From Liverpool With Love

by Lyn Andrews

Genres: Sagas; YA Family

Synopsis

Transport yourself to 1920s Liverpool, to be moved and delighted by this wonderful novel from one of the UK's best-loved saga authors.

In 1920s Liverpool, Jane, her little brother Alfie and their mother Ellen have faced the horrors of the workhouse together. But when Ellen dies, two very different paths open up for the siblings. Jane is sent to work in the Empire Laundry and builds a new life for herself with the neighbours who take her in. She finds solace there and the promise of a happy future when she falls for Joe, their eldest son.

But Alfie absconds from the workhouse and embarks on a life of crime. When their paths cross once more, Alfie turns on his sister. His plans will jeopardise every happiness she hoped for....

Release date: December 4, 2014

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 400

Sample

Liverpool, 1922

‘There’s nothing else I can do, Ada! I’m at my wits’ end! We’re destitute!’ Ellen Shaw shook her head as tears once again filled her eyes. It was so painful and shaming to have to admit it.

Ada Ellis, her close friend and neighbour, could only sadly nod her agreement. Everyone was poor in Gill Street; times were hard, work for dock labourers such as her husband Fred was always in short supply and with six mouths to feed it was a constant struggle to make ends meet. For poor Ellen, although she only had young Jane and Alfie, the daily battle against poverty had finally come to an end. She had been defeated. It was now nine months since Ellen’s husband Eddie had been killed. He’d slipped on oil spilled on the deck of the ship on which he’d been helping to load cargo, tripped over the hatch cover and fallen head first into the partially empty hold to his death. They’d all been devastated by the news but Ellen had been utterly distraught. Oh, there had been great regret expressed by everyone at the tragic accident, condolences received from the foreman and bosses, even a letter from the owners of the ship, but there had been nothing in the way of compensation for Ellen.

Ada put her arm around her friend as a gesture of comfort but there was very little else now she could do to help. ‘You’ll stay and share the bit of scouse with us,’ she stated firmly, thinking that at least from now on Ellen and her family would get three meals a day, which might help put some weight back on her friend’s thin frame.

Ellen could only nod as her sense of despair deepened. She felt tired, so very, very tired.

As Ada busied herself with the pan of vegetables that had been simmering on the range and instructed her family to ‘sort themselves out’ and ‘get up to the table’, she glanced surreptitiously around her kitchen. She didn’t have much to show for fourteen years of marriage, she mused grimly. What furniture there was was scratched and battered from constant use and it hadn’t been new to start with. No lino or matting covered the flagged floor, only a cheap brass spill jar sat on the mantel above the range and there were no curtains at the window overlooking the tiny yard at the back of the house. She sighed. Both she and Ellen looked far older than their thirty-two years, she thought, and living in Gill Street didn’t help. It was a slum. The houses were old, decrepit and damp and should have been pulled down years ago but it was all they could afford and she counted herself fortunate to have these few rooms she called ‘home’.

As she carefully ladled out the meatless stew she thought how attractive, how relatively carefree and happy she and Ellen had been when they’d first become neighbours. Joe had been a baby then and Ellen, newly married, had confided how delighted she was that they had been able to rent the house rather than having to live with relatives or in a couple of cramped rooms. They’d quickly become friends. In those days her hair had been dark and glossy; now it was dull and liberally sprinkled with grey. Ellen’s had been a fiery auburn, like burnished gold, but it had thinned and faded to a dull brown. They’d had fresh complexions and eyes bright with eagerness for life but time and grinding hardship had taken their toll on them both.

As the noise level in the room increased she banged the ladle down hard on the top of the range. ‘In the name of God, will you lot behave! Emily, luv, give our Sonny a piece of bread to keep him quiet,’ Ada instructed her daughter before turning her attention to her second son. ‘And you, Danny Ellis, stop shoving Alfie! There’s room enough for the two of you on the end of that bench.’ Her voice was harsh with tension for this would be the last time Ellen and her family would sit with them.

