Keeping My Sister's Secrets

by Beezy Marsh

  ‘Where’s been hit?’ she asked.

  ‘Jerry’s gone and bombed the docks and the gas works but Bermondsey has taken a pounding and the East End is well alight. Think yourself lucky to be in Lambeth tonight.’

  ‘What about Walworth?’ she shouted. But he had already scurried off.

  News started to filter through of people trapped in their homes as fires raged through the dockers’ homes in Bermondsey, and whole streets had come down in the East End. Peggy thought of all the trade unionists she and George knew, and prayed, against hope, that they were safe. She worried about Eva and her mum and Kathleen. She needed to know they were safe but couldn’t go out and check because the sirens sounded again and everyone charged back into their houses, with the wardens checking for any chinks of light through the blackout curtains. With baby Gloria safely asleep in her arms as the next wave of bombers flew overhead, Peggy resolved to get up at first light to go down the Walworth Road to find her mum and Eva and then on to Vauxhall to see Kathleen. Nothing mattered more to her now. They were her family.

  As dawn broke, she took Uncle Dennis’s old bike, a proper boneshaker, and set off. There was an eerie silence as she pedalled along towards the Elephant. She realized then that the trains weren’t running and the trams weren’t either. As she passed Manor Place, the acrid stench of smoke caught in her nose. The fire service were still there, battling to control the blazes in one of the tenement blocks, which looked to have taken a direct hit because the walls had crumbled like plaster of Paris to reveal the inside of people’s homes, their lives reduced to a pile of rubble. It was a terrible sight. Rescuers dug with their bare hands, pulling at bits of masonry to see if there were any survivors. Peggy felt sick rising in the back of her throat and clasped a handkerchief to her mouth, willing herself not to vomit. She had to be stronger than this. She thought of George, Harry and Jim and everything they had witnessed and were going through and pulled herself together.

  She got back on the bike and pedalled on, as quickly as she could, down Walworth Road, She was relieved to see that her mother’s flat was still standing – unlike some of the houses in the road around the corner, which had collapsed like a pack of cards.

  Eva answered the front door, with her hair in curlers. She was in a very bad mood indeed, having spent most of the night in the Anderson shelter. Kathleen was already there – she had dashed over as soon as she woke up, to check on everyone and try to make sense of it all.

  ‘Well, thank God that is over,’ said Eva, putting the kettle on. ‘I will swing for that Adolf for ruining my hair, having to spend the night in that bloody shelter, and that is before I get on to sharing bunk beds with the woman from downstairs, who snores like a bleeding train rattling along.’

  Kathleen managed to raise a smile. Peggy didn’t say anything but she had a horrible feeling that as far as the bombing was concerned, it was just the beginning.

  24

  Kathleen, November, 1940

  The queues for the Little Ritz cinema in Leicester Square were round the block, despite the blackout and the threat of air raids. Kathleen and Nancy waited patiently for their tickets to see Gone with the Wind, carrying their gas masks over their shoulders in little cardboard boxes on string. Nancy had stuffed a couple of extra hankies in hers because she’d heard the film was a real weepy and Kathleen had managed to find a few boiled sweets to keep them going throughout the show. She had hoped that Albert would come with her but he had refused to sit through hours of ‘romantic claptrap’ and had gone for a few pints with his mates instead.

  The girls who worked with Nancy at the jam factory were sick with jealousy that she was going to see it and had made her promise to tell them all about the film in great detail, which would be their lunch breaks sorted for the next week or so. Nancy was doing well at the factory but Kathleen didn’t mind that she didn’t work there any more – she couldn’t say she missed all that fruit peeling and labelling.

  Albert had stopped her going out to work for the football pools, saying she was better off at home or helping his mum with the fruit and veg stall. Kathleen hated having to do that because she felt sure her mother-in-law was keeping a close eye on her. She tutted every time Kathleen chatted to customers and even told her off for giving people the wrong change, when she never did. At least seeing the film would give her some escape from reality for an afternoon.

