‘I don’t think so,’ Sarah said. ‘Nothing to do with last night. It’s just that my throat is sore and I’m aching all over. You don’t mind, Anne? You can go with the family, can’t you?’
‘Yes, of course. Stay off tomorrow if you don’t feel any better and I’ll tell Mabel.’
‘I’ll go to bed early with some of Grandma’s jollop,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m sure I’ll be all right tomorrow.’
Anne missed Sarah at the caelidhe. Part of the fun for them came from commenting on the other dancers and inventing private nicknames for them, such as Big Feet, Sir Galahad, Merrylegs, Dreamboat and many others.
She hoped to tell Sarah about the caelidhe on Monday, but a message came that she was too ill for work. Soon it became clear that Sarah was seriously ill with rheumatic fever and would not be able to work for some time, and another girl, Hetty, was engaged temporarily.
Anne visited Sarah but at first she was too feverish and in too much pain to talk. Gradually the fever subsided and all the skin peeled from her body, but her limbs were very stiff and the doctor insisted that she should stay in bed, lying flat as far as possible.
After Anne’s first visit to Sarah, John had walked home with her. She had been shocked and upset to see her friend so ill, and suddenly John realised that she was weeping as she walked along with her face averted.
‘Don’t cry, Anne,’ he said gently, putting his arm around her. ‘She’ll be all right. The doctor told Mum that Sarah had everything in her favour. She’d always had good food and warm clothes and a comfortable house to live in. My gran’s a wonderful nurse, too, and so is Mum.’
‘So many young people die, though,’ Anne sobbed. ‘I hear of them from customers, and girls from school…’
‘That’s mostly TB,’ John said gently. ‘Believe me, Anne, this is rotten for Sarah now but she will get better.’ He held her close in his arms and wiped her face gently with his handkerchief and she became calm.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t be talking to you like this when you’re worried about your sister and I’m only her friend.’
‘You’re more like a sister to Sarah now,’ John said. ‘Perhaps—’ But he stopped, and Anne was left wondering what it was that he had nearly said.
Sarah soon began to recover, although it was clear that it would be some time before she was completely well again. Hetty, who had taken her place in the shop, told Anne that two of her brothers who were Reservists had been called up.
Several customers had similar tales to tell although there seemed none of the panic of the previous year, only a feeling that war was inevitable and a preoccupation with details. Many of the customers had young children and were worried about the plans for evacuation.
Mr Dyson was stocking up with sacks of flour and sugar and boxes of dried fruit, and the shelves high on the walls of the shop carried forty-eight one-pound jars of jam and mincemeat.
‘We’ll be more likely to get killed with them falling on us than anything what the Jerrys throw down,’ Hetty said. Anne found it difficult to like Hetty, although she had to admit honestly that it was partly because she was not Sarah.
She was a tough girl with an abrasive manner and seemed very knowledgeable about the seamy side of life. Anne felt that she considered her a green fool and Mabel was indignant that Hetty was very ready to accept the ‘perks’ of the job, such as the cakes and bread given to the staff by Mrs Dyson, and the extra money from Mr Dyson, but was always on the alert for any infringement of her rights.
‘We all pull together in this shop,’ Mabel told Hetty. ‘We don’t mind doing a bit extra if it’s needed.’
‘You’re fools then,’ she retorted. ‘No one’s not going to put on me.’
Anne had continued to visit the Misses Dolan frequently even after Margaret had moved in to look after them and been very happy to see her old friends so well cared for and so delighted with Margaret’s lively little girl.
‘It’s a new lease of life for them,’ she told her mother, but just before Sarah became ill Miss Louisa suffered a stroke and was confined to bed, and two weeks later Miss Ellen had a heart attack and was also bedridden.
Anne went to offer to help Margaret with the nursing but she said that she could manage. ‘Thanks, Anne, but honestly they make it so easy. They’d never ask for anything if I didn’t suggest it. Your mother’s been very good sitting with them and the girl across the road takes Molly to school and brings her home.’
