Читать книгу Peace In My Heart - Freda Lightfoot, Freda Lightfoot - Страница 11

Chapter Six

June 1945

‘I’ll come with you to help search for your mother,’ Bernie swiftly offered when Joanne made the announcement she’d visited the billeting officer who’d admitted he’d no idea how to contact this Evelyn Talbert, no longer being in possession of her current address. They were all sitting eating a delicious steak and onion pie in the kitchen one suppertime, which he’d cooked. Now with his sleeves rolled up Joanne found herself staring at his tanned arms, muscles round and strong, wondering why she was suddenly impressed by this image of him. Probably because she was savouring this good food, Bernie Flynn not at all a young man she wished to involve herself with. Taking a breath, she was about to deny that his assistance was required when she was interrupted by Aunt Annie.

‘Do thank him for that offer, dear girl. It would be an excellent idea to have our nephew’s support and protection in what is currently a bleak city, particularly as you’ve no idea where your dear mother is living so it could be a long and weary search.’

‘Oh, I do so agree,’ Aunt Sadie said. ‘Do you wish to accompany her too, Megan?’

‘No, ’course not,’ she loudly protested. ‘I have a lot of homework to do so don’t have time.’

Noticing the disapproval in her sister’s lovely face, Joanne hastily assured Megan it was not necessary for her to come. ‘Of course you don’t need to accompany me, lovey. I take Aunt Annie’s point that it won’t be an easy task and no doubt there will be a good deal of walking involved, which would be too much for you, Megan.’

Bernie smiled at her. ‘I, however, would be quite happy to walk my socks off.’

As the aunts clapped their hands to applaud his offer, Joanne felt obliged to politely accept it. He could be quite supportive, so why would she object?

They took the train to Victoria Station, which reminded her of the anguish she’d felt there as a young girl. She remembered how Megan had lost her precious doll when it fell from the rack where their bags had been stacked and its china head cracked and broke. Her sister had been heartbroken, crying for hours throughout the long train journey for the loss of her doll as well as her mother. ‘It was so hard saying goodbye to our mam who steadfastly attempted to look brave when we were evacuated. We were taken far north from our beloved home and family, which made me feel so lonely.’

‘A reaction I know well,’ he softly said. ‘I’ve never confessed this to you but I too lost my mother.’

‘Oh, no! Do you mean she was killed?’

He gave a slight shake of his head. ‘Nope. I reckon she’s still alive some place but I’ve no idea where, as I’m obviously of no great importance to her. After my father was killed in the Royal Navy destroyer, HMS Basilisk near Dunkirk in 1940, she fell into a dreadful state of grief and then a year later ran off with one of his friends.’

‘My goodness, what a dreadful thing to do, to abandon her son. You must have been utterly heartbroken. Me too, having lost contact with my mother, father and even my young brother Danny.’

‘That’s the reason I offered to help you find her, Joanne. Why would I not do what I can to help, when I fully understand the sense of loss you feel?’

‘Much appreciated,’ she said, and for the first time they shared a warm smile, offering each other comfort. ‘I’m so looking forward to searching the place we used to live, quite hopeful that I’ll at last find my mam.’

Once they arrived in Manchester they left the crowded platform and walked down Deansgate enjoying glancing at all the shops. Turning along Bridge Street, they passed the Pack Horse, then went all the way down Lower Byrom Street, trailing up and down several other streets too. Joanne found it quite devastating to see how many houses and factories had been destroyed and was appalled when she saw children playing games in the rubble and old air raid shelters. Narrowing her eyes, she carefully studied them all in case her brother was among them but sadly saw no sign of Danny. There were still sandbags lying around and no signposts, so searching Castlefield for her mother was proving to be something of a nightmare.

When Joanne saw a woman walking some distance ahead wearing the kind of coat and headscarf she recalled her mother once wore, she desperately called out to her. ‘Mam, is that you?’ Turning to give her a quick glance, the woman walked away at great speed and disappeared round a corner, not troubling to respond.

‘Was that your mother?’ Bernie earnestly asked her. ‘If so, I could run after her to tell her you’re here.’

‘Obviously not. If it was, she’d have come rushing to me with her arms outstretched to give me a hug. The problem is that I’m no longer certain of what she’ll look like after all these years,’ Joanne stated despondently.

‘Will she recognize you?’ he asked, giving her a wry smile. ‘You’re a lovely girl now, no longer a child.’

