by Ellie Dean
‘I’ll get Grandma Cordy sorted and then help with the clean-up,’ said Ivy. ‘We’ll soon have it all ship-shape again, you’ll see.’
Peggy nodded, unable to even thank them in case she went completely to pieces. She took a candle and carried Daisy into her bedroom to settle her into her cot, before getting dressed. It was still black as night outside, even though it was almost six o’clock. Unlike Daisy, she was far too tense and fretful to sleep.
Staring at her reflection in the dark, rain-lashed window which had survived the blasts thanks to the heavy taping she’d kept over it, her fears rose and her thoughts whirled.
Where had those rockets landed? Had RAF Cliffe and Tamarisk Bay escaped – was the Anchor still standing – and Doris’s bungalow? And what about Kitty and Charlotte and their babies up in Briar Lane – and Fred the Fish and his wife Lil who lived three streets away with their adopted boys? And then there was the telephone exchange where April worked, and the little stationmaster’s cottage where she lived with her baby Paula and her Uncle Stan – and … and …
She shook her head, knowing that if she carried on like this she’d be sent mad by it all, and would be of no help to anyone. She heard the sound of running feet coming down the stairs and across the hall and knew it was Rita, Danuta and Fran leaving to do their bit at the fire station and hospital, so she purposefully rolled up the sleeves of her cardigan and donned her wrap-around apron. It was time to be doing something useful, rather than standing about in here worrying herself silly.
Peggy left the bedroom door ajar in case Daisy woke and needed her, and returned to the kitchen to discover that Robert and the two girls had done a sterling job in clearing away the broken glass and china and stirring the range fire back into life. Ivy was on her knees scrubbing away the last of the porridge, Sarah was putting away the unbroken china she’d washed, and Robert had found a bit of hardboard – probably from Ron’s shed – and was nailing it over the window to stop the wind and rain from getting in.
‘No sign of Ron yet?’ she asked, mournfully regarding the very few bits of china she had left before reaching for the kettle.
‘I expect he’s out with the wardens and Home Guard,’ said Robert, the raucous sound of more fire engines arriving from the station in the next town almost drowning him out. ‘There were bound to be people trapped after that raid, and it’ll be all hands on deck. Once I’ve done this and checked on the rest of the house, I’ll go out to see what I can do to help.’
‘The window in my bedroom is still in one piece, so there’s no need to disturb Daisy,’ she replied. ‘And it’s still too dark to see anything outside – but I have a horrible feeling the chimney’s gone. Where’s Cordelia?’
‘Out for the count in her bed,’ said Ivy. ‘Poor old duck’s worn out.’
Peggy wasn’t surprised to hear it, and she went to the table to inspect the pitiful stack of photographs which had once stood so proudly on her mantelpiece. They’d been taken out of their damaged frames, the broken glass carefully removed – but the sturdy frames Ron had made for Jim’s certificate and newspaper cutting were still all right, and she placed them back on the mantel. Eyeing the dust and debris lying over everything, she didn’t have the heart to explore the rest of the house. ‘Oh, lawks,’ she sighed. ‘I do so hate this bloody war.’
‘We all do,’ said Ivy, getting to her feet to dump the filthy cloth in the sink. ‘Especially when me breakfast ends up on the flaming floor.’ She pushed her hair off her face with the back of her grubby hand. ‘Still, at least we’ve got a roof over our ’eads, which is probably more than some after tonight, so I suppose we should count ourselves lucky.’
‘We’re all alive,’ said Sarah, ‘and I for one am very grateful. I think we should get dressed, Ivy, and go and see if we can help in any way.’
‘Yeah, yer right, as always,’ said Ivy. ‘Make that tea, Auntie Peg, we’ll need something warm inside us before we go out in that.’ She jerked her thumb towards the sound of the heavy rain battering the hardboard, and then hurried out of the room after Sarah.
Peggy pulled herself out of the doldrums, realising she had no business to feel sorry for herself when she’d got off so lightly. After all, she reasoned silently, what were a few broken cups and picture frames compared to lost homes and lives?
