Across the Mersey - Annie Groves [0]
Across the Mersey
For all those whose hearts are in Liverpool,
no matter where their lives may have taken them
I would like to thank the following for their invaluable help:
Teresa Chris, my agent.
Susan Opie, my editor at HarperCollins.
Yvonne Holland, whose expertise enables me ‘not to have nightmares’ about getting things wrong.
Everyone at HarperCollins who contributed to the publication of this book.
My friends in the RNA, who as always have been so generous with their time and help on matters ‘writerly’.
Tony, who as always has done wonders researching the facts I needed.
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
ONE
Saturday 19 August 1939, Wavertree, Liverpool
‘Come on, you four. Hurry up, otherwise we’re going to miss the ferry and then we’ll be late. And don’t forget your gas masks,’ Jean Campion called up the stairs to her son and daughter.
She exhaled a small sigh of relief mixed with irritation when she heard her daughter Grace calling back down, ‘Just finishing putting the ribbons in the twins’ plaits, Mum.’ This was followed by the thumping of her son, Luke’s, size tens on the landing.
‘Stop worrying, love,’ her husband chided her mildly. ‘We’ve got a good hour yet before we need to be there, although why that sister of yours can’t bring her family over here to Wavertree to celebrate your birthdays for once I don’t know.’
‘Vi’s always liked putting on a bit of a show,’ Jean reminded her husband with a small smile.
‘Doing a bit of a show-off, more like,’ Sam grumbled. ‘Doesn’t she realise that folks have got better things to do, with the country on the brink of war?’
Jean put down her handbag and went over to him, putting her hand on his arm.
Sam worked for the Liverpool Salvage Corps, a unit of skilled tradesmen originally set up by the city’s insurance companies. The Salvage Corps specialised in recovering goods from, and minimising the losses at, commercial premises damaged by fire and ‘other perils’.
The Salvage Corps worked closely with Liverpool’s Fire Brigade, and there had been many evenings over this last year when Sam had had to attend meetings and exercises to help prepare the Salvage Corps for the important role it would have to play if war was declared. As well as working for the Salvage Corps, both Sam and his son, Luke, like so many others determined to do their bit, had signed up for part-time Air-Raid Precautions duties with their local ARP post, and the year had been busy with preparations for a possible war with a shower of information leaflets from the Government covering everything from the evacuation of children from cities, to the sandbagging of vulnerable buildings; the making of blackout coverings to ensure that no buildings showed lights that could be used by night-time enemy bombers seeking a target; the building of air-raid shelters and a dozen more precautions.
War! The threat of it lay across the whole country like a dark shadow that everyone had been hoping would go away. Now they could hope no longer, Sam said. Not with the Munich crisis and everything.
Every garden seemed to have cultivated an air-raid shelter, and for those who didn’t have the space to build one, there were the public shelters. Everyone had got used to the sight of ARP wardens; ARP warden posts, the Territorial Army Reservists doing their drills, and every housewife had fretted and complained about fitting blackout-fabric-covered frames to their windows at night.
‘Come on, Sam,’ Jean coaxed her husband. ‘I know how you feel about our Vi, and I know that the ferries and that will be busy,