Mary closed her door in Grotto Square but didn’t lock it. No one locked their doors in this part of Hull for few people had anything worth stealing, and besides, the neighbours would notice if anyone went into the wrong house. She was on her way to Baker Street and patted her coat pocket to make sure she had her keys; the Thornburys’ door would be locked for there was plenty that was worth stealing there, even though Mrs Thornbury had packed quite a few of their valuables away because of the war and Mr Thornbury had taken some to the bank for safe keeping.
But first she must call on Dolly and find out if she’d heard anything from Josh or Stanley; Ada too was waiting to hear from her husband Isaac as she hadn’t received a letter in weeks. Ada rented a room further down Mason Street which she and Isaac had taken in readiness for their wedding day, but he had only spent a week in it before being called up and sent off immediately for training. Ada had kept it, as she was earning enough to pay the rent; she liked being mistress of her own place even though it was just one room, as she could come and go as she pleased, something she had never been able to do before.
Mary came through the archway and turned right, looking about her. There was a woman ahead of her standing in the middle of the footpath as if she were looking at something or someone. Mary paused. People were constantly on edge, looking in the sky for enemy aircraft, seeing spies everywhere, throwing bricks through the windows of shops with a German name. Oh, no. She drew in a breath; the woman was looking at a telegraph boy cycling towards them.
It was one of the worst things of the war, Mary thought, the waiting and watching for news, and the poor young lads carrying telegrams must have hated their jobs, for inevitably they were bringing bad news to someone.
I’ll just wait a minute, she considered. He’s passed Ada’s house already. I’ll wait for him to pass our Dolly’s. The woman in front of her crossed over the road and walked on; she must have been doing the same thing as Mary and had now decided that it was safe to go home. Thank goodness we had daughters and not lads, she thought. I’d not have a minute’s peace if my bairns were abroad like Dolly’s.
Then she heard screaming and someone, a woman, hurtled down the steps of one of the dwellings. It was her niece Ada, and she was running towards her mother’s house. Mary hurried towards her, calling, ‘Ada, Ada!’ but Ada took no heed and almost knocked over the telegraph boy, who was dismounting from his bicycle.
Finally hearing her aunt’s calls, Ada turned to Mary. ‘Aunt Mary!’ she shrieked, waving an opened telegram in her hand. ‘It’s Isaac! He’s missing, believed killed in action.’
‘Come inside.’ Mary took Ada’s arm and led her up the steps towards Dolly’s rooms. ‘Try to keep calm; come on, come on.’
They were halfway up the stairs when the doorbell rang and she turned and saw the telegraph boy standing on the doorstep looking through the open door.
‘Mrs Morris?’ he said. ‘I’m looking for Mr and Mrs Morris.’ He held out an envelope. ‘I’ve got a telegram for ’em.’
Mary grabbed the banister rail and muttered under her breath. Not another blow! How will they cope? She looked up the stairs; Ada had paused and was standing with her lips parted and her hands clutched to her chest, then Mary slowly lifted her head and looked up to the next landing to see her sister Dolly staring down at them.
‘I can’t take it, Dolly,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to come down.’
Dolly slowly descended, shaking her head. She patted Ada’s cheek as she passed and it was as if she were sleepwalking as she continued down the stairs. ‘I’m going to collect ’washing,’ she mumbled. ‘I shouldn’t be here really. I’m late.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Mary said softly. ‘Everybody’ll understand.’
Dolly looked at the telegram and her lips moved as she silently mouthed their name and address.
‘Is it you, missus?’ the boy asked.
Dolly nodded and he touched his cap and turned away, and Mary thought again that it wasn’t the right kind of job for such a young boy.
They sat down in Dolly’s neat as a pin room and Ada looked at her and mumbled. ‘It’s Isaac, Mam. He’s been killed at a place near – Yp—’
‘Ypres, is it, lovey?’ Mary asked and Ada nodded, tears rolling down her face.
‘Thing is,’ Ada murmured, her voice thick with grief, ‘I feel as if I hardly knew him. I should’ve married him afore, when he first asked me.’
Dolly sat with the telegram in her hand and looked down at it. ‘Should I wait till your da gets home?’ she asked Ada.
Ada shook her head. ‘You need to know, Mam. Mebbe one of ’lads is injured and coming home. Open it.’
Dolly’s fingers trembled as she tried to slit the thin paper, and then read the message inside. She handed it to Mary, who took it reluctantly.
She read it and swallowed hard. ‘It’s Stanley,’ she whispered. ‘And he’s not coming home.’
Mary had the painful task of breaking the news of Stanley’s death to Dolly’s husband Tom and their sons Bob and Charlie; they were all at work. First of all, though, she went to Baker Street and left a note for Nora Thornbury to say that her family had received bad news from abroad and she was informing the other relations and would be in later. They would understand, she knew, but nevertheless she didn’t want them to come back to a cold house and no dinner.
What a dreadful time, she grieved as she walked across to the Paragon railway station; bombings by Zeppelins, families killed in their beds and lately the endless casualty lists in the newspapers; and now, she sighed, there would be two more to add to the number.
She left messages to be given to Bob and Charlie, who were both elsewhere on trains, and then she called at Bob’s house and spoke to his wife Iris, who was expecting their second child fairly soon. ‘Ask him to go and see his mam when he comes home, will you, love? And our Ada.’
Iris knew how important families were at this time and how upset Bob would be to lose his brother. ‘What about Josh?’ she asked. ‘Has owt been heard about him?’
Mary shook her head. ‘Let’s hope that no news is good news, eh, love? Now, you go and have a sit down. Shall I mek you a cup of tea?’
‘I’m expecting my mam to call in,’ Iris said, ‘she’ll mek one. But you can stop if you like.’
Mary thanked her but said she’d better get off. She had yet to locate Stanley’s father, who, Dolly had told her, was working in one of the warehouses at the town docks that week, and Mary wasn’t relishing breaking the news to him. Tom was a man of few words – mainly because with a wife like Dolly it wasn’t always possible to get a word in edgeways – but she also knew he would hold in his grief and that wasn’t a good thing to do.
She was directed towards the back of one of the warehouses off Princes Dock, where she found him shifting large crates ready for loading on to a ship. He looked up and she knew she didn’t have to say anything. The news was etched on her stricken face.
‘Which one is it?’ he asked huskily.
‘Stanley.’
‘Gone? Or injured?’
Mary put her fingers to her lips to still them. ‘Gone,’ she choked. ‘I’m so sorry, Tom. Can you go home to our Dolly?’ She gulped down tears. ‘There’s more,’ she said. ‘Isaac, our Ada’s man. He’s gone too.’
He put down a crowbar he was clenching and reached for his jacket, which was hooked on a wall close by. ‘Come on then. We’d better get home.’
They walked in silence across the town; it was a calm late autumn day with the sun bright but not warm, as if winter were hovering near. Many women were wearing black and some men had black armbands and Mary wondered how many bright young lads who had gone singing and whistling from the city with a sense of adventure and derring-do, prepared to fight for their country, would be coming home. And if they did, how much would this dreadful war have changed them?
She remembered how proud Dolly and Tom had been when they had seen Stanley, the recruiting sergeant, outside the city hall telling the queue of men who were waiting to sign up what a wonderful life soldiering was. And mebbe it was once, she thought, and this war, so it was said, was the war to end all wars. I hope that’s right, she mused, and then our children’s children, and their children’s children, can sleep safe in their beds at night.