  They settled in the dark of the cinema and Kathleen lost herself in the world of Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler. When he swept her up in his arms and carried her upstairs to ravish her, despite her protests, she thought of Albert, forcing her some nights when she was too tired. She couldn’t talk to anyone about it, what would she say? She was a married woman now and it was expected that she would give him what he wanted, wasn’t it? Besides, he wanted to start a family and was cross with her that she hadn’t fallen pregnant. Nancy wasn’t married yet, although she had an engagement ring on her finger, but Kathleen didn’t want to tell her what married life was really like, in case it put her off.

  Yes, Albert was passionate and powerful, just like Rhett, and she was small and helpless, like Scarlett. He gave her a slap now and then, to keep her in line. It wasn’t anything like what her father had done to her mother, she was sure of that, but he didn’t seem to think that being physical with her was wrong and his mother just pretended not to notice. Once he had slapped her at the kitchen table for some silly comment she had made and her mother-in-law just smiled quietly to herself as she cleared the plates away. It was almost as if she had enjoyed seeing Kathleen humiliated like that.

  The cloak of darkness in the cinema seemed to allow her thoughts free rein, away from the claustrophobic little terraced house, with its china ducks flying up the wall and going nowhere fast. When Rhett walked out on Scarlett, with a ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!’ Kathleen found herself sobbing uncontrollably and Nancy had to give her a hankie. She loved Albert, of course she did, but why did being in love with him make her so unhappy?

  On the way back home, the girls chatted about some of the scariest nights they had endured so far in the Blitz, swapping horror stories about people who didn’t make it to the air-raid shelter and were found by the ARP, or the Air Raid Precautions wardens, sitting up in bed, dead as a doornail. Of course, no one knew these people’s names; they were always a friend of Mrs Davies at number 16 or someone who knew someone down in Bermondsey.

  There had been some really dreadful losses up in town: a bomb flattened the John Lewis store in Oxford Street; thankfully Eva hadn’t been in there at the time. Every morning after an air raid, there were houses reduced to rubble, buildings burned out and the landscape of the local area was changed forever. The old Canterbury Music Hall down in Westminster Bridge Road had taken a direct hit too, which she felt really sad about, because Nanny had taken her there when she was very little, to see the singing and dancing acts, which she loved so much. One of the worst disasters was when a huge landmine drifted onto Queen’s Buildings, Scovell Road, home of Alice Diamond and many of her girls. More than forty people died that night and countless more were injured. Alice was lucky to have escaped with her life. Some said she had the luck of the devil himself.

  Kathleen had a growing sense that she should be doing something for the war effort, to make a difference. She discussed it with Albert, who told her not to be daft, that the country needed men like him, not women like her. He was expecting his call-up papers any day now. Albert wasn’t afraid of going off to war, in fact he relished the chance to put on a uniform, but his mother had begged him not to join up before he was called on, because she couldn’t bear to be parted from him.

  When Albert’s papers came a week later, his mother was inconsolable. Kathleen cried on the doorstep as she kissed him goodbye. But somewhere deep inside, there was a little flicker of something else, a sort of excitement at the prospect of having a bit more time to do what she wanted, without him breathing down her neck all the time. She’d have to get
past her mother-in-law, though, who seemed to delight in treating her like a skivvy.

  Mum dropped a bombshell of her own late one afternoon, after she had gathered all the girls together at her flat.

  ‘Me and Patsy are getting married tomorrow!’

  There was stunned silence, before Kathleen said, ‘But Mum, you aren’t even divorced, are you?’

  ‘There is a war on,’ said her mother, turning her back and busying herself at the kitchen sink. ‘If I don’t marry Patsy he could well get called up and I can’t bear to lose him, not with Jim overseas and Frankie God-knows-where. If we get wed, he can join the Auxiliary Fire Service and serve his country right here in Walworth.’

  The Auxiliary Fire Service was doing vital work at home in the Blitz, but married men were given priority as volunteers.

  ‘But won’t you get into trouble?’ said Peggy, sitting up straight in her chair. The prospect of her mother turning into a law-breaker was too much to bear.

  ‘Only if someone grasses me up, and who is going to do that?’ said her mother, turning round and casting her beady eye over them all. ‘We’ll do it tomorrow; no time to lose.’

