For Better, For Worse

by June Francis

  Liverpool: January 1940

  Grace was often to think of that evening as the early dark days of the war passed with several more Royal Navy vessels and merchant ships being sunk by German U-boats. Thankfully, the anticipated air raids on Liverpool had not yet materialised, and nobody had called to put down Fergie, but Grace soon accepted that life for herself and millions of other Britons and her Allies was going to get tougher.

  Since the end of the previous year, identity cards had been issued to all citizens and petrol rationing had been introduced, which meant Ben could only use his work van for essential trips. To Grace’s relief he was not in the first batch of men to be conscripted. She listened with growing dread as the new year saw more than two million British men aged between nineteen and twenty-seven called up. Dougie was to be one of their ranks. Grace had finally gathered up enough courage to call on Beryl again to see how baby Elizabeth was doing, and Beryl told her that her mother was almost out of her mind because Dougie had been conscripted and was now training at a camp in Scotland.

  ‘What about Davy?’ asked Grace quickly, hiding her feelings.

  ‘He’s joined the merchant navy,’ Beryl’s lips tightened. ‘He thinks it’s less dangerous than being on a battleship.’

  Grace could only think to say, ‘Let’s hope he’s right.’ She did not believe for a moment that merchant ships were any safer than battleships. Food rationing had been introduced and the German U-boats would have orders to prevent non-combatant ships from reaching British ports with food, tools or armaments from America.

  * * *

  Halfway through the first month of the year the weather turned cold and Grace bundled Irene in as many layers as she could before she sent her out to play in the street. It was, in fact, so cold that the lake in Newsham Park iced completely, and the Thames, in London, also froze over for the first time since 1888.

  Over the winter, the cold weather continued, but it was not as bone-chilling as January had been, and still there was no sign of German bombers over the skies of Lancashire or even the south of England and its capital. Some evacuated children returned home, including Milly and the twins from her mother-in-law’s in New Brighton, and Grace’s frayed nerves grew more settled. She began to hope that the war would end well before Ben and – in her darker moments – Simon, could be conscripted.

  At the beginning of April, Chamberlain had declared that Hitler had missed the bus. Ben called him a fool. Soon afterwards there came news that British forces were in Norway; Hitler’s army had invaded neutral Norway and Denmark. British forces occupied the Faroe Isles to prevent the Germans getting a foothold there.

  At the beginning of May, the British and French troops were evacuating Norway which triggered criticism of Chamberlain’s handling of the war and so he resigned as prime minister. Winston Churchill replaced him as leader of a coalition war cabinet.

  Ben switched on the wireless as soon as he arrived home. It was well known that Hitler’s army had swept through the Low Countries and over the border into France. Despite defending the defensive line, the Germans broke through and the British Expeditionary Forces were in danger of being swept up as they retreated before the larger forces of Germany.

  It was through Anne that they heard Churchill had made a speech in the House of Commons, saying, ‘I have nothing to offer you but blood, toil, sweat and tears.’

  ‘Well, at least we know where we are,’ said Grace. ‘But what’s he going to do about rescuing the Expeditionary Forces?’

  Within a short space of time they knew what had been decided. Beryl told Grace that Davy had sent her a wire that she picked up at the post office, which said that all boats and ships of any size were needed to help rescue the British Expeditionary Force from France and bring them home.

  It was days later that they read in the Echo of ‘The Miracle of Dunkirk’ in which even a Mersey ferry boat Daffodil had played a part, as did the Isle of Man ferry boats, and lots of other boats from all over the country. The RAF had battled in the air over the beach and its approaches with the Luftwaffe. Sadly, some British forces were captured by the Germans as they fought a rear-guard action and some ships were sunk, but 330,000 troops were saved, including some Polish, Belgian and French.

  ‘“We will fight them on the beaches… we will never surrender…”’ Grace slowly read Churchill’s words in that day’s Echo. She was sitting by the kitchen window enjoying the longer days, before she tided the kitchen for the night. It was June and the air was warm, filled with the promise of sunnier days ahead. There had been rumours reported in the press that Hitler wanted to have peace talks with Britain, and the Foreign Secretary, Viscount Halifax, was in favour, but Churchill was standing firm saying that there would be no negotiations and had persuaded the war cabinet round to his way of thinking. Grace had been following the reports in the papers and looked up at Ben while she said, ‘Stirring words, but is it now that we can expect to be bombed into submission and then invaded?’

