by Rosie James
‘So,’ Jonathan said quietly, ‘what happened after that?’
‘Not very much,’ Mark said. ‘By now, the whole area was crawling with Germans, and those good people hid us for more than two months. We slept in their loft by night, and when it was safe enough, we sunbathed in their garden. The lady knew how to deal with the broken ankle, and as soon as I thought we had any chance of getting back we returned to the beach at Dunkirk, which by now, of course, was practically deserted … though strewn with all the mess left by a departing army.’
Mark shook his head slowly. ‘But we’d never have escaped if it hadn’t been that Monsieur and Madame Cariouo found us dark, rural clothing, and provided us with peasants’ working gear – which of course included a French beret, which I shall cherish for the rest of my days,’ Mark added.
But what Jonathan Waters wanted to know was how Mark had got back to England.
‘To complete our huge, amazing good fortune in coming across the Frenchman,’ Mark said, ‘he’d managed to get hold of a fishing boat – quite a substantial one, actually, to get us home. And it did, taking us all the way back. Thank God the weather was in our favour or we might never have made it, and thank God for the French Underground Movement which is clearly already in full swing.’
By this time, Carrie could hardly utter a word, thinking that all the anxiety and dread she’d experienced over those months had been nothing to what Mark and the men had endured.
After a long moment, Jonathan said, ‘I hardly know what to say to you, Mark. Only that seeing you here in front of us, like this, after all you’ve been through, is the best thing in the world. Against all those odds, you’ve come back safely.’
Mark nodded. ‘Yes, and I am relieved to say that my unit got home too – even without me!’ he said. ‘Though, as you can imagine, my own debriefing took rather a long time!’ He shrugged. ‘But the thing is we live to fight another day – and we will, there’s no doubt about that. And next time there’ll be no running away.’
‘And what of the French couple who helped you?’ Jonathan asked.
‘I shall go back to thank them,’ Mark said at once. ‘I promised them that they hadn’t seen the last of me … when this shindig is over.’
Joan Waters spoke for the first time. ‘Perhaps it shouldn’t be a surprise that you are here, alive and well, Mark, because I have prayed for a miracle every single day. And I believe in miracles,’ she said simply.
There was a long silence after that, then Mark cleared his throat.
‘The main reason that I wanted to see you both today,’ he said, ‘is that I have a great favour to ask.’
Jonathan looked up, smiling. ‘Ask us anything, Mark,’ he said.
‘I would like Carrie to be my wife,’ Mark said. ‘I have already proposed to her, and she has accepted, but I knew I must ask your permission.’ He paused. ‘You may worry that my chosen way of life is not conducive to a long and happy marriage, but army life does not mean that we are always in a permanent state of warfare, just that we must constantly train to be ready to defend our country.’ He smiled briefly. ‘I want you to know that thinking about Carrie was what kept me going all those weeks. And made me realise how much I love her … need her.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I just hope that you will allow me to be her husband – for better or for worse. To cherish her for the rest of my life.’
Jonathan passed his wife a handkerchief because he could see her tears. Then – ‘Mark – it would be a privilege to have you for our son-in-law.’ Jonathan stood up. ‘And early in the day though it is, I think it’s time to open a bottle of good wine.’
Chapter 22
As the war continued, it was obvious that Hitler’s eyes were now largely fixed on the Bristol Aeroplane Company and the docks, and during many days in September and for weeks afterwards, German bombers flew over the city hoping to hit their mark.
The intense bombing which led to the destruction of many parts of the city during those months should have frightened the population to a standstill, but it did not. Despite many of Bristol’s famous streets and residential areas being reduced to rubble, within a matter of hours debris was cleared, traffic resumed – albeit in reduced numbers – and many partly demolished shops opened for business, more or less as usual, including Robertson’s café in Denmark Street, which thankfully suffered no damage. And spirited people emerging from the shelters to find their homes half-destroyed, lost no time in salvaging what was left of their belongings and transporting them to a safer location.
