Victory for the East End Angels

by Rosie Hendry

  ‘You lookin’ for someone?’ The driver of the last truck leaned out his window looking down at her.

  ‘My husband, Alastair Munro, he’s a doctor with one of the casualty clearin’ station units, but I don’t know if he’s shipping out from here, I just took a chance . . . ’

  ‘There’s more medical trucks further down the convoy,’ the driver said, nodding his head towards the docks. ‘We ain’t the only ones. Hope you find him.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Frankie felt a flame of hope ignite inside her again and hurried on, looking for more medical trucks. She spotted two not far from the gates of the West India docks and ran towards them; they were stationary now, waiting to be waved through at any moment.

  The first one, like all the others, was packed with equipment and men, either squeezed in the cab or in the back, but none of them were her husband. This was turning into a wild goose chase, Frankie thought as she approached the last truck, the white circle with its red cross in the centre standing out brightly against the khaki paintwork on the cab doors, but at least she’d tried, and no doubt Alastair would laugh about her chasing army trucks when she told him about it in a letter. She peered inside the cab window quickly, ready to turn away, when a familiar warm Scottish voice called out to her. ‘Frankie!’

  It was Alastair, he was there! She stared at him for a few moments, lost for words and not quite believing her eyes. He quickly clambered out of the cab, hurried over and threw his arms around her, as the other men in the cab cheered and several of those clinging on at the back of the truck wolf-whistled.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked stepping back and looking at her, his hands on her shoulders, his vivid blue eyes meeting hers. ‘It’s so good to see you.’

  ‘I heard there were medical trucks goin’ down to the port and I had to come, just in case you were ’ere and . . . ’ She shook her head disbelievingly. ‘And you are!’

  ‘I couldn’t tell you, you know that, I wanted to, so much. It was hard to be so close to you and not be able to see you. I—’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds,’ the driver of Alastair’s truck said, leaning out of the cab window, ‘only it looks like we’ll be off in a moment.’

  Frankie looked around and saw that the line of trucks beyond the gateway into West India docks had moved further in, making a gap for these ones to follow, and standing guarding the gates were the Port of London police who were stopping anyone else from entering; she would have to stay out here once Alastair’s truck passed inside.

  ‘All right, I’ll be with you in a moment, if you drive in, I’ll catch you up,’ Alastair said. He put his arm around Frankie’s shoulders and guided her across to the side of the road. ‘We haven’t got long. I’m really glad you came looking for me, Frankie, I’ll treasure this time.’

  ‘Do you know where you’re going?’ Frankie asked.

  Alastair smiled at her. ‘You know I can’t tell you that, but you’ll have heard the announcements on the wireless, I’m sure.’

  She nodded. ‘You will be careful, won’t you?’

  ‘I will, it’s pointless me telling you not to worry but I’m not going there to fight, I won’t be on the front line.’

  ‘I know but I still . . . ’ She paused as the driver of Alastair’s truck started the engine and drove in through the dock gates, her heart quickening as their precious time together drained away fast, like sand trickling through an hourglass.

  Alastair glanced at the truck and turned back to her. ‘I’m going to have to go.’ He looked deep into her eyes. ‘Look after yourself, Frankie. I’ll be counting the days until I come back to you.’ He pulled her into his arms and kissed her tenderly. ‘I love you.’

  Frankie’s throat was painful with emotion. She nodded. ‘I love you, too. Take care of yourself and remember to write to me.’

  ‘I promise.’ He pulled her into a fierce hug and swiftly kissed her again. Then, with a last look, turned and hurried in through the dock gates to join his truck, pausing to wave at her before he climbed inside.

