That Liverpool Girl (5 page)

At last, Hilda spoke. ‘This is a large leap for an ironer in a Chinese laundry. I seem to be going from a room twelve by twelve to an area that defies measurement. It’s a lot to take in.’ She owned several farms. Why had she not been warned about owning several farms?

Jay inclined his head. ‘Too true. Had things not gone the way they did, you and your mam and dad would have been here already, and you’d be used to it. But you can depend on me and Gill, on Neil and his wife, and on those who don’t get called up. After that, it’ll be all women, anyway. Land Army, so I hear. Mostly females. I’ll have to go soon enough. If Neil gets the call, my Gill will probably move in with Jean, and that will free up the gatehouse for the duration.’

They reached the aforementioned gatehouse, and Eileen sighed. ‘Ooh, that’s lovely, Mam. Built of stone, and leaded windows, too.’ Then her attention was grabbed by the main building. ‘Jesus,’ she breathed. ‘And look at all the willow trees.’

‘There have to be six willows positioned like that,’ Jay said. ‘If anything happens to a tree, we need to get a new one straight away, or the crops will fail and we’ll have no luck with cattle. This is where we breed the county’s best cows and bulls; we win prizes. So we take no chances, and look after the willows. My job would be easier without them, because I cut the lawns, but there you have it. The willows stay.’

‘I like them,’ Hilda said. ‘But I don’t have to look after the grass, and I expect the lawn underneath all those weepers doesn’t thrive.’ She turned in her seat and addressed her neighbours. ‘Your boys could use them a tents or dens.’

‘They like kiddies.’ Jay grinned. ‘I know it’s a load of old wives’ rubbish, but they seem to whisper when children play under the branches. Now, the stables are at the back, between the house and Home Farm, and I reckon come spring we’ll be ploughing with horses. I’ll show you the rotation table, Miss Pickavance. With it being war, we won’t have much left fallow – just enough for the stock. Neil and Keith will keep you in the picture. Fuel for tractors will be rationed, which is why you’ll need to depend on your horses.’

Hilda hadn’t yet met the agent, but her head was already full of stuff that was foreign to her. She tried to imagine how night would be here. There was probably no gas at this distance from town, certainly no electricity. It would be all oil lamps, candles, and wood-burning stoves. Scotland Road was a long way from perfect, but it wasn’t isolated. Scotland Road would be a target for Germans who might drift a short way east; Willows would be attacked only if a pilot needed to offload his bombs in order to retain sufficient fuel to reach home. The odds were in favour of the move.

The house was big, but not massive. Water was heated by a back boiler, and there was an indoor bathroom that served four large enough bedrooms. Downstairs, there were two sitting rooms, one of which was named a morning room, so Nellie immediately christened the larger of the two ‘the afternoon room’. There was also a dining room and a large kitchen. Any decay was not noticed by the three incomers, who were used to conditions infinitely worse than these. ‘I’m scared,’ Hilda whispered to Nellie.

‘Aye, it’s a big thing, isn’t it? A different life, that’s for sure. Safety’s a big bonus, though. But then there’s Mel.’

‘She won’t come.’ It was not a question.

‘Says she’s going to try to get digs in Crosby, somewhere near the school.’

‘I’ll pay,’ said Hilda.

‘No need. She’ll be classed as an evacuee with any luck, so they’ll get paid by the government. Eileen’ll miss her. So will I. And the lads are nothing but trouble. Do you realize what you’re taking on, Hilda?’

Jay had led Eileen outside to look at the stables, so the other two women could now talk in private.

Hilda nodded, a glint in her eye. ‘I know I’m just an ironer, Nellie, but I had a fairly decent education at Miss Millichamp’s academy. I’ll be their teacher to start with, then we’ll look for schools.’

Nellie sighed. ‘So, we’re doing it, then?’

‘I’m not leaving your children to die. You lost a good man in the previous conflict, and I believe poor Eileen’s husband was killed by half a ton of falling cargo. Those boys of yours may be out of hand, but so is every child in Rachel Street. Nellie, I am putting my foot down for once in my life. You’re coming.’

So it seemed to be settled before the agent even put in an appearance.