  ‘You can bet your life that’ll be Hitler’s plan if we don’t agree with his plans for a peace agreement with us,’ said Ben grimly. ‘Can you see him retreating from Poland and Austria, and what about the Low Countries he’s just invaded and France?’

  ‘He’ll probably try for a peace agreement with France, do you think? And where’s Russia in all this?’ said Grace. ‘I mean they invaded Poland when Hitler did. They are allies.’

  Ben did not reply straight away, but looked thoughtful. ‘I should imagine Russia and Germany won’t stay allies for long. Communism and Fascism don’t mix – both leaders are greedy for power and land.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, let’s try to leave all that for now and live in the moment. I’m still hungry.’

  ‘There’s no more dinner,’ said Grace. ‘You can have a couple of jam butties.’

  ‘If that’s all there is,’ he said, sinking wearily into an armchair.

  ‘I’ve tins, but I want to use them for proper meals when things get worse.’ Grace had come to terms with using ration books, but meat had begun to be rationed in the spring and that made cooking meals that were tasty and nourishing more challenging. Fortunately, during last summer, Grace had begun to buy a tin of food, such as corned beef or luncheon meat, once a week for her store cupboard, so now she had something to fall back on, but she was wary of using her supply all at once.

  ‘Then jam butties it is. What kind of jam?’

  ‘Raspberry.’

  ‘My worse favourite jam,’ he said.

  ‘I know, the pips get between your teeth,’ she said. ‘But that’s all there was left in the shops.’

  ‘All right, there’s worse things than pips between your teeth,’ Ben said. ‘I think I’ll go up and see Irene.’

  ‘Don’t wake her up,’ cautioned Grace.

  ‘I just want to look at what we’ll be fighting for…’ Ben had enrolled in the Civil Defence and Simon had volunteered as a messenger.

  Grace listened to his feet on the stairs and sighed. Then she told herself to count her blessings and pray for those in Europe already suffering under the Nazis.

  * * *

  During the long summer days, as news of the war felt increasingly desperate, Grace took Irene to the park in the afternoons to make the most of playing with her daughter in the peace and quiet of the fresh air. She tried not to dwell on the news, but she felt overwhelmed again by the scale and speed of events.

  Italy had declared war on Britain and France, and British troops had just crossed into Italian Libya, marking the start of a desert warfare campaign. Despite a Franco–British War Agreement formed in the autumn of 1939, France, fearful of a repeat of the atrocities it had suffered in the last war, had agreed to an armistice with Germany. Meanwhile General de Gaulle, the leader of the Free French army, continued to broadcast from London to France rallying French resistance.

  To cap this, Churchill had just cautioned that the Battle of Britain was about to begin. Grace’s eyes were often lifted to the skies; every time sh
e left the house, tugging Irene along with her, even when she was queuing up outside a shop. If she was in the park, at the first sound of an aircraft, she would dash with the four-year-old for shelter in some trees, only to emerge ten minutes later laughing at herself. The sense of anticipation grew unbearable, and as early summer passed into August, it came as a peculiar relief to her to hear the news that industrial Birmingham has been bombed, followed by nearby Birkenhead.

  ‘So, it’s started,’ said Grace to Ben, fearfully. ‘I supposed we’ll be next.’

  ‘Maybe, or they might target London or Southampton,’ Ben said, thinking the Luftwaffe could have intended bombing the Liverpool docks, but might not have got their aim right when they hit Birkenhead.

  ‘They might target both,’ said Grace, a shiver going down her spine. ‘I suppose our ports are their prime targets though.’

  ‘And our airfields, army camps, ammunition factories, machinery – the list goes on,’ said Ben. ‘They’ll also be aiming to destroy our morale. But, whatever the case, you need to be prepared – have a bag ready with a torch, some food and drink, extra clothing and head for the air-raid shelter. Failing that, get you and Irene to some sort of cellar, even the cupboard under the stairs…’

  ‘Should I take some bandages, plasters, iodine and such, do you think?’

