By the Waters of Liverpool (17 page)

People who did not drink were thankful to find some entertainment still open to them, and Norm was having to turn people away. ‘T’ floor might collapse and land us all in t’ cellar, if I get too many dancing at the same time,’ he explained, his thin face earnest. His skin looked yellow from too many late nights, on top of a job in a grocery during the day.

To me, the vibrations of the floor suddenly became something in which to take a personal interest.

Normally the Saturday night dance brought out the best dancers, Norm’s treasured silvers and gold, and they now became fretful at the overcrowding. He consoled them by quietly opening up on Sunday night for them. Fortunately for him, the police had plenty of other work on their hands.

I still occasionally went to church on Sunday evenings, though the religious ardour of my early teens had gone. There was still enough natural light for the services to take place. The days of services in semi-darkness, as the winter approached, were yet to come. I would sit in the back pew, as usual, and wonder how I should make a life for myself, and sometimes ask divine help. Ever since I had arrived in Lime Street station at the age of eleven, torn from all that was familiar to me, I had seen clearly the need to obtain an education, despite my parents’ objections, and then find an occupation to make me financially independent. What else could a plain girl look forward to? Now the war had made life even more complicated. Though I had not been able to find other employment, there was a steady flow of women, bereft of their menfolk, leaving their homes to take men’s places in the workforce. There was a call for volunteers for the women’s services, in the Army, Navy and Air Force; but because I had no formal educational qualifications, I shrank from being thrown into the lowest rank to do unskilled, menial tasks. Less and less, I wanted to spend my whole life in the sea of sorrow in which I was at present working. I was recovered enough to feel compassion for the flood of widows caused by the sinking of the
Athenia
and
the
Courageous
and a myriad of small ships which had been caught far from home at the outbreak of hostilities, and were now trying to creep back to Britain through seas menaced by U-boats. But sometimes I longed for laughter and cheerfulness. And so, while the collection clinked into the church plate, I fretted absently.

August and September saw Fiona’s young escorts increasingly likely to be in uniform. It was clear that
my
dancing partners were going to be the war’s privileged class; their skills were needed in the factories, much too precious to be wasted on the battlefield. It seemed that the war was going to be actually fought by the upper classes and by life’s eternal losers, the unskilled.

It was Saturday, the day on which Hitler and Stalin formally abolished the country of Poland; and the clear moonlight made a fairyland of black Liverpool, beating its slate roofs into silver sheets, softening the ugly row houses, making the grubby windowpanes glitter and the eyes of the many slinking cats in the alleys into blazing emeralds, as if there could not be a war in progress. It was a night of calm in which to look at the newly rediscovered stars.

Swinging my dancing shoes on two fingers, I strolled leisurely along the avenue to the dance
club. Except for the bottom step, the imposing front steps and porch were in deep shadow, but I ran up them absently with feet that had become familiar with them, and stumbled clumsily into a small group of people waiting to be let in.

‘Ow!’ exclaimed a male voice, as, confused and apologetic, I stepped back on to a foot.

A shaded torch flashed for a second on my face, and then was turned downward to aid the shuffling and giggling group to see.

The owner of the torch assured me, ‘It’s all right. I think I’ll live.’ I was aware of a solid rock of male figure leaning against the portico.

‘’lo, Helen,’ one of the waiting girls who had seen my illuminated face greeted me.

‘Hello, Gloria,’ I replied, smiling into the darkness. ‘How are you?’

She did not have time to answer, because the door was opened by a grinning Norm, apologising for being so long. ‘Had to go upstairs and turn a light off,’ he explained.

Seven of us, four men and three women, hurried into the dimly lit hall. Though the electric light was swathed in red tissue paper to dull its rays, Norm shut the door quickly, before the ever vigilant Warden could complain.

The gramophone was playing a scratched record
of ‘Three Little Fishes and a Mother Fishie, too’, as we took off our coats and changed our shoes – woe betide anyone who stepped on Norm’s precious floor in anything but dancing shoes. I always put on my little satin slippers with a feeling of pure joy.

