by Ellie Dean
The firemen were already tackling the blaze at the end of the road. Men from the Water Board and gas company were busy at both ends of the street, whilst the police, wardens and members of the Home Guard searched through the rubble for survivors. Ambulances were waiting to take away the injured, and Peggy could see Ron amidst it all, working furiously to help dig someone out, Harvey trawling the wreckage of the flats for the scent of anyone still buried.
As she watched, a child was pulled to safety, swiftly followed by a woman holding a baby, and an elderly man who was covered in blood. ‘I’ve got to go home,’ she said, and without waiting for a reply, she scooped Daisy onto her hip and began to run.
Dodging piles of rubble and snaking electric wires that hissed at her like multi-headed serpents, she spotted Rita minus her plaster, fighting to hold the heavy hose as it sent a vast jet of water over the remnants of the two houses. She ran faster as she saw the plume of smoke rising above the roofs on the other side of the main road. ‘Oh, God,’ she begged. ‘Please, please don’t let it be Beach View.’
She skidded to a halt at the end of Camden Road and only just avoided being run over by a racing fire truck. Grasping Daisy to her side she waited impatiently for it to pass and then fled across the road. The cul-de-sac was quiet and unharmed, Beach View looking almost serene in the sun. She pounded up the hill and stopped dead at the end of the twitten. The house that had stood directly behind Beach View was gone.
Her legs suddenly gave way and she sank to the pavement, holding Daisy to her heart, the tears of relief streaming down her face.
‘Mumma cuddle,’ said Daisy, winding her arms about Peggy’s neck. ‘All betta now,’ she added, kissing her cheek.
‘Yes, darling, all better now I’ve had a kiss and a cuddle,’ she managed distractedly. Her gaze drifted to the vacant plot where the house had once stood. It was as if it had been plucked whole from existence by an unseen hand, for by some miracle the houses on either side looked as if they hadn’t been touched. Thick smoke rose in a pall into the clear blue sky as firemen doused the last of the flames, and other people had come out to stand and watch, no doubt as guiltily relieved as she that it hadn’t been their home that had been laid to waste. She could only pray that the elderly couple who lived there had been elsewhere and survived.
Eventually Peggy managed to get to her feet, but her legs were still shaking as she went into Beach View and climbed the steps to the kitchen.
‘Thank goodness you’re all right,’ said Fran, throwing her arms about her. ‘Where are the others? Are they safe?’
‘I don’t know about Doris and Ivy, but the rest of us are fine, if a little shaken up.’ As she told them what had happened at the Anchor, Peggy noted that Fran had changed into her nurse’s uniform and then regarded the cups that had been laid out on two trays and the boiling kettle. ‘You must have read my mind,’ she said affectionately. ‘I was going to make tea and take it back to Camden Road.’
‘Why don’t you sit down and have a cigarette first?’ said Robert, relieving her of Daisy, and eyeing her with some concern. ‘We’ll see to the tea whilst you get over the shock.’
‘Do you know if the Watsons at number eighty got out?’ she asked once she’d lit a cigarette and eased off her cardigan, which she discovered was grimy with soot smuts and stank of smoke.
‘Robert dashed out as soon as the all-clear went and found them coming back from the shelter beneath the Town Hall,’ said Fran. ‘They’re safe, but of course devastated to have lost their home.’
‘They told me they’d go down to Devon where their daughter lives,’ said Robert, filling a jug with watered-down milk. ‘I felt so sorry for them. They’ve lost a lifetime of memories and everything they possessed. I left them waiting for the firemen to finish so they could sift through the rubble, but it’s doubtful they’ll find anything in one piece.’
Fran finished stirring the tea in the three large teapots and placed them on another tray. ‘I’ll help hand out this lot and then I have to go to the hospital. There are bound to be lots of casualties, and it will be all hands on deck.’
‘I’ll come with you both, drop Daisy off at the factory crèche and then help Rosie clear up the mess at the Anchor. I saw Rita working the fire hose earlier, by the way. She’s had her plaster off and got stuck straight in. I’ll ask her if she knows where the other doodlebugs hit. They can’t all have come down on Camden Road, and I’m worried about Doris and Ivy up on that factory estate – and Kitty and Charlotte in Briar Lane.’
