Christmas with the Bomb Girls

by Daisy Styles

‘Anybody there?’

  Arthur tried to shout but all that came out of his throat was a hoarse croak. ‘HELP! HELP!’

  ‘Hang on, mate!’ somebody called out to him. ‘We’ll have you out soon.’

  Holding his breath, Arthur listened intently to the distant scratching sounds, which were coming steadily closer. ‘Oh, God,’ he prayed. ‘Let me live, please let me live to see my wife and son again.’

  There was a loud scraping noise above him as rescuers removed wreckage and a slit of light entered the dark chamber.

  ‘HERE!’ Arthur screamed. ‘I’M HERE! HELP!’

  Flooded with gratitude, Arthur watched the firemen slowly but steadily burn away metal and machinery, until they had cleared a hole big enough to drag him through. Grabbing hold of the fire crew pulling him to safety, Arthur sobbed with relief.

  ‘Well done, pal,’ one of the fire crew said as they hauled Arthur to his feet. ‘Anybody else down there with you?’

  Arthur nodded. ‘A woman,’ he told them. ‘She’s lying under the rubble, but she’s gone,’ he added grimly.

  As some of the rescue workers attempted to locate the dead woman, the ambulance driver guided Arthur through the choking debris to a door that hung from its shattered hinges. ‘Come on, we need to get you to hospital; you’ve lost a lot of blood,’ he said.

  For the first time Arthur realized he’d been wounded; looking down, he saw a huge tear in his thigh from which blood was pumping. Nevertheless he resisted his help. ‘No,’ he gasped. ‘I need to find my wife and son.’

  ‘Leave that to the rescue workers,’ the driver advised as he firmly led Arthur to the back of his vehicle. ‘Sorry, pal, you’re going nowhere but Manchester Royal Infirmary,’ he said as he settled Arthur on to a stretcher and slammed the doors shut behind him.

  When the women heard the all-clear, they staggered out of the shelters. Cold and stiff after sitting tense and hunched for so long, they gazed at the piles of dusty debris that lay scattered across their pathway.

  ‘VIOLET!’ Kit called as she looked distractedly around the factory yard for her friend.

  As the police arrived to guide the women to safety, Kit grabbed hold of Gladys’s arm.

  ‘I’m not leaving until I’ve found Billy,’ she whispered fiercely.

  Gladys nodded. ‘We’ve got to find Violet too.’

  Kit nodded as she replied, ‘She’ll have gone to the nursery, for sure.’

  ‘Keep down and follow me,’ Gladys said in a whisper as she slipped under the cordon the police had erected.

  Crouching low, Gladys and Kit ran hell for leather towards the nursery, which was situated at the far end of the domestic quarters. Surrounded by a large play area, they were relieved to see it was surprisingly intact, though there were no children or staff in sight. Frantic now to find Violet and the children, they painstakingly searched the pram shed, the laundry, the little cloakroom where the kiddies hung up their gingham overalls, even the outdoor privy that the staff used.

  ‘Oh, God!’ Kit cried in despair. ‘They’ve got to be somewhere.’

  It was in the empty garden that they finally spotted Violet, who hardly seemed to notice their arrival. Ashen faced, she was casting wildly about. ‘Where are they?’ she cried in anguish. ‘Where have they taken the children?’

  As all three women stared at each other in misery, the sound of children’s voices, as sweet as music to their ears, came floating through the air. Turning in the direction of the babbling voices, they saw the staff emerging from the nursery air-raid shelter, which was mercifully obscured by a bank of trees and overgrown bushes. They cradled the babies and led the toddlers, who were desperate to run around and play after being cooped up so long. At the sight of little Billy’s sweet, smiling face, Kit’s legs almost gave way with relief. Rushing to embrace their children, whom they clung on to for dear life, Violet and Kit sobbed with relief as they smothered them with kisses. Violet, hugging Stevie like she’d never let him go, cried, ‘Oh, my darling! You’re safe, Mummy’s got you.’

  The fire and ambulance crews arrived as Violet and Kit, still holding their babies, left the nursery area along with Gladys. As they walked out on to the factory road, Ian came roaring up in his Ford Anglia. Seeing them, he slammed on the brakes and leapt out of the car. ‘Kit! Billy!’ he cried, embracing them in the circle of his arms and fighting off tears. ‘Oh, thank God!’ he half-sobbed with relief. ‘I heard about the bombing on the news; all the roads were blocked by police barricades. I thought, I thought …’ His voice broke as he expressed his terror. ‘I thought I might have lost you both.’