Anne’s mother told her that she had suggested that Molly came to them while Margaret was busy with nursing, but she and Margaret had decided that the company of the little girl did the old ladies more good than doctor’s medicine.
‘They count the hours until she comes home from school,’ Margaret said. ‘Molly likes having an audience for her tales and it passes the hours for them.’
When Miss Louisa had a second more severe stroke at the end of August, and Miss Ellen another heart attack, both old ladies died within a few days of each other. Their friends could only feel that death was merciful in the circumstances, especially with war imminent, and that Molly had made the closing months of their lives very happy.
Anne had wondered what would happen now to Margaret and Molly and if they would be allowed to stay in the house, but Margaret confided that the death of the Misses Dolan had solved a problem for her. ‘Not that I wanted them to go,’ she said. ‘I loved them and was hoping they’d have many more years, but I was worried about Molly. I didn’t want her to be evacuated without me, but I’d never have left the old ladies.’
As there were no surviving relatives, Pat arranged the double funeral. They were later surprised to find that the Misses Dolan had left wills, leaving the house and contents, except for some specific bequests, to Margaret ‘for her devoted care of us’, and a cabinet containing a doll’s china tea set and porcelain figures which she had played with ‘to our darling Molly’.
A mahogany bookcase and the books it contained was left to Anne ‘with gratitude for our long friendship’ and a Sheraton occasional table to ‘our good neighbour Mrs Fitzgerald’.
‘I’m delighted they left you the house,’ Julia told Margaret. ‘You deserve it, but I was afraid they weren’t the sort of people to make wills and the house would go to the Crown or whatever they do in these cases.’
‘But I feel bad about it,’ Margaret said. ‘After all, I’ve only been with them a few years.’
‘Very important years,’ Julia said. ‘And wasn’t it kind of them to leave the things to Anne and myself and the nice messages?’
‘At least they’re spared all this war business,’ Margaret said with a sigh.
Anne was sad at the death of the Misses Dolan but too much was happening for her to dwell on it. War now seemed inevitable and she said so to John as he walked home with her. ‘Just when things are getting better in Liverpool,’ she said. ‘More jobs and everyone happier.’
‘But that’s the reason for the jobs,’ he said. ‘War’s been inevitable for a long time, Anne.’
‘I know it said in the paper that Germany was prosperous because of all the armaments they make, but we don’t make them in Liverpool.’
‘Don’t we?’ John said. ‘We’ve been preparing for war for ages. That Littlewood’s Pools building in Edge Lane, and Vernon’s new place at Aintree – they were subsidised by the government and they’ll be taken over if there’s a war, or rather when there’s a war.’
‘But Eileen and Joe work in Edge Lane,’ Anne said. ‘What about them?’
‘They’ll probably have something else to do.’
‘What will you do?’ Anne asked.
‘I’ll join up,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe in war. I don’t think it solves anything – it’s only twenty-one years since the last lot – and I saw enough in Spain to make me hate it. Still, Hitler will have to be stopped.’
To Anne it all seemed unreal. The weather was beautiful and side by side with the talk of war and the preparation
s for it, life went on as usual. The usual scramble for the bathroom in the morning, cycling through the sunny streets to the shop, serving cakes and pies and bread all day, then cycling home and the rush to prepare for a dance or a visit to Sarah.
Mothers of young children seemed to be the people most affected. Bridie had been in tears when Anne called to see her. Danny and Teddy had to be evacuated with their school and Bridie had found lodgings as near as possible to where they were going for herself and Monica and Michael.
‘I’m worried about Jack,’ she told Anne. ‘How can I sit there in safety while he’s in danger here and fending for himself too?’
‘Jack won’t mind that,’ Anne consoled her. ‘He’ll just be glad that the kids are out of danger and you’re there to watch over them.’
