Chaper 56: Ryelands School

The pupils had been well-drilled by their teachers. When the practice siren went, they stopped work. They picked up their gas-masks and their cardboard boxes which rested on the floor beside each chair. Then they sat up straight and awaited instructions.

"Stand!" said Miss Farrell, their teacher, new to the school, just like her pupils.

Michael watched her every movement. She fascinated him. She was another love in his life. Miss Clemence was forgotten. He now adored Miss Farrell, whose class he would be in for the next three terms.

She struggled to open the French door which led out onto the stone-flagged terrace and the field beyond. Finally, she succeeded.

"Forward!" she ordered. Quietly, without any pushing, the children filed out, in the way they had been instructed.

The Headmistress was already in her position, in front of the Air Raid Shelters. These had been dug deep into the sloping ground next to Austwick Road's back gardens. She held a reminder-board in her hands. As each crocodile of children approached, she pointed to which entrance they should go to.

The teachers went first, each carrying a box of matches. They lit the paraffin lamps which gave a little light in the darkness of the shelter. The children sat in rows, facing each other.

The seats were made of long lengths of slatted wood. The children's knees nearly touched those of their classmates seated opposite. Michael thought it was a really good adventure. He'd managed to find a place between Rob and Paul. Gwyn, was in another class and occupying a different part of the labyrinthine shelter.


The outside doors were closed tightly and all of the children settled. Each teacher stayed with her own class. The Headmistress patrolled the narrow aisles, having a word with each teacher in turn.

The children were encouraged to sing, as loudly as they wished, songs like 'Roll Out The Barrel' and 'My Darling Clementine'. It helped to allay any fears that they might have. The boys sitting near Rob thought it hilarious when he started making-up funny words to go with the tunes.

'Roll out Miss Farrell
She's got the biggest of bums.
Roll out Miss Farrell
She'll have the Huns
On the run...'

"Stop it Rob!" Paul begged. "You're making me laugh too much. My stomach's hurting." Michael was laughing too. But, secretly, he did not think that Miss Farrell had a great, big, fat, bum. Michael thought that his teacher was perfect. He loved her.

One of the girls screamed loudly and was heard above the singing. "Please Miss, it's Michael Watson, he keeps on nipping me!"

"Please Miss, I'm not." Michael hadn't done anything. It must have been one of the other boys, leaning across the aisle in the gloom.


"Yes you were. I know it was you."
"No, it wasn't him," Rob said. "It was one of your fleas, biting you." 

That made the other boys laugh all the more. The girl started to cry.

Not quite sure what was going on in the semi-darkness, Miss threatened. "If you lot, don't behave I'll put you outside, where Mr Hitler can blow you up for all I care."

For some reason that made the three friends laugh and giggle all the more but as quietly as possible. They didn't really fancy being made to go outside. They knew it was only a practice but it didn't feel like one. Maybe they were only telling them that! Maybe there were German aeroplanes, bombing the school right now.

These imaginings suddenly took on an awesome reality. There was the most fearful explosion, a booming sound outside, somewhere near. The lights flickered in the draught from the blast and the shelter trembled. They were being bombed! It must be so! The singing stopped abruptly. They braced themselves for more. Everybody was dead quiet now.

They were all silent. .
Then they heard the all-clear siren. 

The Headmistress was the first to emerge from the shelter. She ordered the teachers to stay where they were with their classes. It seemed like a long time before she reported back. There had been a blockage in the school central heating system and the boiler in the boiler room had exploded. Luckily, Mr Holmes, the caretaker, had not been in there when it happened.

For the children this was, of course, great news! They had to be sent home – and had three days extra holidays, until the system was repaired.

"Hurrah!" chanted the children, all the way home to Sefton Drive. On their way, they kicked the multi-coloured leaves about, the ones which had come down in the autumn gales. They were knee-high on the pavement and made rustling sounds, when you walked amongst them. They picked up the sycamore seeds and threw them in the air. Some of them travelled a long way.

"Mine's the best spinner," said Michael as one of his went all the way up Watery Lane on the opposite side of Torrisholme Road.

Michael's favourite time in school was Friday afternoon. It was the same at Ryelands as it had been at St. Anne's and St. Mary's. There was relaxation from work. The children had 'Choosing Time', while Miss sorted out her attendance register for the week.

However, if you made too much noise, or did something naughty, eagle-eyed Miss would call out your name and she would order, "Corner!" The offender had to go and stand in a corner of the classroom, with his or her face to the wall, listening to the rest of the class quietly enjoying themselves. It hadn't happened to Michael yet, but one time Rob pulled Rachel Robert's pigtail. She squealed loudly. Without looking up, the order came from Miss."Rob! Corner!"

"Yes, Miss," said Rob. He winked at Michael and headed for the corner. It was behind the teacher's back. Rob stood there pulling faces and making his friends laugh. "If you don't stop making those silly faces Rob, I'll send you to see the Headmistress!"

How did she do it? Did she have eyes in the top and the back of her head of her head?

After 'Choosing Time' and playtime, Michael looked forward to the treat of the week. Miss would usually read them a story. Occasionally, she would say to one of the class, "Go to the top class and ask if we may borrow Alan Holmes, please."

The pupil would return with the fair-haired Alan. Then the miracle occurred. "Have you a story for us Alan?"
"Yes Miss! I think so Miss."
"Very well Alan. Would you like to tell it to us?"
"I'll try Miss."

Alan's features would be screwed up in thought then he relaxed and he began. His stories always began with, "Once upon a time.." Once he'd started, he kept going and never hesitated. His voice rose and fell with the action in his narrative. He mimicked his characters and mimed some of their antics. He was a boy wonder. All of the children were enthralled by his tales, nearly always with a boy like himself as hero. There would be exciting adventures against the Germans, or make-believe stories about strange monsters and creatures of the jungle or oceans. He was incredible.About five minutes before the end of the afternoon, Miss would interrupt.

"Please finish your story now, Alan!"

Within a couple of minutes Alan had wound up his tale convincingly. The class would breathe a deep sigh of satisfaction and Miss would say, "Now children, give Alan a good clap."The children would applaud Alan enthusiastically and he would stand there, shyly accepting their applause.

"You may go now, Alan."
"Yes Miss. Thank you Miss."

Off he'd go.

"Class, stand! Hands together! Say your prayer
They said their prayer.
 Good afternoon children."
"Good afternoon Miss."
"Don't forget your gas-masks. File out!"

During the summer, just before the war started, Miss had been on the Continent with her friend. They'd visited Czechoslovakia, curious to observe how the Czechs were coping under Hitler.

They had hated what they saw. Silly men in uniforms. Swaztikas everywhere. Military vehicles rushing up and down the streets.

One day, they were looking in a sweet shop window. Miss Farrell said to her friend, "Those fish are rather good. Let's buy some as souvenirs!"

They went into the sweet shop and picked out some flat slabs of decorated toffee in the shapes of different coloured fish. Back in England, the children of friends had been given the unusual sweets as presents. Miss Farrell had saved one of the larger fish. One Friday afternoon, just before Christmas, she decided to take it to school, along with some other goodies, as a treat for her charges.

She loved teaching these young juniors. Her move from Skerton School was a good one. The children were so eager to learn, it was a joy to be teaching them. Michael was occupying the top desk, the one on the far left, in the front row. It meant that he had been the best worker all week. He'd enjoyed the afternoon's 'Choosing Time' and Miss had said that those who had worked best would have the first choice of some sweets she'd brought for them. Michael had his eye on a big piece of the sticky toffee fish. Miss had broken it up on her desk after she had shown them what it looked like whole.

"I bought this in Czechoslovakia. Who can spell it?"

Rob's dad had already tried that one on Rob at home. He put up his hand. Yes, Rob?"
"Please Miss, 'i..t'."
"Very good, Rob. Well done!"

Some of the class laughed and others frowned not 'getting' it.

"Does anyone know where Czechoslovakia is?"

Michael knew, because his Dad was always talking about how Hitler had been allowed to march in there. "Please Miss, it's next door to Germany."

"Very good Michael! Now children, settle down. It's time for our story."

Michael felt very tired. He had worked hard for the coveted position at the top of the class. He'd lost a lot of sleep because Gwyn was ill again and had been coughing all night, which had kept him awake.

He could hardly keep his eyes open and began to nod off. He rested his head on his arm on the desk and went to sleep. The next thing he knew, the girl next to him was shaking him awake and all of the children were laughing at him.

He'd missed his chance. The pieces of the toffee fish had already been chosen and eaten while he was asleep. All of the best sweets had been taken.

Miss said, "We didn't want to disturb you Michael. But I've saved you this."It was a mint wrapped in green paper. He knew it was a mint because he could smell it. Michael didn't like mints.

"Thank you Miss," he said.

Why hadn't she woken him up? It was his right to have the first choice. He thought, "It's not fair!"

Chapter 55: Evacuees

It all happened during one week: starting a new school, war declared and the introduction of two evacuees into the Watson household! Michael liked adventures but all this took a bit of getting used to.

A cream-and-green charabanc made its way slowly round the new Scale Hall Estate. It had started off full, with over 30 boys and girls and two teachers from Salford, part of a consignment from the Manchester area -- assumed to be a prime-target for Hitler's bombers.

The children had been separated from their parents, sent by train to Lancaster and transported by coach around the city and the outlying districts. A Women's Voluntary Service member was on the coach and it was her job to find homes for the teachers and the children.

By the time that the vehicle and the evacuees had reached the top of Sefton Drive, it was almost dark and the woman in charge was beginning to despair. Would she ever be able to find anyone willing to take her few remaining scraps of humanity? Not many local households had been keen to have their numbers suddenly swollen by the more presentable.

The last two were far from presentable.

The teachers had stayed on board with the last of their pupils. It was their duty to see them safely billeted. Billy and Mickey had been rejected by all who had been asked to take them in. They had runny noses, filthy hair, dirty clothing and smelled of pee.

Britain was a nation was divided. There were those who paid lip-service to unity, pulling-together, sharing-the-burden etc. And then there were the Watsons and their kind, the ones who were reluctant heroes -- but when the time came and the need was genuine, they were prepared to do their duty. They helped others and did everything possible to help win the war.

Although they had had their differences, mainly arising from the Beth business, neither Margaret or Gordon had a moment's hesitation in saying "Yes," when they were asked if they would go and look at the two pathetic little kids, huddled together on one of the double seats of the charabanc.

