by Anne Bennett
The blanket hampered her progress considerably, it kept getting stuck on things and had to be shaken loose – not an easy task in such a small space. Jenny wished many times she could leave it behind, but knew she couldn’t; she knew they’d need it, Linda was probably near frozen stiff already.
When she eventually reached the slit in the top of the piece of wood blocking off the pantry, she knew she couldn’t struggle through it this time. Not only was she wearing more and thicker clothes, there was also the morphine syringe that she couldn’t risk breaking; nor did she want the biscuits to be reduced to useless crumbs.
She called out reassuringly to Linda as she unstrapped the water bottle and the blanket and pushed them through the small gap. There was no answer. Jenny hoped she hadn’t dropped into unconsciousness.
Impatiently, she set to examine the wood. Surely there was some way of enlarging the gap? She swung the flashlight around. The wood was balanced on one side on a heap of bricks: if she could kick them away, the wood could drop another twelve inches or so. It would be enough for her to get into the pantry where Linda lay. But had she the courage to do so? Because to move anything was extremely dicey.
But then, she thought, what choice did she have? She might as well have stayed in front of her gran’s fire all night otherwise. Gently she scraped away at the powdery gravel around the bricks, and then began to push at them one by one. They seemed wedged fast: Jenny had to exert more and more pressure. Eventually, she braced herself against the wall and pushed hard with her feet. At first they moved slowly and then suddenly they came out in a rush. There was a terrific roaring above Jenny’s head as a beam fell, glancing off her shoulder and causing her to cry out, and a pile of masonry, broken pieces of plaster and charred timbers fell and filled the tunnel behind her, effectively sealing it off, so if she’d wanted to get out she’d be unable to. Jenny wasn’t aware of it at once: she was aware of nothing but the dust swirling around her as thick and acrid as smoke. It stung her eyes and caused them to stream with tears, and filled her nostrils, and she felt she would choke with it as she coughed and coughed till her stomach ached.
Outside, the rescuers heard the roaring boom too, as loud as thunder. Those on the pavement saw the rubble drop several inches and the whole mountain of bricks began to tilt and sway. For some time after the dust had settled around Jenny in her tunnel, it dislodged bricks, plaster pieces and glass shards outside and they continued to slither on top of the pile, and so it was a while before the rescuers could begin again. ‘I think the little lady’s had it this time, don’t you?’ one man said.
‘Don’t you believe it!’ Stan Walker, Jenny’s fellow warden and one of the rescue team, stated forcibly. ‘I’ve worked with Jenny at the warden’s post for some time now, and I’ll tell you she’s one of the best.’
‘No one’s saying she isn’t, man,’ another protested. ‘It’s just … well, everyone knows what that noise means.’
‘Bloody good job her gran’s gone home. I reckon she’d have collapsed if she’d heard and seen that.’
There was a murmur of agreement and then someone said, ‘Let’s hope she hasn’t upset the lot and brought it all down on the child she was trying to save.’
This was a sobering thought and Stan burst in eventually with, ‘That’s defeatist talk and what Hitler would expect of you all. Whether they’re alive or dead, let’s get them out of that hell-hole, even if it’s just to give them a Christian burial.’
At Stan’s words there was a small cheer. ‘That’s telling them, mate,’ a man said from the back. ‘Come on, you lot – where’s your Brummie grit? Let’s get to it,’ and without another word the men turned to their task and redoubled their efforts.
Down in the tunnel, despite the dust still swirling around her Jenny saw she had achieved her objective; the wood had dropped sufficiently to let her climb inside to where Linda lay. Lightheaded with relief, for she really thought she’d had it that time, she got to her feet shakily and clambered over the wood partition to the injured child.
Linda was unconscious and delirious, she was mumbling on about her mother and little brothers in a way that brought tears to Jenny’s eyes. She hoped that she had some nice kindly gran or aunt to take care of her after all this, for the thin undersized child certainly looked as if she needed someone to see to her and help her over the terrible tragedy of losing her mother.
