Chapter Four
“Right, not bad, not bad. So if I was to say ‘Give us a fiver, will yer, I’m skint’?”
“I’d say… Long as you do the same when you’re carryin.’”
John seemed very pleased. “Aye, you catch on right quick, you do. And… if I told you to maker yer name Walker, Wack?”
“I’d tell you to… to get stuffed!”
John clapped, joined by an equally as rapturous Pete. Our lesson in lingo was going very well, as it had been for the better portion of the week. As it turned out, the Quarry Bank Grammar School was located not even half a mile from our Academy which meant that we had to take the same bus route back to Woolton. So, instead of taking the bus directly home from school, John thought it a good idea to spend the afternoon introducing us to the city, and indoctrinating us in the ways and wiles of the Liverudlian and our laughter was often wild and endless on the cold crowded city streets.
“Now, mind you not talk like that in front of Ellie.”
“I figured as much, thanks.”
“I’m not worried about your arse, it’s my arse,” said John. “News tends to travel very quickly between me Auntie and your Auntie and— oh hang on a mo’.” John’s eyebrows lowered deviously and his lips thinned into a mischievous scowl. In a flash of movement, he’d grabbed hold of my arm, and yanked me in through the front door of a Woolworths store.
And then, laughing, he shouted out at the top of his lungs: “MARKS AND SPENCERS!”
There was just enough time before he yanked me back out of the store to be met by a dozen pairs of surprised wide-eyes, and as he pulled me back out into the cold outside air, still laughing, I heard a gruff voice shout after us to “Gerrof ‘fore I call the police!”
The four of us rushed down the street and John pulled myself up onto a still moving green city bus, Pete doing the same to Annie. I was out of breath, not so much from running, but from laughing entirely too hard.
He was mad, John was. He was absolutely, totally mad. And that’s what made Annie and I get up every morning with increasing enthusiasm because we knew we’d get to spend another afternoon with him and his wonderful, crazy madness.
“My, but you girls are in a good mood tonight!”
Ellie had just served dinner, a bouillabaisse soup, and Annie and I eagerly dove in. Annie nodded. “Yeah, well, we’ve just had a really good day.”
“The girls at school treating you well?”
“Oh sure, the girls are nice,” I said. “There’s this one girl, Thelma Pickles, and she’s been especially good to us.”
“Yeah,” said Annie. “And John and Pete are terrific. It’s gonna be hard having to leave them.”
Ellie put her spoon down with a decided clink that commanded our attentions.
The seriousness of her normally carefree countenance was certainly unnerving, and my appetite was suddenly very much soiled.
“Right… I suppose there’s no other way than to come right out with it. I got a phone call today. From New York.”
My breath caught in my lungs.
“The word from the clinic isn’t… well, it isn’t good at all. By way of fact, the doctor said that your father was going to be transported to another hospital upstate. A s—s—“
“A Sanitarium?” The word hit my stomach with terrific force.
“Girls,” she said timidly. “Do you remember what the gentlemen said before you came here? That if your father had the bad fortune of not improving after the first month of care then you’d…”
“We’d stay here with you,” I finished quickly, still not looking up at her. “Yes, we remember.”
There was urgency in Ellie’s voice. “I can’t imagine how awful it must be, to be forced to live somewhere you don’t want to be. Especially away from your Father. But, well, there always is the chance that he will improve, you realize that of course. It may not be years off, it could very well be in the next few months, you just never can tell. And… girls… I know you may not think of this place as home, nor the people here family, but I swear to you that I will try to make it as much a home as is at all possible.”
Her words snapped me from my daze, and I brought my eyes up to face her earnest, searching, clear blues. There were turning glassy from the threat of tears.
And I realized that no tears were coming to mine. I… was not sad. Indeed, the tears would have only fell if the news had been that we would have to leave Ellie: to part with the comfortable evenings of tea and fuzzy radio, and the riotous afternoons with John and Pete. To go back to an apartment where we tip-toed on eggshells and lived amongst people that (with the exception of Donna) we cared nothing for. I was guilty of what happened to Father, yes, I was sure of it. And not going back there again meant not having to deal with it.
I turned my attentions on Annie. She was always the most emotional of the two of us, and I was certain that the news would ravage her.
Only she was waiting for me… she was waiting… to smile…
“Ellie,” I said, not taking my gaze from Annie. “I think that the both of us… can’t think of a place we’d rather be more than here.”
Ellie put her hand to her cheek, shamefully casting her eyes downwards. “What a silly old crow I am: crying like this at my age. It’s just…” she looked back up. “I too can’t think of anyplace I’d rather the two of you be.”