  ‘We’re alive, thank God, we’re all alive!’ Kit cried as she leant against her husband’s warm chest and wept.

  Looking round at the shattered buildings that the bomb had hit, Ian’s face whitened. ‘Christ!’ he murmured. ‘It’s nothing short of a miracle that the nursery missed the blast.’

  ‘When we heard the plane flying over, we thought we were safe, but seconds later the bombs exploded,’ Kit said, then, as the full horror hit her, she buried her head in her hands. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been so terrified in my life. All I could think of was Billy, my little boy,’ she wept.

  Laying a strong arm around his wife’s slender waist, Ian led her away from the disaster site. ‘Come on, my darling, let’s get you home.’

  Carrying Billy, Ian opened the car door for Kit, Violet and Gladys, but Violet held back.

  ‘I can’t come with you,’ she announced. ‘I’ve got to find my Arthur.’

  Kit shook her head. ‘You can’t go back to the factory, Vi – it’s not safe.’

  ‘I can’t leave until I know where he is,’ Violet said with tears in her eyes. ‘Please look after Stevie till I get back,’ she said as she handed her baby to Gladys.

  ‘We’ll keep him safe at Yew Tree Farm,’ Kit called after Violet, who, having secured the safety of her son, would now know no peace until she found her husband.

  10. The Search

  Violet got a lift off an obliging policeman who was driving into Manchester. After she was dropped off at the Royal Infirmary, she ran into the entrance hall, where she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. This was déjà vu: she’d been in this exact spot before and recently too. Just before their wedding, Arthur had discovered defective fuses in the filling shed, and in a delicate, deadly operation he’d removed them to an explosion pit, which was situated a safe distance from the Phoenix, in order to detonate them. Unfortunately, one of the fuses had blown up in Arthur’s handsome face, causing facial injuries and damage to his right eye. What condition would she find her husband in now? Violet thought as she rushed to the front desk, where a frantic receptionist was trying to deal with a noisy crowd of anxious relatives all yelling questions at her, most of which she couldn’t answer. Following their example, Violet pushed and shoved her way to the front of the queue, where she made her enquiries. The receptionist scanned a long list on her desk. ‘He’s in theatre; he’ll be taken to a post-surgical ward, but as of now I don’t know exactly which one,’ she said quickly, turning to the next person and thereby dismissing Violet, who stood pole-axed with shock.

  ‘Why is my husband having surgery?’ she cried, but nobody heard her or cared to listen. Violet made her way to a nearby bench on which she slumped down. She’d seen Arthur in the factory as she was running across the yard to the nursery – what had happened to him? she thought frantically. Scanning the crowded entrance hall, she was surprised to see Mr Featherstone talking to a group of women who appeared to have minor injuries, judging by the dressings they were wearing. ‘MR FEATHERSTONE!’ she called as she ran towards him.

  The factory manager looked concerned when he saw Violet. ‘Mrs Leadbetter,’ he said. ‘How is your husband?’

  Violet shook her head. ‘I’m waiting for him to come out of theatre,’ she replied. ‘Do you know what happened to him?’ she asked nervously.

  Mr Featherstone caught her arm and walked her away from the
group so they could speak in private.

  ‘The back wall of the factory collapsed,’ he explained. ‘Arthur was trapped under the rubble.’

  ‘Why was he in there anyway?’ Violet cried.

  ‘He was doing his job: protecting a poor woman, who was found dead under the rubble by the rescue workers. It’s a miracle your husband survived, Mrs Leadbetter.’

  Violet stared desolately into the middle distance; before he’d been appointed safety officer at the Phoenix, Arthur had been working with explosives in active service. Whilst dismantling a German booby-trap bomb, he’d lost fingers on both of his hands, which meant he could no longer serve in the army.

  ‘I know my Arthur’s a hero,’ she thought to herself. ‘But I wish to God he wasn’t quite such a hero.’

  Violet had no idea how long she sat there, dazed and terrified, praying that her brave husband would be alive and well. She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ve just been directed over here to speak to you,’ a tired-looking nurse told her. ‘Are you Mrs Leadbetter?’

