‘He’s not my Bob, Maureen.’ Ruby glared a warning at her friend. ‘He’s a good neighbour. Besides, his son went to school with George and we’ve always known the family. This is lovely bread pudding, Maureen. You should try some, Irene.’
Irene took no notice of her mother-in-law’s attempts to change the subject. ‘Cornwall? What’s this all about?’
‘I’m going to visit our Pat. I miss my grandchildren. There’s nothing to make a fuss about.’
‘Bob is going with you?’ Irene persevered.
‘He is,’ Ruby said, trying not to be drawn into explaining herself.
Irene frowned. ‘Does George know about this?’
‘He knows I want to go and see my family and he was happy to know I’m being accompanied rather than travelling alone, if that’s what you mean?’
‘It seems a little . . .’ – Irene tried to find the right word – ‘a little unusual for an unmarried man to be accompanying you.’
Ruby could feel her hackles rising. ‘Bob is a widower, as well you know. He respects the memory of his wife, just as I hold dear my memories of Eddie. This is no different to you playing golf all day long with men down in Devon whilst my son was up here working for King and country.’
Maureen watched the exchange between Ruby and Irene. ‘You’d both best drink your tea before it gets cold,’ she said, passing over her best cups and saucers with the steaming brew. She always got out her best crocks when Irene visited. Considering they’d first met when they both worked as shop assistants in nearby Dartford and back then Irene was as common as the rest of them, she had certainly put on some airs and graces.
The two girls had met on the cheese counter and had bonded over their dislike of what must have been the smelliest job in the store. Irene had an eye for the boys and was never short of an escort. Whenever she went dancing with a boy she made sure her new friend came along and there would always be a lad available to dance with Maureen. That was until George Caselton came on the scene. Irene could see even then that the quiet, studious man was going places and she made sure she would be the woman by his side. Before too long Irene started to talk as if she had a plum in her mouth and gradually the girls drifted apart. It had been a surprise when young Sarah turned up to live at her nan’s house in Alexandra Road and she fell in love with Maureen’s son, Alan, when they met at Erith Woolworths. It’s certainly a small world, she smiled to herself.
She was jolted from her revelry by the whine of an air-raid siren as it wailed louder and louder.
‘Bloody hell, that’s early. Hitler’s on the ball today,’ Ruby said, grabbing her coat and picking up her handbag.
‘Oh my God,’ Irene said, her face going a ghostly white. ‘Where is the shelter? I take it you do have one?’ She dashed to pick up Georgina and looked around desperately. The youngster started to grizzle, picking up on her grandmother’s fear.
‘There’s no need to panic, Irene. Ruby, can you take them down to the cellar while I grab a few things?’
‘Follow me, Irene, and mind the steps, they’re a bit on the steep side.’ Ruby picked up a torch that was hanging on the doorknob and guided her daughter-in-law down to the cellar below Maureen’s house. ‘It’s a bit snug, but Alan’s done a good job making it cosy.’ The walls were whitewashed and on the floor he’d laid a piece of linoleum bought cheap in the second-hand department of Mitchell’s. Two benches ran along the walls, which were wide enough to double as beds if the need arose. Bright-coloured rag rugs were scattered on the floor, courtesy of Maisie’s classes, and Maureen had put blankets and cushions on the benches. In a corner was a small cot for Georgina along with a box containing some wooden toys to keep her amused.
‘It’s not much but it’s home,’ Maureen said as she followed them down and closed the door behind her. ‘I’ve turned off the gas and left a note on the table. Thank God the kettle was half full and didn’t take long to boil so we have tea to drink to while away the time. Stick the Thermos on that shelf, Ruby, while I light the hurricane lamp. There are also candles on the shelf if we should need them.’
As the women settled themselves and kept Georgina cheerful, they could hear the rumble of enemy aircraft overhead.
‘They’re off to London by the sound of it,’ Ruby said, looking up to the low ceiling of the cellar. ‘Let’s hope they aren’t successful and our boys send them packing.’
