Beyond a Misty Shore (5 page)

As she began to unpack Sophie nodded. ‘I know, but perhaps after going through all that bombing and with such terrible shortages, it’s the best she can do. When we’ve put our stuff away we’ll get a tram into town and see what we can get. There must be places where we can buy sheets and towels cheaply, and a tablecloth. I’ll put it to her tactfully, that we want to help, brighten things up a bit.’

‘I noticed there was a small shop on the corner of the next street, we should be able to get things like washing soda, soap and Jeyes Fluid there.’

Sophie nodded. Maria was right but it would all eat into the small amount of money she had. They’d have to find work soon.

L
IZZIE HAD TOLD THEM
that the shop was called Dodd’s and that they sold everything from bacon to Brasso. Maggie Dodd, who owned it, would give selected customers things ‘on tick’, providing she knew them well enough. Sophie decided they would call in on the way home and they’d then taken the tram into town.

‘Don’t be worrying if you can’t get everything, we’ll manage,’ had been Lizzie’s parting words and Maria thought that she was beginning to hate the phrase “we’ll manage” as much as she’d come to hate “there’s a war on” and all the other catch phrases that had been so popular during the past six years.

Later that day, laden down with parcels and bags, they got off the tram and headed for Harebell Street, exhausted but
satisfied with their purchases. Few of the big shops in the town centre had survived the bombing, Lewis’s, Blackler’s and Frisby Dyke’s were burnt-out shells but they’d managed to get some sheets and pillowcases in a small shop off Church Street. They had been described as ‘bomb damaged’ and so were cheap. Sophie had examined the scorch marks carefully and then declared she could turn the sheets “ends to middle” and you’d hardly notice. In the same shop they’d bought two blue and white checked tablecloths, four cotton tea towels and three towels. From a street vendor they’d bought a slightly chipped china milk jug and sugar basin; the rest of their purchases they would make at Dodd’s.

The little shop was quite busy and as they stood patiently waiting to be served, both girls noticed the avidly curious glances of the other customers. Just like the shops at home in Peel, Sophie realised that it was a place where neighbours exchanged news and gossip and as two strangers their presence was proving to be of some interest.

At last Maggie Dodd turned to them, as one of her daughters carefully weighed out a small amount of sugar for another customer. ‘Right, girls, what can I get you? I hope you’ve got your ration books.’

‘We have,’ Sophie replied, handing them over. ‘But it’s mainly cleaning stuff we need.’

The older woman’s eyebrows rose as she nodded. ‘You must be Lizzie Quine’s nieces. We heard you were coming over, although why you would want to leave that lovely little island to come to this battered, benighted city I don’t know.’

‘To work, Mrs Dodd. There are very few jobs for us over there now. Maria was in the Land Army and I worked too when I could, but having Bella meant I couldn’t do as much.’

The mention of her days working on the small farm with Hans made Maria feel depressed so she didn’t add anything to Sophie’s statement.

‘I would have thought that now the war is over people will start going back there, on holiday, like. They used to go in droves every summer, so there’ll be more chances of work,’ the woman who had been buying the sugar interrupted. ‘I’m Mrs Ryan – Martha. We live next door to Lizzie.’

Sophie smiled at her. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs Ryan. I suppose people will start to come over on holiday again but the tourists go mainly to Douglas or Port Erin or Port St Mary. Fishing is the main occupation in Peel. My pa was a fisherman and my ma still helps to auction off the catches.’

Maggie Dodd leaned on the counter, tucking a stray wisp of hair back into the bun at the nape of her neck and looking wistful. ‘Oh, the kids loved Port Erin. I used to take them every year for a week when they were small. Give them a bucket and spade and they’d be happy for hours on end.’

Maria shifted the parcel she was holding impatiently to her other arm. They would be here for hours if everyone got started reminiscing about holidays they’d taken years ago. To her relief Maggie became brisk and businesslike again.

‘So, what do you need? Going to give Lizzie a hand to do a “spring clean”, then?’

