Sunlight on the Mersey (8 page)

O
VER THE FOLLOWING WEEKS
the two girls took it in turns on a Sunday to visit each other’s homes, much to Charlie’s satisfaction. The more he saw of Florence, the more his interest in and liking for her grew. It was becoming clear to him that she had all the qualities he considered desirable in a wife. She was quiet, amenable, refined, generous and sweet-tempered and, he suspected, very loyal. His resolve to court and, he hoped, marry her strengthened and he determined that the next time Florence came to visit he would take the opportunity to go and see her father. He’d given it a great deal of thought and had decided it would make a good impression if he were seen to be doing things ‘properly’. He’d introduce himself to Mr Taylor and ask his permission to take Florence out. It would definitely be the best way, he told himself, and it
would give him the opportunity to see for himself what kind of a man her father was and just how well off they were.

On the following Sunday Iris and Florence decided to spend a few hours in Stanley Park, which had a boating lake and glass houses containing exotic plants.

‘If you’re going wandering around in that oversized greenhouse you’d better come back here for a cup of tea, you’ll both be parched. It’s not exactly the weather for that kind of thing,’ Kate said, for the afternoon sun was streaming in through the window, making the kitchen hot and stuffy.

‘Wouldn’t a trip on the ferry be cooler on a day like this? There’s always a bit of a breeze on the river. You could always go to the park when it’s not so hot,’ Charlie suggested. A trip to New Brighton and back would take them longer than a stroll around the park.

‘With the rest of Liverpool? We’d be packed like sardines in a tin on that ferry,’ Iris retorted. Her brother had already announced he wasn’t going for his usual walk but was meeting some of his mates; she’d thought it was unusual but had said nothing. ‘No, we’ll go to the park, but I’ll bring Florence back for tea, Mam, thanks. See you later.’

Once Iris had gone Charlie checked his appearance in the mirror on the scullery wall before he too left. His Sunday suit had been brushed and he was wearing the watch and chain his parents had given him for his twenty-first birthday in his waistcoat pocket. A freshly ironed handkerchief was tucked into the breast pocket of his jacket, his shirt was clean, his collar starched, he’d polished his boots. Setting his cap
at what he hoped was a becoming angle, he called to Kate that he’d be back just after the girls and went out through the yard.

When he alighted from the tram on the corner of Cedar Grove his reactions were the same as his sister’s had been. Yes, he could picture himself living in an area like this, he thought. It was indeed a far cry from the dirty narrow streets of the decrepit dock area, but you had to have a fair bit in the bank to live here, he mused, feeling a bit apprehensive for the first time.

He fiddled nervously with his tie before knocking and took a deep breath as the door was opened by Edward Taylor himself.

‘Mr Taylor, I’m Iris’s brother, Charles . . . Charlie Mundy. I’m sorry to disturb you but I was hoping to speak to you – if it’s convenient, that is?’

Edward Taylor was surprised, to say the least. He’d been enjoying an hour of peace and quiet, reading the Sunday newspaper, for Ethel had gone to visit a friend for tea and Florence was of course out somewhere with Iris. ‘You’d better come in then. Do I call you Charles or Charlie?’

‘Charlie, if that’s all right,’ Charlie replied, following the older man down the hallway, his glance taking everything in. He was ushered into a large room decorated in shades of cream and beige, well furnished, carpeted and with expensive china and glass ornaments.

‘Sit down, lad. Can I offer you a drink?’ Edward asked, feeling it was the hospitable thing to do even though it was a
bit on the early side for himself. The lad didn’t resemble Iris, he thought, except in his height and build, but he was handsome enough and very neatly turned out. He had no idea what it was Iris’s brother wanted.

‘Thank you but no, I . . . I don’t drink a great deal,’ Charlie replied, trying not to show how on edge he was.

‘Glad to hear it. Now, what is it you wanted to discuss with me?’