‘Whatever happens, some mothers will lose their sons today, whether they are on our side or the Germans’,’ Maureen said fearfully.
‘How do you know they’re not our planes?’ Irene asked.
‘When you’ve listened to as many planes as we have and had the Battle of Britain raging over Kent, let alone living through the Blitz, you know what they sound like. Why, we used to stand in the garden and watch the dog fights. I can’t believe we were so bloody stupid,’ Ruby muttered. ‘You got off light living in Devon for so long.’
Irene nodded her head. ‘I know I’ve been lucky. That’s why I wanted to do something to help now we’re here for the duration. But I’m not sure the WVS is for me. The women seem to hate me.’
Maureen couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I take it you’ve crossed swords with Vera?’
‘Yes, this afternoon; she doesn’t seem to like taking orders,’ Irene said sadly. ‘Then, when the other ladies saw her answering me back, they decided they preferred to do the jobs of their choice rather than follow my carefully planned rota.’
Maureen and Ruby laughed and Irene joined in when she noticed Georgina was laughing with them.
‘Things tick over nicely, Irene; we don’t need rotas or telling what to do. We get on with things that need doing and don’t wait for people to give us jobs.’
Irene sighed. ‘Then I’m superfluous to requirements. I shall have to think of something else to do towards the war work.’
‘Don’t be so hasty, love. You could always set up a children’s clothing exchange. It’s very popular from what I’ve heard from other WVS divisions. To be able to exchange clothes for growing children is a big weight off a mother’s mind. They have enough to think about with trying to put food on the table each day. In fact, while I’m away in Cornwall you could take on the sorting of the donated clothing. It would give me peace of mind knowing it was in good hands while I was visiting our Pat. It doesn’t sound like much of a job, but with people losing everything they’ve got there’s always a need for bedding and clothes. I like to get the stuff sorted, washed and turned around as soon as possible so as to help folk.’
‘I’d feel useful doing that,’ Irene agreed. ‘The clothing exchange would certainly help families.’
‘Then there’s Woolies. Betty is so short staffed these days,’ Maureen said.
‘Or you could join the ARP,’ Ruby suggested. ‘You’ve seen for yourself how much they need volunteers.’
The women fell silent as they thought of Sarah and Bob out in the open when God knows what was going on outside.
A resounding thud shook the house. The women could hear the sound of breaking china and taste dust in the air. Maureen reached down, took Georgina in her arms, and started to sing. ‘Pack up all my cares and woe . . .’
The little girl beamed with joy and waved her arms as Ruby and Irene joined in. ‘Bye bye, blackbird.’
Their mood lightened as they sang song after song, trying to blot out the sound of planes. After a rousing chorus of ‘Bless ’Em All’ they listened in silence.
‘I think it’s over,’ Maureen said. ‘Let’s break out the tea ration, shall we? I’m parched after all that singing.’
Georgina started to wave her arms about and cried out in annoyance.
‘Do you want another song, darling?’ Irene said as she took her granddaughter from Maureen and jiggled the toddler her on knee. ‘Knees up, Mother Brown, Knees up, Mother Brown . . .’
Maureen looked at Ruby and they both burst out laughing before joining in. The war’s a great leveller, Maureen thought to herself. Perhaps there
was still a spark of her old friend deep inside?
Sarah peered out from the entrance of the public shelter. It had been the first time she’d had to count in the civilians and her hands had shaken as she ticked off names on a clipboard. Each shelter had a list of locals who were supposed to use it.
‘All right, love?’ Bob asked as he joined her.
‘No, there’s a family missing.’
Bob took the clipboard and rubbed his chin as he glanced down the list, adding up the residents who should be in the shelter. ‘You’re right, we are five people short. The family live in rooms in Queens Road. I’ll pop up there and check they’re all right.’
Sarah looked skywards as the German bombers appeared further down the Thames. ‘I’ll go. Someone’s propped a bike up over there by the wall. I’ll borrow it and be there and back in five minutes. You are best staying here as you can calm folk down if they get worried.’
