Soul Searching

by Chrissie Loveday

‘Thank you. And thank you for the loan of your coat. I’ll give it back to you when I’ve warmed up a bit.’

  ‘No worries. Keep it. I should be able to get back into my house any road so I can get another. We’ve all got a bit of thinking to do. Find some relations who still have a home. Not really expected in these parts, these bombs. Not like London.’ He was chatting on and on and Ruth had stopped listening. She had to admit, it wasn’t expected in their area but then, it was being said they’d dumped a load of bombs on their way back. She looked round, feeling a bit better now she was warmer. The wardens were bring in some bodies and putting them in one of the little rooms at the rear of the building. She went over there and spoke to one of the men.

  ‘Have you brought my husband here?’

  ‘Not yet dearie.’

  ‘When you do, can you let me know. He’s from number seventeen. Lying in what used to be our front room.’

  ‘Oh, I think one of the others may have brought him. Hang on, I’ll speak to one of them.’ He went over to one of the other wardens and spoke to him. They both looked at Ruth and he waved her over.

  ‘I’m sorry love, but is this him?’

  ‘Yes. That’s Charlie.’ She felt terrible seeing him lying there, not breathing and covered in an old ragged cloth.

  ‘Charlie who?’

  ‘Blenkinsop. Charlie Blenkinsop.’ As she spoke, she reinforced the feeling that she was now free. Free of being married to a man she had never loved. Awful though it was, she knew she didn’t have to worry about him any more. She felt sorry for her dad, who was his friend, but was thoroughly ashamed to realise that she felt only relief. She only had to go through the funeral and she could make a fresh start in her life. She did feel guilty but she had never wanted to be married to him. She had only done it to please her mother. It made her weep all over again.

  She went to the side of the room and slumped down in a chair. She began to think. She had no money and no clothes. Nowhere to live. How on earth could she even get to her mother’s place? Nobody here had any money and even if there was a bus, how could she pay to get for it? Perhaps she could walk. But without shoes, it would be hopeless. Her feet weren’t used to not having shoes. Besides it was almost ten miles away. She looked down at her feet. They were black. Filthy dirty. Her nightie was filthy too. What on earth would her mother say if she turned up like this? Then someone made an announcement.

  ‘It’s now morning and light. If anyone wants to go back to their houses to collect anything, please let us know. You must not, I repeat, must not try to enter unaccompanied. It is unsafe and you could be hurt. Is that clear?’ A babble of voices broke out. Lots of the group went forward to the man who had spoken. Ruth rose from her chair and crossed over to him.

  ‘I’d like to go to my place. Or Charlie’s place, I should say. I’d like to find something to wear and even find some money.’

  ‘Okay love. You’ll have to wait till one of us is free to go with you. I’d suggest you wait here where it’s a bit warmer. But I’ve noted you want to go. Where do you live?’

  ‘Seventeen Riley Street.’

  ‘Okay. There’s some others from there. Wait over there and we won’t be long.’ She did as she was told and saw some of her neighbours.

  ‘Bad business all this,’ said one of the elderly men. ‘How’s your Charlie?’ She shook her head. He saw her tear-filled eyes. ‘Eh, I’m sorry to hear that. Hope you’ll be all right.’

  ‘Thanks. If I can get to Wallbrook, I’ll be fine.’ Somehow, her whole future seemed to rest on her getting to her parents’ home. They waited for another half an hour and someone came to tell them they could go. Like a troupe of refugees, they all walked round to their homes. Many of them were crying as they saw the state of their homes left by the bombers. When she reached number seventeen, they allowed her to go inside a little way. She saw her handbag lying amidst the rubble and asked if one of them could get it. There would be a little money in there. Her coat was hanging just inside the doorway too so she grabbed it with relief. It would cover a multitude of sins, she was thinking. But that was about all she could get out of the house. Their china was mostly broken and as for the furniture, it was buried and probably ruined forever.

  Ruth removed the kind man’s jacket, gave her coat a good shake and put it on. It felt gritty and rather dirty. She couldn’t see any shoes or slippers anywhere so had to make do with her bare feet. She looked inside her bag and saw the housekeeping money that Charlie had given her a couple of days ago. At least she had something.

