Made in Myrtle Street (Prequel) (37 page)

Round here, you’re alright if your Dad works on the docks because they didn’t go in the army and the girls at school say that their Dads are always finding things lying around on the docks that they bring home. But for everybody else, you have to rely on granddads and older uncles else you’ve had it. I think that is why Jimmy was pinching stuff, because his Grandad is dead and his Dad has gone missing somewhere and now his Mam is ill.

Dad, when is this war going to finish? It’s not fair.

I have heard of Mrs Pankhurst but Mam says that she is working with the government now to beat the Germans. Mam said that they’ve all got a shock coming to them when the war is over because the men will come home wanting their jobs back but the women won’t want to be pushed down again. It’s nearly all women conductors on the trams now and everybody says that they do a good job, so why should they be pushed out of them? At least they smile at you and they don’t snot their noses on the floor like some of the men because the women take the trouble to carry handkerchiefs.

Our Sadie is good at reading now and she is helping our Mary. Our Ben got the cane at school last week for kicking a football through a window. He said that he hadn’t been playing football and he was only hiding in the cupboard to stay out of the way.

I didn’t really understand ‘Little Women’ but our teacher was pleased because I showed an interest. I am reading a book about the Romans at the moment but the people sound so boring. Why don’t they have interesting books for children?

Those socks were blissful when the weather was really cold so I hope that you don’t mind that I had them instead of you.

Love

Laura

***

Big Charlie’s face was contorted by a series of deep furrows which ran from the screwed up contemplative forehead down to the pursed lips. He was staring at the letter that he had received that morning and at regular intervals his shoulders rose up and he emitted a deep thoughtful sigh. He sat on an empty ammunition container outside the dug out with his elbows resting on his broad knees. His brown hair was stuck up in unruly spikes where he kept ruffling it as if trying to stimulate some mental activity that was so far eluding him.

Edward and Liam watched their friend’s agitation with increasing apprehension. Liam was clearly anxious to probe further and repeatedly made to start the questions that were burning him. It was clear, though, from Big Charlie’s distant demeanour that he would not be subjected to interrogation and Liam’s questions hung unspoken in the air.

Eventually he stuffed the letter into his top pocket and reached down for his rifle and his cleaning kit. He spent the next half hour meticulously cleaning and polishing the weapon whilst his friends indulged a favourite pastime of recounting childhood memories in the hope of gaining the interested participation of Big Charlie.

‘Do you remember that time when Tommy Ten Pints came out of the Craven Heifer and he walked straight off the flags and into the cart road?’ asked Edward.

‘Do you mean when he didn’t see that horse until it bumped into him and he turned round and smacked it on the nose?’ Liam rejoined.

‘Aye, that’s it. And the carter tried to crack Tommy with his whip and instead he lashed the horse across its face.’

‘Yeah. Next minute the horse was up on its back legs and all the crates came rolling off the cart,’ Liam enthused.

‘I’ve never seen so many oranges in my life before. All rolling down Cross Lane trying to escape’ Edward recalled.

‘Aye. You had to feel a bit sorry for the carter, though. The poor sod was trying to pick up his oranges and hold on to the reins at the same time.’

‘It didn’t turn out too bad though,’ chuckled Edward. ‘We had orange butties for our tea that night.’

The disinterested Big Charlie remained unmoved. Completing his cleaning, he placed the rifle on one side and folded his cloths. He took a sip of the tea that had been poured into his chipped enamel cup and resumed his contemplation of the letter.

Suddenly, he stood up and walked over to Liam, handing him the letter. ‘Here. Have a look at that. Looks as though we’re both going nowhere. Only difference is you’ve got a choice.’

Liam read the letter then passed it over to Edward without comment. Edward looked at the plain white sheet on which faint pencil lines had been ruled. Along these a neat, feminine script delivered a slightly confusing message with a fairly direct end.

Dear Charlie,

You big, daft, stupid man. You make me the laughing stock of all the neighbours and then you have the nerve to send me a letter as though it’s from a solicitor. It’s not me that has done anything wrong – it’s you who threw that poor Mr Snelgrove into the horse trough. Now I have had to leave the Glee Club because I couldn’t bear the humiliation and I will never again be able to enjoy the humbling reward of the ripple of applause in appreciation of my small talents.

I have never asked much of you, Charlie. I’ve fetched and carried for you and always made sure that you have had a hot meal on the table when you came in and clean underpants in the drawer. If that is not enough to show that I love you then what is?

But what thanks do I get for that? What do I get in return? Somebody who comes barging in like a madman and, without a by your leave, assaults a paying guest, a man of great musical talent and a gentle disposition.

Now, after causing me so much embarrassment that I have had to move house twice because of the gossiping neighbours, you send me a letter that doesn’t contain a sow’s ear of sincerity in it. All this on top of that dreadful pantomime at the workhouse is almost too much to bear and sometimes I think you care more for your pigeons than you do me. Well I’m sorry to say that they have gone because I couldn’t move house with those as well.

Perhaps now you’ll put more of your attention on to me and understand that I have needs as well. It’s not proving you’re a man throwing around gentlemen of a generous nature who are so thin that you could spit through them without wetting them. I want you to show me you are a proper man, Charlie. Just come home and overwhelm me and give me babies like normal married couples. Now.

Love

Dot

Edward folded the letter thoughtfully and handed it back to Big Charlie. ‘Well, she looks as though she might be happy to have you back, Charlie. Perhaps you should try and get a bit of compassionate leave. Say your Mam’s been taken bad or something.’

‘No,’ said Big Charlie firmly. ‘That would just be a waste of time.’

Edward was slightly taken aback by his friend’s curtness. ‘Why’s that then?’

‘Well, I’d need a long leave. There’s no address on the letter.’