It was all rather cramped as they gathered around the table but ten-year-old Emily obediently handed her three-year-old brother a crust and he immediately stopped whining. He’d been christened Albert but for some reason best known to her mother was always called ‘Sonny’. ‘Don’t go cramming it all into your mouth or you’ll choke,’ she instructed him.

Jane, Ellen’s daughter, smiled at her friend before scowling at her brother Alfie, who was still engaged in a jostling match with Danny Ellis at the end of the table. She and Emily were the same age and had played together since they could walk and she’d miss seeing her every day. ‘You heard what Aunty Ada said, Alfie. Stop it! Hasn’t Mam got enough to put up with without you acting up and making things worse?’

In return she received a glowering look from her unruly brother.

As Ada placed a large plate of dry bread in the centre of the table the boys settled down and Ada smartly slapped away the eager hands that shot out to grab at the thickly cut slices. ‘Have some manners! You lot can just wait your turn! Fred, luv, you first,’ she instructed her husband, ‘and Ellen, take a thick slice to mop up the gravy. It’s “blind scouse”, I’m afraid,’ she added. The few pence she’d had left from the housekeeping hadn’t stretched to any meat.

‘I’m so sorry it’s come to this, Ellen,’ Fred Ellis said gravely as he surveyed his neighbour’s little family, and he felt frustration and resentment surge up in him again as he thought how little he could do to help. ‘It’s not right, not right at all! There should be some . . . compensation for a man’s life; his family shouldn’t be left to suffer like this.’

Ada nodded her agreement. ‘They don’t care, Fred, everyone knows that. All they’re interested in is their profits. No one cares for the likes of us. Even the Liverpool City Fathers aren’t interested. They’re happy to let us live in these . . . hovels while they live a life of comfort in their fine, big houses in Rodney Street and Abercromby Square.’

‘At least it’s somewhere of your own, Ada,’ Ellen reminded her, trying not to think of the house next door which after today she would have to leave.

‘So, you’re going tomorrow?’ Fred said quietly.

Ellen nodded. ‘That’s when they said I should and there’s no point in putting it off, Fred. We . . . we’ll have to leave very early.’

The air itself seemed heavy and laden with gloom, Ada thought despondently. ‘Well, at least you won’t have far to walk, Ellen. Brownlow Hill is just at the end of the street.’

Even the name of the street conjured up an image of despair, desperation and humiliation, Ellen thought, for everyone in the city associated it with the workhouse. And tomorrow morning that was where she would take her children. It had come to a choice between living in utter destitution or throwing herself and her family on public charity: the workhouse. She had nothing now, not even a bed to sleep on. Over the months she had been forced to sell everything just to keep herself and her kids from starving. Without Eddie’s wage and being unable to find work herself, she had sunk deeper and deeper into debt and poverty until she had been forced to come to the decision to throw herself on the mercy of the Parish. Oh, Ada had helped as much as she could but they had very little themselves for often Fred didn’t get work. Many was the time both he and her poor Eddie had stood in all weathers, like cattle in a pen, waiting for the foreman to pick them for a half-day’s work and many was the time they’d been disappointed and come home with nothing.

Everyone had finished and so, wearily, Ellen got to her feet. ‘I’ll help you clear away, Ada, it’s the least I can do after you’ve shared your meal with us,’ she said as she began to gather up the empty bowls, aware that there had been little enough of the stew to start with.

‘I’ll put the kettle on and we’ll have a cup of tea,’ Ada said firmly, trying to put off the moment when she would have to bid her friend goodbye, for unless a miracle happened she knew that once inside those dreaded gates there was little chance of Ellen coming out again. You had to have a job and a place to stay or at least someone who would vouch that you could support yourself before they let you leave.

To hide his sadness and resentment Fred busied himself building up the fire with some bits of a broken packing case he’d brought home and what coal there was left, for the nights were getting colder now. Eddie Shaw had been a good mate, he mused, a hard worker, and a man who didn’t spend what little he had on drink, like some. He hadn’t deserved to die as he had but there were often accidents on the docks. Men were maimed or killed and little was done about it. Oh, the union was trying to make a difference but as far as he could see it wasn’t having much success. Both he and Eddie had fought in the Great War and been fortunate to have survived and they’d been promised a ‘land fit for heroes’ but that hadn’t materialised. Nothing had changed for the likes of them.

