by Nancy Revell
The ambulance steered around an abandoned tram, all its windows shattered.
The further down the street they drove, the more frenzied the atmosphere.
Two elderly spinsters, both dressed from head to toe in black, came out of their front door looking dazed and confused. Helen looked at the shattered windows and saw it was the sweet shop.
She looked across the road, where she knew Polly and Bel lived. Thank God the houses there were still standing and intact.
Suddenly the ambulance jammed on its brakes as a skinny blonde woman stepped out onto the road without looking and hurried across the cobbles; she was followed by a portly man of around the same age.
As they neared the end of the street, Helen caught sight of a man in a tweed suit desperately clawing at the rubble of a partially demolished house. She saw what looked like a half-buried tricycle next to him. His face looked manic as he desperately flung bricks and stones to the side.
The ambulance was forced to a halt by the amount of broken furniture and debris strewn across the road. Helen jumped out, her legs shaking, followed by Dr Parker. Two medics appeared from the back carrying a stretcher, while the driver strode over to talk to an ARP warden.
‘Casualties at the south end,’ he shouted out, looking at Dr Parker and then at the medics.
Helen felt sick to the pit of her stomach.
That was where Mrs Crabtree lived!
Dr Parker looked at Helen and read her thoughts.
This time he didn’t say anything; instead they both hurried down the street, their way hindered by piles of rubble. As they arrived at the end of Tatham Street, Helen stared at the space where two houses had once stood. There was now only a twenty-foot-wide crater. Rescuers were sifting frantically through the ruins for survivors.
‘Over here!’
Helen looked to see the two medics making their way over to a couple of ARP wardens who were hauling the body of young lad from underneath a stack of bricks. Dr Parker raced over, ordering the men to put the boy on a stretcher while he examined him. Helen caught sight of the lad’s head, his thick brown hair crusted with blood and dust, as he turned to look up at Dr Parker. Thank God, the poor child was still alive.
The two wardens moved out of the way and it was only then that Helen saw the bigger of the two was, in fact, a woman.
‘Martha!’ Helen shouted out.
Her voice was lost in the shouts for help, the sound of people crying and the continuous lament of the air raid siren.
Martha was wearing a blue denim overall, not dissimilar to the one she wore for work, a pair of wellington boots and a dome-shaped tin hat.
‘Martha!’ Helen shouted again, picking her way across the ruins.
This time Martha heard her name being called and looked around. Her eyes widened when she saw who was trying to catch her attention.
‘Helen! What are you doing here?’
‘I’m looking for Gloria and Hope!’ she shouted, her eyes darting about, hoping to see mother and child on the war-torn street.
‘Won’t they be at home?’ Martha asked, puzzled, not only as to why Helen thought they might be here, but why Helen would be looking for Gloria and Hope at all.
‘No, they were going to visit an old friend. Mrs Crabtree. She lives in one of these houses.’ Helen looked around at the buildings on both sides of the road. As well as the two that had obviously taken a direct hit, there were others that looked on the verge of total collapse.
Panic shot through Martha. ‘Let’s find them!’
The two women started asking the growing swell of people arriving at the scene if they knew where a woman called Mrs Crabtree lived.
‘She’s an old woman,’ Helen said to a man in a three-piece suit, who looked dazed and had a gash on his head. ‘She’s just recently moved into one of these houses.’
The man thought for a moment before shaking his head. ‘Sorry pet,’ he said, before wandering off up the street. ‘Helen!’ Martha was waving at her. She was towering over a small old woman.
Helen rushed over. ‘Are you Mrs Crabtree?’
‘No, hinny, I’m not her,’ the old woman said, viewing Helen with her pale blue eyes.
‘But I know who she is, pet,’ she added, shuffling around unsteadily. ‘She’s just moved into number two.’ The old woman pointed an arthritic finger to one of the three-storey Victorian terraces.
It reminded Helen of the inside of a doll’s house – only a doll’s house that someone had just stamped on.