  ‘Thank you. I must take this back to its owner,’ she told the warden. ‘He kindly lent it to me.’

  ‘You haven’t got any shoes. Where did you keep them?’

  ‘Under the sideboard. That’s it over there, under a heap of broken bricks and other stuff. There’s no way anyone can get them.’

  ‘I can try love. You can’t go anywhere barefoot.’ He climbed over a heap of rubble and stared delving underneath it. There was sudden slippage and he almost got covered in a new fall of bricks.

  ‘Please don’t risk it,’ she said from the doorway.

  ‘Sorry love, I can’t. P’raps someone else will have some shoes you could borrow.’

  ‘Maybe. I could go back to the hall now. This place has had it. I can’t get anything else from it. There’s nothing left undamaged.’

  ‘Okay then. I’ll stick a notice on the door saying no entry. You go back to the hall.’

  Clutching her handbag and the jacket over her arm, she walked back to the hall. The kind man was no longer there so she gave his jacket to one of the women helpers.

  ‘I’m going to see if there are any buses running. I need to get to my parents’ home.’

  Still barefoot and with her dirty nightie hanging well below her coat, she walked to the main bus stop. She stood there for a long time waiting to see if any buses came along. Perhaps she should go into the main bit of the town to see about getting some shoes or slippers… anything to put on her feet. Luckily, it was getting warmer and she had stopped shivering, especially since she had her own coat. She walked to the shoe shop and went inside.

  ‘I need some shoes,’ she told the assistant.

  ‘You certainly do. Are you from the bombed area?’

  ‘Yes, of course I am. I don’t usually go out looking like this,’ she snapped. ‘My husband was killed and I only just escaped with my life.’ She felt tears welling up again.

  ‘I am sorry, love. I’ll have a look to see what I’ve got. What size are you?’

  ‘Six. I don’t want anything too expensive. I haven’t got a lot of money.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. I’ll see what I can find for you.’ She looked along the shelves and brought out a stout pair of shoes much better than any Ruth had ever had. ‘I’ll find some socks for you too. You’ll need something to stop them rubbing.’ She brought out a pair of socks and gave them to her. ‘Put them on and then try the shoes.’

  ‘I think they’ll be too expensive. Sorry, but they are really good shoes.’

  ‘Put them on. I’m not going to take your money. Least I can do, for someone like you. Just don’t tell anyone. I can’t supply the whole road with new shoes.’

  ‘That’s so kind of you. I will pay you back one day. It may take a while for me to get money together but I promise, I will come back.’ She put them on and they were lovely. ‘A perfect fit. Thank you so much.’

  ‘Glad to help.’

  ‘I’ll go and see if I can find any buses. If not, I’m in for a long walk.’

  ‘Good luck then.’

  ‘Thank you. And thanks again for the shoes.’ She left the shoe shop and set off back to the bus stop. She waited for another half an hour and then decided she should walk. She tried to follow the bus route so if one came, she could wave it down. She had no idea of the time and felt hungry. She walked on and on for miles. She passed Trentham Gardens, a large estate with once beautiful garde
ns open to the public. On and onwards she walked and began to feel somewhat faint. She sat down at the roadside and almost fell into a daze. Then she heard a bus rumbling along and leapt to her feet. It was going to Wallbrook. She waved frantically and, to her joy, it stopped. She slumped down into a seat and then paid her fare.

  ‘Thank you for stopping. I was exhausted.’

  ‘Aye, well it was a bad night in the Potteries.’

  ‘I was there. I know all about it.’

  ‘I heard one area was almost completely destroyed.’

  ‘I was there. Right in the middle of it all. I’m going to see my parents now.’

  ‘You poor thing. Sit back and try to relax. Not long now.’

  ‘Thanks. I will. I don’t want to fall asleep though.’

  ‘Don’t worry love. I’ll wake you, if you do.’