‘Linda,’ Jenny said gently, ‘remember me?’ She saw the slight frown on Linda’s face and knew she not only had no idea who she was, she probably couldn’t even hear her. ‘I said I’d come back and stay with you, do you remember?’ Linda’s eyes flickered shut again and Jenny went on doggedly, ‘I’ve spoken to the doctor. He’s given me an injection for you to take away the pain, is that all right?’
There was no response and Jenny realized she’d have to administer the injection anyway. She eased Linda out of one sleeve of her coat and rolled her cardigan up. As she moved the flashlight nearer, she was more nervous than she’d ever been in her whole life. It took all her reserves of courage to stick the needle into the flesh of the bunched up arm, as Dr Sanders had shown her, and press the plunger, especially as Linda flinched as she did it.
The child was shivering with cold, Jenny realized as she gently pulled down her sleeve and eased her into her coat again and buttoned it up. She brought over the blanket and put it around the two of them, then lay down beside Linda and put her arms around her, trying to warm her with her own body.
She must have dozed off, for when she woke, Jenny didn’t realize where she was for a moment or two. Then she saw a pair of solemn, blue-grey eyes staring into hers in the flickering beam of the flashlight. The child’s voice was slightly slurred – with the morphine Jenny supposed – but her mind seemed lucid enough as she said, as if she couldn’t believe it, ‘You came back.’
‘I said I would.’
‘I know.’
‘You didn’t believe me?’
‘I tried to, I waited a long time.’
‘It took a long time,’ Jenny said. ‘I told you that. I’d also cut my hands and legs getting to you and I had to have them dressed. Not that it did my hands much good,’ she added, because though her legs and feet had been protected by heavy-duty trousers and boots, the bandages around her hands were filthy dirty and were virtually ripped to shreds.
‘Would you like a drink of water?’ she asked.
‘You’ve got water?’ Linda said, amazed. ‘I’ve dreamed about having a drink. My throat is so dry.’
‘You can’t take too much,’ Jenny warned. ‘It might have to last some time. I have special energy biscuits too. Are you hungry?’
‘I was,’ Linda admitted. ‘Terribly hungry. It went off, but I’d love a drink.’
She lifted the water bottle to her mouth and had the urge to drink and drink until it was all gone, but when the water had just taken the dust from the back of her throat and done nothing to slake her thirst, Jenny put her hand on the bottle. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but you can’t have any more just now.’
‘No?’ Linda said with a sigh.
‘How’s the pain?’ Jenny asked.
‘Better, much better,’ Linda said.
Jenny sighed with relief. ‘That’s the injection your doctor gave me to give you,’ she said.
‘You gave me an injection?’ Linda’s voice was high with surprise.
‘I did,’ Jenny said with a smile. ‘I was scared stiff, I’ve never done such a thing before. I’m glad it’s worked.’
‘Who are you?’
‘My name’s Jenny O’Leary,’ Jenny told the child, ‘and I live in Pype Hayes Road. I know you are Linda Lennox because your neighbours told us all about you.’
‘Have you seen Mom?’ Linda said. ‘She’ll want to know I’m all right – has anyone told her?’
‘I don’t know, love,’ Jenny said gently.
‘And my brothers,’ Linda went on. ‘I bet they was dead scared in that raid.’
&
nbsp; ‘I expect so, love,’ Jenny said miserably, unable to keep the depression out of her voice.
‘Were they hurt or summat?’ Linda demanded and Jenny realized she could probably read the distress on her face. ‘They should have been all right,’ she went on, ‘they was in the shelter.’
‘Linda, I’ll have to turn the lamp off,’ Jenny told her. ‘We may need it later and we’re just wasting the battery now. Will you mind?’
‘Not now you’re here,’ the young girl confided. ‘It was horrible on my own.’
‘Well, I’m going nowhere, so don’t you worry,’ Jenny said. She clicked off the lamp, glad of the velvet dark around them concealing the deep sorrow she felt for the child beside her.