  ‘Well, congratulations are in order, then,’ said Eva, pulling on her coat. You could have sliced through the atmosphere with a knife at that point and Eva had such a way of defusing the situation. ‘I think we need to celebrate, don’t you?’

  Peggy relaxed over a glass of port, which the landlord brought out from under the counter, especially for them. Kathleen was genuinely delighted for Mum and Patsy, because they made such a good couple. He was loyal and kind. Her one worry was what her father would do if he found out and so the girls made a pact, there and then, to keep it a secret.

  The next morning, they accompanied their mother to the register office, where Patsy was waiting for her, looking pleased as punch. She signed the register in her maiden name and, before she knew it, she was Mrs Patsy Duhig and off to the pub for another knees-up.

  Patsy soon went on to sport a fireman’s uniform and tackled blazes in the Blitz with the best of them. He told Kathleen that there was a need for smart girls like her, who could work in the control centres and help coordinate the teams going from fire to fire. ‘I reckon I can get you in there, if you fancy.’

  Kathleen twiddled her hair and thought about it. Albert was due back from training for the weekend and she didn’t want to have to confront him about it. ‘I’ll come along on Monday morning,’ she told him.

  Once Albert had gone back to barracks, she made her way to the headquarters of the Fire Service by Lambeth Bridge and joined a queue of young women her age. Many had skills as telephone operators already and Kathleen felt sure she would be refused as she had only ever bottled jam and collected forms for the football pools but she was greeted warmly and kitted out with a smart uniform before she knew it. It came with a little peaked cap, a fitted jacket with military detailing and brass buttons and a knee-length skirt. She wore it home, rather proudly.

  ‘What in the name of God have you got on?’ said her mother-in-law, her jaw agape.

  ‘It’s a uniform for the Auxiliary Fire Service,’ she said, giving her a little twirl; she just couldn’t resist it.

  ‘What on earth will Albert say?’

  ‘He can say what he likes because he’s down in Dorset and the country needs girls like me; that’s what the man at the Fire Service said. In fact, if I don’t join up now, the likelihood is I will end up in the countryside digging up spuds with the Land Army because they are bound to make it compulsory soon for all women to do war work. And Albert wants me close to home, doesn’t he?’

  ‘All women will have to do war work?’ Her mother-in-law was horror-struck at the prospect.

  ‘Well, I think you’ll be safe,’ said Kathleen, making her way up the stairs, smiling to herself. ‘Because you are the wrong side of forty, aren’t you?’

  Dad beamed at her with pride when she showed him new uniform and her silver badge with ‘AFS’ in red lettering. Albert was less pleased when he found out by letter that she had volunteered and left his mother to it.

  ‘It isn’t on, Kathy, really you are taking a liberty,’ he wrote. ‘With me away fighting for King and Country you should be helping to look after me dear old mum.’

  She wrote back:

  Dear Albert,

  Please don’t be angry but seeing what is happening here with the bombs dropping all over, I knew I had to do something.

  I will make it up to you when you come home on leave. And I promise I will still look after your mum.

  Love,

  Your Kathy

  By the time Albert returned for Christmas, she had already completed her training at the Fire HQ and had been posted to the school in Fount Street, where she joined two other girls running three volunteer watches – red, white and blue. She worked a forty-eight-hour shift on with twenty-four hours off to recover. She had to parade in the mornings and man the telephones and run a book recording all the fires, casualties and responses. Albert didn’t want to hear about any of it and he made that perfectly plain, egged on by his mother, who tutted every time she mentioned her work.

  Christmas that year passed off in a haze of sherry and Albert’s mother’s mock ‘goose’ of lentils and carrots, which was so inedible that Albert suggested sending it to Berlin to force the Germans to surrender. He earned a clip around the ear from his mother for that comment.

  Kathleen waited until mid-afternoon before slipping away to Nanny Day’s to get some proper food. The butcher had somehow managed to put aside a small chicken out of respect for the memory of his old Army mate Uncle Dennis. Nanny had saved Kathleen a leg and a wing, which she devoured with gusto, washing the lot down with a large glass of Guinness, which Nanny treated as a health drink because of the iron in it.

