‘Mam’s fine, Mrs Kennedy. She’s getting stuck into her salvage work as usual, helping those less fortunate, as you do.’ Sarah gave Mrs Delaney a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. Nothing got past Vera in this street. She had her nostrils permanently flared, which gave her the disapproving appearance of a cartoon butler, and was into everybody’s business yet nobody seemed to know what was going on behind her closed front door.
‘How’s poor Frank doing?’ Mrs Kennedy’s honeyed tones did nothing to assuage Sarah’s suspicions. ‘Has he got his new leg yet?’
Sarah could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Her older brother would go mad if he heard anybody, especially Mrs Kennedy, referring to him as ‘poor Frank’! Mrs Kennedy was one of the few people Sarah genuinely did not like, not because she had more faces than the town hall clock, but because she gave her older sister Rita a dog’s life, and would no longer let her take advantage since Charlie took the kids to live in Southport.
‘Any news of the kids?’ Sarah asked boldly. ‘Only, Mam was asking.’ After all, they were Dolly’s grandchildren too.
‘Charlie wrote saying that the kids are doing just fine, thank you very much.’ Winnie Kennedy thought that Sarah Feeny was too cheeky for her own good. She had a defiant streak in her and the two of them had locked horns more than once. That Dolly Feeny would do well to keep more of an eye on her children, she thought. They were all a bit wild.
‘So, Frank’s home again, is he? Have they managed to find him a desk job somewhere, then?’ Vera asked. Sarah knew she was not one for small talk – if Vera wanted to know something she just came right out and asked. However, Sarah was doing as the posters said and keeping her opinions to herself. Careless talk cost lives, and all that. She did not intend to put either of her brothers’ lives in jeopardy for the sake of corner shop tittle-tattle.
‘Frank wants to know if you’ve got any cigarettes in yet,’ Sarah said, ignoring Vera’s nosy questions, ‘but I’ll wait my turn. Mrs Delaney had not been served yet.’ Sarah watched Vera’s face flush with guilty colour, which undoubtedly confirmed her suspicions that she had walked in on an under-the-counter transaction. She wouldn’t put anything past these two.
‘Oh, I don’t mind waiting.’ Vera moved out of the way, allowing Sarah to get closer to the counter. ‘You go ahead, love; anything for our brave fighters.’ Then, lowering her voice, she said, ‘Not like that Danny Callaghan over there.’ She screwed her face in disgust as her eyes locked onto the chipped paint of the Callaghans’ front door. ‘You won’t find him fighting for his country in a hurry.’
‘And how’s your Alfie, Mrs Delaney? Still doing his bit on the dock?’ Sarah asked sarcastically, knowing that Alfie was as likely to sign up for duty as Hitler was to decide to give all this war lark in and keep pigeons instead. She wasn’t having this old bat slagging off Danny Callaghan.
‘He is doing a job as valuable as any in the Forces,’ said Vera with a dismissive shrug of her shoulders.
‘Danny works alongside, doesn’t he?’ Sarah said pointedly. ‘So he’s also doing a valuable job too, I would say. Didn’t your husband get out of going to France in the last war?’ Sarah knew Mam would skin her alive for talking to a neighbour like this, but she couldn’t resist. Mrs Delaney was far too free with her opinions of others when she ignored her own family’s shortcomings altogether.
‘Mr Delaney died during the last war!’
Kicked by a dray horse when he was coming home drunk, I heard. Sarah did not voice her thoughts, knowing her mother would not stand for any of her offspring giving cheek to anyone.
‘I’m sure he did his best,’ she said. She did not know much about the Great War as Pop hardly mentioned it. However, she did know Danny had done everything in his power to enlist, but his enlarged heart meant he failed every time. He had exemption slips from every military office in Great Britain. Nobody would take him. He had no choice but to take a reserved occupation on the docks.
Sometimes she worried that the work was too strenuous for him, but she would never dare voice her concerns, knowing how proud Danny was. Like most men around here, being tough was a way of life, and to show weakness of any kind was unheard of.
Danny had sworn Sarah to secrecy so she kept quiet, no matter how much she wanted to tell the po-faced woman that Danny was worth ten of her son, a charge hand on the same dock. Sarah recalled the time Alfie Delaney told her he would turn conchie rather than fight. He would rather serve a prison sentence than risk his life for King and country. How Sarah despised Mrs Delaney’s cowardly upstart of a son.
‘Tell Frank,’ Mrs Kennedy’s voice was low as she beckoned Sarah to come closer and, leaning across the counter, she winked her eye conspiratorially, ‘I am taking delivery of Craven “A” cigarettes after the shop has shut. I’ll pass a packet into him – personally.’
‘That’s good of you, Mrs Kennedy.’ Fancy walking all that way, Sarah thought. It must be all of five yards from here to our front door.
‘Don’t give it another thought. It’s my pleasure for a local hero.’
You don’t say. The words floated through Sarah’s head but the lack of expression on her face did not give her thoughts away. ‘I’ll tell him.’
With that, she left the two women to their jangling. No doubt calling poor Danny fit to burn. As she walked out of the shop, the sun in her eyes, she bumped right into him!
‘Hello, Sar, where’ve you been then?’ Danny’s cheerful banter gave Sarah a little frisson of delight. She liked him. A lot. He was genuine. No matter what some people said. However, at twenty he was far too worldly wise to look at somebody like her. Danny had no shortage of female appreciation, especially Betty Parker, who was supposed to be Sarah’s best friend and hung around their house every chance she got just so she could look out of their parlour window in case Danny should walk down the street. She was a right one, that Betty. She had no shame.
‘I went to see if there were any cigs in the shop for our Frank,’ Sarah said as they headed to the Feenys’ front door, which like most of the others in Empire Street, was usually open until late every night, even though there was a threat of a German invasion. People looked out for each other in this street, and there was always someone sitting on their step, like old Mrs Ashby, who was always ready for a natter, no matter what time of the day. She kept her eye to business, all right, although a proud and discreet woman, which was why Mam liked her and always made her a small pie or some potato cakes. Sarah and Danny waved and Mrs Ashby waved back and gave them a toothless smile.
‘When did your Frank get home? I’ll have to come across and see him later.’
‘It’s just a flying visit, to show the family his new leg … It’s tin, you know.’ Then, whispered: ‘He’s going back tomorrow night.’
‘Has he got no cigs, then?’ Danny asked. ‘The navy are slipping if they’re leaving their men without a smoke.’ Before Sarah could tell him Frank had left his back at base, Danny took a squashed packet of five Woodbines out of his pocket. ‘Here, give him these. They’re a bit crumpled but they’re fine. I can always get more later.’
‘Are you sure?’ Sarah asked, glad their Frank could have a smoke while he was listening to the wireless. The whole family liked to settle down for ITMA and listen to Tommy Handley’s comic capers.
Then, but only ever after Mam had gone to bed, Pop would twiddle the wireless knob and he and Frank would secretly tune in to Lord Haw-Haw. Mam said it was unpatriotic to listen to the Nazi propaganda, which frequently offered spurious details of raids. Nevertheless, among the ranting, sometimes the only details available from behind enemy lines were the ones given by the traitor, as everything was kept very hush-hush to protect British and Allied sailors. Pop liked to keep his ears open for news of any ships in the hostile North Atlantic where Eddy, serving in the Merchant Navy, was helping to bring much-needed food