Chapter 7

At the same time as Vince and Lily were making their way home, Stella had invited Rosie in for a drink. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. It was old Peg Leg from the house opposite who always turned up when he got a sniff of a free tipple. The Laffertys’ doors were always flung open to anyone who wished to drop in for a whisky and a gossip, and tonight was no different.

‘Room for a little’un?’ he asked, squashing his wide bottom onto the threadbare chaise longue between Deirdre and Bobby, and told his famous story that they had all heard a hundred times before, of how he had lost the bottom half of his leg in the Great War, and everyone rolled their eyes at each other because they all knew it had happened when he had fallen off a tram, drunk on Guinness, outside St George’s Hall. ‘Still, mustn’t grumble,’ he added at the end of his speech.

A minute later Cliff came barrelling in with a pal who he had collected along the way from the pub. And then, just as they were about to start on the sherry, Matt appeared.

‘Read this,’ he said shoving the Liverpool Echo into his father’s hand. His face was pale and worried.

Stella paused. She could see from his expression that whatever it said was serious.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

‘Just read it!’

She scanned the headline. Its ominous, bold black letters made up the sentence that would change their lives forever: Hitler plans blitzkrieg for Liverpool.

‘This Hitler is a monster,’ she said, her hands trembling and the newspaper quivering.

‘They say there’ll be an announcement this evening. On the wireless … About what we should all do.’

‘Oh no,’ said her mother, steadying herself with a hand on the mantelpiece, trying to think through what the consequences of all this might be. Stella paled. The realisation hit her.

It had been a blistering hot summer’s day and it was still a warm evening now, at nine o’ clock. The room was stuffy and hot and they all sat huddled around the wireless, wiping their brows, the men loosening their collars, the women wafting themselves with their hands.

‘You’ve heard what Hitler is doing in France? You’ve heard about the blitzkriegs in Europe? Terrible business,’ said Peg Leg.

Cliff Lafferty usually had to demand quiet at this time. He followed the news and enjoyed his favourite radio programmes, Henry Hall and his dance band, and Arthur Askey in ITMA – It’s That Man Again! they would all chorus – but he didn’t have to tell anyone to shush, or pipe down, or throw his shoe at them to stop them talking.

‘Let us remind ourselves of Hitler’s inflammatory statement on the tenth of July,’ said the voice coming out of the radio.

‘The Fascist dictator in his speech to the Reichstag said, “Mr Churchill may well belittle my declaration again, crying that it was nothing other than a symptom of my fear, or my doubts of final victory. Still I have an easy conscience in view of things to come.”

‘I ask you!’ said Stella.

She reached out a hand, placed it gently on her husband’s shoulder, and squeezed.

‘It’s baking hot in here,’ she said, fanning herself down with her hand. Her copper hair was tied back in a loose ponytail with a brightly coloured floral scarf. Beads of sweat appeared on her brow like fresh dew.

Peg Leg took the rolled up Liverpool Echo out of his pocket, opened it, but after a second, put it away again. He paused and shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I can’t look at these pictures. It’s too grim. What’s the world coming to?’

Stella could read her husband’s expression. He looked worried.

‘Are you all right, love?’ she asked.

He turned to her, shrugged, and raked his hands through his hair. He stared ahead blankly, and absentmindedly rubbed at a speck of black on Bobby’s cheek with his thumb.

‘This is happening finally. We live so close to the docks. We’re right in the line of fire, Stel. We’ve got to take it seriously.’

Stella nodded and turned to Rosie suddenly.

‘You as well, Rosie. Lily’s told me you’ve started packing. Well, you should go as soon as you can. No more sitting under your stairs or a table or holding a tea tray over your head or, like I caught your da the other day, wearing a stupid saucepan on his head. As if that would do any good. Far too dangerous for that nonsense. I mean it. You should leave as soon as you can,’ she said urgently, clasping one of Rosie’s hands tightly as she spoke.

‘M-Mam …’ stuttered Matt suddenly, as he looked out of the window. They all saw the panic in his wide eyes, heard it in his voice.

‘What is it?’ she said, alarmed. She repeated the question urgently, her bottom lip quivering. ‘What is it, son?’