***

Vauchelles

France

9
^th
April 1918

My Darling Little Pippin,

I can’t tell you how nice it was to receive your letter and those from the rest of the family. I have read them over and over again because they give me a lot of strength. We have just had a few very difficult days and reading about life at home helps me to get back to reality. Sometimes it seems a bit hard to think what normal life was like back in England so your letters are a big help. I know that you must be wondering sometimes what on Earth we are doing out here and, when you read about them in the paper, you must think that some of the things that we do are pretty terrible. But please believe me Darling when I say that we are doing what is necessary to defend our freedoms and keep you all safe at home. Our supposed betters have got us into this war and now we must see it through or else the Germans will take over Britain and our Empire and our country will be ruined.

We are not heroes, Darling. We are just ordinary working class men doing what we have to do to build a better future for our children. Please don’t let it be in vain. Try to make the most of your chances and your education. The world won’t change overnight but, please God, the sacrifices being made will be worth something for you and for your children after you.

I think that your Mam is right when she says that the women will not want to give up their jobs when the men come home. The men will have to remember that a lot of women are widows with young families and they will have to work to support themselves. We will all have to work together and then we will build a better future.

I am sorry that you did not have a very good Christmas. We were quite lucky; our Christmas dinner was very nice although we didn’t have it until Boxing Day because we were on duty. We also had a Christmas concert which was organised by a group of the soldiers. They asked me if I would do a song but I think that they might have been sorry if I had done. Some of the men were dressed as women and they were hilarious. They nearly all had moustaches and their voices were too deep but the funniest thing was their dancing. They were falling over their own feet.

I suppose size 10 boots don’t help. We had a comedian who came over from England and he had appeared once at the Hippodrome on Cross Lane and he gave us a good laugh. There was a soldier from Newcastle called Our Willie who played an accordion. He was brilliant. We all enjoyed a good sing-song.

I know this war is not fair, Darling, as you say in your letter, but life does send a lot of challenges that we have to face up to and beat. When we overcome them we gain a new strength which helps us to face the next problems that arise and that makes us better human beings. People who are born with everything have nothing to gain and their lives are the emptier for it. Be brave, my little one, and hopefully soon things will start to get better.

I am really pleased that the socks stopped you getting chilblains. I think that it is really clever of you to knit them because your Mam has told me that it is very difficult to knit on four needles.

Pippin, I want you to do a little favour for me but this must be another little secret between us. Will you have a word with Billy Murphy and ask him if he ever writes a letter to his Dad. I don’t think that he does, so suggest that he writes and tells his Dad the news and also how much he misses him. It could be very important but don’t tell him that I suggested it.

Love

Dad

***

Liam’s mood vacillations seemed to get more extreme. Any form of sporting competition would lift him to an irrepressible level. His wit was sharp and often acerbic and his voice reflected his fever pitch enthusiasm. His energy sparked from him and those around him either allowed themselves to be caught up in it or they wilted under its heat.

When the confrontation was with the enemy, however, whether in hand-to-hand fighting or the more normal artillery bombardment or even just manning the front line trenches, his mood became dark and withdrawn. It was as though some powerful force was pressing in on him, his skin became grey and his eyes flat and empty. For days on end, he would hardly speak to anybody and his friends opted to remain at a comfortable distance. When Major Fforbes-Fosdyke arrived one day so drunk that he could barely dismount from his horse and delivered a lecture full of meaningless platitudes on the need for courage in this noble warfare, Edward could see that Liam was shaking with barely contained anger.

Unfortunately, the Major, misjudging the feelings of deep antagonism felt by the men around him, told them, in a preening, self-congratulatory performance, that he had been mentioned in dispatches and recommended for a MC in recognition of the heroic way he had led the troops in the Battle for Bapaume.

The volcano inside Liam erupted and he waved an accusing finger at the Major as he raged at this injustice. ‘You weren’t even around at Bapaume. You had disappeared like you always do as soon as there is even a whiff of a German,’ he roared. ‘How could you be mentioned for anything when the only action that you ever see is in the bar?’

The red faced and seriously discomfited Major grabbed his batman’s arm. ‘Arrest him and have him charged with treason,’ he ordered.

Liam’s face was now taut with fury and his eyes stared with a dangerous madness. He waved his clenched fist at the Major and screamed in his rage. ‘What about some recognition for the thousands of poor sods who’ve died fighting on the front line? The only decoration that they will get will be a wooden cross.’

Edward put his hand on Liam’s shoulder to restrain him but he shook it off. ‘Our men are having to stick bayonets into German boys with bum fluff on their chins,’ he shouted, now waving both fists, ‘but the only people that you ever killed were British soldiers. Have they mentioned the Hennessy kid in the dispatches? You shouldn’t be decorated, you lily livered bastard, you should be shot for cowardice.’

A stunned silence hung in the air for a moment before others joined in the condemnation of the now twittering, slavering officer. The agitated major, panting like a cornered prey, suddenly took out his pistol and pointed it at Liam. He stepped forward but fortunately the batman’s stray foot impeded his progress and he fell forward accompanied by much laughter and applause from the surrounding soldiers.

The next day the military police arrived and arrested Liam but the case against him collapsed when the only evidence that could be obtained was relating to the Major’s obviously drunken condition.

Liam later went to see the chaplain to discuss his inner turmoil. The letter that he had received from young Billy had thrilled him but it had added to his confusion. The value that his son placed upon him as a father, a mentor and a friend only made him feel less worthy of that role. He felt inadequate to his son’s expectations of a principled hero. He now felt a deep shame about what he perceived as his own complicity in the destruction of the moral framework that had structured his early life in the Catholic Salford Cathedral and school and that had informed his recent years as a husband and father.