  The Blitz had claimed so many lives and made so many homeless that it should have taken the shine off Christmas but it seemed to have the opposite effect. The pubs were full to overflowing; everyone drank too much. There seemed to be a ‘live for today’ attitude and everyone wanted to stick two fingers up to the Nazis who had hoped to bring London to its knees. Just seeing familiar faces on the street was a comfort because it meant that they had survived another night of bombing and Kathleen felt the closeness of Lambeth more than ever.

  It wasn’t peaceful for long, though, and the night of the 27th brought a new terror – incendiary bombs, which lit the way for the Luftwaffe to find their targets. The nightmare sound of them swishing down brought people running from their homes to extinguish the flames if the volunteer fire crews weren’t immediately on hand with their stirrup-pumps.

  Albert had barely been gone a day when Kathleen packed up her things in a little suitcase. She couldn’t explain what made her do it. Perhaps it was the knowledge that every day they were living could be their last. She bloody well did not want to die next to Albert’s miserable mother-in-law, that much was certain.

  As Kathleen was lifting the latch on the front door, she appeared at the foot of the stairs in her flowery housecoat, her arms folded across her chest. ‘And where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘Home to my dad’s,’ said Kathleen, turning on her heel. ‘I’m married to Albert, not you.’

  Her mother-in-law was such a funny sight in that moment, her mouth opening and closing like some goldfish scooped out of its bowl by the kids at the fair. That thought made Kathleen laugh more than she had in ages, as she made her way back to Howley Terrace.

  The house was poky and gloomier than ever in the blackout, and her father barely had enough money for coal. But she didn’t care. It was home.

  The first week of January started quietly enough but Kathleen and the other Auxiliary Fire Service girls had a feeling it couldn’t last.

  On the night of 8 January, reports came through of a major incident at the Hartley’s jam factory off Tower Bridge Road. Kathleen’s blood ran cold as the phone started ringing off the hook, calling for back-up because a bomb had
fallen between the factory’s shelter and one of the blocks, blasting a massive hole in both.

  It was B Block, where the bottling took place, and Kathleen knew it well. She also knew that the supervisors allowed people to bring their families into the factory overnight, sleeping on bags of sugar, and Nancy was one of them. People preferred the factory floor and the factory’s shelter to the Anderson or the little Morrison shelters at home. Many felt they would be safer there.

  It was hours before Patsy and his watch reappeared; the horror of what they had seen was etched on their faces. Four people had been killed outright but nearly two dozen more were seriously injured, many by flying glass and the shards from broken jam jars; the firemen had had to tunnel through wreckage to get to them. There were stories of the rescuers building a makeshift shaft from timber to tunnel their way through the debris as bombs rained down and of victims suffering terrible burns from marmalade, which turned to a lethal boiling liquid in the heat of the blast.

  ‘What about Nancy?’ she said. ‘Did you see her?’

  ‘I’m sorry, love, I can’t say,’ said Patsy. ‘The burns were terrible, people were covered in dust and jam and you just couldn’t tell one from the other. They were all moaning and screaming. The survivors were carted off to hospital . . .’

  Kathleen couldn’t leave the Fire HQ until the morning, but as soon as she was able to, she headed straight down to the hospital, where a nurse showed her to a ward filled with people wrapped in bandages. ‘These are the ones who are likely to survive but they are very poorly, so, unless you are certain that you know them, please don’t disturb them too much,’ she said, giving Kathleen a little pat on the arm. ‘We are giving morphia for the pain, it’s all we can do at the moment.’

  Kathleen worked her way down the rows of beds, looking for any sign of Nancy or her mother. She saw her hair first. From one side of her head, Kathleen recognized Nancy’s beautiful curls. The other side of her friend’s face was completely obscured by bandages. Her arms were wrapped up too and her lips were swollen and her cheeks covered in scratches. She was lying with her eyes open, awake, but not moving. She saw Kathleen approaching and tried to smile but then cried out in pain. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek.