Queen of the Mersey (12 page)

‘What’s that you’ve got?’ Jimmy asked Queenie when the little procession set off, Tess lagging sulkily behind.

‘It’s a letter for Laura. I promised to write straight away. I did it last night.’ She’d told Laura that Caerdovey was very pretty, that they hadn’t seen much of the woman they were staying with, but the housekeeper, Gwen Hughes, made lovely food and had started off all tacky-turn, but was gradually coming round as she got to know them. It was Gwen who’d told them she’d heard on the wireless that the war had started for proper.

… Hester and Mary cried a bit when we first came, but they’re all right now. Yesterday and today, we went to the shore and paddled in the Irish Sea.

We also made sandcastles and played ball.

She described Jimmy, Tess and Pete, and mentioned that the girls were going to school next day.

Mary went to Mass this morning so me and Hester went with her. It was very mysterious. The priest didn’t speak English so I’ve no idea what he was on about. Hester sends her love to you and Roddy, and Mary sends her love to her mam and dad and all her brothers. They are both being very well behaved.

Your friend,

Queenie Tate

‘Can you write proper with your funny arm?’ Jimmy enquired.

‘I can write very well, thank you,’ Queenie replied coldly.

‘Was it like that when you were born?’

‘I dunno. Me mam wouldn’t talk about it when I asked.’

They arrived at the Councillor Jones Hall. She kissed the girls tara and promised to meet them at going home time, which, after asking one of the teachers, Miss Larkin, she learnt was half past three.

‘I’ve got to buy a stamp for me letter,’ she announced when only her and Jimmy were left. They found the Post Office and had to wait outside a few minutes for it to open. The stamp bought, the letter was placed carefully in the red pillar box outside. Queenie felt a glow of pride. It was the first letter she’d ever written and she imagined it being carried from Wales to Bootle by various means and eventually dropping on to the mat in twenty-two Glover Street.

‘I’ve promised to weed me old lady’s garden. She’s getting a bit past it, like.

Shall we walk back along the shore?’

‘All right.’

‘Would you like a hand with the weeding?’ Queenie asked when they reached the wooden steps.

‘I wouldn’t say no.’ Jimmy looked pleased. ‘I dunno the difference between weeds and flowers.’

Neither did Queenie. The old lady turned out to have a name, Mrs Jones. (There seemed to be an awful lot of Joneses in Caerdovey.) She came outside and told them what to pull out. When they’d finished, she gave them a cup of tea and produced a plate of shortbreads, which she’d made especially for Jimmy, seeing as he liked them so much. Jimmy went next door to see how Pete was, and returned to say he was fast asleep and not to be disturbed.

‘Mrs Jones is very nice,’ Queenie remarked later when they were on their way to The Old School House.

‘She’s a decent enough old stick,’ Jimmy agreed. ‘Being evacuated isn’t as bad as I’d thought, though I’ve a feeling that before long I’ll be bored out of me skull. What’ll we do now?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Tell you what, let’s give that room over your garage a good tart up. We can turn it into a den. I’ve always wanted a den.’

‘What do you do in a den?’

Jimmy shrugged and said vaguely, ‘I dunno. Read and stuff, talk, play games.’

‘I’m not sure if Gwen’d let us.’

‘You could ask her. It won’t do no harm to ask.’

Gwen looked faintly alarmed when Queenie entered the kitchen accompanied by the huge, shambling figure of Jimmy Nicholls. The alarm turned to surprise when she was asked if they could turn the room over the garage into a den.

‘You see, there’s nowhere for us to play if it rains,’ Queenie pointed out. Mrs Merton had said the evacuees were only allowed in the kitchen and the bedroom, though she couldn’t very well mention that and admit that she’d eavesdropped.

‘Did someone used to live up there?’ Jimmy asked.

‘Yes.’ For some reason, Gwen’s sad eyes grew even sadder. ‘During the war, the last one, when this was still a school. His name was Hugh Jones and he looked after the garden and did all the odd jobs. He was only a lad, not much older than you when he first came.’ She nodded at Jimmy. ‘I was the cook in those days and I wasn’t much older than you,’ she said, looking at Queenie.

‘I didn’t know it had really been a school,’ Queenie remarked.

‘Why should you?’ Gwen said tiredly. ‘It was a boarding school, though most of the children were orphans. The Reverend Allsop ran it. He was very strict and used to beat them. It closed in nineteen twenty-five when he died and that’s when Mrs Merton came to live here. She inherited the house and kept me on as housekeeper. She was his niece or something.’