  Frankie stayed where she was, watching until his truck moved on and was lost within the maze of the dock warehouses as it made its way down to the ships waiting at the jetty. Only then did she turn and retrace her steps, wiping away the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

  Chapter 20

  Bella hurried along the pavement, dodging around puddles as rain pitter-pattered loudly on her umbrella. So much for it being summertime, she thought. It was bad enough for people in England, but how much worse must it be for the Allied troops who were battling their way across northern France, the persistent rain would have undoubtedly turned the land to mud, making it difficult to move about, let alone fighting.

  Turning into the doorway of the building where the Red Cross prisoner of war parcels were packed, she paused, collapsing her umbrella and giving it a good shake before going inside, where the level of noise surprised her. The volunteers who packed the parcels often talked, but it was usually a low-level hum with the wireless playing in the background. Today however, the volume of chatter was turned up, with many conversations going on as people filled the boxes to be sent out. She didn’t have to listen to know what they were talking about because the whole country seemed to be fixated on what was happening with the invasion into Hitler’s Fortress Europe. It was just the same at Station 75 where newspaper articles were devoured then discussed at length and news bulletins on the wireless listened to with great concentration.

  After hanging up her coat to dry, she made her way over to the packing tables and found a space next to Maud, an older woman whom she’d met there and who’d become a firm friend.

  ‘Hello, Maud, how are you?’ Bella took one of the prepared empty boxes, with the goods ready to be packed already put on its lid by another volunteer, and started work expertly fitting in the different-shaped boxes and tins.

  ‘Oh, Bella, I was hoping you’d be in today, I’ve got something to show you.’ Maud bent down to rummage in her basket which she’d stowed beneath the table and pulled out a copy of The Prisoner of War magazine that was published by the Red Cross and St John war organisation every month and sent to POWs’ next of kin. It was full of information about anything to do with the imprisoned men, from photos of them at the camps to useful articles for their families. Maud flicked through the magazine until she came to the page she wanted and held it out for Bella to see. ‘This is yours, isn’t it?’

  Bella looked at the article on the packing of POW parcels. It was her work, she’d written it based on what they did here, thinking it would be helpful to families to know the process behind the parcels that were sent to their loved ones held in camps. ‘Yes, did you like it?’

  Maud smiled at her. ‘It’s marvellous, you’ve told it just as it is and if I didn’t know about it already through working here, then I know I’d be glad to read it and understand more.’

  ‘Good, that’s what I hoped it would do. Most people who have someone in the camps don’t know what goes on behind the scenes here, so I thought it would help. They’ve asked me to write another article about the next of kin parcel centre, hoping if people understand exactly how it works it might stop them trying to put contraband items in their parcels – they’ll only be removed and won’t be sent out.’

  ‘I’ll look out for it then.’ Maud put her magazine back in her basket and returned to packing her box, expertly tucking pieces of shredded paper into the gaps between the tins and packets to stop them moving around in transit. ‘I also read your story in The People’s Friend last week, it was very good – you are clever, Bella, such a good writer.’

  Bella’s cheeks grew warm. ‘Well I love doing it, and it’s a welcome diversion. Working on a story or article takes my mind off things, makes me forget my worries for a while.’

  Maud touched Bella’s arm. ‘Have you heard anything about your brother?’

  ‘No, there’s been no more news, the army doesn’t know where he is. He wasn’t taken
to a German POW camp and was last seen at an Italian one before they surrendered, and after that we just don’t know what happened to him or where he is now.’ She sighed. ‘Not knowing is hard, but it’s what so many people are going through now, waiting and hoping – my friends are desperate to hear from their husbands who went over to France on D-Day, they haven’t heard anything since.’

  ‘It’s a worrying time. I’m glad that at least I know where my son is – being in a POW camp isn’t wonderful but at least he’s out of the fighting. For that I’m grateful.’

  ‘And he gets one of these parcels regularly.’ Bella smiled at her friend. ‘Come on, we’d better get to work, there are prisoners relying on us.’

  Maud laughed and started work packing her box again. ‘I hope your friends hear from their husbands soon.’

