Annie Groves - Winter on the Mersey - A Heartwarming Christmas Saga

Violet knew her unofficial role was to keep everyone’s spirits up, and usually that suited her down to the ground, but today, knowing that Rita had gone into labour, she felt absolutely rotten. It wasn’t as if she didn’t get on with Rita – the two of them were thick as thieves and had worked together for years in the shop, helping the customers and putting on a brave face so that nobody around Empire Street went without. Violet didn’t like to admit it even to herself but she was filled with envy of her sister-in-law. Rita and Jack had had precious little time together either since their marriage just over two years ago, and yet here she was, about to give birth. It wasn’t fair. On top of that she had two children already. Violet knew full well that Rita had had to make an agonising decision as to whether to have Michael and Megan evacuated, and she missed them still even though they were relatively close out on a farm in Freshfield in Lancashire. Once the blitz had stopped, there had been talk about bringing them home, which Rita was desperate to do, and yet she had to acknowledge that farm life suited them both and they were flourishing in the fresh air, eating plentiful good food that they could never hope to get in war-ravaged Bootle.

Reluctantly Rita had agreed – with Jack’s backing – that the two children should stay away, at least for the time being, much to the delight of the farming couple, who had no children of their own and therefore spoilt them terribly. Michael and Megan had been promised that they could come back for a visit as soon as their new sister or brother was born. So Violet was steeling herself for the big family reunion, and while she knew it would make Rita’s joy complete, she dreaded the thought of it.

‘Violet, can you come and look at this?’ Ruby asked from behind her, and Violet jumped. How long had Ruby been speaking to her when she was lost in her agonising thoughts? She had to snap out of it, pull herself together, and not begrudge the generous Feenys their pleasure in the new arrival.

‘What’s wrong?’ Violet asked, bending her tall, willowy frame over the account books. She didn’t understand the figures; she knew Ruby was more than capable of sorting out any problem with them and was probably just asking her to make her feel wanted. That was a kind thing to do. But it didn’t come close to easing the longing that was eating away at her. ‘Oh, Eddy,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Come home soon, and let’s hope we can have the family we so badly want at last.’ But she didn’t breathe a word of this to Ruby. Instead Violet pitched up the sleeves of her moth-eaten cardigan and got back to the grind of keeping the little shop in business.

Kitty Callaghan pushed a dark curl out of her eyes as she squinted at the keyhole in the fading evening light. There was just enough brightness left in the sky to find it. Of course there would be no street lamps coming on as they hadn’t been permitted since the outbreak of war. In a big city Kitty would have felt happy to stay out longer, knowing that there would be other people about, even if it meant navigating the potholed pavements with a shielded torch. Yet here, in this small town on the south coast, she felt reluctant to come back after dark. She wasn’t a country girl and there was something about her billet’s isolation that made her uneasy. Not that she would admit that to anybody.

Pushing open the door with its flaking paint, she listened for any signs of the other occupants, but the place was quiet. She shared this small house with two other Wrens and their landlady, who had been only too happy to let out her spare rooms after her husband had been called up. The rooms were small but clean, with comfortable if slightly battered furnishings, and Kitty couldn’t complain. She’d had much worse. When she’d first joined up, she had had to share a big dormitory with the other trainee Wrens, sleeping on a bottom bunk and with absolutely no privacy. Then there had been the filthy fleapit she’d been allocated when she’d been transferred to Portsmouth, which she’d managed to leave by claiming it was too far from her place of work. It wasn’t as if she came from anywhere grand either. Her terraced home on Empire Street was no bigger than this and certainly hadn’t been as comfortable, although she’d done her best. But having to run the household pretty much single-handed after her mother had died so young had been a struggle. Her big brothers had tried to help but their father drank away all the money that should have gone towards the housekeeping, and so it had been a matter of survival, with nothing left over for little extras. If it hadn’t been for their kindly neighbour, Dolly Feeny, they’d never have got through.

From Portsmouth Kitty had been transferred again to this small town hugging the coast. It was an ideal place from which to pick up signals from the continent, and in her capacity as a telephone operator she was much in demand. She had proved herself to be calm in the face of crises – when messages were arriving at an impossible pace, she was efficient in recognising which to prioritise, and unflappable when the callers were panicking or aggressive. Fortunately that didn’t happen often. But you never knew what or who you would be dealing with down the line and it was important to respond appropriately. Lives might be lost otherwise. Her exemplary work had led to her rising to the rank of Leading Wren, and everyone could see that this was well deserved.

The door to what had once been the sitting room opened and a young woman poked her face out into the corridor. ‘Oh, it’s you, Kitty. I thought I heard something. Fancy a game of cards?’

‘Sorry, did I disturb you, Lizzie?’ Kitty smiled at the young Wren who now used the ground-floor front room as her bedroom.

‘No, I was just writing a letter home … You don’t fancy playing cards for a bit, do you?’ Lizzie looked wistful, and Kitty remembered how homesick the girl had been when she’d first arrived. Maybe she should make the effort and play cards with her to try to cheer her up. But the truth was she really didn’t feel like it.

‘Maybe just one round, and then I think I’ll go up, if you don’t mind,’ Kitty said apologetically. ‘It’s been a long day.’

Lizzie nodded. ‘That would be nice; I need to finish my letter afterwards anyway. Mum and Dad are always going on at me for not telling them enough of my news.’ She opened the door to her room a touch wider and Kitty went in, sat at the little wooden table in the small bay window, and prepared to play. But her mind wasn’t on it and Lizzie beat her easily.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t much competition there, was I?’

‘It’s all practice,’ said Lizzie, not hiding her delight at beating her housemate, who was usually a sharp player. ‘Better luck next time.’

Kitty pulled a rueful face and stood, going through into the empty kitchen. Carefully she drew the blackout curtain before putting on the light and reaching for the tea leaves. She took a small scoop, mindful that there was only ever just enough to go round. She wondered whether to turn on the Bakelite wireless but decided against it.

The other Wrens in the house were lively and meant well, but Kitty found it hard to be anything other than superficially friendly with them. It wasn’t just because of the age difference; although she was older, it wasn’t by much. She just didn’t have a lot in common with them. Technically she was their superior in rank, which set her a little apart, but it was more than that. They were keen to go out, have fun, make the most of what little entertainment this place could offer. She wasn’t.

Once she had been, but that was before Elliott had died. It had been over two years now, but Kitty knew she would never again be that young Wren eager for adventure. Dr Elliott Fitzgerald had shown her a side of life that she had never thought would be open to her when she’d first met him. He’d been working in the hospital where two of her brothers were being treated, and she had found it hard to believe that he’d preferred her company to that of all the many pretty nurses he saw day and night. Yet he had, and their courtship had stood the test of separation, with him remaining in Liverpool while she began her training in north London. He’d given her confidence, stability, faith in herself and hope for a shared future – until he’d been killed in one of the final raids of the blitz over Bootle. After that she had hardened her heart and directed all her time and energy into her work. There seemed little point in going to nights out at the local hall or nearest air base. Elliott had been a wonderful dancer – even a champion when at medical school – and once she’d had him as a partner and tutor, there was little chance anyone else would come close. She didn’t begrudge her co-billettees their evenings with the airmen, but had no wish to join them.