Emily and Jane sat on the floor as near to the fire as they could, while Joe, Ada’s eldest son, who was thirteen and considered himself to be more serious and responsible than his siblings, attempted to keep Sonny amused stringing bits of old newspaper together on a piece of twine.

‘Will you have lessons in . . . there?’ Emily asked tentatively, curling her toes appreciatively at the heat now emanating from the fire. Like her mother she had dark hair and eyes but was pale and slight and generally quieter than her brothers. She glanced at her friend, who was the image of her own mother when Ellen was young.

‘I don’t know. Mam says I might have to work, I’m old enough,’ Jane replied. She really didn’t want to have to think about what tomorrow would bring – not yet.

‘Work? Doing what?’ Emily probed.

Jane shrugged her slim shoulders and frowned. ‘Housework, cleaning, helping in the kitchen, things like that, I suppose. Still,’ she added, ‘our Alfie will probably have lessons, which should be a bit of a relief to Mam.’

‘They might even manage to drum something useful into his head, which is more than the teachers at our school seem to be able to do – he’s hardly ever there for a start,’ Joe commented, having heard Jane’s remarks. He felt heartily sorry for both Ellen and Jane but Alfie Shaw was a different kettle of fish altogether. He always seemed to be in trouble of some kind. His poor mam had been so worried of late that he was certain she hardly knew where Alfie was or what he was up to most of the time. And he was a bad influence on Joe’s brother Danny, who was easily led. ‘At least he’ll be away from the likes of Jimmy Cobham and Richie Corrin,’ he added, naming two of the other lads in the street who were hooligans of the first order and – in his Mam’s opinion –destined to end their days in prison. They called themselves the ‘Gill Street Gang’ and Alfie was proud to be one of their number. Joe personally thought it a daft name for a gang.

Sonny had become bored and had started to rub his eyes and grizzle, a sure sign he was tired, so Emily reluctantly rose to her feet.

‘Shall I get him to bed, Mam?’

Ada nodded, loath to have to finish her conversation with Ellen.

‘Will you mind very much being . . . in there?’ Joe asked Jane a little hesitantly as his sister picked up the toddler. Instantly he regretted the question as Jane bit her lip. ‘I . . . I . . . mean . . .’

‘I don’t want to go, Joe. None of us do but . . .’ Jane began. If the truth be told she was afraid, for she’d often passed the soot-blackened walls of the workhouse and always thought it seemed like a prison. And in many ways it was: you were only ever allowed out to work, not to see the outside world or visit friends and relatives you’d known before. The thought filled her with panic.

‘It might not be too bad,’ Joe said quickly, for he could see she was getting upset. ‘At least you’ll be warm, and you’ll get fed, Jane. Your mam won’t have to worry about finding the money for the rent or coal or food,’ he reminded her, trying to find something to cheer her up, for he had glimpsed the apprehension in her eyes.

She looked down at her shabby old brown dress, which was far too short now. ‘And clothes, Joe. I heard they give you clothes too, but I wish . . . I wish Da hadn’t died. Then we wouldn’t have had to go.’ She missed her da terribly and hadn’t yet fully got over the shock of his death, let alone the grief.

Joe nodded. He knew how hard it was for a family to survive without a breadwinner, and he was already wondering what he would do when he left school in a year’s time time. Would he find work? He hoped so for whatever he earned would help his mam, but there was nothing Jane could do to help her mam keep them out of the workhouse; she was too young.

Both Ellen and Ada had overheard some of their conversation and as Ellen finished her tea she sighed heavily. ‘He’s right you know, Ada. In a way it will be a relief. I’ll not have to worry myself sick every minute of the day and night about trying to provide for them, but . . . but . . . I never thought it would come to this. It . . . it’s so humiliating, everyone knowing that I’ve failed, and whispering about what happened to “poor Ellen Shaw”. I felt so bad when that assessment officer came to see me, as though I’d done something really wrong – criminal almost.’