  Violet leapt to her feet. ‘Yes! My husband?’ she cried. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s on Ward D4.’

  ‘Can I see him?’ Violet begged.

  The nurse nodded as she set off across the hall. ‘You can, but only briefly,’ she replied as Violet almost ran to keep up with her hurrying footsteps. ‘He’s just come out of theatre, so I suggest you keep your visit short and say nothing that might agitate him.’

  Violet softly wept when she saw Arthur, whose broken leg was in traction and stuck out at an odd angle in the air. He had an oxygen mask over his face, which was scarred with deep cuts and dark bruises, and his breathing was laboured. ‘My poor darling,’ Violet whispered as she took his hand in hers and kissed his fingertips. ‘Five minutes,’ said the nurse. ‘Then I really need to check his wounds.’

  Murmuring his name and stroking his limp blond hair away from a gash on his forehead, Violet stayed until she was asked to leave. ‘Goodnight,’ she said as she reluctantly left his bedside. ‘I love you, Arthur. God bless.’

  It was far too late to catch any buses back to Pendleton, so Violet asked the weary nurse on the reception desk if she could briefly use her phone to get a lift home. She was grateful to Ian when he arrived half an hour later and drove her home through the dark night to the warmth of Yew Tree Farm. As soon as she was indoors, Kit beckoned to Violet, and after laying a finger on her lips she silently led her upstairs to the spare bedroom, where Stevie lay fast slept in Billy’s old baby cot.

  ‘Awwwww.’ Violet let out a long slow smile of happiness as she gazed in adoration at Stevie’s peaceful, contented face.

  After gently rearranging the soft blanket that covered her son, she followed Kit downstairs, where Ian was already brewing tea in a big brown pot.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ Violet said with a grateful smile, wrapping her cold hands around the mug of hot, strong tea he offered her. ‘I could really do with this,’ she assured her friends as she drank deeply, then reached for her cigarettes.

  After telling her friends all that she knew about Arthur’s condition, Violet anxiously asked, ‘How have the boys been?’

  ‘Fine,’ Kit replied. ‘Ian and I bathed both of them down here, in the big sink, then dried them on the rug in front of the Aga. They had a whale of a time,’ she giggled.

  ‘Stevie kicked his little legs in the air and Billy blew kisses on his tummy,’ Ian recalled. ‘They laughed themselves silly.’

  ‘I still have Billy’s feeding bottle and some dried milk,’ Kit added. ‘Stevie had a good feed before bedtime, then fell fast asleep in Ian’s arms.’

  ‘Thanks so much,’ Violet said as she gazed from Ian to Kit. ‘It would have been a nightmare taking Stevie to the hospital. I was there for hours,’ she said with a yawn. ‘But I would never have rested if I hadn’t seen my Arthur.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I wonder how the poor man is now?’

  ‘They’ve probably settled him for the night,’ Ian assured her.

  ‘You should get some sleep too, sweetheart,’ Kit urged. ‘You’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow.’

  11. Visiting Hours

  Violet woke up in the pearly dawn light to the sound of birds twittering sleepily on the moors outside her window. Wriggling her toes to familiarize herself with where she was, Violet thought first of Arthur. Had he slept well? Was he in pain? When she heard Stevie’s first little coos and gurgles as he too awoke to a new day, she leapt out of bed and lifted him into her arms.

  ‘Hello, my sweet,’ she murmured as she gently laid him on the bed to change his damp nappy. When he was snuggled up in a clean one, she climbed back into bed, where she lay down with Stevie beside her. As he continued to burble and chatter, Violet drank in the beauty of his perfect skin and chubby little limbs; even after a day as dark as yesterday, when they had all but lost a husband and a father, Violet could not help but glory in the joy of being Stevie’s mother. A loud squawk followed by little pattering footsteps on the stairs announced that Billy was on his way to see his friend Stevie.

  Over breakfast, tea and toast and Kit’s mouth-wateringly juicy wild blackberry jam, Kit said, ‘Ian and I want you to know that you and Stevie can stay here with us at Yew Tree Farm for as long as you like.’

  ‘Oh, Kit, you’re so kind!’ Violet cried with tears in her eyes.

  ‘I was talking with the rescue workers yesterday,’ Ian continued. ‘They said the domestic site has taken the biggest hit, virtually razed to the ground.’ More tears came to Violet’s eyes as she thought of her home smashed to smithereens. ‘Of course they’ll rebuild it as quickly as possible,’ Ian hastily added. ‘But for the moment this is your home, and Arthur’s too once he’s been discharged,’ he said generously.

