Goodnight Sweetheart Read online

  The new girls all looked so exhausted and worried that Molly couldn’t help but feel sorry for them.

  ‘I’m right worried that they won’t keep me on,’ Jean Hughes, the girl who sat next to Molly, confided whilst they ate their dinner, Molly having surreptitiously given half of her sandwiches to Evie, the stick-thin new girl, when she saw that Evie hadn’t brought anything to eat.

  Molly knew that Jean lived down on Daffodil Street, one of the ‘flower’ streets close to the docks, and, after listening to Irene, was worried that she wouldn’t be able to keep a job that she had confided to Molly was a bit of a step up for her.

  ‘You’ll do fine,’ Molly assured her kindly. ‘It’s just that we haven’t got used to Miss Jenner yet.’

  ‘I’m sick of this ruddy war already,’ Ruby complained, ‘and it hasn’t even started yet. Our mam’s acting like she’s got ants in her pants ever since we got them blinking leaflets. She’s had us at it all weekend up in the attic, clearing stuff out.’ Ave yer done yours yet?’ she asked June.

  ‘No. We could have done it tonight, only this one,’ June emphasised scornfully, nodding her head in Molly’s direction, ‘has taken it into her head to go and sign up for the blinkin’ WVS tonight.’

  ‘Oh, me mam’s in that,’ one of the new girls chirped up, causing June to frown at her.

  ‘Well, I’m thinking of joining,’ Sheila put in quietly. ‘They’ve bin asking for help round our way with this evacuation of all the kiddies coming up. Me sister’s going mad about it. Seven months gone, she is, with her second, and her husband away in the merchant navy. She wants ter stay here in Liverpool, like, but our mam’s told her as how she should do as the Government wants.’

  Throughout every city thought to be at risk from enemy attack, parents had been issued with government instructions, telling them that they were to be ready for the mass evacuation of their children at the end of August. Children were to be taken to their local schools ready to be marched class by class and school by school to designated railway stations, from where they would be evacuated to the country along with their teachers. Parents had been told what clothes and other equipment each child was to have, and local industries and town halls had stepped forward with promises to give each child food and drink for the journey. Volunteers were needed to assist with this process and to help take charge of the children when they arrived at their schools ready for the evacuation.

  Those people who would be housing the evacuees were going to be paid by the Government for doing so, and already there was a great deal of resentment being felt amongst the poor of Liverpool about the fact that other people were being paid to look after their children whilst they were denied any such help. The WVS, most of them mothers themselves, had been recruited to help the Government with this evacuation.

  June was still in a huff with Molly about volunteering when they got home, but the discovery that the postman had brought letters from both Frank and Johnny evaporated the tension. June, pink-cheeked with excitement and relief, pounced on her envelope. ‘At last. It seems ever such a long time since Frank left, and I’ve missed him that much.’

  Late afternoon sunshine poured in through the back door, turning June’s hair dark gold as she sat down on the step to read her letter.

  Having put the kettle on to boil, so delaying the moment as long as she could, Molly went to join her, opening her own letter with a heavy heart.

  Johnny’s handwriting looked almost childlike. He wasn’t allowed to tell her where he was, or what he was doing, he had written, before going on to complain that he hated the food. Her letter was much thinner than June’s. There was no mention in it of when he might get leave, nor any hint that he might be missing her – but that made her feel more relieved than disappointed, Molly admitted to herself.

  ‘What’s the return address on yours?’ June demanded.

  Molly showed her.

  ‘They aren’t in the same camp then: Frank’s is different. Does Johnny say when he’s likely to get some leave?’

  ‘No, does Frank?’

  ‘He says they haven’t been told anything much and that he’ll let me know as soon as he’s got some news.’

  The kettle had started to boil. Molly got up and went to make the tea.

  ‘Would you believe it?’ June complained. ‘Frank’s put in his letter that he’s worried about his mam being on her own. What about me?’

  ‘He knows that you’ve got me and Dad,’ Molly reminded her.

  ‘Yoo-hoo …’

  Elsie Fowler edged her way through the convenient gap in the hedge that divided their small back gardens.