Nellie and Eileen stayed in the morning room while Hilda had her meeting with Keith Greenhalgh. It lasted just about half an hour, allowing a further half-hour for tea with scones made that morning by Jean Dyson and served very ably by Jay, who made an excellent cup of tea. Afterwards, the visitors were plied with more scones and bread, cabbages, tomatoes, home-grown potatoes, carrots and swedes. ‘Take them home,’ Jay told them. ‘Give your kiddies a taste of food straight from the soil. And here’s some butter from the best cows in Lancashire. You’ll be back,’ he said, winking at Nellie. ‘They’ll all be safer and better fed.’

‘Except for my Mel,’ Eileen sighed.

Nellie, too, was concerned about her granddaughter. She was pretty, far too pretty not to be a worry. Already, men and boys stared at her in the street, and she was much too young to be away from her family. Yet they could not, dared not, interfere with her education. She had been given a chance that was unheard of in the streets that flanked Scotland Road. And there was something about Mel that spoke of determination and single-mindedness. ‘We can’t force her, Eileen. She’s set her heart on Cambridge, and she’ll get there. It would be wrong if Hitler ruined her education.’

‘Yes, but she has to come to us in the holidays.’

‘She will. She might be a high flyer, but she’ll not neglect you, because her mam’s always been her world.’

They began the journey homeward. The days were shortening, and Hilda found herself worrying once again about the countryside and its blackness. Yet she had inherited a beautiful house, an immense acreage, several farms, and the responsibility that went along with all that. The row of houses on the Edge needed to be made waterproof for the winter, as did some parts of the main house. According to Keith Greenhalgh, the home farm was in good order, but Hilda might be responsible for some of the patching up required by the farms occupied by paying tenants. ‘I won’t know where to start,’ she said as they made the easier journey down from the moor.

‘But Keith and I do,’ Jay said. ‘Once you’ve sorted out the money, we can go from there. You won’t need to do much.’

Hilda disagreed. ‘I’m determined to learn,’ she said. ‘I’ve no intention of taking this lightly. I want to know about animals and ploughing and planting and—’

Jay laughed. ‘Hang on, Miss Pickavance, or you’ll have us all out of work before this war kicks off.’

They heard a few sirens as they made their way back to Liverpool. All these practices might well mean that no one would react when real bombardment threatened, because it was a bit like the boy who cried wolf.

The three women had enjoyed a taste of fresh, clean air, and they began to notice how much dirtier town life was. They were sleepy, too, just as they often were after a rare day in Southport. Clean air made a person lively, and liveliness made a person tired. It was probably the way humanity was meant to be, living in freshness, and sleeping well at night.

This time, Jay drove down the dock road, because he had never seen it before. Even so late in the day, men were working hard to unload cargo and bring in for storage as much as they could, especially where foodstuffs were concerned. Sea routes would be threatened for both Royal and merchant navies. Men’s lives could not be risked for the sake of a few bananas and pineapples – even molasses would be scarce, so every effort to stock up was being made. ‘You can’t stop here, Miss Pickavance,’ Jay said. ‘This lot will be a prime target, so you have to move inland. I mean, the Germans would be daft if they didn’t go for these docks.’

‘I know.’ She sighed. She was an heiress. Very suddenly, she had become a person of standing. And she didn’t know how to feel about that. Until now, Hilda had owned nothing beyond household goods and clothing. Money left after the deaths of her parents was salted away against her old age. ‘How many farms are there?’ she asked.

‘Only four, not counting the home farm.’

Only four. Four roofs, four families, four lots of rainwater goods, walls, doors, windows. ‘Tell Keith I want to know everything about the condition of those farmhouses. I’ll need written reports, and I do hope I’m not being a nuisance, Jay. So much to learn, you see.’

What Jay saw was a good woman who took duty seriously, probably too seriously. He grinned. ‘It’ll be a pleasure, Miss Pickavance.’ How far removed she was from the expectations of Neil Dyson. Keith had told Jay about the ‘all lipstick and shoes’ description delivered by the home farm manager. There was little of the Chanel No. 5 about Hilda Pickavance, but there was a fine business head just waiting to become informed. Yes, she would make a good fist of it. If she failed at anything, it wouldn’t be for want of trying.