Sophie nodded and reeled off the things she required, paid for them and after thanking Maggie they left, accompanied by Martha Ryan.

‘Must be a huge change for you both, coming here,’ Martha commented. ‘But you’ll soon settle in, Lizzie’s a good-hearted soul, but she’s had her fair share of worry and grief. Same as we all have. It can wear you down if you let it.’ She looked closely at Sophie. ‘She told me you were a widow, luv?’

Sophie nodded, not really wanting to have to explain all the details of Andrew’s death. The woman was only being friendly but she was tired as she’d been up very early that morning, her feet were aching and she needed a cup of tea.

‘I’m sorry. It was all a terrible waste of so many lives, young and not so young, but I was fortunate, our Frank came through it all without a scratch. He was in the Royal Navy.’

‘Is he home now?’ Sophie asked politely.

‘Oh, aye, but he’s not
home
with me. He’s living across the road with
her
! The young fool got married before he joined up.’ Martha’s voice was harsh and full of scorn and bitterness.

Sophie thought it best not to press the matter, obviously Martha didn’t approve of her daughter-in-law.

‘All the lads are being demobbed now. Most of them that went from our street are home and the couple who were out in the Far East will be back in a couple of weeks, thank God. There’s been some talk of having another street party – like the ones we had for VE and VJ Day – to welcome them back, like.’

Maria hadn’t really been taking much notice of this conversation until now. ‘Really? That sounds like a great idea.’

‘Oh, we’d try and put on a good show, luv,’ Martha replied, thinking that Maria particularly would cause quite a stir amongst the young men in not only Harebell Street but the whole neighbourhood. She was by far the most attractive girl she’d seen in a long time and they both seemed to be pleasant, well mannered and neatly turned out. And they were obviously going to give that house of Lizzie’s a good clean, something that hadn’t been done for months. She wouldn’t have minded her Frank taking up with someone like Maria Kinnin at all, instead of that little trollop Nora Richards that he’d gone and tied himself to for life.

After a cup of tea Sophie felt much better as she showed her aunt her purchases and informed her of their cost and then began to set the table with the new cloth.

Lizzie had a pan of scouse simmering on the range. ‘Jim and John are always famished when they get in from work,’ she said, stirring the stew with a wooden spoon.

Suddenly Sophie realised that she had seen nothing of Bella, who had been persuaded to stay with Lizzie and Katie. ‘Where’s Bella?’ she asked, a little alarmed.

‘Oh, she’s fine, luv. Our Billy took her out to play when he got in from school. She got bored just sitting here with us. He must have taken a shine to her, said he was going to take her to see those other hooligans he calls his mates.’

‘And he usually hates girls,’ Katie added.

‘But it’s nearly dark now,’ Sophie protested, concerned about her daughter.

Lizzie was peering into the pan. ‘Go and see if there’s any sign of them in the back entry, luv. It’s time they were in anyway.’

As Sophie opened the yard door she was confronted by a small group of lads that included young Billy, all of whom were extremely grubby and untidy. In the middle of the group was her equally grubby daughter.

‘Bella Teare, look at the state of you! What have you been up to?’ Sophie cried, taking in the smudges of dirt and blood on the child’s face, her tangled curls and the rip in the sleeve of her coat, which was also stained and dusty.

‘She can’t half climb, Sophie! She’s as good as all of us an’ she never even cried when she fell off the top of the pile,’ Billy announced, his voice and expression full of admiration. The others were all nodding their approval.

‘Fell off what
pile
?’ Sophie demanded, horrified.

‘Bricks an’ stones, we was playing on the bombsite round the corner,’ Billy replied, unfazed by his cousin’s tone of voice. They always played there, it was great.

‘Bella! You could have hurt yourself badly, you could have broken an arm or a leg! Get inside and have a good wash! Oh, just look at the state of your shoes and socks – and you’ve ruined your coat.’ Sophie was now more annoyed than shocked.

