Sing Us A Song Ma, Before We Say Goodbye

Johnny Slater

Description

Sing Us A Song Ma, Before We Say Goodbye is a lively, vividly rendered and extremely moving memoir of Johnny Slater's childhood in war-torn Liverpool. Written by his daughter Carol, it follows Johnny from the outbreak of the Second World War in 1939, right up until his period of National Service from 1954-1956. It tracks the progress of Johnny, his brother Jimmy, sister Cath, Ma, Da, Aunty Julia and his four-legged friends, Punch and Judy - through the devastation of the Liverpool Blitz, their evacuation to a country farm (and the first sight of cows for the children), Johnny's school years, D-Day, first love, and the devastating tragedy that befalls the family during Johnny's time in the army. It is full of detail and colour, painting an exuberant and loving picture of working class life in Kirkdale, on the banks of the Mersey, where life was often hard and money in short supply, but where communities pulled together, family was everything and it only took a chippy dinner or a bonfire to send a small boy into paroxysms of joy. The dialect-driven dialogue creates a rich sense of place, and the characters are full of life and love, so that the untimely death of one of them at the end of the narrative is profoundly moving and tragic.

Sujets

• Philosophie et théologie
• Memoir

Informations

• Publié par: Brown Dog Books
• Date de parution: 20 mai 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781785452888
• Langue: English

