Daughters of the Mersey

by Anne Baker

  Yesterday, she’d reached the bottom of the fingers and Mrs Roberts had done the difficult part of casting on stitches for the first finger. She’d been told to finish that finger for today and had managed it. Mrs Roberts had smiled and said she was pleased to see her so enthusiastic about knitting. ‘I’ll cast on the stitches for the second finger so you can carry on over the weekend.’

  Amy felt she’d been standing at Mrs Roberts’ desk for ages. She was shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she tried to concentrate on what she was being told. She’d been embarrassed to see her teacher marking two of her sums wrong and felt guilty because she’d rushed her homework last night so she could go out and milk with Uncle Jack.

  ‘Do those two again for me tonight,’ she said, and in addition Amy received a double ration of homework for the weekend.

  She was looking forward to talking to her mother and also Pat on the way home. It was her Friday-night treat. She escaped from school as quickly as she could and rode her bike down to the phone box, leant it against the grassy bank and went inside. Mum was always at the shop on Friday afternoons.

  She heard the phone ring. It seemed nobody was there, so she tried her home number. Nothing happened, it didn’t even ring. Finally she tried Pat’s number.

  Pat’s voice answered but she sounded rushed, excited and shocked and not really like her. ‘Amy, is that you? We had a terrible night last night and your house got bombed. Half the roof has been blown off.’

  Amy felt her heart jolt against her ribs. She was horrified. ‘Where are Mum and Milo? Are they all right?’

  ‘Me and Alison went along to look but we couldn’t find either of them. The hens are all right though.’

  ‘But Mum? Where is she?’

  ‘I don’t know, Amy. My mum went along to see for herself but she found nobody there. Everybody is panicking round here. My family is going to be evacuated this afternoon. Dad’s found a house for us near Chirk. We’re all going. Mum is going to stay with us but Dad and Alison will come back on Monday. We’re going to go to new schools there. We’re all frantically packing. Mum says she can’t stand any more nights like last night. It was terrifying because it was so near.’

  ‘But what about my mum?’

  ‘Honestly, we don’t know. We haven’t seen any of your family. Dad forbade us to go to your house, he says it’s dangerous and more of the roof could collapse on us.’

  ‘Is my mum in hospital?’

  ‘We know nothing. Dad’s shouting for me to come. The car’s packed and we’re ready to start.’

  ‘My mum isn’t dead, is she? She can’t be. And what about Milo?’ Amy heard the pips telling her the money had run out. ‘Ring me back.’ She was reading off the number of the call box as Mum had taught her to do. She shouted, ‘I’ve got to know what’s happened.’

  ‘I can’t—’ The line went dead.

  Amy waited, her heart drumming, but it didn’t ring again. Her head was reeling. What was she to do now?

  Her eyes stung with unshed tears. If her home had been bombed and lost part of its roof then the explosion would have disconnected the phone but Mum and Milo could have been hurt and sent to hospital or, even worse, be dead.

  She got on her bike and cycled down the road with a feeling of cold horror settling in her stomach.

  Some of her school friends had walked past the phone box while she was inside. She rode straight past them to get home to Auntie Bessie. She left her bike in its usual place in an outbuilding at the nearby farm and jogged up two fields. She saw Bessie in the meadow doing something with one of the sheep she and Jack had brought down from the hill a few weeks ago. She ran towards her instead of going to the house.

  ‘Bessie, I think my mum could be dead!’

  Bessie’s face contorted. ‘No, bach, she won’t be.’

  ‘What’s that you’re doing?’

  ‘Trying to get this lamb out. Has something happened?’

  ‘Our house has been bombed, half the roof is missing.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Pat did.’

  ‘Pat? She’s just a child, bach, how do you know it’s true?’

  ‘It is. I know it is. I’m afraid something dreadful has happened to Mum.’

  ‘Well we don’t know that for sure.’

  ‘I’m worried. She’s not at her shop and she always is. She waits for me to ring.’

  ‘I know, but perhaps today – wait a moment. I have to do this first.’

