Liverpool Angels (10 page)

I
t’s very quiet without all the lads, there’s hardly anyone out at all,’ Mae commented to Alice as they walked home from the tram stop on that bitterly cold late November evening. Usually groups of men and boys were making their way homewards too, often exchanging banter or cheerful remarks, but now the streets appeared deserted. As flurries of sleet driven by a blustery wind stung her cheeks she thought it was really no wonder there were so few people out. She’d be glad to get home herself to a good fire and a hot meal and she wondered if there would be a letter for her from Harry. He wrote regularly even though the camp at Prescot, where the boys were training, wasn’t that far away.

Alice pulled the collar of her coat higher around her ears and thought that it would be even quieter if Lord Kitchener got the five hundred thousand more men he’d asked for.

Everyone was aware now that the war wasn’t going to be over by Christmas. German U-boats had sunk three British cruisers off the coast of the Netherlands and the Allies had fought a bitter battle for Ypres in October, sustaining heavy losses, and now both sides were dug in in a line of trenches that stretched from the North Sea to Switzerland. It didn’t appear as if either side was winning, Mae thought, and with the onset of winter conditions would be harsh for the lads in the trenches, very harsh indeed. They were all knitting in earnest now; it no longer seemed the trivial pastime she and Alice had scorned, for Queen Mary herself had urged everyone to take up their knitting needles. They’d both completed their first-aid course and received their certificates but that had been the end of it. Aunty Maggie was adamant that they were not giving up their jobs to train as nurses for it wasn’t what either she or John wanted for them. They hadn’t scrimped and saved to send them to that commercial school for them to give it all up.

‘Oh, what’s for tea, Mam? I’m freezing,’ Alice declared as she held out her hands before the fire in the range, thankful to be home in the cosy kitchen at last.

‘Oxtail. That’ll warm you up and there’s mashed potato to go with it,’ Maggie replied as she sniffed appreciatively at the aroma coming from the pan on the range. ‘Move out of my way, Alice, and there’s a letter for you, Mae,’ she announced, picking up the envelope and handing it to her niece. ‘He’s as regular as clockwork with his letters, which is more than can be said for our Eddie or Jimmy Mercer. Agnes says they’re as different as chalk and cheese those two lads of hers and I’m beginning to think she’s right. I bet our Eddie and Jimmy spend their spare time playing cards and such like. Too much trouble to pick up a pen,’ she grumbled. If she had a letter from Eddie once a fortnight she counted herself lucky.

Alice nodded, feeling a little disappointed. No, Jimmy wasn’t much of a letter-writer. She’d had two since he’d been at Prescot, that’s all, and they’d only been what she’d call ‘notes’. ‘What does Harry say?’ she asked as Mae scanned the lines of neat copperplate written in pencil.

‘That it’s freezing now getting up so early and turning out for parade but they soon warm up and the stove they have in the hut keeps the place warm. They’re still training hard but there will be a certain number of passes issued for leave at Christmas.’

‘I suppose it’s too much to hope for that all three of them will get home,’ Maggie said, ladling out the thick meaty stew.

Mae put the letter aside; she’d read it more carefully later. She hoped they would get home for she realised that some time early next year they would all be going to France and she did want to see Harry again before then. They’d only had a few minutes alone together before he’d gone to Prescot. She wanted to say a proper goodbye, at least, and she’d try and make this Christmas special for him. Her da would be home too.

The meal was over and the dishes cleared away when Maggie was surprised to hear a knock on the front door. She wasn’t expecting anyone at this time of night; usually people looking for a loan or calling to pay her came during the day.

‘Shall I go, Mam?’ Alice asked, putting down the balaclava she was knitting, which was for her a very complicated task involving the use of four needles at the same time.

‘No, I’ll go, you carry on with that or you’ll go dropping stitches all over the place and I’ll have to unpick it – again,’ Maggie replied, laying aside her own knitting.

She looked concerned when she saw Esther Ziegler on the doorstep. ‘What’s wrong? Is it Isaac?’

Harold’s wife nodded and bit her lip.

