Rose of Tralee (14 page)

Her mam had suggested working in a shop or café but Rose, after giving it fleeting consideration, had decided against anything of that nature. It was boring work when compared with driving a tram, or even being a conductor, and until someone came up with something equally exciting, she would stick to her guns. They should have said that tram driving being impossible, she might turn to something else which meant she could work out of doors, such as driving a milk float, but they never did. Grown-ups had narrow minds, she thought sadly now, tucking into her delicious cooked breakfast. She had suggested
that, or even selling flowers in Clayton Square or fruit down by the Pier Head and round the theatres, like the Mary Ellens did.

Mam had been outraged by the last suggestion, though unwilling, when it came to the point, to tell Rose why she was so horrified. Rose, who often caught the last tram back from the Pier Head when they had been on an outing, thought that the Mary Ellens were a jolly crowd and had a lovely life. On the last tram they were apt to sort out their fruit and hand the stuff that wouldn’t sell on the morrow, the fades, to any kid standing nearby. And they held singsongs, carolling away until all the other passengers, no matter how inwardly disapproving, joined in. And sometimes one of them would befriend some lonely sailor, who knew no one in Liverpool, and walk off with him, arm in arm, chatting away as friendly as anything.

Dad had just laughed when Rose said she wouldn’t mind being a Mary Ellen but Mam had tightened her mouth and sniffed. ‘You’d be happy for Rose to join a bleedin’
circus
if she said she’d like to,’ she had said sharply. ‘You wouldn’t care if she hung from a bleedin’ trapeze showin’ her drawers to thousands, you wouldn’t.’

Rose had been quite shocked, for Mam never swore and there she was, using the word ‘bleedin’, twice in one minute. But Dad had just laughed and said Rose was only a kid, wasn’t she, an’ kids didn’t know what they
did
want, apart from money for doin’ nothin’, an’ wasn’t their Rosie just like they’d been when they were kids?

That softened Mam, who got to remembering how she’d always wanted to be on the stage and had hung around the Rotunda on Scotland Road, waylaying the
actors and actresses with offers of assistance, and how she had loved dressing up and acting out little plays with her brothers and sisters as audience.

Rose, who hated dressing up and didn’t think working in a theatre or cinema would suit her at all – it wasn’t outdoors, was it? – pretended to be interested, then said how about selling ice-cream from one of those little carts in Princes Park? Or what about the various stalls around the Bold Street area? Or a coalman might want someone to lead his horse, or she could help out at one of the Smithfields ... the choices seemed endless to her.

‘They ain’t real jobs, queen, that’s the trouble,’ her father said when they were alone, her mother having taken herself off to make the tea, muttering about having a daughter who thought she was only capable of doing menial work. ‘You wouldn’t earn real money deliverin’, or leadin’ someone’s horse even if they wanted you, which they wouldn’t. Your mam’s right when she says it’s either shop work, factory work or somethin’ better, like teachin’. Factories pay all right, but you gerra rough crowd in most factories, an’ shop work’s mortal hard. You’d be on your feet from early mornin’ to late night, an’ the take-home pay’s poor. No, you’d be better off goin’ on a teachin’ course for a year – you’d like it, I dessay. An’ think of the holidays, queen.’

‘I wouldn’t like teachin’, I’d hate it. I been in school for years an’ years already, I don’t want to spend the rest o’ me life in school,’ Rose had pointed out rebelliously. ‘If I cut me hair an’ wore kecks, would they let me try for a tram driver?’

‘No . . . but tell you what, queen, it ain’t that free an’ easy, drivin’ a tram. When’s you goin’ back to school?’

‘In five more days,’ Rose had said sorrowfully. ‘That’s the best thing about the convent, we get longer holliers than the other schools. But the work’s harder, ever so much, an’ the teachers nag more.’

‘Right. Well, tomorrer why don’t you come on the tram wi’ me? You can come all day, I’ll buy you a proper ticket an’ all. You’ll mebbe want to think twice after a whole day of tram drivin’.’

Rose had pounced on the idea, though she hadn’t bargained on snow, of course. And her mam now reminded her of it as she took Rose’s empty plate away and replaced it with buttered toast. ‘You’ve seen the snow, of course. Dad won’t know until he gets to the depot, but I’ve not known the trams to stop when the snow’s barely two inches deep. No, I reckon you’ll be with him today, though you’ll find it mortal cold.’

‘Don’t sound so pleased, our mam,’ Rose said, between mouthfuls of toast. ‘Dad said to wrap up warm, so I shall. I’ll be fine.’

Oh, I didn’t mean . . .’ her mother began, to break off, with some relief Rose thought, as Jack entered the room. ‘Ah, you’re ready! I’ll dish up your breakfast, then. Rosies’s finished hers, ’cept for the toast.’