"Yes," said Gordon, "of course we'll have them. They can stay with us."

"I'll have to have a look at your accommodation," said the dutiful W.V.S. woman, although she was thinking that even if the house was a slum inside, it would have to do. The Watsons were her only hope of finding the two boys a home.

They showed her round. Mr Mort was in his downstairs room and Michael and Gwyn were, seated at the table, drawing in their sketch books. The woman went upstairs with Gordon and Margaret. Gordon explained that Gwyn could move into Michael's room and the two little boys could sleep in her room.

"We could do with some extra bedding," Margaret suggested.
"I'll see to that first thing tomorrow," the woman replied, overjoyed to be unloading the last of her responsibilities on the Watsons.

The Martins had noticed the charabanc and went outside to find out what was going on. They were talking to the teachers and offering them accommodation. "Our Doreen will have to move in with John," said Mrs Martin.

"I'm sure that we'll manage," pronounced Mr Martin.

Gordon and Margaret went back to the coach to collect the two boys. "Come along, Billy, Mickey," Gordon urged the two lads.
"Don't want to!" said Billy.

Mickey turned his back on Gordon and huddled closer to Billy. Gordon turned to the W.V.S. woman, who asked the teachers to help. One of the teachers ordered the boys to move and go with 'the nice man'. They obeyed reluctantly, and Gordon guided them indoors.
"I'll bring the extra bedding tomorrow," said the fat, grey-haired W.V.S. woman. "I won't forget. I'll come and see if they've settled in. And thanks for taking them! It's very kind of you."

The two boys stood looking at Michael and Gwyn in the dining-room. None of the children said anything to each other.

The newcomers looked as though they were traumatised, their spindly legs stuck into Wellington boots. Billy's were too small for him and Mickey's too large. Both had cold sores on their lips and red marks at the back of their knees, where the boots had chaffed them.

Their short trousers were patched and dirty. Both wore grey jerseys with had holes in them and which were too small and tight around their chests. There was a gap, where bare skin was seen, between trouser tops and jersey bottoms. Both had wiped their runny noses on the sleeves of their jerseys and the snot still glistened there. Gas masks hung over their shoulders in cardboard boxes, supported by string. Attached to the breast of their jerseys were labels, with their names and addresses on.

Each of them carried a brown-paper carrier-bag with a few clothes inside. There were pumps, with holes in the soles, and a dirty raincoat, with buttons missing and no belt. Mickey's coat was too small and Billy's too big.

Both were pale, of dismal visage and skinny physique. Both were aged five but they looked like undernourished four-year-olds.

Michael didn't like the sight of them at all, but Gwyn felt sorry for them because they looked so sad. Gordon and Margaret wondered what they had taken on.

"They'd better have a bath to start with," Margaret suggested.
"Agreed!" replied Gordon.
"You find some clean clothes for them and I'll take them up to the bathroom."

Gordon placed a protective hand on their shoulders. "Now me lads, let's be having you! What you need is a nice warm bath."
"Piss off, mister!" Billy snarled.
"Get off!" said Mickey, shaking Gordon's hand away.

Momentarily taken aback, Gordon decided it was time for action. It was a case of starting in the way he intended carrying on. He grabbed both of them by the scruff of the neck. He pushed them up the stairs and into the bathroom. He closed the door and turned on the taps.

"Come on lads, get undressed!"
"Not bloody likely!" said Billy.
Mickey cowered away from Gordon.
"I'm not going to hurt you," said Gordon. "You'll like a nice bath. You'll feel better for it."
"I bloody won't!" said Billy.
"I don't want one!" said Mickey.

Later, Gordon told his wife, "I think they thought I was going to drown them. Never seen a bath before!"
"Neither had we 'til recently. Not a modern one," she reminded him.

Gordon needed assistance. "Margaret!" he called. "Leave what you're doing! I need some help."

Somehow, between them, they managed to undress the boys. All they had on were dirty jerseys, stained trousers and smelly Wellington boots. Screaming and struggling, they were placed in the bath facing each other. They were given a thorough soaking and washing. When their hair was washed all hell broke loose. Billy's language was unbelievable. Margaret was distraught at the thought of Michael and Gwyn hearing it.

Downstairs, Michael said to Gwyn that he didn't like them. "They'll be all right when they get used to us," his sister replied. But they weren't. They were terrible. Years later, Gordon read 'Put Out More Flags' by Evelyn Waugh. "Not a word of exaggeration in that book," Gordon told Jack, when he went to see him during one of his leaves from the Air Force. "The pair we had were just like that."

Usually one for doing his duty, Jack had refused to have evacuees. "No more brats in this house!" was his comment.

"I thought you believed in putting your money where your mouth is!" Sheila reminded him.
Jack shuddered. "There are limits!"

After two hours of striving, threatening and coaxing, the two boys were bathed, put into clean shirts and trousers belonging to Michael. Their hair was deloused. Both were smacked by Margaret for resisting and swearing. They howled the place down. "My mam'll kill you," snarled Billy. She fed them and gave each a cup of hot cocoa.

Still no words were exchanged with Michael and Gwyn. While all of the commotion was going on, Mr Mort stayed-put in his own room. He had not been consulted. He was so easy-going no one had bothered to ask if he objected to two more in the house.

When it was time to put them to bed, it was long past Michael's and Gwyn's normal bedtime. Margaret had done some rearranging upstairs. Gwyn was going to sleep on the floor in Michael's room. She liked the idea and Michael didn't mind. Curiously, during the three months that she slept in there Michael never had a nightmare. He slept soundly and awoke early every morning. "Fresh as a daisy!" his Dad said. Michael wondered if the Uglies had retreated. He hoped that they had decided to leave him alone and go somewhere else.

The first night, and most nights, Billy and Mickey wet the bed. Margaret had not been prepared for that. "I'll bring you some rubber under-sheeting," said the W.V.S. woman when she came the next day. She was prepared to really put herself out and ensure that the Watsons did not drop those two back onto her lap!

Classes for the evacuees were set-up in St Chad's Church, where they were taught by their own teachers. The floor-to-ceiling blue curtain was pulled across in front of the altar. This was normal practice when cubs, scouts and other organisations used the church for their activities. It was a wooden, temporary mission church, built hastily for a congregation drawn from the nearby, private and corporation estates. Portable chairs and trestle tables were moved around to form an open plan school, with screening for separate classes. It wasn't that different to what had always been done on Sunday afternoons when the Sunday School split up into different groups.

At home, Margaret managed well. Hadn't her own mother had to survive with nine children? Hadn't Beatrice's circumstances been much more difficult than hers? She was determined to cope -- and cope she did.

Routines, which they had never known before, were imposed on the two boys. They walked with Margaret and the other children to their 'school' which was right next door to Ryelands School. They learned some table manners and cleanliness. They ate well and thrived. After a month they looked quite healthy. It was a remarkable transformation.

"If you look carefully enough, you can find gold underneath muck!" Gordon commented.

Curiously, mothers who had refused to accommodate any evacuees themselves distanced themselves from Margaret. They avoided her and her charges. Perhaps they felt guilty. One might have expected some support from them or a few words of encouragement but no, people kept their distance and looked askance at the bad behaviour of the boys. It was as though some locals were frightened of catching something off them.

Nan didn't stand any nonsense. When Gordon took them to see her they recognised Authority as soon as they saw it. They sat on the rug in front of the fire quite meekly, models of good behaviour. Nan found them a sweet or two and a couple of pence for pocket-money. They said, "Thank you!" without being asked. "Nice little lads!" she told Gordon. "Must be missing their mothers. Poor mites!"

Michael really hated them. They played with all of his toys, without asking. They were careless and willful. They broke or damaged most of precious belongings. Sometimes they did it accidentally, often on purpose. It was a good job they were younger than he was, or he would have been frightened of them. They were younger versions of the bullies at St Mary's, only worse, much worse! Even so, the way that they ganged up against him and never conversed with him worried him and made him resentful and angry.

After two months, Gordon went into the Air Force and Mr Mort had to leave. It would not be proper for him to be in the same house with a woman whose husband was away in the Forces. His quiet presence in the house was hardly missed. But his money for lodging was.

On the day he left, he gave Michael and Gwyn half-a-crown each. He didn't give the evacuees anything. He told Margaret he'd been happy lodging there and was sorry to go. For him, that was a long speech.

The Watson's income shrunk overnight, even though Gordon sent home most of his own Air Force pay, as well as his married man's allowance. But it wasn't enough to pay the bills. Margaret hated him for leaving her like he had.

After three months, the evacuee boys' mothers came to take them back home. There had been no bombing raids on Manchester, so what was the point of them being evacuated?

It was a Saturday, a dreary November afternoon when they arrived. Gordon was on a 48-hour pass from Blackpool where he was still stationed. It was he who opened the door, to admit the mothers. Margaret bristled as soon as she set eyes on them.

"Common! Common as muck!" she thought.

Both of them had cigarettes on the go."We don't smoke in the house!" were her first words to them.

"Don't worry, we're not coming in," replied the tall one, with dyed blonde hair. "Posh, snooty bitch!" she thought, staring back at Margaret.
"We just want the children back, please," said the short one, the brunette with streaks of grey in her hair.

"Anyone would think I'd kidnapped them!" Margaret thought. Margaret had only received their letter that morning. It was ill-mannered of them and too short notice. Billy and Mickey were very excited when she told them and looking forward to seeing their mothers.

Gordon insisted that the two women enter the house. "You can't stand out there in the rain. The boys are almost ready for you." They trod on their cigarette ends and went in, where there were joyful reunions.

"Mam, we have to have a wash before we go to bed every night," Billy protested.
"Mam, she makes us have a bath every week!" said Mickey.
"Mam, she makes me wear socks," squealed Billy.
"Mam, she's always telling us off about something," said Mickey.
"Even when we've done nowt wrong!" added Billy.
"Ungrateful little sods!" thought Gordon.

Margaret frowned, sighed, then thawed a little, and offered a cup of tea, which was accepted. Gordon took their coats and they sat down. They were all face-powder and lipstick, short skirts and stocking-tops. Gordon didn't mind them. Margaret hoped they wouldn't stay long. "Could do with a good wash, the pair of them! All that make-up! Covering up the dirt I expect!"

Gwyn showed them her dolls. Michael sat in a chair, saying nothing, reading a book.
Mickey and Billy were pleased to be leaving. The old freedoms at home would more than compensate for the home comforts of Sefton Drive. Their mothers were not impressed and did not remark on the incredible improvement in the appearance of their offspring. They drank their tea and then they asked for the boys' ration books. Margaret had already used some of the coupons for the coming week so an argument developed. "How are we going to feed them, if we can't buy their rations?"

