Contents
Cover
About the Book
About the Author
Also by June Francis
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Read on for an extract from Mersey Girl
Copyright
A Mother’s Duty
A Daughter’s Choice
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Epub ISBN: 9781473501300
Version 1.0
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Ebury Press, an imprint of Ebury Publishing
20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,
London SW1V 2SA
Ebury Press is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © June Francis, 1995
Extract from Mersey Girl © 2017 June Francis
June Francis has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
First published by Bantam Books in 1995
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
This edition published in 2016 by Ebury Press
www.eburypublishing.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9780091956349
Dedicated to John, my husband,
For having faith in me.
Hatred stirs up strife,
but love covers all offences – Proverbs 10, xiii
Lily Thorpe stood looking over the Mersey, a stiff breeze blowing her dark curls about her face. Her dreamy gaze took in the fussy little tugs ushering out a towering white liner past the line of the docks, which provided most Liverpudlians in some way or other with their livelihood, and out to the open sea. Not so long ago a German airship had flown over the river; some would rather it had stayed away, looking on it with suspicion, but she could understand the Germans wanting to see one of England’s greatest ports, only second in size to London. There wasn’t anything Lily liked more than to come down to the Pierhead where there was always something to see. Even if the ships had not crowded the river, the ceaseless movement of the water had an hypnotic quality that drew her.
Lily was suddenly conscious of the rising wind as oily waves slapped against the wooden landing stage. She took her eyes from the river and looked for her sister and brother. May was not far away. Lily seized her hand and shouted to Ronnie: ‘Come away from the edge! Here’s the ferry coming in.’
Her younger brother ducked beneath the thick metal chains which were supposed to keep the adventurous out and sauntered towards her. He was thin-faced, brown-haired and wiry, but small for his eleven years. ‘Jimmy Gallagher learnt to swim by being thrown in at the deep end,’ he informed her.
‘Well, don’t you be trying it here,’ said Lily grimly. ‘You’ll freeze to death in five minutes.’ She grasped the collar of his jacket and held him firmly.
The three of them watched as ropes, thick as a man’s arm, were thrown from the ferry to a couple of men on the landing stage.
‘Why do we have to watch?’ cried May, who was fairer than her brother and a year younger but who often had more to say for herself. ‘I’m cold!’ She huddled into the well-worn red coat, which her other sister, Daisy, had cut down for her, and stamped her feet.
‘Sea air’s good for you and it’ll blow the cobwebs away,’ said Lily, squeezing her hand. ‘Besides it’s educational watching the ships coming and going. Think of all the cargoes that are unloaded … tobacco, grain for feed and the breweries, timber, sunflower oil for cattle cake …’
‘And think of the places!’ Ronnie’s voice was rapt. ‘Don’t you wish when a hooter blows we could be on one of them ships crossing the bar and heading for the open sea?’
‘I want to go home,’ moaned May. ‘You can keep your ships.’
‘You’re an unnatural Liverpudlian!’ teased Lily, but she turned her back on the river and looked up at the clock on the Liver Building. It really was time to go. ‘I used to yearn like crazy to travel when I was young,’ she mused.
‘Don’t you now?’ asked her brother.
‘Chance would be a fine thing!’ She smiled wryly, considering how her mother dying after May’s birth had stopped her dreams.
They puffed their way up the open gangway to avoid the crowds from the ferry, who in the main were heading for the covered passengerway. The tide was in and below them the water with its distinctive smell of salt, oil and mud surged in the gap between the landing stage and the wall of the Pierhead. Faraway places with strange-sounding names, calling, calling, she thought.
‘I’d like to see the animals,’ said Ronnie. ‘Tigers and elephants!’ He made a trumpeting noise.
Lily shushed him because as they reached the top of the gangway she was aware someone was speaking. The voice was strong, powerful, and spoke the King’s English with a distinct colonial accent. He was obviously new among the Bible thumpers who did their best some Sundays to convert those using the ferries or simply taking a stroll. She paused. He had attracted quite a crowd. She edged her way nearer to the front, dragging May with her while Ronnie followed more slowly. She was surprised to see he was dressed in some kind of habit, and stopped, prepared to listen to what he had to say.
‘We’re not staying, are we?’ said May loudly. ‘I want me tea and I’m tired!’
The preacher’s head turned in her direction and Lily saw he was about thirtyish, with weatherbeaten skin and a mop of wavy bleached fair hair with a funny little tuft that stuck up from his crown. ‘Man – and girl – shall not live by bread alone but by every word of God,’ he paraphrased. ‘Jesus said, come on to me all that are heavy laden and I will refresh you.’
‘I wouldn’t mind some bread right now, wack!’ yelled someone in the crowd. ‘How about one of those miracles like what Jesus was supposed to have done?’
The corners of the preacher’s mouth lifted. ‘Do you just happen to have five loaves and two fishes, brother?’
Lily smiled. ‘You could see if the Isle of Man boat’s in? Perhaps you could do something with a kipper?’
There was a ripple of laughter.
He looked at her and the expression in his eyes was amused. ‘A challenge!’ he shouted.
