On a Turning Tide

by Ellie Dean

  ‘But we can’t leave the house together at this time of the morning,’ she gasped. ‘What would the neighbours say?’

  John chuckled and drew her closer. ‘A bit of gossip will take their minds off the V-2s.’

  He must have felt her stiffen in his embrace, for he drew back and eyed her quizzically. ‘But if the idea upsets you, I could always go out the back way and climb over the fence.’ His smile was deeply affectionate as he added, ‘Although I might not be quite so spry after this morning’s delightful encounter.’

  Doris blushed furiously. ‘I suppose it would be a bit silly to risk life and limb,’ she agreed.

  ‘It is rather,’ he replied softly, ‘but if it makes you feel easier, I’m quite willing to do it.’

  Doris giggled. ‘I think we should go out together and to heck with them all. It’s not as if we’ve made a secret about how we feel for each other.’

  ‘Jolly good,’ he murmured into her hair.

  They pulled on their coats, blew out the candles and went arm in arm into the deep gloom, sheltered by their umbrellas, and so wrapped up in each other they barely noticed the curious faces of those watching them from every front window in Ladysmith Close.

  Doris was amazed at how strong her feelings were for this lovely man, and she was positively glowing with happiness as they headed for the factory estate. And yet this profound sense of well-being was overshadowed by the sound of ambulance and fire engine bells resounding throughout the town, and the sight of the fires raging as thick black smoke penetrated the rain.

  Reaching the factory gates they were met by the sight of people pouring out of the vast underground shelter, running through the rain towards their work-benches or making for home as a fire blazed on the far eastern perimeter of the factory compound and the emergency lighting came on.

  Doris was gratified to see that no one gave them a passing glance, so intent were they on their own agendas – and that there was no sign of Ivy. If she’d spotted them arriving together at this hour she wouldn’t have been able to resist making some crude remark about it.

  John led Doris to their office, turned on the oil heater, and left her there in the warm whilst he spoke to the security team and checked that all was well.

  Doris made a pot of tea and kept watch from the window as the allotment fire was swiftly brought under control. From her vantage point high above the roofs of the factories, she could make out the glow of another blaze somewhere within the eastern hills, and rather hoped it was Chumley’s house going up in flames. Slightly shocked by this unchristian thought, she justified it by the fact that if anyone deserved to be blown up, it was Wally Chumley.

  However, it was the blaze down near the seafront that really worried her, for Hitler’s latest weapon caused devastating damage, not only at the seat of the blast, but in a wide area around it, and she knew she wouldn’t rest until she was certain that Peggy and the others at Beach View were all safe.

  John returned and they quickly drank the tea before setting off for Camden Road. The rain had finally stopped and the clearing-up was well underway, but it did look as if the heart of the town had escaped the worst.

  ‘Blimey,’ spluttered Ivy who was carrying a tray of tea and biscuits away from the WVS wagon. ‘You two look cosy. What you been up to, then? As if I didn’t know!’

  Doris turned scarlet and couldn’t meet those knowing eyes. ‘Will you keep your voice down?’ she hissed furiously.

  Ivy laughed uproariously. ‘If I were you, I’d be shouting it to the flaming rooftops.’ She gave Doris a nudge with her elbow. ‘Still life in the old dog, then?’ she said, jerking her head towards John and winking at Doris.

  ‘Ivy, behave,’ Doris spluttered. Despite the embarrassment of it all, she couldn’t help but find the bemused expression on John’s face very funny.

  Ivy grinned. ‘Good luck to the both of yer, I say.’

  ‘I take it that Peggy and everyone at Beach View is all right?’ said Doris as John was dragged off by Ron to help board up a window.

  ‘Yeah, we’re all fine. Peggy’s at home with Daisy and Cordelia, Fran and Danuta are at the hospital, and Rita’s fighting that ’orrible fire. The rest of us are helping here.’

  ‘Talking of help,’ said the woman behind the WVS counter. ‘I’ve not seen hide nor hair of Cecilia Bridgestock who was supposed to be here, and I could do with a break, Mrs Williams.’

