The Mersey Daughter (Empire Street #3)(33)
Gloria gasped inadvertently when she saw the devastation before them. The road had opened out and now they had a clear view looking along the waterfront, all the way down to the docks. She put her hand to her throat. ‘Oh Frank, I hope everyone is all right out in Bootle. Maybe I should try to get back to see Mam and Dad. It doesn’t look good that way, does it?’ She shivered in sudden fear.
Frank took hold of her arm. ‘Don’t think about it. There’s nothing you can do one way or the other. I considered going there as well, but we’d only be in the way. They’ll still be clearing up any damage, there won’t be any transport for the likes of us, and we’d be better off staying out of it. Sorry, that sounds harsh, but it’s true.’
Gloria gulped. ‘You’re right, of course. It would be selfish to put extra strain on the emergency services by adding to the crowd.’ She wobbled again on her high heels. ‘Sorry. I don’t know what came over me just then.’ She shook her hair in the breeze that was coming off the river. Then she pivoted around and pointed. ‘Look, Frank. Look up there.’
‘What?’ For a moment he couldn’t see what she meant. Then he followed the line of her index finger and the penny dropped.
Despite the devastation all around, there, on top of the Royal Liver Building, were the famous statues of the Liver Birds, standing guard over the city, undamaged and intact. Gloria tugged on his arm, and he could see there were tears in her eyes.
‘They’re still there, Frank. Somehow Hitler didn’t get them. They’re still there.’
Silently, he nodded.
‘It’s an omen, isn’t it?’ she said, staring in wonder. ‘I know it sounds stupid but I really feel it is. They are up there; it’s almost as if they are protecting us. It shows we won’t be beaten. Hitler can drop all the bombs he likes, but the people of Merseyside will come through. It’s a miracle how they haven’t been destroyed but they are still there.’
Frank blinked hard. It was miraculous that the graceful creatures hadn’t been toppled in the overwhelming force of the raid. Maybe Gloria was right. Part of him said it was superstitious nonsense, but the other part of him agreed wholeheartedly that these, the very symbol of the city, were a source of strength and hope for all who saw them.
‘We will come through,’ he assured her. ‘It’ll take more than nights of bombing to defeat us. One way or another, we will come through this.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kitty snatched up the letter from her pigeonhole, recognising the writing. She decided to take it back to her dormitory and read it in peace so that she could savour it. Then she could put her feet up at the same time – a welcome break, as they were being worked harder and harder, the sessions of cramming in the various training establishments growing longer.
Other letters she’d received recently weren’t so welcome. There had been no definite news about the destruction of her home city in the newspapers or on the radio, just reports that somewhere in the northwest had been targeted. But rumours soon flew about, and she had realised with a sinking heart that Merseyside had taken a pasting. Then came the letters from home.
Rita wrote to her sadly that old Mrs Ashby had been killed in the big raid. She’d been too frail to make it out of her house, and Dolly had found her, had tried to get her out, but it had been too late. A piece of burning debris must have landed near her back window and set fire to the flaking wooden frame, as Dolly reckoned it had been smoke inhalation that had done the damage, though the whole house was now uninhabitable. Rita reported that Violet had been the most upset of anyone, even though she’d known the old lady for less time than the rest of them. Apparently they’d become quite close when Violet had helped her with the shopping. Kitty sighed in sorrow. She’d been fond of her old neighbour, and Empire Street wouldn’t be the same without her. Nancy and Mrs Kerrigan had had a very narrow escape getting to the shelter, and Mrs Kerrigan had hurt her leg, and was now going round on crutches claiming to be a victim of the war just like her poor imprisoned son. Nancy was consequently spending even more time at her parents’ as she couldn’t stand her mother-in-law’s moaning.
Sarah had been a heroine, running the nurses’ station single-handedly for a while before they got reinforcements to her after her colleague was killed. ‘I can’t believe she’s only seventeen,’ Rita had written. Yes, thought Kitty, but war meant Sarah’s last years of girlhood had been taken from her. She’d had to bear responsibilities nobody could have dreamt of. Yet again Kitty thanked her lucky stars that Tommy was safe out on the farm. Otherwise he’d have no doubt tried to be in the thick of it, collecting shrapnel souvenirs as the docks burnt about him.
Now Kitty hurried along the corridor, careful not to be seen running, and rushed up the stairs to her sanctuary. She had a precious couple of hours free, and she was going to relish the chance to read her letter at leisure for once. Even more unusually, the dormitory was empty. She flung herself on her bunk and ripped open the envelope.
Elliott’s slanted handwriting stared up at her, beautifully neat by most people’s standards, but she knew it well enough by now to realise that he’d written this in a hurry. Time was always tight for him. During the week of raids at the beginning of May he’d worked virtually non-stop, snatching brief bouts of sleep at the hospital, never making it back to his billet. She gave a whoop of joy as she read the first paragraph. His devotion in that week had been recognised and he was being given leave. Would she like it if he came to London?