I did not know the other people who had entered with Gloria and me, so I wandered into the ballroom with her. The dance was already in full swing and the floor was crowded. Doris looked up from her gramophone records and remarked, ‘You’re lucky. There isn’t room for any more.’ She surveyed the crowded room, and then added, ‘This won’t last, now the big dance halls are opening up again.’

‘Why not?’ I queried. ‘It’s a friendly place.’

She sighed. ‘Well, we depend on regulars, and if they keep on transferring men around the country, like they are doing, there won’t be anybody left for you to dance with, luv. Our John’s got to report to some dump in Hull tomorrer. And he hasn’t even got a place to stay.’

Our John was her brother, a pattern maker, so I commiserated with her, while the old house shook gently with the boom of the music and the movement of the dancers.

Gloria and I were soon claimed by men who knew us and were swept away into the mêlée of dancers.
Above the music, I could hear Norm greeting some of the people who had come in with me, as if they were prodigal sons. ‘Where you been all this time? What you doin’ now?’

My partner deposited me, breathless, on a chair on the far side of the room from the door, where the reunion was continuing with much back-slapping and laughter. My perspiring partner, the bricklayer who was really a stonemason, bowed and left me, to join the male cohorts near the door. I smiled briefly at the girl sitting next to me, but did not talk. She was with her mate, her close girl friend, and absorbed in a deep conversation about what
he
did and what
he
said last night.

I was still panting, when I thought I heard my name mentioned in the group of which Norm was the centre. I looked up quickly, just in time to see Norm hastily lower a finger pointing at me. Apparently slightly embarrassed, he turned his back to me and continued the conversation, in which Doris was also included.

The cigarette smoke made the room blue, hazing faces, dimming lights and adding a further deposit to the walls and ceiling. After a slightly longer break than usual Norm shouted, ‘Take your partners for an old-fashioned waltz,’ and after a doubtful start the strains of ‘The Blue Danube’ filled the room.

Two young men were standing before me, both wishing to dance. One was a stranger.

‘Like to dance?’ asked the old acquaintance, with a surly look at the newcomer.

I was about to rise, when the stranger said shamelessly, ‘Little Miss Helen promised this one to me when we came in.’

I opened my mouth to rebut this indignantly, but he had already leaned down and put his hand firmly under my elbow to help me up. Before I even had time to look at him properly, I was out on the floor, making apologetic faces to the other man over my partner’s shoulder.

What the man lacked in finesse, he made up in energy. An old-fashioned waltz takes more vigour than its later counterpart and was always a test of endurance for me. Nevertheless, I was laughing breathlessly by the time the Blue Danube managed to reach the sea and come to an end. We had not spoken a word, and I had hardly glanced at my partner’s face, except to note that he must be in his thirties. Lines, which would soon look like seams, etched a ruddy skin lightly, and there was little of the softness of youth. The face was vaguely familiar. The arms guiding me were extremely strong.

With a final spin, he whirled me to the narrow end of the room with its case of golden trophies.
We flopped on to two rarely used chairs, and he pulled a handkerchief from his top pocket and mopped a perspiring brow. Blue eyes beneath fair, bushy brows laughed at me over the damp cotton. I was panting like a Pekinese and could not speak. The eyes were so merry, though, that I had to smile back. It was as if we suddenly shared some naughty secret.

‘Well, little Miss Helen, how was that?’

‘Fun,’ I gasped. ‘But, really you told an awful lie.’

‘I spend nights dreaming of meeting her again – and she calls me a liar when I do.’ He slowly tucked the crumpled hanky back into his pocket, then leaned back in his uncomfortable chair, hands lying loosely on his thighs. He looked at me, with a slight smile curving under a heavy, though neat moustache somewhat yellowed by tobacco smoke. Strong stubby fingers showed faint signs also of cigarette smoke, as did most people’s.

Though subjected to a fairly intense examination, I did not feel shy – only bewildered that he claimed to have met me before. He was so relaxed, however, that he conveyed it to me, and when I had regained my breath, I said perplexedly, ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t remember meeting you before – yet you knew my name?’

‘A girl on the steps called you by it – and, anyway, Norm sent me over to dance with you – thought you’d like me. Do you?’