  Bella fitted a tin of butter neatly into a gap in the box. ‘So do I. They are doing their best to be patient but as every day goes by, I can see them getting more and more anxious.’

  Chapter 21

  Frankie lay on her side staring out of her bedroom window at the stars twinkling down on London. They must be looking down on Alastair, wherever he is, she thought. Was he watching them too? Since the invasion had begun she’d often woken up in the middle of the night, like she had again tonight, and had taken to pulling the blackout blind down so that she could lie on her bed and look up at the night sky.

  The past week since D-Day, after she’d watched Alastair going in through the dockyard gates on his way to France, had brought with it a maelstrom of emotions. She’d listened intently to every news report on the wireless and scoured through newspaper items to learn everything she could about the Allies’ advance in northern France. She looked for anything that might give her a clue and help her know where Alastair could be and what he might be facing, because there’d been no word from him since he’d gone with the invading troops.

  Frankie wasn’t the only one who was preoccupied with the events in France: many crew members were following it closely as well. She and Winnie were both worrying about their husbands. Sparky had even started cutting out the maps the Daily Herald printed on its front page every day, showing the Allies’ latest advance, pinning them on the noticeboard in the common room like some general with his battle plans.

  She sighed. It was a little past four in the morning and she was due at Station 75 at nine o’clock for a twenty-four-hour shift. She needed to stop thinking so much and get some rest, so with a last look up at the stars she closed her eyes and willed herself to drift off.

  Waves of sleep were slowly beginning to creep up on her when a strange sound, getting louder and nearer, startled Frankie awake. Was it an aeroplane? If it was, then it sounded like it was in trouble, its engines more like a noisy motorbike without a silencer than the usual steady thrum beat that she’d heard so often.

  Getting out of bed she went over to the window and gasped when she saw a plane coming in towards her with a flame burning out of its tail, and making a buzzing sound like an angry wasp. It had just passed over when the flame suddenly stuttered and went out and she lost sight of it against the dark sky. She’d just climbed into bed and lain down again when a loud explosion echoed out across the East End rooftops. Leaping up, she hurried over to the window and peered out again but couldn’t see anything. Did the plane crash? Was it a German bomber that had got through undetected and dropped its bombs? There’d been no air-raid siren, no warning, whatever it was had arrived unexpectedly and must have caused the explosion.

  There was nothing she could do about it, so once more Frankie went back to bed and hoped that sleep would soon come.

  Sparky was in full flow later that morning when Frankie arrived at Station 75. He was sitting in one of the armchairs with many of the crew members gathered around him listening to what he was saying. Spotting Frankie and Rose walking into the common room he stopped and called out to them, ‘Did you hear it?’

  ‘What?’ Frankie asked, going over to where he sat.

  ‘That sound in the night, did you hear it? About a quarter past four it was, woke me and my missus up, thought it was a plane in trouble at first, but it weren’t that.’

  ‘Yes, I heard it, too. Whatever it was ’ad a flame coming out the back, but it went out and then a few seconds later there was an explosion. Did the plane come down?’

  ‘It came down all right,’ Sparky said, shaking his head. ‘But it weren’t no plane in trouble, it hit the railway bridge on Grove Road, blocked the main line out to East Anglia and demolished a house, people killed and all.’ He paused for a moment. ‘It was a robot rocket.’

  ‘How d’you know?’ another crew member asked.

  ‘’Cos I’ve been there to have a look. It ain’t far from my house and I’ve been talking to the rescue services who were there, some good pals of mine. They could see it weren’t a plane or a bomb, this was somethin’ different – a new weapon that can come over here all on its own, don’t need a pilot to fly it.’

  Everyone was silent for a moment as they absorbed the idea of Hitler’s new weapon. Frankie shivered, the idea of a robot rocket seemed far more sinister, cold and calculating than a bomber flown by a human being.

  ‘It’ll be on the news on the wireless,’ Paterson said.