"I'm sorry, but I only got your letter this morning! I'd already used some of their coupons. I went shopping yesterday."

Blondie sniffed significantly. She seemed to be hinting that Margaret was not telling the truth.

"You'll have to let us have some of what you've bought," said the long-nosed brunette, crossing her legs and showing Gordon a bit more thigh.
"That seems fair," Blondie seconded. She was going to light another cigarette but her friend nudged her and spoke sarcastically. "Rules! No fags indoors!"

Gordon intervened, "If you want to have a smoke, I'll go and unlock the shed. You can go in there."
"Thank you very much. I'll take you up on that," said Blondie, fluttering her artificial eyelashes at Gordon.

They both stood up, and followed Gordon out into the pouring rain, where they made a dash for the shed. Their kids went with them. Gordon ran back to the house. Margaret was hastily packing Billy's and Mickey's belongings into new carrier-bags. She put some sugar and tea-leaves into an empty jam-jar and wrapped some butter and slices of meat in grease-proof paper. She put those items and the boys' ration books on the top, ready for inspection, in the carrier-bags. "That should be enough to shut them up," she hissed. "And as for you, Mr Prince Charming, perhaps you'd like to go and tell them I've everything ready for them, so they can be on their way. But be careful, those two would eat you alive in five minutes."

"What are you talking about, love?"
"You know what I mean!" she whispered hoping that Michael and Gwyn wouldn't hear. "Your eyes are out on organ stops. All bums and tits aren't they? Right up your street!"

It wasn't like his wife to be crude. He could sense her burning resentment, his affair with Beth never far from the surface, it seemed. She hated his having joined-up and wondered what he was doing during his spare time in Blackpool.

"Come off it Margaret! I'm only trying to be pleasant."

Margaret had them on their way within minutes. Gordon decided it would be better if he didn't offer to walk with them to the bus stop. Margaret, Gordon and Gwyn said goodbye.

Michael didn't. Rob had taught him a useful phrase to suit the situation. "Good riddance to bad rubbish!" he thought, relieved to see the back of the two boys.

Nobody thanked Margaret for having them stay with her and for looking after them so well.
The quartet wandered away, down the road, in the rain. Gordon watched from the shelter of the hall, just inside the front door. As they turned into Borwick Drive, he saw Blondie give Billy a terrific swipe across the back of his head. He could hear the lad's shrieking from where he stood.

That was the end of the evacuees. There were similar departures from all over Lancaster. Within a few months, nearly all had returned from whence they came. Back to their slums! For many lower-middle-class and aspirant working-class families who had given them shelter their encounters had been something of a culture shock and a reminder of the very real differences which existed within the country. Lancaster might have its poor but most of those evacuated kids came from real dumps!

Margaret had liked the two boys. They'd responded well to her carrot-and-stick kind of discipline and had learned not to step outside her well-defined boundaries, when it came to good or bad behaviour. But, overall, she was vastly relieved that they had gone. Now that Gordon was in the Air Force, they were really hard-up. The meagre payments she'd received from Authority for lodging the boys had been quite inadequate for their needs. She would find it much easier to make ends meet now they had departed. She decided to try and find herself a little job. If she succeeded, it would be her first. She'd never worked outside of home. First her father, and then her husband, had always provided for her. The war was changing everything. Margaret's good times were over. Never again would she be able to say that her life was perfect.

"I'll have to go on with it the best I can," she mused, feeling sorry for her self. "How is it that everything has changed so dramatically for the worse in just 12 months?"

Chapter 54: The War Begins

The children started Ryelands School at the end of August. War was declared on the Third of September. It would not be the last time that a delightful phase in Michael's life would be mixed with or followed by something horrible.

The dreaded Uglies would always pursue him or waylay him and he never felt secure from the possibility of personal disasters. He was always looking over his shoulder for unexpected trouble. Angst!

The adults became obsessed with Air Raid Precautions, First Aid, Salvage, Paper and Aluminium Collections, Digging For Victory, Spies, Identity Cards, Careless Talk, Fire Watching, Home Guarding, Auxiliary Fire Servicing, Emergency Water Tanks, Blackout, Sirens, Civil Defence, Rationing, Observer Corps, Munitions Making, Women's Voluntary Service, Scarcities, Making Do and Mending.

The list seemed endless:

LEND TO DEFEND THE RIGHT TO BE FREE
IS YOUR JOURNEY REALLY NECESSARY?
DON'T SPEND -- DO LEND
EVERY SCRAP OF PAPER HELPS VICTORY

"Little Hitlers everywhere!" was Jack's verdict. An army of petty minor officials began to intrude into everyone's life.

Shopkeepers became gods, with the divine right to offer or withhold favours. Your grocer might let you buy some broken biscuits or your butcher put a little extra on the scales when he weighed your meat ration. The fruit-and-veg shop might offer you an occasional apple or orange from under the counter if you were favoured. Occasionally your tobacconist might provide you with a scarce packet of Players or Senior Service cigarettes instead of the sore-throat-inducing Miners. Margaret was relieved that she had been a regular customer for many years at certain shops, including Burt her butcher's. "I'm sorry madam, but I have to look after my regulars," was the predictable answer to any stranger's request for scarce goods.

There was the building in Queen Street where you went to obtain ration books. Sometimes the organisers were helpful, sometimes condescending or snooty. Nobody argued with them. Your food was in their hands. Rations varied. The value of your ration coupons varied at different periods during the war. Some examples of weekly rations were:

• Bacon -- 4 ounces
• Tea -- 2 ounces
• Preserves -- 2 ounces
• Cheese -- 1 ounce
• Margarine etc. -- 6 ounces
• Tinned foods -- 4 ounces
• Sweets -- 2 ounces

There were Billeting Officers who found homes for evacuees and accommodation for service men, munitions workers and other essential war workers. The Housing Officer reigned supreme in Lancaster's Ashton Hall, requisitioning properties, ousting residents, imposing unwanted lodgers, allotting dwellings to the perceived needy, and refusing the requests of numerous hopefuls.

On the new Damside Street bus station, especially at rush hours, there were always long queues for red Ribble buses. The L5 and L6 which took you to Morecambe or Heysham and all stops in between were very popular. Irritating and fatiguing waiting times were inevitable.

A shortish, plump bus-inspector ruled the bus-station, supervising the queues efficiently and seeing that no one tried to gain an advantage over others. He filled the buses almost to capacity, leaving some room for picking-up passengers on the way. He told the drivers when to depart, ordered extra buses, as and when required, and so on. He was a local asset, always on the ball, always fair, always helpful, always cheerful. The pleasant face of Authority!

Others, wearing their new official uniforms, became aggressive tyrants, enjoying being bossy, rude and intolerant. The unpleasant face of Authority! Having Authority, as is the way of the world, brought out the best in some and the worst in others.

On 1st September 1939Germany and Russia invaded Poland. On the Second, civilians were killed in a bombing raid on Warsaw.

"It's Spain all over again," Jack told Sheila,

The Prime Minister still held back. Was no one ever going to find the guts to stop the Fascists? Fellow Tories urged the Government to act. When they did not, they urged Labour's acting leader, Arthur Greenwood, to "speak for England." He demanded immediate action.

A divided cabinet still dithered. Finally, an ultimatum was sent to Hitler. It was ignored and at 11.00am, on the Third, Britain and France were at war again with Germany.

Earlier in the morning, Margaret had been baking in the kitchen and Gordon digging in the garden. Michael was round at the Martins, playing with John. Gwyn and Doreen were skipping on the new path which Gordon had made. As they skipped, Gordon listened to their sweet singing.

"Boys and girls come out to play,
The moon is shining as bright as day,
Leave your dreaming and leave your sleep,
And join your play-fellows in the street."

Just before eleven, Michael and Doreen were sent home to be with their parents. Michael remembered the tension of those moments well. Most would be able to recall where they were and what they were doing that mid-morning, Sunday the Third of September, 1939.

Grim-faced, Margaret and Gordon sat listening to the Prime Minister's proclamation on the wireless.

"This country is now at war with Germany. We are ready."

Few believed him. But there was grim satisfaction that the conflict was finally to begin. Michael and Gwyn, picking up on their parents' mood, stayed quiet too.

"That's it then!" said Gordon resignedly, when the speech was over. "It's been a long time coming. We're in it again."

It took Gordon a few weeks to pluck up courage and tell Margaret that he had decided to volunteer. He was in a reserved occupation, after all -- there was no need for him to go -- but like his father before him, he felt a necessity to enlist and help defend the country in wartime. His brother Frank had already been to Preston for a medical, where he had been accepted for the Army. After that, Gordon plucked up courage and told Margaret about his intention. He was going to follow his younger brother's lead.

Margaret's reaction was predictable.

"It's all right for him going off to war. He's not married with children, like you. He's younger than you. He hasn't your responsibilities. How are we going to manage on Forces' pay?"

"We'll manage somehow."
"You mean, I will!"

Her objections were justified but Gordon's mind was made up. She could not dissuade him from what he had decided.

It was odd how being at war affected people. Many of those who had been loudly vociferous and demanding action, now went into hiding, seeking reserved occupations. Avoiding conscription was the name of their game. They were lucky to be living in a safe area. Now they sought safe jobs before they were called-up. These worthies were hopeful that others would do the fighting for them. Giving themselves the best chance of surviving was their main intention.

Doctors were overwhelmed by visits from the healthy, who had developed sudden back problems, or thought that their heart might have something wrong with it. One of the Vale of Lune Rugby Club's stalwarts went for treatment for a damaged knee and an ankle that was giving him a lot of pain. Somehow he still managed to play rugger every Saturday afternoon.

Some married men aged over thirty and in a reserved occupation, volunteered. Gordon felt no bitterness towards the shirkers. "What they do is their business," he told Jack.

The surprising thing was that there was little or no ill-feeling directed towards the evaders of duty. During the First World War women presented young men who were not in uniform with white feathers -- a badge of shame. During the Second World War, people believed the propaganda. They were told that the nation was pulling together. Everyone, in or out of uniform, was doing his or her bit to help the war effort. Newspapers, cinemas, posters, clergy, national and local politicians succeeded in keeping morale high. "We are all in trouble together and doing our best for the nation."

