Daughters of the Mersey (35 page)

Milo sat back with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Then that’s what I’d like to do. But will I be able to get a job in Cammell Laird’s?’

‘There’s no problem there, the war has given us as much work as we can cope with and like everybody else we’re crying out for more staff.’ He scribbled a name and address on a scrap of paper. ‘Write your application to this fellow and we’ll take it from there.’

Milo went home feeling better and did exactly what Mr Jenkins had suggested. He posted the letter the next day and went round to tell Alison that evening.

When she came to the door, she almost fell on him. ‘You’ve come at just the right moment. Wait a sec while I get my coat.’ She came back buttoning it up and took his hand. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’ She led the way down the garden to the Esplanade.

‘Has something happened? You look
as though you need a long walk,’ he pulled her arm through his.

‘I’ve just had a dust-up with Dad and Mum, so things are a bit chilly in there at the moment. I told them I didn’t want to go to university and I wasn’t going to apply. I want to be a newspaper reporter and I understand the
Liverpool Echo
takes on beginners from time to time but they like them to be able to type, and to have a knowledge of shorthand would be a help too.’

Milo was pleased, it sounded as though Alison was planning to stay nearby. ‘What’s wrong with that? Is it because it won’t help the war effort? They’re afraid you’ll be directed to a munitions factory?’

‘I’ll probably be left alone if I stay in full-time education. No, they think if I’m to be a reporter I’d do better to go to university first. Get properly educated, as Mum put it.’

‘Nothing wrong with that either.’

‘The real trouble is Charlotte went to commercial college and as soon as she’d got the certificates to prove she was capable, she joined the WRNS. According to Mum she didn’t fulfil her potential – she’s working beneath her ability and all that, but honestly she loves it. They think I’ll do the same thing.’

‘They’re thinking of what would be best for you, Alison. Not like my father who was thinking of the family business, not of me. You should—’

‘Hang on,’ she held up her hand, ‘your advice was that I should make up my own mind and not be persuaded otherwise. Well, I have thought about it, I’ve made up my mind and I want to be a reporter, so don’t you turn against me.’ Alison was agitated and had broken away from him.

‘I’m not,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t. I’m
all for it.’ He slid an arm round her waist and drew her closer. ‘I want you to stay here near me.’

‘That’s another thing. They think I’m too young to be thinking of boyfriends. I mean eighteen is eighteen, after all, and more than old enough to know what I want. They think you’ve talked me into staying near you.’

‘I wanted to,’ he admitted. ‘But I didn’t.’

‘No, you didn’t. It’s Mum, she went to Edinburgh University and she’d like her daughters to follow in her footsteps.’

‘Well, it doesn’t have to be Edinburgh, Liverpool is on the doorstep.’

‘It would take three years. I know she wants me to have what she had, but what good did all that studying do her? She taught for two years and then got married and had us five kids. She might as well not have bothered.’

‘It must have made her a wiser person.’

‘Absolutely not! She’s bigoted, she thinks that without university education we’ll get nowhere. I want to get on with my life but they think I’m in too much of a hurry to grow up. Don’t let yourself be persuaded into marriage until you’re older, they say.’

Milo pulled her to a halt. ‘Has somebody asked you?’

‘No.’

‘Thank goodness for that. I don’t want you whipped away from under my nose.’ He bent over and kissed her cheek, then pulled her closer and his lips fastened on hers.

‘We’ll both have to buckle down and learn how to earn a living, especially me, but we’ll have as much fun as we can while we do it.’ Milo laughed. ‘When it comes to marriage,

I want you to
promise you’ll give me first refusal.’

Alison doubled up with the giggles. ‘I promise,’ she said.

The following week, Milo received a reply to his job application to Cammell Laird’s, inviting him to come for an interview in three days’ time. He was nervous because such a lot was riding on this. He looked at his suits, he had three that he used to wear on a three-week rota to work in the family antique shop and he could still get into them. Mum had had one cleaned for him to wear to his father’s funeral, so it would be that one.