‘Oh my God.’ Helen hurried towards the half-demolished house with Martha just a pace behind.
Chapter Sixty-One
‘Gloria!’ Helen shouted as loudly as she could, trying to outdo the air raid sirens but failing.
‘Gloria!’ Martha’s voice boomed behind her as they both made their way over the uneven blanket of red bricks leading to the partially destroyed doll’s house.
Helen heard what sounded like the gentle trickle of a brook; looking for the imaginary stream, she instead found a burst water pipe.
Stopping for a few seconds, she scanned every part of what was left of the house. There was no roof to speak of. Nor attic. No third floor whatsoever. The second floor now had a view of the stars. Helen spotted the brass knobs of a bed poking through the remnants of the collapsed ceiling.
When her eyes dropped to the ground floor, her heart sank. Please, God! Let them have made it to the shelter! If anyone had been inside when the house had tumbled around their ears, it would be a miracle if they were still alive.
‘Martha!’
Martha and Helen turned round in unison to see Dorothy and Angie, covered from head to foot in grey shrouds of dirt, jogging down the street towards them.
They stopped in their tracks.
‘Oh my God!’ Dorothy said, looking at the demolished houses.
‘What yer deein’?’ Angie shouted through the tannoy of her hands, hoping upon hope that the answer wasn’t what she thought it was going to be.
‘Looking for Gloria and Hope!’ Martha shouted back.
Angie’s and Dorothy’s faces dropped.
‘They might be trapped!’ Martha shouted, although she had been working as an ARP warden long enough now to know that if there had been anyone in this house, the chances were they wouldn’t be coming out alive.
‘We’ll help!’ Dorothy shouted out as she started to make her unsteady way over the first mound of bricks. Angie followed. Helen waved her hands at them both, signalling them to halt.
‘They might have made it to the public air raid shelter. Or there’s a chance they went back to the flat!’ Helen shouted out. ‘Can you go and check?’
Dorothy and Angie stopped in their tracks. They knew it made sense. They nodded and put their thumbs up to show they would.
They were both so worried about Gloria and Hope they didn’t think to wonder why Helen was there, or why she was just about to walk into a death trap – to risk her own life for those she barely knew.
‘I bloody well hope she’s at the shelter.’ Angie threw her best friend a sidelong glance. ‘Anywhere but there! I can’t see anyone getting out of that in one piece.’
Dorothy’s face was desperately serious.
‘Gloria’s not daft. She’ll have got to the shelter.’
‘If she had time! We didn’t!’
‘Oh, come on and shut up!’ Dorothy said, tears springing into her eyes as they both started to run. They prayed that they’d find their friend and the little girl they had helped bring into this world in the middle of another air raid just fourteen months previously.
After Dorothy and Angie left, Helen looked across at Martha.
‘You stay here!’ she shouted, before turning and making her way over bigger and bigger mounds of masonry, stumbling a few times as she went, although the obstacles underfoot did nothing to lessen her haste.
Sensing movement, Helen stopped for a brief moment and snapped her head to the side to find Martha just yards behind he
r. The two women looked at each other. Helen opened her mouth to tell her to go back, but before the words were out, Martha shook her head from side to side as she too stumbled clumsily across the debris-strewn ground.
Helen carried on making her way towards what had once been the front door of the house, but instead of walking through an actual doorway she passed through a cloying veil of smoke and dust. She gagged immediately and automatically put her hand to her mouth. She felt a weight on her shoulder and turned to see Martha’s outstretched hand holding what looked like a handkerchief. She took it and pressed it against her nose and mouth.
Her heart was pounding, but her mind was as clear as day.
She had one aim, and one aim only. Nothing was going to stop her. She had to get to Hope!
She might have lost her own baby, but she was damned if she was going to lose her little sister as well.
Helen knew she would sacrifice her own life for her sister, and with that realisation – the acceptance that death could well be near – any fear she might have felt left her.