‘Good girl, I knew you’d not mek me late,’ Jack said, sniffing appreciatively. ‘Eh, bacon! How deep’s the snow, Lily? Ha’ you been out yet?’

‘Aye, I needed more coal,’ his wife said, adroitly sliding two eggs onto the slice of bread on his plate. ‘It’s a sharp one, but the snow’s no more’n two or three inches at most, an’ the sky’s clear. It’s my belief we’ll have a sunny day, so mebbe most o’ the snow’ll be gone by evenin’.’

‘Well, so long as we don’t have trouble wi’ the points an’ the slopes,’ Jack said equably, spearing bacon and carrying it mouthwards. ‘Are you still on,
queen? I won’t mind if you’d rather stop at home today an’ come wi’ me tomorrer.’

But this Rose was not at all inclined to do. She shook her head and reached for another piece of toast. ‘No, I’m comin’ wi’ you, Dad, like we said,’ she insisted, spreading margarine and then plum jam. ‘We’re goin’ to have a grand day, snow or no snow.’

Lily Ryder tutted and shook her head, ‘Eh, I dunno, wharra girl, eh? I don’t want you catchin’ cold an’ bein’ laid up just in time for the start of term! S’pose the cold gets on your chest, chuck?’

‘What? You’ve gorra admit, Lily luv, that my Rose of Tralee’s as sturdy as any lad! I disremember her losin’ so much as a day of school, except when she took the measles from young Ricky Elliott. Come to that, Ricky’s uncommon healthy an’ all. They may not be thoroughbreds nor high-steppers, but they’re a pair o’ right carthorses, those two kids.’

Lily laughed. ‘It’s the way we’ve brung ’em up, me an’ Mrs Elliott,’ she said. ‘Plenty of good food an’ a clack if they misbehave.’

‘Oh yes, I’ve seen you handin’ out smacks, time an’ again,’ Jack said sarcastically. ‘The pair of ’em’s spoiled rotten, it’s a wonder they talk to the likes of me. Now where’s me carry-out?’

‘On the draining board, along wi’ your flask o’ tea. I’ve put Rosie up a box an’ all, but her tea’s in a bottle. I weren’t goin’ to buy another flask just for one day. Now, Rosie, go an’ fetch your thick red jumper, your big coat, the red an’ white scarf an’ an extra pair o’ socks. Oh, an’ your Wellingtons.’

‘A couple o’ blankets wouldn’t come amiss,’ Jack said wickedly, eyeing his wife. ‘An’ what’s wrong wi’ a pair o’ long johns? She could wear ’em under that skirt, they wouldn’t show much.’

‘I’ve got an extra liberty bodice on now,’ Rose grumbled, heading out into the hall where her coat hung beside her father’s. Last night she had done the only household task she really enjoyed – she had got the button stick and the Silvo and she had polished the buttons on father’s tramcoat until the little silver Liver birds shone like stars, and then she had got to work on all the rest of his equipment. His cap, which he wore all the time he was on duty, had his staff number round it above the shiny peak and the Liverpool coat of arms in the centre. Beneath his heavy coat Jack wore a blue shirt, a navy jacket and trousers with scarlet piping. Rose always polished his buttons and the Liver birds on his collar, and was proud to do so, as well as brushing away with the clothes brush until there was not a speck of dust or a hair to be seen on any part of the material, so she surveyed him with pride before leaving the kitchen. He looked marvellous, like a soldier decorated for outstanding bravery, she though happily. Dad had been a sailor in the war and he had medals, too, but privately she thought his present uniform the finest any man could wear.

Now, she obediently put on all the extra clothing her mother had mentioned and added her thick school coat, a scarlet tam-o’-shanter and the Wellington boots. Then she went back into the kitchen where her father was struggling into his own coat and perching his cap at an angle on his toffee-coloured hair. He turned when she came back into the room and whistled. ‘Phew, Rosie, you’re as broad as you’re long! Never mind, queen, better warm than freezin’ when you’re in the old tram. Are you right? Then give Mam a kiss an’ we’ll be off, because it’s a fair walk to Carisbrooke Road.’

‘I’m ready, Dad,’ Rose said. She kissed her mother and gave her a squeeze, suddenly sorry for her because Mam was too old to go gallivanting off on a tram for the whole day. ‘What’ll you do whiles I’m away, Mam?’

‘Housework an’ cookin’, same’s I do every day. An’ mebbe after me dinner I’ll walk round to Daisy’s, see how she’s goin’ on,’ her mother replied. ‘Have a good day, queen, an’ keep warm!’

‘I will,’ Rose said. ‘Make us workers a nice hot dinner tonight, Mam!’

Her mother’s laughter followed them as they left the house and turned into Netherfield Road.

