The War Girls

by Rosie James

  Emily’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, I think it should be reading,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘I will listen to you, Mrs Gladys, and make sure you get the long words right.’

  ‘Yes, Miss,’ Eileen’s mother said.

  Presently, well clad in their warm coats and scarves, and arm in arm, Abigail, Eileen and Carrie made their way out of West Road towards the top of Totterdown Hill, trying to avoid hindering the council workers who were already sweeping up glass and debris from the pavements. The buses didn’t seem to be running and there was very little traffic because the main road hadn’t been fully cleared. Carrie glanced at the others.

  ‘Isn’t it strange?’ she said quietly. ‘Look, that house over there is practically gone, but the ones either side don’t seem to be damaged at all.’

  Eileen said soberly, ‘Oh look – oh dear! Holy Nativity didn’t escape … It’s smouldering in that far end.’ She shuddered. ‘I hate the smell of smoke – unless it’s part of a lovely fire in the grate.’

  They walked on slowly, going over Bath Bridge and past Temple Meads, part of which had been hit.

  ‘Why don’t we cut through to Queen Square?’ Carrie said. ‘I really hope that St Mary Redcliffe wasn’t bombed. Not that a church is more valuable than people’s homes, of course,’ she added quickly, ‘but St Mary has always been a sort of symbol of the city, and everyone respects it and loves it, even if they’re not churchgoers.’

  They walked on, stepping over more and more broken glass and dismantled telegraph wires, but by now the roads had been cleared more fully, and one or two cars and vans were passing slowly by.

  There was an unusual, and rather sombre silence between the three as they made their way, then Abigail said, pointing, ‘Even at this early stage, don’t you feel that people are doing their best to keep going? I mean, look at those road sweepers over there – doing their job as if it was just another Monday morning – and one of them is even whistling the National Anthem.’

  The others nodded. ‘There’ll always be an England,’ Carrie said, trying to be philosophical.

  They went on past St Mary Redcliffe and stood for a moment to gaze at the building which, even on this dank, miserable November morning, looked as majestic as ever and was mercifully undamaged.

  They walked on, finally rounding the corner into Redcliffe Way.

  To find that something truly terrible had happened.

  The long, hilly street with its neat line of terraced houses, had been badly damaged and number fourteen as well as the house next to it, had been completely demolished.

  Miss Grant’s well-kept, respectable house now appeared to be just a load of rubble and blackened brick, with the chimney, like a stricken animal in surrender, lying helplessly across the top of the hideous pile.

  Abigail paused and clutched Eileen and Carrie in genuine horror. ‘Oh no,’ she whispered. ‘Poor Miss Grant! Do you … do you think she’s all right?’

  Eileen went in front of them to take a closer look. ‘Well, no one would have got out of that alive,’ she said, ‘but don’t look so worried, Abigail, not yet. I hope Miss Grant had time to make a dash for the shelter.’

  Eileen crossed her fingers as she said that, because it was clear that this end of the street had come off worst, and that number fourteen had had a direct hit. And Miss Grant, so obviously very proud of her property, may well have decided to stay there under her stairs, refusing to abandon her pride and joy.

  Carrie broke in. ‘Well, sadly, there’s nothing we can do to help here. So let’s go over to check on Janet to make sure she’s OK then go on to see if Blackwell’s and The Berkeley are still standing.’

  They had walked just a short distance when someone shouting made them stop.

  ‘Mrs Wilson! Mrs Wilson! Wait a minute, Mrs Wilson!’

  It was Iris Grant, and she came running up to them, her arms wide in greeting. And arriving, she immediately clutched Abigail around the waist and hugged her as tightly as if they were old and trusted friends, which took Abigail and the others completely by surprise.

  ‘Mrs Wilson,’ the landlady went on breathlessly, ‘I knew it was you. I was up at number nine – my neighbour’s house – and we were upstairs looking out of the window and I saw you standing outside number fourteen and—’

  Abigail could hardly speak for a moment because although she’d had no particular love for the landlady, it would have been dreadful if she’d been killed.

