by Annie Groves
* * *
‘Look after yourself, Dad.’ Rosie gave her father a fierce hug two days later, burying her face against the rough fabric of his jacket to hide her tears as she stood with him in the shadow of the grey-hulled ship towering over them.
Rosie had got permission from Mrs Verey to leave work early so that she could come down to the dock to say goodbye to him. Her mother had said that the salon was too busy for her to get time off and, as she always did when she witnessed the tension between her parents, Rosie wished desperately that things were different between them. It made her miss the warmth and conviviality of the Grenellis even more. Having her father home had eased the pain of that enforced separation. But now he was going again she felt more alone than ever.
‘I’ll bring you back some stockings, and maybe a bit of perfume,’ her father promised.
Rosie shook her head. ‘You just bring yourself back safe, Dad, that’s all I want.’
She hugged him again one final time and then stood and watched as he joined the other men going on board, their kitbags slung over their shoulders.
A pretty blonde girl standing close to her was drying her tears, a shiny new wedding ring on her finger glinting in the sun. Rosie eyed her sympathetically as she stood watching the ship, sensing that, like her, she wouldn’t move until the vessel had not only sailed, but disappeared completely from sight.
SEVEN
‘Bella!’
Rosie had seen the other girl turning into Gerard Street ahead of her and she had hurried to catch up, thrilled to have a chance to speak to her at long last.
Bella might have stopped and turned round, but she was not returning her smile, Rosie saw. However, she was so pleased to see her friend that she immediately exclaimed, ‘Oh, Bella, I’ve been thinking about all of you so much! I’ve been longing to come round and see how you all are. Has there been any news yet?’
‘We’ve heard that Dad and Aldo are to be sent to the Isle of Man and interned there, but at least Granddad is going to be released and allowed to come home. Not that Liverpool feels like home to us any more after what’s happened.’ There was an unfamiliar stiffness, not just in Bella’s voice but also in the way she was standing.
Looking at her, Rosie felt her excitement draining away into worry.
‘Bella, please don’t say that,’ she begged her. ‘This is your home, of course it is.’ Hot tears filled Rosie’s eyes as she reached out towards her. ‘I miss you so much, I really do. I know we aren’t related, but I think of you all as family.’
‘But we aren’t family, are we? We’re Italian and you’re English. The police didn’t come for your father in the middle of the night and take him away, did they? He isn’t being sent to a…a concentration camp…’
‘Bella…’ Rosie recoiled from her hostility.
‘I’m sorry,’ Bella told her, not sounding sorry at all, ‘but it’s the truth.’
What had happened to the soft, kind Bella she had thought she knew? Rosie didn’t recognise this new Bella, who was looking at her with such contempt.
‘When will your grandfather be home? Do you know?’ she asked her eagerly, determined to ignore her hostility.
‘No, not yet.’ Bella’s answer was given reluctantly, as though she would rather not have to talk to Rosie. ‘We’ve heard that some of the men your government have decided are Fascists are going to be deported to Canada.’
Rosie didn’t know what to say. There were so many conflicting stories and rumours going round the city, it was hard to know what was or wasn’t the truth. She had read the papers avidly, looking for news about the Italians, and she understood why the government had felt it had to take a strong line on the real Fascists who might work against the country from inside it. And, of course, she had heard the nasty comments made by people like Nancy, who claimed that all Italians were tarred with the same brush.
‘Well, when it comes to those that really are Fascists,’ she offered awkwardly, ‘then—’
Anger flashed in Bella’s eyes. ‘Showing your true colours now, aren’t you? You’re siding with your own government. What if they aren’t? What if they are just innocent men like my dad and my granddad? You say you think of yourself as part of our family, but you don’t and you aren’t – you never were and never will be! How can you be? It’s right what my mum says. You’ve got to stick with your own kind. How can you even begin to understand what it feels like to be me?’