  ‘Seein’ as how I haven’t seen much of either of youse just lately, I thought as how I’d call round, like, with these,’ she told them, handing Molly a bunch of sweetpeas. ‘For yer mam for tomorrow,’ she explained gently.

  Emotionally, Molly hugged her and thanked her. She had to remind herself that Elsie must miss her old friend too.

  ‘How are the boys?’

  ‘They’re fine, and you’ll never guess what? Remember our Eddie, our nephew what used to come and stay wi’ us when he were a kiddie, before his dad passed away and his mam took him back wi’ her to Morecambe to her family? Well, his mam died last winter, and he called round here last night to ask if he can lodge wi’ us. Took us right by surprise, he did. Not that we wasn’t glad to see him. He’s in the merchant navy now, I think I told you, and with both his mam and dad gone, it makes sense for him to be here in Liverpool wi’ us.’

  ‘Of course I remember him,’ Molly smiled. ‘He used to protect me when the others tried to put worms down my back. I’m sorry to hear he’s lost his mam, Elsie.’

  ‘Aye, well, it’s a mercy, if you ask me. She never got over losing our Jack, and she’d bin poorly for a good while, from what I heard. Not that she bothered to keep in touch wi’ us much once she went back to her own folk. Eddie now, well, I’ve allus had a soft spot for him. The spittin’ image of me own dad, he is,’ she added with a fond smile. ‘I told him he could bring his kitbag round here as soon as he liked, just as long as he doesn’t mind sleeping in our boxroom. Have you heard from Frank and Johnny yet?’

  ‘We got letters today,’ Molly told her, ‘but we don’t know yet when they’ll get any leave.’

  ‘I dare say they won’t be able to send word right away, but from what Sally Walker was saying, they should get some as soon as their training’s finished, so you’d best hurry and get that wedding dress made, young June.’

  ‘Well, we won’t be doing that tonight,’ June informed her, giving Molly a black look. ‘Our Molly’s off to join the WVS.’

  ‘Good for you, love! There’s two or three from the cul-de-sac joined up to it already, and I was thinking of doing the same meself, only with John and Jim working shifts on the gridiron an’ all, it’s a bit difficult.’

  Molly looked quickly at her sister, hoping that Elsie’s endorsement might make June change her mind, but she could see from her set expression that she was not going to allow herself to be coaxed into that.

  ‘I won’t be there very long, June,’ Molly told her. ‘We can have a look at the pattern when I get back, if you like.’

  ‘There’s no need for you to go putting yourself out on my account. Anyway, I’ve changed me mind and I’m going to spend the evening writing back to me fiancé,’ she added pointedly, going back into the house.

  ‘Perhaps she’s right, and I shouldn’t join the WVS.’ Molly looked at Elsie unhappily.

  Elsie snorted. ‘Tek no notice of your June. If you want my opinion she’s just feeling a bit put out, like, because you’re doing sommat wi’out her having told you to do it. She’ll come round. You wait and see.’

  Molly reminded herself of Elsie’s comforting words later that evening in the church hall whilst her head buzzed with all the information she had just been given.

  According to Mrs Wesley, who was in charge of their local WVS group, the basic training members of the
WVS would have to undergo, and the list of duties they could expect to be called upon to provide, included co-operating with ARP wardens and local authority services; organising and undergoing lectures for women in first aid; anti-gas and fire-fighting skills; manning of incident enquiry posts; co-operating in invasion defence schemes; staffing ARP canteens; feeding civil defence workers after raids; being trained to drive emergency vehicles; assisting in staffing NFS and police canteens; making and sewing sandbags; and all aspects of evacuation, including escorting, sickbay duties, running communal feeding centres, hotels and social centres. They were to provide staff for mobile office units and train as volunteers for emergency work, and a whole list of other duties so long that Molly was afraid she wouldn’t be able to remember them all. Following the example of the girl standing next to her, she had put her name down for as many of the training programmes as she thought she would be able to do.

  ‘Molly!’

  She turned round, smiling as she saw a girl hurrying towards her in her uniform.