There was still no sign of Queenie, which was very worrying, but she supposed she was hiding out somewhere, still terrified by those explosions. She tried not to think of her out there in the rain, alone and frightened, but it was difficult, for Queenie was as much a part of the family as the rest of them.
To keep herself busy, Peggy made the tea, lit a cigarette and quickly put some bread on the hotplate to toast before checking the contents of her larder. She doubted very much if the hens had laid any eggs with all that racket going on, but there was a packet of Shredded Wheat, and enough bread and milk to get them through until tomorrow morning when the shops opened again.
Once the tea and toast was on the table, Peggy’s restlessness sent her into the hall. She would telephone round to make sure everyone was all right.
But the electricity was still off and the telephone line was dead. In growing frustration, she returned to the kitchen and began to clear away the layer of dust and debris that smothered the collection of oddments on the dresser. She’d been meaning to sort it all out for days, and as she needed something to do, this seemed to be as good a time as any.
Robert and the girls came back down, bundled up in raincoats, scarves and hats. They stood to drink the tea and stuff down the toast before hurrying out into the darkness and the teeming rain.
Peggy stood on the back doorstep calling for Queenie, but there was no sign of her, so she checked the hen house was still standing and the birds alive, then shut the door and returned to the kitchen. She wished she could do something to help in the aftermath of those rockets, but with Daisy and Cordelia asleep, she had little choice but to stay here and carry on with clearing up.
Returning to her previous task, she sorted out the top of the dresser, and gave the old battered wood a good polish before running the mop over the floor and wiping the dust and grit from the oilcloth on the table.
However, she soon found that although her hands were busy, her imagination was running wild and putting her on edge. She couldn’t help but worry about where those rockets had come down, and if her friends and loved ones were safe.
Unable to stand it any longer, she grabbed her coat and headed for the front door to see if she could spot any sign of fire which might give her some idea of where those rockets had landed.
The distant sound of fire and ambulance bells echoed throughout the town, and as she opened the door, she was met by the horrifying sight of the enormous flames of a blazing inferno rising into the sky less than two hundred yards away. Two fire engines were already in attendance, but the jets of water and drenching rain seemed to be making little difference to the ferocity of those flames.
Peggy took a shuddering breath, the realisation of how close they’d all come to being killed making her pulse race. Tearing her gaze from that awful sight, she noted the rubble strewn on her steps and the glow of another fire to the west. It seemed far enough away to be on the other side of the cliffs where there was nothing but fields – but perhaps that was wishful thinking, for the dawn had yet to come and it was difficult to gauge the distance.
However, there had been four explosions, so there must be four fires. She pulled up her coat collar and was about to leave the shelter of her doorway for a better view from the end of the cul-de-sac when she thought she heard something.
Peggy stilled, straining to hear it again beneath the background noise of shouting firemen and drumming rain. She began to wonder if she’d imagined it and was about to go back indoors for her umbrella when it came again.
The faint, pitiful mewl was instantly recognisable and drew her onto the top step. She peered down into the gloom. ‘Queenie? Is that you? Where are you?’
/> A dark shadow shifted slowly on the pavement into the reflected glow of the nearby fire, and with a heart-rending yowl, struggled to climb the bottom step to reach her.
Peggy stumbled down the rubble-strewn steps and sank to her knees beside Queenie, who’d collapsed, and was now lying panting and clearly in great distress.
‘Oh, Queenie,’ Peggy breathed tearfully, ‘what is it? What’s happened to you?’
Queenie lifted her head to Peggy’s gentle touch, her eyes pleading for help and dulled with pain as she reached out a trembling paw. But even this small movement seemed to prove too much, and she collapsed again.
Peggy tentatively ran her hand over the soaking black fur, but the cat didn’t respond – not even when Peggy’s fingers found the cruel sliver of metal embedded in her spine.
‘No! Oh, Queenie, no,’ she sobbed, gathering her to her heart and burying her face in her lifeless neck.