Ada reached across and took her hand. ‘Don’t talk like that! You haven’t failed, Ellen, luv! How were you expected to cope with no money coming in?’

‘I . . . I suppose I could have tried harder to get work – taken in washing, gone out cleaning . . . anything!’ Ellen said wearily. Oh, life had become so hard without Eddie and she felt so lonely and lost without him. She knew she would never really get over losing him.

‘You haven’t got the room or the . . . facilities for doing laundry, even if we knew people well off enough not to have to do their own, and you know how difficult it is to get work of any kind when you’ve young kids, Ellen,’ she stated, thinking that her friend was so undernourished that going cleaning could have killed her. Her health and strength had failed since Eddie’s tragic accident but wasn’t that only to be expected when she existed almost entirely on bread and weak, milk-less tea?

Reluctantly Ellen got to her feet. ‘Well, Ada, luv, I’d better go. Thanks for . . . everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’

Ada hugged her, tears springing into her eyes. Oh, she’d miss Ellen so much. ‘You know I’ll be thinking of you, Ellen, and you’ll only be around the corner. Try and get word to me, let me know how you are all getting on? And maybe after a while they’ll let me come and see you.’

Ellen could only nod for there was a large lump in her throat.

‘Right then, Jane, Alfie, come here to me,’ Ada instructed briskly to hide her emotions. ‘Now, lad, you make sure you behave yourself and Jane, luv, you help your mam as much as you can. You’ll be all right now, you’ll . . . cope.’ She hugged both children in turn before turning to her own three. ‘Joe, Emily and Danny, you come with your da and me to the front door. They have a very early start in the morning so . . .’ She faltered; she just couldn’t say the word ‘goodbye’.

Both Ellen and Jane turned to wave to the little group standing on the worn step of the house next door before they went into their cold, dark, dismal lobby. Alfie just shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his old jacket and scowled. He wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow but he was determined that whatever lay ahead, he wasn’t going to let it get him down. He missed Da; he’d always been able to rely on his father even if he couldn’t hide his frequent misdeeds from him the way he could his mam. Lately he’d more or less done as he pleased, and she’d not noticed. Yes, he’d miss his mates but he wouldn’t be there forever; one day he’d get out and find his friends again, then he’d go back to suiting himself.

It no longer felt like home at all, Ellen thought miserably as she pushed open the door to the kitchen. There was no money for the gas so it was dark; the range was cold and empty and beginning to rust; the only furniture left was an old rocker and a straw-filled mattress on the floor. The room smelled damp and she knew she wouldn’t sleep. She’d sit in the chair and doze until dawn came and it was time to leave. There was nothing to pack; they had no possessions now.

Jane lay curled up on the lumpy mattress beside her brother. With only one thin coarse grey blanket covering them, she was cold. She had promised herself she wouldn’t cry but it was so hard to fight down the sobs. She was leaving everything that was familiar and the people she knew and loved and the world seemed a very dark and fearful place. But she still had her mam and Alfie, she reminded herself, and, she told herself firmly, somehow they would cope. Finally, Ada’s words echoing through her head, she drifted into a restless sleep.





It was the most soul-destroying, final sound she’d ever heard and one she would always remember, Ellen thought as early next morning the great iron gates of the Brownlow Hill Workhouse – opened for them by a uniformed gatekeeper – closed behind them. In the cold, misty, grey October dawn the bulk of the four buildings seemed to loom ominously over them and she shivered involuntarily beneath her woollen shawl. Jane, clutching her mother’s hand, felt the movement and shrank closer to Ellen, tightening her grip. Even Alfie was subdued as he stared around at the large, soot-blackened two-storey buildings, which had such a grim reputation.

A porter appeared from a door in the gatehouse, shrugging on his jacket. ‘You expected, missus?’ he asked curtly.

‘Yes. Mrs Ellen Shaw. I . . . I’m to see Mrs Florence Stanley, the matron.’

He nodded. ‘Come with me then.’