SIX
Linda was talking about her father. She’d been talking about him for some time and Jenny encouraged her; it was better for her to talk about him than ask searching questions about her mother or little brothers. She knew that when this was all over, Linda would have to live with someone, so she listened, hoping to hear of a nice gran somewhere, or a kindly aunt to help Linda over the tragedy of it all.
She felt it such a shame that her father hadn’t survived to see his daughter grow up. But she’d had a stepfather for four years; maybe he had relations she could live with.
She waited until there was a lull in the conversation, and then probed gently, ‘What about your stepfather Linda? Did you get on with him?’
She heard the sharp intake of breath and then Linda hissed, ‘I hated him. I wanted him to die. I was glad when he went off to war and every day I wished he’d never come home again. I was glad when we got the telegram.’
Jenny was so shocked by the venom in the child’s voice, she said not a word and Linda went on, ‘I bet you think that’s dead wicked don’t you?’
The Catholic Church would, Jenny knew, but she didn’t say that. Instead, she said gently, ‘Why did you want him to die?’
‘’Cos he used to knock me mom about,’ Linda said. ‘He was big, like an all-in wrestler, he was. Mom used to say he was as broad as he was long – he was, near enough – and he used to hit her, ’specially when he came from the pub. I used to think he’d kill her; I reckon he could have too. She used to have black eyes and bruises on her cheeks, me mom did. She always said she fell. But I knew she never, ’cos I used to hear him.’
She stopped and there was a pause and Jenny was loath to break it, feeling sure Linda hadn’t finished. After a minute or two, she began again, but her voice was so low, Jenny had to strain to hear. ‘I’ll tell you something now I’ve never told a living soul, not even Mom. Not ’cos I didn’t think she’d believe me, but ’cos I didn’t want her to be upset. I mean, what could she do about it anyway?’
There was another pause and part of Jenny wanted the child to go on with her tale, but the other half of her recoiled from it. In a way she was semi-prepared for what came next. ‘He used to touch me, you know, my … my privates, like. He told me I’d get to enjoy it, and when I was bigger he’d do more exciting things that I’d get to enjoy more. But I never did, I hated it, and I hated him, I did, and I was glad he died, so there.’
Jenny imagined Linda’s little face contorted with hate as she almost spat the last words out. She felt for her hand and held it tight, although her own was still semi-bandaged, and said, ‘That was awful for you Linda, but not all men are like that, you know.’
She felt she had to get that point across, but Linda said firmly, ‘I know that. My own dad wasn’t and there’s lots more who don’t do that sort of thing.’ Then suddenly she changed her tack and asked, ‘Was your dad nice?’
‘Very,’ Jenny said firmly. ‘But he was born to a totally different life from yours and mine, because he was brought up in a cottage in Northern Ireland in a village called Cullinova.’
‘Is that why you speak funny?’ Linda said. She knew all about Irish people. Most of them went to the St Peter and Paul’s Catholic church on Kingsbury Road on Sunday morning, and her mom always said they were odd. They couldn’t eat meat on Fridays but could get tanked up on a weekend and beat up their women, then go and tell it all to the priest who would say it was all right. Then, her mother said, they often went and did the same thing the next week. But Jenny didn’t talk like the Irish people she knew, and yet she didn’t speak Brummie either. ‘You don’t speak like Irish people,’ she said. ‘Not ones I know, any road.’
‘Well, I was born here,’ Jenny said. Her mother had worked hard on them to eradicate all traces of an Irish accent and had insisted the children call her and Dermot Mother and Father, instead of Mammy and Daddy. But Jenny had always called her father Daddy in her head, and used the name whenever they’d been alone.
‘Maybe that’s it,’ Linda said, and added, ‘tell me about your dad. I’ve told you all about mine.’
Jenny only hesitated briefly. Somehow they had to fill the hours until they were rescued, and she didn’t want Linda to start to fret over her family again and so she told her of the young boy who’d worked on the estate of his English master, Fotherington. First he worked on the land and then as a ghillie or a boat boy and later as a groom in the stables.
Linda was fascinated, as this was all new and different to her life.
‘When did he marry your mom?’ Linda asked.