‘Oh, Bella,’ Rosie protested, unable to hide her distress, but Bella shook her head and then pushed past her and hurried down the street, leaving Rosie to fight back her tears. She was trying to put herself in Bella’s shoes, but it was hard when Bella was being so nasty to her, and acting as though they were enemies and not friends. She continued home, feeling more sick at heart than she had ever imagined she could feel, and wondering whether Bella would even speak to her again.
‘I saw Bella when I was on my way home,’ Rosie told her mother later. ‘She told me that Carlo and Aldo are being sent to the Isle of Man and that Grandfather Giovanni is going to be released.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Christine agreed carelessly. ‘I managed to send word to Aldo when I was up at Huyton the other day, and he sent a message back to me.’
‘You never said anything.’
Christine shrugged dismissively. ‘So what? Pass us me ciggies, will you, Rosie?’
‘So can anyone go up to Huyton and do that then?’ Rosie asked her mother curiously. ‘Only Bella never said that she’d been in touch with her dad.’
Christine lit her cigarette and blew out a ring of smoke, studying it for several seconds before replying, ‘No they can’t, and don’t you go telling Bella that I’ve done it neither. It all depends who you know. It just happens that I’ve got to know one of the chaps up there on guard duty, and he sorted it all out for me.’
There was something that her mother wasn’t telling her, Rosie felt sure, something about her story that didn’t quite ring true.
‘What do you mean, you’ve got to know one of the chaps?’ she asked uncertainly. As a child Rosie had never questioned the fact that it was the men of the Grenelli household with whom Christine spent most of her time when they went there, but now as a young woman she hadn’t been able to help noticing that her mother was a woman who seemed to prefer men’s company to that of her own sex.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Rosie, stop questioning me, will you? If you must know I do his wife’s hair. Now give it a rest, will you? You’re making me head ache.’
‘What are we having for tea? There’s some of that tinned fish left and we could make a bit of a fish hash pie with it,’ Rosie suggested.
Christine shook her head. ‘You have some if you want, but I don’t want anything. I’m going out to the Gaiety with some of the others from the salon and then we’re all going round to Flo’s for a bit of supper afterwards. I don’t know what time I’ll be back. You know what that Flo is like once she’s had a couple of drinks. She’ll keep us natterin’ at her place all night if we let her. I might even end up staying over with her. Are you doing anything?’
Rosie nodded. ‘I’ve promised to meet up with Evie and her cousins and go to the pictures with them.’
‘You mean you’re going to the Gaiety as well?’ Christine demanded sharply.
‘No, Evie said to meet her up town outside Lewis’s.’
‘Well, just you mind what you’re doing. Your dad thinks you’re the next best thing to a ruddy angel and he won’t be too pleased if he comes home to find you’ve gone and got yourself in trouble with some lad in a uniform who’s taken himself off and left you.’
‘There’s no need to say that,’ Rosie assured her indignantly, her face pink. ‘I know better than to let any lad mess around with me.’
‘You can say that now, but there’s a war on, remember. Maggie Sullivan, her as looks after Father Doyle and Father Morrison, was saying in the salon the other day that people are queuing up to book weddings, and that mos
t of them should be booking the christening at the same time, by the look of them. And that’s only them as are with lads who are willing to stand by them and do the decent thing. There’s plenty of the other kind around who won’t.’
‘There’s no need to worry on my account.’
‘Well, you just make sure it stays that way. I’ve had enough trouble with your dad’s bloomin’ sister, without you giving her more ammunition to fire at me.’
‘I don’t know why you’re having a go at me like this,’ Rosie objected. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘Not yet you haven’t. Like I just said, there’s a war on,’ her mother answered darkly.
Later that evening, queuing for the pictures with Evie and her cousins, Rosie had cause to acknowledge that her mother had a point when she claimed that the war was affecting the way people behaved. There were several couples in the queue who were wrapped in one another’s arms and behaving as brazenly as you liked.