Blinded by her tears, unaware of the rain beating down on her and the rubble digging into her knees, Peggy rocked Queenie in her arms, remembering how she’d arrived at Beach View in Ron’s coat pocket – a tiny ball of fluff that fitted in the palm of Peggy’s hand. And how Harvey had tried to intimidate this intruder with his barking and snarling, only to be cowed by a swipe of her sharp claws, eventually becoming her constant, loyal companion. And how, despite her withered back leg, she’d taken to accompanying Ron and the dogs when they walked the hills, often returning home exhausted and tucked into Ron’s coat pocket.
Peggy finally got to her feet and carried her indoors for the last time. Queenie had become an intrinsic part of the Beach View family, and had done her best to come home to them, so it was only right that Peggy should help her complete her final journey.
9
Ron had been on the point of reluctantly leaving Rosie’s soft and enticing warmth for the cold, wet walk home when the first rocket hit. Within minutes they’d grabbed their clothes and were fumbling their way downstairs in the dark to the cellar where the dogs were already cowering in a corner.
Ron had just lit the oil lamp that hung from the rafters of the Anchor’s makeshift air-raid shelter when the second explosion rocked the foundations of the centuries-old pub and the sirens started to wail, accompanied by the heavy booms of the big guns. He’d known then that he’d have to stay to look after Rosie and the dogs, but as he’d comforted a terrified Rosie, and heard the third and fourth explosions, his fears had risen for everyone at Beach View.
As soon as the all-clear had sounded, he’d been on his feet and hunting out a torch. ‘I have to make sure Peggy’s all right,’ he said, dragging on his greatcoat. ‘But I’ll check everything here before I go and come back as soon as I can.’
Rosie was still trembling but making a sterling effort to keep her fear under control. ‘Please be careful,’ she begged him. ‘I know what you’re like, and I don’t want you risking life and limb trying to rescue people.’
He kissed the top of her head. ‘It’s what I do,’ he said, ‘and if I’m needed, I can’t just stand aside and leave it to others.’ He glanced across at the two dogs which were still shivering in a huddle at the end of the couch. ‘Keep Harvey with you, Rosie. He’s getting too old for digging about in rubble.’
Rosie gave a snort. ‘And you’re not?’ she retorted.
He grinned and waggled his brows. ‘There might be snow on the roof, Rosie girl, but there’s still fire in me belly and muscle enough to be useful.’
He gave her a hug, silenced any further protest with a kiss and went quickly up the steps. Closing the cellar door so Harvey wouldn’t follow him, he did a quick inspection of the upstairs rooms and then went into the bar.
The brasses had fallen off the beam above the inglenook fireplace, dust and bits of plaster coated everything – including the old piano, which had somehow moved across the room to wedge itself in a corner. The large mirror behind the bar had been cracked during an earlier doodlebug blast, but it had not survived this time, and there were lethal shards of glass on the floor.
Ron heaved a sigh of relief that the old place had withstood the battering and went to fetch a broom and dustpan. As far as he could see there was no further damage, the beer glasses having survived because they’d been kept in a box beneath the counter, the precious bottles of spirits alongside them.
Ron cleared away the glass so neither the dogs nor Rosie cut themselves, and then spent several minutes wrestling the piano back into place. He could hear the fire engine and ambulance bells now, and so he donned his greatcoat and hat, and hurried outside to see where they were heading.
He was forced to jump back onto the narrow pavement when a fire truck came hurtling past him on the wrong side of the road and screeched around the corner towards the seafront. Catching a glimpse of Rita at the wheel, he clucked his tongue and shook his head. That girl would meet a sticky end if she carried on driving like that. And yet her very presence in that truck meant that Beach View had come to no harm, which was an enormous relief.
Ron quickly glanced back down Camden Road to where people were dazedly emerging from their homes to stand and stare, seemingly unaware that the rain was soaking through their nightclothes as they sought the comfort of their neighbours. He could make out the glow of a fire to the west, and another two to the north, but the brightest glow was coming from near the seafront.
Another fire truck came racing down the road, and as he followed it, he noted that there was glass glittering on the wet pavements from dozens of broken windows, and bits of rubble were strewn everywhere – but it seemed Camden Road had been lucky tonight and had missed the worst of it.