And her eyes smiled, the tears drying up with the warmth of her smile, and three of us set back on the task of finishing our dinner.
I still hadn’t an appetite. But that’s only because I was too excited to possibly think about eating.
That night, in my restlessness, I turned on the lamp on my rollaway desk and pulled out a pen and paper. There was no one to write to at home, except for the one friendly face that my sister and I had really ever known. Darling, sweet Donna Shaw. And the words that found their way onto the paper turned into a goodbye… not so much just to Donna, but to the life that I’d known:
Dear Donna:
I’m sure you’ve been wondering why I haven’t written you with news about our return to America. The simple reason is because up until a few days ago, we weren’t sure what was happening. Now we know.
We won’t be coming back to America.
Before you get too upset, there is something you should understand: both Annie and myself are perfectly pleased with the decision to remain here in Liverpool. It’s been hardly more than a month, but the honest truth is we both feel like we’ve been here our whole lives. That’s how the people are here— I can’t describe it to you with words on a paper, it’s something you have to experience to really understand.
Which, by the way, our Auntie says you are more than welcome to do at anytime. Any of the Holidays: Christmas, Easter, what have you, feel free to come up for a visit. I know England may not sound all too exciting to a kid in Brooklyn, but I’m sure we could change your mind on the matter once you get here!
Anyway, give our love to your Mom and Dad, and of course you know that you’ll always have out love. You’ve got it in spades.
All Our Love,
Claire and Annie
* * *
“So… then you’ll be stayin’ here? For good?”
I was smiling. “If all goes well, yes.”
John and Pete were noticeably pleased to hear this. “Just so long as you know what you’re gettin’ yourself into. In case you ‘aven’t noticed, Liddypool is a lot different than where you came from. Visiting someplace is always different than living there.”
“I’m counting on it,” I said firmly. “How many chances does someone get in their life to start life on a fresh, blank slate?”
As it turned out, both of us were very valid in our points. Annie and I had decided to view it all as being given the chance to start over. To make a life for ourselves that we were happy with and a life that wasn’t governed by fear: fear of what father would do one minute to the next, and fear of people finding out about what went on behind our apartment doors. We weren’t about to let an opportunity like this slip out of our fingers.
John, however, had been more than accurate about Liverpool being an alternate universe compared with New York. The bottom line was, simply, that girls in Liverpool just didn't act the way girls in America did. According to John, American girls could wear slim fitting skirts, short skirts, slim shirts and things of the sort. They could drive cars, many had their own cars, they'd go out in groups to soda joints and dances and have fun every chance they could, blasting rock and roll music.
In England, such behavior for girls wasn't up to the stodgy standards of British modicum and decency. They wore puffy skirts and conservative sweater pieces, they didn't drive, they didn't work, rock and roll music was shunned and heaven forbid a guy and a girl should be seen in public, kissing!
“See it’s like this,” said Pete, over a coke at the soda fountain. “America is Oz. And Liverpool is… well, it’s Kansas, isn’t it.”
Ellie explained it all to us patiently and empathetically. The war had thrown Europe out of whack. England had been badly damaged and the rebuilding process had been tedious. Not only that, but Liverpool itself had succumbed to high ratios of unemployment and poverty. Kids in Liverpool were brought up to be the sort of people their parents were, and the monotony of life was only amplified by the conditions of the city.
Then here we came! Fresh from the land of Technicolor! Where kids listened to rock and roll and wore blue jeans to school and drove sports cars and went on quarterly holidays to places like California and Florida! No wonder the minute that the kids at school were so excited to talk to use when they caught wind that we were from New York City!
And in the Liverpudlian people, I returned their enthusiasm because just as enraptured they were with the glossy image of America, so I had become enraptured with their society. Because it was real. No one in Liverpool took themselves any too seriously, and I’d come from place where people excelled at doing just that. So in this new world of cutting sarcasm that served as a bond for a close-knit family community, I was understandably captivated by it.
Annie and I received quite a bit of stares at first. We dressed differently from the Liverpool girls: we subscribed to our favorite American fashion catalogues from home and ordered regularly from their pages which meant we stood out from the other girls. We openly listened to Rock and Roll and, thanks to the wonderful Donna, received any essential new records released in the States: because in Liverpool, we may as well have been in the Dark Ages with how slow it took for new records to reach our docks.
And, perhaps the biggest eyebrow-raiser, was the fact that we associated with John and Pete freely.
Probably hanging around with two Pseudo Teddy Boys didn't do too much for our reputation, but we managed to avoid any sort of trouble. Besides, we had a blast with them: especially that unpredictable, irreverently doughty John Lennon.