Margaret had taken a living-in job in the country where she could have Molly with her. ‘This evacuation,’ she told Julia. ‘The mothers’ll only be skivvies anywhere they get billeted, so I might as well choose my own place. I’d have taken in lodgers only for the war, but the solicitor advised me just to close the place up for the time being. It might all be over by Christmas anyhow.’
‘Please God it will,’ Julia said fervently. Pain had her in its grip again, but with the help of the black bottles of medicine she was able to conceal the worst of her suffering from her family. This was easier because everyone was so preoccupied with other matters.
Even Maureen, usually so alert to anything that happened to her mother, was lost in her dreams of Chris, and Pat’s mind was filled with worries about his business. Joe watched his mother anxiously but she managed to convince him that she often had these little spells and there was no need to worry.
On Friday 1 September the customers in the shop talked of nothing but the news that German troops had invaded Poland at five o’clock in the morning.
On Saturday the news was that France and Britain had issued an ultimatum to Germany either to withdraw their troops or face war with France and Britain.
Rain fell heavily all day to add to the misery of people who came in the shop, many of whom had lived through the Great War, and told Anne some of the horrors of that time.
She felt depressed and frightened by the time the shop closed and she was able to go home. Her mother told her that there had been nothing on the wireless all day except music and news bulletins. ‘God forgive that man,’ she said. ‘To invade those poor people in Poland when they’re only just getting over the last war.’
She told Anne that Aunt Carrie had been to see her. ‘She says Shaun and the twins will have to go, but she’s more upset about Theresa and the baby. Theresa’s had to get a gas mask for little James but she can’t imagine how she’d ever put it on the poor child. He screamed when he was tried in it.’
‘Doesn’t it seem awful, Mum, gas masks for babies?’ Anne exclaimed. ‘Whatever’s going to happen to us.’
She was sitting on a stool beside her mother’s chair and Julia laid her hand against Anne’s cheek. ‘We are in God’s Hands, child,’ she said gently. ‘We must just trust in Him.’
‘Oh, Mum, I wish I could believe like you,’ Anne exclaimed.
‘You’re young yet, pet,’ her mother said gently, ‘and impatient. Trust in God, Anne. Haven’t I always taken my worries to Him and found ease?’
On Sunday morning the sun was shining again and Anne felt happier. The Fitzgerald family went together to early Mass and as they walked home everything seemed normal. More people had attended the early services, but the day seemed as quiet and peaceful as usual with only the sound of church bells and the occasional ship’s hooter breaking the silence.
In the kitchen the meat sizzled in the oven and a big pan of potatoes stood on the hob. Anne was chopping mint at the kitchen table and the sound of the Salvation Army band playing as usual on the corner of the street drifted through the open window.
She felt a sense of unreality until all the family except Tony gathered round the wireless set. The ultimatum to the German government expired at eleven o’clock and at eleven fifteen Mr Chamberlain was to broadcast to the nation.
His sad tones prepared them for the news as he announced that German troops had not withdrawn from Poland and consequently Britain was now at war with Germany. He concluded his speech by saying, ‘God bless you all. I am certain that right will prevail.’
They were all silent as he finished until Julia said softly, ‘And God bless that good man. He did all he could to stop this.’ There seemed nothing to be done except carry on with the dinner, but in the afternoon Anne went to see Sarah.
She thought of all the changes the news would make in her life as she walked to Egremont Street and wondered how soon her brothers and friends and dancing partners would be called up. She had met John briefly on Friday night and he told her that someone had told him that men who fought with the International Brigade would not be accepted in the Forces.
Anne had been indignant but secretly glad that he would not go away until she understood how he really felt about her.
Sarah was distressed when Anne arrived. ‘All men eighteen to forty-one years of age to be called up, Anne,’ she said. ‘That’s practically everyone we know.’
‘I know. Our lads say they’ll try to join the Irish Guards. Terry and Joe and Stephen anyway. Tony won’t be allowed to go because of his job and Stephen might be reserved too.’
