Also by Katie Flynn
A Liverpool Lass
The Girl from Penny Lane
Liverpool Taffy
The Mersey Girls
Strawberry Fields
Rainbow’s End
Rose of Tralee
No Silver Spoon
Polly’s Angel
The Girl from Seaforth Sands
The Liverpool Rose
Poor Little Rich Girl
The Bad Penny
Down Daisy Street
A Kiss and a Promise
Two Penn’orth of Sky
A Long and Lonely Road
The Cuckoo Child
Darkest Before Dawn
Orphans of the Storm
Little Girl Lost
Beyond the Blue Hills
Forgotten Dreams
Sunshine and Shadows
Such Sweet Sorrow
A Mother’s Hope
In Time for Christmas
Heading Home
A Mistletoe Kiss
The Lost Days of Summer
Christmas Wishes
The Runaway
A Sixpenny Christmas
The Forget-Me-Not Summer
A Christmas to Remember
Time to Say Goodbye
A Family Christmas
A Summer Promise
When Christmas Bells Ring
An Orphan’s Christmas
A Christmas Candle
Christmas at Tuppenny Corner
A Mother’s Love
A Christmas Gift
Liverpool Daughter
Under the Mistletoe
Over the Rainbow
White Christmas
The Rose Queen
The Winter Rose
A Rose and a Promise
Winter’s Orphan
A Mother’s Secret
The Winter Runaway
Forgotten Bride
The Winter Bride
Available by Katie Flynn writing as Judith Saxton
You Are My Sunshine
First Love, Last Love
Someone Special
Still Waters
A Family Affair
Jenny Alone
Chasing Rainbows
All My Fortunes
Sophie We’ll Meet Again
Harbour Hill
The Arcade
The Pride
The Glory
The Splendour
Full Circle
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First published 2026 001
Copyright © Katie Flynn, 2026
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To my beauitful nieces, Amelie and Mia, with lots of love xxx
Prologue
april 10 th , 1919
Her cheeks wet from crying, Nell Tanner hooked her arm through her mother’s as they watched the body of her father Herbert being lowered into the unmarked grave.
‘Hardly befitting a war hero,’ she sniffled, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief.
‘And left to me he’d have had the grandest spot in the cemetery, but things like that cost money, which we simply don’t have,’ her mother, Martha, murmured quietly.
Nell’s eyes darted towards the gravedigger, who was waiting for them to leave so that he could get on with the work at hand. Being local to their community, she had no doubt that he’d have been privy to the rumours that surrounded her father’s demise. ‘They say as how them that survived are the lucky ones, but those who say that know nothin’, in my opinion.’
Martha saw the gravedigger’s jaw twitch, acknowledgement that he had heard her daughter’s words,
yet he said nothing, a clear indication in Martha’s mind that he disagreed with Nell’s statement. Her eyes narrowing, she gave her daughter’s arm a gentle squeeze. ‘C’mon, queen, it’s time we were off.’
Nell cast a scathing glance towards the gravedigger, who was keeping his head lowered as if he was unaware of their presence. It was folk like him that drove Dad to go to war in the first place, she thought bitterly. But for them my father would’ve stuck to his beliefs and he’d still be alive today. She continued to glare at the gravedigger, who made the mistake of breathing a heavy sigh. She stiffened. How dare he act as though he were finding the whole affair boring? Taking a step towards him, she spoke through gritted teeth. ‘They say you should walk a mile in another man’s shoes before you judge him. Cos it’s all too easy to cast aspersions when you’re sat at home in front of the fire, with a warm cup of cocoa and a copy of the Echo.’ She was pleased to see the gravedigger’s cheeks whiten as her words washed over him, but leaning up from the handle of his shovel he looked her square in the eye.
‘I may’ve been too old to do me bit this time, but that never stopped me in the past!’
‘Then you of all people should know the effect that war has on folk,’ said Nell grimly. ‘Especially men like my father,’ she added, and watched his eyes glaze over, suggesting that her thoughts were of no interest to him.
‘Don’t waste your breath, queen,’ murmured Martha, taking her arm to walk her away.
‘You’d think I’d have learned by now,’ said Nell bitterly.
‘Learned?’
‘That there’s none so blind as those who will not see. He knows I’m right, he just doesn’t want to admit it.’
‘Or mebbe he prefers to leave his head in the sand, and if he can manage to get through each day by doin’ that then more power to him. It’s better than the alternative – nobody wants that.’
The gravedigger watched the two women until they were out of sight before ramming his spade into the loose earth. Why didn’t people just leave the past where it belonged, that’s what he’d like to know. It never does no one any good rakin’ over what’s dead and buried, he thought bitterly as he proceeded to shovel the earth over the hemp-wrapped body of Herbert Tanner. Relivin’ the past is unhealthy. It’s . . . Before he could stop himself, he found his thoughts wandering back to the war of 1888 and the horrors he had witnessed. Doubling his efforts to turn his thoughts back to the present, he whistled a tuneless melody in an attempt to drown out the screams that still echoed in his ears.
Chapter One
june 27 th , 1915
The sun was shining brilliantly on Nell’s last day in school and she was delighted to find her parents waiting for her outside the wrought iron gates. ‘What are the two of you doin’ here?’ she trilled as she left her friends to join them.
‘We thought it might be nice to celebrate your last day as a schoolgirl by goin’ out for us teas,’ said Herbert cheerfully. ‘How about we go to Blacklers – I know how much you like it there.’