We’d become fast friends in the short time that we’d known each other, and he made me wish so very much that the schools were co-ed, because I would have loved to have seen John in action at school. The rumors flew like wildfire about 'that Lennon boy' and his crass behavior in school where he would cut up,, have the class roaring in laughter almost always at the teacher's expense. They were admired by their fellow students and wanted by the authorities.
The group of us four soon multiplied to include the boys’ other mates from school. Annie and I began to find ourselves in the company of fellas like Nigel Whalley, Len Garry and Rod Davis— all members of John’s Skiffle group, whom we got on quite well with. Most afternoons you could find us all crowded on the bus heading down to the Penny Lane traffic circle where we’d hit up a café for a quick bite where more than once, at John’s bidding, we left without paying.
John was wonderful. Blunt, bold and downright nasty at times. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was entirely capable of becoming the most sensitive and caring and gentle of souls. A fact that he went through great lengths to keep people from getting to (the Teddy Boy image, you know) but I was privileged enough to see it. But I don’t pretend to have completely understood him, because he was, most certainly, the most complex fella I’d ever come across. Something that only increased my fondness for him: his unabashed behavior, his wild ambitions, his stubbornness and even our arguments.
If I am starting to sound as though I was smitten, well, you would be correct. I would be lying if I said that I wasn't. John, dear me, was just as sexy as hell. Everything about him was simply hypnotic. His humor, his attitude, his figure. . . everything. Understand that making my affections obvious was something I was not accustomed to (unlike my sister) and therefore I did not try to send signals to John… even though he was someone who excited me in a way I had previously never know, either physically or mentally. Someone who, by the mere touch of his hand, sent me into a panic. And someone whom I could talk to in ways that I had never felt comfortable talking with anyone— boy or girl.
* * *
I remember those first days of summer with fond feelings. Everything felt bright and cheerful… due largely in part, no doubt, to the fact that most days the clouds were gone and the sun was out. Most days, mind you. The fact of the matter was that the weather in England seemed to have an awful lot of fun throwing temper tantrums, often catching people like myself and Annie who were not quite adjusted to its mood swings, very much off guard. There were many times that we came rushing through the front door at Providence Lane thoroughly drenched from an unexpected downpour.
Much time was spent lolling about the house, playing sent to us from Donna. We’d loved music at home, to be sure, even though we owned only three records. But John’s influence had become increasingly noticeable as Annie and I devoted all our resources to tracking down, purchasing, and picking apart as many records as we could. Understand that in those days, collecting records was quite a costly habit to have in since vinyl was an expensive commodity. But Annie and I were blessed with the fact that Ellie was always eager to please, and knew that the best way to spoil us rotten was to let us run wild in the record shops.
It’s little wonder that our collection of records made us all the more valuable in the eyes of John and his band mates.
Adding to our popularity was Ellie’s library next to the living room. John, a nosy little bugger, was snooping about one day and made the declaration that the room had “gear acoustics” (although anything was better acoustics than his Mum’s bathroom where the boys had previously practiced guitar) and he promptly invited himself and his mates over after school to practice.
Dear Ellie really didn't care how long or loud they played. Her only condition was that at precisely 2:30 they have tea with the rest of us. One: because she loved being center of attention, and two: because it helped soften the lie John had to make to Mimi that having tea was the only reason they came over.
When we weren't having tea with Ellie or riding the city busses with the lads, we’d also take quick trips to the waterfront. The Albert Dock was huge, not to mention those three other monstrous docks that lined the giant Mersey River. Large square red-brick buildings inhabited these docks, although when the city was fogged in or cloudy, they all looked gray. And since it was usually foggy, the place looked gray a lot.
Except during the summertime. You could look out onto the Mersey and see large ships sailing to and from only God knows where at any time of the day or night. The best part was at night, though. The city lights would come on, lighting up its ancient structures and illuminating the waters: the entire skyline could be seen in the Mersey's calm waters. It was almost surreal to see the massive gothic buildings radiate forth light, casting vast haunting shadows along Strand and Hope Street.
John was drawn to the waterfront, for reasons he never discussed, and on many occasions, when no one could think of something new to do, we’d head for Riverside Drive and run through the docks with wild abandon, climbing the crates and the junk piles waiting for the shipyard workers for the Cunard Lines.
He’d take our hands and help us climb to the top of the mountains of cardboard boxes to get a proper view of the city. During summertime, the sun didn't set 'till almost ten 'o clock, so as we stood there, the sun was setting casting brilliant purples and pinks and violets onto the Mersey River, the entire skyline being able to be seen in its reflection.
