The Complete Helen Forrester 4-Book Memoir: Twopence to Cross the Mersey, Liverpool Miss, By the Waters of Liverpool, Lime Street at Two. Helen Forrester
heavier National Health and unemployment insurance contributions for them. The number of women seeking work was so great that some stores demanded and got girls of matriculation standard to run their lifts and clean their lavatories. Almost all of those who survived their sixteenth birthday in employment, lost their jobs when they were eighteen because at that age, again, the employers’ contributions to their insurance went up. Perhaps it was as well that my parents did not know that in Liverpool unemployment was rapidly reaching a peak of 31.5 per cent, one of the highest in the country; they were close enough to suicide as it was.
Mother’s employer was a slippery eel of a man who lived near-by. In his kitchen, he mixed that old-fashioned spring remedy, brimstone and treacle, filled ice-cream cartons with it, and sold it door-to-door for threepence and sixpence a pot, according to size. He had done so well that he decided to employ Mother on a commission basis. She would receive a halfpenny on a small pot and a penny on any larger pot she sold.
Unaware of the need for a pedlar’s licence, Mother set out hopefully to knock on the front doors of the better class districts, her supply of brimstone and treacle carried in a paper bag.
Since she had a very dignified presence, not many doors were slammed in her face, and at the end of a six-day week she found she had made seven shillings and sixpence and her tram fares. The weather had mercifully been fine and the steady walking had strengthened her muscles. Moreover, a number of kindly housewives had helped her along with cups of tea and biscuits.
It was agreed that her wages must be spent on new shoes for her, so that she could continue to work. I tucked my bare feet under the rickety table. Mother looked really animated for the first time since we had arrived in Liverpool, and took a penny tram-ride to town at our urging, to buy the precious shoes.
Mother’s modest success at her first job dimmed considerably any hope I had of ever being able to go to school again; it was as if a jailer had clanged shut yet another prison door between me and freedom. I realized abruptly how deeply I had hoped she would prove a failure at work, so that she would be forced to stay at home and take over from me her normal duties as a mother. I felt wretched and could comfort myself only with the thought that when Father got work I might stand a chance of going to school, since possibly Mother would then feel there was no necessity for her to work.
After she had left for town, I bumped the Chariot slowly down the stairs. Edward who, by now, was trying to sit up, hit his head when I went over a stair more clumsily than usual and started to cry. Avril, who was hungry and tired, joined in.
At the bottom of the stairs, an infuriated Mr Ferris awaited me. His droopy yellow moustache was fluffed out as he blew through it with rage and his eyes bulged like a Pekinese dog’s.
‘What the hell are you doing, making such a noise?’ he shouted.
I stared blankly at him, not knowing how to reply.
‘I can’t practise with such a racket. I won’t stand for it! You’ll have to go. Mrs Foster will have to put you out!’
Miss Sinford came through her door, like the old lady on a weather vane.
‘Thou shalt not take the Name of the Lord in vain,’ she said primly to Mr Ferris. ‘I am preparing to go to Communion. Kindly be quiet.’
‘I have not taken Him in vain,’ roared Mr Ferris, his false teeth threatening to come out, as he nearly spat at her.
Miss Sinford shook a blue-veined fist at him.
‘Go back to your piano, sir,’ she squeaked. ‘And pray for forgiveness for your bad temper.’
I stood between them as they ranted at each other, so filled with fear that I could not move.
He had said: ‘You’ll have to go! Mrs Foster will have to put you out!’
‘Oh no, O Lord,’ I prayed. ‘Nobody else will ever take us in. We’ll have to go to the workhouse. Don’t, please don’t, let Mrs Foster turn us out.’
Miss Sinford had dived past the Chariot and struck Mr Ferris a sharp blow on the nose, and, like a terrified rabbit, I was suddenly galvanized into trying to escape.
Hastily, I manoeuvred the Chariot past the contestants, through the front door and down the worn steps to the street. Fear beat at me, and I ran as fast as the Chariot and its two wailing passengers would allow me to.
I ran blindly through the grey streets and did not stop until my stick-like legs began to fail me and I found myself on Princes Avenue.
The workhouse or Institution, as it had recently been renamed, loomed like a scarifying black shadow over all the destitute of England; even I knew that. And I was ready to die of fear.
Very slowly, I trundled the Chariot down the Avenue. The trees which lined it were in leaf, and each leaf of the privet hedges in the small town gardens in front of the houses looked as if it had been specially polished. On the stone-flagged pavement the puddles from recent rain were drying up under a mild sun. It was mid-afternoon and very quiet. My teeth gradually stopped chattering, and Avril ceased her lament and demanded to be lifted out so that she could walk.
When I picked her up out of the pram she felt remarkably light, even in my wasted arms, and my teeth again began to chatter like castanets, as I looked down at her. She began to toddle along contentedly, however, singing in a rasping little voice ‘Little Bo Peep’ which we had been practising together.
The warmth of the sun and the peace had its effect. Perhaps, I argued to myself, ‘Mr Parish’ or even Daddy’s regiment would protect us from the ire of Mr Ferris. I stopped in the middle of the pavement and smiled to myself, as I visualized Father’s regiment marching down the street, their putteed legs moving in purposeful unison, to rescue us from Mr Ferris.
‘Frog’s eyes! Frog’s eyes!’ shouted a rough voice in my ear, and a couple of big boys made playful snatches at my spectacles.
Avril screamed. I instinctively clutched at the precious spectacles. They laughed, and quickly kicked my shins with their heavy boots. Screaming wildly, they ran on down the Avenue, leaving me quivering with pain and mortification.
‘Beasts!’ shouted Avril after them, with considerable spirit.
Crying quietly with pain, I walked on into Princes Park and into the rose garden which, though as yet bare of roses, was a pretty place, with a little lake much favoured by ducks and other small water birds.
My legs felt like jelly and I thought I was going to faint, so I sat down on the first bench we could find. At the other end of the seat was an old gentleman. He was shabbily, though respectably, dressed, with a stiff winged collar encircling a thin, turtle-like neck. A heavily moustached, sallow face was framed by a trilby hat set a little to the back of his head. His expression was benign and he had an air of quiet dignity. He was persuing a small, leather-bound book.
Avril came to sit on my knee, and I began to teach her the names of the various kinds of ducks swimming on the lake. The faintness receded and I forgot my bruised shins.
Our peace was soon broken.
‘Hey, you there with the pram! Get out o’ here! No children allowed in tins here garden without an adult.’ A uniformed park attendant was waving a stick at us from the rose-garden gate.
Because I did not immediately respond – I was still unaccustomed to my reduction to the ranks of the under-privileged – he started down the path towards us, his stick raised menacingly.
Without warning, a quiet commanding voice beside me said, ‘The children are with me. I am responsible for them.’
The old gentleman had closed his book, and was staring coldly at the attendant.
The parkkeeper lowered his stick and looked disbelievingly at the old gentleman, who gazed back calmly at him, until finally the parkkeeper,