‘You’d better come in, luv,’ Maggie urged, ushering her into the parlour. Isaac hadn’t been at all well of late and Harold had had the doctor out to his father twice.

‘Harold asked me to come for you. We think he’s . . . dying.’

Maggie put a hand to her mouth and shook her head sadly. ‘I’ll get my coat, Esther.’

She informed the girls that the old man was gravely ill and that she was going to visit him.

‘Can we come too, please, Mrs Ziegler?’ Mae asked, for both she and Alice were fond of Isaac.

Maggie looked questioningly at Esther. ‘Might it be too much for him?’

‘No, I think he would like to see you . . . all,’ Esther replied a little stiffly. She had always been a rather reserved woman who didn’t mix freely with her neighbours but she knew her father-in-law didn’t have long and that he held Maggie McEvoy in high esteem, as she did herself.

Maggie was shocked when she saw how thin and frail he’d become. He looked like a small child lying in the depths of the big brass bed, she thought. ‘Well now, Isaac, here’s a nice state you’ve got into,’ she said quietly, smiling down at him. ‘You’ve got us all worried.’

She could see he was having trouble breathing and his eyes were dull and sunk into his head. She knew it was probably pneumonia; it claimed so many old people, especially in winter.

He struggled to speak. ‘I wanted to see you, Maggie, perhaps for a last time.’

‘Now, don’t be talking like that, Isaac,’ Maggie gently chided.

‘I am tired, so very tired of it . . . all,’ he said, gazing ahead into the distance at something she couldn’t see. ‘That it should come to . . . this, Maggie. This war they said would soon be over. This . . . hatred. The young men . . . the boys . . .’

He was becoming distressed and Esther bent to quieten him.

‘Hush now, Father. It does no good to dwell on things.’ She looked at Maggie, who reached and patted the gnarled hand that clutched the sheet.

‘Esther is right, Isaac. You must rest and not upset yourself. There is little we can do; we have to trust the generals and the politicians,’ she soothed, thinking that so far neither were doing particularly well.

Esther beckoned the two girls to come closer and the old man smiled at them.

‘Mae! Alice! You . . . you both work hard, you have a good life, you look after Maggie.’

They both promised and then Maggie got to her feet. She could see that the visit had exhausted what little strength he had left. ‘We’ll go and let you sleep now, Isaac.’

When they’d left the room she turned to Esther and took her hand and squeezed it sympathetically. ‘I doubt he’ll last the night, Esther, but we’ll pray for him.’

Esther nodded. ‘I know. It’s as if the war has . . . taken away his will to live. He . . . he knew much suffering as a child in Germany.’

Maggie nodded. ‘He told me how his parents were killed. I’m fond of him, Esther, and I’ll always be grateful to him for helping me when I needed it and for helping Eddie get that apprenticeship.’

‘Thank you, Maggie, for coming. Harold and I will sit with him now.’

Maggie was collecting her thoughts; their customs were different and she didn’t want to say anything inappropriate. ‘We will pray and give thanks for Isaac’s kindness, Esther, and . . . and may your God give both you and Harold comfort and strength.’

Esther smiled. ‘Thank you, Maggie.’

‘Poor Uncle Isaac,’ Mae said sadly as they walked home.

‘He’s old and he’s tired, Mae, and he’s had a long life. We all have to go sometime and he’ll be happy to be reunited with his Rachel. Now, let’s get home and say a prayer that he goes peacefully.’

Eddie leaned on his shovel and looked at the small pile of earth he’d moved in the last half-hour. Although it was bitterly cold, all around him lads in their shirtsleeves were digging away as Sergeant Dewhurst walked up and down the line, firing instructions to ‘put your backs into it’ and other such comments. Beyond the perimeter of the field the neat lines of wooden huts stretched away towards a line of trees – their branches bare now – that separated the training camp from the rest of the estate. Beyond them stretched the parkland and in the far distance the sweep of the wide drive that led up to the magnificent home of the Earl, Knowsley Hall, which of course was strictly out of bounds to them.