It reminded me, in a vaguely familiar way, of the way the Hudson looked in the onset of evening back home in New York. Back in New York…
John could obviously sense the fact that my mind was drifting because he put his hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"
"Of course. Just thinking."
"Thinking. That's a surprise," and he braced himself, expecting me to sock him.
But I didn't. Instead the four of us just stood in silence, staring out at the beauty before us.
John took a breath. “Claire… I’ve been meanin’ to ask you…”
“Uh-oh,” I said. “Sounds serious.”
“Well… you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I just wanted to know what happened.”
“With what?”
“What happened, you know, with your dad.”
He was right, I didn’t have to answer if I didn’t want to. But I wanted to.
I wanted to… but I couldn’t tell him everything. I couldn’t tell him how guilty I felt and that being here was partly so wonderful because it meant not having to deal with him and my own guilt…
“Well... he got sick, you see. Too sick… mentally… to be able to really raise Annie and I anymore. Ellie is his great aunt and our only relative that’s still living so we had to come here to live with her. The doctors said we could go back after a month if he showed signs of improvement, but… well… that was what, three months ago now?”
John nodded.
“You miss it? Home?“
“Sure I miss New York… but… not half as much as I’d miss this place if I had to leave.”
Especially when John held me close to him and I felt protected from any worry that I may have ever felt: I had no desire to leave that place. In fact, I was developing a terrible fear of the day when we'd have to leave...oh, how I prayed that it would never come. Ever.
This. . .this was my home now. This. The Mersey River, the dirty docks, the wonderful, shabby old pubs, Ellie's house and her crazy friends, my friends- John and Pete and everyone else, that horrible good-old school with those horrible good-old teachers, Julia....everything about the place. Why should anyone want to give up the one thing that we spend our entire lives searching for? I'd found it. The damndest of all places perhaps, but I'd still found it. And Happiness isn't something you find everyday, now is it?
* * *
Mimi Smith.
John’s Auntie.
The only woman who ever truly frightened the shit out of me.
Of course, that was only my first impression of the woman. And granted, the circumstances of our first meeting were less than ideal. Ellie had brought the two of us with her down the road to John’s beautiful white two story house at 251 Menlove Avenue for afternoon tea (a house so rustic from the street with its virtual forest of trees and shrubs and wildflower lined its' driveway and pathway to the front door) to find that we’d wandered directly in to a tempest: John and Mimi were having a terrific row about his marks at school. John had ended the argument by slamming shut the door to his upstairs bedroom, and Mimi had scarcely smiled the whole of our visit, damn near slamming down the biscuits on the table and giving Annie a very formidable frown when she asked if she had any honey for the tea instead since milk upset her stomach.
But as I stated, the intensely negative vibes we got that first afternoon with Mimi were rarely to be repeated again. Yes she was very much the conservative traditionalist, and quite down to business… the wonderful part is she was down to earth. And on subsequent meetings, Mimi was just as open and honest and incredibly hospitable as her sister Julia.
The simple fact was that even though she resembled her nephew very much indeed, in personality they were in two different worlds altogether.
And because of Mimi’s openness with Annie and myself, we soon learned that part of her initial coldness to us had been that she felt it rather presumptuous of girls to be in such frequent, close companionship with boys. But as the weeks wore on, and she realized that we were absolutely harmless, she softened considerably until she began to ring Annie and myself up specifically to have tea with her. The fact that Mimi made one helluva strawberry tart only added to our willingness to oblige.
John though we were just a pair of brownnosers. Until he realized that our after school teas with Mimi served as a big enough distraction for him and his lads to practice their instruments upstairs. Indeed, Annie and I became very adept at raising the volume of our conversation whenever the clanging of guitars upstairs began to become audible from the kitchen, and kept Mimi hopping from subject to subject so as to keep her attentions away from the rock and roll jam sessions brewing upstairs.
It was on one such summer visit that, after tea with Mimi, we’d made our customary visit into John’s sanctuary (his bedroom) before leaving back for Providence Lane.
Now, before I continue, let me just tell you this straight off. There a few things in life that, I feel, truly defy description. John's room, however, was one of those few things. The fella had almost certainly never heard of a rubbish bin… or a Hoover… or soap and water, come to that.
The door was closed, which wasn't unusual. But when I went to open the door, I found it locked. That was unusual. I could hear voices in there, so he obviously wasn't alone. When I knocked, the voices abruptly stopped, and John's tense voice came bellowing, “What is it?”
