Brighton. Dad thinks it’ll be ideal. He’ll be able to take her for walks in her wheelchair along the prom and she’ll have lots of lovely sea air and in the summer there’ll be plenty going on. She’ll enjoy watching the children playing on the beach and splashing in the sea.’
Irene smiled. ‘It sounds great. I met Peggy’s brother, Marty, in the bookshop and we were talking about New Brighton.’
‘I didn’t know you knew Marty,’ said Jeanette, looking surprised.
Irene attempted to sound casual. ‘We’ve only met briefly a couple of times when I was with Peggy and Pete.’
‘Now you really surprise me. I thought Peggy was trying to keep Pete a secret from her family.’
Irene made to speak but Jeanette held up a hand. ‘No, wait, I can’t just stand here chatting or the boss will have something to say. Did you plan on having something to drink or eat?’
Irene gave her order and went over to a vacant table in a corner next to a rubber plant. As
she sat down, she remembered coming here with Jimmy and meeting Jeanette for the first time. The jukebox had been brand new then, and Jimmy had played a Rosemary Clooney record. Soon after, Pete, Norm and Maggie had turned up. That evening some of them had met again at the Grafton dance hall and Jeanette had brought Peggy with her. It was only later that Peggy had met Pete and they’d started dating.
Someone put a coin in the jukebox and a record dropped into place. It was Buddy Holly’s ‘Oh, Boy!’ Her fingers tapped on the table in time to the music and she thought about the lyrics. It was fast moving and she thought the words were romantic.
Jeanette placed a tray down on the table with a steaming cup and plate of sausage roll and baked beans.
Irene sipped her espresso. ‘Pete and Peggy had split up but they might just be back together again.’
‘But where does Marty come in to it?’ asked Jeanette.
Irene hesitated and told her about meeting him on New Year’s Eve.
Jeanette hesitated. ‘You do know that Marty’s married?’
‘He mentioned his wife and daughter earlier. I presume the wife is the girl at the Stadium who tried to scratch your eyes out.’
‘The very same! I think he was mad to marry her.’
‘You don’t believe they were in love?’
‘Lust more than love, I’d say.’
Irene sighed. ‘I’d love to see what she looks like.’
‘Tarty! Bosom half hanging out of her blouse. Although maybe she doesn’t always dress like she did that evening. She has a bust as good as Diana Dors.’ She stared at Irene. ‘You’re not fancying Marty, are you?’
Irene felt the colour rush to her cheeks, reminded of Jimmy asking her the same question. ‘He’s a married man with a daughter. What kind of girl d’you think I am?’
‘He has a son, too.’
Irene was surprised. ‘He didn’t mention him but maybe that’s because we were talking about his daughter’s birthday.’
‘Well, don’t take offence at my warning! Girls have fallen in love with married men before,’ said Jeanette. ‘I only asked because, although Marty’s not what I’d call handsome, he does have a nice way with him and he knows how to look after a girl. In an odd way he’s what I’d call a bit of a gentleman. Peggy used to say he was over-protective and it got on her nerves.’