Nell gave a cry of joy as her father looped his arm across her shoulders. ‘That would be wonderful!’
Martha slipped her arm through the crook of Nell’s. ‘How does it feel to leave your schooldays behind at long last?’
‘Exciting! I can’t wait to begin work down the laundry this comin’ Monday.’
Martha chuckled mirthlessly. ‘I remember sayin’ summat along them lines when I first started, but
you’ll soon learn that the life of a workin’ woman is very different from that of a schoolchild.’
‘I should hope so too!’ cried Nell, who had been eager to leave her education behind. ‘Sittin’ in a classroom might teach you a thing or two, but it doesn’t earn you any money. And I’d far rather do an honest day’s work for a decent wage than learn maths and spellin’, neither of which’ll ever do me any good outside of the classroom.’
‘Money isn’t everythin’,’ said Herbert as they set off for Blacklers. ‘A good education is invaluable no matter what you might think, and whilst you may not need it down the laundry you’ll need it for other things.’
‘Such as?’
‘Signin’ your first rental agreement, for one.’
‘But I’ve been able to sign my name for years,’ Nell protested.
‘Maybe so, but you’ll have to be able to read the agreement through before you sign it, else you could be agreein’ to anythin’,’ Herbert pointed out. ‘For all you know you could be signin’ your life away.’
‘All right, so maybe for things like that,’ she reluctantly conceded.
‘And not just that, but other things too. For example, how will you know your wage packet is correct if you don’t know how to add and subtract?’
‘Alright, but why algebra? I’m never goin’ to use that!’ She looked to her father. ‘It’s not as if I’m goin’ to be a clerk like you.’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Martha put in. ‘You’d be amazed what you can turn your hand to when you try.’
‘Maybe if you’re a feller,’ said Nell dejectedly. ‘But us girls don’t get the same opportunities as the boys.’
Herbert gave her shoulders a one-armed squeeze. ‘You’re as good – if not better – than most of the fellers your age.’
‘You’re biased,’ she said smiling.
‘Of course I am! It’s a father’s prerogative,’ said Herbert with a wink.
‘Doesn’t make any difference when it comes to the jobs on offer, though,’ said Nell, gloomy again. ‘If you’re a woman it’s just cookin’, cleanin’ or sewin’, but men can do just about anythin’ that takes their fancy.’
‘Maybe the war will change all that,’ Martha said hopefully. ‘Goodness only knows there has to be summat good that comes from this horrid affair.’
The mention of war appeared to brighten Nell considerably.
‘I’m goin’ to look for a job in one of the munitions factories as soon I can. They pay a lot more than they do down the laundry.’
Herbert’s eyes popped. ‘I should hope so too! Laundry work is nowhere near as dangerous, and it doesn’t turn your hair yellow, neither!’
‘Nor is it anywhere near as excitin’, and as for turnin’ your hair yellow, surely that’s got to be cheaper than tryin’ to dye it!’ she finished, tongue-in-cheek.
Herbert shook his head. ‘Dicin’ with death is not my idea of excitin’. And why you’d want to turn your delightfully dark locks yellow is beyond me!’
‘I’m only teasin’ about the bleach, but we have to
arm our men, otherwise we’ll lose the war and then where will we be?’
Herbert sighed. ‘There are no winners when it comes to war, just survivors.’
Nell furrowed her brow. ‘Of course there’s a winner! And I’m hopin’ it’ll be us.’
He pulled his arm from her shoulders to open the door of the department store. ‘I suppose needs must when the devil drives, but given my way there wouldn’t be a war at all.’
‘I think we all wish that,’ said Martha, ‘but the decision wasn’t ours to make.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘When one country invades another you only have two choices: turn your back and hope that war doesn’t come to your door, or stand up and fight for what you believe to be right.’
Nell turned to her father, who looked deep in thought. ‘Dad?’
‘War is never a good thing,’ he said decidedly. ‘Now, with that bein’ said, what do you fancy to eat?’
‘Cottage pie,’ said Nell promptly. ‘Blacklers do the best cottage pie this side of the Mersey.’
‘Then cottage pie it is, and if you’ve room for a puddin’ . . .?’
Nell feigned shock. ‘There’s always room for puddin’! I thought everybody knew that.’
Herbert chuckled softly. ‘Let me guess. Crumble and custard?’
She licked her lips. ‘My mouth’s waterin’ just thinkin’ about it!’
Despite the government’s not wanting to widen conscription to married men, Herbert Tanner had been given his papers just two days before his daughter’s fifteenth birthday.
‘Tomorrer?’ cried Nell, her face masking her disappointment as her mother broke the news.
‘I’m afraid so, queen,’ Martha murmured.
She looked past her mother to her father, who was standing in the doorway of their kitchen, his features already darkening with the enormity of what awaited. ‘Can you not stay until after my birthday? It’s only one more day. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you explained it to them.’
Determined to make their last couple of days as pleasurable as possible, Herbert spoke slowly as he rubbed his fingers across his chin. ‘I’m afraid they won’t agree to that, but how about we celebrate your birthday a day early? That way we can hit two birds with one stone.’
She raised a quizzical brow. ‘Two birds?’
‘Your birthday, and my goin’-away party,’ said Herbert with forced triumph. ‘We can make a real occasion of it.’
Nell smiled, if only for her father’s sake. ‘I think that’s a lovely idea.’ She looked to Martha. ‘What do you think, Mam?’
