Free A Mersey Mile by Ruth Hamilton Page A

shocking.’
    ‘Why singing?’ Polly asked.
    ‘To cover the noise of Father Brennan pleading for his life. Now it’s a case of who gets there first. There’s four police waiting for help, only there’s been a big
robbery down the builders’ yard; the watchman got beat up. We’ve Evertonians lined up looking for the bishop, because a Catholic won’t tell him to bugger off, but they
will.’
    ‘The bishop?’ several whispered in near awe.
    Ida nodded vigorously. ‘The housekeeper phoned him before locking herself in the bathroom. She keeps screaming through the door, telling our lads the bishop’s on his way. It’s
a great big stand-off. We can only wait and see what happens.’
    Hattie, who appeared to have given up on her dad’s dentures, spoke some words of warning. ‘If the bishop gets there first, the men in the house will cripple Brennan. Because the
bishop will make sure there’s no case, no prison, so they’ll batter him. I mean the queer feller, not the bishop. What can we do?’
    ‘Nowt.’ Pete Furness stood in the doorway. ‘Stay out of it. Polly, tell Frank I still need his car. I’d best get round there and see what’s what.’ He left as
suddenly as he had arrived.
    Hattie carried on regardless. ‘See, they’re like kids. If you keep them in, they read their comics or their newspapers, eat their dinners, cut their toenails, behave themselves, cos
they know we’re watching. But when they go out to play, it’s a different story. They’re either fighting or drinking, sometimes both. Well, I’m not going down there, girls. I
don’t want nothing to do with police or bishops.’
    There was little to be done, but at least they were together. These were the core of the Scotty Road mamas’ mafia, and each drew comfort from company with the rest. The women in the cafe
and others like them had carried generations through war, diphtheria, TB, and many births and deaths. Their wealth sat in no bank; it was here in toughened faces and gentle hearts. Mavis
Blunt’s lad had been attacked, so they fretted with and for her. ‘This is what they’ll take away,’ Polly said. ‘Us sitting here because we know the Blunts are sitting
watching over Billy in a hospital bed. When they destroy our houses, we lose this strength.’
    Mary Bartlett, the butcher’s wife, came in. ‘I’ve fetched your bacon, Pol. We’ve only just cleared up. Harry’s gone down Columba’s. I hope he stays out of
trouble.’ She placed a parcel on the counter. ‘I hear Frank clobbered the bugger.’
    ‘He did,’ Polly replied. ‘He’s in the back with the rest of the kids.’
    ‘I heard that,’ he shouted.
    Polly grinned. He was meant to have heard it. ‘Hurt his hand, poor lad.’
    Carla Moore, resplendent in blue, pink and yellow plastic curlers, fell in at the door. ‘The Proddies have stopped the Bishop of Liverpool,’ she gasped, fighting for breath.
‘Shut in his car, he is. One of them . . . I can’t breathe . . . I think he has a chip shop near St Columba’s . . . ooh, I’m winded. He said respect and all that, but a
common criminal was under citizen’s arrest . . . Give us a cuppa, Pol.’
    After a few noisy slurps, Carla carried on. ‘So the bishop’s in his car, and he can’t do nothing. There must be fifty men down there outside the wotsname – presbytery.
They’re hanging on for the cops, but there’s been a robbery somewhere, so Pete Furness is going to phone town for reinforcements. I just seen him. He said we’ve to stop here safe,
like.’ She sat down. ‘And I’ve laddered me stocking.’ This final incident clearly meant more than anything else to Carla. She would shop happily in the city centre in
colourful curlers under a scarf of transparent nylon chiffon, but laddered stockings were a source of great shame.
    ‘Hush.’ Ida put a finger to her lips. ‘Bells.’
    ‘If they’re for Brennan, they’re hell’s bells,’ Hattie whispered.
    Mary Bartlett, bringer