The Good Left Undone(78)
Liverpool was an important military hub on the northwestern coast of England. If you weren’t feeding sailors, sewing their uniforms, or housing them, you were not considered a loyal subject. Liverpool was no longer a city of working people going about their business; instead, it had become a hub for the business of war.
There were efforts made to preserve the grandeur of the Arandora Star and her ilk, while using her size and power to serve the Allied cause. Hand-carved mahogany trim and William Morris wallpaper had been covered with thick cotton batting. The extravagant crystal chandeliers, which once graced the staterooms like jewels, hung from the ceilings carefully preserved in muslin beehives. Removal would have meant a rewiring of the ship’s electrical grid, and there was not time for it. The remainder of architectural and decorative splendor was removed, with the exception of the captain’s private dining room, which remained intact.
Three boys from Liverpool, around the age of twelve, slipped along the pier in the darkness carrying their BB guns. They moved swiftly, crouching behind the piles, motioning to one another to lie low until they agreed to leapfrog forward to the next hiding spot, with the goal of reaching the Arandora Star.
The boys spied as several men hammered the spiked border of the final sheet of barbed-wire fencing on the lower deck. The boys peered up and saw the upper decks swathed in similar barbed-wire fencing. The wide decks, once open and filled with chaise longues, where passengers had played cards and taken the sun, were now empty cages. Soon the posh ocean liner would be completely encased in mesh as though she, too, were a prisoner.
The boys heard the murmurs of the workers as they left the ship and departed for the pub. The ruffians waited until the only sound they heard was the Arandora Star herself as she heaved and creaked, trapped in the tight slip like a gray whale.
One boy whispered to his pals, “The grandest one of all.”
“Gonna fill it with dirty Tallies ’n’ send them all back to It-lee where they belong.”
“How do you know?”
“My ole dad told us that they’re gonna round them up and ship them out. They stole our jobs. Thieves.”
“Is your dad working?”
The boy shook his head that he was not.
“There’s your trouble.”
The boys hid behind the gate on the dock and took in the changes on the exterior of the Arandora.
“They wrapped ’er in wire so the Tallies can’t jump.”
One of the boys took aim at the first row of lifeboats pressed against the side of the ship with his BB gun. “This is for my uncle, who ain’t had a job in a year. Tallies took his place on the assembly line at Evermeade.” He aimed and pulled the trigger. A ping could be heard as the BB bounced off the fence of the deck.
“Blighter,” the red-haired boy teased his friend. “You’re a bad shot.”
“Take yours, then,” the boy said defensively.
The red-haired boy took his time. He squinted over the barrel of the gun and followed the red line along the ballast of the lifeboat suspended off the stern. The boy steadied his shot and took aim. He fired. The BB hit the inflated rubber ballast dead center. The rubber lifeboat began to deflate. “That’s for your uncle.”
The boys popped off several lifeboats, taking aim at one all at once. The BBs hit the rubber simultaneously as the boys coordinated their shots.
When the boys heard the sound the rubber lifeboat made as it deflated, they laughed. They lowered their weapons. They forgot about deflating the lifeboats and rendering them useless. The red-haired boy became giddy; he lost his balance, tripped, and tumbled down the embankment between the dock and the landing. The other two boys shinnied down the hill after him, laughing all the way.
CHAPTER 30
Glasgow
JUNE 10, 1940
John and Domenica had been staying as newlyweds in the guest lodge on the grounds of the convent of Notre Dame de Namur at the invitation of the Sisters since they returned from their wedding. Domenica continued her work as school nurse while her husband made himself useful.
Sister Matelda waited as Domenica took care of a student who had cut her hand on the playground. Domenica looked up and knew instantly what the nun had come to tell her.
“He did it?”
Sister Matelda nodded. “Mussolini declared war on England and France in an alliance with Germany.”
Domenica’s heart sank. The news meant her husband would soon ship out. Her parents would remain in hiding. Families were splintered and friends were scattered, and no one was safe. The honeymoon was over, and there was no way to know what life would be on the other side.
June 11, 1940
Mattiuzzi looked around the apartment above his jewelry shop in the west end of Glasgow. His wife, Carolina, had left a teacup and saucer on the table and a hot kettle on the stove. He touched the kettle to make sure his wife had followed his instructions. She had. It was warm to the touch. He turned on the light by the window and lifted the shade by half before sprinting down the stairs to the shop.
Piccolo locked the display cases filled with replicas of the real jewelry his father had hidden weeks before. He cocked his head and looked up. “I hear them, Papa. Hurry.”
“Go,” Mattiuzzi whispered before turning off all the lights in the shop and lowering the shades. He had gone to the back room when he remembered the gold watches. He slipped back to the front of the shop in the dark and searched for the key. He remembered it was in his pocket. He trembled as he opened the drawer. He could hear the mob on the next block. He heard their chant and the smashing of glass. They got the Franzettis.