The thought of her husband marching off to war was not something Martha wanted to celebrate, but she quickly drew her lips into a smile. ‘I think it’s a
splendid idea, but we’ll have to check the cupboard first, because I’m fairly certain we’re runnin’ low on jam, and we’ll need that for fillin’ the cake.’
‘My mouth’s waterin’ at the very thought,’ said Herbert, ‘and even though I’d love to stay and help I’d best go and tell Mr Benson that I won’t be goin’ back to work. It’ll be leavin’ him short-staffed, but there’s not a lot I can do about it.’
‘Perhaps if he were to tell the army that he couldn’t manage without you . . .’ Nell began hopefully.
He smiled. ‘A lovely idea, queen, but I’m afraid it won’t make any difference. They need soldiers more than they do clerks.’
‘Surely it’s got to be worth a try?’
‘There’s no point, queen.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Nell bade her father goodbye, still listening with half an ear to her mother, who was going through the store cupboard checking for cake ingredients. Her parents had always spoken of the war in grave tones, but the boys in the street thought it was exciting, saying that they wished they were old enough to do their bit, and boasting that some of their siblings had lied about their age in order to be accepted.
‘My brother Billy reckons he’ll have more medals than toes when he gets back,’ Alfie Littler had announced proudly whilst chatting to his pals at the tram stop. Nell had seen one of their old teachers, a woman by the name of Miss Dalton, blinking furiously before fishing a handkerchief from her pocket, whilst Alfie pretended to fire a gun at one of his pals.
Martha’s voice cut across her thoughts, bringing her back to the present. ‘Did you hear what I just said?’
‘Sorry, Mam. I was thinkin’ about summat Alfie Littler was sayin’ about his brother the other day.’
‘Oh?’
Nell relayed the story, finishing with: ‘Do you think he’s right? About the medals, I mean?’
Martha turned her back to her daughter as she double-checked the shelves. ‘I expect a lot of men will come back with medals,’ she said quietly.
‘Well, if Alfie’s brother’s goin’ to come back with more medals than toes, Dad’ll come back with more than his fingers and toes put together!’
‘I don’t care about medals,’ said Martha as she handed her daughter the flour, ‘so long as he comes back.’
Nell lowered her gaze. ‘Don’t say that.’
Wishing she had thought before speaking, Martha swiftly apologised. ‘Sorry, queen. I’m sure your father will be home before we can say goose!’ She placed the gathered packets on the kitchen table. ‘I was right in thinkin’ we had everythin’ except jam, so we’ll get this lot measured and mixed and pop it into the oven to bake, and when that’s done you can nip over to Mr Gardener’s whilst it cools and see if his wife’s got any of that delicious blackberry jam left!’
As soon as Herbert entered Mr Benson’s office, one look at his employee’s face told the older man that something was dreadfully wrong. ‘Herbert?’ he said tentatively.
Herbert began to speak, then cleared his throat and tried again. ‘I’ve been called up,’ he managed at last.
Mr Benson immediately dropped his gaze. Taking a deep breath, he looked back up. ‘Bad luck, old chap. When are you off?’
‘Tomorrow. I know it’s short notice, so I don’t mind sortin’ out the Clarksons’ ledgers before I leave.’
Mr Benson waved a dismissive hand. ‘Don’t you worry about things like that; I’ll manage somehow. Just you concentrate on spendin’ every minute with that lovely little family of yours.’
‘I will, and thank you.’
Mr Benson was gathering a sheaf of papers as he continued, ‘Did you not think to tell them you were a pacifist?’
Herbert gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘And wind up in jail – if not worse?’
‘They wouldn’t do that,’ said Mr Benson, although he didn’t sound too convinced.
‘They’re desperate, and you know what they say about desperate people,’ said Herbert simply. ‘And besides, I want to make things as easy for Martha and Nell as I can, not subject them to hateful persecution for my beliefs.’
‘You’re a brave man, Herbert Tanner.’
Herbert gave his boss a wan smile. ‘Let’s hope everyone thinks the same way as you.’
The bell over the grocer’s door announced Nell’s presence as she entered the shop. ‘Hello, queen!’ boomed Mr Gardener. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘We’re makin’ a cake, and as Mam’s nearly out of Mrs Gardener’s blackberry jam she’s sent me to fetch a jar. Have you got any left?’
‘I think you’re in luck!’ said Mr Gardener, turning to fetch down a jar of the jam from one of the shelves. Holding it up for her inspection, he asked, ‘Will that do you?’
‘That will do nicely, thank you!’
His walrus moustache turned up at the corners as he smiled kindly. ‘And will the young lady be requirin’ anythin’ else?’
‘No thanks. Could you add that to Mam’s tab, please?’
‘I can indeed.’ He made a note of the debt. ‘Is the cake for a special occasion?’
‘Two!’
Mrs Gardener, who was weighing out potatoes for another customer at the far end of the counter, raised her brow. ‘Two?’
‘My birthday, and Dad’s leavin’ party.’
Mrs Gardener apologised to her customer as one of the potatoes she’d been about to put on the scales left her hand and rolled across the floor. ‘Sorry, Mrs Barnsley. Leavin’ party, Nell? Where’s he off to, then?’ she asked, fishing the potato out from under the counter.
‘He’s been conscripted into the army, and they want him to leave tomorrow with everyone else, which is the day before my birthday, so he suggested we celebrate a little early this year.’
