Gwen looked doubtful. ‘The trouble is, so many stations and railway lines have been hit that it’s difficult to get away from the city,’ she said. ‘Mind, I suppose we could catch a bus, only because of the bombing we’d likely spend half the day getting there and the other half getting back. Tell you what, though, we could take a picnic to Sefton Park; it’s like country there.’
‘Well, I suppose we could,’ Debbie said. ‘It may not be much of a picnic, what with rationing and shortages, but I dare say we can scratch up a few sandwiches and a bottle of tea each.’ Because of the almost constant bombing, Mrs Soames had sent the children back into Wales where they were comfortably situated in a small village deep in Snowdonia. Debbie knew that Mrs Soames had set out to visit her family that morning and would not return for at least a week, for she, too, was exhausted by the raids and felt she needed a break. It would have been nice had Gwen been able to accompany her, but as the factory was so busy time off was at a premium, and Gwen had had to remain at her post.
‘I don’t care so much about the picnic as getting out of all the soot and the mess and the brick dust,’ Gwen said frankly. ‘Besides, knowing she were leaving me alone for a time, Mam made some of her delicious rock buns and a Woolton pie. I’ll bring some of that. I wish the bloody Nazis didn’t keep hitting the shippin’ and the warehouses though,’ she added as they trudged along. ‘Old Mr Huxtable – he’s next door but two to us – says them buggers in the Luftwaffe know what they’re doin’; they’re goin’ to starve us out. Every time a warehouse or a ship loaded with grub gets hit, our rations get tighter. Still, our mam says the country folk are doin’ a grand job. They don’t grow flowers no more and their lawns is all rooted up an’ put down to spuds, so that’s a help, I reckon.’
‘I wish the people in the country grew acres and acres of onions,’ Debbie said, as they turned into Walton Lane. She wrinkled her nose as a strong stench of sewage assailed her nostrils. ‘Phew, it ’ud be a relief just to get away from the horrible smells as well as the muck and the rubbish. I dunno why there are no onions in the shops. You can’t say they come from abroad because my mam says any fool can grow onions, and the English ones are lovely, much stronger than the French ones the fellers in berets used to bring over from Brittany. And a stew ain’t the same without onions,’ she ended wistfully.
Gwen nodded. ‘We don’t understand it either,’ she admitted. ‘My Uncle Frank what lives in Seaforth has got an allotment and he grows all sorts, but he says when thieves climb over the fence it’s the onions they’re after. He says he’s goin’ to keep a night watch over the allotment when his crops are almost ready and he’ll shoot any bugger what climbs the fence and starts on his onions.’
Debbie made a derisive noise. ‘What’s he going to shoot them with, a peashooter?’ she asked. ‘And where’ll he get the peas from, come to that?’
Gwen giggled. ‘He were in the First World War and he kept his old rifle,’ she explained. ‘Eh, I’m not looking forward to getting home to an empty house. What shift’s your mam on? If it’s nights you can come and stay with me, an’ if it’s days I’ll come and stay with you. Not that we’re liable to be in our beds for long, but at least I won’t be alone in the house either way.’
Debbie frowned. ‘I keep losing track,’ she admitted. ‘At least our shifts remain pretty much the same, but Mam fills in here and does a double shift there until she hardly knows which way up she is. But I
think
she’s on nights, so if you don’t mind I’ll come to your place.’
‘Sure; that’ll be grand,’ Gwen said eagerly. ‘But I bet we end up in the shelter again; I can’t see the perishin’ Luftwaffe givin’ us a night off, can you?’
‘Not really,’ Debbie admitted. ‘Then it’s agreed, I take it? We go to Sefton Park tomorrow, if the weather’s fine of course, and take a picnic. I’ll have to go home in the morning to make Uncle Max’s breakfast, but if it’s a nice hot day we’ll head straight for the park after that and get ourselves a couple of deckchairs. We might even snooze a little if the raid’s been really noisy and we’ve not had much sleep in the shelter.’
‘Right. And if we feel like it, we might go to a flick in the evening,’ Gwen said eagerly. ‘Wharrabout this evening, though? Will your mam be at home to make you a meal, or do you want to come straight to mine?’
‘You come round to ours, Gwen,’ Debbie said at once. ‘You can have your tea with us, because whether or not Mam is in she’ll have left something ready for cooking.’ She tilted her head back to gaze at the blue sky above. ‘Isn’t it awful to feel afraid just because the sky is clear? But never mind, we’ll have a real day out tomorrow.’