Fortunately for West Road it received no significant damage. But on one particular night the horrible, unmistakable gnawing throb of enemy aircraft passing directly overhead was so terrifying that Abigail had difficulty in persuading Emily that they would soon be leaving the shelter without a scratch. It wasn’t like Emily to sob with fright and even Mrs Matthews’ consoling words didn’t help much – probably because Emily could sense that Eileen’s mother was also very afraid. How much longer would their luck hold out? they asked each other silently. Was this the raid which would end their lives?
Yet amazingly, a few days later after a random bomb had hit the local bakery, bread making resumed. Although most of the building itself had been blown out, the ovens still operated and the staff worked on under tarpaulins by the light of hurricane lamps.
At breakfast one Friday morning towards the end of November, Emily, sitting next to Mrs Matthews as usual, said, ‘I’m fed up with this war, because we never know when there’s going to be another air raid, do we?’
The others agreed. ‘Yes, we are all fed up, Emily,’ Eileen said. ‘I’m never sure whether my office will open or not, or whether I will have to walk into work, do a couple of hours and then scurry back home again or get to the nearest shelter.’ She pinched Emily’s nose as she went past. ‘War is a tremendous nuisance to one and all, but, you know, Emily, we are all so lucky not to have been hurt, aren’t we?’
Emily nodded. ‘I know that, Mummy keeps telling me.’
‘And there’s still enough food in the shops so we aren’t going hungry just yet either,’ Eileen’s mother said. ‘Another thing to be glad about, Emily.’
Emily giggled. ‘You are a very glad person, aren’t you, Mrs Gladys! Do you remember me saying that?’
‘Of course I do,’ Gladys Matthews replied. ‘But that was a whole year ago, wasn’t it?’ she added. ‘And the very best thing of all to be glad about is that Carrie’s young man came back safely, didn’t he – isn’t that wonderful? And that when the war is over there’s going to be a very special wedding at the vicarage! Carrie and Mark, Mark and Carrie – praise the Lord!’
Sunday afternoon was cold, damp and miserable, and Eileen had decided that it was not the day for her mother to be taken to All Saints for Evensong.
‘I think it would be better if we all stayed in tonight, Mother,’ Eileen said. She glanced at Abigail. ‘Did you really want to go to church tonight, Abigail?’
Abigail shook her head. ‘No – I don’t think so, because I think I may have a bit of a cold coming. Martin’s been sneezing in the shop lately. So, a cosy night in sounds rather attractive. Anyway,’ she added, ‘we didn’t tell Carrie to expect us, did we?’
Presently, with Emily in Mrs Matthews’ room where they’d just started another jigsaw puzzle, Eileen went over to put the kettle on for tea. Abigail, curled up in one of the basket chairs in the corner reading her book, looked up.
‘That was a very good idea of yours that we have a lazy afternoon, Eileen,’ Abigail said, ‘because I think I needed it.’ She made a face. ‘It’s been difficult at work – trying to maintain proper hours and getting to and from the shop in time – as I know it’s been for you, too. Disruption of any kind is wearing, isn’t it?’ She paused before going on. ‘But after all, those are trivial worries when you consider what others are suffering. I often think that what I’m doing is hardly helping the war effort – it would be wonderful to do something of real importance.’
Deep in thought and still curled up with her knees under her chin, Abigail remembered what Eileen’s mother had said about whether it had been wise for them to have left Coopers in the present circumstances.
Coopers …
What was going on there now? Did her aunt still have lads working for her – or had she frightened them, and any others, off her land? Abigail bit her lip. Edna would find it very difficult, if not impossible, to do everything all by herself and the work was hard. Had this war affected those living in the country by now? Surely they wouldn’t be bombed? But they would have heard the Nazi planes flying over on their way to Bristol, wouldn’t they?
Yet again, Abigail wondered whether her aunt had thought about her young relatives, the only ones she had in the world. But Edna didn’t really know where they were, so why would she care, one way or the other?
Then Abigail asked herself a far more serious question. Had she been right to bring Emily away from safety to this large city which was proving such a huge target for the enemy?