‘Well, as you know, sir, our Iris and Florence are great friends and ever since I met Florence I . . .’ He paused briefly. ‘The thing is . . . I’d like your permission to ask Florence out, sir. I haven’t said anything to her yet, I . . . I wanted to do things correctly, ask you first if it would be all right.’

Edward Taylor was taken aback. It was the last thing he had expected to hear. He’d begun to wonder if it was a job the lad had in mind and had already begun to formulate his reply. ‘So she doesn’t know about this visit and you don’t know if she will agree?’ He frowned, wishing Ethel were here. ‘She’s very young, you know.’

‘I’m aware of that, she’s the same age as Iris, but I don’t want to rush things or anything. I’d just like to get to know her better, sir.’

The older man nodded slowly. He’d always known the day would come when Florence would start walking out but she’d never given any indication that she was interested in anyone. She might well turn the lad down. ‘I can’t see that there’s any harm in asking her. What do you do for a job, Charlie?’

‘I’m a clerk in the offices of the Blue Funnel Line. I started as an office boy at fourteen, after I left school, but I’m hoping that I’ll get a better position in the company soon. They did take me back when I returned at the end of the war.’

‘You were fortunate to have come through that bloodbath. Which regiment were you with?’

‘The Eighteenth Battalion, the King’s Liverpool Regiment.’

Edward Taylor looked grim. ‘The Pals’ Regiment. Slaughtered like cattle at Montauban. Three men from this road died in the trenches there. I’ve the greatest respect and admiration for everyone who fought and died. Were you wounded?’

‘Just a flesh wound in the arm but it was certainly no picnic, sir, and I find it . . . difficult to talk about it. But it’s over now and I’m trying to put it all behind me and look to the future. As I said, I’m hoping to be promoted soon and then . . . well, I suppose if and when my father decides to retire I’ll take over from him.’

‘Ah, yes. He has a pawnbroking business, I understand.’

Charlie smiled. ‘Inherited from my grandfather.’

‘As was my own business. My grandfather started with a handcart, then progressed to a horse and cart. Backbone of the economy, Charlie, small family businesses, and I imagine in these hard times your father’s is essential,’ Florence’s father commented approvingly. ‘Well, I can’t see that either my wife or myself have any objection to you asking Florence out, Charlie, but I suppose you have considered that she may well refuse?’

‘I have but I’m hoping she’ll agree.’ Charlie stood up and held out his hand. ‘Thank you, sir, both for your permission and for your time.’

Edward Taylor shook his hand warmly. ‘Then we might be seeing more of you in the future, Charlie.’

Charlie smiled back, feeling very relieved. ‘I certainly hope so.’

When the lad had gone Edward went back to his newspaper but he couldn’t concentrate. It was disconcerting to think that Florence – his little girl – was growing up.

He relayed the reason and details of Charlie’s visit to his wife when she returned.

‘He wants to ask Florence out? You mean he wants to court her? They hardly know each other, Edward,’ Ethel said, frowning.

He sighed. ‘That’s the very reason why he wants to ask her out, Ethel. To get to know her and vice versa. He seemed decent enough and I thought he was exceptionally well mannered to come and ask me first.’

Ethel wasn’t at all happy. ‘Yes, well, but . . . but I always thought that when she started courting it would be someone with . . . excellent prospects.’

‘You mean you wanted someone better for her than a shipping clerk? He’s ambitious, his father has a business and the lad has only asked that they be allowed to get to know each other better, Ethel. He hasn’t asked to marry her. It might come to nothing; she might even refuse him. Let’s not start worrying over Florence’s future yet, she’s only eighteen.’

‘Nearly nineteen and I was engaged to you at the same age, don’t forget,’ his wife reminded him sharply. She hoped that Florence would marry well, a bank manager or owner of a large, thriving business, certainly not a lowly working-class clerk, even if he did have good manners and stood to take over a pawnbroker’s shop in time. She wanted better than that for Florence. ‘You have to take into consideration that she is used to certain . . . standards, Edward.’