Next morning, the girls set out for Sefton Park with their picnic, for the day was as bright and sunny as anyone could wish, though the fires still burned in the docks and the air was thick with the dust from buildings which had been hit during the previous night’s raid. However, both their homes were still standing, undamaged, and Jess had applauded their decision to have a day away from the carnage. ‘I’d come with you if I wasn’t so horribly tired,’ she said, and Debbie could see that her mother’s face was strained and pale, and her eyes seemed to have sunk into her head. ‘I was on the children’s ward last night – poor little things, they’re so cheerful even when they must be scared out of their wits – and when the siren sounded we had to rush them to the basement, all among the files. If it wasn’t for the noise, they might have got some sleep, but even with concrete all round us you could still hear the ack-ack batteries blazing away.’
‘Why don’t you come with us anyway, Mam?’ Debbie asked hopefully. ‘We’re going to hire a couple of deckchairs and have a sleep in the sun when we reach the park. You could follow suit.’
Jess had smiled but shaken her head. ‘No, love, I’m going straight to bed and I shall sleep the clock round,’ she had declared. ‘I’ve got two more night shifts and then I’m back on days. So I’d best get a proper rest while I can. I’m afraid I probably won’t be here when you get home, but I’ll leave you something cold for your tea.’
‘We thought we might see a flick, just to round our day off nicely, you know,’ Debbie had said. ‘That means we may not be home in time to get Uncle Max his tea, but if it’s cold, surely he can get his own? It’s ages since we went to the cinema,’ she finished, rather wistfully.
Jess had laughed and pinched her cheek. ‘You deserve a really nice day out so I’ll tell Max he’ll be on his own for tea this evening,’ she had said. ‘If he wants company, he can ask Mr Bottomley to share his meal. Have a lovely time!’
Now, they were walking along the pavement, occasionally having to move into the roadway to avoid the rubble of bombed buildings. Everywhere, people were working to clear the roads, and there was very little traffic about, but presently a van stopped just ahead of them and a young man jumped out and walked towards them, grinning cheerfully. ‘Gwenny? I come past your house just now so I guessed you and your family was all right, same as us. But what’s you doin’ here? Ain’t you at work today? Youse goin’ in the wrong direction if you’re headin’ for Long Lane!’
Debbie glanced interrogatively at her friend and saw Gwen’s cheeks beginning to flush pink. ‘It’s me cousin Bert’s pal, Dicky; he’s ever so nice. He’s put in to join the air force, but till then he’s driving a delivery van for Matheson’s,’ Gwen hissed beneath her breath. She raised her voice. ‘How ya doing, wack? Me an’ me pal’s off to Sefton Park, only there ain’t no buses runnin’ – or none have passed us – so it looks as though we’ll spend most of our day off footin’ it.’
‘Footin’ it? Nonsense. Ain’t we all told to help one another in this bleedin’ war?’ Dicky said genially. He swung open the passenger door as they reached the van. ‘I don’t mean to see me favourite girl walking her feet down to the ankles, so just you hop in.’ The girls squeezed on to the narrow bench seat. ‘I’ve got two more deliveries which won’t take above five minutes apiece and then I might as well drive past Seffy as not.’ He grinned down at them. ‘Is that a picnic you’ve got there? I might even join you for half an hour if it’ll stretch to a third person.’
‘We’d be glad to share our food in return for the lift,’ Debbie said, seeing that her friend was almost overcome; clearly, Gwen had a crush on this young man. Debbie turned to her. ‘That’s right, isn’t it, Gwen?’
‘Of course it is,’ Gwen mumbled. ‘Only we shan’t eat straight away; we’re going to try to get some shut-eye ’cos it were that noisy last night we hardly slept at all.’
‘You and the whole of Liverpool,’ Dicky said. ‘Still, it can’t last for ever and they say a barrage balloon accounted for one of the enemy last night and the ack-ack fellers brought down two more.’ He put the van into gear and moved forward. ‘Tell you what, I’ll drop you off and go back to me depot, then I’ll come back around five. Save me some grub and I’ll give you a lift home.’
Gwen began to murmur her thanks but Debbie cut in. ‘We’ll be glad of a lift but we’re going to a flick this evening,’ she said. ‘This is the first real day out we’ve had for ages and we want it to be a good one, so could you drop us off at any cinema which hasn’t been bombed flat?’