  ‘I’ve got to go home. I want my mum.’

  ‘No, bach. Let me think about it. Look, here’s the lamb coming now. It’s quite a big one.’ She put her finger in its mouth to clear its airway. ‘It’s breathing, a fine healthy ram lamb. Jack will be pleased with this. I must just check that it isn’t a twin. Yes, I think – yes, it is. We’re lucky, we’ll have two. See how the mother is licking this first one? Amy? Amy, where are you going?’

  She was running up the steep hill towards the house. ‘Set the kettle to boil,’ Bessie called after her. ‘We’ll have tea as soon as I come up. Everything is ready.’

  Amy was panting when she reached the house. It was too early for Jack to be home from work and as usual the front door was propped open. The table was set for tea with a glass dish of strawberry junket and a jug of cream, her favourite, but she went straight upstairs to get her money from the pretty cardboard box on her dressing table that had been given to her by the postmistress.

  She had a pound note that smelled of chocolate because the box had once held chocolates. She pushed it into the pocket of her coat, together with the several half-crowns and other silver and dumped her homework bag on her bed before scampering back down the stairs. She headed down the meadow towards the other farm and the outbuilding where she’d left her bike. Auntie Bessie was still in the field attending to that ewe, and calling to her.

  ‘I’ve got to go home to find my mum,’ she shouted back. She didn’t stop. To go home now was much the best thing to do, she’d find out then about Mum and Milo.

  She retrieved her bike and rode as hard as she could into town. Mum always came on a special coach when she visited, but Amy knew there were trains that would take her home. She rode straight to the station at the top of town and wheeled her bike inside. She knew about trains, that was how they travelled when Mum took them to the seaside for their summer holidays. But stations were busy places and she thought at first this one was deserted. Then she saw an elderly man in a peaked cap and navy serge uniform sitting behind a glass panel with gold lettering on it spelling out the word ‘Tickets’.

  ‘I want to go to Birkenhead,’ she told him. ‘Is there a train going there tonight?’

  ‘Birkenhead? You could catch the down train to the junction. It’ll be coming through in a few minutes, it’s almost due. Then you need to change at both Gobowen and Oswestry to get on the main line into Birkenhead.’

  Amy’s head swam. ‘That’s a lot of changes. You’re sure it’s possible for me to do it?’

  ‘Certainly, bach, it’s possible. There’s a big hospital at Gobowen and a small train shunts back and fore between there and Oswestry.’

  ‘I’ll have a ticket please.’ She was getting out her money. ‘A child’s ticket, I’m under fourteen.’

  ‘Single or return?’

  For the first time it occurred to her that she mightn’t have enough money for a train journey. ‘Single. How much will that be?’

  She heard the ping and saw the green ticket shoot up from the machine. It cost most of what she had. She said, ‘I want to take my bike with me.’

  ‘That’ll have to go in the guard’s van and you’ll need a ticket for it too. That’ll be . . . Hold on. I’ll need to look that up.’

  Amy nervously fingered the coins she had left. ‘If I leave my bike here till I come back, will you look after it for me?’

  ‘But you need a return ticket. It works out cheaper that way.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I’ll c
ome back on the coach.’

  ‘You’re not running away, are you?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘You’re not from these parts.’

  ‘I’m from Birkenhead and I have to go home urgently.’

  ‘Here’s the train, the signal’s dropped.’

  ‘What about my bike?’

  ‘All right, bach. It can stay in the lost property office. What’s your name? I’ll label it. You’ll have to cross the bridge to the down line.’

  ‘I’m Amy Dransfield. Thank you.’

  Amy took to her heels and ran across the bridge as the train steamed into the station. Her heart was thumping but she felt victorious. There was nobody else getting on but one passenger got off and held the carriage door open for her. She shot inside, holding her breath until the guard slammed the door shut behind her. She heard him blow the whistle and felt the train jerk forward. She’d managed it, she was on her way home.