‘What’s up with you, Eddie?’ Jimmy asked, noticing Eddie’s lack of effort.

‘What flaming use is all this digging?’

‘It’s practice for digging trenches,’ Jimmy replied in a tone that he would have used explaining something to a not-very-bright child.

‘But we’re not digging trenches, we’re just moving one pile of earth to another part of the field. What use is that going to be to us? What kind of training is that?’

Jimmy grinned at him. ‘Ours not to reason why, Eddie. We just do as we’re told. Now get on with it before Sergeant Dewhurst sees you slacking.’

Eddie grimaced. He supposed Jimmy was right. They just followed orders – even if it did seem a waste of time. ‘Do you think we’ll be lucky enough to get some leave at Christmas?’

Jimmy shrugged. ‘Who knows? Although I wouldn’t mind sleeping in my own bed and having a few home comforts. I don’t suppose we’ll know for a while yet.’

‘I wouldn’t mind a break from all this digging. It doesn’t seem like real training to me and it won’t be much fun being stuck here at Christmas without you and Harry if you get leave and I don’t,’ Eddie replied, driving the edge of his spade into the clay.

‘We’re supposed to be at war, in case you’ve forgotten,’ Jimmy retorted, but of course he too hoped that they would all be fortunate enough to get leave for the holiday.

When John arrived home he learned that Isaac Ziegler had died in the early hours of that November morning and had been buried, as was the custom, before sunset of the same day.

‘He had a good innings, Maggie, he was nearly ninety,’ he commented sadly.

‘I sent flowers. I wasn’t sure . . . but Esther said it would be all right,’ she confided. Then her thoughts turned to their own family. ‘I finally had a letter from Eddie yesterday,’ she went on. ‘He said they should know this week if they’ll be able to get home for Christmas. If they can I think we should make an effort; God knows we all need a bit of cheer in our lives and it might be a while before they get to spend another Christmas at home.’

John nodded. Things weren’t looking at all good in France and the German U-boats were becoming a serious threat. But, though the situation was grave, he wasn’t unduly concerned. The
Lucy
was primarily an unarmed passenger ship and her speed added to her safety; even the U-boats were slow by comparison. ‘I agree, Maggie, and next trip I’ll bring some tinned stuff home. Food is going to get scarcer.’

‘I know and, John, do you think, if I give you the money, you could get something . . . a bit special for Eddie? Something useful that he can take with him?’

‘Like what?’ he queried, thinking that he might get something a bit special for Mae too; she’d be seventeen next birthday.

Maggie shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps something like a real leather wallet or maybe a writing case – that might prompt him to write home more often.’

John raised an eyebrow, thinking a writing case might be a bit too ostentatious and rather incongruous for a mere infantryman and he doubted Eddie would use it. ‘I think he’d use a wallet more, and there’s no need for you to be giving me money. And I’m thinking of looking for a little watch for Mae, as she doesn’t have one.’

‘Then will you get one for our Alice too and I
will
give you the money for that,’ Maggie said determinedly. ‘Agnes, the girls and I will see that Eddie and the twins have plenty of woollen socks, gloves, scarves and balaclavas – even if they might not be able to see properly out of the ones our Alice knits.’ She shook her head in mock despair. ‘I swear Lucy Mercer makes a better fist of knitting and she’s only twelve.’

Both families were delighted when they learned that Eddie, Jimmy and Harry had all been fortunate enough to get leave for Christmas, even if it was only for forty-eight hours and they’d spend some of that travelling. Maggie was even more delighted when John arrived home with his kitbag stuffed with tins of pressed ham, tongue, corned beef, peaches and pineapple chunks.

‘We’ll have a real feast, Agnes!’ she informed her friend. ‘I want you all to come over for tea on Christmas Night, that way even if we can’t get the stuff for the traditional Christmas dinner, tea will be a treat.’

‘That’s good of you, Maggie, but are you sure? I mean, you should save that stuff.’

‘Of course I’m sure and John will be able to bring more. I know they don’t do as many trips now but he’ll make sure we don’t go without.’