Many ignored the anecdotal evidence and what was happening in their own town, in their own district, in their own work place, within their own families. Everywhere there were shirkers but nobody moaned at them. The genuinely patriotic and the diligent carried the burden without complaining. Only Conscientious Objectors had to put up with derision for being a 'Conscie'.

All very odd!

Jack was sympathetic to some who had been long-term unemployed and who now found themselves in work for the first time in years. Who could begrudge them good pay which came with some of the new wartime jobs? But he despised others who were armchair patriots. "All mouth and no guts!" he called them.

He named names at school and when he was with his political friends. Hardly anyone took any notice. It was just Jack, talking too much, as usual. He'd always been a moaner and trouble-maker.

War-profiteers were those Jack really detested. He hinted darkly about unwarranted profits being made locally out of government contracts for uniforms, chemicals, floor coverings and wooden, window frames for the Forces' Nissen huts. There were some dodgy, shoddy and expensive commodities being manufactured.

Joyce knew that her Yorkshire businessman was rapidly becoming a millionaire. His firm had revived its failing fortunes. A contract for Land Girls' uniforms was obtained. The presents he gave her became ever more lavish.

Some establishments were taken over for war purposes: The Grand Hotel by National Savings and The Midland became a hospital for war-wounded Airmen. Morecambe's hoteliers and boarding-house keepers were not profiteers but the war brought them extra money. Thousands of servicemen, mainly newly recruited Airmen, and many civil servants, were billeted all over the town. The government did not pay as well as visiting holiday-makers but seasonal business now became all-year-round, which made a big difference to annual takings. After being closed by the Government for a short while, cinemas and dance halls were booming.

Joyce had ten Airmen billeted on her and the pub was always full. Her life became even more lively than ever before.

At Preston, Gordon passed the medical A1. He was interviewed by recruiting officers for all three Services and opted for the Royal Air Force. He was accepted for Aircrew. After initial training at Blackpool he would learn how to be a gunner in a bomber aircraft.

"Better than being blown up in the air like our dad was!" joked Frank. "You'll already be up there when you get what's coming to you." Gordon was not amused. Neither was Margaret when he told her he would be going to train at Blackpool at the end of October.

"Can't get away fast enough can you?" she jeered. "Be able to please yourself won't you? Have as many girl friends as you like!"

Gordon sensed it would be difficult for him to ever play the hero in his own household no matter what he did during the battles to come in the air. He had to admit, there was an element of truth, in what his wife said. If it hadn't been for the children, he might well have left her sooner: she'd become such a pain in the neck.

Michael found life more and more exciting. He loved his new school and for the first time since he'd started at St Anne's, he looked forward to playtimes. He, Rob and Paul enjoyed games on the spacious playground, or on the field, when the weather was suitable, unaware of just how much their world was about to turned upside down...

Chapter 53: Summer 1939

During the early summer, Nan moved from Marton Street to Hareruns, a new Corporation Estate only a mile away from her son Gordon. One aspect of the move was humiliating because the removal van was a fumigator. Nan had always been a model of hygiene and cleanliness. "I don't see why my stuff needs to be done. We've always managed to keep the bugs and rats and things like that out of our house!"

But it was a small price to pay for the splendid amenities in her new dwelling. There was the convenience of mains water from inside taps and lavatory; the benefit of the back-boiler which gave her as much instant hot water as she needed. She had a small garden, front and back. The two-bedroom house looked out onto grass with mature trees. The houses were arranged in a crescent around the green. One of her neighbours from Marton Street had moved next-door. There was a good community spirit in the area.

Every Sunday morning, Gordon took his children to see his mother. Gordon and Margaret had succumbed to Michael's pestering. He had been given a junior's bicycle for his birthday. He rode it on the pavement ahead of Gwyn who skipped happily along holding Gordon's hand.

Nan and Frank gave Michael and Gwyn a silver-coloured sixpence each every week. Before they left to go back home Nan went to her built-in-wall-cupboard and reached for a bag of sweets.

"You can have one now," she told the children. "I'll give the rest to your Dad to save for you. For later. You don't want to spoil your dinner." Sunday lunch was always called dinner.

Sometimes, the Matthews had the Watsons around on Saturday afternoons. One week, when the weather was good the two men took the boys into Ryelands Park. The men sat and talked and the boys rode their bicycles round part of old Jimmy Williamson's cycle track. They kept to the part near the new municipal tennis courts, close by the new art deco pavilion and cafe.

The two men could keep an eye on the boys from where they were seated.

"They have a clinic in there now," Jack told Gordon, pointing to Ryelands House. " For mothers and children. Sheila takes the baby there to be weighed once a fortnight. There's a nurse to keep an eye on them and see that their progress is satisfactory."

"I wonder what Lord Ashton would have thought of it?" Gordon laughed.

"Him and his wall to keep the riff-raff like us at bay! You couldn't even see in here during his lifetime, let alone come and go as you please and enjoy yourself."

"Yes," mused Jack, "Some things do seem to be improving. But the war situation doesn't. It's worse by the minute. I think it's only a mater of weeks or months before the balloon goes up. Old Adolf will be trying to blow us all up. What do you make of it?"

Gordon was surprised that he'd been able, for once, to express his opinion before Jack lectured him.

"Well, if the newspapers are anything to go by, I agree, we'll be at war before Christmas. Things are going from bad to worse. It's getting closer to, 'Told you so' time."

The two had seen little or nothing of each other since Margaret's ban on Gordon going out on his own. Gordon catalogued all the disasters of the last few months. In January, with very little resistance, Franco had captured Barcelona. Many citizens emerged from the rubble hailing the invaders and giving the Fascist salute. Thousands had fled to the French border, hoping to be allowed into France.

'Franco! Franco!
You may strut,
But, one day
I'll kick your butt.'

The verse had a hollow sound now. Nobody believed it anymore. Thousands had been killed opposing Franco and in the fighting between rival left-wing factions. Jack recollecting this shook his head in dismay and disbelief. It was sad remembering how the factional fighting on the left had helped the enemy and undermined any belief in Socialism.

"Unity is strength! What a joke!" Gordon grimaced.

Britain had quickly recognised Franco's Fascist Government.

"Betrayal after betrayal!" Jack moaned. Then he changed the subject from the past to future events. The Royal Air Force were receiving 400 new planes each month, free air-raid shelters were being given to Londoners, the Territorial Army was being doubled. Plans were afoot for evacuating British cities. There was a frantic scramble to be prepared for an onslaught from Germany.

"What are you going to do?" Jack asked.
"I expect I'll have to join up."
"It's not much more than a year since nearly everyone was saying, 'Never again!'."
"Times have changed," answered Gordon. "People have changed with them. What about you?"

"In case you've forgotten, it's only twelve months since I was trying to persuade you that it was the last chance to show the swines a strong arm."
"Didn't work out though did it? All you got out of it was a lost arm and disillusion with our side. I wonder if people will give in easily, if it does come to fighting Adolf?"
"God knows! Depends how the propaganda is used. It's only too easy to lead most people by the nose. As for me personally," Jack waved what was left of his damaged arm, " this rules me out from fighting. But I'll find something to do."

In March, proud Prague citizens had had to bear the consequences of Britain's treachery. Hitler invaded without any threat of intervention. The populace bravely jeered and hooted at the invaders. They booed Hitler when he drove proudly through their city, surrounded by bodyguards.

There was bad news closer to home. The IRA were active, bombing in London, Manchester, Birmingham and Northumberland. "Pity they don't blow bloody Adolf up!" Gordon remarked.

The final straw in August would be a vow between Stalin and Hitler. Germany and Russia signed a Non-Aggression Pact! That was yet to come but the rest of the current news was bad enough, when Jack and Gordon sat in the Park, enjoying watching their sons ride their bicycles.

"It makes you worry for their future," Gordon said.
"It does indeed. Luckily, we live in a safe area. So we shouldn't have bombs to worry about."
"We can always hope."

Gordon pointed to the two boys having a race on their bikes. "Sitting here, looking at those two, it does not seem possible that we could be in the same state as Spain, before we know where we are."

"Too flipping true! Anyway let's forget it for a minute. What have you been up to? You were quite enjoying the meetings at our house. What happened? Somebody upset you?"

Gordon hesitated. Should he take Jack into his confidence? He decided on an oblique approach to the subject that was still very much on his mind. "Not really," he replied. "Do you still see the others?"

"At work yes, but apart from that, no. We packed the meetings in a month ago. People were losing interest. Other things on their minds."
"Hardly surprising is it? How's red-headed Beth these days?"
"Oh, she's fine. I had a word with her yesterday at lunchtime. She's looking as good as ever. Very popular is our Beth!"
"Our?"
"Oh yes, we're just one big happy family at the two schools. We're nowhere near as segregationist as the Boys' and Girls' Grammar Schools."

Gordon let it go. Jack had again given him no clue as to whether he had known Beth intimately. Perhaps she was just a colleague, with similar political views. Perhaps there was nothing going on between her and Jack. He generalised his next query.

"What do you know about Free Love? What's that all about?"

Jack laughed out loud.

"Love that's free, I guess. Better than paying for it eh?"

He laughed again.

Gordon looked at his watch. "Hey-up! It's time we were at your house. We said we wouldn't be more than an hour. It's going to be more like two before we arrive back."

Gordon was disappointed that he'd learned very little about Beth. What did it matter? Her affairs should be of no consequence to him. Why was he so curious about what she might be doing with Jack? Unfortunately, he had no reason to think that she would ever want to see him again. As far as she was concerned he might as well have never existed.

Gordon told Jack they'd decided Michael would stay at St. Mary's until the end of the summer term. His progress was more than satisfactory. Gordon and Margaret had agreed that it was sensible for him to stay put. Let him finish the academic year where he was.
Although the bullying had stopped, Michael didn't agree. He wanted to be in the same class at school as Rob.

The brand new Ryelands School was opened in June, 1939.

The Lancaster Guardian commented that Mayor Councillor Mrs Musgrave-Hoyle would open the school on Friday, 23rd June.

It went on to say that the school was situated in a rapidly developing part of the City, that the site was twelve and a half acres and surrounded on three sides by houses. The idea was to provide playing pitches for football, cricket and hockey.

It referred to near where Michael lived as the southern boundary where there were fields and trees, a great asset in the built up area. The Watsons were living on a prime site.

Torrisholme Road had been widened and an avenue of trees made a delightful setting for the school building. The report stated that there would be extensions to follow.