  Bessie had been shocked to see Amy rush down to their neighbouring farm and though she’d called out to her she hadn’t paused in her headlong flight. Bessie knew she couldn’t possibly catch her up because Amy already had a head start. She found it hard to believe the child was setting off to go home to Merseyside. Bessie had no idea how to make the journey, so how could Amy possibly find her way?

  When she was sure both the two newborn lambs were all right and the mother ewe was taking care of them, she hurried back to the house. Amy had come back here for something. She went upstairs to her bedroom to see if she’d left any clues. Her schoolbag had slid off the bed on to the floor.

  It took her only a moment to realise she’d come to collect her money. The pretty chocolate box that Gwlithyn Jones the postmistress had given her to store her valuables was open on the dressing table, displaying its contents. There was only an embroidered handkerchief and a gold wire brooch spelling her name.

  Bessie felt like crying. She’d been so involved with that dratted ewe that she’d not paid attention to Amy. She should have stopped her running off. Poor Amy had been in a frenzy when she’d called across the field to tell her she was afraid her mother was dead and that a bomb had blown the roof off her home. The child could get lost anywhere between here and Birkenhead. Nobody would even know where to look.

  Bessie was distraught, she couldn’t sit to her afternoon tea. She went out to get the cows in for milking. That would have to be done regardless of what was happening to Amy. She ran the separator and was out feeding the pigs when Jack came home. She unloaded all her worries on him.

  ‘I noticed her bike wasn’t in the shed.’ Jack frowned. ‘I thought she might have wheeled it up here because she had a puncture.’

  ‘No.’ Bessie shook her head. ‘Let’s have our tea and think about what we should do.’

  Actually, she’d thought of nothing else since Amy had gone and had already made up her mind. ‘I’ve written down Amy’s full name and address and also that of her mother’s shop and the phone numbers. We must let her know that Amy found out her home had been bombed and she was worried stiff about her. That we think she’s gone to try and find her.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Jack said. ‘I don’t know how to use the phone.’

  ‘Neither does anyone else round here. Nobody’s got one. You must see Gwlithyn Jones. She’ll ring up for you, if you take her the money. She does it for everybody else.’

  ‘Couldn’t you go?’

  ‘Better if you did that. I can’t ride a bike, I haven’t got one. I’ll stay here and finish the evening work and then make supper.’

  She watched him go striding back down the field. From the gate he called back to her, ‘Keep an eye on this ewe.’ He was jabbing his finger at it. ‘I think she could be the next to lamb.’

  Bessie stood watching the ewe for a few moments. Already it was dusk and would soon be dark; there was nothing else for it, she let Fly off his chain and opened the door to an outhouse. The ewe would have to come indoors for the night in case she needed help lambing. If she left her in the field they’d never catch her in the dark. Fly worked better for Jack than he ever did for her, but eventually they managed it.

  With all the animals shut in for the night, Bessie retired to the house to build up the fire and make supper. She couldn’t stop worrying about Amy. She couldn’t remember what Amy had said exactly about not being able to speak to her mother. She wished she’d concentrated more at the time and hoped from the bottom of her heart that Leonie and Milo were all right.

  She kept going outside to look down the dark fields to see if Jack was coming back. There wasn’t a glimmer of light showing anywhere, that was the law, but there was enough moonlight for her see a figure coming up the meadow.

  He was exhausted and slumped on to the settle. ‘Gwlithyn Jones couldn’t get through to either of those phone numbers,’ he said. ‘She thought the bombs might have put them out of order and the best thing for us to do was to let the police know that Amy had gone. She phoned for me and they said they’d try and contact her family.’

  ‘Oh dear!’ Bessie felt as though she had a block of ice in her stomach. ‘That could mean the worst has happened.’

  ‘No, the postmistress said it means the bombing has brought the phone lines down. It’s no good worrying about what could have happened. We’ll know soon enough.’

  ‘I do feel I’ve let her mother down,’ Bessie said sadly. ‘She was relying on me to look after Amy. I do hope nothing happens to her.’