‘And if you would kindly ask the people in Willows Edge whether they have been approached by the authorities with regard to evacuation, I’d be grateful. At the farms, too, please. As you have seen for yourself, the children in this area are perilously near to a busy dock system.’

‘Certainly.’ He dropped them off, smiling as he watched them distributing fruit and vegetables from the boot of the car. It was a long way home, but for Miss Pickavance the journey would be much, much further. She was, in his opinion, an excellent and genteel woman. Qualities such as hers were much needed in times such as these. Adolf had better hang on to his hat. With people like this about, Britain would not roll over easily.

Mel came downstairs to meet Gran. ‘Where’s Mam?’ she asked.

‘With Miss Pickavance. She’s borrowing clothes so she can go to Crosby and look where you’ll be staying. What have you done with your brothers?’

Mel shrugged. ‘The hellions were not containable, and I have maths homework. They’re probably chasing molasses up the dock road, or stealing from the late shop. What happened, Gran?’

Nellie told her granddaughter about the day’s adventure. She spoke of acres of undulating land, beautiful greens, dry stone walls and pretty little houses, also of stone. Miss Pickavance was an extremely rich woman, and she intended to shelter as many children as possible from these mean streets. Nellie spoke about the willow trees and how they had to be placed, about Jay, their driver, and Keith Greenhalgh, who was the steward, or the agent, or some such fancy thing. ‘It’s out in the wilds, Mel. The sort of place where you could stick one of the poor folk with TB and watch while the disease got blown out of them. There’s horses, pigs, sheep, chickens and goats. Oh, and prize-winning cattle. And orchards, and field after field of veg. It was a lot to take in, because we only stopped a couple of hours. Listen, when your mam comes home in a minute, Miss Pickavance wants a quick word with you.’

‘Right.’ Mel sat down. ‘Gran?’

‘Yes, love?’

‘What’ll happen to our house? This house?’

Nellie parked herself next to her favourite person. ‘We’ll have to let it go.’

‘So . . . I’ll have no home?’

Nellie closed her eyes against the pain that came with war. ‘Your home will be a very grand and proper house north of Bolton. It has a back boiler and its own bathroom, mile after mile of land, a car, horses and tractors. That’s where your mother and I will be, so that’s your new address.’

‘But what about here? I mean, I know my school’s in Crosby, but this is home.’

‘And you’re not ashamed. I know you’re not.’

Mel lifted her chin in a gesture of defiance known to everyone in this house and in several households further afield. ‘Look, Gran. There are girls – and boys for that matter – all over Crosby and Blundellsands who’ve been to prep schools and crammers, and they still didn’t get a place. I’m living proof that a person who doesn’t have her own pony, a grand piano, and a twenty-roomed house on Merrilocks Road can still have the brains, the fire and the belly required to make it all the way up to Oxbridge. I’m a pioneer. And when I’m a don, or whatever, I shall still come back here and show them what can be done.’

Nellie blinked the wetness from her eyes. Mel was one in a million, and she was so proud of this granddaughter that she felt she might burst. ‘But we can’t pay rent on a house we’re not using, love. And you mustn’t live down here. That’s the whole point in what we’re doing – this is going to be a battle zone. Me and your mam are taking the hellions, as you call them, miles away, but we can’t take you, because of the school. You could go to Crosby, which might be a bit safer, but you can’t live here. So you come with us, or it’s Crosby.’

‘Crosby.’

‘There you go, then. Now, get across and see Miss Pickavance, and tell your mam to get back here, because she’s three sons missing.’

Hilda was pleased with herself. She’d found a nice grey suit, a white blouse and a pair of decent shoes for Eileen. Eileen wanted to make an impression, and Hilda understood, since she, too, had lived for many years among grime, destitution and hopelessness. If Mel was going to spend the duration in a doctor’s house, her mother wanted to feel comfortable in the presence of company that probably considered itself to be elevated.

As Eileen left the house, her daughter entered.

‘Well,’ said Hilda while the girl sat down. ‘So you’re going to live in Crosby?’