  Ruth leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. She felt totally exhausted and positively weak. She assumed it was because of her loss as much as anything, but somehow she couldn’t feel deep remorse for Charlie’s death. It was more the loss of her home and the life she had been leading until now.

  ‘Wallbrook,’ called the bus conductor, and Ruth came to with a start.

  ‘Yes please,’ she said, scrambling to her feet.

  ‘Hope you get on all right,’ said the conductor.

  ‘Thanks,’ she called back as she began to walk through the estate. She had visited once before and so knew exactly where she was going. She turned into her mother’s road and saw the house. She knocked at the door, expecting her mother to open it and let her in. Then she knocked again. Nobody came. She felt her tears pressing, all too familiar to her these days, and slumped down on the step. This was the final blow. She had been so sure that her mother would be home, just as she always had been and now she wasn’t there. Then she remembered the back door was usually left open. She went round to the back of the house and found the door unlocked. With a sigh of relief, she let herself inside. She walked round the house to make sure her mum wasn’t anywhere there. She saw the bathroom, all built inside the house, and knew she wanted to have a bath more than anything. She turned on the taps and watched as the water ran into it. It was like magic. She looked for a towel and then stripped off her filthy nightie and shoes and socks and climbed in. She lay there, thinking over the events of the past day and night. It was hard to believe that Charlie was actually dead but she had seen him for herself. She plunged her head under the water and saw lots of dirt and grit float away. It was almost like a final cleansing from her past life. At last she climbed out of the bath and washed it round. It was a mass of gritty mud at the bottom and she finally rinsed it clean with cold water. Once she was dry, she realised she didn’t have any clothes. She went into her mum’s room and took out a sweater and skirt and some pants from the drawers. She knew her mum wouldn’t mind and she was pretty desperate. Then she heard her mum come in.

  ‘Hello? Is that you, our Ruth? I saw your coat down here.’

  ‘Oh, Mum. Yes it’s me.’ She ran down the stairs and threw herself into her mother’s arms. ‘Charlie’s dead. Our house was hit by a bomb last night. I hope you don’t mind but I had a bath. And I’ve borrowed some of your clothes. I walked halfway here. I am sorry.’ Her words tumbled out in a long stream.

  ‘Oh, love, I am so sorry. Poor Charlie. He was a good man. Your dad will be upset. How did it happen?’

  ‘Like I said. A bomb was dropped on our street. Oh Mum, it was so awful.’

  ‘But how did he die?’

  ‘He sort of fell down the stairs. Well, the stairs had collapsed and he sort of fell down and then some bricks fell on top of him. There was nothing I could do. A man came and brought a ladder to help me get down. I was in my nightie and had to stand out in the street till someone told us to go round to the hall. Then someone lent me his jacket. I went and got my own coat later on and managed to get my handbag so at least I had a bit of money.’

  ‘Oh my dear. Poor Charlie. I’ll put the kettle on. You’ll feel better after a nice cuppa.’

  ‘I’m starving too. Haven’t eaten anything since last night. Can I have a bit of bread or something?’

  ‘Course. You’ll have to stay here with us, won’t you?’

  ‘Please, Mum. Everything’s ruined in Charlie’s place. Oh, I’ve actually got our ration books in my bag. That’s a bit of luck isn’t it?’ Her mind was racing as she thought of different things.

  ‘You won’t be able to use Charlie’s. I can’t hardly believe he’s gone, you know. Poor man. He was a good one. Any road, but your ration book will certainly help out. Providing I can actually find somewhere that’s got food to sell.’

  Ruth sat down, totally exhausted. Her mum brought her some tea and a piece of bread and marg. She felt almost too weary to eat it but she knew she needed it and munched away.

  ‘What on earth shall I do, Mum? You can’t really cope with me living here.’

  ‘Well, actually, you can have our Veronica’s room. She’s definitely left home. Not that she ever came here to live. Not properly.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘She’s taken off with some soldier and gone away to live with his family.’

  ‘Goodness. That must have been a shock to you to have it so final. I know you said she was in and out like one of those weather men and women.’