  ‘I could hardly dare to hope, Miss Grant, that you were unhurt,’ Abigail said shakily. ‘When I saw what had happened to your lovely house, your lovely home—’

  Miss Grant stood back, smiling wanly. ‘It was lucky that we weren’t there, Mrs Wilson,’ she said, ‘but, would you believe this, my brother came home unexpectedly on Friday night. Never gave me any idea he was coming, of course. But that’s like him, only thinks of himself. And yesterday morning, he was just finishing his bacon and eggs – when he said he had a gut feeling that there was going to be a raid. He couldn’t explain it – he just felt it in his bones. So’ – Iris Grant raised her eyes – ‘without even asking me what I thought, he decided that we were leaving town and going in his van to Queen Charlton for the night! Hitler won’t be wasting any of his bombs out there in the country, that’s what my brother said! And he was right! We heard plenty, mind you, and we could see the red glow of flames over the city, but we were out of harm’s way in that lovely spot – we used to have picnics there you know, when we were kids. And I was as cosy as anything because there was a rug in the van for me to put round my knees.’ She raised her eyes. ‘Besides, there’s a little pub he knows, so early on we had a drink and it turned out to be a nice little evening after all. Of course, Ronald insisted we stayed there all night, and that meant I had to wee in the hedge a couple of times.’

  The three women gazed at Miss Grant as she spoke and could hardly believe what they were hearing. Eileen narrowed her eyes briefly, remembering how her mother had felt before that other raid. That she’d felt uneasy and unusually troubled. Gladys Matthews had said nothing about having a premonition – but Eileen was aware that many people felt they had a second sense, or a special link with another world, and especially during dreadful times, meetings were regularly attended by those who believed they were privy to forthcoming events. Of course, she didn’t believe a word of it, Eileen thought. But still, looking at Miss Grant in the peak of good health, and the rubble which was once her home, well …

  ‘I think your brother must be a very useful man to know, Miss Grant,’ Eileen said, gritting her teeth at her own remark. ‘Useful’ was not exactly how Eileen would describe the landlady’s brother – not after his disgraceful behaviour to poor Abigail.

  Miss Grant tutted. ‘’Course, I feel a bit bad, really, because he’s always got on my nerves, my brother has. You never know where you are with him and sometimes over the years, I could have killed him. But, it’s thanks to him that I’m alive – because I would not have gone to the shelter. And when we came back home early this morning – about three o’clock I think it was – and saw the house gone, gone, well, I would have gone with it! Because I don’t go to any shelters. No, thank you very much. Not my cup of tea at all.’

  Abigail touched the landlady’s arm. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am that you didn’t stay at home last night, Miss Grant,’ she said. ‘And what about the shops at the end? Mr Dawson – and the others – are they all right?’

  Iris Grant nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, thank the good Lord! Not so much as a window gone, so I’m told! In fact, apparently Dawson’s opened at nine o’clock this morning as usual – though I haven’t gone up there yet because I haven’t got round to thinking about groceries.’

  Abigail hesitated before she spoke again. ‘But I do understand how you must be feeling about your beautiful home, Miss Grant … Your cosy, comfortable home. It must be dreadful for you to see what’s happened to it.’

  Miss Grant looked away, as if collecting her thoughts. ‘Do yo
u know, Mrs Wilson,’ she said slowly, ‘all I feel is relief to be alive. Because things can be replaced, can’t they, but once you’re dead, that’s it. You’re dead. And Ronald and I are lucky to be staying with a neighbour for now, until other accommodation can be found for us, and eventually everyone will be re-housed. We’ve been told that.’ She smiled. ‘When the time comes, it will be quite exciting to be somewhere different and to have to choose things again … it will be like starting out afresh, won’t it?’

  Then, looking around furtively, as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear, she said, ‘Anyway, I never really liked that sofa we had in the sitting room. It was as hard as nails. Glad to see the back of it.’

  Chapter 24

  Mercifully, apart from minor damage to the back of both Blackwell’s and The Berkeley, both places were able to carry on trading, as did Robertson’s further down the hill. And the last days of November 1940 were free of intense bombing, although the sirens were still regularly heard. The terrifying howl became fairly commonplace – often followed soon afterwards by the all-clear – so that the more philosophical regularly stayed at home rather than seeking shelter elsewhere.