  Doris had resigned from the WVS some time ago, but she wasn’t in the mood to be churlish. Cecilia was famous for not turning up, and she’d always quite liked Barbara Owen who worked in the library. Now she knew for sure that Peggy was all right, there really was no excuse. ‘Of course I’ll help,’ she replied, stepping up to the large urn.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ breathed Barbara, scuttling off before Doris could change her mind.

  Doris became aware of Ivy still dithering about. ‘Get those teas out before they go cold – and don’t stop to gossip. I need you back here.’

  Ivy blew a raspberry and then grinned cheekily. ‘A bit of the other ain’t changed yer much. You’re still the same old bossy boots,’ she said before hurrying off.

  Everyone worked with a will and great camaraderie despite the heavy rain which soaked them all and poured through leaking roofs and empty windows. The supply of tea from the WVS wagon was supplemented by seemingly endless cups from the grateful residents, and shelter was freely offered to those whose homes had yet to be weatherproofed.

  Ron had been surprised to see Doris mucking in alongside Ivy and Sarah, and going by the glances she and the Colonel were exchanging at every opportunity it seemed things had moved on fairly rapidly between them. It quite warmed his heart, so when he saw Rosie approaching, her arms loaded with blankets, he gave her a smacking kiss and a quick squeeze.

  ‘What was that for?’ she giggled.

  ‘Because you’re beautiful and I needed a kiss to keep me going,’ he replied with a wink before climbing back up the ladder to rejoin the team of men heaving a tarpaulin over a damaged roof.

  Apart from broken windows, loose roof tiles and a couple of unsafe chimneys which had to be taken down, there was very little serious damage to the town centre but, as Ron had feared, not everyone had been so lucky.

  The rain had stopped an hour before and as dawn had lightened the sky and the fire crews wearily returned to their station, the full horror of that blaze in Victoria Terrace was revealed.

  Ron had tried to deter Ivy from going up to the factory to find out about her friends, but the girl had been adamant, and he suspected there would be tears before the end of the day. Doris was still busy with the WVS, the Colonel had rushed back to the factory after speaking to the fire chief, John Hicks, and Robert had gone to the hospital to tell Fran he had to leave for the Fort. Ivy and Sarah were back at Beach View with an exhausted Rita, and he presumed Danuta was still helping out at the hospital, for he hadn’t seen her.

  With a promise to return and help Rosie through the lunchtime session, Ron ignored the chill of his sodden clothes, collected Harvey, and went to find John Hicks.

  He found him gloomily surveying the sixty-foot-deep crater that gaped another sixty feet across, and had once been three terraced houses. ‘How many?’ he asked.

  ‘Too many,’ replied John, his soot-blackened face drawn with exhaustion and sadness. ‘The owners of those three houses left at the start of the war, but they rented them out, and each one was filled to the rafters with factory girls. We can only account for six of them who were on night shift. The rest …’ He gave a ragged sigh and fell silent.

  Ron blanched at the depressing thought of all those young lives that had been wiped out in an instant. The only consolation was that they’d known nothing about it and hadn’t spent their last minutes in terror and pain.

  He took a deep breath and regarded the remaining houses, most of which were were miraculously still almost in one piece. He turned his gaze to the two on the end which were little more than shells standin
g like sentinels amidst the sea of destruction. ‘What about them? Did everyone get out?’

  John lit a cigarette and drew the smoke deep into his lungs before releasing it on a long sigh. ‘Four fatalities,’ he replied. ‘There were some other injuries, mostly from flying glass and being crushed by heavy debris – and a suspected heart attack. They were taken to the hospital and most will probably be discharged before the day’s out. But nobody will be allowed back until the remaining houses are checked and passed as safe.’

  ‘They look all right to me,’ muttered Ron around the stem of his unlit pipe.

  ‘They might appear to be so, but we estimate that about three thousand tons of debris was blasted with massive force into the air – and that can do a great deal of damage to the fabric of any building within a certain range. The blast from this rocket was contained by the surrounding houses, so each and every one on this hill will have to be checked.’

  Ron took the pipe from his mouth. ‘Even Beach View?’

  John nodded. ‘The force of that explosion would have travelled deep into the ground, making the whole hill unstable and shaking the foundations of every house on it.’ He put a consoling hand on Ron’s shoulder. ‘It’s better to be safe than sorry, Ron.’

