Baker's Dozen

by Michele McGrath

  Baker’s Dozen

  Michèle McGrath

  In memory of my beloved mother,

  Frances McGrath Townley

  1920 – 2000

  A wonderful storyteller, who lived through the original tale of Five Lamps.

  Contents

  Five Lamps

  Cable Car

  Kilmainham Dawn

  In my Dreams it is 1944 again

  Nine Yellow Roses

  Everyday Terror

  Don’t Mess with Meadowside!

  The Emperor’s Concubine

  The Bride of Cana

  Greater Love

  Seal of Confession

  True Blue

  The Winged Horses of Anver: The Choosing

  The Diet Fairy - an extra story, every woman’s dream

  Five Lamps

  Lime Street Station reeked of smoke. We’d been cowering in the Edge Hill tunnels, wondering whether the bombs would bring down the roof and bury us alive, but we were here at last. The red glow of the fires made the station as bright as day. Glass from the ironwork roof crunched under our feet as we got off the train. I felt stiff all over, as if I’d been beaten. Train floors are hard when you’ve been sitting on them for hours. I twisted my shoulders to get out the knots. It had been a horrible journey so far and it wasn’t over yet.

  The raid had only just finished. The guns were still firing, far away on the other side of the river, a distant rumble now rather than an immediate terror. The bombers were going back, leaving the city burning once more. I pushed my way through the dazed crowds into Skelhorn Street to catch the bus home.

  “Can’t help you, love, the road’s blocked. Nothing’s getting through,” a conductor told me, as he hurried past.

  “What about the trains or the Overhead?” I shouted after him.

  “They bought it too. Nothing’s moving. It’s been a bad one tonight. Sorry.”

  I stood there stunned, realising I would have to walk, which would take me most of the night. Jamie might be waiting for me at Waterloo already. His ship was due to dock sometime this week, yesterday, or even the day before if they had a good run. The reports weren’t in the papers yet, of course, and I’d left the hospital too early for a message to reach me. I didn’t want to lose any of our time together. Jamie had to sail again almost at once.

  “Darling Frances, I’ll meet you at Five Lamps...” He had written in his last letter. “We’ll get married at once and go to the farm in Wales. Do you remember..?”

  His words spurred me on. I rummaged in my case to find sensible shoes. I couldn’t walk far in the swanky ones with the very high heels I’d put on to show off my legs for Jamie. My best suit and blouse lay on top of the case. I smoothed them over and smiled. I looked forward to wearing them. I strode out of the bus station, longing to see him again. We had been apart almost six months this time, an eternity.

  London Road was a mess, rubble all over the street and a building burning at the top. I hesitated on the corner of Richmond Row. Our shop lay down there, a ruin now like so many others in Liverpool. The Germans got it the same night they got Lewis’s. Everything burned to the ground because the water mains had been smashed. I still grieved for the people we knew, all gone now, dead or scattered. I doubted whether I would ever meet any of them again. But Richmond Row was the past, Five Lamps was the future and what is the good in looking back? At least St Mary’s was still standing; its windows were dark but intact. I took it for a good omen and hurried on.

  The pubs were going strong along Stanley Road. I could hear singing and laughter inside them. Small chinks of light twinkled through their boarded up windows. The wardens would be round soon, although blackout was a joke tonight with so much of the city in flames. If any more bombers were on the way, their pilots would have to be blind to miss. So what did it matter if a few cracks hadn’t been covered up?

  I was going past one pub, when several fellows tumbled out of the door and bumped into me.

  “Who’ve we got here?” one cried.

  I smiled and moved to one side. They were drunk but happy.

  “Hey, darling, I like redheads, me. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Not tonight. I’m going home!” They must have heard the joy in my voice because they laughed and one of them said,

  “Let her go, lads. This one’s not for us.”

  “Pity. He’s not good enough for you, darling.”

  “Oh but he is!” Jamie’s face flashed into my mind. I waved and walked on. A few whistles followed me down the street.