‘There!’ Helen heard Martha’s loud but muffled voice.
She looked behind to see Martha pointing to a large gap in the wall.
Helen’s eyes were stinging and her vision blurred, but she was just able to make out the faintest shape of a body.
It had to be Gloria.
And if it was Gloria, there was no doubt that Hope would be there too.
Helen clambered across more dirt and debris, climbing over an upturned bookcase and nearly falling in her desperation to get to the figure, who appeared to be crouched down on all fours. Was it Gloria hunched over Hope?
‘Gloria! Gloria!’ she was screaming as she reached out.
Suddenly she jumped back in shock as her touch caused the lifeless body to slump over onto its side.
It was Mrs Crabtree.
In her arms was her ginger tabby. It was alive, but showed no willingness to move. Far from it. Its eyes glowered at its potential rescuers and its hiss told them to let well alone.
‘Mrs Crabtree?’ Martha shouted through a piece of rag she had tied around her face.
Helen nodded, beyond relieved it wasn’t Gloria and Hope.
They both looked around, straining to see or hear any signs of life.
Helen pointed back to the way they had come in, but just as they stepped forward there was a loud cracking sound as if some giant door in need of oiling was being slowly pulled open. They both looked up in horror as a huge wooden beam dropped down. Helen felt herself being propelled backwards. It took her a second or two to realise it was Martha’s hand yanking her from behind.
Falling backwards, she braced herself to feel the pain of landing on broken bricks, but her fall was broken by Martha’s bulk. Straining her head forward she saw the wooden beam was just inches away from them. She would have been lying under it had it not been for Martha.
Rolling off and putting her hands and feet on the glass-strewn floor, Helen looked at Martha, who was pushing herself into a sitting position.
‘Are you all right?’ Helen asked, scrutinising her for any sign of injury.
Martha nodded, her eyes trained on the scene of devastation all around them, still hunting for Gloria and Hope, but seeing only chaos and thick grey swirls of dust.
Both women stood up unsteadily.
Sensing that the back of her head was wet, Martha’s hand instinctively went to wipe away what felt like water dripping down her neck. When she looked at her hand it was red.
And then they heard it.
Just after the tone of the ARP siren changed from undulating to a monotone, sounding out the all-clear, Rosie and Martha heard another wailing noise, only this one was human.
Helen and Martha looked at each other.
‘Hope!’ Martha said.
They both scrambled around the remnants of a coffee table and an upturned armchair and headed for the doorway, of which only the frame was left.
‘Maaaammeee!’
‘Oh my God! There!’ Helen pointed to a small wooden door that was lying on top of what looked like a heap of rubble under the staircase.
They had walked straight past it on coming into the house.
Helen’s heart was beating so fast she thought it was going to explode.
Hope was alive!
‘We’re coming, sweetie,’ Helen cried out.
Martha nudged Helen aside, took the small wooden door in both hands and threw it towards the gaping hole of what was now the entrance to the kitchen.
As she did so, Helen saw the bloody wound on the back of Martha’s head.
‘Maaammee!’ Hope cried out again.
And then they saw Hope’s tear-stained little face, completely caked in thick dirt and dust that had acted as a perfect camouflage, faultlessly blending her in with the deathly grey landscape around her.
On top of her – also well camouflaged – was Gloria.
But there was no movement or sound.
No sign that Gloria was still alive.
Chapter Sixty-Two
‘Here we are, sweetie … Your aunty Martha’s here to see you as well …’ Helen tried to keep her voice calm as she carefully stepped around the mound of bricks and mortar that had encased mother and child.
‘We’re going to get you out of here,’ she promised. ‘Everything’s going to be just fine.’
Finally, she reached Hope, whose little cherub-like face was stricken with terror. On seeing Helen it crumpled and she started crying.
‘It’s all right, sweetie. Everything’s going to be just fine,’ Helen cooed, stroking Hope’s face. Helen looked at Gloria’s inert body, which had saved Hope, but also trapped her.