Mrs Barnsley, one of the Tanners’ next-door neighbours, tutted loudly, muttering, ‘An’ if you believe
that you’ll believe anything,’ but Mrs Gardener scowled reprovingly, and she said no more.
Uncertain as to what Mrs Barnsley had meant by her comment, Nell eyed her curiously. ‘What do you mean—’ she began, only to be cut short as Mr Gardener handed her the jar of jam.
‘As you’re celebratin’ your birthday a little early this year, I’ll take this opportunity to wish you many happy returns,’ he said warmly, although Nell noticed he kept flashing Mrs Barnsley furtive glances as though fearing she might add something else.
Distracted by the change in conversation, Nell smiled brightly. ‘Thanks, Mr Gardener.’
‘And pass on our best to your parents, won’t you?’ added Mrs Gardener. She cast Mrs Barnsley a warning glance before continuing, ‘And please be sure to give your father our very best wishes.’
Nell nodded, saying, ‘Will do!’ and bade the Gardeners, goodbye. Carrying the jam with care, she hurried down the street, her thoughts fixed on the double celebration. We shall make it the best birthday ever, so that Dad can think about it when he’s . . . She hesitated. Where would her father be? She knew the war had something to do with the Germans invading Belgium, but was that where her father was headed? Determined to ask him when she got in, her thoughts turned to Mrs Barnsley and what she could have meant when she said that people would believe anything. Believe what exactly? She chided herself inwardly. Mrs Barnsley was known amongst their neighbours to be a pessimistic, sour-faced old
busybody who never had a good word to say about anyone. She was just bein’ her usual miserable self, thought Nell. She’s always been a troublemaker has that one. And with that thought clear in her mind, she called out: ‘I’m home!’ and stepped through the front door of their house.
The birthday celebration had certainly been full of love and plenty of laughter – a stark contrast to the following day, when Martha and Nell were bidding a tearful goodbye to Herbert.
‘Be a good girl for your mam,’ Herbert murmured as he kissed his daughter a final goodbye on the doorstep.
‘Always,’ came Nell’s almost whispered response.
Martha, who had been doing her best to fight back the tears, could do so no longer. ‘Just you take care of yourself, Herbert Tanner. Don’t you go bein’ a hero!’ She chose to ignore the hovering Mrs Barnsley, who muttered ‘Fat chance of that’ beneath her breath, something which had fortunately escaped Herbert’s ears.
Taking his wife in one last embrace, Herbert said, ‘Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be back before you can say knife!’ before hurrying off to join the others.
‘Dad’ll be home before we know it,’ Nell assured her mother as they waved goodbye. ‘This time next year we’ll be holdin’ his welcome back party, just you wait and see!’
The words had barely left her lips when Mrs Barnsley tutted loudly, just as she had in the grocers the
previous day. Annoyed, Nell had turned to ask why she was acting in such a manner when her mother began to speak.
‘Ignore her, queen,’ she said as she wiped away her tears. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s talkin’ about.’
Raising her eyebrows, Mrs Barnsley came over, her arms folded firmly across her chest. She viewed Nell down the length of her long, broad nose, then switched her attention to Martha. ‘So the rumours aren’t true then?’ she said, a sceptical look on her face.
‘What rumours?’ Nell wanted to know, but Martha spoke over her.
‘I don’t know who you’ve been talkin’ to,’ she began, but whatever she was about to say was lost when Mrs Barnsley cut across her in a loud penetrating voice that brought the attention of passers-by.
‘Them what’ve heard it straight from the horse’s mouth,’ she said. Flicking her attention back to Nell, she pressed on. ‘By all accounts, your father didn’t sign up of his own free will but waited until he was conscripted.’
A frown furrowing her brow, Nell attempted to ask why that mattered, but her mother was already speaking, her eyes flashing angrily as they locked with Mrs Barnsley’s. ‘And what’s wrong with that?’ she said tautly.
Mrs Barnsley retaliated with equal anger. ‘My Peter didn’t wait to be conscripted; he signed on the dotted line as soon as they called for volunteers.’
‘Your point bein’?’
‘That we’d have had to wait from now until kingdom come for your husband to volunteer. He might call himself a pacifist, but he’s just a coward.’
Martha barked at Nell to go inside. Nell protested, but her mother thrust her finger towards their front door.
‘Inside. Now!’
‘Don’t want her to hear the truth, I shouldn’t wonder,’ Mrs Barnsley muttered through thin lips.
‘Lies, more like,’ snapped Martha. ‘My Herbert’s no coward, and I’d appreciate it if you kept your vicious tongue in your head where it belongs!’
‘Not vicious, truthful, and that’s not just my opinion neither,’ said Mrs Barnsley. ‘Cos they all think the same as me.’
Distressed, Martha looked to where a handful of neighbours had gathered to listen, but now quickly averted their eyes.
‘Then they’re wrong, same as you,’ she rallied, adding for clarity, ‘cos there’s nowt wrong wi’ waitin’ to be conscripted. He’s still gone to war, same as your Peter. And you’d do well to remember that the next time you try to brand my husband a coward.’
‘I only speak as I see fit,’ sniffed the other woman. ‘They always say as a person shows their true colours when times are hard, and that’s certainly true of your Herbert.’
Realising it was pointless to continue a conversation with someone who’d clearly made up their mind already, Martha turned on her heel, but that didn’t stop Mrs Barnsley from continuing to voice
her opinion. ‘Pacifist my eye,’ she said bitterly. ‘He’s a coward through and through.’