Reaching the end of Camden Road he saw that Beach View was indeed still standing and appeared to be in one piece, although it was hard to tell anything much in the gloomy light and the driving rain. But what was very visible was the enormous blaze three streets down that was being tackled by two fire crews and attended by an ambulance.
It looked as if an entire terrace had caught alight, and the ferocity of the fire was such that it could only have been fuelled by a broken gas pipe or an illicit store of petrol – in which case, Rita and those firemen were dicing with death.
Ron stood in a lather of anxiety, praying that the gas would be turned off at the mains before this entire section of Cliffehaven went up. And just as he’d decided to ask the fire chief, John Hicks, if he should start evacuating everyone his prayers were answered. The gas engineers arrived and within minutes the flames were being brought under control.
He was about to cross the road to check on everyone at Beach View when he saw Robert, Sarah and Ivy emerge from the alleyway at a run.
‘We’re all safe,’ said Robert quickly. ‘I’ve done some minor repairs, but as far as I can tell there’s no serious damage.’
‘Proper shook us all up, though,’ said Ivy, her tearful gaze fixed to the blaze. ‘I got mates living there. Do you reckon anyone got out?’
Ron took her hand. ‘We can only hope, Ivy,’ he said softly.
‘Oh, Gawd,’ she breathed through her fingers, the tears rolling down her cheeks.
Sarah put her arm around Ivy’s trembling shoulders. ‘Do you know where the other rockets came down, Uncle Ron?’
‘One over to the west, but I think it fell on fields; and two to the north – well away from Briar Lane and the bungalows around Ladysmith Close,’ he added quickly. ‘It’s hard to tell what was hit, but the fire crews are already on them both – and by the sound of it reinforcements are on their way.’
The distant but urgent clanging bells confirmed this, and Sarah hugged Ivy close as she turned back to Ron. ‘We want to help,’ she said. ‘What do you suggest we do?’
Ron gathered his thoughts and led the way back down Camden Road. ‘There’s nothing we can do about the poor souls trapped in those houses until the fires are out – and even then, I doubt there will be any survivors,’ he said sadly.
‘No!’ Ivy shook her head vigorously. ‘We gotta stay positiv
e. Me mates will be all right. They have to.’
‘’Tis sorry I am to upset you, Ivy, but I really think you should prepare yourself for bad news.’
Ivy squared her shoulders and knuckled away her tears, seemingly determined to cling to hope.
Ron’s spirits lightened a little as the WVS wagon entered the street, accompanied by the men of the Home Guard and Civil Defence, as well as council maintenance crews, and an army of willing helpers armed with blankets and an assortment of tools to help with the clear-up.
‘It looks like the auxiliary services are arriving, and as there will be windows to board up, damaged roofs to be weatherproofed and blankets and hot tea to be dispensed, I suggest you and Ivy help the WVS, whilst you come with me, Robert, and make a start on the windows.’
Doris had been curled in John’s embrace, blissfully at peace in the afterglow of their early morning lovemaking when the first explosion thrust them back to vicious reality. By the time the second explosion rattled the windows they were dressed and fumbling their way in the darkness to the kitchen. As the final two rockets exploded somewhere beyond the factory they were huddled in a tight embrace beneath the kitchen table.
The noise of the sirens and guns echoed all around them, and when the all-clear eventually sounded, Doris scrambled to her feet and ran to the sitting-room window which gave a panoramic view of the town. In the darkness she could see fires burning fiercely to the east and west of them, but it was the conflagration down by the seafront that made her catch her breath in fear for Peggy and the others.
John had drawn her tightly into his arms, soothing her fears by pointing out that it was too close to the seafront to be Beach View.
Feeling slightly calmer, she took another look and acknowledged he was right. ‘But I still have to go down there to check on her,’ she said firmly.
‘We’ll do that once I’ve made certain everything is secure on the factory estate,’ he replied, giving her a hug. ‘Come on, Doris, chin up.’