‘Here, look at them two over there,’ Evie urged Rosie, giving her a nudge in the ribs. ‘Just look where he’s got his hand! You won’t catch me letting a fella show me up like that in public.’
Rosie peered over Evie’s shoulder, automatically avoiding stepping back on the heavy sandbags, which had been put in place when war had first been announced, to protect buildings from bomb damage, but which were turning green, and leaking trickles of sand.
‘No,’ Jane giggled. ‘Me neither. It’s best waiting for the blackout if you want to get up to that kind of how’s-your-father.’
It was impossible to pretend to be shocked and Rosie didn’t try, joining in with their raucous laughter.
‘They were doing this new dance at the Grafton last weekend. It’s all the rage in London,’ Evie informed the others. ‘It’s called “the Blackout Stroll”. All the lights go off whilst you’re dancing and then you change partners in the dark. Last weekend I ended up with this Canadian chap – a pilot he told me he was, and ever so handsome.’
Rosie could well imagine what her Aunt Maude would think of Evie’s revelations.
The queue moved forward slowly. There was a big crowd to see the latest newsreels of the war, as well as the main film. Rosie loved the cinema; she had done ever since she was a small girl and her father would take her to see the latest Disney film as a treat when he was on leave. As she grew up, she couldn’t wait for the Saturday afternoons of darkness and excitement, of adventure and passion. The women were all so beautiful, the men so brave. But just because they fell in love and lived happily ever after, it didn’t mean that that could happen to real people, Rosie always reminded herself warningly. She would hate to end up in a marriage like her parents’, where one partner loved too much and the other not enough.
Now the cinema fulfilled a different function. It was a means of escape, certainly from the devastation and drudgery, but also it was a way of finding out more information on the hostilities, of seeing for oneself the progress of the war.
‘Last time I came here they were still showing them newsreels of them taking the men off the beaches at Dunkirk,’ Jane told them all, as the queue moved towards the door. ‘Sobbed me heart out, I did.’
‘Me an’ all,’ Evie agreed.
Rosie nodded. She couldn’t imagine that anyone could not have been affected by the pictures of those brave men waiting patiently to be brought home to safety, knowing that the Germans were advancing on them.
In the clear evening sky the barrage balloons down by the docks were clearly visible, glowing a misty pink in the rays of the setting sun. Rosie couldn’t look at them without a small shudder. They were a constant reminder, if one was needed, of the fact that they were at war. She shuffled along again, grateful of the chance to escape into the world of film for an evening.
* * *
‘Well, I say that it’s good riddance, and the more of them Eyeties they get on board the ships and get out of our country, the better,’ Nancy insisted, taking a bite out of her sandwich and then pulling a face. ‘Cheese again. I’m that sick of it.’
‘You should think yourself lucky. I’ve only got a bit of pickle on mine,’ Evie told her.
‘Swap you one then,’ Nancy offered. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t got summat to say about them Eyeties being shipped off, seein’ as how you think so much about them,’ she challenged Rosie.
They were all in the workroom having their dinner, and the truth was that Rosie was trying valiantly not to get dragged into the conversation Nancy had initiated about a ship – the Arandora Star – which had been lying off the Liverpool landing stage and had left in the early hours of the morning, sailing for Canada, carrying on board a large number of Italian and German internees. They were being sent to Canada where it was deemed by the government they would not be able to participate in the war as enemies of Britain.
‘It must be very upsetting for Italian families who have lived here for a long time,’ was all she allowed herself to say.
‘Rosie’s right,’ Evie supported her. ‘I wouldn’t like it if it were my dad or hubbie wot was being sent all them miles away from me.’
‘It’s no different than having your dad or your man away fighting,’ another girl chipped in. ‘And at least them Italians will be safe. No fighting for them like our lads are having to do.’
‘A lot of the families have sons in the Forces,’ Rosie felt bound to remind the others.