Bella looked mutinous. ‘I didn’t hurt myself, Mam, and they dared me to do it.’ In fact she was quite pleased with
herself. She’d showed them she was as good as they were and even though when she’d fallen she’d banged her head quite hard and scratched her face and it had hurt, she hadn’t cried.

‘What’s going on here then? What have you lot been up to now?’

The little group turned as Jim Quine and his son John appeared behind them, their caps pulled well down and their jacket collars turned up against the penetrating chill of the evening.

Sophie looked relieved. ‘I’m just getting these two little devils in for their tea, they’ve been playing on a bombsite. I’m Sophie, you must be Uncle Jim.’

Jim Quine was a big man, over six feet tall and with broad shoulders, and he reminded her so forcefully of her mother that her eyes filled with tears as she was embraced in a bear-like hug.

‘Little Sophie!’ he laughed. ‘But not so little now. Come on, let’s all get inside, that’s a great smell coming from the kitchen. This is your cousin John, and’ – he bent down – ‘this must be Isabella.’

‘Hello, John, and this is indeed a very dirty and naughty Bella Teare. I’ve never seen her so grubby and untidy.’

Jim laughed. ‘I don’t suppose there’s many bombsites on the island, Sophie, are there? And I bet I know who the instigator of this little escapade was! Still, the kids have to play somewhere and you might have noticed that there aren’t many fields or beaches around here.’

Sophie nodded as they crossed the small yard. ‘They’ve
only just taken the barbed wire away from the beaches at home, Uncle Jim, and the parks were commandeered for the internment camps.’

He nodded gravely. ‘We’ll all get back to normal soon enough and you’re very welcome here – all of you.’

Lizzie exclaimed and tutted over the state of the two children as she dished out the evening meal, after instructing both her husband and son to leave their dirty boots in the scullery in future as she wasn’t having her two nieces killing themselves scrubbing floors just so they could walk in the dust and dirt of the docks on to the clean lino. This was followed by the instruction to hang up their jackets and caps behind the door and get a wash before sitting down at the table.

Maria and Sophie exchanged glances, obviously their aunt had had a change of attitude and they noticed that their uncle had nodded his approval at the neatly set table with its clean cloth, milk jug and sugar basin before doing as he was bid.

Katie dished out the stew, sharply nudging her brother who she noticed hadn’t said a single word and who was gazing at Maria as though he’d been confronted by an apparition. ‘Close your mouth, you look like a codfish on a fishmonger’s slab,’ she hissed at him.

John Quine realised he was staring open-mouthed at Maria and hastily dropped his eyes and began to poke at his meal with his spoon. He hadn’t been aware they were due to arrive today. His mam had said they were coming and told them Sophie was a widow with a little girl, and that both
Maria and her sister had lost their father in the war, but he’d not really thought about them much. His mam always referred to them as ‘Sarah’s poor girls’, but now he was stunned. He’d never seen anyone as utterly
gorgeous
as Maria. She was like a film star – like Vivien Leigh, except that Maria had the most beautiful dark brown eyes, fringed with thick sooty lashes, that he’d ever seen. It was an effort not to stare and he couldn’t think of a single thing to say to her.

Lizzie had noticed. ‘What’s up with you, John? Are you sickening for something, you usually wolf your food down.’

‘I’m . . . I’m all right, Mam,’ John managed to mutter.

‘Where’s your manners then? You haven’t even said hello to your cousins.’

Sophie could see he was acutely embarrassed and she smiled kindly at him. Maria often had this effect on young men. ‘It’s all right, Aunty Lizzie, we met in the yard, so to speak, didn’t we, John?’

He looked up and smiled shyly at her, nodding.

Maria smiled at him. ‘I didn’t meet him in the yard. Hello, John, I’m Maria.’

John managed to reply although he was never able to remember just what he’d said. Thankfully his mother started to relate the events of the day to her family.

‘Mrs Ryan from next door told me that people were thinking of holding a street party when the last of the boys get home,’ Sophie remarked when Lizzie finally paused for breath.