‘The telephone lines are all down, so why don’t I go up there and find out?’ offered Robert. ‘With Fran at the hospital, I’ll have nothing else better to do.’
‘Bless you, dear, that would be kind,’ said Peggy gratefully as she cleaned Daisy’s face and hands and swiftly collected her apron and cleaning materials. There was little point in getting changed, and by the end of the day there would be another great stack of washing to do, she thought dolefully, which meant her Sunday would be very busy.
They carried the trays of tea back into Camden Road to find others had had the same idea. Peggy saw Fred the Fish and his wife Lil emerge from their shop and hurried over to them. ‘Are you and the boys all right?’ she asked anxiously.
‘It’s a right two an’ eight, aint’ it?’ said Lil cheerfully. ‘I got me boys making tea and ’elping to fetch and carry for them what’s been bombed out. Lawks almighty, I thought our number were up, didn’t I, Fred?’
Fred nodded and hurried off with the tray of tea, and Peggy gave Lil a hug before trying to find Rita in the melee of people surrounding the two bomb sites. She bumped into Alf the butcher and his wife, exchanged a few words with them, checked on Cordelia and Sarah who were handing out teacups and blankets, and eventually found Rita in the cab of the largest fire engine, chattering away to Peter Ryan. Both of them had been soaked by the water from the hoses, and their faces were smeared with soot to the point they resembled pandas.
‘Do you know if the factory estate and Briar Lane were hit?’ she asked urgently.
‘No, neither of them were,’ Rita said quickly, ‘but it was a close thing. The dairy took a direct hit, but by all reports it seems everyone got out in time and managed to chase the horses out into the back field with the cows.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ breathed Peggy, with huge relief. ‘Young Jane would have been devastated if anything had happened to those horses.’
Rita grinned. ‘I remember how delighted she was when she got the job at the dairy and spent hours grooming and fussing over them. I wonder if she even thinks about them now she’s got her important job in London.’
‘Oh, I suspect she does,’ Peggy murmured. ‘Are you staying for tea, Peter? Only you’ll have to take pot luck, I’m afraid.’
‘No worries, Mrs Reilly,’ he drawled. ‘I have to get back on duty soon. There’s an op on tonight.’
‘Another time then,’ said Peggy. She left them to their chatter and hurried to the other end of the street, where she could see Ron and Rosie still at the site of the bombed-out flats. Her plans for the day had been changed drastically, but as long as everyone from Beach View had come through safely, it didn’t matter a jot.
Once she’d persuaded the nanny in charge of the crèche to take in Daisy for a couple of hours, Peggy hurried back to help her friend. As she neared the remains of the flats, she was concerned to see Rosie sobbing in Ron’s arms.
His face was smeared with grime and sweat as he held Rosie close to his grubby chest. ‘It’s Eileen Harris,’ he said, over her head. ‘She didn’t make it.’
Peggy’s spirits sank as she thought about the young woman who’d been duped by Rosie’s brother into giving away her baby instead of allowing Rosie to adopt her. That baby – Mary Jones – was a young woman now and had come to Cliffehaven in search of the truth surrounding her adoption, which had ultimately brought Rosie and Eileen to a tenuous armistice after what had been years of mutual dislike and mistrust.
Rosie sniffed back her tears, kissed Ron’s grimy cheek and allowed Peggy to steer her back to the Anchor. ‘I’m surprised at how hard her death has hit me,’ she managed as they went through the side door. ‘We were never that close, even after Mary brought us all together.’ She came to a stumbling halt in the gloomy hallway. ‘Oh, Lord, Peggy, I’m going to have to tell Mary. The authorities won’t know of her relationship to Eileen so they won’t contact her – and now she’s married to Jack and expecting her first, it will come as a terrible blow.’
‘Best you leave it for a while until you’re feeling a bit steadier and the phone lines are repaired,’ Peggy advised. ‘Eileen’s sister Julie will be notified, but I’ll write to her tonight with my condolences. She was such a dear girl, and although she and Eileen had their differences, she’ll be devastated to hear she’s gone.’