  Bank Hall station was shuttered and dark. The bus conductor had been right; no trains were running tonight. Somewhere along the line, the tracks must be up. I could see the docks from here. Masts and funnels were silhouetted against the glowing sky over Birkenhead. The other side of the river must have bought it too.

  I started to breathe rapidly as a thought gripped me. The convoy escorts usually berthed in Gladstone Dock. Someone there might just tell me if Jamie’s ship was safe. It was worth a try. It would be hours before I would know otherwise. If the buses had been running, I’d be in his arms already.

  I went down Bank Hall, crossed Derby Road and came out onto the lower Dock Road. I hate the place because it’s such a mess. It’s always been like that, even before the war, and now it’s chock full of lorries and shouting men, not a place for a woman to walk alone, but I needn’t have worried. No one noticed me; everyone was too busy. I hurried along the broken pavement, counting off the dock gates as I passed. Some of the warehouses were smouldering, but the traffic ploughed on through the smoke, hoping to get everything shifted before the next raid. A policeman was trying to make some order from all the confusion. I ran across the road, dodging in front of a wagon. The driver swore loudly as he swerved to avoid me.

  “That was a stupid thing to do, Miss, you might have caused a nasty accident,” the bobby told me severely.

  “I’m sorry. I wanted to ask you something.”

  “What’s so important it might get you killed?”

  “Is the Canadian convoy in?”

  He glanced at me sharply and then turned back to watch the traffic.

  “I can’t tell you. Why do you want to know?”

  “My fiancé’s on one of the ships. We’re getting married as soon as he gets in.”

  “Which ship?”

  “The Lancashire Lass.”

  “The oiler?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’ll be on the other side of the water not here.”

  “I know. But I thought if the escorts were in, someone might tell me if she’s all right.”

  “Well, love, I’ll deny it if you tell anyone, but the escorts are in. As usual, the convoy didn’t get off scot free; some ships were lost. Ask at the dock office. They might be able to help you.”

  My heart thudded and I felt as if I was going to choke but I managed to mumble, “Thanks. I won’t say anything.”

  “See you don’t.” He held up the traffic for me to cross over the road. The dock gates towered over me, forbidding fortresses of blackened stone. I took a deep breath and strode beneath them up to the man at the barrier.

  “I can’t let you in, love, they’re loading ammo. Don’t want a nice little girl like you blown up do we?” He leered at me and I instinctively drew back but I forced myself to ask him,

  “Is the ‘Lancashire Lass’ in safely?”

  “Only the Royals use this dock.”

  “They’d be able to tell me about the others.”

  “They’re busy. Can’t go in ’til they’re finished. Come back tomorrow, but I doubt if they’d tell you. Regs you know.”

  “I’ll know by then anyway.”

  “Sorry, love. Can’t help you.”

&nbs
p; I didn’t want to thank him but I did. I could sense his eyes on my back as I turned away and their touch made me feel dirty.

  Fires were still crackling in the streets of Bootle. Some of the bombers had missed the docks again and emptied their loads onto the houses. Ugly gaps had appeared in most of the little terraces, piles of broken bricks and dust. I had a friend, Mary, who used to live in one of those streets. I hadn’t seen her since we left school and I didn’t know if she was alive or dead. Looking at the ruins, it was hard to believe any one had escaped.

  We’d been lucky. Dadda had enough sense and enough money to move us out to Waterloo before the bombing started. Only our poor cat, Murdoch, had been killed, jumping through a burning window. I shivered as apprehension gripped me once more. I mustn’t let myself think about luck right now. I had to believe everything was going to be all right. I had to!

  “If I can only get to Five Lamps, he’ll be there...” I chanted as I jumped over the potholes and fanned the sickly-sweet fumes away from my nose. They smelled of wood smoke and dirt and things I’d never smelt until this war started, foul things, evil things.