  ‘I can’t tell you just how grateful I am,’ Violet said as she handed Kit a Woodbine.

  ‘We’ve always stuck together, both in good and bad times,’ Kit reminded her with a warm smile.

  ‘And this is hard indeed,’ murmured Violet.

  As the little boys rolled around on the kitchen floor, giggling and squeaking, Ian told Violet that the plane that had caused such havoc to the Phoenix had been traced. ‘It was on its way back to Germany after a bombing-raid over Liverpool,’ he said. ‘Apparently the pilot dumped his unused bombs on the moors.’

  Violet’s eyes opened wide in shock. ‘So it wasn’t an actual attack?’

  ‘Apparently not, though it damn well felt like it,’ Kit said with a rueful laugh.

  ‘It’s common practice for German pilots to dump unused bombs in desolate places,’ Ian explained. ‘It lightens the load for their return flight home,’ he added.

  ‘How very convenient for the Germans!’ Violet scoffed as she inhaled her Woodbine.

  After a rather long breakfast, Violet took Stevie back upstairs to play with Billy until it was time to catch the bus into Manchester. Before leaving, Violet buried her face in Stevie’s soft blond curls. ‘Goodbye, Mummy’s little angel, be good for your aunt Kit.’

  Arthur was conscious when she arrived for afternoon visiting time.

  ‘He’s very weak,’ the sister explained. ‘Do your best not to overtire him.’

  With her heart fluttering in her ribcage, Violet hurried down the long ward to Arthur’s bed. ‘Darling!’ she cried when she saw him propped up on his pillows with his tractioned leg still stuck in the air at an awkward angle.

  ‘Sweetheart,’ he murmured weakly, as she sat on the chair beside his bed and clutched his hand in hers. ‘How’s Stevie?’ he asked weakly.

  ‘He’s fine,’ she answered with a bright smile. ‘All the children were safe and sound in the nursery air-raid shelter,’ she added.

  ‘You were silly, running off like that,’ he scolded.

  Violet blushed as she remembered her wild, reckless run across the despatch yard to the day nursery. She’d barely heeded her husband’s voice in her crazy panic to find her baby.

  ‘I
had to find Stevie,’ she said guiltily. ‘I was out of my mind with fear.’

  Arthur squeezed her hand again. ‘I know, but you could have got yourself killed.’

  ‘You nearly got yourself killed too, my sweetheart,’ she reminded him with a smile. ‘Typical you, always putting others before yourself.’

  ‘The woman I helped,’ he whispered as he choked up. ‘She died.’

  ‘I know, but you did what you could and almost lost your own life in the process. I sometimes wish you weren’t always such a hero, Arthur Leadbetter! There’ll be nothing left of you if you carry on being a safety office. First you lose your poor fingers,’ she said as she tenderly kissed his damaged hands. ‘Then a bomb goes off in your handsome face, and now this!’ she said with a smile as she stared at his injured leg. ‘You’re my brave wounded soldier, and I’m very proud of you.’

  An orderly came along, noisily rattling a trolley around the ward; she poured tea from an urn for Arthur and craftily slipped Violet a cup too. ‘Don’t let sister see you drinking it, but you look in need of a cuppa,’ she said with a kind wink.

  As Violet helped Arthur drink his tea, she told him about the devastated domestic site, but, seeing his face crease with anxiety, she quickly added, ‘Don’t go worrying yourself, lovie, it’ll be rebuilt by the time you’re discharged; until then Stevie and me have been invited to stay with Ian and Kit for as long as we like.’

  Arthur smiled with relief, ‘They’re good kind people,’ he said gratefully.

  ‘They’ve given us one of the bedrooms. Stevie sleeps in Billy’s old baby cot and I have a bed by the window. I look right out on to the moors – it’s lovely,’ she told him.

  ‘I bet Stevie loves playing with Billy,’ Arthur said with a grin.

  ‘For a little lad, he knows what he wants,’ Violet laughed. ‘He’s only to see Billy with a toy or a piece of toast and he squeals till he gets it too.’

  ‘We’d better teach him some manners before he gets kicked out of Yew Tree Farm,’ Arthur joked.