  ‘If it makes you feel better,’ he said, smiling. ‘And don’t forget the gas masks.’

  She returned his smile. ‘You’re thinking if anyone did get hurt, they’d need more than plasters and iodine, aren’t you? I hate the masks, the smell of rubber and the feeling I can’t breathe.’

  Ben put his arms around her. ‘Just think as you go – be aware, be careful where you put your feet and watch for buildings or walls toppling.’

  ‘You too,’ she said, resting her head for a moment against his chest. ‘Now how about some toast and dripping before your night shift?’

  ‘Sounds good,’ he said, releasing her.

  The dripping was from roast mutton, so was tasty spread on the bread toasted close to the fire’s glowing embers. Simon came downstairs, drawn he said, by the savoury smell. He was just in time to eat the last slice.

  ‘Fortunately, bread’s not on ration,’ said Grace shaking her head.

  ‘I’m still hungry,’ Simon said, ‘Should I go and get a loaf?’

  ‘You might as well,’ said Grace, fetching her purse. ‘But you’ll have to make do with having just jam on it. Although, we’re going to run out of that soon.’

  ‘Sugar’s not rationed, is it?’ asked Simon.

  ‘No, so we could start thinking of going blackberry picking once they’re ripe and I could have a go at making my own jam,’ said Grace.

  ‘We could make a day of it,’ said Ben. ‘We could either take a tram out to Kirkby or the train to Formby. They’ll be plenty of brambles either way.’

  But in the following weeks, blackberry picking went completely out of Grace’s mind, as one night, like some sort of nightmare, she was awoken by the distinctive screech of the air-raid siren. She roused a bewildered Irene from her sleep, and still dressed in her night clothes, met Milly and her children on the street outside. With heavily beating hearts, they headed for the nearest shelter, even before the local warden could usher them there. Nobody slept a wink that night; Milly started up a singsong to try and drown out the sound of the overhead planes and distant explosions. When the All Clear sounded in the early hours, everyone trooped out of the shelter silently and headed home, breathing in air that was heavy with the smell of cordite and brick and plaster dust.

  Grace and Milly were relieved to find their streets still standing and undamaged. Once inside, Grace found Fergie hiding under the dining table. She gave him a saucer of bread and milk, annoyed with herself for forgetting about him. When Ben arrived home, followed by Simon, straight from delivering messages to various warden’s posts on his bicycle, they were both mucky messes. Ben had been helping to dig people out of the ruins of buildings, some of whom were thankfully still alive. Grace tutted when she saw the state of their uniforms, and made a fuss of putting the kettle on to hide her eyes, which were wet with tears at the sight of her men – home, safe and sound.

  Chapter 28

  The air-raid sirens sounded again the following night, and with a sinking heart Grace and Irene hurried to the air-raid shelter. There she found Milly settled in with the twins. The children dosed back into a fitful sleep, and as the might of the Luftwaffe could be heard droning overhead, Grace confided in Milly about a plan she had to create a little bed to grow some vegetables in the backyard. Milly excitedly reported that as luck would have it, Kyle and Jane had had a similar idea. Since they had been evacuated to the countryside with the orphanage they were worried that their large garden which overlooked the park might be running wild. Kyle had phoned Milly’s husband, Jimmy, earlier that day and asked if Milly and Grace would like to use the space to grow vegetables for themselves as Jane and Kyle found it hard to get away regularly. He also suggested that they keep a few chickens for eggs, adding that if Jimmy could meet him in Ormskirk he would be able to bring him some chicks to rear.

  ‘What about feeding them?’ Grace asked.

  ‘He said he’d provide some food to get them started,’ answered Milly. ‘I lived on a farm for a while as you know in Ireland, so I know a bit about rearing and caring for chickens.’

  The women were so engrossed in their plans, they had almost forgotten about the raid, and were startled when the All Clear sounded.

  ‘Thank God that wasn’t very long,’ said one of the older women in the shelter, making for the door.