But before he could say more an elderly woman said, ‘Oh leave him alone! He’s got a lovely voice and I like listening to it. Yer a load of heathens, the lots of yous. A trip to church’d do yer all good, only it would probably collapse with the shock.’
‘Yeah! Lerrim speak,’ shouted a young voice this time. ‘Aussie, aren’t yer, mate?’
‘My dad was Liverpudlian!’
A cheer went up which Lily joined in. She was enjoying herself.
‘We have a hungry little girl,’ said the preacher, his expressive eyes reaching out over the crowd. ‘And what can I do about it?’ He did not wait for them to answer but from the pocket of his habit took a brown paper packet. The crowd fell silent, watching him open it. ‘Inside I have what I’m told is a genuine Scouser bacon buttie!’ He flourished it in the air before stepping down from his soapbox and approaching May.
‘Lil, I wanna go to the lav,’ she whispered, jiggling from one foot to the other as he drew near.
‘You started this,’ said Lily, having a fair idea what was on the preacher’s mind. ‘You’ll just have to wait.’
The Australian stopped in front of them and pulled away a piece of the sandwich and held it out to May. She hesitated.
‘Take it,’ murmured Lily, squeezing her hand. Her sister did as she was told. ‘Eat it.’ May obeyed.
‘What about you?’ said the preacher, whose grey eyes possessed a warmth and intensity that Lily had never seen before in a man.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled and took a piece. ‘Not quite how Jesus did it but I think I get the point.’
‘I’m glad I’m not wasting my time.’ He smiled and they continued to stare at one another. Roman Catholic, thought Lily, what a waste of a man.
He moved on to the next person. ‘Got me own butties, mate,’ Lily heard the man say, and took them out of a pocket and opened them, offering half of one to the person next to him.
May tugged on her hand. ‘Lil, I really do want to go to the lav,’ she whispered.
Reluctantly Lily moved away, but she was remembering how, when she was Ronnie’s age, she had been fired to carry the gospel overseas to sunlit lands. Maybe living in Liverpool had a lot to do with it? The river and religion could not be ignored. People travelled to and from the port; some settled, bringing with them their own particular brand of faith, often challenging that of those whose families had lived in the port for generations. Her family had never been drawn into what her father’s brother, William, called tribal warfare. He was a Nonconformist and worked hard and he and his sister Dora followed the faith in their own way. Her father, though, said all religion was airy-fairy and caused nothing but trouble. Her mother, who’d been Welsh and had once been strong Chapel, had hushed him, saying good-humouredly, ‘Do you want to be hit by a thunderbolt?’ ‘I’d like to see it!’ he had replied, but had not argued when his wife had the children baptised in the local parish church so they could go to its school just five minutes’ walking distance from the dairy. After she died he never set foot in church again, however, but found his spiritual, and temporal, nourishment from a bottle.
Lily sighed as she considered her life. Sometimes she still dreamed about those faraway places, and of a man who could match up to a picture she carried in her head. Someone who was tall, dark and handsome, who could be gentle and strong, generous but sensible with money, with a sense of humour and no conceit, who knew exactly what he wanted out of life. She knew it was a tall order, especially as she was nearly twenty-five and still had responsibilities that tied her to the family, but she had not yet given up all hope.
Lily set fire to loosely balled newspaper, watching the flames sear a charred path through Herr Hitler’s nose before the chipped firewood caught. Her gaze wandered to the rattling kitchen window, misted with condensation, and she imagined the sun blazing down on scorched earth and a man in a pith helmet, short-sleeved shirt and shorts that revealed sunburnt muscular legs. In an instant an image of the priest at the Pierhead flashed into her mind and she wondered what his legs were like under his billowing habit. She smiled wryly, shook her head and washed her hands before fastening a white apron over a hand-knitted blue jumper and tweed skirt. She dragged one of her brother Ben’s caps over her dusky curls and pulled on an old mackintosh. Yesterday had been her birthday, and she was conscious of time running out.
‘Lovely day, Lil,’ said Ben as he slipped past her and opened the door. He was three years younger and possessed the same colouring as her but was burly and stocky.
‘You need glasses.’
He grinned and side by side they raced down the wet, slippery length of the backyard, past the cool room to the shippon. Lily pressed the electric switch and light dazzled on whitewashed walls, revealing the cows tethered in the stalls. Brother and sister began to shovel grain into the feed boxes.
‘What d’you think of some Methodist leaving £60,000 to the Anglican Cathedral fund and his wife only £520 a year?’ said Ben, glancing at her.
‘Strange! Perhaps he’s trying to buy his way into Heaven like some used to hundreds of years ago?’ Lily put down the shovel and tied the cow’s tail to its leg before turning her cap back to front. ‘Doesn’t say much for his wife, though.’
‘She said that she’s going to have to give up the chauffeur,’ he said with plums in his mouth. ‘Doesn’t know how she’ll manage!’
Lily grinned. ‘Something must have sure gone wrong with their marriage, just like Mrs Simpson’s former two.’ Lily sat on a three-legged stool. Her strong fingers gently massaged and warmed the teats to ‘let down’ the milk. ‘I remember reading about her first husband. He was a naval officer called Spencer. He said that their marriage failed because he was away at sea and she got lonely.’ She frowned. ‘Half the women in Liverpool could say the same thing but you don’t see them rushing to the divorce courts.’