She took a deep breath. Yes! And yes! She had been right, and she would do the same thing again despite all the unexpected difficulties. Because she had released the trap that had held her and her little girl, enabling them to live full lives. And not just now, but in all the years to come, they were free to be themselves. Emily Grace was the proof to set her mother’s mind at rest. She had got on with every person she met as naturally as if she had done it from birth, as every other child had. Coming here had all been worth it, Abigail thought – even if she couldn’t deny the fact that it put them both in extreme danger.
And never, ever again, Abigail thought, would she have to put her hand over her daughter’s sweet mouth so that no one would know she was there.
Presently, Abigail stood up and went over to lay the cloth. She opened the door of the pantry and glanced back at Eileen. ‘I hope these jam tarts and the fairy cakes I made yesterday will go down OK. There’s always something special about Sunday tea, isn’t there?’ she added. ‘Especially on a horrible evening.’
It was just gone six o’clock, and completely dark outside. Eileen moved across to check the blackout curtains and turn on the table lamp. She glanced at Abigail. ‘Thank heaven the last few days have gone quiet,’ she said. She grinned. ‘Tonight, perhaps, Hitler’s entire air force is at church!’
Just then, Emily and Gladys Matthews came in, still deep in conversation as usual. Emily went straight over to her mother.
‘I managed to finish a really difficult bit of the jigsaw just now,’ she said. ‘We’re nearly halfway through it!’
‘That’s good,’ Abigail said. ‘Now then, let’s all have tea. Eileen has made some lovely egg and cress sandwiches and there are cakes as well.’
Gladys Matthews sat down next to Emily and glanced over. ‘You two always make the table look so appetising,’ she said. ‘This all looks good enough to gobble up in one go!’
Then, before any of them could begin their tea, the terrifying whistle of a falling bomb, followed by a massive explosion close by, made them all freeze in terror. Emily immediately started to cry, clutching Abigail around the waist.
For a few seconds there was silence outside – soon broken by the sound of running footsteps and voices shouting from the street.
‘Take cover! Put that light out! Put that light out!’
And then the sirens. That electrifying, high-pitched sound rising and rising, then falling back, then rising and falling, like turbulent, unstoppable waves in a terrible storm at sea. Then more bombs and the awesome, terrifying din of anti-aircraft guns.
Eileen immediately went out to the scullery and peered through a chink in the blind. Then she came back to the others.
‘Come on,’ she said hurriedly. ‘It’s under the stairs for us tonight because we dare not risk going down to the shelter. This raid is all around us, and there just isn’t time – we might not get there before the next onslaught. It’s absolute mayhem out there,’ she added, ‘so we must be quick.’
The urgency in her voice had the desired effect, and straightaway, with Abigail half-carrying Emily and Eileen shepherding her mother in front of her, they all hurried out into the hall and opened the little door to the under-stairs cupboard.
This primitive means of safety had been the accepted routine long before shelters were even thought about, and even after their construction many people preferred to stay and chance their luck in their own homes. Eileen, ever practical, had long ago put a small bench in their cupboard, together with a couple of chairs and some cushions and rugs, just in case. The cupboard only had a small light, but it was enough to at least see each other.
Now, as they all crouched down to crawl inside, Eileen said to Emily, ‘It’s a good job we practised doing this last year, isn’t it, Emily? Do you remember? I told you we would be like little rabbits scampering into our hutch, didn’t I?’
Emily, who had stopped whimpering, nodded. ‘Can I go and get my books?’
‘No – I’ll grab them for you,’ Eileen said, ‘and I’m also going to grab our tea and we’ll have a picnic! How about that? Good job we hadn’t eaten it all! I’ll only be about two seconds.’
And within six or seven minutes of that first bomb blast – which was to be followed by more and more in quick succession – the little group of four were sitting around in the half-light under the stairs, with Eileen pouring the tea and handing round the cakes and sandwiches as if it was what they always did on a Sunday afternoon.