  ‘So you came then? I’m so glad. I’m Anne – we met at the gas mask collection, remember?’

  Molly nodded. ‘I’m never going to be able to remember all that we’re supposed to learn to do.’

  ‘Yes, you will. I’ll help you,’ Anne told her stoutly. ‘I’m going to go and put my name down for the driving lessons – why don’t you do the same?’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ Molly protested. She hadn’t even been in a car, never mind thought of learning to drive.

  ‘Yes, you can,’ Anne overruled her. ‘Besides, it’s our duty to do as much as we can.’ She added more seriously, ‘It’s like Mrs Wesley just said: we’ve all got to remember that our help could make the difference between life and death.’

  Molly looked at her uncertainly, uncomfortably aware of how June was likely to react to the news that she was planning to learn to drive.

  ‘I won’t take no for an answer,’ Anne warned her. ‘It would be marvellous if both of us could drive, and much more fun than unravelling old jumpers and making sandbags.’ Anne pulled a face, and suddenly Molly found herself relaxing and laughing whilst her new friend dragged her over to sign up for driving lessons.

  ‘I’m dreading this evacuation business we’ve got to help out with,’ she admitted to Anne later.

  ‘It will be a bit like jumping into one of the docks at the deep end,’ Anne agreed, ‘but it’s got to be done. We can’t have all those little ones at risk of being bombed, can we?’

  The meeting had gone on longer than Molly had expected, and she hurried past the scout hut and across the main road after saying goodbye to Anne, who had explained that she lived in Wavertree. The garden suburb was considered ‘posher’ than Edge Hill, and it was obvious to Molly that Anne came from a better-off family than her own, and that she had had more experience of life. Anne’s father, Anne had told her, had an office job at the town hall, and her mother did not go out to work. Her family home was semi detached, and she had mentioned that she was a member of Wavertree’s tennis club. Molly knew that June would have said she was too pushy, but although she felt slightly awed by Anne, Molly couldn’t help but like her open friendly manner.

  Thinking of her sister made Molly wish all over again that June had agreed to come with her. It would help keep her mind off worrying about her Frank. She knew June was a kind person, deep down, but she came across as abrasive to many, especially those who didn’t know her well. Maybe she would be able to persuade her to change her mind when she told her all she had learned, she decided hopefully.

  The men were still working their allotments as she cut down the footpath alongside them, the scent of freshly watered earth mingling with that of their Woodbine cigarettes. Molly looked to see if she could see her father, but didn’t stop walking. She was mentally rehearsing what she was going to say to June to persuade her to change her mind about the WVS.

  When she got in there was no sign of her sister downstairs; even the radio had been turned off, and the table had been laid for breakfast, a task the girls always did last thing before they went to bed.

  ‘June?’ she called uncertainly from the bottom of the stairs, and then when there was no reply she hurried up, her initial surprise at finding her sister already in bed giving way to anxiety.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

  ‘What’s it to you?’ June demanded truculently. ‘Hours, you’ve been gone, and me here on me own. And me monthlies are giving me a right pain in me belly.’

  ‘Oh, June, I’m sorry,’ Molly sympathised. Of the two of them, June had always been the one who had suffered more each month. ‘Would you like a hot-water bottle?’

  June shook her head, thawing slightly. ‘I’m feeling a bit better now. I’ll come down and ’ave a cuppa, I think. It sounds like Dad’s just come in – you’d better go down otherwise he’ll want to know what’s up.’

  Her father was standing in the kitchen, holding a large cardboard box, which he placed almost tenderly on the kitchen floor.

  ‘What’s in there?’ Molly asked curiously.

  ‘Tek the lid off and have a look.’

  Molly exclaimed in astonishment, as the moment she lifted the lid the kitchen was filled with the sound of cheeping.

  ‘Day-old chicks, a gross of them, and our Joe’s got another gross as well, and there’s a gross for Pete – seeing as how he’s promised to let us have his horse muck for the allotments. They’re from your aunt’s farm.’