‘Anyway there’s the coronation of George and Lizzie to look forward to in a couple of months,’ said Ben.
‘Should be fun.’
‘As long as Dad doesn’t get too drunk.’
They exchanged grimaces. ‘He was in late last night,’ said Lily. ‘I gave up waiting and went to bed.’
For a while there was just the noise of milk squirting against metal and the shifting and gentle breathing of the cows. In the entry the other side of the wall the sound of booted feet drawing near caused brother and sister to glance at each other. Through slats in the wall, the cows could gaze out on the outside world. ‘If that paperboy dares,’ whispered Lily, ‘I’ll have him.’ She glanced at the cane which rested against the wall, but the footsteps did not pause. ‘It’s good job for him he didn’t try it again.’
‘He’s only a kid,’ said Ben, grinning.
‘It’s not funny for the cows having peas shot up their noses and in their ears!’ A dusky curl escaped from Lily’s cap, brushing the Friesian’s flank as she checked the milk in the pail. She rose from the stool. ‘This cow’s almost dry.’
‘I’ll tell Uncle William,’ responded Ben. After their grandfather had died, their uncle inherited the family farm out Knowsley way on the outskirts of Liverpool and provided the cows for their dairy in the middle of a street of terraced houses not far from Tuebrook.
Lily got up and went into the adjoining cool room and poured milk into the container on top of the chiller. She did it automatically. It was part of her daily routine. As soon as the milking was over she would start breakfast for the family.
‘Any more bacon, Lil?’ said Daisy.
Lily glanced across the table, conscious of her own untidiness. Her sister Daisy’s brown hair was Eugene permed, which cost a fortune but considered worth the money, although at the moment she might as well not have bothered because it was hidden beneath a white turban. ‘I’m saving the last slice for Dad,’ murmured Lily, ‘but I’ll be going to the farm tomorrow so you could have some the day after. I need more provisions for the shop.’
‘I fancy it now. Dad mightn’t be up to eating. Let me have it, Lil.’ Her sister’s voice was persuasive. ‘You can give him porridge or toast.’
‘He needs meat. You know how thin he’s gone.’
Daisy’s blue eyes widened. ‘It doesn’t stop him drinking our money away! Why should I have to do without? I’m the one making sweets in Barker’s most of the hours God sends!’
‘Try and be a little more understanding,’ said Lily coaxingly. ‘I know he drives us mad but he has only got one leg.’
Daisy muttered, ‘And he never lets us forget how he lost it.’
‘The Great War was no joke!’
‘OK! OK! Save the lecture,’ groaned Daisy. ‘I’m sorry I spoke.’
A bell jangled and Lily hurried down the lobby into the shop. On the other side of the wooden counter stood little Mrs Draper holding a jug with a beaded muslin cloth over it. ‘Good morning, dear!’ She beamed at Lily. ‘Are you well?’
‘Very well, thank you.’ She dipped the measure into the churn standing on a marble slab and steadily poured milk into the jug.
‘And your dear father?’
Lily had known Mrs Draper all her life and knew that her sympathetic manner was genuine. ‘Just the same. How about you?’
‘Mustn’t grumble, dear. There’s always someone worse off.’ She leaned across the counter. ‘We’ve got a visiting missionary. A really unusual young man with a voice like an angel.’ Her bright eyes twinkled. ‘Not that I’ve ever heard an angel but you know what I mean. He’s showing slides of India at the mission hall. Perhaps you can bring the children along?’
Lily hesitated, not wanting to hurt the old woman’s feelings. ‘It depends on how Dad is. You know what he’s like.’
Mrs Draper patted her hand. ‘Of course I do, dear. But do try. You need to get out of this place and have some life of your own now and then.’
Lily could not agree more but she would have preferred to do something different from listening to a missionary; she didn’t have anything against them but she preferred a more exciting prospect, not that any looked like coming her way. ‘I’ll try,’ she promised nonetheless, taking the tuppence and dropping it into a small wicker basket on a ledge under the counter.
A boy in patched short trousers and a shrunken grey jacket held the door open for Mrs Draper. One of his stockings was already creeping down his leg.
‘The usual, Johnny?’ said Lily, taking the large chipped jug he held up.
‘And Mam said, can she have two eggs?’ He stood on tiptoe to lean on the counter.
‘Your dad’s home, is he?’
‘Came back last night. He’s been to Ceylon and was telling me and me bruvvers all about it in bed. I’m goin’ ta sea when I grows up.’
‘That’ll be nice,’ said Lily, carefully wrapping the eggs in tissue paper before coming round the counter and placing one in each pocket of his jacket. She gave him his change and opened the door, thinking that May and Ronnie should be up by now if they were to get to school on time.
May was already awake, lying on her back with the patchwork quilt worked by her maternal grandmother up to her chin. Her long flaxen hair, freed from its plaits, spread like crinkled paper on the pillow. Since she was a tot she had refused to set foot in the shippon. She hated dirt and dust and the smells that issued from the bottom of the yard. ‘I don’t think I’ll go to school today,’ she declared gruffly. ‘I think I’m getting a chest.’