‘What happened to Hugh Jones?’ Jimmy asked curiously.

‘He was killed in the war, in the very last month. He was only eighteen.’

‘That’s a shame.’ Queenie sensed she’d been rather fond of Hugh Jones.

Gwen’s pale lips twisted ruefully. ‘A terrible shame,’ she sighed. ‘The room’s never been used since. I don’t suppose it’d hurt, you cleaning it up a bit.’

They were given a bucket of soapy water, a collection of rags and a stiff broom.

Gwen loaned Queenie a pinny to keep her frock clean and said they’d find a watering can in the garage. ‘Fill it up from the tap outside and sprinkle water on the floor, else you’ll have dust all over the place.’

Two hours later, there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen in the den, as they had christened it. The floor had been swept and washed, the furniture wiped with a damp cloth, the ceiling brushed, and the windows cleaned and polished. Jimmy took the mattress and the cushions off the easy chair into the garden and thrashed them to within an inch of their lives.

‘We can use this as a sofa,’ he said, throwing the mattress back on to its frame.

‘What about when it’s dark? There’s no light. We won’t be able to see.’

‘We’ll use candles. I bet that’s what Hugh Jones had.’

‘I’ll buy some this avvy, and a box of matches.’ She took it for granted Jimmy didn’t have any money, whereas Laura had given her five shillings pocket money.

She had no idea how long it was supposed to last.

Jimmy was delving into one of the tea chests, flinging clothes all over the place, looking for a candleholder. ‘Me mam’s got this tin one with a handle. We use it to take to the lavvy in the dark. Eh, Queenie, I wonder if Gwen’d mind if I had some of these.’ He held up a pair of corduroy trousers. ‘They look like they’d fit me. There’s some decent shirts an’ all. How do I look in this?’ He plonked a wide-brimmed felt hat on his head.

She laughed. ‘You look like an explorer.’

‘D’you think Gwen’d give us something to eat? I’m bloody starving. After all, my old lady gave you some biccies.’

Gwen had already made them each a corned beef sandwich. She gave a little shriek when she saw Jimmy in the hat. ‘You look just like him, like Hugh Jones,’ she gasped. She offered to wash the trousers and a couple of shirts tomorrow. ‘You may as well have them. I’m surprised they’re not rotten by now.’ She was obviously quite smitten with Jimmy. Most people seemed to be.

At three o’clock, Queenie had a quick wash and set off to collect the girls.

Jimmy said he’d better go and see how their Pete was. ‘Meet you back in the den tonight,’ he said casually.

The den became Queenie’s favourite place. It was where she read on dark afternoons – after giving Gwen a hand with the housework – sitting in the easy chair in front of the window, a candle flickering on the table. Jimmy usually joined her, bringing his treasured motor car magazine, three years old and coming to pieces. He studied it avidly, his lips forming the words as he read, occasionally asking the meaning of certain words. His dad had been a motor mechanic and was almost as mad about cars as Jimmy himself.

Much to her chagrin, Mary was finding it hard to learn to read. Queenie reckoned that somewhere in a house that used to be a school there must be a blackboard and some chalk. One Wednesday afternoon, the day that Gwen usually went to see her sister, she explored the rooms the girls had been forbidden to enter – Gwen had been very apologetic when she told them. Mrs Merton’s living room was crammed with showy, old-fashioned furniture. There were tasselled curtains on the window and a rich red carpet on the floor. Another room turned out to be a study, with a big wooden desk and glass fronted bookcases. There was no way of knowing if Mrs Merton used it now, or if this was how it had been left by the Reverend Allsop.

Two further rooms were empty, apart from a few items of furniture and several suitcases stacked on top of one another. The final room was twice, possibly three times as big as the others. Queenie felt as if time had stood still when she saw it was still laid out as a classroom. The rows of shabby desks with their dried-up inkwells had a spooky air, as if they’d only just been vacated.

She felt the hairs prickle on her neck, half expecting a bell to ring and the children to return; little ghostly figures with their heads meekly bent, terrified they might be beaten by the Reverend Allsop, whom she imagined having dark eyebrows, almost joined together, and mutton chop whiskers. She opened a cupboard, found a blackboard and a lump of chalk, and hurried away, vowing never to enter the room again.

From then on, when Hester and Mary came home, the den became a classroom.

