not coming down with a cold. Summer colds are the worst to shake off.”
“Has anything happened?” Flo demanded abruptly.
Mam knew exactly what she meant. “No, luv,” she said sadly. “According to Mrs Cox, they managed to get a hawser to the hull, but it snapped and the ship sank underwater. I went to church today to say prayers with the Legion of Mary, but they don’t seem to have done much good.”
Flo refused anything to eat. At Mam’s insistence, she went to bed after a cup of tea. She felt uncomfortable when Martha came up later with a hot-water bottle and tucked her in. Martha wouldn’t be so sympathetic if she knew the reason why her sister felt so out of sorts.
That night, she slept fitfully. Each time she woke, she was left with the memory of the same dream: she’d been wandering alone through the Mystery when an orchestra wearing full evening dress appeared before her, the sort she’d seen in films. But these were hollow, insubstantial figures -she could see right through them. They were playing “Dancing in the Dark”, and equally shadowy couples began to waltz in a circle around her. Instead of staring at each other, they gazed at Flo, unpleasant, gloating expressions on their faces. They were sneering because she was the only person without a partner. Her sense of isolation was so acute that she felt as if she was encased in a block of ice. Then the couples disappeared, the music stopped, and all that could be heard was the rustle of the trees. Flo was alone with only the moon for company.
Next morning, Mam came up with a cup of tea. “To save you asking, I just listened to the BBC and there’s no news, I’m afraid.”
Flo sat up. To her amazement there was no sign of Martha and Sally, and their bed was neatly made.
“They’ve gone to work,” Mam explained. “We decided not to wake you. It wouldn’t hurt to have the day off, it being Saturday, like, and you’d only be there till one.
I’m sure Mr Fritz won’t mind—you’ve never been off before.”
Flo was only too willing to comply. After Mam had gone, she pulled the bedclothes over her head and sobbed her heart out. She wasn’t sure what time it was when she heard a knock on the front door, followed by Mr Fritz’s voice asking how she was. “We’re all worried about her.
It’s not like Flo to be sick.” She hoped he wouldn’t say she’d been off yesterday. It seemed he didn’t, because Mam came up shortly afterwards and didn’t mention it.
“He’s a lovely man,” she said warmly. “I’m very fond of him. You’re ever so lucky, Flo, working in such a nice place.”
By late afternoon everyone was home, including Albert. Flo got up, and after tea they all trooped into the parlour to listen to the six o’clock news. In a chilling voice the announcer read a statement: “The Admiralty regrets that hope of saving lives in the Thetis must be abandoned.”
Liverpool, the entire country, was stunned. A cablegram arrived from King George VI in Canada. His mother, Queen Mary conveyed her sympathies to the grieving relatives, and Adolf Hitler sent condolences from the citizens of Germany. When this was announced in the cinema, the audience set up a chorus of boos. A fund was set up for relatives of the dead; within days it had reached thousands of pounds. The Clancy family clubbed together and managed to raise a pound between them.
Albert Colquitt added another pound and promised to take it to the collection point in the town hall.
The following Tuesday was a day of mourning. Birkenhead Cenotaph was said to be a mass of wreaths.
Fifteen thousand attended the service and five thousand workers marched in honour of the memory of those who had died.
While the country mourned and salvage work began on the Thetis, the press were asking questions. It was impossible to grasp that so many lives had been lost when only a few feet had separated the men from their rescuers. Why hadn’t experienced divers been rushed to the
“Has anything happened?” Flo demanded abruptly.
Mam knew exactly what she meant. “No, luv,” she said sadly. “According to Mrs Cox, they managed to get a hawser to the hull, but it snapped and the ship sank underwater. I went to church today to say prayers with the Legion of Mary, but they don’t seem to have done much good.”
Flo refused anything to eat. At Mam’s insistence, she went to bed after a cup of tea. She felt uncomfortable when Martha came up later with a hot-water bottle and tucked her in. Martha wouldn’t be so sympathetic if she knew the reason why her sister felt so out of sorts.
That night, she slept fitfully. Each time she woke, she was left with the memory of the same dream: she’d been wandering alone through the Mystery when an orchestra wearing full evening dress appeared before her, the sort she’d seen in films. But these were hollow, insubstantial figures -she could see right through them. They were playing “Dancing in the Dark”, and equally shadowy couples began to waltz in a circle around her. Instead of staring at each other, they gazed at Flo, unpleasant, gloating expressions on their faces. They were sneering because she was the only person without a partner. Her sense of isolation was so acute that she felt as if she was encased in a block of ice. Then the couples disappeared, the music stopped, and all that could be heard was the rustle of the trees. Flo was alone with only the moon for company.
Next morning, Mam came up with a cup of tea. “To save you asking, I just listened to the BBC and there’s no news, I’m afraid.”
Flo sat up. To her amazement there was no sign of Martha and Sally, and their bed was neatly made.
“They’ve gone to work,” Mam explained. “We decided not to wake you. It wouldn’t hurt to have the day off, it being Saturday, like, and you’d only be there till one.
I’m sure Mr Fritz won’t mind—you’ve never been off before.”
Flo was only too willing to comply. After Mam had gone, she pulled the bedclothes over her head and sobbed her heart out. She wasn’t sure what time it was when she heard a knock on the front door, followed by Mr Fritz’s voice asking how she was. “We’re all worried about her.
It’s not like Flo to be sick.” She hoped he wouldn’t say she’d been off yesterday. It seemed he didn’t, because Mam came up shortly afterwards and didn’t mention it.
“He’s a lovely man,” she said warmly. “I’m very fond of him. You’re ever so lucky, Flo, working in such a nice place.”
By late afternoon everyone was home, including Albert. Flo got up, and after tea they all trooped into the parlour to listen to the six o’clock news. In a chilling voice the announcer read a statement: “The Admiralty regrets that hope of saving lives in the Thetis must be abandoned.”
Liverpool, the entire country, was stunned. A cablegram arrived from King George VI in Canada. His mother, Queen Mary conveyed her sympathies to the grieving relatives, and Adolf Hitler sent condolences from the citizens of Germany. When this was announced in the cinema, the audience set up a chorus of boos. A fund was set up for relatives of the dead; within days it had reached thousands of pounds. The Clancy family clubbed together and managed to raise a pound between them.
Albert Colquitt added another pound and promised to take it to the collection point in the town hall.
The following Tuesday was a day of mourning. Birkenhead Cenotaph was said to be a mass of wreaths.
Fifteen thousand attended the service and five thousand workers marched in honour of the memory of those who had died.
While the country mourned and salvage work began on the Thetis, the press were asking questions. It was impossible to grasp that so many lives had been lost when only a few feet had separated the men from their rescuers. Why hadn’t experienced divers been rushed to the
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