Ignoring the cruel words, which had only been said to rile her further, Martha swept inside the house, where, to her dismay, she found Nell waiting for her, a confused look on her face.
‘What’s a pacifist?
Martha explained, and Nell wrinkled her brow.
‘But surely everyone’s opposed to war?’
‘The Germans certainly aren’t.’
‘But if he doesn’t believe in war, then why has he gone?’
Martha smoothed her hand over Nell’s jet-black locks. ‘Because he had no choice.’
‘Of course he had!’ Nell protested. ‘All he had to do was tell them that he wouldn’t go and his reasons why. It’s not as if they could make him . . .’ seeing her mother’s brow rise, she continued hesitantly, ‘. . . could they?’
‘I’m afraid they can,’ said Martha. ‘Your father only had two choices: join the army or face the consequences, and as he had no intention of spendin’ the war in jail – at best – he chose the former.’
‘Jail? But what would be the point in lockin’ him up?’
‘To deter others from sayin’ the same,’ said Martha briefly, before moving the conversation on. ‘But never mind any of that now. We just have to hope that this rotten war is a storm in a teacup and those that started it will come to their senses! As for Mrs Barnsley, I suggest you ignore the likes of
people like her, cos they don’t know what they’re talkin’ about.’
‘I will, don’t you worry. And to think I thought she was a friend of ours,’ Nell said, continuing peevishly, ‘albeit a miserable one.’
She was, thought Martha, and deep down she was beginning to wonder just how many of their friends would choose to see things in the same way as their neighbour. Poor old Herbert, marchin’ off to fight in a war that he doesn’t believe in, and for what? To save his family from those who would persecute us for his beliefs, and yet it’s happenin’ despite his actions. Hoping that Nell hadn’t heard Mrs Barnsley’s last comment, Martha prayed that those responsible for the rumours would have enough compassion to not voice their opinions to a child. Although if Mrs Barnsley was anything to go by, Nell was going to have to develop a thick skin.
Nell and Martha were making their way home from their shift at the laundry when Martha noticed Nell examining her pruned fingers.
‘The sooner I can get a job as a munitionette the better.’
Martha raised her brow. ‘And what makes you think that workin’ in a munitions factory will be preferable to workin’ at the laundry?’
‘I don’t, but at least they pay better! Plus I’d really feel like I was doin’ summat to help Dad come home sooner if I helped with the war effort.’
‘I suppose I can see your reasonin’, but I’m rather hopin’ the war will be over before too much longer!’
‘I hope so too, but I’m prepared to step up and do my bit in the meantime no matter the danger – a bit like Dad, really.’
Martha hooked her arm through her daughter’s. The thought of losing her husband in combat was bad enough; the last thing she wanted was for Nell to place herself in unnecessary danger. ‘But why the munition factories? There are plenty of other jobs you could be doin’ that would help our boys.’
‘Such as?’
‘How about workin’ on a farm? I hear the farmers are short on workers what with the war an all.’
Nell wrinkled her nose. ‘I wouldn’t feel right leavin’ you on your own with only our so-called neighbours for company.’
‘Don’t you be worryin’ over me, I’ll be just fine,’ said Martha, in the hope that her daughter might actually opt for farm work over being a munitionette. But Nell was shaking her head. ‘I’m not leavin’ you and that’s final. A job’ll come up at the munitions factory sooner or later – they always do.’
may , 1917
Despite Nell’s hope that her father would be home in time for her birthday, it had soon become clear that this war was no flash in the pan, and when asked if she would like a small cake to celebrate turning sixteen, her answer had been simple.
‘Not without Dad here. It just wouldn’t feel the
same without him,’ she told her mother as they ate their breakfast at the kitchen table.
Martha used her hand to shade her eyes from the sunlight which poured through the window. ‘I know that, sweetheart, but we have to be realistic, and it could be a long time before he’s home,’ she had pointed out reasonably. ‘Your father would hate to think of you missin’ out because of him.’
‘I can’t help that,’ said Nell. ‘Birthdays are things to be celebrated, and I wouldn’t be able to do that when Dad’s off goodness know where doin’ goodness knows what.’ She glanced up at her mother from the toast she had been thinly buttering. ‘Have you still no idea where he is?’
‘I’m afraid not, queen,’ said Martha dolefully. ‘His letters are like paper doilies by the time the censors have had their way.’
‘Not that they seem to say much in the first place,’ said Nell quietly. ‘I’ve heard Alfie tellin’ the others how his brother sends back four-sided letters, but Dad’s are barely long enough to cover one page – not that I tell them that, mind.’
Martha eyed her daughter sympathetically. ‘Are they still givin’ you the silent treatment?’
‘It doesn’t bother me any,’ Nell fibbed. ‘As you always taught me: if you ain’t got nothin’ nice to say then don’t say anythin’ at all.’
‘Folk can be cruel,’ noted Martha. ‘But they’ll get bored of ignorin’ you soon enough and turn their attention on to summat else.’ She glanced at the clock
above the mantel. ‘Will you look at the time! You’d best be gettin’ a move on else you’ll be late for your new job.’
Taking the remainder of her toast, Nell kissed her mother goodbye. ‘And I can’t be late for my first day as a munitionette!’ she trilled. ‘Not after I worked so hard to get it.’