  ‘If your name’s on a bomb, it’ll find you wherever you are,’ tended to become the cynical attitude.

  Early December, too, was comparatively peaceful so that the normal Christmas preparations took place, homes were decorated as usual, and fir trees brought in, bedecked with bright baubles and fairy lights. And there was still enough food in the shops for everyone to have their Christmas dinner.

  On Christmas Eve, Eileen, Carrie and Abigail stood waiting together at the bus stop. It was lunch time, just after two o’clock, and many places of employment had closed early to give staff a little extra holiday before work began again, the day after Boxing Day. The three girls had just stopped off at Robertson’s to have a quick coffee, and to give Janet her Christmas presents.

  ‘Ooh it’s such a bitter wind, isn’t it?’ Carrie said now, huddling closer to the other two. ‘I can’t wait to get home and put my slippers on!’

  Eventually, the bus arrived – standing room only – and as it trundled its way past blackened, half-damaged buildings through Baldwin Street and Victoria Street towards Temple Meads, Eileen nodded at the scene outside as they all stood holding on to the safety strap above their heads.

  ‘What a mess it is out there,’ she said. ‘The carnage of bomb damage has to be seen to be believed, doesn’t it.’

  The bus arrived at Eileen and Abigail’s stop, and as they got off, Eileen said, ‘See you this evening, Carrie.’

  As the two made their way briskly towards West Road, Eileen glanced down. ‘D’you know, Abigail, I think that, at last, I have finally come to a decision. I’ve been thinking about this for some time, but it’s very important and I’d really like to speak to you and Carrie – and my mother – about it before I take any action.’

  Abigail tucked her arm more firmly into Eileen’s. ‘That sounds terribly mysterious, Eileen,’ she said. ‘So why don’t you unwrap the secret later tonight when Emily is safely asleep and we can talk properly.’ Abigail smiled. ‘Important secrets will go down very well with a glass of Harvey’s Bristol Cream and some mince pies.’

  It was gone nine o’clock before Emily was finally persuaded to settle down. As Abigail tucked her in, with Eileen and Carrie standing there as well, Emily said, yawning, ‘Do you think Santa Claus has already left with his reindeer? I mean, will he have time to come to every house in the whole world before morning?’

  Eileen bent to kiss the top of Emily’s head. ‘Don’t you worry about that, Emily,’ she said. ‘Because Santa is an extremely clever chap and very hardworking. And of course he’s got his little elves to help him. I know he’s received your letter, and I expect you’ll have nice presents in your stocking when you wake up tomorrow.’

  Emily thought about that. ‘Did you write him a letter, Eileen?’ she said. ‘Will you be hanging up your stocking?’

  ‘No, of course not. Santa does not have the time to visit adults,’ Eileen said. ‘He’s got enough to do without bringing us presents as well.’

  Carrie took her turn to give Emily a goodnight cuddle. ‘We were all children once, Emily,’ she said, ‘and used to have a stocking to open on Christmas morning.’

  Emily wound her arms around Carrie’s neck. ‘Well, don’t worry, Carrie,’ she whispered, ‘because I’ve got a present for you, and Eileen and Mrs Gladys as well. Mummy and I have been shopping and Mummy has made you all one of her special Christmas cards. They’re beautiful! I’ve seen them!’

  ‘Now, no more talking, Emily,’ Abigail said firmly, ‘because it really is time for you to go to sleep. And if you get over tired you won’t enjoy tomorrow, will you.’

  Still holding on to Carrie, Emily whispered, ‘Would you like me to tell you what we’ve got you and Eileen?’

  ‘Emily!’ Abigail protested. ‘That’s a secret, isn’t it! Now, no more talking!’

  Presently, down in the kitchen which was comfortably warm, and mellow with candle light, the three girls and Mrs Matthews sat around the table wrapping all the small presents to put into Emily’s stocking. Abigail glanced up, shaking her head slowly.

