Jenny went into her sister Margaret’s room, for their mother had gone out to “do the messages” and had told Jenny to keep an eye on her sibling while she was away. They lived on a cheap estate on the north side of Liverpool; its red-brick factory houses were barely still standing, and its unpaved roads were strewn with rubble. Smoke belched from pipes and vents all around. Last night the residents had tried to keep warm by burning newspapers. Just as well there were still a few lumps of coal for the kitchen; just as well you could burn twigs to keep warm. As long as there was hot water for their morning tea, that was the main thing. Jenny’s father was a seaman in the merchant navy, and he sailed the passage to India. He had a foul temper, and never wanted to hear a word about his two daughters, Jenny and Margaret. When he came back to the house after his long stints away, he was full of rage and would often strike their mother. “There’s nothing to eat! It’s too cold in here! Go buy me a tin of beans! They’re good for nothing, the pair of them.” Jenny did not care to hear such talk; she dreamed of finding a nice husband who would respect her, and kiss her tenderly on the mouth. And no sailors! Liverpool was a huge cargo port for goods arriving into the UK. The city was also famed as the home port of the Titanic, that great doomed cruise liner. Jenny could not have cared less for such things; she hated the sea and its vast horizons. She dreamed of going to London, of answering a telephone behind a desk, of collecting a nice little pay check and of living a responsible life.
“Whatcha doin’, Margie?” she asked, walking into her sister’s room.
“I’m bored out me skull! Where’s mam?”
“She went out to buy some beans. He’s coming back in ten days,” explained Jenny.
“Oh no, Daddy’s coming? He’ll bring the whole house down on us this time,” sighed Margaret.
“It won’t be for long.”
Suddenly, Jenny heard her friend James calling to her: “Jenny! Jenny! Come see what I found!” he cried from outside their front door. James was her special friend; he was so gentle and innocent, though he too wanted to join the merchant navy and sail to India. Jenny and Margaret stuck their heads out the window. “Look what I found in the bin!” the boy went on, holding up a white veil. Jenny couldn’t believe her eyes – how had James come across such a treasure? She and her mother had scoured the bins on their street many a time, finding nothing but empty beer cans – though even these were worth something in Liverpool. Nothing went to waste here in the north side. A few cans meant a few coins in your pocket, and all you had to do was tie them to a string and drag them through the streets to the scrap merchant. Of course, when the bins were full it was first come, first served. “It’s so white – it’s gorgeous!” answered Jenny, clapping her sister on the back. “We’ve never found anything like that in the bins around here.” “So what’s the story, will you marry us?” James asked with an impish grin. Jenny and Margaret leapt down the stairs without a moment’s hesitation.
James placed the vestal veil on her head, and they began their game: Jenny was getting married, with Margaret playing the role of a solemn priestess. She told Jenny to walk slowly down the aisle James had made, a symbolic path of stones laid out along the pavement. Jenny could not believe it was real. Margaret’s legs were quivering. Something special was about to happen. James waited at the end of the alley, his head held high. Margaret helped Jenny carry her veil. She’d always dreamed of being a maid of honour. At Uncle John’s wedding the bride wouldn’t let the excited little girl near her, and she hadn’t even gotten to throw rice outside the church! Her mother had said that it was a sin to waste food, and she should clap like everyone else. Clapping! What kind of great tradition was that? You clapped for a busker playing the accordion, or an artist drawing on the street with chalk. But this was Jenny’s special day, and she moved forward with heavy footsteps, tears welling in her eyes.
Alan Alfredo Geday
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