  ‘I’m not really shocked. She was never happy since we moved here. I bet she hasn’t slept here more than two or three times. But at least it means there’s somewhere for you to stay. You look worn out, love. Why not go and lie down for a bit? I’ve got to make a start on tea. Though what we’re all going to eat is another matter.’

  ‘Thanks Mum, I will. I don’t think it’s all really hit me yet. Oh, Mum. When I think of those nights when he came home from the pub. He wanted me and I found it almost unbearable. To think all that’s over with.’

  ‘Now then love, just tek it easy.’ She shook her head again, finding it all so hard to believe.

  Chapter Eight

  Wallbrook was a large estate built largely for the workers at the ordnance factory. It wasn’t yet completed and many more houses were planned. They were built in rows of six with air raid shelters made of reinforced concrete built between each pair of two houses. There were many rows of houses already occupied, mostly by personnel from the factory. There were a number of children living there too and so a school was planned eventually. Meantime, the children all walked to one of the schools in the nearby town. There were a couple of shops in the village, one of them a new Co-operative Association store and an old pub, the landlord of which was seeing a whole new raft of business. Everyone was getting used to long walks everywhere to buy food and seek entertainment.

  Rent had to be paid weekly and there was one house used for this, a few streets away from Ruth’s parents. It was the Monday morning routine for her mother to go and pay the rent. There was also a community centre and this was used as a meeting hall and for many other things, from concerts to welfare clinics and occasional doctor’s surgeries. It seemed a good place to live and people were all gradually getting to know each other.

  After a week or two, they had settled into some sort of routine. Ruth was becoming impatient to get a job so she could contribute to the family income. Her father suggested there might be an opening for her to get work at the ordnance factory with him.

  ‘They send a bus to get us to the station each morning and then the train takes us right to where we need to be,’ said Dan.

  ‘What sort of work would I be doing?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps you might even be a secretary. Most of the women are working on munitions. You know, filling shells and stuff.’

  ‘Is that what you’re doing?’

  ‘Not quite. I’m doing soldering and other stuff. Building up things for the bombers to drop on Germany.’

  ‘How do I set about getting work there?’

  ‘I’ll ask aroun
d for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad. I’d like to do secretarial work if it’s possible. It’s something I know about. My typing wasn’t bad.’

  ‘Right. Leave it with me.’

  Just a few days later, she waited for the bus along with her father and several other men and women. She felt slightly nervous but at least she had him with her to quell her nerves.

  ‘You’re to go and report to the main office when we get there. They’ll tell you where you’re going to be working. Best of luck, love.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ she replied. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  ‘See you at lunchtime. Then you can tell me how you got on. There’s a big canteen and you won’t need any coupons there. One of the perks of working here. It’s not up to much but it’s a hot meal and it does give us a break. Sometimes we get Workers’ Playtime being broadcast from there, too.’

  ‘Crikey. Real radio broadcasts? That’s a bit posh isn’t it?’

  ‘Makes a change any road. Right. Here we go then,’ he said as the train stopped outside the huge factory. ‘You go in through the main door and then turn left. Up the stairs and follow the signs. Good luck, love.’

  ‘Thanks Dad. See you later.’ She went up the stairs and saw a sign pointing to the main office. She knocked at the door and walked in. It wasn’t really an interview – it seemed she already had a job. She was told to go along to the typing pool where someone would tell her what to do. That was easy, she thought. She went along what seemed an endless corridor until she heard the clattering of typewriters. She knocked on the door and went inside. She was met by an array of typewriters with girls sitting typing madly. She went to someone who looked like a supervisor and gave her name.

  ‘Oh yes. Ruth Blenkinsop. You’re over on the left. Fourth row back. You’ll find a pile of stuff at your place, waiting for you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said timidly and turned to walk to the place indicated. She saw there were about ten of them in the typing pool. She picked up the heap of papers and sat down. Anxiously, she glanced at the woman next door to her and saw that she was typing on sheets of paper from a pile under the desk. She picked up a sheet and put it into her machine. It was somewhat unfamiliar to her but she soon learned its peculiar habits. After an hour and a half of solid typing, she leaned over to her neighbour and asked if they got a break.