Lights Out Liverpool by Maureen Lee Read Free Book Online

dead smart in his uniform,’ Jack Doyle said proudly, then his craggy features twisted sardonically. ‘He’s officer material is Francis, but there’s no way he’ll be promoted beyond sergeant. He don’t talk enough like a toff.’
    ‘Oh, come off it, Dad,’ Eileen said impatiently. ‘You’re the last person who’d want an officer for a son-in-law,’ and he had the grace to smile, slightly shamefaced.
    ‘I’m going to join the Fleet Air Arm,’ Sean said excitedly. He was a lovely dark gypsy of a boy, a throw-back to some wild Gaelic strain in the family.
    Eileen shook his bare brown arm irritably. ‘Shurrup, you! You’re only sixteen. The war’ll be well finished by the time you’re old enough to fight. Everyone sez it’ll be over by Christmas.’ It was no good adding, ‘That’s if there
is
a war,’ because it looked beyond doubt by now.
    Mr Singerman opened his mouth to say something, but must have thought better of it. He stayed silent.
    The Prime Minister’s voice was strained and weary. He was seventy, and the events of the past weeks and months would have taxed the nerves of a man half his age.
    ‘
I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at Number Ten Downing Street
…’
    The Costellos’ house was crowded. Few families in Pearl Street could afford a wireless. Neighbours were packed in the hall and on the stairs. Eileen sat on a hard chair which was jammed between Mr Singerman and the table. Francis was back. Despite the ill-fitting, clumsily-made clothes, he still managed to look debonair and even slightly rakish as he stood framed in the back kitchen doorway. Rodney Smith was beside him, his blond wavy hair stiff with Brylcreem.
    …
unless the British Government heard by eleven o’clock that Germany were prepared to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany
…
    There was a swift drawing in of breath from everybody there. One or two of the women moaned softly and several people made the sign of the cross. Somebody giggled nervously. Eileen noticed Jacob Singerman’s gnarled yellow hands tighten so hard that the knuckles showed white.
    …
May God bless you all. May he defend the right, for it is evil things that we shall be fighting against – brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution; and against them I am certain that the right will prevail
.
    The Prime Minister’s voice faded away and was followed by the National Anthem. Nobody moved, maintaining a respectful silence – though Jack Doyle, who had no truck with nationalism wherever it came from, irritably lit a cigarette.
    Calum Reilly, Sheila’s husband, was the first to speak when the music finished. ‘Well,’ he said ruefully, ‘that’s that, then. I’d better go and tell the missus.’ His normally warm good humoured face was troubled. A Merchant Seaman’s job was already hazardous enough without the now predictable threat of attack from German U-boats and planes.
    ‘Tell our Sheila I’ll pop over to see her later on,’ Eileen told him. Her sister would be sick with worry. Cal was going back to sea in the morning.
    People began to disperse, looked dazed. Their country was in a state of war and it hadn’t quite sunk in yet.
    ‘Tara, Eileen. Tara Francis,’ they shouted.
    Eileen felt thankful that her dad and Sean were tactless enough to remain. She didn’t want to see Francis off on her own. To her astonishment, he picked up his bulging kitbag and swung it over his shoulder. ‘I’ll be off now.’
    ‘Already? I thought you weren’t due to report in till half past twelve?’
    ‘It’s not so far off that now. Rodney and I’ll stop off on the way for a bevy. Fancy one, Jack?’
    ‘D’you want us to come with you?’ Eileen felt bound to ask, feeling awkward and inadequate. Her husband was going off to fight in a war and it had all