Unbelievably, after the experience of poor old St Anne's and St. Mary's inadequate facilities, there would be a craft room, an assembly hall, cloak rooms and indoor lavatories. The classrooms would have low windows and look out onto the fields. There would be paved terraces for lessons outside. Two playgrounds would be placed away from the classrooms; noisy games and physical education could take place without disturbing children working quietly in class.

There was a playground, sand pit, paddling pool and a 'mountain' for the nursery children to climb. Everything conceivable had been done to make the lives of the pupils happy, in conditions conducive to learning.

Gordon read the newspaper report out to Margaret. "Told you so!" she said. "Told you that this was the place to move to didn't I? The children will love it there."

August, and a week off work, was looming. Gordon made up his mind."This year we're going to have a proper holiday. It might be our last chance for a long time."

"Who says so?"

Gordon frowned at his wife.

"Can't you read? Don't you listen to what you hear on the news? You heard that Hitler on the wireless didn't you? That woke you up a bit didn't it"

Margaret hated being taken to task because of her disinterest in politics and current affairs. "I've been wakened enough this year thank you Mr Clever Dick. You've opened my eyes quite wide enough, thank you!"

"Bitch!" Gordon thought.

Would she never let the Beth business drop! He turned the wireless on and hid behind the Daily Herald.

"I thought you had something to tell me about a holiday," Margaret asked.

He sulked for another minute before replying."I thought we might go to Barrow. I thought the idea might please you. I thought you'd be suited." She was very pleased by his suggestion! But she was not going to show it. He'd have to work a lot harder before she showed any positive response to anything he did. She knew he was making another effort to get round her. Well hard luck! She was completely dedicated to making him squirm for a while yet. And as for letting him have anything in bed, he could forget all that!

Five more minutes passed. She went on darning socks. Eventually, he laid the newspaper aside. "Well?" he asked.

"I suppose we could go. It might be all right," she said, "provided the weather's fine."
"Women!" Gordon muttered under his breath. "No pleasing them!"

Out loud he said, "Perhaps you'll condescend to let me know your decision when you've thought about it. Goodnight! I'm having an early night."

He switched the wireless off.

"Leave it on, please. You think I'm so ignorant! I might learn something you don't know, Mr Clever Clogs."

Gordon switched the wireless back on, turned up the volume, locked up, and went off to bed.
Jack had lent him another of his books. He left the light on and read a chapter of Bernard Shaw's The Intelligent Woman's Guide to Socialism. He wondered if Beth had read it. He wondered what she was doing at that very minute. His mind was wandering from the text. He put a book marker in the volume, placed the book on the floor and pulled the bedclothes up round his chin.

After a few more minutes, lying there thinking about Beth, he pulled on the chord above the bed. The light went out and he tried to go to sleep. "Women!" he thought. "Cause of all the trouble in the world!"

When Margaret came to bed, she left the light off and slid in beside him. He pretended to be asleep. She did not try to find out if he was still awake. As usual, she slept soundly as ever, deep in the sleep of the morally upright.

Someone once said, it's impossible to keep an argument going, if you sleep in the same bed with someone. Margaret was an exception to that rule!

When August came, James Davies was an unhappy man on holiday. He was staying at Sefton Drive. He wished that he was back at home. It had been his wife's and his daughter's idea, to swap houses for the August Bank Holiday. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. It started off all right. His son Tom had driven them with the minimum of inconvenience and speedily to Lancaster.

He was comfortable in the house. He liked being near the woods and he didn't mind having to look after and feed the cats. The trouble with these new estates, and the situation at the top of Sefton Drive in particular, was that you were miles away from the nearest pubs.

James had always been used to walking out of his house to his nearest home-from-home in a matter of minutes. Now, it meant waiting for a bus, hiring a taxi, enduring an exhausting walk or asking Tom to take him and collect him from his old club or from the George Hotel, in Torrisholme.

The daytimes were fine. Tom would drive them to one of their children's homes in Lancaster or Morecambe and collect them later. If he wished, James could stroll from where they were visiting and walk easily into Lancaster town cwntre. When he was in Morecambe, there was nearby Queen Street. In Joyce's pub, he was sure of a welcome. The daughter of his old Welsh friend introduced him to her regulars. He could drink with new friends, until mid-afternoon closing-time.

The evenings were the trouble. His son wanted to go off on his own. James's freedom was restricted. He was a man who had always been able to please himself. He was not used to having his evenings spoiled.

Buses were unreliable, so he walked to Torrisholme and caught a taxi back. The village club had changed. His old cronies had died or moved away. There was no one to make him feel comfortable and at his ease. He did not find it as easy to pick up with new company as he had in the past. Most evenings he was fed up. He wanted the week to go by quickly so that he could be back home.

Beatrice was content. She was able to visit her daughter, Charlotte and her family. They were still living in Lodge Street, Lancaster. Tony and Dick lived in Morecambe. She missed her role at the centre of a big household and wondered if she would ever have all of her offspring under the same roof again. She said to James, "Perhaps Julia's coming-of-age, her twenty-first birthday, will give me the excuse for a party. They could all come home to us in Barrow. Perhaps most of them could be persuaded to come to a special occasion in Dalton Road."

James warned her, "You can't expect some of them to come all the way from London, Wales or Yorkshire. It's too far just for a birthday party. They have their own lives to lead."

Beatrice replied, "It's a good job you managed to buy the little car for Tom to drive us here. At least I'm seeing some of them now."

She did understood and appreciated that they had their own lives to lead. They should put their husbands or wives and children first. But her heart ached. She missed the old times badly. She saw what the future held. It was difficult for her children to make their way to Barrow. Slowly, but inevitably, their visits to her were becoming less and less frequent. It felt like something inside her was missing. After all of the early hardships, the miseries of infant deaths and the relentless hard work, she was not happy in her impending old age. She felt worthless.

Tom and Julia were still living at home. But both were grown-up and very independent. She made their meals, did their washing, and that was about all. They had their own friends, their own activities. Always out in the evenings and at weekends, like James. In fact, she'd seen more of James during this holiday than she ever had in any other week of their long, married life. However, he was so miserable, she wished she was seeing less of him. He was a real pain in the neck.

Meanwhile, Michael was having a lovely time at Barrow. He pointed out all the things which he had seen with his mother on his first visit there.

"Look Dad, we're going over the water!"
"Look Dad, there's that lighthouse I was telling you about. Up there on top of the hill!"
"Look Dad," said Gwyn, as the train pulled into Barrow Station, "there's Aunty Julia. She's waving to me."

Michael pointed to 'Coppernob', still resplendent in his glass case. "Isn't he beautiful, Dad?"

Aunty Julia took them to catch one of the blue Barrow Corporation buses. Tom had the car in Lancaster so they had to go on the bus. Gordon placed their cases under the stairs. "Three singles, two children and two cases to Dalton Road, please," said Dad, when the conductor came to collect the fares.

Brian Howson, his wife, May, and their children, Paul and Gilian, were also on holiday in Barrow. If the weather was fine, they were all going to meet on the beach.

Michael wondered what Paul would be like. He hoped they'd be happy playing together. Michael was learning fast that the unknown could be either a disaster or a delight. You could never tell, until you actually met someone, whether or not you could make friends with them. It was a pity you could not guarantee the positive. It was a shame that everything seemed to be a gamble. He hadn't learned to appreciate the joys of uncertainties. He liked to know where he was. He just hoped that meeting Paul would not be a disaster.

Fortunately, everyone had a marvellous time. During those precious few gloriously sunny days, just before war was declared, the whole nation seemed to be temporarily at ease. It was like taking a deep breath before an enormous task ahead.

When they met the Howsons, Gordon said to Brian, "We're living in Never Never Land! Best make the most of it! "The children loved being with Gordon's friend's family. The sun shone every day. There was a good beach to visit and a place to meet on Walney Island.

Margaret had seen her mother and father, briefly, at Sefton Drive and she would be seeing them again, when they went home, after the holiday. Although she missed them not being there in Barrow, the exchange of houses was a sensible arrangement.She loved being with her little sister Julia, the baby of the family.

Gordon enjoyed being with Julia too, but not in the same way as Margaret. It happened the first night after they had arrived at Dalton Road and settled in. The children went to bed early. They were tired after the long journey and all the excitement. Gordon and Margaret were not late following them. They had James's and Beatrice's room. Michael had Tom's room all to himself. Gwyn was sharing with Aunty Julia whom she adored.

Before she went out with her boy friend, Julia reminded them not to lock up. "That's his car outside now. I'll have to go. Remember, I don't have a key. Dad won't let me have one 'til I'm twenty-one. If you forget, one of you will have to come down to let me in. I might be late. It all depends."

What it depended on, she did not say.

It was well after midnight. Gordon was half-asleep. He was alarmed by a noise downstairs. He was too sleepy to realise it was the front door being slammed. Julia's boy friend had departed in a rage. Both of them had had too much to drink and he'd departed angrily after they'd had an argument.

Gordon's first reaction was to think that he'd locked his sister-in-law out and it was her banging on the front door. But no, he remembered distinctly. He had definitely not turned the key in the lock. Margaret had not stirred. As usual, she was fast asleep. Nothing ever seemed to keep her awake. Perhaps they were being burgled? Gordon decided to investigate.

He never wore pyjamas in summer. He did not possess a dressing-gown. Quietly, he took his raincoat out of the wardrobe, put it on, and crept down the stairs.

There was a chink of light from beneath the living-room door. Someone was tinkling softly on the piano, picking out the tune of 'South of the Border'. Gordon tapped lightly on the door. He thought that Julia might have her boy friend in there with her.

She did not call out to him to enter. Instead, the playing of the piano stopped and she opened the door. When she saw it was Gordon, standing there in his raincoat and his hairy legs and feet jutting out below it, she opened the door wide and invited him in.

She was dressed only in a pink slip. The rest of her clothes were on the carpet next to some cushions which had been piled there. She and her boyfriend had removed them from the easy chairs. Everything was ready for Julia and her boy friend to make love. Instead of lying there with her he had gone off in a huff.

"Hello Gordon," she said. Her voice was slurred. "Would you like to have a liddle drink wiv me?"

Julia bore a striking resemblance to the Margaret he had first known, nearly ten years previously. But she was not so tall. And she was plumper, especially where it mattered. She held out a bottle of gin towards him. "Go on bruvver-in-law! Have a swig!"