‘You’re going,’ said Lily determinedly.
‘But I don’t learn anything!’
‘You know it all? You know the capital of Spain and your five times table?’ Lily wrenched the quilt from her grasp and the rest of the covers followed.
‘Two fives are ten and Madrid’s the captial of Spain,’ chanted her sister, hunching her knees inside her nightie.
‘The capital of Australia?’
‘Sydney!’
‘No. Canberra.’
‘Why do I have to know?’ grumbled May. ‘I’m never going to go there. Now if you’d asked me the name of a Red Indian tribe I could have told you the Sioux. They were in a cowboy film at the matinee.’
‘Sorry, no go.’ Lily hid a smile as she dragged her struggling sister off the bed.
She left May dressing and went into the bedroom her brothers shared. The room was a mess but that was because she had been asked to leave everything where it was. Recently Ronnie had taken up whittling and was forever making whistles and selling them to anyone who had a halfpenny. He was also football mad as were most boys in Liverpool. He was up now and kicking a football around the double bed that had come from their uncle’s farm.
‘Dad’ll have you if he hears you.’ Her face softened as she watched him.
‘He won’t hear me, though, will he?’ His expression was far from childlike in his thin face. ‘He’s drunk and snoring like a pig.’
‘That’s enough of that!’ She kicked the ball from beneath his foot and under the bed. ‘I just hope he’s put his leg in a safe place.’
‘His leg was on the landing.’ Ronnie licked the palms of his hands and smoothed his hair back with them. ‘I thought he might fall over it so I hung it by its straps on the door. It’ll make a lovely noise when he opens it.’ He grinned as he bounced out of the room. ‘I’ll make me own toast,’ he shouted from halfway down the stairs.
‘Thanks a lot, and use a comb for your hair in future,’ called Lily, going along the landing to her father’s bedroom.
A pink-painted wooden leg dangled from the brass door knob. She opened the door and immediately the smell of rum mingled with the stale tang of tobacco to assail her nostrils. Her father had told her soldiers had been given rum sometimes before going over the top. She placed the heavy leg on a chair by his bed and picked up the trousers flung on the floor, glancing at the tuft of white hair showing above the old army blankets. There was no sign of him stirring. She left the room, convinced that it would be hours yet before he made an appearance downstairs.
It was three hours later that Albert Thorpe entered the kitchen. Lily was ironing and dreaming of her tall, dark and handsome hero who would take her away from it all, and didn’t really want to be disturbed, but she put down the flat iron and stared at her father. If the photograph in a drawer was anything to go by he had been handsome once. It was hard to imagine now. Only forty-seven, he looked much older. His rumpled clothes clung to his gaunt frame and his cheeks were the colour of his tobacco-tinged moustache. The pale blue eyes seemed to be saying they wished they had not bothered to open that morning.
‘I don’t know why you do it to yourself, Dad,’ she said, putting on the kettle and reaching for a packet of Golden Stream tea. ‘Where did you go this time?’
‘Only Bootle.’ He sat at the table and wiped his hands over his face. ‘Fred would have been forty-four. Sometimes I see him dying over and over in my mind.’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘I spoke to his widow. Nice woman.’
Lily shook her head. ‘You can’t go on torturing yourself for ever.’
‘Lest we forget, girl.’
She experienced a mixture of irritation and pity. ‘Why can’t you remember the good things?’ She picked up a loaf and pot of home-made rhubarb and ginger jam; the bacon had vanished and she guessed where. Still, her mother had always said when someone was low give them something sweet to eat. She placed a steaming mug of tea and a plate of bread and jam in front of him and considered how best to cheer him up.
‘Nothing to eat, girl.’ Albert cradled the hot mug in his hands.
‘Tell me what it was like when you met Mam,’ said Lily, hoping to change the direction of his thoughts. She sat opposite him and reached for a slice of bread and jam.
‘What’s the point in remembering? It just makes me sad thinking of the way she went.’ His tone was glum.
Lily persisted. ‘It was at a fair, wasn’t it?’
He groaned and put a hand to his head. ‘Aye! But it was a long time ago now.’
‘So was the war but you haven’t forgotten that! Don’t you think you owe it to Mam to keep her memory alive as much as that of those soldier friends of yours?’
He made no reply and she felt angry and irritated. She stood and placed the flat iron on the fire. She felt like a bottle of fizzy pop about to explode. He would mope around the house all day. There would be no escaping him. She needed something different and suddenly remembered Mrs Draper’s words about the missionary and India. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad? She was interested in India. It was better than nothing and cheaper than going to the pictures.
May wriggled free of Lily’s hold and unbuttoned the top of her coat. ‘That’s too tight and you scratched me!’
‘If you’d kept still I wouldn’t have,’ she retorted, glancing at her own reflection in the lobby mirror as she dragged on gloves. The dark curly hair which she considered her best feature was crammed beneath a snappily brimmed blue velour hat trimmed with a feather. Her eyebrows were sooty arches. She raised them and smiled, wishing she had Carole Lombard’s looks for her own mouth was too large – and as for her chin! It was much too determined-looking in shape to be thought delicately pretty. She pulled a face and caught sight of Ronnie in the mirror. ‘Don’t forget your balaclava. You don’t want Jack Frost freezing your ears. And, May, wear your bonnet.’