Joanne felt herself blushing even as she frowned, wondering if that had been the problem or had she been mistaken in guessing that woman was her mother? Maybe she’d lost all memory of her? Surely not.

When they finally arrived at the street close to Potato Wharf where they’d lived when she was a child, Joanne looked in horror at the derelict mess of the many houses bombed out back in 1940 during the Christmas Blitz, including their own. She couldn’t even find the house where her cousin Cathie had lived quite close by, or homes of any of their other friends. Shocked by the sight of the dreadful state the city was in and the fact she could find no sign of anyone she knew, Joanne felt grateful when Bernie gave her a clean handkerchief to mop up the tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘Come on, cheer up. Let’s find somewhere for a bit of a snack. We could then start exploring the mills or any other places you remember she worked.’

Looking up at him with gratitude, Joanne gave a nod. ‘Good idea. Let’s go to the Crown.’

They ate an excellent lunch of cod and chips at the pub, which Bernie insisted on paying for. He talked about how he’d enjoyed doing a lot of cooking. ‘I had to learn how to cook when my mum left home. Fortunately, I was sort of adopted by my aunts and they readily accommodated me, which was just as well considering I had no way of paying the rent on the house I was living in. Being fourteen years old, I offered to work for them, which they happily accepted and have taught me a great deal about cooking since.

‘I remember when I once managed to find some real eggs from a local farmer that I made custard tarts for all our guests. The Poles ate the custard but left the pastry untouched. Aunt Annie was infuriated when she saw that and gave them a telling-off over not eating the delicious pastry, speaking to them as if they were naughty children.’ He burst out laughing. ‘It was simply ignorance on their part, of course, never having had a custard tart before, and they quickly did as they were told and gobbled it up.’

Joanne burst out laughing also. ‘Well done. I’m sure they very much enjoyed it.’

‘Oh aye, they did, claiming it was delicious. Now the war is over I’ve moved on to gain training for more useful jobs. I’m having a go at decorating, plumbing and some simple building work. No idea if any of that will be appropriate for me. My aunts are most encouraging and supportive, happy to fund such training, and, as I greatly appreciate their care, I do whatever they ask of me.’

‘They are indeed considerate and generous ladies. I shall be sorry to leave them and am not convinced Megan will agree to do that, even if I promise to take her back for regular visits. My young sister is a very independent little madam with no memory now of our mother. I’m a sort of surrogate mum to her, the only person she’s had to protect and care for her, particularly whenever she’s been upset or in difficulty.’

‘I reckon you’ve done a good job. You’re a lovely caring girl no matter what problems you and your sister have suffered during this dratted war. How are you feeling now, health-wise?’

This not being at all a subject Joanne wished to discuss she did not respond and quickly moved on to speak of where her mother used to work. When she took him to the mill she discovered to her dismay that it had been bombed and burned in a fire. Moving on to search every other possible mill or factory, Joanne called in them all to ask if her mother worked there, explaining she was called Evelyn Talbert, known as Evie. The response from the various secretaries or managers was always a sad shake of the head, as if they were asked countless times where certain persons were, save for one mill where she was told her mother had once worked for them. Feeling a burst of joy, this excitement soon subsided when she was told Evie had now left, being sacked along with most other women. And nobody knew where she was working or living now.

Having spent hours searching and getting nowhere, Joanne felt close to despair, all hopes fading within her. ‘And where is Danny, my dad, or even my cousin Cathie? We’ve got absolutely nowhere.’

They went on to explore the odd hostel and canal boat, in case she’d moved to live in one of those. Trekking up and down more roads, streets and yards where old friends had once lived, Joanne found those too were either destroyed or empty of anyone she knew. By late afternoon she agreed it was time for them to return home to Blackpool. Nothing was at all as it used to be here in Manchester. After walking dejectedly back to Victoria Station, Joanne remained silent throughout the entire journey, feeling utterly exhausted but surprisingly comforted when she nodded off to sleep with her head on Bernie’s shoulder. Not for a moment did he object to that.

Davie, a good friend of Evie and Donald, had safely returned from the war when demobilized from the East Lancashire Regiment, and readily helped her to carry all her belongings in his old Ford van. Not that she had any furniture, having lost it all when their first home had been bombed. He drove her along Liverpool Road and up Byrom Street to a crowd of back-to-back houses close to Wood Street and Deansgate, an area that had thankfully not been destroyed by explosive bombs. It was at least within reasonable distance of Victoria Station; now back in action after suffering a landmine fall on a platform early in the war. Would that be where her son would arrive, or the station on Liverpool Road or Piccadilly? She must make enquiries to find that out.