‘I’ve enough to worry about as it is, Ethel, with all the violence in Ireland and mass unemployment here, and I’ve just read in the paper that there are now two million workers involved in disputes over pay and with the miners on strike supplies of coal are getting scarce and that will force the price up. I’m worried about what impact it will all have on the business and therefore our “standards”,’ Edward reminded her.

She sighed heavily. ‘Let’s hope the strike ends soon then,’ she said and wisely let the subject of Florence drop.

As Charlie got off the tram and began to walk down the street towards home he caught sight of Iris and Florence coming out of the shop together. He frowned, wondering how he was going to ask Florence out with his sister seemingly always at her side. He’d have to choose his moment carefully. As they drew closer he realised that neither of them was looking very happy. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.

‘Iris is insisting on walking me to the tram but she’s not well, Charlie. I think it’s the sun, we spent rather a long time
sitting in the park,’ Florence told him, looking anxiously at her friend.

‘I’ve got a splitting headache, that’s all. I suppose it’s my own fault for taking my hat off but it was so hot,’ Iris replied irritably. Her head was throbbing and even though she did feel awful she had refused to let Florence walk on her own, saying she’d never get there because everyone would waylay her, seeing as now everyone in the street knew her friend.

Charlie at once became solicitous; Iris couldn’t have picked a better time to be suffering from the sun or the heat. ‘You go back, Iris, you’ve probably got sunstroke. I’ll walk Florence to the tram; it’s no trouble at all.’

Iris nodded, grimacing at the pain the movement caused her. He could be right about sunstroke. Mam had said the same thing, although Kate had added that she hoped Iris wasn’t sickening for something. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Florence, in work.’

‘If you don’t feel well enough, stay off tomorrow,’ Florence advised.

‘And lose a day’s pay and have Mam moaning that I’ve brought it on myself? No, I’ll be in work. I’ll be fine after a night’s sleep,’ Iris insisted.

‘What on earth made her take her hat off? It’s so . . . common to be seen in public without a hat,’ Charlie commented.

Florence sighed. ‘You know Iris, she’s so impetuous and she doesn’t care what people say or think about her. It’s one of the things I like about her; I often wish I could be more like her.’

Charlie shook his head in amazement. ‘Florence, you don’t want to go taking too much notice of our Iris, you’re . . . fine as you are. Very ladylike.’

Florence smiled at him. ‘Thank you for walking with me, Charlie. Did you enjoy your afternoon with your friends?’

‘I have a bit of a confession to make about that, Florence. I wasn’t with friends. I went to see . . . someone. In fact I went to see your father to seek his permission to ask you if you’d like to come out with me one evening or maybe at the weekend?’

Florence stopped and stared up at him, her blue eyes wide. ‘You went to see Dad?’

Charlie nodded. ‘We had quite a chat; he’s a very nice man, Florence.’

Florence had regained her composure and felt a stirring of pleasure and excitement. He liked her and wanted to take her out! And he must be serious if he’d gone to the trouble of going to see her father. ‘What . . . what did he say, Charlie?’

‘He said it was fine by him, so . . . would you?’

Florence put her hand to her cheek, which was flushed with both the sun and the emotions she was feeling. ‘I . . . I’d love to, Charlie.’

He beamed at her, thinking how pretty she looked. ‘Then shall we say I’ll call for you on Tuesday evening and we’ll go for a walk? I don’t want to keep you out too late, not on a weekday. Then maybe on Saturday evening we could go into town and have a meal somewhere . . . nice.’ He wouldn’t mind spending money on a meal, as long as she didn’t expect it
every week. ‘I know you like to spend Sunday afternoons with our Iris.’

‘That would be lovely, Charlie,’ Florence replied, suddenly feeling very grown up.

‘Then I’ll call for you at seven o’clock,’ Charlie suggested and when she nodded her assent he offered her his arm, studiously ignoring the curious stares of the neighbours who were sitting or standing on their doorsteps trying to escape the heat of the small, over-crowded houses.

Why not? she thought. She had her father’s permission, they were now officially walking out and as she took it she smiled happily at him, albeit a little shyly.