‘I will! I like this bonnet,’ said her sister, fastening the pink plaited ties. ‘It’s better than Betty West’s new one.’
‘I’m glad something pleases you.’ Lily gave her reflection one last scrutiny before hurrying the children out of the house.
She ran them down the street until they came to one of the wide entries that divided the long rows of terraced houses into three blocks, enabling them to take a short cut into the next street. Lights blazed from the begrimed red-bricked mission hall squeezed between houses which had been built during the last century like so many others in the city.
Inside all was bustle and the rows of folding wooden chairs divided by an aisle up the middle were filling quickly. On stage a large screen had been set up. Centre back there was a table on which stood a lantern slide machine, near which several men were grouped in discussion.
As Lily brushed past them, holding the children’s hands, one of them looked up. She did not immediately recognise him until their eyes met and held. Then she tore her gaze away and passed swiftly by despite the fluttering somewhere beneath her ribs. She led the children to seats next to the inner aisle and sat between them.
‘I’d like to sit at the front,’ said May, getting up almost as soon as she sat down.
‘You can’t.’
‘I’m not going to see anything here.’
‘Sit down, May, or I’ll take you home again,’ said Lily.
May sat but in such a way that the seat tipped up and her behind got wedged in the space at the back. ‘Help!’ she yelled.
‘Trust her,’ groaned Ronnie, ducking his head and glancing about furtively. ‘Always having to make people notice us.’
‘I’ve a good mind to leave you there, causing trouble when we’ve only been here two minutes,’ hissed Lily, standing up.
‘Need a hand?’
She would have recognised the voice anywhere and felt the colour rise in her cheeks. ‘Thanks a lot.’
They tugged and May was free. She looked mournfully up at her rescuer and said, ‘I didn’t mean to do it. It really was an accident.’
He raised one eyebrow. ‘Are you sure?’
She gave him a puzzled look. ‘I’ve seen you before.’
‘That’s right.’ His gaze shifted to Lily’s face and he held out a hand. ‘I’m Brother Matthew of the brotherhood of St Barnabas. I’m an Anglican priest.’ There was laughter in his eyes. ‘I know for sure we’ve met before! Something to do with a kipper.’
Lily smiled. ‘You look different without the habit.’
‘So I keep getting told but it’s too Catholic for a meeting like this,’ he said ruefully. ‘You’d be surprised, though, how warm and comfortable it is for outdoor work.’ He released her hand. ‘I’ll have to go. I hope to see you later.’
Lily murmured agreement and watched his black-clad figure go to the front of the hall. There was nothing tall, dark and handsome about him but he definitely had something and she could agree with Mrs Draper about the voice. She was looking forward to hearing him speak.
First, though, they had to suffer the singing. A woman began to bash out music on an upright piano. ‘Jesus died for all the children, all the children of the world, red and yellow, black and white …’ Several sang louder than the preacher but Lily could pick his voice out. There were two more hymns and then Richard, the curate from the mother church, welcomed them all before introducing their visitor as a man who had been doing God’s work in southern India. There was an expectant hush.
Matt Gibson stood on stage and opened a black leather-covered Bible. ‘Though I speak with the tongues of men and angels and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains and have not charity, I am nothing …’
His voice had risen and Lily felt a delicious shiver run through her. This was sheer poetry! ‘And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor – and give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing …’ His tone was impassioned and had speeded up. ‘Charity suffereth long, and is kind, it beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things.’ His voice dropped to a silken whisper. ‘Faith, hope, charity … but the greatest of these is charity.’
His reading had set the mood and there was a breathless silence as he closed the Bible.
‘Is your neighbour hard to love?’
‘Not ’arf!’ exclaimed someone. ‘Him and her are always going at each other, fist and tongue!’
‘Shush!’ said several people.
Matthew smiled. ‘Well, sister, if you can’t love them I’m wasting my time here because you won’t be able to care for those in India.’ He paused. ‘India is a vast, beautiful country which has a population that runs into many millions. Many are poorer than any you might meet in the filthiest court in Liverpool. There are actually people called the Untouchables.’ He paused. ‘These are as much your neighbours as the person living next to you.’ His gaze reached out, seeming to touch them all, met Lily’s. She smiled without thinking and one corner of his mouth lifted. ‘Our Lord Jesus would touch them just as He did the lepers in with rags and sores. But He has passed into the heavens and we are his hands and feet on earth. It is our duty and privilege to take hope to others.’ His voice softened. ‘Which is why I am here to tell you how the church is doing just that in India.’ He jumped off stage. The lights dimmed.
He talked of the past and the Syrian church taking the gospel to India hundreds of years ago, just as the Jews took Judaism – and of the present, of Indian Christians taking over the leadership of the churches as the country strove for independence. His enthusiasm and knowledge stimulated interest and excitement but he did not forget the children and slotted in slides of monkeys, tigers, and elephants bathing. He spoke of Rudyard Kipling, telling funny stories that not only made the children laugh but the adults too. There was information about Hindu and Moslem ways of birth, marriage and death. It was all highly entertaining and when the collection plate came round it was obvious he had not wasted his time. He was thanked and clapped and it was over.
