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Authors: Maureen Lee
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Freda.
‘No, there must be some just as fine elsewhere, just not in Europe.’
Freda had seen it before but it hadn’t made any impression on her until now. As she watched Tom, hands on hips, regarding it with a mixture of wonder and admiration, a ray of light seemed to shine on her brain and she saw the building, with its long row of marble pillars, as a thing of incredible beauty, almost making her want to cry.
‘Now I’m going to take you around the Seven Streets of Liverpool – these were the first important streets of the city. They’re many centuries old. Some of the names have changed, but they were originally called Castle Street, Bank Street, Juggler Street, Dale Street, Chapel Street, Moor Street and Whiteacre Street.’
Freda felt quite tired by the time they’d walked all seven streets, Tom stopping from time to time to point out a particularly spectacular building. When he put his hand on her shoulder it felt lovely and warm and heavy and she wished he would leave it there for ever. He did leave it for a little while, leading her towards a café in Whitechapel where they had dinner, though Tom called it lunch. They both had fish and chips and peas, followed by jam tart with custard and a big mug of tea.
‘That was the gear,’ Freda said when she had finished. ‘Thank you,’ she added shyly. It was rare that she thanked anyone, but this time she did it with total sincerity.
‘And thank you, Freda, for accompanying me on my trip today. In a way, you’ve made me see things through different eyes and I am more impressed with Liverpool than ever.’
He leant across the table and squeezed her hand. If she had been older, Freda was convinced he would have kissed her. She just knew, could sense, that she and Tom Chance were made for each other and they would get married one day.
That night she designed her wedding dress.
A few days later, the holiday ended and Freda returned to her convent school. Her class, Form 4, had their first English lesson of the term that same morning. The girls were asked to write an essay on any event that had occurred during the week-long break.
‘Any small incident, a friend or relative’s visit, for instance, or your visit to them,’ suggested Sister Bernadette, the English teacher. ‘I would like to have the work in before the end of the week.’
That night Freda went into the parlour, where it was quieter, to write the essay, taking her dictionary with her. One of the neighbours – it might have been Eileen Costello when she used to live next door – had given her the dictionary when she had passed the scholarship and gone to Seafield Convent.
Although she didn’t mention Tom, she described her trip to Liverpool and the sights she had seen, using the information he had provided her with to emphasise what an important city Liverpool was, how innovative and alive, how it was famous throughout the world. She listed the seven streets and said she had walked along every single one, and that it was her intention to do it again. Dicky might like to go one of these days; even Mam might enjoy it.
The essay was returned in class marked 9½ out of 10. Sister Bernadette called Freda to her desk. She was a young nun, good-humoured and friendly. Everybody liked her.
‘This is an admirable piece of work, Freda,’ she said. ‘Where did you get the idea from?’
‘Our lodger,’ Freda admitted reluctantly, unable to think of a way of claiming it was all her own idea.
‘It’s so good that I would like to enter it for a prize. Liverpool Corporation have asked schools to submit essays from their sixth-form pupils, the subject being the city in which they live; in other words, Liverpool.’
‘But I’m not in the sixth form yet,’ Freda pointed out – as if Sister Bernadette didn’t already know.
The nun shrugged. ‘That might not matter. No one in our sixth form has come up with this notion of the Seven Streets. I really like that. Oh, and Freda, your essay
‘No, there must be some just as fine elsewhere, just not in Europe.’
Freda had seen it before but it hadn’t made any impression on her until now. As she watched Tom, hands on hips, regarding it with a mixture of wonder and admiration, a ray of light seemed to shine on her brain and she saw the building, with its long row of marble pillars, as a thing of incredible beauty, almost making her want to cry.
‘Now I’m going to take you around the Seven Streets of Liverpool – these were the first important streets of the city. They’re many centuries old. Some of the names have changed, but they were originally called Castle Street, Bank Street, Juggler Street, Dale Street, Chapel Street, Moor Street and Whiteacre Street.’
Freda felt quite tired by the time they’d walked all seven streets, Tom stopping from time to time to point out a particularly spectacular building. When he put his hand on her shoulder it felt lovely and warm and heavy and she wished he would leave it there for ever. He did leave it for a little while, leading her towards a café in Whitechapel where they had dinner, though Tom called it lunch. They both had fish and chips and peas, followed by jam tart with custard and a big mug of tea.
‘That was the gear,’ Freda said when she had finished. ‘Thank you,’ she added shyly. It was rare that she thanked anyone, but this time she did it with total sincerity.
‘And thank you, Freda, for accompanying me on my trip today. In a way, you’ve made me see things through different eyes and I am more impressed with Liverpool than ever.’
He leant across the table and squeezed her hand. If she had been older, Freda was convinced he would have kissed her. She just knew, could sense, that she and Tom Chance were made for each other and they would get married one day.
That night she designed her wedding dress.
A few days later, the holiday ended and Freda returned to her convent school. Her class, Form 4, had their first English lesson of the term that same morning. The girls were asked to write an essay on any event that had occurred during the week-long break.
‘Any small incident, a friend or relative’s visit, for instance, or your visit to them,’ suggested Sister Bernadette, the English teacher. ‘I would like to have the work in before the end of the week.’
That night Freda went into the parlour, where it was quieter, to write the essay, taking her dictionary with her. One of the neighbours – it might have been Eileen Costello when she used to live next door – had given her the dictionary when she had passed the scholarship and gone to Seafield Convent.
Although she didn’t mention Tom, she described her trip to Liverpool and the sights she had seen, using the information he had provided her with to emphasise what an important city Liverpool was, how innovative and alive, how it was famous throughout the world. She listed the seven streets and said she had walked along every single one, and that it was her intention to do it again. Dicky might like to go one of these days; even Mam might enjoy it.
The essay was returned in class marked 9½ out of 10. Sister Bernadette called Freda to her desk. She was a young nun, good-humoured and friendly. Everybody liked her.
‘This is an admirable piece of work, Freda,’ she said. ‘Where did you get the idea from?’
‘Our lodger,’ Freda admitted reluctantly, unable to think of a way of claiming it was all her own idea.
‘It’s so good that I would like to enter it for a prize. Liverpool Corporation have asked schools to submit essays from their sixth-form pupils, the subject being the city in which they live; in other words, Liverpool.’
‘But I’m not in the sixth form yet,’ Freda pointed out – as if Sister Bernadette didn’t already know.
The nun shrugged. ‘That might not matter. No one in our sixth form has come up with this notion of the Seven Streets. I really like that. Oh, and Freda, your essay
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