‘Just you make sure to take care!’ Martha called after her.
‘Will do!’
Martha watched her daughter head out of the door. It wasn’t just the youngsters who had chosen to send Nell to Coventry. People whom Martha had once considered to be close friends had also chosen to turn their backs on the Tanners despite the fact that they were old enough to know better. In fact, there had only been three exceptions: Mr Gardener and his wife – and possibly only then because they had no choice but to speak to her if they wanted her custom – and her other next-door neighbour, Elsbeth Evans.
She thought back to the conversation she and Elsbeth had shared whilst scrubbing the muck from their doorsteps.
‘Poor blighters, I feel sorry for ’em stuck in them awful trenches,’ Elsbeth had said as she sloshed the soapy water over her step. ‘But they do say that every cloud comes with a silver linin’, and this war hasn’t half improved my Sid’s letter-writin’. He’s become a regular William Wordsworth since he left.’
Martha used her forearm to wipe the sweat from her forehead. ‘Does he write often, then?’
‘And not just to me,’ confirmed Elsbeth, ‘but to the whole family, even his sister, and he can’t stand her!’
‘But don’t the censors cut most of it out? They certainly do with my Herbert’s.’
‘They did at first, but once we let him know that his letters looked more like a colander than correspondence he stopped tryin’ to tell us what was goin’ on with the war, and wrote about matters which were of no concern to the censors.’
‘Lucky you, cos they seem to nitpick just about everythin’ my Herbert has to say,’ said Martha sullenly.
‘You should tell him to write about life before the war. They don’t seem to mind that as much.’
‘Good idea. I’ll suggest it to him in my next letter.’ She leaned back on her heels to admire her work. ‘Maybe that will encourage him to write home a bit more.’
Elsbeth cast her a sidelong glance. ‘Does he not write very often?’
Martha continued to scrub the doorstep. ‘It’s a wonder any of them find the time to write at all what with everythin’ that’s goin’ on.’ She caught the look on Elsbeth’s face. ‘Elsbeth?’
Elsbeth’s cheeks pinked. ‘From what the women down the WI have to say, there’s a lot of hangin’ around waitin’ for orders, so a lot of them turn pencil to paper.’
‘I’m sure I wouldn’t know what the women in the WI say,’ Martha said tersely.
Elsbeth wagged her head. ‘You’d think folk would pull together in times like these. Especially an organisation like the WI .’
‘They don’t actually say anythin’ horrible,’ said Martha, ‘but they only speak to me if absolutely necessary, and any offers of help I make are turned down politely but with no explanation as to why. Although it doesn’t take a genius to guess their reasons.’
Elsbeth tutted reprovingly. ‘And what does Herbert say on the matter?’
Martha’s head whipped round to face her. ‘Nothin’. Because I don’t want to upset him or cloud his thoughts with worries over us when he’s already got enough on his plate. He barely ever writes as it is, and when he does most of it’s been blanked out so it’s hard to tell what was there in the first place.’ She eyed her neighbour anxiously. ‘You won’t mention this to anyone else, will you? Only they’d probably make a mountain out of a molehill.’
Elsbeth gave her a brief smile. Unless she wanted to be ostracised herself, she wouldn’t be telling anyone that she had willingly spoken to Martha, not that she would admit that to Martha, of course. ‘You have my word.’
Thanking Elsbeth, Martha headed back indoors as she continued to ponder over the reason for her husband’s short, infrequent letters. Either he was doing something very different from his comrades and really didn’t have time to write, or there was another explanation for his lack of correspondence. She cast her mind back to the lengthy epistles he used to write when they were first courting. He’d always find summat to say, Martha thought now, and his letters were always full of funny little anecdotes – it was one of the things that
endeared him to me. So what could be so bad that it was causing his lack of correspondence? She shuddered as a thought which had been weighing heavily on her mind presented itself again. Fighting a war would be hell on earth for most men, but a pacifist? Her mind’s eye winced. Goodness only knew what state of mind he would be in when faced with the enemy. She held a hand to her stomach as she pictured her husband aiming a rifle at a German soldier. It might be shoot or get shot, but that still wouldn’t ease his burden, she knew. She would just have to hope that he chose to do the first.
Martha had been preparing their supper when Nell burst through the kitchen door, tears cascading down her face. Dropping the carrot she was peeling into the pot, she rushed to her daughter’s side. ‘Nell, luv! Whatever is the matter? This isn’t to do with your new job, is it?’
‘No! I love my new job. It’s that bloomin’ Alfie Littler,’ wept Nell. ‘He’s telling everyone that Dad’s a coward what’s too scared to poke his head above the parapet – whatever that is. And the others are just as bad when it comes to tauntin’ and name-callin’.’
‘For goodness’ sake! Why can’t they just leave you be?’ snapped Martha. ‘And as for that Alfie Littler? You shouldn’t pay heed to anythin’ he has to say, cos he hasn’t a clue what he’s talkin’ about!’
‘I know that, but it’s hard to ignore him when he’s yellin’ in my face that Dad’s a rotten coward who’s too scared to fight.’
Furious at the image this conjured up, Martha settled her daughter with a jam sandwich before leaving to give Alfie’s mother a piece of her mind, much against her daughter’s wishes. ‘Please don’t, Mam, it’ll only make things worse!’ Nell had pleaded as Martha pushed her arms into the sleeves of her coat.
