The Leaving Of Liverpool Read Free

sleep refused to come now, she beat the pillow with her fist in an attempt to make it softer, but it had no effect. She did her best to think about nothing. When that didn’t work, she tried counting sheep, but that was no good either.
    She wondered what the time was. It had been just after 5 p.m. when they’d landed in Liverpool. By then it was dark and the piercing wind had become a howling gale. The Queen Maia was moored by the landing stage, Mollie was told: they could board whenever they pleased. They did not set sail until the next afternoon. The landing stage was a short walk along a busy road crammed with horses and carts and hundreds of people of all different colours speaking strange languages she’d never heard before. Annemarie lagged behind, as pale as a ghost, while the icy wind penetrated their thick coats, and blew up their skirts and down their necks, making their eyes water and their ears ache. Mollie allowed her imagination to stretch ahead to when they would be living with Aunt Maggie in her apartment in Greenwich Village, ‘no distance from Washington Square’, according to one of her letters.
    The Queen Maia , a great white vessel with three funnels, had rows and rows of portholes like little, black eyes that stared at them balefully. Annemarie had uttered a little, fearful cry and Mollie put her arm around her thin shoulders.
    ‘It’s all right, sis. It’s only a ship.’ She produced their tickets and passports, surrendered the suitcase to be delivered to their cabin, and was directed towards a gangplank level with the dock.
    The floodlit quayside was frantically busy. Food was being taken on to another part of the ship: bags of flour and crates of wine, sides of beef and trays of leafy vegetables. Trolleys were pushed at a demonic speed, a giant crane transferred cargo to the hold, and people rushed to and fro - aimlessly, as far as she could see. An extremely elegant lady clad in white fur was negotiating a gangplank leading to the upper part of the ship, followed by a uniformed man carrying an assortment of parcels. There seemed to be an awful lot of unnecessary screaming and shouting.
    A steward showed them to their cabin along a maze of narrow corridors, the motion of the boat gentle, almost soothing, considering the fierceness of the weather. Their suitcase was waiting for them.
    The first, possibly worst, part of the journey was over, thought Mollie now as she lay in the bunk, tired out of her wits, but unable to sleep, having counted so many sheep she never wanted to see another for the rest of her life. Music came from some distant part of the ship. ‘I’m just wild about Harry,’ a woman was singing.
    She pulled the clothes over her head when one of their fellow travellers came in, undressed, and used the lavatory with a great deal of grunting followed by a horrible smell. The bunk below creaked when she got in.
    The other passenger arrived in what could have been hours later or might only have been minutes: Mollie’s head was swirling with clouds of tiredness and she couldn’t tell. A guttural voice from down below said, ‘I see you on deck with man. Is it what you do for living, get paid to go with man? Is why you go to America?’
    ‘Mind your own business, you nosy German cow. You’re only jealous ’cos no man’d go with you for a hundred quid.’
    Mollie opened one eye. The light would appear to be permanently on and she saw a young woman with a pretty, heart-shaped face and bright yellow hair wearing a little cocked hat with a bent feather and a partially bald fur cape. With a series of dramatic gestures, she removed the hat and cape, kicked off her shoes, undid the buttons of her satin blouse and slipped out of a black silky skirt that was much too thin for the wintry weather, then slid into bed in her petticoat, leaving the clothes on the floor.
    ‘Tomorrow, I report you to steward. Why you got no luggage? You not should be in cabin, you belong in steerage with