Bob looked concerned. ‘I don’t know. I did promise your nan that I’d not let you do anything dangerous.’
Sarah laughed as she headed towards the bike. ‘Oh, Bob, there’s a war on and my husband is up there fighting the enemy. Why, even Freda is doing her bit volunteering for the Fire Service. I’m sure I can ride a bike a few hundred yards without causing myself an injury. I’ll be back before you can say Winston Churchill.’
Bob shook his head before heading down to the steps to the shelter and closing the door behind him. He could never understand women. It was best not to argue.
Sarah pedalled furiously up Pier Road, past Woolworths, which was locked up for the day, and turned left into Queens Road. She slowed down, trying to look at the house numbers as enemy planes became larger in the sky.
Spotting the correct number, she hopped off the bike and propped it against a brick wall. The fancy iron railings that once were a feature of the long elegant rows of Victorian town houses had long disappeared, no doubt to one of the many scrap-metal drives that were organized in order to build planes and tanks.
She raced down the steep steps to the basement, where the McKinley family rented their rooms, and banged on the door; the drone of German aircraft was deafening and they were so close she could hardly see the sky. Ack-ack guns up the Thames were in action and the sky seemed full of planes, barrage balloons and smoke from the guns as the early evening sky darkened and night approached.
Sarah hammered on the door and called out, ‘Mr and Mrs McKinley, please open the door. We need to get you to the air-raid shelter. Please, oh please, open the door.’ She knelt down and peered through the letter box. Listening as hard as possible, as the drone of the planes didn’t help, she thought she heard a baby crying somewhere inside the house, but it could have been a cat. Please God, let someone be at home, she prayed to herself. It was then she spotted the piece of string. Just as her nan had always done, the McKinley family also kept a key attached to the letterbox by a piece of string. As quickly as her trembling fingers would allow she pulled the string through the letter box and inserted the key into the keyhole. Why now, after a quiet time and with just a few false alarms, did the enemy suddenly appear and why did this family not go to the communal shelter?
Aware that at any time the enemy overhead could drop their bombs, she flung open the door and called out loud and clear, ‘Hello, is anyone at home? Mr and Mrs Mc . . .’ The overpowering smell of smoke stopped Sarah dead in her tracks. There was a fire somewhere in the house and it wasn’t a cosy coal fire. Rushing along a narrow passage, she stopped at a closed door and listened. Yes, it was a baby crying. Whatever was happening?
She carefully opened the door as thick smoke belched out into the hall. ‘Hello . . . !’ she called, but was met with silence. Crawling below the smoke, she spotted the wailing toddler in a wooden pen. On a nearby sofa two older children slept – or were they dead? Sarah thought as she reached for the youngster. She hurried back outside and looked up and down the road for help. Anyone with any sense was in a shelter. She placed the baby onto the concrete floor of the basement area and dashed back inside. Reaching the two children, she shook them roughly. There was no time to be gentle. She tucked the smaller of the two under her arm and, grabbing the other by an arm, pulled them both out to join the baby, who was crying fit to burst. The children seemed groggy, but the fresh air was bringing them round.
With no time to spare Sarah hurried back inside, but could not see the parents in the living room or the two bedrooms that led off the hallway. That just left the kitchen, but she knew that was where the fire had started, going by the sounds from behind the wooden door. If she opened the door, the fire would spread. Not sure what to do, Sarah returned to the children. A little girl was crying and her older brother was staring blankly. She knelt down in front of them. ‘Where are your mummy and daddy?’
‘I put some milk on the stove for Shirley and went back to finish reading my book,’ he mumbled.
Sarah’s heart broke for the young lad as silent tears ran down his grime-covered face. ‘I need to find your parents,’ she said clearly and calmly, frightened that they were somewhere in the burning house but not sure where. ‘Can you tell me where they are?’
He thought for a moment. ‘They went down the New Light ages ago. Dad said it would only be for a quick half and they’d be back before we knew it. But our Shirley was hungry so I thought I’d do some milk for her just like Mum does. I’ll get a hiding when Dad finds out what I’ve done.’ The lad started to cry silently.