  My feet were starting to ache now. I walk miles in the hospital, but ward floors aren’t cracked and I don’t carry suitcases or wear thin stockings. I should have changed my stockings, of course, as well as my shoes, but I’d been in too much of a hurry. Thin ones don’t stop your shoes from rubbing, as thick ones do. Blisters were starting on both my heels and one of my toes. I cursed. I’d be crawling down the aisle tomorrow rather than gliding. That’s if there was a wedding. Terror pulsed at me but I pushed the thought away.

  “I’ll find him at Five Lamps. Everything’s going to be all right.” The words kept going round and round in my head. Every yard felt like a mile, as if I was walking in an endless nightmare.

  The darkness deepened. The fires were behind me now, a dim glow in the distance. At Seaforth Sands, I huddled on the station steps. I was desperate to kick off my shoes, but I was afraid I wouldn’t get them back on; my feet were throbbing so much. I didn’t sit there long, though, for if I didn’t get up soon, I never would. I pushed myself painfully to my feet again.

  It must have been well past midnight by now and everything was deathly still. People were asleep in their houses, thankful to have lived through another day, or awake, weeping for those who had not. The sound of my footsteps, echoing in the silence, scared me. I’ve never been so conscious of being alone. The faint black shapes of the wizened trees waved above me. I’d catch a glimpse of something moving but, when I looked again, everything was still. My mind began to play tricks on me. The city must be swarming with ghosts tonight; so many people had been killed since the war started. Perhaps other things were out there too, waiting to get me. My steps slowed. I was becoming too frightened to move. I had to stop this, right now! To give myself courage, I began to whistle my mother’s favourite song, the one she always sings when we go for a walk,

  “I’m happy when I’m hiking,

  On the beaten track,

  I’m happy when I’m hiking,

  Knapsack on my back...”

  My steps grew jaunty for a while, as I kept time to the music. But the jauntiness didn’t last long. My blisters ached and the handle of my case had cut deep grooves into my hand. I fell silent again and stared into the distance. The long straight tunnel of Crosby Road loomed before me, dauntingly far. The darkness and loneliness were beginning to defeat me. The only reality was putting one aching foot in front of the other and wishing desperately for this journey to be over. The future seemed to be slipping away, beyond my grasp.

  Fog was creeping up from the river. Its tendrils curled round me, like icy cobwebs. The cold began to numb my toes and my fingers. My pain lessened. I welcomed the numbness, though I knew I would pay for it later when feeling returned.

  The outlines of the buildings were becoming blurred and I stumbled along, wondering where I was, although I knew this road well. Sounds were muffled and it would have been easy to start imagining things again, if I had still been capable of imagination. But ghosts no longer concerned me, only the terrible effort of keeping going.

  “I’m almost at Five Lamps,” I muttered. “If I can only get there, everything will be all right...” It seemed a forlorn hope to me now.

  Suddenly the mist swirled and the church appeared above me like a giant apparition. I jumped. I hadn’t thought I was so near. The War Memorial was only on the next corner. My heart leaped. Jamie must have given me up hours ago, when the time for the last bus had passed, yet, somehow, I still expected him to be waiting.

  No one was. I stood beneath the five darkened lamps, looking up at the angel from that other war, spreading her wings over my head, and murmured a prayer.

  “Please God, let him be safe. I’m so late; he’s only gone home to get warm. I’ll wait here. He’ll come back for me just as he said he would...”

  Then a figure loomed towards me out of the mist. I caught my breath. Fear and hope made me feel faint. I started to say his name and then stopped. This man was too tall for Jamie and he was wearing a bowler hat. Only one man in my life wore a bowler.

  “Dadda!” I cried, joyfully.

  “Is that you, girlie?”

  I was in his arms and he wrapped his big tartan rug tightly around my shoulders. I hung onto him, swaying, like a little girl again. He picked up my case and took me gently by the arm to lead me home. I leaned against him, smelling his familiar smell and feeling, for the first time that night, completely safe.