‘Mick’s too young and Dad’s too old,’ Sarah said. ‘And John—’
‘He won’t be accepted, will he?’ Anne said indignantly. ‘Just because he fought in the International Brigade. As though that makes him a traitor!’
She blushed when she realised that Sarah was trying to hide her surprise but her friend only said, ‘I wonder will the caelidhe be on tonight? Someone said all places of amusement will be closed.’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Anne said. ‘I can’t stay long, Sar. I met our Tony and Helen as I was coming here and they told me not to be long. Helen looked excited. I wonder will they bring the wedding forward?’
‘Edie Meadows’ wedding is next Saturday,’ Sarah said. ‘It was planned ages ago and it was going to be a big do, but I don’t know what will happen now.’
‘They’ll probably go ahead with it,’ Anne said. ‘Unless something happens first.’
The girls glanced at each other then Anne smiled cheerfully. She picked up the string of the cardboard box containing her gas mask and slung it over her shoulder. ‘I wonder will brides have to carry these along with their bouquets, or even wear them? I’ll suggest it to Helen and Tony,’ she said.
She went out laughing, but her smile vanished as soon as she left Sarah. Helen and Tony were in the kitchen with the rest of the family when she reached home, all excitedly planning to bring forward the wedding to the first Saturday in October.
It was decided that Eileen and Anne would be bridesmaids and that the wedding reception would be held at the Fitzgerald house, as Helen’s mother was a widow and a semi-invalid and Helen was an only child.
When Tony had left to take Helen home, Joe, Stephen and Terry decided to walk into town. They all felt restless and unsettled, and met other young men who were walking round the town for the same reason. Joe met a man he had sailed with and he told him that a ship had already been sunk by a submarine.
‘Do you think it’s true?’ Stephen asked when they left the man, but Joe thought it was unlikely. ‘There’ll be all sorts of rumours flying around,’ he said. ‘We won’t say anything at home anyway.’
The next day they found that the rumour was only too true. The SS Athenia left Liverpool on 2 September, bound for Montreal, carrying nearly fifteen hundred passengers. Many of them were children being sent to safety in Canada and there were also some Americans returning home.
When the captain heard that war had been declared he told the passengers that they were protected by international law, but he blacked out his ship as a precaution. When she was two hundred and fifty miles off the coast of Ireland the Athenia was att
acked and sunk by a submarine.
Other ships converged to pick up the passengers but many were lost. The first news said over two hundred, but as more ships brought survivors the number dropped to one hundred and twenty but eighty-five of these were women and children.
The news sent a shock of horror through people who were not yet hardened by the horrors of war, and this was followed by a surge of rage.
‘What sort of people kill innocent little children?’ people asked each other, and men flocked to join up.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Many mothers felt the tragedy of the Athenia more keenly because they were upset at the prospect of their own children being evacuated. For most of the children it was a big adventure, at least when they were setting off with their school friends. Homesickness and disillusionment came later for some of them.
A teacher friend of Eileen’s told her that although most of the mothers were genuinely upset, some were pleased to have their children taken off their hands. Within a week the evacuation was complete. Stephen had been told he was needed in the factory which had turned over to war work but Joe and Terry had applied to join the Irish Guards, and Eileen to join the WAAFs.
The Pools had closed down and Eileen and Joe were unemployed but Littlewood’s had made arrangements for their staff to sign on for unemployment pay at the Edge Lane office.
‘How will all these people ever find jobs?’ Eileen said to Joe as they joined the hundreds of people streaming up Edge Lane.
‘Easily,’ he said. ‘A lot will go in the forces like us and there’ll be jobs in ordnance factories and other places. Someone said this building will be used by the censorship people.’
Anne was surprised at how quickly all that seemed so strange became normal. Remembering always to carry her gas mask, stumbling home through the blackout with only a narrow beam of light from her torch to help her and going to services in churches lit only by candles with a blackout curtain over the door.
A Nest of Singing Birds Page 27
