Beyond a Misty Shore Read Online Free Page A

they’d had together, and nor did she want to. What made her heart ache was the knowledge that she would never again feel his strong arms around her, never be able to confide her fears and worries to him, or see his blue eyes dancing with mirth, or hear his laughter. She would never again feel her heart skip a beat with joy and relief when he came home to their cottage in Charles Street, the narrow winding street that led from Orry Lane down to the harbour, as the fishing fleet returned and the
Girl Sophie
was tied up. The cottage was now gone – rented out to someone else – and so was the
Girl Sophie
. She lay at the bottom of the Irish Sea and so did her poor Andrew. And just what lay ahead of her now? More anxiety, hardship anddisappointment? Life had never been easy. ‘Chasing the herring’ as her father had done all his life had never brought in much money and even when she’d married Andrew it had been hard to make ends meet, but she hadn’t minded that. They’d been happy.
    She looked out of the window as the tram trundled its way down Chapel Street and Tithebarn Street, the trolley sparking as it crossed the junctions. The sight that met her eyes only deepened her fears. Whole streets of houses, shops, churches, schools and pubs were in ruins. Was there any work to be had here at all, she wondered? Had she made the worst decision of her life? Why had she left the green fields, the wooded glens, the moorland where sheep grazed in the shadow of Snaefell, the quiet little villages, the rugged, towering cliffs at Bradda and Niarbyl, all the beauty of her small island home for an uncertain future in a strange, war-battered, crowded and noisy city? Was this wasteland of ruined buildings all she could now offer her precious daughter as ‘home’? She prayed silently for the courage to face the days and months ahead.
    When they alighted from the tram they walked in the direction the conductor had pointed out. The roadway was wide and cobbled and a horse and cart slowly passed them, the clattering of the iron-shod hooves of the heavy, patient Shire muffled slightly by the dampness in the air. She shivered as they passed the bottom of a street in which there were huge gaps where houses had once stood.
    ‘This street is called “Woodbine” so it can’t be very farnow,’ Maria surmised, looking up at the sign attached to the wall of the end house. ‘Didn’t that woman say they were called the “flower” streets? Not that there’s anything remotely “flowery” about this place!’ she added.
    Sophie nodded, gazing across the road to where soot-blackened buildings and mounds of rubble obscured the view of the docks and the river beyond.
    Maria followed her gaze and pursed her lips, thinking how different it was from the view from the harbour at home. There the ruined castle crowned the top of the grassy hill on St Patrick’s Isle and the gulls swooped and dived overhead.
    Holding Bella’s hand tightly, Sophie turned into Harebell Street and was thankful to see that all the houses were still standing. She managed a smile. ‘Here we are, Bella. This is Harebell Street where Aunty Lizzie and Uncle Jim live. Aren’t they fine, big houses?’
    The child nodded slowly, still confused and very apprehensive for everything was strange to her. The houses did seem big compared to her Granny’s cottage and the street was so much wider than the little narrow lanes she was used to, but she was determined not to cry. ‘Will I have other children to play with here, Mam?’
    ‘Of course you will and you’ll make lots of new friends at school too,’ Sophie replied with forced cheerfulness, wondering how Bella would settle amongst strangers.
    ‘All we have to do now is find number sixteen and let’s hope there’s something to eat and a warm fire waiting for us,’ Maria added as she began to count off the houses. At leastthey all looked fairly well cared for, she thought. Most had cotton lace curtains at the window