Abigail looked over at Eileen with admiration. What a wonderful friend, what a wonderful daughter she was, always knowing exactly what to do and when to do it for the good of everyone else. And Eileen’s mother seemed perfectly happy – once they’d managed to ease her gently into the cupboard. She was sitting on one of the chairs, well wrapped up in a blanket and sipping from her cup. If she was frightened, she didn’t show it, and neither did Emily, who, between mouthfuls of jam tart, had already opened one of her little books.
Abigail, sitting next to Eileen, said quietly, ‘I hope Carrie and her parents are all right. And Janet down there in town, too.’ She made a face. ‘It seems odd that we had no warning about this raid, doesn’t it?’
Eileen rolled her eyes. ‘Yes – it would certainly help to be informed about such things, but don’t worry about the Waters. They have the crypt, don’t forget, so I’m sure they’re all right. And the communal shelter Janet uses is right outside the café.’ Eileen grinned. ‘And the Germans wouldn’t dare bomb Robertson’s, would they?’
The all-clear did not sound until midnight, and after a cramped six hours under the stairs, they all emerged, blinking. Emily and Mrs Matthews had actually managed to have a couple of hours’ fitful sleep, but neither Abigail nor Eileen had slept a wink.
Glancing cautiously outside the house, Eileen turned to the others. ‘As far as I can see, thank heaven we don’t seem to have had any damage,’ she said, ‘but we’ll know more in the morning when it’s light.’
Then, suddenly, she threw her arms around the three looking up at her.
‘Once again we have survived!’ she exclaimed, her voice breaking only slightly. ‘We are all in one piece! And look, it’s Monday morning. Time for another week to begin!’
Chapter 23
The rest of the night was a strange mixture of dozing, and dreaming and waking with a fright for the adults at number six, though Emily enjoyed a blissful nine hours of sleep before she finally woke up and padded downstairs in her dressing gown to join the others in the kitchen.
‘Have I been asleep a long time?’ she asked, going over to take her place at the table next to Mrs Matthews.
‘Quite a long time,’ Abigail said, moving across to give her daughter a hug. ‘But that doesn’t matter. And you can always have a snooze later – if you’re still tired. Now, are you ready for some breakfast?’
‘I didn’t mind being under the stairs,’ Emily said, yawning. ‘It was fun. Especially having our pic
nic in there.’ She glanced at Eileen. ‘Can we do that again, Eileen?’
‘Not for a long time, I hope,’ Eileen said, smiling. ‘Let’s pray that that was a “for one night only” event!’
She picked up the teapot to refill her mother’s cup, and Mrs Matthews said, ‘I can hardly believe that, once again, we seem to have escaped more or less intact. From the noise all around us, I fully expected that at least some of our windows would have gone, but they haven’t, and from what you’ve said, Eileen, the house doesn’t seem to be damaged.’
Eileen nodded slowly. ‘Yes, Mother, we have been very lucky because both number one and two at the end obviously caught some of the blast – though no direct hits, thank heavens. And I spoke to next door this morning and apparently everyone’s all right.’
Eileen rang the vicarage and was relieved to hear Carrie’s voice.
‘Yes – we’re all fine here, too, Eileen,’ Carrie said. ‘We’re still standing – and so is All Saints!’
‘Thank heaven,’ Eileen said. ‘Look, Carrie, Abigail and I thought we’d walk into town this morning – just to see exactly what happened last night.’
‘I’m coming with you,’ Carrie said at once. ‘We need to see that Janet is all right, what buildings caught it, and whether we’ve still got jobs! I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’
‘Can I come too?’ Emily asked eagerly when she knew what the others were going to do, but Abigail shook her head.
‘I don’t think that’s wise, Emily,’ she said, ‘because it might be difficult getting around – we shan’t know until we get there.’
‘And besides,’ Mrs Matthews intervened, ‘I need you here with me, Emily, because I’ve decided that we are going to open our own little school – what do you think of that? We’ll take it in turns to be teacher, and you can decide which lesson we should begin with.’