Rosie nodded and tried to clean her face with her handkerchief, but merely smeared the soot and tears about. ‘Of course, I forgot Julie was one of your chicks.’ She gave a deep, tremulous sigh. ‘So much has happened, and it all seems so very long ago, doesn’t it?’
‘It certainly does,’ agreed Peggy, leading the way up the stairs to the sitting room where Monty was stretched out across the couch. ‘Let’s have a cuppa, and then make a start on the clear-up. A bit of scrubbing and cleaning will take our mind off things.’
Half an hour later Sarah and Cordelia had joined them and they went back down to the bar, armed with buckets, mops and brooms, swathed in aprons, headscarves and rubber gloves. They eyed the thick layer of soot which covered everything and the shattered glass, and stood in helpless silence wondering where on earth they should start.
The front door opened with a crash and Gloria Stevens swept in, similarly armed and dressed, and with a determined expression. She was closely followed by four sturdy men carrying brooms and two crates of bottled beer. ‘Right,’ she said in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘We’re ’ere to help clean up. Where do you want us to start?’
Rosie stared at her in disbelief, unable to find the words to reply.
‘Look, Rosie, I knows we don’t get on, but life’s ’ard enough being a woman what runs a pub, so we gotta pull together in times like this. What you want doin’ first?’
‘I don’t know,’ Rosie replied, the tears once more coursing down her dirty face as she looked helplessly at the terrible mess.
Gloria immediately took charge by barking orders at everyone, and within minutes the windows and door had been opened, glass was being cleared, furniture stacked outside on the pavement, and the soot carefully brushed into pans and buckets.
Peggy started working with a will, thankful that Cliffehaven had a woman like Gloria. Loud and brassy she might be, but nothing ever got her down, and in times of trouble she was always there to lend a hand and dole out rough advice. And although the two landladies were frequently at odds – mostly over Ron – they recognised in each other the strength of character which had seen them both through the trials and tribulations of being a woman alone and in charge of a pub. Gloria was right: working together would make them even stronger.
Doris had just cleared the tea things and sent Ivy back to work, when Robert turned up to say that Beach View and Briar Lane had come to no harm and was just checking that she and Ivy were all right.
She assured him they were fine, and listened in horror to what had happened down in Camden Road. She was so shaken up at the news of the doodlebugs dropping that close to Peggy and Beach View that after Robert had left, she had to sit down and have a cigarette to calm her nerves and decide whether or not she should go down into the town and help.
Colonel White ran his fingers through his thick hair, his expression concerned. ‘I think we should call it a day,’ he said. ‘Everything is under control, and there really isn’t anything to be done that can’t be left until Monday.’
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Doris, still in a dither. ‘But we’ve hardly achieved much this morning.’
‘We’ve survived to fight another day,’ he said with a soft smile. ‘And I think that calls for some sort of recognition, don’t you?’
Doris frowned up at him. ‘What do you mean?’
He adjusted his tie and cleared his throat, the colour in his cheeks rising a little. ‘I was wondering if you’d care to join me for luncheon at the Officers’ Club,’ he said hesitantly.
‘Well, I don’t know,’ Doris replied, not quite sure how to handle this surprising invitation. ‘I’m your secretary, and people might get the wrong idea.’
‘I don’t mind if you don’t,’ he said. ‘There’s been enough going on today to fuel the gossips for a week. I hardly think us sharing a table for luncheon will set the tongues wagging.’
Doris smiled at this. ‘Then you don’t know Cliffehaven. Besides, I should really go and help the WVS, even though I’ve resigned, and I’m sure your wife would appreciate being taken out.’
His eyes dulled and the smile faded. ‘My wife was killed at the beginning of the war, Mrs Williams.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she gasped. ‘I didn’t realise.’
He plucked his hat from the coat-stand. ‘There’s no reason why you should,’ he said gruffly before turning back to her. ‘The offer of luncheon still stands, Mrs Williams.’
Doris hesitated for only a second before coming to a decision. ‘Then I’ll be delighted to accept it, Colonel White,’ she replied, reaching for her handbag.