‘Worse?’ Martha had echoed. ‘How could they possibly get any worse? Alfie Littler’s a bully who needs puttin’ in his place; I dare say his mam would be horrified if she knew half of what’s been comin’ out of his mouth.’ Even if she has been sayin’ it herself, Martha added in the privacy of her mind. ‘Now just you get on the outside of that sarnie. I shan’t be long.’
‘But he’s not a bully,’ protested Nell, ‘or at least he never used to be.’
‘Then he needs to be reminded of who he is,’ said Martha as she swung out of the house, slamming the door behind her.
Sweeping past various neighbours who were watching with interest as they gossiped over their doorsteps, Martha marched to the top of the street where she proceeded to bang her fist against the Littlers’ front door. Standing back as the sound of approaching footsteps neared the other side, she folded her arms across her chest as Alfie’s mother, Coral, pulled the door open, a scowl marking her face.
‘What do you mean by comin’ over here and bangin’ on my door like that?’ she demanded.
‘It’s your Alfie! He’s reduced my Nell to tears with that spiteful mouth of his! You ought to tan that boy’s hide.’
Coral swiftly pulled the door to behind her. ‘Oh, I do, do I? How very odd! I thought your kind didn’t believe in violence?’
‘What do you mean by my kind?’ Martha asked, her jaw flinching angrily.
‘You know full well what I mean,’ hissed Coral. ‘Everyone around these parts knows that your husband didn’t want to do his bit on account of bein’ too scared to fight!’
‘Not believin’ in war is not the same as bein’ too scared to fight, which just goes to show how wrong you are!’ retorted Martha. ‘And just so you know – although why I feel it necessary to explain myself to you, goodness only knows – my husband went against his beliefs in order to stop this malicious type of gossip from startin’ in the first place, not that it’s done him or us much good!’
‘Seein’ is believin’. I know what I believe and I ain’t the only the only one who thinks it, neither!’ Coral said, as if this would be news to Martha.
‘Do you seriously think I don’t notice the sly looks when I’m walkin’ to the shops? Or the words whispered behind covered mouths?’ She looked at Coral with an air of utter disdain. ‘Of course I do! But I don’t care what any of you think of me. I only care that your vicious spite and mindless opinions affect my daughter! Nell shouldn’t have to suffer because people like you have nothin’ better to do than stand and gossip! Quite frankly I’m astounded you have the time – I’d have thought you’d be more concerned with the welfare of your family.’
Her last words caused the colour to drain from Coral’s face. ‘I thought better of you than that, Martha Tanner.’
Martha folded her arms across her chest defensively. ‘For sayin’ that you should worry over your own family? Hardly compares with what you’ve been sayin’ about me and mine.’
Coral swallowed. ‘You know full well that our Billy’s over there.’
‘Which is why you should be worryin’ over him instead of tryin’ to pull my family to pieces!’ said Martha, a little cooler by this time.
Coral puffed her chest out. ‘He’s more of a man than your Herbert will ever be.’
‘Why? Because he signed up to fight in a war he knows nothin’ about when he wasn’t even eighteen years old? How on earth does that make him a man?’
‘By puttin’ his country first!’ snapped Coral. But Martha had caught the trace of doubt, and her expression softened as she locked eyes with the other woman.
‘Wars should be fought between armies who know what they’re doin’, not kids what are still wet behind the ears, or men like my Herbert who’ve never so much as thrown a punch in the whole of their life, never mind held a rifle!’
It seemed Martha’s words had struck a chord with Coral who heaved a resigned sigh. ‘Billy’s still too young to know what’s what. But he thinks he’s a man because men go to war. Worse still, he sees war as bein’ excitin’ – heroic, even. Had we known he was
about to sign up we’d have moved heaven and earth to prevent him from doin’ so, but as it was we didn’t have a clue what he’d done until his papers came through.’
‘Did you not tell the authorities what he’d done?’
Coral rolled her eyes. ‘Not that they were interested. All they care about is havin’ boots on the ground.’
‘It’s a dreadful business all round,’ said Martha sympathetically, before adding more pointedly, ‘and it’s not made any easier when folk cast aspersions.’
Coral nodded. ‘I’ll have a word with our Alfie, tell him to keep his lip buttoned.’
‘That would be much appreciated,’ said Martha. ‘Not that it will stop the others from gossipin’ behind our backs, mind you.’
‘Probably not,’Coral agreed, ‘but if it’s any consolation, I shan’t be addin’ fuel to the fire.’
‘Thanks, Coral. I’ve got a tough skin when it comes to gossip, but our Nell takes things to heart.’
Coral grimaced apologetically. ‘I’ll send our Alfie round to apologise as soon as he gets in.’
Nell stood with her arms firmly folded over her chest as Alfie mumbled an apology.
‘Sorry, Alfie, I didn’t quite catch that,’ she said icily when he’d finished.
Alfie looked up from his feet before reiterating his apology, adding, ‘I don’t even know what a parapet is.’
Despite her resolve to remain aloof, the corners of Nell’s mouth tweaked into the beginning of a
smile. ‘Neither do I, but it doesn’t sound very nice, does it?’
Alfie rubbed the toe of his boot along the paving stone. ‘None of it does. Mam gave me a right row when I got in. And then, when she was done shoutin’, she broke down in tears.’
Nell’s smile vanished. ‘Mam didn’t mean to upset her.’
He looked up. ‘It wasn’t anythin’ your mammy said, it was more to do with our Billy goin’ off to war.’