They followed him into one of the buildings, down a long, narrow, cold passageway painted dark green and lit by spluttering gas jets and Ellen felt her spirits sink even further. It all looked far more depressing than she had imagined. They went up a flight of stone stairs and along another corridor and then the man stopped before a door and knocked. Upon being instructed to enter he did so, announcing the new arrivals in a respectful tone.

‘You’re to go in,’ he muttered, holding the door open.

On entering the room Ellen was pleasantly surprised to find that it was bright and well furnished and that the woman who sat behind the large old-fashioned desk didn’t look as condescending or as intimidating as she’d feared. She was dressed in a plain dark blue dress and wore a white starched cap over hair severely pulled back from her face, but the brown eyes that regarded her and her children were kind.

‘Mrs Shaw, good morning. You are very punctual. These are your children, I take it?’

Ellen nodded, relaxing a little at the warmth in the tone of the woman’s voice. ‘This is Jane, ma’am, she’s ten and this is Alfred . . . Alfie . . . he’s eight.’

Matron nodded and glanced down at the paperwork before her. ‘You must address me as “Matron”, Mrs Shaw. The Board of Guardians has approved your application for residence here. I understand that your husband is dead?’

Ellen nodded again. ‘He was killed in an accident on the docks, Matron, nine months ago now, and I . . . I . . . just can’t manage any more.’

‘I understand,’ Florence Stanley replied sympathetically. She dealt daily with the misfortunes of the poor souls who came here and though this woman was no different in her shabby and neglected appearance to so many others, the assessment officer’s report had stated that she was a woman of good character who had been overtaken by unfortunate circumstances. ‘Well, let me explain what happens now and how things are done here. Whatever you might have heard to the contrary, these days conditions have improved considerably. We’re no longer living in the Victorian era. Firstly, you will all be . . . checked for lice, then bathed. You will then be provided with your uniform clothes and you will stay in the reception wing until you have been passed by the medical officer, just to ensure that you are not suffering from anything contagious. That usually takes twenty-four hours. But if you do have the misfortune to become ill while you are here, we have an infirmary and a doctor and fully trained nursing staff.’ She smiled reassuringly. ‘After that you will be allocated a bed in a dormitory, shown where you are to take your meals and where your work will be done. We are virtually self-sufficient here.’ She paused. ‘I think perhaps that work in the kitchens would be suitable for you, Mrs Shaw. I take it, having managed a household, you are used to preparing food and washing dishes and pans?’

‘I am, Matron,’ Ellen replied, trying not to feel too shocked by the fact that they were all to be deloused, although she knew it would be an unnecessary procedure. She had always striven to keep them free of vermin.

Matron then turned her attention to Jane. Although pale and undernourished the child was attractive with that mass of rich dark auburn hair and eyes, fringed with thick dark lashes, like amber. ‘And, Jane, you will attend lessons until dinnertime and then in the afternoons you will help in the laundry, but nothing too heavy yet.’

Jane could only nod apprehensively for the matron and the large, bright, comfortable room had overawed her completely. She wanted to ask if she would sleep in the same room as her mother but she couldn’t pluck up the courage.

‘Now, Alfred,’ Matron said briskly, having quickly appraised the lad and noted his sullen, resentful expression. He had the same colour eyes as his sister but his hair was much lighter, more of a gingery shade, and with his sharp features and the wary look in his eyes he reminded her of a young fox. One to watch, if she was not mistaken, she thought, but thankfully he wouldn’t be her problem. ‘You will be housed in the men and boys’ quarters under the authority of the master – Mr Ribchester. You will attend lessons all day until you are ten; then, like your sister, you will work in the afternoons, very probably picking oakum. But that will be the master’s decision.’

Ellen uttered a startled cry as she realised that Alfie was to be separated from her. ‘Oh, ma’am – Matron – I didn’t realise we would be split up!’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Shaw, but it’s the rule, I’m afraid,’ Matron said gently but firmly. ‘The sexes are segregated in all workhouses and for quite obvious reasons, except for elderly married couples. And it’s usual for children of both sexes, once they reach the age of five, to be cared for in separate areas. That way any “laxness” they may have developed in their behaviour can be remedied and of course they start their education.’

