Liverpool Miss by Helen Forrester

Author:Helen Forrester
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Autobiography, Liverpool, Family Saga, Chick-Lit, Poverty, Biography, Women's Fiction
ISBN: 9780007369317
Publisher: HarperCollins UK
Published: 1982-01-28T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I had been tired at the end of the first day of work, but by the end of the second day it seemed as if every muscle had its own particular ache. My imagination boggled at the thought of how many stairs had been climbed, how many miles walked. Even Miss Finch, who was a strong, well-fed girl, looked worn out; and I had done the same amount as she had on less food than a prisoner of war could hope for. As I trailed home, I realised that on the following day I would have to do the same work without Miss Finch’s help.

At the end of the day one of the duties of the office girl, I discovered, was to collect any remaining outgoing letters from their various signatories, put them into their envelopes and take them to the nearby General Post Office and drop them in the letter box. There was always a flurry on the part of the stenographers to bring down last minute letters for signature by the Presence.

The Presence was a very hard-pressed woman and was frequently in the middle of phone calls or interviews, when the letters arrived. The stenographers laid the letters on her desk, thankfully put on their hats and coats and went home. The little office girl stood outside the office and waited for the letters to be brought out by the Presence’s secretary, who was a volunteer; and on some evenings she waited and she waited.

The office clock would tick remorselessly on towards Edward’s and Avril’s bedtime and the hour of night school. My stomach would tighten with fear of Mother’s temper if I was not there to help. And night school teachers could be very sarcastic if one was late for class.

Finally, the letters would be brought out. The pretty secretary would help me put them into their envelopes. Those to be delivered by hand were put on one side. With a smile of relief, the secretary would hand me the ones to be posted; and I would run down the stairs, across the busy streets, and dutifully drop them into the post office’s mighty maw.

At home at last, I took off my hat and coat and hung them on a peg in the hall. There was no night school on that second day of work. But there was homework to do, English essays to write, arithmetic problems to solve, shorthand to practise. Then there were the beds, left from the morning, waiting to be made, dishes to wash up, Edward and Avril to wash and put to bed, clothes to be washed or sponged and pressed, all the thousand and one tasks of a large family. I sighed as I entered the living room.

The room looked different.

Everybody was present, except Fiona and Avril whom I could see through the window. They were skipping in the back yard.

The window!

It was shining clean and the grubby net curtain which usually covered it had been washed.

I glanced around. The big, old-fashioned iron grate with its side oven shone with blacking.

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