It was a good walk to the tram depot and perhaps without the snow would have been a dull one, but as it was, Rose enjoyed every minute. She slid whenever she saw a puddle coated with ice, made snowballs and threw them at the gaslights and very soon shed her woollen gloves and the long scarf, though she shoved the gloves into her coat pockets and wrapped the scarf round her middle. Jack Ryder, meanwhile, continued to walk onwards with the long, loping stride which he had developed over the years for covering a long distance at a fair speed whilst not arriving at his destination worn out.

As soon as they reached the depot, Rose became businesslike. She did not follow her father too closely whilst he clocked on and filled in his time sheets but seized a long, stiff-bristled brush and helped the men to clear the snow which had built up around the trams. And when Jack and Georgie came over to their tram – it was to be a number 19 today – she followed Jack as he did his checks and explained them to her.

‘Always mek sure your sandbox is full,’ he told her.
‘Specially in this sort o’ weather. Then I’ll nip aboard and check me brakes whiles you give Georgie a hand to change the indicator.’

Rose watched as her father bent to the sandbox behind the huge front wheels and checked that it was full, then climbed up into the driving seat. Hastily, she followed him but turned right instead of left and walked along the wide central aisle between the long slatted seats to where Georgie was about to turn the handle of the object, similar to a roller blind, which would tell would-be passengers the number and destination of the tram.

‘Oh Georgie ...’ she began, but Georgie was before her. ‘Just linin’ her up,’ he said, grinning. ‘Want to do it? Know where to stop? Can you read backwards, now? One o’ the rules, tharris – all tram personnel must be able to read backwards!’

‘I can, I can,’ Rose said breathlessly, reaching up and beginning to wind. ‘Ooh, I do love the 19, Georgie, it goes to all the places that matter – Kirkby, so’s it’s a nice long run, an’ Eastbourne Road – Dad’ll use the sand on Eastbourne today, I bet – an’ when we reach the Pier Head we’ll see the river, an’ the ferries, an’ we’ll swing round the North Loop ...’

‘You know the route as well as your dad, I reckon,’ Georgie said admiringly. ‘You want to ax him if you can tek over, goin’ along Easty. You’d mek nothin’ o’ the hill, I reckon.’

They both laughed. Rose knew as well as Georgie that it took a fair degree of skill to take a tram down a steep hill, especially on a day when there would be ice on the lines. ‘Well, I wish I could drive it a tiddy way, just a tiddy way,’ Rose said longingly. ‘But if I did, that ’ud be the moment an inspector jumped out, sure as sure.’

Georgie nodded. ‘I know. Your dad does the points sometimes, if I’m up to me eyes in passengers inside, an’ I’m always in a quake for fear an inspector will come out of the woodwork, but so far so good. Now if your dad’s ready we’d best be off. We’re always crowded on a snowy day.’

‘I don’t see why. I should have thought folk would have wanted to walk in the snow – kids do,’ Rose remarked, bringing the roller blind to a halt at the right place. ‘I’d best go and do the front one now, hadn’t I?’

‘Your dad’s done it. Can’t hang about at this time o’ the mornin’,’ Georgie said kindly. ‘Go an’ sit down now, where you can watch your dad. They’ll be queuin’ up out at Kirkby for the first tram, just mark me words.’

Accordingly Rose went up to the front of the tram and sat down. The tram itself was partly enclosed but the driver sat outside, warmly wrapped up against the cold. And in fact it was pretty cold in the front of the tram, too, so that Rose, mopping her streaming eyes as the tram moved off, thought that she would be quite glad when some passengers got aboard and warmed the atmosphere up a bit.

They reached the terminus and found, as Georgie had predicted, a considerable crowd waiting, mainly men. A good few of them, Rose guessed, would be travelling to the Pier Head to catch the ferry to work on the other side of the water. When you worked in Birkenhead you needed to catch the first tram to be at work on time. It was still dark, of course, but the tram was brightly lit and must, she thought, have seemed like a beacon of hope to all the would-be travellers waiting out in the cold.

But before Georgie would let anyone board he had
to take the long hooked pole down from its resting place on a lamp-post and walk the tram-arm round so that it would go in the opposite direction. Then he would return the pole to its hook whilst Jack had to climb down and go round to the other end of the tram and drive from there, which was why, Rose knew, all trams had driver’s cabs both at the front and rear of the vehicles. She supposed that had it been possible to put loops at every terminus the trams would have been made like buses and cars, always facing forward, but since it was not possible the conductors had the fun of rehooking the arm and the drivers had to leave a seat they had warmed and go round to drive the tram from the other end. Since it was still dark and no inspectors were about Georgie let Rose walk the arm round, to her immense pride, though her father said gloomily that he just hoped no one noticed or, if they did, took her for a smallish man, in her long navy-blue coat.