  ‘Really, you are all so kind,’ she said. ‘Emily is going to be absolutely amazed tomorrow morning.’

  ‘It’s lovely to have a little one in the house to spoil,’ Gladys Matthews said, tying some tinsel around a bag of lollipops. She paused before going on. ‘And, you know, after that November raid, I did wonder whether we would ever see another Christmas. I really did. Yet, here we are once again, still alive and determined to put all the horror behind us, just for a few days.’ She grimaced. ‘Though I do wish we could get rid of the blessed blackout curtains for the festive season, just for tonight and tomorrow. We always drew back the curtains and had candles burning in the windows at Christmas, didn’t we, Eileen?’

  Eileen nodded. ‘We did, Mother. But never mind. It looks as if Hitler’s giving us a bit of peace at the moment, doesn’t it, which I hope lasts long enough for us to enjoy our Christmas dinner.’ She got up to put the kettle on. ‘And even though there were no turkeys available this year, we’ve got that nice piece of silverside, and the chicken is a good plump one. Abigail has gone to a great deal of trouble making the stuffing.’

  ‘My mother actually managed to buy two chickens,’ Carrie said, as she carefully pushed another present into Emily’s already bulging stocking. ‘She had to speak nicely to the butcher, but when it was explained that several of our lonely parishioners always join us for Christmas dinner, he was really generous and added two pounds of sausages as well.’

  ‘I should think so too,’ Gladys Matthews said, glancing around her for a moment. How lucky she was, she thought, to have young company in the house – not just her beloved Eileen, but dear Carrie too who was almost like another daughter. And now Abigail and little Emily Wilson. They had been part of the family for sixteen months and had brought such blessings with them.

  ‘Shall we have tea, or coffee, to go with our ham rolls and mince pies?’ Eileen said as she set out the cups and saucers. ‘And the sherry has already been opened. Who’d like a glass?’

  This had always been the traditional Christmas Eve supper enjoyed at number six, and soon, with everyone opting for a pot of tea to go with the food, with the sherry to come later, the four began to eat. Then Eileen looked at the others.

  ‘Now, I want to talk to you all about something,’ she said seriously, and Abigail glanced at her quickly. She’d completely forgotten that Eileen had said she had something important to say.

  Gladys Matthews immediately looked up. When her daughter made that sort of comment, it usually meant business.

  ‘It’s just that I have finally made up my mind,’ Eileen said slowly. ‘I’m going to give my notice in at The Royal and volunteer for war work.’ She held the gaze of the other three as she went on. ‘After all, we must have spoken thousands of words ab
out what we would like to do to help stop this war, if only we could be of some real use. And I’ve been going over and over it because it’s been on my conscience for ages. There’s non-stop chatting in the office about where the country’s essential needs are so I honestly feel it’s time I did something about it.’

  Gladys Matthews was the first to speak. ‘Well, what exactly would volunteering entail, dear?’

  ‘I don’t know yet, it could be anything,’ Eileen said. ‘But apparently at the moment the greatest need is in the factories because so many men have been called up, and it’s proving difficult to find people to replace them.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, whether or not it’s the season of goodwill that’s got into my blood, I’ve definitely decided to do it. I’m not going to sit around any longer. After all, producing insurance policies is not going to help win the war, is it?’

  They all thought about this for a minute, then Abigail said quietly, ‘I do take your point, Eileen. I mean, when I’m up at Blackwell’s – doing the job I love – I often think about everyone else putting their lives at risk every day. Men like Mark and thousands more. And I feel ashamed that all I’m doing is packing and unpacking books, making lists, answering queries. And having a crafty read when there’s time! So under the circumstances I’m pretty useless, aren’t I?’

  Carrie broke in. ‘Well, that goes for me then, too. I would personally like to give Hitler a black eye – but there’s not much chance of being able to do that up at the beautiful Berkeley Hotel.’

  Eileen stood up to pour a little more tea into their mugs before going on. ‘So, there you are. Straight after Christmas I’m going to enlist at the Council House and see what they think I’d be capable of. It’s obvious that I’m going to need training, whatever it happens to be, but I feel ready and willing to put my back into something. Anything.’