  ‘Aye, that it is,’ he agreed. ‘How long will it be before we know for sure the auld place won’t fall down around our ears?’

  ‘Not too long, I hope, because my cottage is just at the bottom of this hill and will need checking too. I’ll have a word with the county surveyor and try to chivvy him up.’

  They stood in thoughtful silence and Ron puffed on his pipe. ‘Do you know where the other rockets came down?’

  ‘My colleagues from Collington station radioed through to tell me that one came down very close to the farm on Cliffe estate and blasted a copse of trees to smithereens. The debris did a fair bit of damage to one of the barns, destroying the winter stock of hay, but everyone’s safe.’

  John Hicks drew on his cigarette, his hand trembling with weariness. ‘The other took out a corner of the allotment. Several sheds were burned down and a good portion of the crops were destroyed, but thankfully no one was there at that time of the morning.’

  Ron saw the other man wince as he shifted his weight from his prosthetic leg to his good one. John had lost part of his leg when he’d joined the flotilla of little boats to rescue the men from the Dunkirk beaches back in 1940, and Ron knew the stump often pained him, especially after a night like tonight.

  ‘And the fourth?’ Ron prompted.

  ‘That landed in Tom Potter’s field on the other side of the hill, killing three sheep and maiming several others that were in lamb. Poor Tom will probably have to put the rest of the flock down – they’re half-crazed with terror.’

  Ron knew how hard Tom had worked to increase his prize-winning flock, and could only hope that he’d get compensation – but it would hit the man hard, for his family had farmed that bit of land for over three generations. He saw John easing his leg again. ‘I’ll leave you to get home and rest,’ he murmured.

  ‘It’s been a long, difficult few hours,’ John admitted, crushing out his cigarette and stretching his back. ‘But home isn’t the same without Sal and our little Harry, so I prefer to be at the fire station.’

  ‘They’re safer in Somerset with their Auntie Vi and our Anne,’ said Ron, glancing again at the obscene aftermath of Hitler’s latest weapon.

  ‘They are that,’ muttered John. ‘But it doesn’t stop me missing them.’

  Ron gripped his shoulder in sympathy, then tugged on Harvey’s lead and headed for home. He understood John’s loneliness and the void that had been left in his life by the absence of his wife and child. There wasn’t a day when he didn’t long to see his family again, to hear their chatter and noise, even the tears, tantrums and mess they always left behind. But Cliffehaven was once again in the line of fire, and he was prepared to make any sacrifice to keep them out of danger.

  The smell of burning hung in the damp, cold air as he regarded the front of Beach View and the debris scattered over the roof and down the steps. There was a deep scar in the brickwork where something had hit the front wall with some force, and tiles were missing from the roof.

  He walked on and turned into the alleyway where he let Harvey off the lead. A swift glance took in the boarded kitchen window, the guttering that had been loosened by a lump of concrete falling on it, and the smashed roof tiles that littered the garden. The chimney didn’t look too clever from this side, so he’d have to go up there later and check it over – but the chickens were happily pecking in their coop and the outside lav and shed were still standing. All in all it seemed they hadn’t come off too badly considering how close they’d been to that explosion. However, he’d feel more at ease once the surveyor had been round to confirm that there was no serious structural damage.

  Harvey scampered up the cellar steps to the kitchen and Ron went into his basement bedroom to check that his ferrets hadn’t been too upset by all the noise. They seemed content enough, so he left them slumbering and went up the steps, his thoughts on a very late breakfast. The bitter wind had penetrated his sodden clothes to chill his skin, and he needed a bath and bit of kip before he had to be back at the Anchor for the lunchtime opening.

  He entered the kitchen, fully expecting to be told off for mucking up Peggy’s floor again, but was met with mournful silence. Rita, Sarah, Cordelia and Peggy were red-eyed as they tried to keep a whining and distraught Harvey from sniffing and pawing at the shoebox which stood in the centre of the table.