  Sparky shook his head. ‘I doubt it. The rescue fellas I know said the government will keep quiet about this for the meantime, just you wait and see.’

  ‘But they’ll have to tell us,’ Frankie said. ‘You can’t hide something like that fallin’ out of the sky and blowing things up.’

  ‘Perhaps there won’t be any more,’ Rose said.

  Several of the crew members looked at each other, clearly hoping the same thing. They’d all seen enough of what explosions could do. The fear of a new type of weapon bringing more destruction and death to London wasn’t something any of them wanted.

  ‘If old Hitler’s gone to all the trouble of making a new robot rocket, he’ll want to make the most of it!’ Sparky said. ‘I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of these in the days and months to come, so if you hear them coming – and you’re not goin’ to miss them because of the sound they make – then take cover.’

  Frankie hoped that Sparky was wrong, but in her heart she knew what he said made sense. Just when it looked like the war might finally be turning in their favour now that the invasion was under way, this arrival of a robot rocket meant London would be under attack once more.

  Chapter 22

  Station Officer Steele studied the newspaper that Sparky had just brought into her office, placing it down on her desk in front of her with a flourish.

  ‘See, the government has finally admitted it – only took them three days and more rockets falling to be honest about what was going on, but you can hardly hide the damn things now several have fallen out the sky and killed innocent people.’ Sparky pointed at the article on the front page of today’s Daily Herald paper. ‘I told you Hitler’d started sendin’ over robot rockets.’

  She read through the article. It quoted the statement made by the Home Secretary, Herbert Morrison, the previous night, which talked about the pilotless aircraft now targeting London and the south-east of England. An official spotting guide to the rockets had been printed, showing what they looked like from all angles, and even a photograph of the flare produced by them lighting up the night sky.

  ‘Can you gather the crew together in the common room for me, please, Sparky? And can I hold on to this paper for a little while?’

  ‘Course you can. I’ll go rally the troops and let you know when everyone’s ready.’

  When Sparky had gone, she reread the article, noting the advice about what should be done if one of these was rockets headed your way. It was her duty to make sure that all her crew were as prepared as they could be if they had the misfortune to encounter one of these insidious new weapons. She’d hoped that with the Allies now pushing back the enemy in France, the war had turned a corner and people on the home front would be m
uch safer now, but the arrival of these rockets had brought a new, sinister danger.

  It didn’t take long for Sparky to assemble all the crew members on duty in the common room and when Station Officer Steele went in to speak to them, she took the Daily Herald newspaper with her.

  ‘You will no doubt be aware that the government have now acknowledged, that we are being targeted by these pilotless, robot rockets, which doesn’t come as a surprise to us. Sparky was quite right about having seen the very first one a few days ago.’

  ‘They weren’t goin’ to be able to keep it quiet with them fallin’ out the sky,’ one of the crew said.

  ‘Exactly.’ Station Officer Steele held up Sparky’s newspaper so that they could all see the front page. ‘For those of you who haven’t seen one yet, this is what they look like.’ She pointed to the diagrams on the front. ‘Or at night you’ll just see a flare in the sky and, of course, will be able to hear them. The important thing is to know what to do if you see one. Remember, as long as the engine is running the rocket will keep flying but when the engine cuts out and the flame vanishes from its tail then it’s going to dive down to the ground and explode some five to fifteen seconds later.’ She paused for a moment while the crew muttered amongst themselves. ‘The official advice is to take refuge from the blast.’

  ‘Will there be any warning that these rockets are on their way?’ Winnie asked.

  ‘Apparently the usual siren will be given whether enemy planes are pilotless ones or not, so if the siren goes while you are here on duty you need to follow the usual procedure and get to the shelter as quickly as you can,’ she said. ‘The important thing is that we now understand how these things operate: as long as the engine keeps running, it will fly over. It’s when it cuts out that we need to worry. Obviously, with these things now being fired at us we are likely to be much busier with call-outs again.’