Beyond a Misty Shore Read Free Page A

sight of the city that was to be her new home. Now thatsight filled her with utter dismay. Was this what she’d left Peel for, she thought desperately? She’d been persuaded to give up all her hopes and dreams to come here; her ma and Sophie had said it would be a fresh start, a new life full of great opportunities and excitement but the scene of total devastation that met her eyes offered little prospect of either. They’d come on a wild-goose chase, she thought bitterly.
    Sophie clutched her little daughter’s hand tightly and shook her head in horror at the sight that met her eyes. The three majestic buildings that graced the waterfront were intact, although blackened over the decades by the soot from thousands of chimneys, both industrial and domestic, but beyond them was a total wasteland of rubble and burned-out buildings. St Nicholas’s Church – the sailors’ church her pa had called it – was a pile of broken, scorched stones and charred beams; only its blackened spire still stood. In what had been Derby Square, only the statue of Queen Victoria was untouched, that monarch surveying the destruction that surrounded her with characteristic grim disapproval on her granite features. Sophie felt her shoulders sag as bitter disappointment washed over her. Oh, they’d heard how badly Liverpool had suffered in the terrible, week-long blitz of May 1941. Even far away on the island they’d heard the dull roar of the explosions and they’d seen the night sky glowing eerily red from the thousands of burning buildings. But she’d never expected the reality to be as bad as
this
!
    ‘Are we nearly there, Mam? I’m cold and I’m hungry.’ Sophie dragged her stunned gaze away from the ruinedcity and looked down at Bella. Her daughter was so like her father Andrew that tears pricked her eyes. Wearily she brushed a strand of Bella’s dark brown hair away from her cheek and with an effort forced herself to smile. ‘Not long now. We’ll soon be sitting in Aunty Lizzie’s nice warm kitchen having our breakfast.’
    ‘That’s if Aunty Lizzie still has got a kitchen!’ Maria said grimly, unable to conceal her feelings. She too was cold, tired, hungry and now utterly dispirited. The salty air was making her long dark hair curl frizzily. Her knitted red tamo’-shanter did little to protect it from the dampness in the morning air. She always took great pride in her appearance, even though most of her clothes were either hand-me-downs or had been made by Sophie. She spent hours trying to tame her thick unruly hair, even though her mam told her it was her ‘crowning glory’ and she shouldn’t complain about it so much. Sophie’s hair was just as thick but it was poker straight, which she considered very unfair considering that they both took after Sarah, whose own hair had once been as dark and straight as Sophie’s but was now grey and worn in a neat bun. Maria was missing her mother already for she’d never been away from home before. ‘Aunty Lizzie may not have a roof over her head at all.’
    ‘You could be right there, girl,’ agreed a small, plump woman standing beside them. She wore a black coat and a grey felt hat jammed tightly over short salt and pepper hair, and from her accent Maria realised she was Liverpudlian.
    She turned to the woman, frowning. ‘Oh, don’t say that!Isn’t it bad enough that we’ve come on this fool of a journey without having to find we now have nowhere to live?’
    The woman bristled with indignation. ‘You should ’ave been here during the Blitz, girl! There were thousands of people left without a ’ome, left with nothing but the clothes they stood up in but grateful they still ’ad their lives.
Youse
lot had it soft over there. I’ve been to see me sister-in-law so I know.
Youse
never ’ad bombs raining down on yer night after night while yer were packed like sardines in the public air-raid shelter and terrified out of yer wits. And there’s still ’undreds without