Lily did not move. Here was a different world, a different man. She glanced in his direction. He was surrounded by people. There seemed little chance of the pair of them getting to speak.
‘Well?’ Mrs Draper popped up beside Lily, her eyes sparkling beneath the brim of a black straw hat. ‘Wasn’t he wonderful? Didn’t he bring India alive? I could almost feel the heat and the flies!’
May opened her mouth but Lily clapped a hand over it. ‘I don’t want you saying anything about flies and dirt. You and Ronnnie go and wait by the door.’ For a moment she watched them dart among groups of chattering people before turning to the old lady. ‘Where is he staying? Will he be preaching on Sunday?’
‘He’s in great demand and so is off somewhere else. It’s not often you manage to get a speaker from India. Africa, now, that’s more common.’
Lily tried to conceal her disappointment. ‘I would have liked to hear him speak again.’
‘A treat, my dear. What a pity you missed him in church last Sunday.’ Mrs Draper moved towards the exit and Lily had no choice but to follow if she was not to appear rude. ‘He could be back,’ added the old lady. ‘His father was from Liverpool and he wants to trace an aunt.’
‘Can Anglican brothers marry?’
‘I think they can, my dear. Although most choose celibacy and dedicate themselves to God.’
Lily glanced over in Brother Matthew’s direction but there was a number of women crowded round him. No hope for her, she thought wryly, and made for the door where May was hopping about just inside and people were having to dodge around her.
‘Can’t you behave for five minutes?’ Lily seized hold of her and cast a last glance the preacher’s way.
Mrs Draper chattered all the way to her front door but Lily hardly heard a word. Her thoughts were in India. The sight of Daisy dancing in the street with a young man brought her back to the present. ‘What d’you think you’re doing?’ She eyed the young man who hastily removed his cloth cap.
‘We haven’t been here long, Lil,’ said Daisy. ‘Cyril just brought me home from dancing class and we were practising the foxtrot.’
‘This isn’t the Grafton, you know,’ she said with mock severity to the young man. ‘Don’t keep her out here long or she’ll catch her death.’
As Lily and the children entered the kitchen Ben lifted his dark head from a book. ‘Dad’s gone out. Frank Jones came to see you and they went out together.’
The magic of the evening evaporated and Lily slammed her handbag on the table, her mouth tightening. ‘If he comes in drunk, I’ll have Frank! If I’ve told him once I’ve told him a dozen times that getting round Dad won’t make a pennyworth of difference to me! I’m not at my last prayers and I’d rather go out with a toad than him!’ She shrugged off her coat, put on the kettle and took a nightdress and a pair of pyjamas from the cupboard next to the fireplace, hanging them over the fireguard. ‘You didn’t tell him where we’d gone?’
‘Dad did and they both agreed they didn’t want to go and listen to any prissy-voiced missionary.’ Ben yawned. ‘Their words, Lil. Was he any good?’
‘You’d have found it interesting,’ she said blandly.
‘We saw elephants,’ said Ronnie, rubbing his hands on the warm fireguard. ‘They were spouting water from their trunks. He’s ridden on one.’
‘What’s prissy?’ asked May, pushing Ben’s book aside and climbing on his knee.
‘Hard to explain, Maysie. Your face is cold.’ He hugged her to him. ‘Did you like the elephants?’
‘I liked him. His voice was nice. Sometimes it reminded me of bells and sometimes water. It rose and fell and sometimes stayed in one line.’
Ben caught Lily’s glance as she spooned cocoa into a jug. ‘He’s made a convert.’
‘Probably made more than one.’ Her voice was offhand. ‘He’s been shot at, caught up in a riot and nearly trampled to death.’
‘Sounds an adventurous life for a missionary.’
Lily caught the envy in his voice and she said hurriedly, ‘You wouldn’t go off like some and fight in Spain just for a bit of adventure, would you, Ben? Thousands have died out there.’
He yawned. ‘Not on your life! I get all my excitement in the Territorials. Besides, how would you cope without me?’
‘I couldn’t!’ Lily kissed the top of his head, wondering if he ever resented taking on the job that had been their father’s. Albert was still supposed to handle the reins for Ben, making the job of carting foodstuffs for cattle and horses easier, but too often he was left alone to cope. ‘What did Uncle William say about Dad not turning up again?’
‘Made allowances for him as usual.’ He put on a deep voice. ‘Can’t be much fun having one leg, lad. Tell him the horse is missing him and that should get him here.’
‘And did you?’
‘He brought out a photo of a horse and cart all decked up for the May Day celebrations. Quite cheerful for him for once. Not that it lasted. Next moment he’s going on about this horse he’d seen drown in mud at Passchendaele.’
‘I hate mud,’ chipped in May, her voice drowsy. ‘And sand down me drawers.’
‘Shush,’ said Lily, easing her sister to her feet. ‘Ben, did you put the oven shelf in?’
He nodded as the door opened and Daisy entered, bringing a breath of cold air with her. ‘He’s gone.’