  After Ralph’s death, June had gone through a few weeks when she didn’t care whether she lived or died. The bombs no longer frightened her. She did what she had to do and shut her mind to everything else. But when she saw that the home she’d been brought up in had had its roof blown off she was totally horrified. She felt she and her family were having a run of very bad luck. First she’d lost Ralph, then Pa and now this.

  It was her day off, but instead of her usual day of rest she’d worked hard helping to salvage their belongings from their bombed house and sort out what Mum and Milo would need in the flat. More upsetting than carrying out beds was the sight of all their personal belongings broken and shattered across the floor. She couldn’t help picking up things Amy might want in the future. She was tired and knew Mum and Milo were exhausted. For them it was equally bad, if not worse. She had seen her mother fighting tears several times today but she was quietly getting on with what had to be done.

  There was a huge pile of clothes and household linen that would need washing or dry cleaning before it could be used again and they’d failed to find storage space in the tiny kitchen in the flat for all the domestic utensils they’d brought from home. Elaine was doing her best to help. ‘We can store some of your things in our house,’ she said. ‘Tom can put them up in the loft until you need them.’

  Tom arrived with the car to see how much headway they’d made. As he usually did on Fridays, he’d left work early so they could go to Chester. June saw Elaine take her husband aside and say, ‘We can’t leave Leonie to cope with this on her own. Do you think we should stay here tonight?’

  ‘I was thinking that myself. When I get home I’ll ring Olive and Nick and tell them we won’t be coming.’

  It was half past four and they were all hungry, dirty and tired, Elaine said, ‘Come on, let’s all go back to our house and have something to eat. We had nothing but a sandwich at lunchtime and I’m empty. Leonie, you must stay with us tonight, this flat is a chaotic shambles and the beds aren’t made up.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ She looked bone weary. ‘After all you’ve done today I feel we’re imposing on you.’

  ‘No you’re not. Besides, what if there’s an air raid? Do you have anywhere to shelter?’

  ‘There’s a public shelter in the park.’ Milo looked deadbeat too.

  ‘Yes, there is,’ Elaine agreed. ‘We’ve been there when we had a daylight raid, but I wouldn’t care to get out of bed in the middle of the night and rush to sit in there with half the neighbourhood. Leonie, you and June stayed with us last night, s
o it’s no trouble to us if you sleep in our guest room again.’

  ‘I spent most of the night in your shelter.’

  ‘Yes, and as June will have to go back to the hospital after we’ve had supper, there’s room for you too, Milo.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Milo said. ‘It’s not my turn to fire-watch tonight, so I’d like to stay with you.’

  June was glad to get into Tom’s car for the journey, she was weary too. Milo said as they got out, ‘I could forgo supper, Elaine. If you don’t mind, I feel I really need a bath. I’ve got this horrible dust in my hair and then I’d like to curl up in your Anderson shelter. I can hardly keep awake.’

  Elaine said, ‘I put the immersion heater on at lunchtime, I thought we’d all need baths, so you’ll find there’s plenty of hot water, but you must have something to eat too. You go and have your bath now while I think about what we can eat.’

  June followed Elaine into the kitchen. ‘If I caught the bus back to the hospital now I’d be in time for supper and you’d have one less to feed.’

  ‘No, June. Stay and eat with us then I’ll run you back in the car.’

  Tom went to the phone in the hall and they could hear him talking to his sister Olive. ‘Sorry to muck you about but I don’t think we can come tonight to collect the twins after all. Leonie, Elaine’s partner, has been bombed out of house and home and needs all the help she can get.’ Then he was talking to Dulcie, ‘Sorry, love, yes I’m disappointed too, but we hope to come and see you tomorrow.’

  June felt her mother was lucky to have friends like the Cliffords. ‘What can I do to help with supper?’ she asked Elaine.

  ‘Set the table while I have a think about what we can eat.’

  Tom came back. ‘I can’t get hold of Nick. He’s left the office but he’s not at home. I’ll have to try again later.’

  ‘Will two tins of soup be enough for five of us?’ Elaine wondered.

  ‘If two is all you have,’ June said, ‘it’ll have to be. Add a little milk to stretch it.’