Free That Liverpool Girl by Ruth Hamilton

ensue.’
    ‘En-what?’ Six-year-old Bertie was struggling to keep up with all the posh talk.
    ‘Follow,’ snapped their nice, quiet, well-mannered neighbour. ‘Every moment of your lives until we move to inner Lancashire will be supervised. You are not to be trusted. I am thoroughly ashamed of you.’ She turned on her heel and walked out of the house.
    Philip, at eleven, was the oldest of the gang. ‘I’m not going to her house,’ he announced, arms folded defiantly across his chest. ‘I’m not.’
    Rob, at nine, was similarly decided, but Bertie, who thought there might be cocoa across the street, ran upstairs to pick up sleepwear made by his mother out of a shirt that had belonged to his beloved father. He picked up similar items that were the property of his brothers before returning to the ground floor. ‘I’ve got your nightshirts,’ he told them.
    Nellie fastened her eyes to Philip’s. After a few seconds, the sheer weight of her personality forced him to avert his gaze. She moved on to the middle brother, and he endured her glacial stare for a fraction of a second. Hilda Pickavance had begged Nellie to accompany her into the countryside because she needed help with children. But Hilda could manage better than most, and this evening had proved that. ‘Right,’ she said to the three rapscallions. ‘You can’t be trusted, so your mam and I will take you to Miss Pickavance. It’s that or the police station. Well?’
    They chose that . After walking the three across the street, Nellie and Eileen waited until they heard Hilda’s key turning in the lock when the boys had entered the house. ‘Bloody hell,’ Nellie whispered. ‘Talk about hidden talents.’
    Eileen waited until they were home. ‘She’s acting.’
    ‘I know that.’
    ‘She’s being Miss Millichamp.’
    ‘Miss Millie who?’
    ‘Champ. Headmistress at her school. They didn’t believe in caning young ladies, but Hilda said that sometimes she would rather have had the cane. So when you sent me to fetch her, she said she was going to do a Miss Millichamp. Miss Millichamp used to get so deeply disappointed that the girls would be in tears. Psychology, according to Hilda. See, she seems quiet and polite and all that, but underneath, she’s just like the rest of us, only cleverer.’
    Mel came downstairs. ‘Armageddon again?’ she asked.
    Eileen nodded. ‘Police. Something to do with a pound of apples and a barrage balloon.’
    Mel decided not to ask for further clarification. ‘Where are they?’
    ‘With Miss Millichamp,’ Eileen replied. ‘She looks like Hilda Pickavance, but actually she’s a Miss Millichamp. The cops wanted to send the boys to some sort of special school for bad lads, but Hilda stepped in. Wiped the floor with a couple of constables, then waded in on Rob and Philip. Bertie was all right, being the youngest.’
    Mel grinned. ‘Peaceful, isn’t it?’
    Nellie raised her head and looked into her granddaughter’s eyes. ‘For some, it’s going to be too peaceful, love. Out there, we have unborns who’ll never see the light of day, babes in prams who won’t live to learn to walk. Loads of old people won’t get the chance to die in their own beds, and every man who ships out of here will be a target.’
    ‘Sorry, Gran.’
    ‘In 1918, I never really believed it was over. I was right. They just had a long rest, that’s all. We’ve enjoyed what they call a pause in hostilities, because all our young men were dead or near-dead, so we had to grow a new lot. But as long as men are in charge, Mel, there’ll be war. There’s always some bugger trying to prove he can pee highest, run fastest and beat folk up. Like at school. Only this time, it’s a bigger playground.’ She left the room.
    When Mel made to follow, Eileen stopped her. ‘Leave her, girl. She’ll be talking to your granddad. She always does when she’s frightened – she prays to him like he’s a saint.’
    ‘Oh, Mam.’
    ‘I know, love. I