I burst out laughing, embarrassed by the question. I did not know what to reply. ‘Well…well…’ I looked again at him, and then added bravely, ‘Of course.’

He grinned, more at my confusion, I think, than at the reply.

‘Did I…? Were you…? Did I tread on you on the step?’

‘Yes,’ he responded, with a twinkle. ‘You trampled on me. I’m very hard done by tonight.’

I was sober. ‘Did it hurt very much? I’m so sorry.’

‘I thought I was crippled for life.’

‘At least you didn’t swear.’

‘I save that for recalcitrant machinery – and occasionally for other things. Are you accustomed to men swearing at you?’

‘No. But they do swear sometimes – under their breath. And at work I’ve been sworn at by angry men once or twice.’

‘Have you? Where do you work?’

‘Well, I’m a social worker – and sometimes men don’t like the advice you give them – or the advice you give their wives – and they get very miffed.’

The smile had gone from his face, and he said, ‘Well, I’m blowed. You don’t look like one.’

‘Like what?’

‘A social worker.’

‘What’s wrong with them?’ I asked sharply. But a quickstep burst from the ever-faithful gramophone and, without answering, he got up and held out his hand to me to dance.

He held me quite closely and guided me into one or two variations which I think he had invented himself. His suit was navy blue and I was careful not to brush my powdered face against his shoulder. After we had circled the floor in silence, he asked me in a genuinely puzzled tone, ‘What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?’

I turned my face up to his. ‘It’s most respectable,’ I parried.

‘Aye, it is. Norm takes care of that. But you’re different. You don’t belong here.’

His accent was that of a north country man, but he did not have the thick nasal Liverpool accent of the other men present. I grinned wickedly, and inquired with deceptive quietness, ‘And what is a nice man like you doing in a place like this?’

That made him jump. ‘What? Me?’ I felt the quiver of laughter in him.
‘Touché,’
he replied.

We danced halfway round the room before he answered. Then he said, ‘I came with one of my friends and his wife. I sometimes do in winter. They’re great dancers – they learned here.’ He twiddled me into one of his fancy variations, and I felt the smallest sigh go through him. ‘I rent a room in their house – to keep my gear in – and to sleep in when I’m in Liverpool.’

I glanced up at his face again. The mouth under the moustache was set and he looked suddenly weary. He became aware of my gaze and looked down at me, and smiled.

I was feeling tired myself, so I asked, ‘Would you like to sit out the rest of the dance?’

Pure mischief glinted in the blue eyes. ‘That’s an idea.’ He guided me round until we reached the door, and under the benign eye of Norm leaning against the gramophone table, he danced me into the empty, chilly hall, and sat me down on the carpeted stairs. They smelled of dust. He squeezed in beside me. There was just room for the two of us, and he put his arm round me, ostensibly to make more space. It was exceedingly comforting, quite the snuggest feeling I had ever experienced. And I felt quite safe. Norm was only a few feet away. It struck me that Norm had allowed this man to do something he would never tolerate in anyone
else. Nobody was allowed to linger in the dark hall. Everybody was kept firmly under his paternal eye in the ballroom.

‘Do you know Norm and Doris well?’

‘Pretty well. Been coming here occasionally for years. Makes some company when I’m ashore, if all my friends seem to be out.’

He wriggled himself more comfortably in beside me. ‘Mind if I smoke?’ I assured him that I did not mind, so more wriggling ensued while he retrieved cigarettes and matches from his jacket pocket. Before flicking out the match, he held it and it lit up his face. It was not a particularly handsome visage; it was somewhat battered, though full of laughter lines. The nose looked as if it had been broken long ago. The eyes were lively and intelligent. The match, of course, lit my face as well, and I wished suddenly that I was as lovely as Fiona. I had never sat alone with a man other than my father, and never close to one except Emrys Hughes during a holiday when I was about fifteen, a charity holiday obtained for me by the Presence. And Emrys Hughes had been old enough to be my father. This man was young and I wanted to continue sitting by him; it felt very nice. He had already slipped the packet of cigarettes into his top pocket, when he said
contritely, ‘I forgot to ask if you’d like one. Would you?’

‘No, thank you. I don’t smoke.’