Through the Storm by Maureen Lee Page B

numerous contacts; old rivals of Hennessy Removal & Haulage Company, who, she felt sure, would be only too willing to pass on a small load that they might otherwise have had to turn down because it wasn’t worth the petrol. It meant they kept the good will of the customer who might well turn to them again when they had a larger load that needed shifting.
    The first inkling she had that there would be difficulties was when she bought a fireguard, which turned out to be a problem all in itself.
    ‘Folks hand them in for scrap metal when they don’t need them any more. I haven’t had a fireguard in ages,’ she was told again and again.
    She walked for miles with Penny in the pushchair before she found a nice smart brass one in a shop at the far end of Stanley Road.
    ‘I’ll send the lad round with it Sat’day on the handcart,’ the proprietor told her.
    ‘Saturday! But I need it now.’
    ‘I’m sorry, lady, but the lad only comes Sat’days. It’d mean closing the shop if I brought it before then.’
    ‘Haven’t you got a van?’ It was a large shop and there was none of the usual rubbish for sale. Everything was good quality and she recognised a few valuable antiques. She vaguely remembered this was where her father used to bring the odd bit of porcelain and silver which he’d picked up for a song – making about one thousand per cent profit at the same time. Surely, a place like this didn’t function with merely a handcart?
    ‘I’m not using the van to deliver a fireguard, lady, not when petrol’s so scarce. If I did that, me month’s ration’d be gone in a few days.’
    ‘Don’t you get extra if you’re in business?’
    The proprietor took offence, apparently thinking Jessica was arguing for an early delivery, rather than asking the question out of real interest. ‘Only for essential purposes,’ he snapped, ‘and I doubt if the Government would consider delivering a fireguard essential, not when the petrol’s needed by the RAF to fight the bloody war.’
    ‘I was only asking! I’ll take the guard with me.’ Both ends folded so it shouldn’t be too difficult to carry. She bestowed upon him a brilliant smile. ‘Thanks very much. I’ve been looking for one of these all over.’
    Feeling placated by the smile, the proprietor offered her a piece of string so she could make a handle.
    A few days later, Jessica telephoned Mappin’s Nationwide Removals and asked for the manager.
    ‘Charlie? It’s me, Jessica Fleming, Bert Hennessy’s daughter,’ she said when an old voice quavered ‘hallo’.
    ‘Jessie! I thought you went to live in the States when war broke out?’
    ‘I don’t know where you got that idea from, Charlie. Arthur and I have been living in the Lake District.’ The idea had in fact come from Jessica herself. When the axe of bankruptcy had fallen, she’d told all their old friends she and Arthur were moving to America, because she was too ashamed to reveal their real destination was Bootle.
    She explained her proposed business plan to Charlie Mappin, but was dismayed by his reaction, even though, by now, it was half expected.
    ‘You’d never be allowed the petrol, Jess, luv. I’ve already put three of me lorries into mothballs, and if I didn’t have a Government contract which means I get an essential allowance, I doubt if I could keep the other four going.’
    ‘What sort of Government contract?’ Jess demanded. Perhaps she could get one for herself.
    ‘Carrying troops, always at very short notice. I keep a couple of drivers on standby twenty-four hours a day.’
    ‘Just a minute, Charlie, the pips are going.’ Jessica fed more pennies into the box, but the extra money was wasted . Charlie Mappin could offer no further encouragement. He was, he told her, even thinking of going back to a horse and cart for local jobs.
    ‘Ask the Kellys next door if they can get petrol for you on the black market,’ Sheila suggested when Jessica explained her predicament. ‘Though