13
Ron got his pipe going satisfactorily and gratefully accepted his third mug of tea from the WVS lady in charge of the motorised waggon which had been donated by the Queen. He was soaked to the skin from the fire hoses, weary to the bone, and covered in filth from where he’d searched through the still smouldering rubble for anyone who might have survived – and there had been survivors, despite the devastation, each one greeted with cries of thankfulness and willing hands to bring them to safety.
It had been three hours since the doodlebug strike and those who were able to do so had gone home, thankful they still had one to return to. The dead had been taken to the hospital mortuary, the injured to the emergency ward; the street and hospital forecourt had been cleared of debris, unstable walls knocked down, the gas and water mains repaired, the fires put out. Windows were even now being boarded up with plywood, chimneys made safe and doors replaced.
Thirty people had died today and twice that number were injured; the total of those made homeless was over a hundred, and some of the survivors were still wandering about, huddled in blankets, their faces blank with shock, unable to absorb what had happened or think what to do or where to go. The large band of women volunteers had been wonderful, gathering up the lost and bewildered and taking them to the Town Hall, to provide tea and consolation whilst new accommodation was desperately sought in an already overcrowded town.
Ron slurped the hot and very strong tea as Harvey gobbled down a Spam sandwich and lapped water from the bowl the kind WVS lady had found for him. The old boy had lost none of his ability to sniff out the living from beneath the rubble, but his brindled coat was matted, dirty and damp, his paws bloodied by all that digging, and he looked to be drooping with weariness.
‘Come on, ye heathen beast,’ Ron rumbled, putting his hand gently on Harvey’s head. ‘Let’s see how Rosie is, then we’ll go home for a wash and see to those paws.’
He tramped along the road, aching to rest and feel clean again, but Rosie had been surprisingly upset to hear about Eileen’s death, coming so soon after the shock of the strike, and he wanted to make sure she was coping. He frowned as he saw the sign on the Anchor door saying it was closed until six o’clock. Rosie never shut the pub, so something must be badly wrong.
He was about to push the door open when he heard a gale of raucous laughter coming from the bar, and with a deep frown he went inside. The scene that met him was be
yond his comprehension, and it took a moment to absorb it. Rosie, Gloria, Peggy, Sarah and Cordelia were sitting at a table laden with empty bottles of beer, and laughing uproariously, their faces and clothes blackened with soot.
‘Well, don’t stand there gawping,’ shouted Gloria. ‘Come in and ’ave a beer. Looks like you’ve earned it.’
Ron stepped down into the room, looking at Rosie in bewilderment. ‘What’s going on here? Why’s the pub shut?’
‘I had a soot fall from the chimney I asked you to sweep before I went away,’ said Rosie cheerfully. ‘Gloria and the others have been helping me to clear up.’
‘You should have said,’ he replied, easing his way carefully past Gloria to the other side of the table. ‘I’d have come to help.’ He eyed them thoughtfully and smiled as he realised that all five women were tipsy. ‘Just how much beer have you lot got through?’
‘Not enough,’ said Rosie with a glint of defiance in her eye as she plucked a fresh bottle from the crate by her feet. ‘It’s thirsty work cleaning up a year’s worth of soot – which you’d know if you’d sorted out that chimney when I asked.’ She twisted off the cap expertly and took a swig. ‘If you want to help, you could try and find me some more glasses. Gloria’s chaps have gone back to the Crown to fetch a case she’s been storing in her cellar, but they won’t be enough.’
Ron frowned. ‘Gloria’s chaps?’
Gloria grinned lopsidedly. ‘Yeah, four regulars who had nothing better to do, so I rounded ’em up and put them to work in ’ere. We was glad of it and all, for it were a right mess, I’m telling you.’ She eyed him up and down. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, Ron, you could do with a clean-up too.’
He took a bottle from the crate, poured some for Harvey into the bowl Rosie always kept by the hearth and then glugged the rest down. ‘I shouldn’t cast aspersions on my appearance, Gloria – not until you’ve looked in the mirror,’ he replied dryly.