‘Not long after he got a cottage of his own,’ Jenny told her. ‘But my mother had a totally different upbringing, in a large house with servants and so on. But my mother’s father died when she was in her late teens, and they found they weren’t rich any more. Her father had run up huge debts and everything, including the house which had to be sold.’
Linda thought that was sad and Jenny supposed it was. Her mother must have felt desperate, especially when her own mother, Eileen Gillespie, had a nervous breakdown through it all and was taken into a hospital in Derry, leaving her all alone.
‘Good job your dad was there then,’ Linda said.
‘Yes,’ Jenny said, remembering how her father had adored Norah Gillespie for years, though he’d never expected anything to come of it. Suddenly there she was, educated to the hilt, but fit for nothing, and destitute into the bargain.
‘So they got married?’ Linda said.
‘Yes; in time her mother, Eileen, recovered and moved in with them. My three brothers and sister were born and things were very difficult for my mother, for she’d not been raised to cook and clean, you see.’
‘Who did it then?’
‘My father’s mother, Gran O’Leary,’ Jenny said. ‘She taught my mother basic housework and cookery and showed her how to cope with the babies when they came, and Daddy did his fair share too.’
Linda screwed her eyes up, glad Jenny couldn’t see her, for she thought Jenny’s mother sounded like a silly cow. Everyone knew that housework and babbies were women’s work. ‘Why did they come to live in Birmingham?’ she asked as the silence between them lengthened, but Jenny’s reply was stopped, for suddenly there was a shout above them. ‘Are you all right down there?’
Jenny gave a sigh of relief. ‘We’re fine.’
Cor blimey, thought the man who’d broken through close enough to communicate with the girls. They’re alive!
That cheered him, for as the icy night had drawn its freezing cloak about everyone, hope had died among the rescuers. It was hard to keep working in the dark and intense cold, when all you expected to recover from your efforts were two corpses. God, when he took the news back, it would make everything seem worthwhile.
But none of his thoughts did he portray in his voice. He forced himself to speak calmly, in order that neither of them was alarmed as he shouted down, ‘We’ll start moving the heavy stuff now. Don’t be alarmed at the noise. We might disturb some dust and that. Wanted you to be prepared. Take some time, I’d say, because we might have to shore it up as we go.’
‘That’s all right,’ Jenny said. She knew they’d need to take extreme care, but however nerve-racking it would be, it was the first step to their rel
ease. She felt lightheaded as she thought that in a few hours they might be free and out in fresh air again. The air around them had got extremely muggy and she wondered how much air there was left but she definitely didn’t want Linda worrying about it, so she said brightly, ‘This calls for a celebration! What about another biscuit and a drink of water?’
Linda laughed. ‘You’re a proper daft bugger, you are,’ she said. ‘But you’re dead nice with it.’
For a while all that could be heard was the sound of crunching. Linda finished her biscuit and said, ‘I feel as if I’ve known you all my life. I reckon our mom will be really grateful to you, coming back like you said you would. She’ll want to thank you, I know she will. You’ll like my mom; she’s nice.’ There was a pause and Linda said, ‘You ain’t that keen on your mom, are you?’
Jenny hesitated a moment or two and then decided to tell the truth. ‘I don’t like her that much,’ she said. ‘I don’t think she’s that keen on me either.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jenny said wearily. ‘I don’t really think she wanted any more children for one thing. She already had four. Then I don’t look like the others either. I take after my dad’s side of the family. I look just like my Gran O’Leary did when she was young, and I’m glad because I think the world of her.’
‘Well, I think you’ve got a lovely face,’ Linda said firmly. ‘I can’t see much of it, but you look really friendly. Tell you the truth, I ain’t been so pleased to see anyone in my life as I was to see you. I thought I was going to die all by myself.’
‘Oh but that’s different,’ Jenny said. ‘I mean in your position I’d have been pleased to see Dracula.’
‘Hmm, I suppose so,’ Linda agreed and then with a spark of humour added, ‘You’re nicer looking than Dracula though, not much mind, but a bit.’
Jenny marvelled at the young girl’s spirit.