There’d been stories going round the neighbourhood about men returning from active duty or off their merchant ships to find their fathers and younger brothers missing and their mothers and sisters distraught. Rosie knew too that this was causing a lot of bad feeling amongst Italians who had previously considered themselves to be British, but who now, like Bella, felt alienated and badly done by. There had been talk too of members of those families who had relatives on board the Arandora Star going down to the landing stage in an attempt to say a final goodbye to their loved ones, but that armed guards had been posted there to prevent them from doing so. Rosie gave a small shiver. What a dreadful thing it must be to know that someone you loved was being sent so many thousands of miles away. It was different in families like her own, where the breadwinner was in the merchant navy. He might be gone for weeks on end sometimes and there was always the sea itself to fear but you knew that he would be coming back – at least you hoped. Those on board the Arandora Star could be separated from their families for years.
Although she had been hungry, suddenly Rosie couldn’t stomach her sandwiches.
‘Come on, back to work,’ Evie called out as the dinner bell rang, adding, ‘A girl I know was telling me that in London the girls are getting dressed up and wearing long frocks now when they go out dancing. Mrs V. was saying as how she’d had one or two ladies in already asking if she can sort them out with evening frocks. I’m going to try and get meself a few yards of chiffon and satin and mek meself up something.’
‘Satin and chiffon? Where do you think you’ll get that?’ Nancy scoffed.
‘There’s plenty of second-hand stuff around if you know where to look. What about it, Rosie? Why don’t you do the same, so that we can go out together in them?’
‘Don’t you listen to her, Rosie,’ another of the girls chipped in. ‘You know what she’s after, don’t you? She can’t set a stitch to save her life and she’s hoping you’ll make hers for her as well as your own.’
There was always some good-natured bantering going on amongst the girls so Rosie laughed and answered pacifyingly, ‘Well, I don’t mind doing that.’
‘You’re a real pal, Rosie,’ said Evie warmly. ‘And as a matter of fact, I do just happen to have seen a really nice dark red taffeta frock in a shop up by the Adelphi Hotel. Proper posh-looking it is, and I reckon it must have belonged to someone rich. The colour would suit you a treat. We could go and have a look on Saturday after work if you like.’
Rosie wasn’t really sure she needed or even wanted a full-length evening dress but Evie was so enthusiastic she
found herself giving in and agreeing. It would be a welcome distraction from her ever-confused thoughts. She did so miss the happy times she and Bella had shared when they had hurried off to St John’s market to look for bargains.
‘Ta-ra then. See you tomorrow,’ Evie sang out when she and Rosie reached Great Crosshall Street where their routes home separated. ‘And don’t forget about Saturday and us going to look at that frock.’
Rosie still hadn’t got used to the unfamiliar silence of the streets of Little Italy. Those Italian families that hadn’t already moved to be with their relatives in Manchester or London, where there were larger Italian communities, were keeping themselves inside their houses, with the doors firmly closed against the outside world. Less than a month ago virtually every door would have been open, with women calling out to one another and children playing happily in the street, men pushing home their ice-cream carts and gathering on street corners to talk, whilst the sounds of music from accordions and flutes mingled with the smell of freshly ground coffee and herb-flavoured tomato sauce cooking, but now all that was gone.
Michael Farrell, whose wife, Bridie, did all the local laying-outs, was leaning against a lamppost, obviously the worse for drink.
‘Oh, it’s yourself, is it, Rosie,’ he greeted her. ‘And sad day this is and no mistake, all them poor sods drowning.’
As he spoke he was wiping his arm across his eyes to blot away his tears. ‘Over a thousand of them, so I’ve heard. Aye, and the ruddy ship torpedoed by their own side. Complaining they was being sent to Canada, but there’s many a family here in Liverpool will be wishing tonight that that’s where they are instead of lying drowned at the bottom of the sea.’ He swayed and staggered slightly, belching beer-laden stale breath in Rosie’s direction but she barely noticed. A horrible cold feeling had seized her.
