by Carol Rivers
‘Oh, Billy, I don’t recognize our road, do you?’ They listened to the distant wails of the ambulances. ‘It’s so eerie. Like the end of the world.’
‘Yeah, well it will be if we don’t get a move on.’ He grabbed her hand.
‘I’m scared.’ Connie looked up at the sky. She couldn’t see very much, only the beams of the searchlights and the immense bottoms of the barrage balloons. ‘Let’s wait till tomorrow.’
Billy shook his head, pulling her with him. ‘Tomorrow will be too late. Come on, stick with me, you’ll be all right.’
They broke into a run. Connie found it hard to breathe in the polluted air. But every time she slowed down, Billy pulled her on. The soles of their feet crunched noisily over glass and shattered roof tiles. Buckets full of sand had been left untouched in doorways and fires burned in the rubble by craters that appeared in the roads. Somewhere close by she could hear the shouts of the rescue teams working quickly before another raid.
In Haverick Street, she saw a fireplace hanging by a whisker to the first floor wall of a terraced house. The frame of a chair lay smouldering beneath. What had once been two or three houses filled with treasured personal possessions was now a mountain of smouldering debris.
‘Billy, stop. There might be people under all that.’
‘Connie, we ain’t got time.’
‘But someone might be trapped!’
‘The ARP will be along soon. They’ll dig them out.’
Connie took a step forward. ‘Listen, I can hear something!’
‘It’s only a cat or a dog,’ he yelled, trying to pull her back.
But she could clearly identify a noise now, like someone moaning. If only she knew where to start! A pall of dust surrounded her as she pulled away the bricks and broken wood. Splinters dug into her skin and some of the concrete was too heavy to move. ‘Billy, help me!’ she cried, but when she looked round Billy shook his head.
‘I can’t stop, Connie.’
‘Please help me, Billy.’ Her hands trembled as she dug into the rubble. The noise was still there, louder now as she clawed at the pieces of plaster. Was there a human being beneath all this rubbish? And, if so, how could they help them? What would the person look like if she did find them? Would there be blood and broken limbs to contend with?
Connie suddenly stopped. The space behind her was empty. ‘Billy!’ she screamed. But she knew it was no use. He’d gone.
A scratching noise made her jump. She stretched out to lift a large slate balanced precariously on the top of the pile. Suddenly a hand appeared and the fingers moved! As she lifted off more bricks the hand grew into an arm, a shoulder, and finally a head. The young girl was trapped by a piece of timber too heavy for Connie to lift.
‘My baby,’ the girl whimpered. ‘Please save my baby.’
‘Your baby?’ Connie faltered. ‘Where?’
‘Here . . . here . . .’
But where was here? Connie wondered as a little trail of blood trickled from the girl’s mouth. She tried to remember the first aid she had learned at school. But they had only ever practised on dolls and even those were lying flat on the floor. Applying bandages had been easy in the safety of the school classroom. But this was real life, with someone who must be in terrible pain. ‘I’ll run for some help,’ she decided then, but the girl’s eyes flashed wide.
‘No . . . don’t leave us, don’t go . . .’
‘But I can’t help you alone,’ Connie replied gently. ‘I’ll find a rescue team, bring them quickly—’
‘No . . . no . . . time . . . please try . . .’
Connie couldn’t leave her. But the roof slates were broken and sharp, the bricks heavy. How would she ever manage to free her or find her baby with all this rubbish on top? As she lifted one brick, two more tumbled down in its place.
The girl gave a sigh. Her voice was low. ‘Look after my baby . . . won’t you? Please, promise me . . . ?’
Connie nodded slowly. ‘Yes . . . yes, I promise.’
A little sigh rattled deep in the back of the girl’s throat. Connie stared into eyes that seemed to be looking beyond her into another world. She had never seen anyone die before.
‘Miss? Are you all right?’
Connie heard the voice from very far away as though in a dream. Her head swam as she tried to focus. The next thing she knew, a young man wearing an ARP helmet was patting her back gently. ‘Take a deep breath. You’ll feel better in a minute.’
Connie gulped in air. ‘What happened?’
His arm was around her waist. ‘You were going to faint, that’s all.’
‘Was I?’
‘I’m afraid that poor girl is beyond our help.’
Connie followed his gaze, then looked away again. ‘I felt so useless,’ she croaked. ‘She asked me to find her baby.’
‘Under there?’ He shook his head doubtfully. ‘We’ll need manpower to shift that lot.’
‘Couldn’t we try,’ Connie protested as she struggled out of his grasp. ‘Both of us together?’