‘Here’s number six, chuck,’ Davie said, parking his Ford van then starting to lift her boxes and bags out as she unlocked the door. Carrying a load of things in, he glanced around with disdain. ‘I reckon you’ll have to tart this place up. At least it’s a bit bigger than the one room you’ve been occupying lately, chuck.’

Looking around to examine it, not for the first time, Evie gave a sigh. ‘You’re right, Davie, it does require quite a bit of attention. I’m determined to ensure that my family will return to a life of comfort, once I find them. As I’m no longer living in the place they once knew and loved, I’ll work hard to make this more spick and span.’

‘Good for you and I’ll be glad to help, not having much work on myself just yet.’

‘I couldn’t afford to employ you.’

‘That’s all right, wasn’t asking you to do that. If you can afford to buy some white paint, or whatever colour you prefer, I could decorate these walls for you.’

‘Oh, that would be wonderful.’ She fetched her purse and handed him a couple of pounds. ‘See what you can get with that. I really appreciate your help, Davie.’

‘Rightio,’ he said, then, giving a grin and a wink, he finished the unloading then went off happily whistling, promising to be back the next day to start the painting.

Evie knew that this house was not as large or comfortable as the first home they’d rented and lost during the Christmas Blitz in 1940. It had a messy living-kitchen, two bedrooms and a lavatory in the backyard they would have to share with several other families. Having investigated it when Harold Mullins first offered it to her, she’d worked out that the main bedroom would be for herself and Donald. Joanne and Megan could share the small spare room and she’d bought a sofa bed for Daniel, which she’d had delivered and placed in a corner of the living-kitchen.

None of this was ideal but hopefully they might eventually find a better house one day. That would not be easy right now, there being a desperate shortage of property in all cities that had suffered from bombing. This one was at least equipped, with a bit of furniture, including necessary beds in the rooms upstairs. Not that there were any carpets and nothing but blackout curtains over the mucky windows. Nevertheless, she was deeply grateful to Mullins for supplying her with this cottage, as well as the new job she’d be starting first thing on Monday morning, so she must make no complaints about the mess the house was in. She was also deeply grateful for Davie’s offer of assistance.

He turned up as promised the next day and quickly set to painting the kitchen walls white, then moved on to other parts of the house. Evie spent every spare moment over the following days cleaning and scrubbing. Not convinced she’d given Davie sufficient money to paint every room, she frequently asked if he needed more but he would shake his head and gave a chuckle.

‘Neither of us is rich, chuck, but we’re coping well. I did make sure I bought a cheap version so you concentrate on your jobs and I’ll see to this decorating. It needs to look good for Donald and your kids when they arrive home.’

Once he was done, every room looked much cleaner and brighter. Evie gave him a large currant sponge cake she’d baked for him as a token of her appreciation. ‘You’ve done an excellent job, thank you so much.’

‘Eeh, thanks, chuck. We’re a great team. And do let me know when Donald comes home.’

‘I certainly will,’ she said, and gave him a smile as he trotted off.

She stocked the larder with some of her children’s favourite food: dried eggs, Rowntrees KitKat, cheese and wheatmeal bread if little in the way of fruit, sweets, sugar or treacle, rationing still being in place. Once they were due to arrive she’d buy some chicken and vegetables and other tasty food. She had made an attempt to buy them new clothes, then realized she’d no idea what size they took now they were so much older, so had to abandon that idea. Evie made a mental note she could take them shopping to the Flat Iron Market, which had low-priced clothes, or else she could sew her girls a dress each. How exciting that would be, loving sewing and knitting as well as lacemaking.

No longer employed by the mill, her request to keep working with other women to make lace had been ignored by Harold Mullins. Certain machines at the mill had been idle throughout the war, there being no demand for lace in those days. Still in good condition it was a shame she’d not been allowed to operate them. Evie thought she might one day return to making lace herself by hand and try selling it on Campfield Market to earn herself more money. But it could take a while to build herself the stock.

Right now she had to acquire the necessary skills to do this completely different and difficult job, which would hopefully make her a reasonable income as well as having thankfully supplied her with this home for her family. But being only a part-time occupation, she might find some opportunity to work for herself. An interesting proposition.