  I was so grateful to be with him, we had turned the corner before I even asked, “Where’s Jamie? Did you take turns waiting for me? I’ve had to walk all the way from Lime Street.”

  His arm tensed and in that instant I knew, before he said the words which destroyed all my dreams. “I watched the convoy come in from the bedroom window. Jamie’s ship wasn’t there, so I came out to get you.”

  Cable Car

  Out of the swirling San Francisco fog, the light loomed, an orb glowing in the darkness. A clanking grew in the distance, muffled and distorted by the mist. I stood shivering at the tram stop, huddling my thin shawl tightly around my shoulders, drops of dew mottling the silky skirts of my party dress. My anger was cooling fast in the darkness and the cold. I began to regret following my first impulse and running out of the hotel without thinking of the consequences. Acting on impulse has always been my besetting sin and I was just too cross to think. Matt was a jerk - how dared he speak to me like that! I should have called a cab, but I didn’t think of it. So here I was, stuck, with very little money in my purse. I shivered, not only from the chill. Nob hill at night is no place for a woman to be alone. All I wanted to do was go home, bury my head under the pillow and forget I had ever hoped that Matt was in love with me.

  With a clattering roar, the cable car stopped. I swung myself thankfully into the cab. The car was crowded and there was only one empty seat, beside a tall man wearing fancy dress. I didn’t want to stand, tottering about in my high-heeled shoes. They were too flimsy to cope with all the jolts, which could easily snap a heel. So I made my way forward and flopped down in the empty seat. The man moved over obligingly, to give me more room. I shivered and thanked him.

  “Cold, isn’t it?” he said with a smile.

  “Definitely not a night to be out without a coat,” I agreed. He glanced at me and I caught a gleam of admiration in his eyes.

  “Did you have a good time at your party?” He had a pleasant voice, with a laugh in it. I have always liked deep Southern voices. Both my father’s parents came from the South and hearing Southerners always makes me think of them.

  “It was very good, but I had to leave early.” I hesitated, not wanting to discuss Matt with a total stranger, so I hurriedly changed the subject.

  “Are you going to a party or just leaving?” I asked, glancing at his costume, but he seemed not to understand my question.

  “My party? I’m not going to a party.” He looked at me with
a puzzled frown.

  “Then why are you wearing those clothes?” He was dressed in a full World War II naval uniform, complete with gold braided cap. The uniform was a pretty good copy too, just like the old one that had belonged to my grandfather. Grandpa’s jacket had the same sort of stripes and medal ribbons, though his braid was tarnished, not bright like this stranger’s. I used to enjoy dressing up in it when Nanna let me, which was rare. She cherished that old uniform. Grandpa left it behind him, when he was suddenly recalled to join his last ship. Nanna said it was too important for me to knock about. She had very little left that had belonged to him. So I was always very careful and it was a treat when she let me put it on. The material was scratchy and smelled a little musty, but it was a happy childhood memory.

  Clang! With a jerk, the cable car stopped.

  “Grant Avenue! Anyone for Grant Avenue?” The driver’s voice sounded hoarse. Shadowy figures left and others climbed aboard, Chinese mostly. The streetlights gleamed on their rich silks and neatly plaited pigtails. How unusual to see people wearing national costume when Chinese New Year was months away. There must have been some parade or event on tonight, which I had missed hearing about.

  I felt my companion’s eyes on me and I turned back to him. He was smiling. “It’s not very late. Would you like to come and have a drink with me? There’s a nice place near the terminus right on Market Street and I don’t have to be back for a while yet.”

  I’m usually more cautious in accepting invitations from strangers, but I thought fleetingly of Matt. I was still angry with him and this man was young and handsome. Market Street is one of the main streets in San Francisco and there are always lots of people around, so I should be safe enough there. I felt a strong compunction to say ‘yes’.

  “Why not?” I heard myself saying, “Which place do you mean?”

  “It’s called the ‘Firebird’. Usually it’s crowded, but it might be quieter tonight with the fog around.”