He went over to the girl and gently closed her eyes. ‘All right, we’ll have a quick shufti and see what we can do. If the planes come back, though, we’ll have to make a run for it. Now, from the angle of her body, she’s lying on something and as we can’t move that beam let’s take the stuff from underneath her first.’
Connie tried not to look at the sad white face as she bent to help him. As they pulled rubble out they were careful not to create an avalanche. Slowly a hole began to appear.
‘Can you see anything in there?’ Connie asked as he went on his knees and looked in.
‘Yeah, one of those big brass coal scuttles that open at the front.’ The top half of his body disappeared through the gap and Connie felt like holding on to his boots just in case he might disappear for ever. But then she heard him shout and soon he was wriggling back again. This time he held a bundle in his arms.
‘A baby!’ Connie gasped as he kneeled on the ground and unwrapped the filthy shawl. ‘Is it alive?’
‘No doubt about it, he’s got his eyes wide open.’
‘He?’
The young man grinned. ‘Well, he looks like a he to me, but then again, he might wash up like a girl.’
Connie stared at the tiny little face covered in soot. ‘What do we do now?’
‘We run like bloody rabbits, that’s what we do,’ he told her just as the siren went off again. ‘Me gran’s house is round the corner in East Ferry Road.’ He gripped the baby against his chest and reached for Connie. ‘Come on, they’ll be over in a moment.’
Connie’s throat felt sore as they ran. The dust and smoke poured into her open mouth. By the time they reached East Ferry Road she was panting and coughing, trying to spit out the dirt. In the distance there was the deadly drone of the bombers and the soft crump-crump of the bombs.
He pulled her towards a line of tall terraced buildings and they leaped up the steps of one of them. ‘Gran, it’s me!’ he yelled as they entered the passage of the dark old house.
No one answered.
They stood there, breathing noisily. ‘Wouldn’t she be in your Anderson?’ Connie spluttered.
‘No, they couldn’t put one in the yard ’cos of the gas pipes so close. She’ll be over at me sister’s house in Manchester Road. Pat wouldn’t rest if Gran was here on her own.’
‘Where shall we shelter then?’ Connie gulped.
‘Follow me.’ Once more Connie was dragged along. She couldn’t see anything, it was pitch black. ‘This is the understairs cupboard. I’ll put me torch on when we’re inside.’ Connie was bundled into another dark space. It smelled very old and musty. ‘Hold the baby, I’ll close the door.’ She heard a soft bang. ‘There, how’s that?’ The torch light went on. All she could see was cobwebs hanging from rafters.
She nodded. ‘Better, thanks.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, it’s the baby I’m worried about.’
He shone the beam in t
he infant’s face.
‘Do you think he’s hurt?’ she asked worriedly.
‘There’s nothing wrong with his lungs,’ he chuckled as an almighty yell burst from a very small mouth.
‘Is that a good sign or bad?’
‘If he’s anything like my little niece, Doris, he’ll shut up as soon as milk’s poured down his gob.’
‘You mean he’s just hungry?’
‘Gran keeps Doris’s bottle in the larder as she looks after the kid while Pat’s at work. While I’m gone, make yourself comfortable in the armchair.’
He held her arm and Connie sank down. ‘Will you be long?’ she asked anxiously. ‘I don’t even know where I am or who you are. Though it’s funny but I seem to recognize your voice.’
‘And I recognize you, Connie Marsh.’ He took off his tin helmet and brushed back his thick, dark hair. ‘Remember me? Vic Champion, from British Street School.’ He laughed, just as a tremendous bang rattled the whole house. Connie was too terrified to move as she hugged the baby against her. As more explosions followed she felt a pair of arms go around them. She snuggled into his chest and closed her eyes, the baby squashed between them.
‘Sorry if I crushed you,’ he apologized when they had subsided. ‘No damage done, is there?’ He shone the torch on the baby again.
‘No. He’s not even crying now. The noise must be awful to his little ears.’
‘I’ll go and find the bottle now.’
‘Yes, but don’t be too long.’
He grinned in the torch light. ‘Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse.’
Connie blushed in the darkness. Vic Champion – she remembered him now, a keen footballer from an early age. She’d had a crush on his friend Jimmy Longman. They were always hanging around together, though Vic never seemed interested in girls, only football.
She vaguely remembered his sister, Pat, who now, apparently, had a little girl. Vic had grown into a good-looking young man, with a rather large, straight nose and lovely big dark eyes. How strange they should meet again after all this time.