He felt he was received in a friendly fashion and assured he’d be given every opportunity to learn to be a ship’s architect, though he’d need to do a basic engineering course first. ‘You’ll have to attend night school classes from this autumn – and pass the relevant examinations, of course.’

‘Of course.’

He was told that Henry Jenkins had given him an outstanding reference but that he’d need to get another. He thought perhaps he’d go straight over to Liverpool and see George at the shop. He’d probably be willing to provide one and it was arranged that he would start work next Monday.

Milo was thrilled, at last he was making a start on his career. Alison reported that her mother had agreed that she should apply for a place in the secretarial college Charlotte had attended for the autumn term. ‘So we’ve both made a start,’ she said.

The night the chicks were due to hatch was fine and clear, with the moon almost full. Everybody dreaded that combination because it meant that somewhere on Merseyside they were going to have
another visit from enemy planes. Milo hoped it wasn’t going to be their area tonight, but he had to stand by in case it was.

Milo and Alison were keeping a close eye on Hetty’s nest. It all happened as they’d expected, but no sooner had the first chick emerged from its shell than the air-raid siren sounded. Milo was aghast. ‘I’ll have to go. It’s my turn for fire-watching.’

‘So will I,’ Alison said. Milo knew she had strict instructions to return home whenever an air-raid warning sounded.

It fell to Leonie to look after the chicks and she was fascinated. Hetty pulled the skin from around each chick in turn and helped them out of their shells while Polly charged round the henhouse instead of going up on the perch, as though she wanted to help too.

One egg appeared addled and one chick somehow got trodden on and survived only one day, but within a week Milo had eight healthy chicks and Polly had taken over the mothering of two of them.

He went round to ask Alison if she’d like to come and see them, and all the Greenway sisters, Aileen, Joan and Pat, came with her and billed and cooed over the chicks for ages. Pat couldn’t get over the fact that the hens had come from the farm where Amy was evacuated and she’d chosen their names.

‘The next time Amy rings,’ she said, ‘I shall tell her that I’ve seen them and they’re lovely. Milo, would you bring us a broody hen back next time you go?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I can’t keep asking Auntie Bessie for her hens. She’s very kind to Amy and to us, but her hens are her livelihood.’

‘I’ll ask Amy to do it when I speak to her.’

‘No Pat,’ Alison said
firmly. ‘Don’t be a pest.’

‘Dad will buy a hen for me, especially as it will lay—’

‘No! Dad is trying to evacuate you all to somewhere safer. The last thing he’ll need is to have chickens to evacuate as well.’

M
ARCH THE 15TH WAS
Elaine and Tom’s wedding
anniversary and Milo was delighted when he and his mother were invited to have dinner at their home. June was expected too and so were the couple who lived next door. He was looking forward to getting to know Elaine and her husband better because he knew they were important to his mother and sister. He hoped fervently that the Luftwaffe would allow them peace to enjoy the evening.

If all went well, he and his family would walk home afterwards. If not, the Cliffords had an Anderson shelter in their back garden with four bunk beds in it so Mum and June could spend the rest of the night with them. It was his turn to fire-watch so if the air-raid warning sounded, he would have to leave them.

He fed the chicks and shut them up for the night before getting ready. His mother came home from work to wash and change into a red dress she’d made for herself recently. In case she had to spend the night in Elaine’s shelter, she packed her siren suit in a bag to take with her. She never went anywhere without this warm, one-piece outfit of trousers and jacket with a zip up the front. It was proving very popular because it was so practical, even the Prime Minister Winston Churchill and his wife wore siren suits. Mum had
made one for Milo as well as for countless customers.

He felt he was made very welcome. Tom had managed to get some wine and Elaine provided an excellent spread in the circumstances. His mother had contributed a pint of milk, four fresh eggs and a large tin of peaches she’d been hoarding for months. He understood the neighbours had done something similar. He liked them, they turned out to be good company and the first part of the evening was very jolly.

But it was a fine night and the moon was full, and they were all expecting another raid. The last two nights had been quiet, London and Birmingham had received the enemy’s attention, and they couldn’t believe they’d be left in peace for a third night.