‘But . . . but he’s so young,’ Ellen protested, wondering how he would cope without her.

‘We have boys here much younger than Alfred, I can assure you, but you will be able to spend half an hour each afternoon with him, which should reassure you of his wellbeing.’

She rose and Ellen, although still upset, realised that the interview was almost over.

‘I’ll have the porter show you to the reception wing where Superintendent Willis will take charge of you.’

Alfie looked down at his scuffed boots with their broken laces and holes in the soles. He wasn’t at all happy about being separated from his mam and Jane and being put in with a crowd of other boys, and he wondered what this ‘Master’ Ribchester would be like. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t what he had expected. And why hadn’t Mam made more of a fuss about it? Demanded that he be allowed to stay with her? Maybe if she had Matron might have changed her mind, he thought resentfully. Still, he’d at least have a bed and hopefully clothes that weren’t too small for him and proper food. You never knew, it might not all be as grim as it appeared.

The rooms they were shown were small and furnished sparsely with three narrow beds, each with a flock mattress, a pillow and, folded at the end of each bed, sheets and blankets. Against one wall was a chest of drawers, on top of which was a jug and basin set, and woven rush matting covered the floor. In the other room there was a fireplace in which a fire had been lit, a small brightly coloured rag rug in front of it. A scrubbed deal table and four rustic chairs stood by the wall in which a window was set high up near the ceiling but which gave ample light. In the centre of the table sat a Bible.

As the porter left Ellen looked around. ‘This isn’t too bad, is it?’ she said, thinking it was far better than she had hoped for and infinitely warmer and more comfortable than the home she’d been forced to leave. ‘We’ve got a bed each, sheets and blankets and our own table and chairs, we must have to eat here . . . for now.’

Before either of the children had time to comment a tall, thin, angular woman entered. She was dressed in a similar style to the matron but with her dress covered by a white apron. ‘You’re the new arrivals, I take it? I’m Superintendent Willis. Right, I assume Matron has instructed you on the procedure?’

Ellen nodded, once again feeling her stomach churn with apprehension, for this woman’s attitude was very brisk and offhand.

‘Then follow me,’ came the curt instruction.

They were all taken to a tiled anteroom from where a corridor led off to the bathrooms. The superintendent extracted from her pocket a large key, which she passed to a young woman who was obviously her assistant with the instruction to make sure she gave it back immediately she’d finished with it. Ellen and Jane were then ushered into a cubicle by the girl while Alfie was put in a separate cubicle by the older woman.

‘You’ve to take everything off, missus, and put it all in those baskets to be stored and washed and packed away until you leave,’ the girl informed them.

Ellen felt waves of humiliation creep over her; they were obviously to be subjected to an inspection for lice before being taken for a bath. Although Matron had previously mentioned it she had not realised that she would have to strip and stand naked in front of her daughter and worse still before complete strangers. As she slowly placed her shabby garments in the basket she felt the colour rising in her cheeks at the sheer indignity of it all.

Jane had never seen her mother naked before and she studiously kept her gaze averted, sensing Ellen’s acute embarrassment. She felt so sorry for her mam and upset and humiliated at this treatment.

Superintendent Willis was quick and businesslike, seemingly oblivious to their discomfort and embarrassment. She checked them for body and head lice and on finding nothing she gave a brief nod of approval. They were then ushered into separate tiled cubicles each of which contained a large cast iron bath on claw feet. From the brass taps on the wall cold water was already gushing. Ellen’s mood lightened a little; it was such a long time since she’d had the luxury of a proper bath that she now looked forward to this unexpected pleasure.

Jane stood shivering on the slatted wooden platform beside the bath, her arms crossed over her thin chest, watching the water splash against the sides. She’d never seen a bath like this before; they’d only ever had a small tin bath that used to hang on a nail on the wall in the yard. The girl appeared and handed her a coarse but clean towel and a small piece of lye soap. She then inserted the key into an aperture under the brass fitment, turned it and hot water gushed forth, sending clouds of steam upwards. Despite her discomfort Jane was fascinated when, after testing the bath water, the girl turned the . . .