‘D’you think they’ve dropped another bomb? You can smell the smoke. What should we do?’ Stella clutched her cardigan to her in a panic. They all raced over to the window, shoving and pushing each other out of the way to get a better look, though at nine at night there wasn’t much to see. Just the stench of acrid smoke hanging over the Mersey.

‘Looks like they’re on their way here,’ Matt said.

The sounds of the sirens began to wail.

‘Where’s Lily?’ she cried. ‘Anyone know where Lily is?’

That must have been close, Lily thought, as the sound of a whistle followed by a wump wump accompanied a tremor beneath her feet. Vincent grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into a pub doorway, threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly. She could feel his heart beating beneath his shirt and coat.

‘All clear,’ he said, poking his head out.

They set off again down the road towards Caryl Street.

‘Off you go, Lil. Run. I’ve got to go home and then straight back to my ship by seven tomorrow morning. I don’t know for sure where we’ll be going but gossip is it could be North Africa.’

‘North Africa!’

‘Keep that to yourself. Now go. And be careful.’ He brushed a strand of hair off her face and kissed her one more time.

‘And you,’ she said. ‘Your ma will be out of her mind.’

‘Pa is delighted that this is finally the real thing. He’s enjoying testing out his precious cellar that he’s spent so long doing up. And Ma too. She’s so proud of how she’s chintzed it up with cushions and the like and whitewashed the walls!’

‘She got the tins of condensed milk stacked up?’

‘Aye. Stacked to the ceiling. I said to her, Ma, you’ve enough conny-onny to take us into the next century.’

‘That’s good,’ said Lily, smiling.

‘Even got electricity down there.’

There was another sound of an aeroplane in the distance and this time the ground shook slightly.

‘Did you feel that?’ asked Lily.

‘Aye,’ he said.

Pulling her towards him for a final kiss on the doorstep of her house, he could sense the waves of fear that shuddered through her body.

‘Go. Now,’ she said. Then, checking that the coast was clear, she leaned in to him and pecked him on the cheek. ‘And be careful.’ She watched him from the window and saw him running down the road, then glance back up and wave at her before he turned the corner. Please God, be lucky and stay safe, she murmured.

When Lily arrived, shattered and exhausted at the shelter at St Columba’s church three streets away, and met Stella and the children, they were all told to wait in the kitchen downstairs in the crypt. It felt that a new fear was everywhere and nowhere more than in the faces of the people that came through the doors that night. A room full of camp beds was being prepared, and the wardens, they announced, would lead them through when they were ready. Matt appeared at the door.

‘Jesu Cristo! So much for your phoney war, Mam!’ he cried. ‘Where’s Gram?’

‘Gone to Aunt Mary’s in Morecambe with Annie for a few days, thank God. They left this morning.’

‘Get down!’ yelled Matt suddenly, as another bomb made the ground shake and the china, stacked up on a shelf, rattle.

‘That must have been close!’ shouted someone from across the room.

They all crouched, eyes stricken with panic, and the woman who was trying to organise things raced around the kitchen in the crypt looking for tea trays to hold above the heads of those who hadn’t found a space under a table.

‘I don’t like it, Mam!’ sobbed Deirdre. The familiar waves of panic and fear rippling through the cramped damp smelling room grew in intensity.

‘Come here, chicken,’ said Lily, her voice trembling. Her heart beat in thuds and she felt that her chest was about to rip right open.

‘I don’t like it either,’ said Bobby, competing in volume with Deirdre’s wailing.

Matt began to sing a song. ‘Oh, me name is Ernest, Chimney Sweep I am, love me Chimbley Chimbley …’ And in a desperate effort to cheer them up, said, ‘What do you call a man with no body and no nose?’ he said, grinning. It was the kiddies’ favourite joke, but this time, when he gave them the answer, ‘Nobody knows!’ they didn’t laugh. They just looked at him worriedly, round-eyed with fear.

Half an hour later they were led into the room where the camp beds, about fifty of them, were all lined up in rows with threadbare blankets draped across them and a small pillow each.

‘Vera!’ exclaimed Stella. ‘What are you doing here? Awful night we’ve had.’

Vera, red-faced, turned. ‘Stella!’ she cried. She told Stella in a volley of words that she had run all the way from Laxey Street and thought she was going to die. ‘I felt the iron claw clutching my heart, Stel! I did!’