  ‘What are?’ June asked, coming into the kitchen, her eyes widening as she saw the answer to her question.

  ‘We’ve clubbed together at the allotments to buy them. With a hundred and forty-four of them we should get a fair few fresh eggs. Only thing is, we need to keep them warm and properly fed for the next few days. I’ve got some mash, to start ’em off, like.’

  ‘But where will you keep them?’ Molly asked him.

  ‘We’re going to build a coop for them – I’ve got a bit of wood put by down at the railway yard.’ He winked meaningfully at them and then added, ‘Pete is going to pick it up for us, and once the chicks have grown they can scratch around down the allotments.’ He picked the lid up and placed it over the boxful of chicks, immediately silencing them. ‘And that’s not all,’ he told the girls enthusiastically. ‘We’ve put in to have a pig as well.’

  ‘A pig?’

  ‘Aye, it’s a scheme the Government is doing – them as keeps a pig gets ter keep a fair bit of the meat from it, so mek sure you don’t go throwing away any scraps. Oh, and by the way, your Aunt Violet has sent a message to say they’ve got plenty of work down at the farm, if you fancy leaving that factory after all.’

  June shuddered. ‘Not likely – remember that time Dad took us there on the train, Molly, and them blinkin’ cows? No, ta! You can keep the country. I’m staying here, even with that Miss Jenner at my throat.’

  It was only later, when she was finally in bed and almost asleep, that Molly realised that she hadn’t talked to June about joining the WVS. Oh well, there was always tomorrow, she decided as she closed her eyes.

  FIVE

  The bright morning sun blazed down from a cloud-lessly blue sky. It was far too hot to wear winter clothes but, nevertheless, the three of them had put on their darkest things and their father was even wearing a collar and tie. People looked curiously at them when they got on the bus but they ignored their sideways looks. They had made this journey five times a year since Rosie’s death: on Mothering Sunday, on the anniversaries of her birth, her marriage and her death, and at Christmas. Now their coming here had gathered its own small rituals: the flowers they brought – daffodils on Mothering Sunday, the roses that bore her name and which she had carried in her wedding bouquet on her birthday and the anniversary of her marriage, violets in February, when she had died, and at Christmas a home-made wreath of holly and ivy to lay on the cold stone – their visit to their own church before they left; their silence like the silence of the cemetery where
their wife and mother was buried close to her parents and to her parents-in-law.

  This morning, though, the cemetery wasn’t silent. Instead, a group of men were moving and extending its boundary, whilst others were excavating the hard-packed earth.

  Molly looked questioningly at her father. ‘Are they going to turn it into allotments, do you think, Dad?’

  ‘I don’t think so, love. More like they’re getting ready for a different kind of crop,’ he told her heavily. ‘Just in case, like …’

  All the colour left her face as she realised what he meant. She looked from him to the bare stretch of land and then at the cemetery, visually measuring the grave-covered earth to the land that lay beyond it – land she now realised was being set aside for new graves.

  A mixture of shock, fear and pain filled her insides. It was something she had not allowed to think of – the human cost of war. Tales of the Great War seemed from a different age.

  ‘Surely there won’t be so many,’ she whispered.

  Her father’s mouth twisted. ‘This is nowt to them as died last time.’ His haunted expression aged his face. He had never told his daughters of the horrors he had witnessed in the trenches of France: of how he’d had to drink filthy, muddy water just to stay alive; of how he’d had to strip a dead soldier of his ammunition while he was still warm; of how he’d seen his best friend blown to pieces right beside him. ‘A load of cardboard coffins we had shipped in on one of t’trains this week. There was talk as how the ice rink is going to be used as a morgue, if’n Hitler drops his bombs on us. Lorra rubbish. If’n he does it won’t be whole bodies as they’ll be buryin’.’

  Molly shivered, her eyes widening in fear. ‘Don’t talk like that, Dad,’ she begged him.

  When he looked at her Molly realised that he had momentarily forgotten her and that he had been back in the past and his dreadful experiences of the last war. He squeezed her hand and kissed the top of her head, just like he had done when she was a child and had fallen over and scraped her knee.