  Milly and Grace, woke the children and hurried out to the cool night air. Grace was not home long when Ben and Simon arrived. As Ben removed his jacket he said, ‘That was only a light raid, hardly any damage, and no casualties where I was.’

  ‘That’s a relief,’ she said. ‘Shall we have a cup of cocoa?’

  Father and son agreed, and while they drank their cocoa and had a biscuit, she told them what Milly had said about the garden. ‘Do you think they’ll share the chicks with us?’ asked Simon.

  ‘I should think so,’ Ben said. ‘And they’d probably appreciate some help digging vegetable patches.’

  ‘I’m game,’ said Simon.

  However, when Grace and Milly and their families arrived at Kyle and Jane’s home that weekend, it was to discover that the back garden had already been dug over, including the lawn, and tidy rows upon rows of vegetables had been planted. Some looked ready to pick. The adults exchanged glances.

  ‘I wonder who’s done this,’ said Ben.

  ‘Perhaps we should go next door and see if they know anything about it,’ suggested Grace.

  ‘Which next door?’ asked Milly.

  ‘How about the one where there was an old woman peering around a curtain?’ said Ben.

  ‘We all shouldn’t go,’ said Grace. ‘We might scare her.’

  It was decided that the two women should investigate, so while the younger children played in the garden, Milly and Grace went and knocked on the neighbouring door to the right. They had to wait some time before the door was opened by a small, dumpy, wrinkly-faced woman. Her hair was concealed by a tartan scarf tied in a turban and she was dressed in a cream blouse with the buttons in the wrong holes and a tartan skirt.

  ‘Canna help ye?’ she asked in the slightest of Scottish accents.

  Milly explained the situation.

  The woman nodded several times before holding the door wider and invited them in.

  ‘It was ma son, yer ken, who dug over the ground and planted tatties, cabbages and beans, only then he was called up and had to go. We didn’t think Kyle and Jane would mind, as they are away. I managed to pick some beans, but I haven’t the strength to start digging the tatties.’

  ‘Our menfolk can do that,’ said Milly, and explained what Kyle and Jane had suggested.

  The woman’s face lit up. ‘I’d appreciate that, as there’
ll be too much for me, so you must take some for yerselves. It would be kind of them if they could also do some digging in ma garden after picking the rest of the veggies. I’m Mrs Alice Burns, by the way, but ye can call me Alice.’

  So, Milly and Alice shook hands and made friends, and Grace went and told Jimmy, Ben and Simon what had been decided. In the meantime, Milly had learnt from Alice that she was a widow and her son was her only kin. He was twenty-eight and a newly qualified doctor in the Royal Navy on a convoy ship.

  ‘Did she mention the air raids, as she’s living on her own?’ asked Ben.

  ‘I asked her how she managed,’ replied Milly. ‘She told me that she couldn’t be bothered with going to the shelter, but went down into the cellar.’

  ‘Wasn’t she frightened being all alone?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Not frightened, only a wee bit lonely, apparently. She sings hymns and she’d like someone to sing along with her…’

  ‘Surely someone from St Margaret’s would stay with her and sing?’ said Simon.

  ‘She doesn’t attend there, says it’s too high. She’s a Presbyterian.’

  ‘There’s a Presbyterian church in Kirkdale,’ said Ben. ‘Only that’s a bit far for her to go to, I suppose.’

  ‘I’m surprised she ever left Scotland,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘She married a Scouser, he was a shipmate of her brother who was killed in the last war,’ said Milly.

  ‘You’ve found out a lot about her in a short time,’ said Jimmy laughing as he shook his head.

  ‘She wanted to talk, and once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop,’ Milly said.

  ‘So, what are we going to do to help her?’ asked Simon.

  ‘What she could do with is a lodger,’ said Ben thoughtfully. ‘So she’s not by herself late at night with the air raids. And Kyle could do with a caretaker in his house as well. I don’t like the idea of it being left empty for so long.’

  ‘I’ll give him a ring,’ Jimmy said. ‘And perhaps the girls could speak to Alice about taking in a lodger.’