In the event, the Luftwaffe came earlier than usual. Elaine was apologising for the drink she was about to make to finish off the meal. ‘Sorry, we are reduced to Camp Coffee or tea,’ when the air-raid warning blared across the town, sending shivers down Milo’s spine.

‘Oh, blast,’ Elaine cried in frustration. ‘I hoped they’d take a night off tonight. Why do they have to spoil everything?’

‘It might be a false alarm,’ Tom said, trying to soothe her. ‘Or they may be heading somewhere else. Let’s sit tight and carry on for a while. More dessert, June?’

Milo hurriedly scraped up the last of his trifle and stood up. ‘Thank you for a lovely meal. It’s been a great evening but I have to go.’

‘You did warn us it was your turn to fire-watch,’ Elaine said sadly.

He could see that the warning had put them all on edge. As he pulled on his warm coat
and the balaclava helmet June had knitted for him, they were listening for further ominous sounds. ‘Goodnight,’ he said. ‘See you later, Mum.’

‘Hope you have a quiet night,’ she called after him.

Milo jogged up to the church and climbed to the top of the tower. Britain’s newest radar system meant they were given earlier warnings that enemy aircraft were approaching. But tonight he barely had time to survey the river glistening in the moonlight with the barrage balloons floating in the sky and every ship clearly visible before the first bombs began to fall.

He was watching for the spurt of orange flames against the grey background and was thankful to see nothing like that but he was aware of bombs bursting all round him and was afraid that one had fallen very close to his home. He kept looking in that direction and from the distance of three-quarters of a mile or so he thought it looked different. It seemed hazier down there than it had, and had the roof changed?

Another wave of enemy planes was overhead and he saw a fire spring to life and gather strength. He leapt to the phone to report its position. Another fire was clearly visible on the docks. He could see as well as hear the anti-aircraft guns firing from the Shore Fields.

As soon as there was a lull, his gaze went towards his own home. There was more cloud about than there had been and when one passed in front of the moon it was quite dark. He wasn’t sure but he had a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach that their house had been damaged. It worried him and he had to fight the urge to rush home to find out, but his duty was to stay here in case another wave of bombers came over. He was glad nobody had been at home tonight.

At last the all-clear sounded and he was free
to go. He ran most of the way home. When he reached the back garden he was so shocked he had to hold on to the gate until he got his breath back. Part of the roof had indeed gone. A road of terraced houses backed along the side wall of their garden and he thought that the two closest had also been damaged. He could hear the wail of an ambulance from that road but could see nothing.

Fortunately nobody had been here to get hurt. Their bungalow was L-shaped, and one gable end now seemed to be just a wall so their main living rooms were without a roof. He heard a few more slates slide down to crash and splinter in front of the house. All the windows and most of the frames had gone from the bedroom wing. He felt appalled, paralysed with horror. Where would they live?

His own shed, the old summer house by the back gate, was still intact, even the window glass was in place. He thought of the hens and baby chicks then and was relieved to find that shed intact too. He opened the door and heard Hetty’s soft motherly clucks. There was a panic-stricken fluttering of feathers but he could make out that the other hen was all right. He blessed the fact that they had two acres of garden.

He walked round to the front, glass splintering under his feet. He could see roof timbers and slates scattered over the front garden and some down on the Esplanade and even on the shore. The tide was full in and lapping gently on the sand, sounding exactly as it always had. Suddenly, all his strength seemed to desert him and he felt absolutely whacked. He told himself this was not surprising since he’d worked all day and been on his feet for half the night. He felt a desperate need
to lie down and sleep, but where was the best place?

He tried to get inside the house but the front door was in place and still locked. He went round to the back. They had beds in the cellar but it was very dark on this side of the building. Like everybody else he kept a small torch in his pocket with the glass half blanked out to limit the light. He shone it down the stone steps and saw the way down was almost blocked with glass, slates and general debris. Also, the roof had gone from this part of the building, what if there was no floor either? He couldn’t see well enough to find out one way or the other.