George laughed as he pushed the final barrel onto the cart and fastened the rear hatch, eyeing it suspiciously. Tom gave it a big thump and was satisfied that it wasn’t going to come loose. ‘Ready,’ he shouted to the coachman. He then stood with his hands on his hips, like George’s mother often did when he was in trouble. ‘If I didn’t know you, I wouldn’t believe you were any less than nineteen,’ he said.
George pushed Tom away and they went to find some more work.
Tom was right. George was unlike his father and brother, who were both thin and gaunt. His broad shoulders and chest may have come from his mother’s side. Uncle Stephen was a much larger man. George had more in common with him than his father. His uncle was like a giant when stood next to his father, even if his father didn’t have a crooked leg. His father always stood as tall as he could when Stephen was around. His mother always argued that George looked just like his father had done in the army, and pushed old, brown photographs in his direction to prove it. Back then he was a stronger, prouder man.
The rest of the day continued largely without incident. They moved more barrels, and their backs became sore from the effort. George suspected that Tom was in a lot more pain than he let on, but he didn’t complain, except for stopping occasionally to stretch with a wince. Once the cargo ship was emptied and the other dock hands were on board, fixing and caulking, the two boys left. There was little extra work to be found, but they had managed to earn some money.
‘So then, George,’ Tom said, as if unsure how to broach a difficult subject. Tom was seldom lost for words, but this time he seemed unable to speak. He kept biting his lip.
‘What’s wrong?’ George asked, trying to force the conversation.
‘Nothing’s wrong.’ Tom stopped speaking again and then shook his head. ‘Well, except for all this,’ he said, waving an arm behind him to indicate the dock. ‘This… this isn’t what I wanted from life, George. When we were back in school I thought so much more of life. All the things the teachers talked about. Every time I thought… “I could do that.” I should have tried harder. Perhaps I wasn’t intelligent enough. Who knows?’
George just nodded along.
‘I didn’t think I would end up down here in the docks. My ma was happy when I got a job. So was I for that matter, but now look at me.’ He waved an arm up and down his body and at his back. ‘Covered in muck and sweat. Just look at this bruise, George. That’s really going to hurt in the morning. Ouch.’ He had touched it with a finger. ‘It hurts now!’
‘Be careful, Tom.’ He wasn’t used to his friend being so glum.
‘We can be much better than this, George. Both of us. We’re not as daft as some of those idiots down that dock, so why not? Everything we’ve done, we’ve done well, right?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Right, so it’s settled then. When I get a chance, I’m putting on my Sunday suit, I’m going down the recruitment office and telling them I want to fight the Germans.’ Red threatened to break out on Tom’s cheeks, but then he held his head high, pushing his chest out at his decision.
George wasn’t surprised. He had felt that it was coming since he had spoken to Tom that morning. Tom had mentioned the war at every opportunity. George preferred to keep his thoughts to himself, but Tom appeared excited. The mood of the city was of excitement, Tom wasn’t the only one. The way George’s father often talked about his time in the army, it sounded like an adventure, like a way of life to be proud of. His father had served in the King’s Liverpool regiment and his uncle too. It was the only thing he ever remembered his father talking about with happiness in his voice. The troubles of recent times seemed forgotten, everyone was pulling together in the same direction, as his dad would have said. George reflected as they climbed the hill.
‘I think you should do it,’ he said to Tom, after a silence. Tom let out a deep breath as if he’d been holding it. ‘If it’s what you want to do, then why not? You’d make a good soldier, I don’t doubt.’
‘It’s my ma I’m worried about. After my old man… Ah, I can’t talk about it. She will understand, and your folks will look after her, won’t they?’
‘Sure.’ Their mothers were close. ‘Say, why don’t we go to the pub tomorrow night? It’s been an age. See what the other lads are up to. You can run your idea by them too. Let’s go to the Grapes.’
Tom’s grin returned. He always loved a drink.
‘Great idea!’ was the only reply George needed.
Joe was walking through Chinatown the next day when he saw George and Tom Adams across the road. The signs on the shops and even the street signs were in Chinese. The Chinese seemed to be the largest of the sailor communities, huddling around the area of Nelson Street and integrating with the Liverpudlians in the area.
Joe couldn’t imagine settling in another country, especially one so far away from his home. But perhaps it had been easier for them than returning home. Who knew what kind of prospects they had back in China? At least here they had families and work.
His brother and Tom were walking along the road in the opposite direction to him. Of course, he saw them first, and as of yet they hadn’t noticed him. It was always the same way. He had a habit of disappearing into crowds, and he was so far outside their world they didn’t have any reason for acknowledging his presence. They must have been on their way home from the dock, chatting together in their usual way. Unusually, they didn’t look as happy as they normally did. Often when Joe saw the pair of them, they were too happily tied up in some inane conversation to notice him go by. Most of the time he didn’t mind, happy to meld into the background and avoid an awkward conversation with them. Today, however, he walked closer to the side of the road to make himself more noticeable. He wanted them to see him, he wanted to speak to his brother, if only in passing.
With luck, Tom crossed the road, George shortly behind him. They weaved between a couple of carts, before making their way across the cobbles.
‘Afternoon, Joe,’ Tom said, upon seeing him. He was always the more friendly of the two, with a smile for anyone he passed – though Joe suspected he wasn’t always the best influence on George. Recognition dawned on George’s face as he came closer, but he simply nodded. ‘On the way to work?’ Tom asked, before Joe had a chance to say hello.
‘Err, well, I have a few things to do first,’ he said, put off by the unexpected conversation. George had his hands in his pockets and looked around the road, seeming disinterested in any conversation. ‘George, could you tell Mum that I will be late this evening and not to worry about food?’
‘Sure,’ he said, nodding slightly. ‘We’re on our way home now. She probably won’t be surprised.’ This was the most they had said to each other in weeks. Sharing a bedroom was one thing, but working different hours meant they seldom saw each other.
‘No, I suppose not.’ The atmosphere was awkward, and Joe felt uncomfortable standing still on the pavement, but he so much wanted to talk to George, to reach out and feel something between them. He never could say the rights words, and it hurt him. He felt as if George believed that he had nothing to say to him, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. ‘The war’s creating a lot of work for us at the paper.’ He scratched at his collar, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. ‘A lot of the men at the paper have already left to sign up, and we’re having to do extra work to make up. I shouldn’t complain. You two possibly have it a lot worse.’
‘Yeah, there’s not much work on the dock at the moment. It could pick up with the war, but who knows?’ Again, Tom was the one