‘Course I could,’ Dicky said obligingly. ‘Well, young Gwen. How’s the family?’
‘Well, I can’t think when I’ve enjoyed a day more,’ Gwen breathed, as they walked up the Scotland Road on their way home. ‘Oh, and wasn’t that the most romantic film you’ve ever seen? I just love Clark Gable. And isn’t Dicky grand? Why, even going to the trouble of finding out what the various picture houses were showing. I like him better’n any other feller I know.’
‘Yes, he’s really nice,’ Debbie agreed. ‘I remember you mentioned him once before . . . didn’t he come to that party at your aunt’s house the Christmas after war was declared.’
‘That’s right,’ Gwen said. ‘It’s a pity he couldn’t come to the cinema with us but since he lives out at Crosby I suppose it’s reasonable that he wanted to get home before dark. Still, walking home from here is nothing to the walking we’d have had to do if Dicky hadn’t took pity on us.’
‘True,’ Debbie said. She took her friend’s arm. ‘I’ve got my torch. The battery’s not a new one but it’ll serve to stop us walking straight into a big hole or a pile of rubble. We’d best get a move on or we shan’t reach the shelter before—’ A familiar sound cut across her words; Moaning Minnie was in good voice tonight and giving advance warning that the raiders were crossing the Irish Sea, doubtless on their way to deliver another stunning blow to the docks. Debbie stopped short, a hand flying to her mouth. ‘Oh damn, damn, damn! We’re still a good way from home . . . I wonder whether we can make it if we run?’
But it was already too late. The road was full of scurrying figures, clearly making for the nearest shelter, and when the two girls would have hurried on by, an ARP warden, tin-hatted and uniformed, barred their way. ‘Shelter’s fifty yards ahead, on your left, young ladies,’ he said briskly. ‘You just come along o’ me and I’ll see you safely stowed.’
‘Oh, but mam will worry dreadfully if we don’t get home, or at least into the shelter up by the Stanley,’ Debbie said immediately. ‘We’ll run all the way, honest to God we will.’
She tried to get past him but the warden grabbed hold of Gwen and shook his head chidingly at Debbie. ‘No you don’t; you’ve got younger ears than mine, and I can hear the engines overhead,’ he said grimly. ‘Better safe than sorry, queens. Now step lively.’
Debbie and Gwen found themselves descending a steep and narrow set of concrete steps and emerging into a long, dank-smelling public shelter. They saw, without much surprise, that the bunks were already taken but there were long narrow benches and a pile of grey blankets by the door, so they took a blanket each and squeezed on to one of the benches. Clearly, this was a shelter used by people who did not live in the area but were visiting the places of entertainment by which it was surrounded. Locals had taken the bunks, but the rest of the inhabitants did not seem to know one another and were strangely polite, and quieter, on the whole, than those in neighbourhood shelters.
Debbie glanced curiously about her. One end of the shelter was curtained off with what looked like rough sacking and she guessed that this would hide the buckets half full of earth, or sand, which were the best the shelter marshals could manage in the way of toilets. Against one wall there were a couple of primus stoves and several tall enamel jugs which probably contained water. There were shelves upon which various goods were set out, but she thought with a pang which was almost homesickness that it was not as well provisioned as their own shelter. No one could leave anything of value in a shelter, of course, but back on the Stanley Road they had evolved a very good system. Someone would take care of the tea, the conny-onny, and a bottle of Camp coffee. Someone else would be given a big bag of broken biscuits which would be passed among the children when the noise of the raid was at its height. Others would look after pillows because these were too bulky to be brought to and from the shelter when one had children in one’s charge.
Gwen nudged Debbie, glancing around her. ‘It ain’t exactly a home from home, is it?’ she said. ‘It seems odd to be amongst strangers . . . over the weeks we’ve kind o’ got used to each other at the Stanley Road shelter, haven’t we? I wonder if there’ll be a sing-song later, or if anyone has brung spare food? I wish we’d not eaten all our sandwiches and Mam’s pie and cakes. It’s funny, isn’t it? If we was at home in our own beds we wouldn’t dream of getting up for a sandwich and a drink, but when you’re stuck down in a miserable bloody shelter it’s different. D’you reckon they’ll light them primuses and boil up some water for tea?’