Extrait

JOHNNY SLATER
and
CAROL WAINWRIGHT
First published 2018
Copyright © Johnny Slater and Carol Wainwright 2018
The right of Johnny Slater and Carol Wainwright to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the copyright holder.
Published under licence by Brown Dog Books and The Self-Publishing Partnership, 7 Green Park Station, Bath BA1 1JB
www.selfpublishingpartnership.co.uk
ISBN printed book: 978-1-78545-287-1 ISBN e-book: 978-1-78545-288-8
Cover design by Kevin Rylands Internal design by Tim Jollands
Printed and bound in the UK
CONTENTS
Prologue
Introduction Carol
CHAPTER 1 Something in the Air
CHAPTER 2 Fed up to the Back Teeth
CHAPTER 3 School-Yard Shenanigans
CHAPTER 4 Is It Time to Go Home Yet, Miss?
CHAPTER 5 The Italian Job
CHAPTER 6 Christmas with Hitler: the Bombs Came Tumbling Down
CHAPTER 7 Wish Me Luck
CHAPTER 8 The Green, Green Grass of Wales
CHAPTER 9 Dad’s Homecoming
CHAPTER 10 The Empty Chair
CHAPTER 11 Bloody Nonsense, Said Ma
CHAPTER 12 A Head Full of Movies
CHAPTER 13 The Yanks, and More, Are Coming
CHAPTER 14 The Tide Turns Slowly
CHAPTER 15 Hope on the Rays
CHAPTER 16 As Time Goes By
CHAPTER 17 The Beginning of the End
CHAPTER 18 Blowing in the Wind
CHAPTER 19 A Bucketful of Firsts
CHAPTER 20 Don’t Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes
CHAPTER 21 There Must Be a Reason
CHAPTER 22 The Longest Journey
CHAPTER 23 Field of Dreams Carol
Epilogue Carol
Appendix: Letters from Aunt Julia
Acknowledgments
PROLOGUE
When asked about Liverpool most people can easily name our famous football teams, Everton and Liverpool. Many know of Liverpool’s fascinating maritime history. And who doesn’t know that Liverpool is the birthplace of the legendary Beatles? Four talented musicians who changed the face of music forever, and who immortalised “The Cavern,” a small club tucked away in lively Matthew Street in the town’s busy centre.
No-one could fail to recognize the warm and humorous voice of a Scouser. Love, strength, and a kind heart are the key qualities of Scousers. Singers, comedians, footballers, actors and actresses, Liverpool births them all.
Not all Scousers are world famous but rest assured, every Scouser is born with a rare and inspiring gift. We can talk the hind leg off a donkey – but when something needs doing we get up and get it done. When a neighbour needs help, we pick up a brush and scrub out, without question. No need for thanks or recognition. We help each other out. We serve because we want to. This remarkable trait is natural. It’s in our blood. We make the most of our lot with a song in our heart and a smile on our face. This claim is made proudly, unashamedly, and without arrogance because it’s true. A Scouser will find beauty in anything, even when it’s not pretty, in good times and bad. We look after each other and count our blessings. We may not have much but what we do have we share and we are thankful. It’s as simple as that. Little things mean a lot and we are grateful for whatever cards life has dealt us.
Liverpool today may well be just another port that others pass through on their way to sunnier and exotic destinations. Travellers perhaps only glimpse the northern banks of the River Mersey. How many people notice the shipping and commerce in this thriving and busy port, or witness the countless containers carrying cargo all over the world? The rolling waves of the Mersey are still relied on even if its once thriving Victorian heydays have long since passed. Liverpool was the busiest port in the country during both world wars and its status as a port city has attracted a diverse population, drawn historically from a wide range of peoples, cultures and religions, more particularly, from Ireland and Wales.
Overlooking the River Mersey and dominating one of the world’s most famous waterfront skylines is the Royal Liver Building at the Pier Head. Silently perched atop its roof are “Bella and Bertie”, the Liver Birds, each carrying a branch of laver seaweed. These iconic birds are made from copper and stand eighteen feet tall with a wingspan of twenty-four feet. Various mythologies surround these legendary creatures, who stand facing away from each other. One such legend has it that the female bird looks out to sea making sure those who sail the waters arrive home safely while the male bird looks towards the city to protect its citizens. Should the birds ever turn to face each other, Liverpool will no longer exist.
On the opposite side of the river is Liverpool’s sister port, Birkenhead, and beyond that are the small seaside towns of the Wirral peninsular. Further still is the North Wales countryside, home to many evacuees during World War Two.
Kirkdale is an area of flat land on the banks of the River Mersey, formerly consisting of sand hills, for which this part of the Sefton coast is still well known. It is one of the oldest coastal settlements, pre-dating Liverpool itself. Kirkdale Road was once an important route into Liverpool when the emerging town became a market destination for traders and producers across Lancashire. In 1699 Liverpool became a parish in its own right separating from nearby Walton on the Hill – a separation enforced, according to the history books, by the inability of parishioners to resist the distraction of the Kirkdale Alehouse on their way to church…
Kirkdale was still mostly rural at the beginning of the nineteenth century and was only half-developed by around 1850. But new roads were being added on to Liverpool’s northern fringes to cater for the growth in businesses spreading out from Dale Street and Castle Street.
As Liverpool’s wealth increased, the richest merchants looked for room to build the large houses that would reflect their status in society. Kirkdale was one of the first areas to become a suburb, and a fashionable one at that. The coast to the west of Kirkdale was, before the arrival of the docks, popular as a destination for bathers and those seeking fresh air. Later, when the Wellington, Huskisson, and Sandon Docks were built, Southport replaced Kirkdale as the preferred holiday destination for discerning Liverpudlians.
A village so close to the ambitious and growing town of Liverpool could not expect to stay rural for very long. As the Industrial Revolution approached, the area of Kirkdale became increasingly more built-up, while two significant nineteenth-century developments put paid to its days as a semi-rural suburb. The first was the Leeds-Liverpool Canal, which brought trade and goods into North Liverpool and immediately attracted a huge number of businesses to its terminus around Leeds Street. The second was the Liverpool & Bury (later the Lancashire & Yorkshire) Railway which opened in 1848. This not only encouraged even more industry into the area, but also helped to transform the mellow atmosphere from one of cut grass and cow dung to a smoky, sooty climate.
Kirkdale’s proximity to the docks made it a great place to build houses for the thousands of casual workers who were too poor to live more than walking distance from their potential employers. As Liverpool’s growth reached its peak in the late Victorian period, a grid-iron pattern of terraces crept along the landscape. The richer classes –from the clerks all the way up to the shipping line owners moved further away from the town centre. The clerks tended to move to Anfield and Walton while the richest built new villas in the countryside around Woolton and West Derby, or north of Bootle. Kirkdale was one of the earliest suburbs to be incorporated into Liverpool itself, in 1835. The swathes of unsuitable housing which blighted places like Kirkdale in the twentieth century were the inevitable result of unscrupulous landlords throwing up as many properties as possible for the lowest cost.
* * * *
In the middle of this grid-iron pattern stood a group of terraced streets running off the busy Stanley Road and it was in one of these houses on the corner of Stanley Road and Lambeth Road that Emily Slater, thirty-one years old, gave birth to her second son, on 22 January 1933. Emily’s husband Jimmy was a Donkeyman in the Merchant Navy, looking after the ships’ steam engines since joining up at age fourteen. He was home on leave when the midwife delivered the Slaters’ new baby. Emily’s eldest son Jimmy, three years old, hearing for the first time the wail of a newborn, wriggled on his Da’s knee.
In the tiny kitchen Emily’s younger sister, Julia, was hovering, hand on hip and clutching a worn-out tea-towel. Hearing the baby’s first cry she sprang into action. Tucking a few loose strands of fiery red hair into a blue flowered turban, she fixed her piercing green eyes on the waiting kettle and the plate of meat-paste butties. Her beloved Emily would be starving, gagging for a strong cup of tea after such a long labour. The two sisters were joined at the hip, quick-witted, running their homes like well-oiled machines. Since leaving school they had worked together at the jam factory, Hartley’s, a three-mile tram ride away in Fazakerley. When the babies came along they took separate shifts and shared the care of their children. The threat of more job losses in the factory was looming but they would deal with that when the time came. Strong and resourceful, they would find a way to put food on the table and feed the family.
Julia’s husband Matty was in the parlour with Jimmy and the children. Matty scooped up his own three kids, announcing proudly that they had a new cousin to play with.
Matty was a dock labourer and, that day, had joined the hundreds of other men on the dockside si