‘I didn’t think he’d still be hanging about outside,’ said Lily. ‘Where did you find him?’
Daisy grinned. ‘I know he’s not much to look at but he really can dance.’ She placed a cup next to the ones Ronnie was filling with cocoa and sighed soulfully. ‘He’s got this brother who’s an absolute dream but can’t dance for toffee. He’s asked me out to see Freddie Bartholomew at the Hippodrome. What am I do do, Lil?’
‘Don’t ask me!’ Lily smiled. ‘It’s obvious you can’t prefer one over the other or you wouldn’t be asking such a question. I’d find someone else.’
Daisy sat near the fire. ‘How did your evening go? Was the preacherman worth listening to?’
‘You missed a treat.’
‘You’re having me on.’
Lily smiled and folded May’s clothes. Then she remembered her father and went through into the street but there was no sign of him.
No sooner had they drunk their cocoa and Ben had vanished upstairs with the younger children than there was a commotion outside. The sisters hurried to the door.
‘Pack up yer troubles in yer old kit bag,’ mumbled Albert from a sprawling position on the pavement.
Frank tried to lift him but to no avail. There was an apprehensive smile on his moonlike face as he relinquished his hold on Albert and gazed at Lily. ‘You’re looking pretty tonight, Lil.’
She felt irritated. ‘I don’t need any flannel from you,’ she hissed. ‘And keep your voice down or you’ll have the neighbours out!’
‘His leg just slid out from underneath him,’ he whispered. ‘It’s not my fault!’
‘Of course it’s your fault! What were you thinking of, taking him out? You’ve got more money than sense!’ She bent over her father.
‘I felt sorry for him,’ he said placatingly. ‘But I bought him only one drink. It was some of the others who got him legless. Ooops! Sorry, Lil.’
She bit back a fiery retort. ‘His artificial knee’s probably locked. You get his legs. Me and Daisy’ll take his head and shoulders … and don’t drop him!’
Frank complied quickly. ‘No, Lil. I only had a couple of halves.’
‘You don’t have to go on making excuses. Just lift.’
‘Up and over. Keep yer head down,’ mumbled Albert, sagging heavily in their grasp.
They carried him inside and set him down on the sofa. Lily straightened. ‘Thanks, Frank. But if you ever get him drunk again, don’t dare put your head through our door. Now out!’
‘Not even a cup of tea, Lil?’ He twisted his trilby nervously between his hands. ‘I did want to speak to you.’
‘I’ll make a cuppa,’ offered Daisy.
Lily frowned at her sister. ‘We’ve got to see to Dad.’
‘Sorry.’ Daisy smiled at Frank to soften the blow. ‘I’ll see you to the door.’
He sighed, placed the trilby on his thinning mousy hair and followed her out.
Lily turned to her father and experienced an unfamiliar sense of helplessness. If only her mother had lived, she just knew he would never have got into this state. She began to unbutton his trousers.
Daisy re-entered the room. ‘You are cruel to Frank. I’m sure he wants to marry you.’
‘So he does but I don’t want to marry him. Besides his mother would never allow it while she’s alive. She’d sell the fruit shop first so he wouldn’t have a penny to bless himself with.’
‘She’s an old bitch. I feel sorry for him.’
‘He should stand up for himself,’ said Lily firmly, undoing the straps around her father’s shoulder and waist that held the artificial leg in place. Blood showed through the sock on his stump. ‘Poor ol’ thing,’ she said softly. ‘He’s been going it too much.’ Removing the sock she ordered her sister to get the medicine box. ‘He’ll have to leave his leg off.’
‘At least it’ll stop him wandering.’
Lily chafed her father’s cold hands. ‘Here we go round the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush,’ he mumbled.
The two sisters exchanged looks. ‘You wonder what’s going on inside his head,’ said Daisy, opening the box.
‘Nothing that does him any good. Once I’ve put something on that sore we’ll leave him here. I’m not struggling upstairs and I don’t want to disturb Ben.’
Daisy fetched a couple of blankets. Lily sprinkled boracic powder on the sore and bandaged it before covering her father with a blanket and making sure the fireguard was secure.
As Lily said her prayers Brother Matthew was in her thoughts. If they met again she would have to make him sit up and take more notice of her. She snuggled up to May and when she fell asleep, dreamed of riding a bejewelled elephant with her arm around the preacher’s waist.
Albert was driving Lily mad. His sore stump was taking its time healing because he had defied her more than once by strapping on his leg and going to the pub. Even with only a few pence in his pocket he managed to get drunk. While the effects of the drink were on him the pain did not seem to bother him but the next day he was full of moans. Last night she had hidden his leg.
‘Where is it?’ Albert banged his fist on the shop counter.
‘Where’s what?’ said Lily, wide-eyed and innocent-looking. She removed a tray half-filled with eggs from near his hand.
‘My leg, damn you! Don’t come that with me, girl. I’m still your father and I’ll have some respect!’
‘I’m not telling you. If you haven’t got the sense to leave it off just a few days longer, then I’ll have to have the sense for both of us. You’ll have an accident one of these days and then you’ll be even worse off. It’s you I’m thinking of, Dad. I don’t want you suffering any more than you are already.’