Knowing what needed to be done, Martha carefully took hold of Gloria’s upper body and lifted it just a fraction so that Hope could stretch her arms up to her sister.
‘’Elen,’ she whimpered. It was the first time Hope had ever said Helen’s name.
Tears stung Helen’s eyes and she blinked hard.
Thank God she was all right.
‘Come here, cheeky Charlie.’ She half laughed, half cried with relief as she eased Hope from under Gloria’s dead weight.
Once freed, Hope hooked her chubby little legs around Helen’s waist, and wrapped her arms around her neck.
‘It’s all right. You’re safe now,’ Helen said.
Helen looked at Martha, who had a grave expression on her face.
‘Can you turn her over?’ she asked, putting her hand on the back of Hope’s head to prevent her from seeing anything.
Still on her haunches, Martha bent over Gloria.
Shards of glass and bits of rubble tumbled off as Martha carefully turned Gloria so that she was on her back.
Helen stifled a sob as Martha started clearing Gloria’s eyes, nose and mouth of dust, before putting her ear to her chest.
For what felt like an eternity, Helen stood stock-still, staring, not daring to even breathe.
Suddenly Martha’s head shot back up, her eyes wide.
‘She’s alive!’ she shouted. ‘She’s alive!’
Helen gasped for air. Tears immediately started streaming down her charcoal-smeared face as she watched Martha force Gloria into a sitting position and start gently slapping her in an effort to bring her round.
Gloria suddenly inhaled a huge gulp of air and started coughing.
Helen felt her legs start to go with sheer relief.
‘Gloria!’ she shouted.
In a daze, Gloria looked at Martha, who was checking her pulse and scrutinising her head and body for any sign of bleeding or injury. She then slowly turned her face and stared up at Helen and Hope, who was still clinging to her big sister like a little chipmunk, her head buried in Helen’s neck.
‘Hope! Is she all right?’ Gloria’s voice was gravelly and hoarse.
Helen nodded. ‘She’s fine, Gloria. Fine.’
Hearing her mother’s voice, Hope twisted her face round.
‘Mammee!
’ she called out.
Gloria looked around her for the first time, and then up to the ceiling. Bits of plaster had started to drop down. The ceiling looked as though it was about to collapse any minute.
‘Please,’ Gloria begged. ‘Get … Hope … out.’
Helen looked up nervously at the huge gap in the ceiling above them. It was bowed and sporadic sprinkles of dust and rubble kept drizzling down. They had to get out of this very precariously stacked house of cards. And fast.
‘We’re not leaving you,’ Martha said, brushing the remaining debris off Gloria and staring down at a thick metal girder that was lying over her friend’s legs.
Helen looked at Gloria’s lower half and saw that she was trapped.
‘No, we’re not leaving you, Gloria,’ Helen said, stepping carefully over to Martha and inspecting the bloody gash on the back of her head.
‘But you are, Martha,’ she ordered, teasing Hope’s body from her own.
‘Hope, darling,’ Helen said, giving the little girl a kiss, ‘your aunty Martha’s going to take you now, and your mammy and I are going to follow.’
And without further ado, Helen handed Hope over. Martha looked at Gloria and then at Helen, wanting to argue the case that she should be the one to stay and help Gloria, when there was another cracking sound and an avalanche of tiles and bricks showered down, missing them all by inches.
‘Get her out of here!’ Helen yelled at Martha through the chaos. ‘There’s no time!’
She looked up at the ceiling. There was now an ominous grating noise coming from above.
‘Go!’ she shouted, desperation in her voice. ‘Now! Before the whole building goes down!’
Martha hesitated for a fraction of a second before jigging Hope around so that she had a secure hold on her, and turning to make her way along the rubble-strewn hallway.
Reaching the entrance, she stepped onto Mrs Crabtree’s front door, which was lying flat on the ground, providing a gangplank over the debris and leading her and her human cargo to safety.