Gordon closed the door behind him and took the bottle. It was very quiet in the house. He listened carefully. There was only the sound of a car departing. He leaned back and took a good mouthful of the strong alcohol. Just what he needed! It tasted really good. His raincoat, which he had not buttoned up fell open. He inadvertently showed Julia all he'd got.

She started to giggle as he hastily drew the raincoat back together with one hand. He offered her the bottle back with the other. "Go on!" she said. "Have another one! There's plenty left in the bottle."

Gordon did as he was told. He became aware he was thinking things he should not be thinking. He realised the potential for pleasure in the situation. "What am I getting into now?" he wondered. "If I do what I'm starting to imagine myself doing, it may not even be legal." He wasn't quite sure where the law stood on having affairs with in-laws!

He recalled what his friend Brian had told him what he thought his trouble was. "You're a bloody marvel, you are! There are two Gordons. A bloody maniac pops up as soon as a bit of skirt beckons to you."

Perhaps Brian was right. Ten minutes ago, Gordon the good had been lying in bed, side-by-side with his wife. His mind dwelling on the joys of life with the children at the seaside. He'd been dozing, contemplating how he was enjoying a few days of freedom from work. Lying on the beach. Soaking up the sun. Listening to the splashing of waves and the shrill, happy cries of his and Brian's children! Unbeatable! Apart from what he was not having with Margaret!

And now?

The Gordon of yesteryear: the tripper of the light fantastic, the successful ladies' man was back. He came leaping out of the wings to centre stage! The eternal adolescent made his entrance.

Wow!

"Give me a little cuddle brother-in-law!" she murmured.

So he did! Then he gave her a long one.

Later, back upstairs in bed, he lay awake thinking. His head was still a bit dizzy because of the gin. Thoughts, all mixed up, tumbled through his cranium. He'd certainly enjoyed himself. But it was all wrong what he'd done. His only excuse was, it was months since Margaret had let him do it with her. He was only human wasn't he? He couldn't go the rest of his life without it. It was all right for her: she didn't miss it like he did.

"Anyway, it wasn't my fault," he tried to convince himself. "She more or less demanded I do it. I didn't go looking for it. It was just bad luck that it happened. Or was it good luck? It feels like good luck. I know it was wrong. It didn't feel wrong!. Please God, I didn't want to do it. It was she definitely made me want to do it. Now I've been and done it, where's the harm in it?"

Panic seized him.

"You'll rue how much harm my lad!" he thought. "If Margaret finds out, it will be the end for me. It'll be all over between us."

It was not easy seeking any kind of feasible excuse for his conduct. His half-naked, drunken, beautiful sister-in-law trying to seduce him because she had just had a row with her boy friend had nothing to do with it. He was a mature adult compared with her. He should have settled for having a chat and a few drinks. He should have been been sympathetic and big brotherly towards her. He should have been a comforter not an adulterer!"

"Who are you kidding?" he concluded.

"It would have needed a saint, in a suit of armour, to have resisted her advances. She was like a tigress once she had her claws into me."

He drifted off to sleep.

He awoke early. Alarmed, he realised there was an unfamiliar aroma around him. It was her distinctive perfume which had rubbed off onto him during his embracing of Julia. Margaret was still asleep. He crept into the bathroom and had a bath! He wondered how it would be at breakfast, when he had to see Julia again. He need not have worried. Expert in the art of seduction, Julia was a genius when it came to lying.

"What time did you come in?" Margaret asked her little sister.
"About one o'clock. We tried to be quiet. I hope we did not disturb you."
"Oh no, I slept like a log. Who's 'we', by the way? You and who?"
"Sammy Harrison. We've been going steady for a few months now. We work at the same place. You'd like him."
"Are we going to meet him?" Margaret asked.
"You might do. I suppose I could ask him in, next time he calls for me. Dad's not too keen on him, so I don't have him in when he's here. Except late at night of course!"
"You are a one our Julia!" Margaret laughed.
"She's a one all right," thought Gordon.

Julia laughed too. " I know! Mam says I'm just like our dad. Always out enjoying myself. And too fond of the drink."

The empty bottle of gin lay on the sideboard.

"But you think you've found Mr Right this time?"
"Oh yes," she grinned, never once glancing Gordon's way.
"I had a really smashing time last night. Better than usual. Life's super at the moment. I can't get enough of it!"

Michael and Gwyn had been ever so good, not interrupting the grown-ups' chatter. But now Michael intervened, wanting to know what time they were going to catch a bus to the beach. The sun was brightly shining in a clear blue sky. He wanted to meet the new boy and potential friend Paul Howson.

Gordon cleared the table. He went to the local shop for a newspaper and took the children with him. When they returned, the two sisters were just finishing the washing-up.

"I've persuaded Julia to come with us Gordon. She can show us the way, which bus to catch, and how to find the best part of the beach. That will be nice won't it?"
"Very nice!" Gordon responded, grimacing behind his raised newspaper.
"Hurrah!" shouted Michael. He went over to the piano, lifted the lid and crashed about on the keys. "Leave that piano alone Michael!" Margaret remonstrated.
"Hip! Hip! Hurrah!" Shouted Gwyn. "Aunty Julia's coming with us. Hurrah!"
"Upstairs to the bathroom!" ordered their Mam.
"Quick you two! No arguing! Wash your hands! And hurry up! Julia says there's a bus in five minutes."

Michael was no longer worried about going upstairs on buses. When the bus came, he was the first on board and rushed up the stairs. They all followed him to the upper deck. From there, on their way to Walney Island, they had a good view of the town and the shipyard.

They could see several submarines nearing completion and others starting construction. It was Saturday but Vickers was working to full capacity. There were more jobs going there than people available for them. Barrow was a boom town. It was the same everywhere. You could find a job on war work all over the nation. In just twelve months, unemployment had plummeted from two millions to zero.

Jack's view was, "The bosses always use a war to solve their problems. It's a distraction from the basic ills of Capitalism."

Gordon had been reading more of Bernard Shaw. "You're right there Jack. There are always the Undershafts in the shadows. Pulling the strings. Making their arms profits whenever there's fighting. Still, when it comes we'll have no alternative. We'll have to stop Hitler!"

When the bus emptied, they joined other passengers and headed for the sands. There, hundreds of families were enjoying the beach: lying on towels, sitting on deck chairs, paddling in the sea, building castles, eating ice-creams and generally enjoying all of the simple pleasures of the sea side.

Gordon saw his lot settled and went in search of Brian and his family. They were just arriving, having caught a later bus from the town. Gordon hurried towards them waving, delighted to see Brian. He was his oldest, dearest friend and confidant."Come on," he said, "we've found a nice place, further down the beach. There was still enough room for you when I left only a couple of minutes ago."

They were lucky. No other families had crowded too close to Gordon's so the Howsons were able to spread themselves out comfortably beside them. The children took an immediate liking to each other and were soon playing happily together under the watchful eyes of the five adults.

The three women sat and chatted. Brian and Gordon sat apart from the females, close together, and had their first heart-to-heart talk for a long time. Brian was the only friend Gordon had to whom he could entrust his closest secrets.

On the evening that Joyce had driven Gordon to Snatchems, Brian had been a witness to their departure from outside the Trades Hall. He no longer worked with Gordon. The two families never met. Brian had stopped going to the union meetings with Gordon. There was no point after he had the sack from Williamson's. He'd found a new job and had kept out of any union or political activity there. Not knowing what had happened, he was interested in learning about what exactly had taken place. Gordon told him all about the affair with Joyce. Brian laughed uproariously and the women looked his way.

"Shush!" warned Gordon. "Keep your voice down!" He told Brian about Beth and now, Julia.
"Blooming heck!" Brian said, in a low voice. "You keep looking for trouble don't you!"

Gordon preferred his own version, "Not really! It keeps finding me!"
Brian laughed again. "You're kidding yourself lad! How come it never finds me?"
"Because you're such an ugly sod!"

In retaliation for the insult, Brian kicked some sand over Gordon. Gordon grabbed hold of him and the two of them had a wrestling match, just like they used to have when they were boys.

"Don't be childish, Gordon!" Margaret called. Meaning it!

The two men shook sand off their towels and reclined on them again. "Bloody spoil sport!" thought Gordon.

Brian had one bit of news that delighted Gordon. Brian and his family were going to move into a Corporation House, on Austwick Road, on the Ryelands Estate. They would be only a few hundred yards away from Sefton Drive. It meant that Michael, Rob and Paul would all be in the same class, at the new school, in a few weeks time. John Martin, the third one of Michael's friends, would be the odd one out. He was three years older than the others and his dad had managed to get him a place in the prep school, at Lancaster Grammar.

Michael's social life, for many years to come, would involve all three boys. They would do things together as a quartet, trio or duo. They would remain his friends for all of their lives. John was the one least able to indulge in many of their activities. His health was too poor.
Michael and Paul, Gwyn and Gilian were delighted, when they were told that they were going to be fairly close neighbours, and go to the same school together. All four of them ran down to the sea and splashed in the warm, shallow water. Every time they kicked at an incoming wave and made a splash, they would shout.

"Hurrah!"
"Hurrah!"
"Hurrah"
"Hurrah!"

It really pleased the grown-ups, to see the kids so deliriously happy.

Further along the beach, a Salvation Army band was playing, and there was some community singing.

'Oh God, our help in ages past..'
'Onward Christian soldiers!.... '

There were only a few light clouds in the azure sky. Could those distant cloudlets conceivably be heralding a storm? Were these crowds of happy holiday-makers, these innocents at large, laughing with merriment on the sands, or cavorting in the sea, soaking up the glorious August sun, be only weeks away from a disastrous war? Gordon had a presentiment of impending disasters. The reality around him seemed dreamlike, unreal. Nothing was what it appeared to be. Life was so unpredictable. His life! Everyone's life! The world itself! He recalled what he'd read in one of Jack's books.

'Am I a man dreaming that I'm a butterfly? Am I butterfly dreaming that I'm a man?'

He didn't know what he was, who he was or where he was going. Life was always bitter and sweet at the same time. Something had to change. He had to change!

Half way back to Dalton Road, Gordon was looking out of a window on the top deck of the bus. They were passing a church. Outside the building, on a wooden post, there was a poster with big lettering.

EVERY BIT OF LOVE WE SOW
IN TIME WILL BEAR RICH FRUIT

Julia was with Margaret in the double seat in front of him. She and her sister were laughing together. He looked at the back of her head and stared at the poster again. He devoutly hoped that the words did not apply to Julia and him!