Some of the anger left his face and there was a placating note in his voice when he spoke. ‘Well, where’s me crutches then? I can use them, can’t I? I promised I’d meet someone in the cocoa house in Christian Street. That’s if you can lend your old father half a crown?’
She looked at him cynically. ‘Sure you don’t want ten bob?’ His face brightened. ‘If you’ve got it, girl.’
‘I was joking, Dad.’
‘A florin then,’ he pleaded.
‘Sixpence.’
‘A shilling. You’ve got the money here.’ He clutched at the counter and reached for the small basket on the ledge under the counter but she moved swiftly and grabbed it at the same time as he did. There was a wobbly tussle.
The doorbell jangled.
‘Give it me here,’ yelled Albert.
‘Not on your life!’
‘Is this man bothering you, Miss Thorpe?’
The basket slipped from Lily’s fingers but she had no time to reply before Matthew had moved and seized hold of the back of her father’s jacket.
‘Get your bloody hands off me,’ gasped Albert, hopping around. ‘This is me daughter and I’ll thank you to mind your own bloody business!’
‘Is this true?’ Matthew stared at Lily with a rueful gleam in his eyes.
‘I’m afraid so,’ she said, wishing her father to Timbuctoo. ‘But thank you, anyway.’ She took the basket from Albert.
Matthew carefully released him. ‘I’m sorry, mate. My mistake.’
Lily said, ‘Dad, this is the preacher I told you about, so watch your language.’
‘I’ll say what I bloody like!’ Albert shook himself like a terrier that had been out in the rain. ‘He’s no better than me! A Holy Joe who knows nothing about real life and suffering. I’ve met your kind before,’ he muttered, glowering at him and rubbing his neck. ‘Live in the clouds, you lot do.’
‘Dad, shut up!’ Lily opened his hand and pressed a shilling into it. ‘Your crutches are behind the sofa. Watch you don’t break your neck,’ she whispered, opening the door to the living quarters. Albert arrowed Matthew a withering look before leaving the shop.
‘You’ll have to excuse him,’ said Lily, facing the preacher. ‘He says he doesn’t believe in God but blames Him for losing his leg.’
‘You don’t have to apologise. There’s a lot of people like that.’
Her mouth curved into a smile. ‘There’s another kind. Those who won’t have anything to do with the church but who behave as if they believe everything it stands for.’
He smiled. ‘I’m sorry I antagonised your father.’
‘Dad would be prickly with God himself. He was bad enough after the war but when Mam died that was the finish. Now he can’t settle to anything and drinks.’
‘It can’t be an easy life for you.’
‘If he could forget the war it would be easier.’
His smile faded. ‘It wrecked a lot of lives in Australia.’
Lily leaned forward over the counter. ‘I suppose you’re used to dealing with men with problems like Dad’s.’
‘Most men prefer to keep their pain inside them where I come from. They consider it more manly.’ He took an egg from the tray on the counter and rolled it between his hands. ‘My own father never spoke of his feelings after my mother died or of his pain when he was dying himself. Stiff upper lip and all that.’
She was interested in this information which stirred her compassion. ‘Any brothers and sisters?’
Matthew shook his head. ‘Mum went when I was three and Dad died a few years ago. It was when he was dying he told me more about his past than he had ever done before. He never stopped talking about Liverpool, where he was born, or India and China where he went with the British Army. He brought those places alive to me. So much so I wanted to see them for myself.’
‘Liverpool must seem strange and drab after India and Australia?’
He placed the egg back on the tray and smiled. ‘I enjoy the difference. I like the people and the bustle of the place. Besides I’m convinced it was God’s will that I came.’
‘Are you?’ Lily had never met anyone who spoke so openly about God’s will in the scheme of things. ‘How do you know?’
‘You just know,’ he drawled. ‘He won’t leave you alone.’
There was a silence and she hesitated before saying, ‘I believe you have an aunt over here? Have you found her yet?’
‘To tell you the truth I haven’t looked. Haven’t had time.’ He rested his arms on the counter and the action brought his face close to hers. ‘Is it possible you might have time to help me?’
She could hardly believe he was asking her but did not hesitate. ‘I can make time. Have you an address?’
Matt took a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it over. ‘I know I could get a street map but it’s more fun having someone explaining what’s which.’
Lily looked at the address and said ruefully, ‘I don’t know it. I can tell you Seiont is the name of a Welsh river. A lot of the housing in Liverpool was built by Welshmen. Any clues to its whereabouts from your father?’
‘He said Steble Street public baths was not far away.’
Lily was surprised. ‘It’s Toxteth way – not far from Park Road if I remember. My brother delivers in that area. There’s several streets not far away named after characters out of Dickens’s novels.’
He smiled, showing white teeth. ‘I remember Dad read Dickens, Kipling and the Bible. He believed the British Army and the Church of England would stand for ever. The house is three storeys high and there were no windows at the back.’
‘It must be from the times when the government levied a tax on windows,’ she said thoughtfully, folding the paper between her fingers. ‘Shall we go and find it?’ She whipped off her apron. ‘I’ll have to be back for the second milking about threeish. If you don’t mind waiting while I get a coat?’
‘Of course not.’