‘But he’s been out there a good few weeks already. Surely your mam must be used to the idea by now?’
‘If she is, it doesn’t stop her from cryin’ every night,’ said Alfie matter-of-factly.
‘Oh, I didn’t realise . . . ’
‘No one does. She was mad as fire when I asked why she was cryin’, sayin’ I was to mind my own business.’
Nell watched him thoughtfully. ‘How old is your Timmy?’
Alfie’s features darkened. ‘He’ll be eighteen this November, and as you’ve probably guessed, that’s all Mam worries about. I reckon he’d have signed up already if it weren’t for Dad tellin’ him he’d tan his hide if he even thought about it.’
‘I hope for all our sakes that the war will be over before he reaches his eighteenth birthday,’ said Nell fervently.
‘I said that to Mam, but judgin’ by the way she looked at me, she doesn’t think that day’s comin’ any time soon.’
Nell glanced over her shoulder before looking back at him. ‘Do you want to go for a walk?’
‘I was thinkin’ of goin’ to go to Calderstones Park,’ said Alfie. ‘You could come too, if you’d like?’
Nell called her mother to the front door. ‘Is it all right if I go to Calderstones Park with Alfie?’
‘Course it is. Just make sure you’re back before it’s dark,’ said Martha, and turned to Alfie. ‘Hello, young man. How’s your Billy?’
Alfie’s cheeks coloured. ‘He’s doin’ just fine, thank you, Mrs Tanner. And I’m sorry for what I said about your husband. I didn’t mean it, not really.’
She smiled. ‘Not altogether your fault. You were only repeatin’ what you’d heard other people say.’
He rubbed his buttock in a thoughtful manner. ‘Yeah, well, I’m not allowed to do that any more.’
Martha did her best to swallow her smile. ‘We learn summat new every day! Now, how about you come to ours for your tea when you’re back from the park? It’s toad in the hole.’
A broad beam dawned on Alfie’s cheeks. ‘Yes, please! Toad in the hole’s my favourite.’
‘Then I shall make enough for three,’ said Martha happily. ‘Now get you gone and have some fun!’
Bidding her goodbye, the pair set off together. Alfie was the first to speak. ‘Have you heard from your dad?’
Nell faltered mid-step, but Alfie assured her that he wasn’t asking in order to upset her.
‘We had a letter the other day, not that he says
much. Mam thinks he might be too busy to write, which makes sense to me.’
He wrinkled his forehead. ‘He must be somewhere different to our Billy, then, cos he writes us lots of letters. The censors cut out a lot of stuff, mind you, but Mammy’s quite good at workin’ out what it said before they got hold of it.’
‘And what does he say?’ asked Nell, eager to learn more about the war from a soldier’s point of view.
‘That they spend most of their time either in the trenches or dodgin’ bullets,’ said Alfie, with little obvious empathy for his brother’s predicament. ‘He also talks a lot about the many friends he’s made.’
‘That doesn’t sound too bad.’
‘That’s what I thought, and our Timmy said much the same, which set Mam off. She thinks he’s goin’ to sign up as soon as he turns eighteen so that he can be like our Billy, but as Dad rightly pointed out, Timmy will be conscripted then, so it won’t matter whether he wants to sign up or not.’
‘A bit like my dad,’ said Nell quietly.
‘If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think Mam really blames your dad for not wantin’ to go—’ Alfie began, but Nell cut him short.
‘Hang on a minute! Why hasn’t your dad gone to war when mine has?’
‘Because he’s in what they call a reserved occupation,’ Alfie told her. ‘They need dockers, but . . .’ He hesitated. ‘What was it your dad did?’
‘He was an accountant,’ said Nell. ‘I guess they must not need those as much as they do dockers.’
‘Luck of the draw,’ said Alfie, and changed the subject. ‘How was your first day as a munitionette?’
‘Wonderful! It felt so good to be doin’ summat which will help our men to win the rotten war.’
He was clearly impressed. ‘Were you not scared? Only there’ve been a fair few fatalities.’
She gave a carefree shrug. ‘I know the risks involved, but they train you well. As long as I do what I’m told I should be just fine.’
Alfie raised a fleeting brow. ‘I reckon you’ve got more nerve than most men twice your age!’
Blushing under his praise, she said quickly, ‘What’s it like workin’ as a docker? Dad always said it was hard work for not much pay.’
‘He wasn’t far wrong!’ Alfie chortled. ‘But it keeps me out of trouble, as me mam always says.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the park gates. ‘C’mon, let’s skim some stones over the lake, see who can get the most bounces.’
Chapter Two
november , 1917
Liverpool had remained unscathed by the monstrous Zeppelins, but the arrival of the Gotha long-range bombers had brought a far worse fear.
‘I thought the Zeppelins were bad, but them bloomin’ Gothas are frighteningly accurate. I’ve stopped readin’ the paper cos I can’t stomach seein what they’re doin’ to our beloved country,’ Nell had confided to Alfie as they made their way to the tram stop, one bright autumnal morning.
‘I know what you mean. Some of the photographs are devastating, but I make sure to keep abreast of the news in case it tells us summat about our Billy.’
‘How could it do that?’
‘I suppose I’m hopin’ it’ll touch on summat that’ll give me a clue as to where he is.’
‘So that you know whether he’s somewhere dangerous or not?’
He cast her a sidelong glance. ‘Sounds silly when you put it like that, because we wouldn’t be at war if