Queenie would write words on the board for Mary to read.

‘I know that already,’ Hester would yawn. Laura had already taught her to read a little, which only made Mary crosser.

Not long after the lessons started, Tess began to turn up regularly, eventually bringing another girl, Brenda O’Toole. Queenie felt obliged to draw the line at Brenda, worried that the den might end up with as many pupils as the school. She taught the girls how to add up and take away, the two and three times tables, the alphabet from beginning to end, though only Hester could say it the whole way through without hesitation.

They’d been in Caerdovey for almost two months when Queenie arrived to collect the girls and found herself invited inside the Councillor Jones Hall by Miss Larkin who’d taught in St Joan of Arc’s. There were only two teachers, Miss Larkin and Mrs Waters, who was very old and had come out of retirement to do her bit, a lot of the younger teachers having joined the forces, leaving schools short of staff.

The hall had been split into two with screens, the five to eights in one half, the older children in the other.

‘I understand you’ve been teaching some of the children to read and write?’ Miss Larkin said.

‘Yes. I’m sorry,’ Queenie stammered, worried she was doing something wrong.

‘Please don’t be sorry. Mrs Waters and I are very impressed. We wondered if you could spare the time to come in, say two mornings a week, and give the little ones a lesson? Of course, if there wasn’t a war on, such a thing would be seriously frowned upon by the authorities, but there is a war on, and Mrs Waters and I are trying to do the work of five teachers. Your help would be greatly appreciated.’

Queenie felt herself go dizzy. A vision of Mam sprang into her mind, sneering at her. ‘You’re thick, d’you know that, Queenie? I don’t know what I did to deserve such a thick, useless daughter.’ What would Mam say if she knew her useless daughter had been asked to teach? ‘All right,’ she said faintly.

Laura arrived unexpectedly on Saturday carrying a large suitcase. It was her third visit, although she was usually accompanied by Vera. ‘The weather’s getting cold and Vera and I suddenly realised you didn’t have any heavy clothes,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’ve brought Hester and Mary’s winter coats, some thick jerseys and skirts, and stout shoes. I only hope they still fit. And there’s stuff for you, Queenie, secondhand, but in perfect condition. I got everything from Paddy’s Market, and I’ve made you a pretty mohair beret.’

‘Why hasn’t my mam come?’ Mary asked indignantly.

‘She couldn’t take the day off at such short notice, dear.’

Surprising everyone, Vera had got a job and now worked behind the counter of a ship’s chandlers on the Dock Road. ‘She’ll come next time, don’t worry. Only one more visit and it’ll be Christmas and you can all come home for a few days.’

‘Have there been any air raids yet, Mummy?’ Hester enquired.

‘No, sweetheart.’

‘Then why can’t we come home for good? Some children from school have already gone back to Bootle.’

‘Daddy would skin me alive if I let you. He’s already cross I’m not here as well. You’re not unhappy, are you?’ Laura said anxiously. ‘I thought you were having a lovely time, what with that den of yours and a lovely beach right on the doorstep.’

Hester laid her head on her mother’s knee. ‘I’d sooner be home with you,’ she said quietly.

‘I’d sooner you were too, but, sweetheart, you know I’ve got this job in a factory. It’s what’s called shift work. Some weeks, I’m out all night and sleep all day. The rest of the time, I’m either gone by six in the morning, or not home till nearly midnight. Life wouldn’t be the same as it was before. Mummy wouldn’t be there all the time.’

‘All right.’ Hester sighed.

Laura remarked on how well they all looked, particularly Queenie, who’d put on some much needed weight. ‘And your cheeks have filled out, your eyes are sparkling. You look incredibly pretty. Oh, I’ve just remembered. I’ve brought some scissors to tidy your hair and another five shillings pocket money.’

‘I’ve still got loads of money left,’ Queenie told her.

‘That doesn’t matter. I can’t very well keep it just because you’ve been careful.’

At half past five, after they’d eaten the beef casserole Gwen had made, followed by jelly and cream, they all went with Laura as far as the Town Hall where she would catch the bus to Llangollen, then the train to Liverpool. By then, Jimmy had arrived, cutting a dashing figure in Hugh Jones’s trousers, tweed jacket and oversized hat. Before leaving, Laura asked Gwen if Mrs Merton was home so she could thank her for having the children, but was told she was out.

‘She’s always out,’ Laura complained. ‘I’ll never get to thank her.’