It was not until they had dropped Judy off and reached the station that it dawned on Joan just how excited Audrey was at the prospect of this trip. She had even managed a lightning change into her best suit and a clean white blouse, and her recently tear-stained face was now meticulously made up. The train was just drawing in as they ran up to the ticket office. Audrey plonked down the money and asked for two returns to Liverpool. Joan was surprised, but there was no time to ask why as Audrey hurried her over the bridge to the platform. They jumped on the train just as the doors were closing.
“Why did you get tickets to Liverpool?” asked Joan as soon as they were settled on board. “I thought we were only going as far as Birkenhead.”
“We are. But we’re going on to Liverpool after that.”
“What? Whatever for?”
Audrey looked out at the suburban back gardens racing past the train window.
“I’m going to try to get to the docks, of course,” she said. “I’ve got a pretty good idea of where Dai’s ship will be. It was in the Gladstone Dock last time, so I’m guessing it will be there again.”
“Audrey! You’re not going to try to meet Dai?”
“Why not? Even if I only get as far as the dock’s entrance, I might be able to get a message to him to come and meet me.”
“You’re crazy!”
“Oh, Joanie, don’t be cross. I’ve just got to see Dai, even if it’s only for a few minutes. And I needed you to help me. Mum would never have let me go on my own, so this errand to get the Red Cross stuff came in really handy. We can easily make it home before it gets dark.”
“You mean to tell me that we are going to collect all these packages then lug them all the way to the Liverpool docks and back?”
“They won’t be very heavy – they’re only bandages, cotton wool and stuff. And you won’t have to come all the way to the docks with me. I can leave you somewhere and we can meet up afterwards.”
Joan knew there was no stopping Audrey once she had made up her mind to do something. They sat in silence for the rest of the journey.
The Red Cross depot at Birkenhead was not far from the station. They hurried over there and managed to make it back, carrying the packages, in good time to catch the next train on to Liverpool Central.
When they emerged into the crowded street, the first thing they saw were the windows of a department store that had been blown out in a blast from last night’s Blitz. Shattered glass lay all over the pavement, waiting to be swept away. Workmen were busy putting up temporary shutters over the gaping, ruined window displays, where a few bedraggled fashion dummies remained exposed, looking anything but elegant.
People were picking their way through the rubble. Servicemen and servicewomen of many different nationalities mingled with harassed civilians who were shouldering their way through the crowd, anxious to get some shopping done before the next night’s raid began. Joan felt sick. The sight of those ruined shops really brought home the danger of being in Liverpool.
Audrey immediately took control. She lead the way purposefully towards Lime Street, with Joan trailing reluctantly behind her. But, as always, there was a certain buzz, a rush of adrenalin, from being engulfed by this city, even in its current battered and chaotic state. For them it still held memories of thrilling shopping expeditions with Mum before the war started or of setting out on those breathlessly anticipated visits to the Christmas pantomime at the Empire Theatre, which starred George Formby with his ukulele, followed by a cream tea with delectable cakes at the Kardomah Cafe.
The theatres and cinemas were still valiantly keeping going in spite of the Blitz, and with so many servicemen in town, the dance halls were packed too, especially on Saturday nights. Audrey sometimes went to one of the halls with Dai when he was on leave. But Mum would never think of allowing Joan anywhere near one. She said Joan was much too young to go into Liverpool in the evenings, even with a girlfriend. Mum rarely came herself now, except in the daytime to do some essential shopping. Joan didn’t care tuppence about not being able to go to dance halls. It was visits to the theatre and the Walker Art Gallery that she missed most. Now she just had to make do with the local cinema.
She followed Audrey as they made their way towards the dock area, juggling their parcels. It was a fairly long walk. The big crowds thinned out slightly when they left the main shopping streets behind, but there were still plenty of people around: men loitering outside pubs, women pushing old prams loaded with babies and shopping, and children everywhere, shouting and playing in rubble-strewn side streets. Traffic was heavy in the main thoroughfare, with big lorries, already on the move again after last night’s raid, making their way to and from the docks.
Audrey stopped on a long, narrow street lined with warehouses. “Can you wait for me here?” she asked. “I won’t be long, I promise.”
“But why?” Joan asked, dismayed. “Why can’t I come with you?”
“Because I want to go on my own,” said Audrey. “We’re pretty near to the dock entrance now. If I can get to see Dai, even if it’s only for a few minutes, we need to be alone, see? Anyway, we’ve carried these wretched bags quite far enough. You wait here with them. I’ll be back quite soon, honest.”
Joan looked around anxiously. “I don’t like it,” she said. “Us getting separated, I mean. Mum would have a fit if she knew about this.”
But Audrey wasn’t listening. She was already checking her hair and make-up in her handbag mirror. Then she briefly flung an arm around Joan’s shoulders.
“I’m sorry to do this to you, Joanie,” she said, “but it’s just so important to me. You do understand, don’t you?”
Before Joan could answer, Audrey was off down the street, her high heels skidding rather unsteadily on the cobbles.
Now all Joan could do was wait. She knew from experience that Audrey’s vague promise of not being long was totally unreliable. She only wished that she hadn’t been dumped quite so near to a corner pub from which a raucous noise emanated. It was meant to be pub closing hours, but a group of heavily made-up girls who looked not much older than Audrey were chatting and laughing with some sailors just outside the doors. Joan felt self-conscious. It’s too late to move now, she thought. There was nothing for it but to stay put.
She looked at her watch. It was nearly four o’clock – not long before it would get dark. With a heavy sigh, she sat down on one of the bundles – she was beyond caring about squashing the contents now, however important they might be to the war effort – and watched the lorries trundling past.
Miss Sanderson had told Joan’s class at school that many of these long-distance vehicles were driven by intrepid Auxiliary Territorial Service drivers, who worked in teams of two, taking it in turns to drive while the other slept in the back. They were setting out from port to deliver the strictly rationed food, which had come in at such risk to the merchant ships, all over the country to be fairly distributed among a hungry British population.
“They’re a vital lifeline,” Miss Sanderson had said. “We all need to dig for victory here, by growing as many carrots, cabbages and potatoes in our back gardens and allotments as we can. But there’s no way we can survive without imports from abroad, and the crews aboard merchant ships are risking their lives to bring them to us – so we must waste nothing.”
Joan, who could hardly remember what a banana tasted like, found herself thinking about Dai and his fellow merchant seamen as she watched the traffic go by. Among the army vehicles and big commercial trucks with suppliers’ names emblazoned on the sides were smaller local lorries. They all made slow progress, stopping and starting, as they queued to get away from the dock area and begin their proper journey. Joan gazed at them as they passed. She was tired out. It seemed like a very long time since breakfast and she longed to get this awful trip over and go home. She knew Mum would be terribly anxious if they returned late, and that would be extra bad for her, as she was feeling ill.
Now the long line of lorries and vans slowed and came to a standstill right in front of her. One of them, a medium-sized unmarked vehicle – not an army one − was idling its engine a few feet away from where she was sitting. There were two men in the front. She couldn’t see the driver, but the other one was leaning his elbow on the open window nearest to her, drumming his fingers and looking impatiently at the way ahead. If he had glanced down, their eyes would have met. It was fortunate that they didn’t, because Joan recognized him at once, even though he wasn’t in uniform.
It was Captain Ronnie Harper Jones.