A Baltic Fleet Tale
By Trevor Williams.
It was a dark and stormy night- no, no, no that will not do at all! This
story is actually set in the springtime, in a Liverpool so long ago and so
different to now, that someone from those times would hardly recognise anything
in the new city. Excepting perhaps for the old Baltic Fleet and a few of the
older buildings that have managed to survive demolition, collapse and the bombs
of the Luftwaffe during world war two.
This story concerns Tom, a young lad not long arrived from the country who had
found work in the Baltic Fleet as a bottle washer and trainee imports clerk. The
Baltic Fleet was not simply a pub and brewery in those days, but also brought in
wines from France, Spain and Portugal. The oak casks filled with wine were hauled
up the long tunnels that opened up onto the muddy beach where now stands the
dock complex. The wine casks were then stored in the cellar along with legs of
ham that hung to cure from a large rafter that runs along the length of the cellar.
The remains of these tunnels can still be seen in the pub cellar, the ham
unfortunately is all gone.
Tom being a country lad was quite shy and unfamiliar with the ways of a large city-
if the truth is to be told, and told it shall be, Tom was a bit of a romantic- and
why should he not be? A nineteen-year old, with his life ahead of him and his heart
full of passion.
Now the object of Tom's passion was a pretty serving girl by the name of Belinda Beddows.
Pretty? Pretty might be the wrong word to describe Belinda, who was in fact the very
paradigm of feminine pulchritudinosity. She was in layman's terms an absolute doll.
Tom was smitten. So smitten in fact that his tongue shrank in his head whenever he was
in the presence of the object of his desire. They would pass in a corridor, she would
smile demurely at him, but instead of smiling back, his legs would turn to jelly and he
would find himself scurrying off to hide in the cellar in order to compose himself.
Himself, was not the only thing he would compose- I have already mentioned that Tom was
of a romantic disposition, Tom wrote poetry.
Oh beautiful Belinda,
Flower of the Baltic Fleet
Let me open up my heart to you
And swoon upon your feet.
The poem had reached forty three verses by this time, and Tom had every intention of
extending it still further. At no point did I say that Tom wrote good poetry, it had
lines that rhymed and it made him feel a little better at least.
Liverpool was a large city as cities went in those days, and like all cities it had a
dark underbelly. Not more than a hundred yards from the pub was (and still is) Shaw's
Alley. In those times, however, Shaw's Alley was renowned as a place where sailors
might find female refreshment after a long time at sea. It may be said that this alley
attracted the wrong sort of person. One of these people was Nick Malthorne. Nick had
grown up on the streets of Liverpool and was a well known bad'n.
Many stories abounded of dastardly deeds, and Nick's name was always somewhere in the
script. If a throat was slit, it would never be proved, but Nick would always be thought
to be somehow implicated in the act. He was a handsome man with one physical flaw-
his lips had a habit of twisting sardonically on the right hand side whenever he smiled.
He dressed in the best clothes that money could purchase; as well he might as Nick's
finger was in every pie in the city. He was a wealthy man and not above stooping to low
means in order to gain more money or power.
Nick regularly frequented the Baltic Fleet after checking on the string of women he ran
in Shaw's Alley. He would sit in a leather armchair sipping Madeira, whenever Belinda
passed he would tell her jokes that would make her blush and laugh- he had a way with
the ladies. Tom would watch helplessly from a distance while this flirting went on.
elinda seemed to like this man, or was she simply interested in his money- I have said
that Belinda was a paragon of beauty; I never said she was a paragon of virtue. To
romantic Tom, however, beauty and virtue were synonymous.
Over the ensuing weeks Belinda's appearance began to change in subtle ways. She began
sporting a rather fetching silk scarf and a pinchbeck brooch that she pinned to her new
yellow blouse. Tongues started wagging- did she have a new and secret admirer? Eventually
the mystery was solved. A regular at the pub had spotted Belinda walking along Rodney
Street arm in arm with no other than Nick Malthorne. The pub was scandalised- Nick was a
married man with three young children.
The intrigue increased- two large trunks arrived at the pub with Belinda's name on them.
And worse still, one of the other serving girls had spotted Belinda hiding a piece of paper
in their shared room, and being inquisitive she had retrieved the paper. What was it, you
may well ask? I will not keep you in suspense over the matter: the paper turned out to be a
ticket for two on a ship bound for America in three weeks time.
Tom listened to the gossip in dismay. He had never been able to tell Belinda of his love due
to his crippling shyness- perhaps now was the time to do so. To save her from this disgrace
he would declare his love for her and offer himself as a more suitable alternative to Nick
Malthorne. To Tom's way of thinking this would solve everything.
It was late in the evening and Tom stole up the stairs to Belinda's bedroom and tapped gently
on the door. He heard Belinda say "come in," but instead of entering he slipped his poem written
on a piece of paper and signed Tom, under the door and left as quietly as he had arrived.
It didn't take Belinda long to find Tom, he was in the cellar where he usually skulked when he
had nothing better to do.
"Tom," she said softly "that was a lovely poem you pushed under my door, and I am very flattered
that you feel that way about me, but you and me would never work out. As a child I was one of seven
born to a poor couple, and I vowed I would never end up that way, scrimping and scraping to make
ends meet. Nick is wealthy, he will not see his wife and children without, and I will be bound for
a better life on the other side of the world. You are a sweet young man and I must admit I have had
feelings for you, but you will never amount to much, and truly we could never have been happy together.
It's better this way Tom, I leave for America in a few days and that will be an end to it."
She made her apologies and left. Tom cried bitter reproachful tears deep into the night. What a fool he
had been, this would indeed be an end to it he thought. Like many romantics he wasn't one to do things
by halves- Tom attached a rope to one of the meat-hooks in the rafter, and with the other end he made a
noose and hanged himself.
The next morning when poor Tom's body was found dangling in the cellar, they cut him down and took him
into the bar room where they laid him on a table. Belinda came downstairs unaware of any incident the night
before. When she saw the corpse lying there she became like one distracted. She rushed to her room, picked
up the bottle of laudanum that she kept for headaches and downed it in one. Now Belinda too was no more.
To this day if you are on your own in the pub late at night there might be a knock at the door of the room
you are in. You may call out "come in"- nobody will, and if you investigate who is actually there- there will
be no-one........ no-one but Tom perhaps reliving one of his last living acts. Sobs have also been heard in the
cellar late in the night. Others have said that they have seen a woman's figure dressed in Victorian clothes
and wearing a yellow blouse, simply standing and quietly watching.
No-one was ever quite sure whether Belinda killed herself because she secretly loved Tom and felt responsible for
his death, or whether she felt disgusted with herself for the act she was about to commit with a married man- who
knows, but if you ever see her- why not ask her yourself?