Sarah thought for a moment. At least Mr and Mrs McKinley weren’t in the house; she could forget about them for a while. First she needed to get help to put out the fire. Closing the front door and removing the key so the children would not be able to go into the burning building, she helped them up the steep steps to the pavement. ‘I want you to sit here and cuddle your sisters. I’m going for help. You are not to move an inch. Do you understand?’ she said sternly to the boy. Now wasn’t the time to be soft. She had to make him understand.
‘Yes, miss,’ he said and placed his arms around his sisters.
Climbing onto the borrowed bike, Sarah headed back down Queens Road and into the town, making her way towards the fire station in Cross Street. Somewhere behind her she heard an explosion. Had the raid started? Approaching the fire station, she breathed a sigh of relief. There was still a fire tender at the front of the building and nearby she could see Freda’s motorbike parked close to the door. Throwing the bike to the ground, she hurried through the door and bumped straight into her best friend. ‘Oh, Freda, I’ve never been so glad to see you. There’s a fire in Queens Road. I’ve pulled out three little kiddies, but their parents are missing. I’ve left them on the pavement while I came for help.’
‘Sit yourself down and catch your breath,’ Freda said, pushing her towards a battered wooden chair. ‘I’ll get things underway. There’s some tea in the pot that should be warm. Pour yourself some and take a spoonful of sugar. It’s good for shock and once the chaps know we have a supply it’ll be gone in minutes. You might as well have the benefit.’ She grinned, before heading off to summon her colleagues.
Sarah took a few minutes to calm down and then poured herself a mug of tea. It tasted like nectar. She must look a fright, she thought, but thank goodness for her ARP overall. Pulling the ARP helmet from her head, she shook her hair free of the snood and pins that kept it tidy while she worked and wished there was a mirror to check how dirty her face was. At once she felt guilty. There were three little children sitting on a pavement in shock and here she was thinking of her looks. Quickly draining the mug of tea, she placed the helmet back on her head and ran back to the bike. She’d done all she could to get help. Her place was now with those little children until their parents could be found.
Ruby breathed a sigh of relief as the all-clear sounded. As much as she loved her daughter-in-law there was only so much time she could spend in her company. There were glimmers of the old Irene, the girl her son had first brought home to meet his parents, but the
y were soon replaced by the social-climbing, golf-playing show-off. In some ways she wished that her George had married Maureen and then chided herself, as if things hadn’t worked out as they did, their Sarah would never have met Alan Gilbert and fallen in love and she’d not have had her adorable great-granddaughter to dote over.
Maureen stood up and stretched her arms above her head before picking up the empty flasks. ‘We could have done with more tea to pass the time. I like to drink when I’m playing cards. It helps me think better.’
‘You didn’t do so bad considering,’ Ruby laughed. ‘You won most of the jar of buttons. If it had been money, we’d both be in your debt.’
‘If we’d been playing for money, I’d have concentrated more and wiped the floor with both of you,’ Irene interjected. ‘Playing gin rummy for buttons isn’t the same as being in our local whist drive league. I’ve won the best female shield more than once.’
‘Not for your big head then,’ Maureen muttered to Ruby as she headed up the stairs to the cellar door.
Ruby sucked her cheeks in hard so as not to chuckle out loud. Maureen could be a right laugh at times.
Maureen rattled the handle a few times then thumped the door with her fists. ‘The bloody door’s stuck,’ she declared, coming back to where Irene was picking up a sleepy Georgina.
‘Do you think someone has locked us in?’ Irene asked with a worried look on her face. ‘I’ve heard of looters visiting houses during air raids. Did you leave the key in the door and make it easy for them,’ she added accusingly.
Maureen glared at Irene. ‘Do you think I’m daft or something?’ She held up a bunch of keys. ‘The house is secure and the cellar door was unlocked so we can get out in an emergency.’
‘But we can’t get out,’ Irene said as she hurried up the staircase and rattled the door handle.
Christmas at Woolworths Page 16