The week passed too quickly for any of their liking. The Watsons went back home on the Saturday morning. The night before their departure, Gordon lay awake, very late, when he heard the front door slam. A minute later, he heard the piano being played. The tune was 'South of the Border'.

He didn't move. He ignored the summons. He stayed in bed.

Chapter 52: Prelude to War

Dad bought a wireless. Michael liked listening to Children's Hour when he came home from school. It was still too dark in the evening to play outside.

When Dad came home, he would change out of his working clothes. Sometimes he was wet through. A persistent rain would have found its way down his neck, between the back of his cap and the top of his cape. Water out of puddles might have splashed up higher than his leggings and soaked his trousers. A driving rain would find cracks in the protective clothing and there would be patches of wetness on his jacket and shirt.

He would run some hot water into the bath and stand in there, warming his feet. Sometimes they hurt as the circulation came back into them. Then he would wash and shave and don a freshly-ironed and aired shirt. They were warmed by hot tank in the airing cupboard.

He often remembered how much harder it had been at Edward Street when he'd arrived home, cold and miserable during hard winters. It had taken him ages to thaw out. He still regarded constant hot water in the house as one of the blessings of his life.

Then he would go downstairs. His dinner would be hot from the stove and placed in front of him. Despite Margaret's new dominance, the customary rituals and conventions were still observed by the diligent housewife. If she'd forgotten to give him a spoon for his pudding, or left the mustard pot in the kitchen, Gordon would not go for them himself.

"Margaret,"he'd say, "I haven't got a spoon!"or "You've forgotten the mustard." Margaret would leave her meal and dutifully remedy her mistake.

"Sorry Gordon, "she'd say, placing the missing item within his easy reach. Gordon would carry on with his meal quietly, demanding silence from his wife and children, as he listened to the wireless and absorbed every item being read by the announcer on the BBC six o'clock news.

"Shh!" he'd say, if either of the children asked their mother a question. "Shh! Wait until the news is over!"

The children would be quiet until the broadcast finished. Then their Dad would sit in his easy chair near the fire with the wireless on the shelf close to his left ear. He'd turn the volume down but not switch the wireless off. He'd reach for the Daily Herald, open the newspaper, hiding behind it, while he read or thought deep thoughts. Sometimes the paper would slip out of his hands and cover his face. Then he would start to snore.

Mam would urge the children to play very quietly. "Don't wake your Dad up. He's had a hard day at work."

A picture of domestic bliss! But it wasn't! Gordon was full of guilt and resentment at having been found out. It wasn't as though he had done anything really wrong. Nobody had been hurt, had they? What did it matter?

But it did!

Gordon gradually became so fed up with the situation that part of him wanted to leave home. The major part of him put that out of his mind. There were the children to consider. And his own feelings for them. He could not bear the thought of upsetting them in any way.

But he was really fed up!

Late one evening, he was fiddling with the knob of the wireless. He liked doing that. It was a source of wonder to him to hear music and voices from far away places. Radio Luxembourg, with its popular music programmes, was a favourite. He often listened, despite his irritation at the adverts which interrupted the broadcasts. All the latest tunes were played including, 'Deep Purple', 'I Get Along Without You Very Well', 'Boomps-A-Daisy' and 'Wish Me Luck (As You Wave Me Goodbye).

One evening he'd tuned in to a German wireless station and it was broadcasting a speech. Michael and Gwyn were changing into their night time clothing. Gordon called a halt to that. "Shh!" he said, urgently, vehemently. Michael and Gwyn frowned quizically at each other then subsided into silence. They sat obediently quiet on the rug by the fire.

"Just listen to that!" Gordon said to Margaret. They all listened intently to the loud, ranting voice. There were intervals of cheering when there was a pause in the speech. Loud applause made the wireless vibrate. Thousands of voices were shouting.

"Heil! Heil! Heil!"

On and on and on! Rapturous acclaim for the speaker!

None of the family could understand a word of German. But the message was clear. It was threatening. There was something ominous in the air. All over Britain, those who heard that broadcast, and others like it, knew that something unstoppable was happening in Germany. Aggression was the message. War was coming nearer and nearer.

Hitler continued his speech. "Mad as a bloody hatter!" Gordon thought to himself.

"The bloke's completely bonkers,"he said to his wife.

When the speech ended, the applause, cheering and the chanted slogans went on for ages. Gordon did not switch it off. He sat there, his newspaper on his lap, transfixed. He worried for the future and what was probably just round the corner.

"Puts my little worries into perspective!" he thought.

Before summer, 'The Coming War' was a phrase on everybody's lips. You could collect cards which came in packets of cigarettes. One of the most popular sets was 'Air Raid Precautions'.

Michael, Rob and John were all collecting them. Two of Gordon's mates at work smoked Churchman's cigarettes. They gave their cigarette cards to Gordon for Michael. He kept some and used others as swaps. It was not long before he had a complete set. Gordon bought an album for him for a penny.

Michael showed the complete album proudly to his two friends. The Churchman's was a set of forty-eight cards. On the front of each card was a coloured picture and on the back was printed advice about planning a refuge room at home, dealing with incendiary bombs, fire-fighting or coping with gas attacks. Eight other cards described the country's air defences.

Gordon decided that their best place of refuge would be in the pantry under the stairs. Michael read the back of his cards and agreed. There were ways of making your refuge-room gas-proof and of protecting its windows against blast.

Mr. Martin, next door, decided to build a dug-out in his garden. Part of what was going to be their lawn disappeared underneath high mounds of earth. Unfortunately, he was unable to prevent water from seeping in and by the end of winter it had filled up nearly to ground level.

Michael and Gwyn hated the gas masks that went over their faces and were held in position by straps at the back of the head. There was a cellophane window through which to look out. This misted up and you couldn't see where you were going. There was a heavy metal base to breathe into in front of your nose and mouth. When you breathed in-and-out the sound was amplified alarmingly.

There was a strong smell of rubber from which parts of the masks were made. When Gwyn smelt it, she hought she was being gassed and screamed for the thing to be taken off her.

Michael thought the name was a bit funny. 'Gas mask'? It sounded like the mask was something to gas people with, not to stop them from being gassed. Both children, like most of their contemporaries, detested having to practise puttting them on.

The cigarette cards described Air Raid Wardens and volunteer despatch-riders, in case telephones would not work.

Mr. Jackson, who lived down the road from the Watsons, was appointed the official local Air Raid Warden. He visited and gave advice about blackout curtains and blinds. He wore a tin helmet with 'ARP' on it. He had a black siren suit, similar to a track suit. It had an impressive metal 'ARP' badge pinned to it. He showed them how to wear their gas-masks properly. He let them hear his huge wooden rattle, a bit like a giant crow-scarer, which lads on farmers' fields used to use.

"If you hear that, it means there's a gas-attack. Put your masks on right away!"

"When this war starts,"he said, "you mustn't show even a chink of light from any of your windows. Enemy bombers might see the lights and bomb us. By the way, do you want to order a stirrup pump? They aren't expensive if you purchase through me."

"What for?" Gordon asked.

"For putting out incendiary bombs!"

"Yes please! We might need one in an emergency," said Margaret.

"There's a waiting list. I'll order one for you. When they send one, I'll bring it and show you how to use it."

"Thank-you, Mr. Jackson,"said Margaret.

Before he went he asked Gordon, "Have you signed up for anything?"

"No!" said Gordon, mindful of the curfew his wife had imposed on him.

"You should, you know," scolded Mr. Jackson. "Everyone is going to have to do their bit. It's going to be what they call total war! Perhaps you could learn First Aid. St John's are running special courses for volunteers. I know they could do with a lot more."

Margaret decided to relent.

"I'm sure my husband will want to do his bit, Mr. Jackson."

"Right," said Mr. Jackson to Gordon, "that's the spirit! You know where I live. Be at mine seven o'clock tomorrow. I'll take you and a couple more newcomers to where the classes are being held."

"He's a bit bossy,"Gordon said, after the Warden had gone.

"Somebody's got to organise us,"Margaret replied. "At least he's doing something useful! Not sitting around in meetings gabbing! Or drinking with sluts in pubs!"

Gordon put the wireless on and hid behind his newspaper.

During the following weeks, Margaret sewed in extra linings to their thin curtains. Gordon brought thick oil cloth from Williamson's to make roller blinds for some of their windows. The black-out, which was to last nearly six years, was quickly becoming a reality.

Michael and Gwyn felt the apprehension their parents communicated. More and more of Michael's and his friends' games involved playing at being soldiers, airmen or sailors. They were always pretending to be shooting, bombing or sinking the enemy. Rob had learned a song from the older boys, in the playground, at his school. He taught it to Michael. He didn't understand what it meant but he enjoyed chanting it. Until his Mam heard him telling it to Gwyn!

"Hitler has only got one ball,

Goering has two but very small,

Himmler has somewhat similar,

But Goebbels has none at all."

"Wait 'til your Dad comes home! You'll be for it. What language! Where do you hear it?"

When she reported to Gordon, it gave him a good laugh. He needed one! "You don't really expect me to go to town on him for something like that! Come on, Margaret, where's your sense of humour?"

"I lost it at Halton, before Christmas."

That's how she was! Forever reminding him! Always having a dig! It really pissed him off.

"He's only six years old. There's no harm in him. He's bound to pick up things at school and from his friends. Don't expect too much of him. Nobody's perfect!"

"You're certainly not, that's for sure!"she hissed at him.

Gordon went upstairs, to get away from her and her sharp tongue. "If only that bloody Joyce had done what he'd asked her to do and kept her mouth shut!"

Web Links

• Children's Hour, named after a verse by Henry Longfellow — was the name of the BBC's principal recreational service for children (as distinct from "Broadcasts to Schools") during the period when radio was the only medium of broadcasting. More info on Wikipedia  

Chapter 50: Mr. Mort and New Neighbours

One evening, just before Christmas, Nan had an unexpected visitor. She was indoors all on her own. It was Friday, and Frank was out enjoying himself with his younger friends from work.

Frank never missed Friday night in Morecambe pubs or dance halls. There was a women's only department at Williamson's and he used it as a source for finding new girl friends. He worked in the department next door.

It was said that any man walking through that women's room was asking for trouble. He took his life in his hands and would be lucky if he came out the other side with his trousers on. It didn't worry Frank. The females knew him well as a friendly bloke and he knew how to cope with their snide remarks. He knew how to charm the oldies as well as the youngsters, the not so good looking as well as the pretty ones. Undaunted, Frank often wandered in there, when his supervisor was out of the way, and cast his eyes over the females.

"Look out girls! Here comes Donkey Dick Watson!" one of the older women shouted.

The others responded with shouts and derisive laughter. Frank waved to his watching audience and made his way to one of the girls who was sorting expensive inlaid lino into a pattern. The jeers increased when he placed his hands lightly on her waist as she bent over her bench. She tried to ignore him. She carried on selecting bits of lino and placed them in the right place on the wide bench in front of her. He whispered something to her and she nodded her head.

The others' catcalls increased in volume but one very loud-mouthed female shouted above their row. "Another one to the slaughter!"

"You're only jealous!" Frank called back at her.

Grinning, he left their room and went back to his own work and the chorus of insults directed at him died away. The women carried on with some of their usual serious gossip and character assassinations of absent friends and acquaintances. Well, It helped to pass the time on during their long hours of labour.

Frank had already dated successfully and had his way with several of them from that department. His latest selection was a seventeen year old brunette. He'd taken her to the Floral Hall to teach her some of the new fad dances.

He intended catching the last electric train back to Green Ayre from the Promenade Station. He'd walk her home. He hoped the girl would ask him into her house for a while. He did not expect to be back home at his mother's before midnight.

The same evening, back in Marton Street, around eight o'clock, there came a knock on Nan's door. She moved away from the fire reluctantly. It was a cold evening and although she always kept a good fire the room was draughty and cool away from the flames.

She opened the door and saw a man in his mid-forties standing there. He was quite smartly dressed, in a black overcoat, and he had a trilby hat on his head. "I'm sorry to disturb you Missus. But I've come on behalf of the lads from work. We wanted to have the chance to pay our respects properly. Your husband Henry was one of us at work."

Nan had weighed him up and could see that he was a decent sort. "You'd better come in! It's freezing out here on the doorstep."

The man removed his hat and stepped inside. She closed the door behind him and went back to near the fire. She stood there waiting for him to say what he had to say. He put his hat on the embroidered cloth which covered her living-room table. He reached for something from an inside pocket and handed her an envelope.

"I hope you're not offended Missus. The lads at work have been collecting for old Henry. It isn't much. We thought it might come in handy for you, what with Christmas coming and all that."

Nan opened the envelope. There were five one pound notes, the equivalent of two weeks wages. It was a very generous offering. There were not that many employed in Henry's old department. They must have given money which they could ill afford.

The firm had given her nothing. She was not disappointed by that, because she had not been expecting anything. You didn't miss what you weren't expecting. She would manage somehow. She always had. She had a meagre war widow's pension. And her son Frank helped her out.

She certainly was not offended by the gift. Nan had known hard times. She had learned long ago that pride doesn't put food on a table or pay the rent.

"It's very kind of you. Will you stay for a cup of tea?"

"Well, yes. Thank you Missus."

"Take your coat off then. Put it over the back of that chair. You'll feel the benefit when you go out into the cold."

He spoke very quietly. He had a shy manner.

"Right then. Thank you. I'm Mr. Mort, Johnny Mort."

"Sit yourself down Mr. Mort. I'll put the kettle on."

While she busied herself making the tea Mr. Mort talked.

"I'm sorry I wasn't at the funeral. They wouldn't give us time off," he told Nan. "Like, all of us were fond of old Henry. He was a good lad. We all respected him. We wanted you to know how we thought about him. I'm the one who's come to see you, seeing as how I'm on my own like. The other lads are all at home with their families."

Nan said again, "It's very kind of you."

She kept her eyes down and her head averted. She was quite moved by the gift and by the stranger's words. She wasn't one for showing her emotions. She did not want her visitor to see her tears.

She made the tea and he stayed a long time. She found out that he came from a village near Preston. He went home on Saturday afternoons until Sunday teatime. The rest of the time he was at work

There was no employment around where he lived. Luckily, a friend had helped him. He'd kept in touch with an old mate from the wartime Army. He wrote to him and told him about about a vacancy where he worked. He applied and was given a job He'd managed to be taken on at Stanfast. It was a hard, dirty and smelly job but better than nothing.

For a while, he had been able to stay with his friend. But now he was worried. His mate's wife was expecting another baby. They needed his room. He'd have to find another place to stay during the week when he was at Lancaster.

"You don't happen to know of anybody do you?" he asked, as he sipped the last few drops of his tea.

Nan thought hard and had an idea. "I can't say now, but if you like to call again on Monday night, I might be able to help you." What she had in mind was her son Gordon's spare space in his new house. They only used their big sitting-room on Sundays. They lit a fire in there once a week to keep the room aired.

Hadn't Gordon told her that they were still trying to furnish that room properly? Hadn't she seen in Procter-and-Birkbeck's auction rooms a nice put-u-up? If they could acquire that cheaply, Mr. Mort could sleep on it and be their lodger.

It would be ideal. He'd have his own room for sleeping and eating. Most of the time, they wouldn't know he was there. Gordon had told her that her daughter-in-law was always saying she was bored. A bit of extra work would be good for her. They'd hardly be inconvenienced: he'd be away at the weekends and the money would come in very handy. She knew that they were still hard up. The mortgage on that fine new house of theirs was a blooming sight more than their old rent in Edward Street! It was a drain on their resources.

When Gordon called to see her the next afternoon, she put her idea to him. He looked a bit doubtful, but he said he'd see what Margaret thought about it.

Nan warned him, "You'll have to tell me what you decide tomorrow. I told the man that I'd let him know one way or the other when he calls on Monday."

"All right, mother," responded Gordon, "I was going to bring the children to see you anyway. I'll be here about eleven o'clock."

Margaret thought that it was an excellent idea and Mr. Mort was delighted with the offer. He went to see the Watsons on the Tuesday evening. An agreement was reached.

On the Thursday, Nan, armed with the five pounds which Mr. Mort had given her made a successful bid of one pound for the put-u-up and paid half-a-crown, to have it delivered to Sefton Drive.

Mr Mort moved in with the Watsons the first week of January. It was 1939 and more and more ominous signs indicated that war was not far away. However, for the time being, everything seemed to be going well for the family. The Watsons were prospering. After two weeks of money from Mr. Mort, Margaret felt well off. She was able to repay Nan the money for the purchase of the put-u-up.

The second week of January the new neighbours moved in next door. They quickly became good friends. And it was to stay that way for many years, through good times and bad.

Their surname was Martin. Hugh and Margo were about ten years older than Gordon and Margaret. The funny thing was, they never referred to them by their Christian names. Perhaps it was because they were from a class whose standing was slightly higher than the Watsons. They definitely voted Conservative because they put a leaflet in their window when there was a local election.

Gordon was eager to do the same for Labour but only succeeded after an argument with Margaret. "They'll think we're being awkward," she said. "They'll think we're only doing it because they've put one up for the Tories."

Their son John was three years older than Michael. Their daughter Doreen was two years older than Gwyn. John, like Gwyn, had been a delicate infant and he was never really well.

The Saturday that they moved in was a cold winter's day and their electricity supply had not been turned on. Margaret looked after their children for them. They played with Michael and Gwyn. She plied their parents with cups of tea and with soup at lunchtime. The Martins' electricity was turned on at the mains by teatime. The children went back to their new home. Michael and Gwyn expressed their delight with their new friends.

It meant that they would have someone to play with, whenever they felt like it. They still saw the Matthews each weekend despite the fencing round the school field. Locked gates had been erected. There was no neutral ground, no half-way house where they could meet easily. In any case, it was dark by the time the boys arrived home from school. Although it was a walk of nearly a mile to go and see Sheila was much nearer than before their move. Margaret found the time to go there some Wednesday afternoons. Because of having another baby, Sheila's need for company and baby-minding was greater than Margaret's.

For his part, Michael felt his life was coming better all the time. He still had to cope with the bullies at school but an ally had appeared and eased that. An older boy, Mark Gallant, a giant of a lad, had started at St. Mary's after Christmas. He lived at the top end of the Ryelands Estate.

On his first day at his new school, Mark was walking behind Michael and his tormentors. It was the beginning of the Spring term. He saw four boys grab Michael as soon as they crossed the road by the bridge. He watched them frog march their prisoner to the rough ground that led to their homes. He caught up with the gang. Their leader had twisted one of Michael's arms up behind his back and was pulling on it.

"Ow! You're hurting me," Michael squealed.

"Who's a mummy's boy?" snarled one of the lads.

"Leave him alone!" commanded Mark, pushing one of the group aside. They all moved away from the weeping Michael. They looked at Mark sullenly.

One of them said, "He's a softy. He deserves it."

"And you deserve this," retorted Mark. He gave the speaker a push which sent him sprawling to the ground.

"Now, who's next?"

None of the group said anything.

"What's he done to you?"

"Nothing," said one of the boys.

"Well, leave him alone then. Do you hear me?"

The boys muttered amongst themselves.

"If you don't, I'll get you. Do you understand?"

" I'll put my big brother on you," protested one of the boys.

" Oh yeah!" Mark snapped back. He smacked the kid across the face.

"Now you've got a reason! Tell your big brother I gave you one across your kisser. Tell him I'm ready to meet him any time he likes."

"And you," he said, pointing at Michael, "On your way! Right?"

"Yes," said Michael, wiping his eyes with his hanky. He made off towards home. As he went, he heard Mark saying, "Now listen to me, you lot!"

Michael didn't hear what Mark said to them. But they never troubled him again, apart from pulling faces and making fists from a distance in the school yard at playtime.

One evening, after the children had gone to bed, Margaret noticed the light on in a bedroom next door. It was a comfort to have good neighbours.

She heard Mr. Mort going upstairs, quietly, to the bathroom, running the taps and coming back down again, quietly, to his room.

She turned to Gordon and said, "Aren't we lucky? We've the house we've always wanted. Gwyn's not been ill, so far, this winter. Michael seems a lot happier at school. The children have nice friends to play with. Mr Mort's a good lodger and pays in advance. It's too good to be true. We've everything we ever wanted."

"Yes love," Gordon agreed. "We are very lucky."

But he still felt something of a void inside himself and longed for Beth to be in his life. He had many blessings, he thought, but he guessed it was too much to expect to have everything he desired. It was too much to hope for, to have her too. He found himself thinking about her too much of his time, especially when he was bending over his roller at work. Then reality would intervene.

"I'm just one big stupid twit!"