"Um...what's with the lock, Lennon? With all we’ve done for you, this is how you treat us?"
The door came flying open, revealing a worried looking John. But when he found us, his face eased up, "Oh," he said, opening the door all the way, "It's just you."
"Please— contain your enthusiasm to see us."
We found a seat on the floor, next to piles of... only god knows what. That's when I realized that John's entire skiffle group was assembled in there also. Of course there was the always present Pete, but the other Quarry Men were present as well: Nigel, Colin and Rod.
"What's all this?" Annie asked.
"We," said John, plopping down on his bed, "are going over an arrangement."
I stared into the boys' faces: they were all beaming with pride. I glanced down at a piece of lined paper with scribbling on it, "An arrangement?" I repeated.
"Yep."
"For what, might one ask?"
"Y'ever hear of the...Woolton Village Fete?" John said that in a sarcastic manner- as though the so-called ‘Fete’ was a mind-blowing event.
"Nope. Why? What is it?"
"What is it! " Nigel exploded, sitting straight up. He was a rather reserved boy, so his reaction rather scared me, "What is it? Its only the biggest even this town has every year."
"Well… given the size of the town the event can't be that big."
John, who was still on his bed, fiddling with his guitar strings let out a laugh, "I have to agree with that one. Don't be so soft, Nigel."
"Well," said Nigel, "it is something everyone looks forward to. Anyway, it's a very good opportunity."
“For what,” said Annie. “What the heck is a fete anyway?”
"A fete," said Pete, "'O ignorant friends, is a kind of Carnival. You know: games, refreshments, music- things like that. Actually a bunch of old nuns from St. Peters get together every year and put it on."
"This town does make quite a big deal of it, I have to admit," said John, "they go all out: they even have a parade to celebrate it, from one end of town clear to the other end where the fete is held.”
"Which is where?"
"The field across from St. Peters. The parade's pretty pathetic, really. Every year they crown a Rose Queen— some little snot-nosed brat that's the daughter of some nun's sister or somethin' and they expect us to go potty over it. But the reason that all us kids go is for the music. Usually, there's lots of kids from downtown Liverpool tend to show up."
"If its such a drag, then why do you even go?"
"What else is there to do in this bloody town?"
"Besides," said Colin, "it'll be gear! It'll be our actual first professional gig."
"Oh!" Annie said, "so now you're all professionals."
"You know what I mean."
John started to run through the program for us, "We'll open with somethin' snappy. I was thinkin' 'Come Go With Me' by the Del Vikings or somethin' like that. Then some skiffle stuff, maybe Rock Island Line, or Cumberland Gap, and then..."
"Uh oh!" I said, a realization finally setting in.
John stopped, and put down the piece of paper he was reading off of, "What?" I started giggling, how could I have been so blind? "Guys... I hate to rain on your parade, but..." I couldn't contain my laughter.
"Jesus, what!" John demanded.
"Have you considered just who's gonna be there?"
Annie got my point, and her mouth thinned in solemnity. “Ouch… yeah…”
"Who?" All four of the boys cried out at once.
Simultaneously we replied with one word: "Mimi."
John rolled his eyes and sneered, "Oh- is that all. God, I thought it was gonna be something important."
"Important? Little man, this is important!"
"D'you think that a minor inconvenience like Mimi is gonna keep me from doin' this?"
"Ha!" Annie bellowed, "that minor inconvenience is gonna tan your hide!"
"Listen junior," I said, "just think for a sec: not only is she gonna find you as a full blown teddy boy, but-- in a rock 'n' roll band? She'll make you kiss your sweet little music career goodbye."
But John was so confoundedly stubborn. I knew that nothing- apart from hell freezing over- was gonna make him change his mind.
He shrugged his shoulders, "Oh well then, eh?"
Now, beneath my attempted indifference, I knew perfectly well that this truly was a big break for them. You see, last week they had gone down to the old Empire Theater in Liverpool to audition for this television show called "Carrol Levi's: Discoveries." I'm not going to get into too much detail, but let's just say- they weren't discovered. From what John told us they did very well, winning their heat and all. But then they went up against this one group called Cass and the Cassanovas, and they lost.
"What really ticks my off," he'd told us, "is that the lead singer is a damn midget!"
So as you can imagine, John was a bit... put out to say the least and wasn't about to let another opportunity slip through his fingers.
I smiled at John and reached over, punching his shoulder, "Love that attitude, boy. Keep it up, will ya?"
"Yeah," said Annie, "I'd like to hear you say that when Mimi puts the switch to your behind, John."
"Nothin to it," he said, "Don't you think that I'm used to that by now?"
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