  Since nobody seemed keen to enlighten him as to what the heck was going on, he grabbed Harvey’s collar before reaching for the box and drawing back the scrap of blanket. He had to swallow the lump in his throat as he ran his hand over the stiff little body.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘She got hit by flying debris,’ said Peggy tearfully. ‘I found her at the bottom of the front steps with a bit of metal in her back. She was trying to get home, but … but …’

  ‘I know you must think us pathetic for crying over a dead cat,’ sobbed Rita, ‘but after what happened today, losing her is the very last straw.’

  ‘Aye,’ muttered Ron, ‘that it is.’ Harvey was whining and straining to get to Queenie, and it took all his strength to keep him under control.

  ‘This war’s so cruel,’ sniffed Cordelia, dabbing at her reddened eyes. ‘Poor little Queenie. I shall miss her sitting on my chair for a ride every morning.’

  ‘We’ll all miss her,’ said Sarah. ‘Especially Daisy.’

  ‘Where is Daisy?’ asked Ron, still wrestling with Harvey.

  ‘Still asleep,’ replied Peggy, ‘and I’m glad, because I don’t want her to see Queenie like this.’

  Ron folded the scrap of blanket back over Queenie and placed the box on the high shelf she’d always favoured, which was out of Harvey’s reach. He hugged the distraught dog as he sat down, his heart twisting at each whimper and whine. ‘Daisy has to learn about life and death, just as we all did as children when our pets died,’ he said sadly. ‘We’ll have a proper funeral this afternoon.’

  ‘Who’s having a funeral?’ asked Doris, stepping into the room.

  ‘Our sweet little Queenie,’ said Peggy, still fighting back her tears.

  Doris looked at her askance, but didn’t voice her incredulity, perhaps realising that feelings were running high and any scorn at such mourning would not be well received.

  ‘I’m just so relieved you’re all right,’ she said, giving Peggy a hug. ‘I would have come earlier, but I’ve been helping with the WVS and had to get the wagon back to headquarters so it could be restocked.’

  ‘Will you stay for a cuppa?’ Peggy got to her feet, clearly eager to have something to take her mind off Queenie.

  ‘Not this time,’ said Doris. ‘I have to get back to John who’s at the factory.’

  ‘On a Sunday?’

  ‘He’s got the names of those thirty facto
ry girls who were killed in Victoria Terrace, and apart from letting the different managers know, the families will have to be informed. As John is the chief supervisor, he feels it’s his duty to write to them personally.’

  ‘Poor man,’ sighed Sarah. ‘I don’t envy him.’

  ‘I’ll be there to help him,’ said Doris. ‘Now I must go and leave you to your cat’s funeral.’

  ‘It might seem ridiculous to you,’ rasped Cordelia. ‘But Queenie was part of the family, and although we’re all saddened by the loss of so many today, my tears are for her, and I’m not ashamed of them.’

  Doris very wisely made no comment and left the house.

  Peggy made yet another pot of tea and some toast, and as Harvey went to sit by the sink to keep watch over Queenie, she came to a decision.

  ‘Daisy’s too young to understand why we’re burying Queenie,’ she said before Ron could leave the room. ‘She’s already had a terrible shock, and I don’t think it’s wise to upset her any further.’

  Ron thought for a moment and then nodded in agreement – Daisy was not quite three, after all, and perhaps it was too much. ‘I’ll see to Queenie when I’ve had a bath and eaten something.’

  An hour later, he’d left a distressed Harvey at home and was tramping up the hill with the shoebox tucked under his arm and a spade over his shoulder. The wind was still cutting, but the sky was clear, and he could hear the beautiful songs of blackbirds and robins as he came to the copse of trees hidden away in an isolated dip in the hill and gently placed the box on the ground.

  The earth was soft and lay deep above the chalk in this sheltered dell, so she wouldn’t be disturbed by foraging animals, or scented by Harvey. Once he’d finished digging, he placed the box in the deep hole.

  ‘Goodbye, wee girl,’ he murmured, filling it in with soil and camouflaging the spot with broken tree branches and large pieces of flint he’d found lying about. ‘To be sure, you’ll be snug and safe now.’

  He made a rough cross from two bits of apple wood tied with string, and pushed it firmly into the ground. Getting to his feet, he stood by that little grave for a long moment remembering Queenie’s short life, and the joy she’d brought to them all.