Lily moved away quickly. She was praying that Vera wouldn’t tell her mother she had seen her with Vincent at the Grafton. All hell would be let loose if that happened. But seeing them in deep conversation, seeing the look pass between them, she became worried. When she saw her mother’s expression darkening, her eyebrows knitting together, then glancing back towards her, she knew immediately that whatever they were talking about had something to do with her.

The women stood huddled together. Heads bent, nodding, they were both looking over now.

‘I can’t sleep. Them planes. Is it the Jerries? Are they bombing Caryl Street?’ Bobby pestered Lily, pulling the thin linen sheet over his hunched shoulders.

‘No,’ lied Lily, distracted, still worried about her mother. ‘Just practice runs … Try and get a bit of shut eye, sweetie.’

Bobby sighed. Matt came over, knelt beside him, pushed a cigarette in his ear, produced it from his other ear with a flourish. ‘Tah dah!’

‘How d’you do that?’ Bobby asked, amazed.

‘Magic,’ he replied.

Lily put each child into a bed and sat on a third bed between each them. Matt pulled up a stool beside her. ‘This really is enough now,’ he said. ‘This is just too dangerous. It’s the docks they’re targeting – and that’s us.’ He turned to Lily. ‘The kids can’t stay in Liverpool. They have to go to St Jude’s.’

Lily looked shocked. Did Matt also think this was a good idea? How could he even suggest it? The grim Gothic monstrosity that she had collected the sheets from? The Mother and Baby Home? Why would they pack them off there?

‘You shouldn’t let them anywhere near that place,’ Lily said.

Suddenly, she felt her mother at her side.

‘Why not?’ asked Stella.

‘It’s pitiful. And what about the girls?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘The fallen girls? What’s going to happen to them?’

‘Let’s not worry about the details,’ said Stella, crossly. ‘You’ll find out when you get there.’

Lily’s eyes widened with the shock of what she had just said.

‘Who, me?’

‘Yes, you. Don’t look so appalled. There’s a place for you as well. The nuns need more girls to help with the domestics. I want you to go there to look after the kids. St Jude’s are taking whoever’s still left here from St Columba’s parish next week. Father Donnelly has arranged it. The bombings will start getting worse because this is a proper blitzkrieg, all right, just like the ones in Belgium and Poland – and this time Deirdre and Bobby should go. The nuns are doing it to be kind. Helping with the war effort.’

Lily’s jaw dropped open. ‘No! I’m not going! I’ve told you, it’s an awful place!’

‘Of course you’re going, Lily. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not having these children go on their own,’ said Stella.

‘I can’t!’

‘What do you mean, you can’t?’

‘I mean I won’t!’

‘You will do as I say, young lady! I’m sick of you defying me. Don’t think I don’t know about you running around town with boys when I told you not to! You’re going. And that’s the end of it.’

‘You’re sending me away because of Vincent?’

‘No. Yes … no,’ she answered.

Bobby, with his thumb stuck in his mouth, clutched Lily’s hand.

‘Is everything going to be all right? I’m scared,’ he said. He dropped his head fiddled with his fraying cuffs.

‘Fine. Everything is fine,’ answered Lily, as another plane roared overhead and her nerve endings tingled with the vibrations.

‘Go to sleep, Bobby. Everything will feel better in the morning,’ snapped Stella.

And then she turned on Lily again.

‘You’d really abandon your brother? Look at him, poor lamb,’ she said. That was unfair, thought Lily, as he stared at her worried round eyes. ‘You’re going to St Jude’s, Lily.’

‘But—’

‘No buts. You’re going and that’s final.’

‘But—’

Stella held the palm of her hand flat up to her face in a gesture that Lily understood was telling her that there was no point in arguing. Lily, sensing this was a hopeless situation, humphed, and lay down. She turned her back and lay on her side, drawing her knees to her chest on the sagging camp bed whilst the ground shook again suddenly and a terrific whizzing sound came from overhead. Everyone shrieked, and ducked, and prayed for it to stop. Everyone except Lily, who at that moment was so upset, and so furious with her mother, that she wouldn’t have cared if a bomb had dropped right there and killed the whole flaming lot of them.