In the shadowy light of the torch she saw the cupboard was full of mops, brooms and pieces of junk. The air smelled of lavender and mothballs, a not unpleasant odour that reminded her of home. Suddenly she missed her family very much. How had she come to be here in a stranger’s house? And where was Billy?
The baby moved restlessly. She undid the long white gown. Two dainty blue boots poked out. Vic had guessed right. Connie rocked him, humming softly. A very strange sensation filled her. She had never experienced anything like it before, like drinking a cup of cocoa in bed, then snuggling down under the eiderdown, all cosy. Gently she gave him the tip of her finger to suck. She could feel his little tongue and the hard pull of his mouth, making her go tingly all over.
‘How’s the damsel in distress?’ Vic teased when he returned.
Connie giggled. ‘I thought you might have gone out to save another one, seeing as you’re so good at it.’
‘One a night’s enough.’ He sat down on the arm of the chair. ‘Took all my strength to tether the horse and put the armour away.’
She chuckled. ‘What have you got there?’
‘Our Dorrie’s bottle. True the milk’s stone cold, but there’s nothing to heat it with.’
Connie took the banana shaped bottle and pressed it against the baby’s lips. ‘He doesn’t seem to want it,’ she wailed as he refused to drink.
‘He? Did you look, then?’
‘Yes, his bootees are blue.’
Vic roared with laughter. ‘So that’s how you tell! I always wondered.’
She blushed. ‘I don’t know anything about babies.’
‘Just follow what your Uncle Vic tells you then. It’s easy.’ He placed his hand over hers and pushed. ‘Drink up, chum, it’s all we’ve got.’
Connie gasped. ‘That worked. How did you do it?’
‘It’s my magnetic charm. Animals and kids can’t resist it.’
The bottle was almost empty when another huge explosion resounded. Two more followed and a shower of dust cascaded down. The bombs fell in quick succession and Vic held her tightly again, placing his arms firmly around them.
‘This isn’t so bad after all,’ he joked when the all clear went. He sat back on the arm of the chair. His white teeth shone under an embarrassed grin.
‘How long will the raids go on?’ Connie asked, hoping he couldn’t see her going red either.
‘Getting fed up with me already are you?’
Connie laughed. ‘Haven’t you got a wife or something to go home to?’
‘Certainly not a something,’ he told her cheekily, ‘and definitely not a wife. I live here with Gran.’
‘Oh.’ Connie nodded. ‘I see.’
‘What about you?’
‘No, I haven’t got a wife either.’
They both laughed and the relief of tension was a wonderful feeling.
‘Where do you live, then?’
‘In Kettle Street with my mum and dad and two brothers.’ She giggled. ‘And I can tell you something else.’
‘Go on, I’m all ears.’
‘I used to be keen on a mate of yours, Jimmy Longman.’
‘Blimey, I’d have been jealous if I’d known,’ he teased her, pulling back his shoulders. ‘What did he have that I didn’t?’
‘Well, you was always showing off with that ball of yours, bouncing it on your head or your heels and getting all cocky with it.’
He laughed softly. ‘I didn’t have the pluck to come up and talk to you, did I? Not whilst your mate was around anyway. The one with all that orange hair.’
‘Red hair,’ she corrected lightly. ‘And Ada’s still my mate. What about Jimmy Longman?’
‘Don’t break your heart over him.’ Vic shrugged. ‘He’s a married man now, with so many kids running around him it’s impossible to count the heads.’
‘Oh.’ Connie smiled. ‘Does he live round here?’
‘No, in Timbuktu.’
Connie burst into laughter again. She felt that funny feeling in her tummy as she gazed into his dark eyes.
‘He’s dropping off isn’t he?’
Connie nodded. ‘Makes me feel tired myself.’
Vic patted his thigh. ‘Here, lean against me.’ The last thing she remembered was his strong hands pulling her against him.
In no time at all, she was asleep.
‘Hello love, I’m Pat, Vic’s sister.’
Connie sat bolt upright. A young woman with thick, dark brown hair like Vic’s was smiling down at her, the baby curled in her arms. She had Vic’s big brown eyes and his friendly smile.
Connie sprang to her feet. ‘What happened? Did I let him fall off me lap?’
Pat laughed pleasantly. ‘No, course you didn’t. But you were sleeping this morning when Vic left. He should have reported in to his post last night, but you and the baby took priority.’
‘I hope he doesn’t get in trouble.’
‘Don’t you worry about that. Our Vic is big enough to take care of himself. Besides which, he’s not a real warden. He’s not officially old enough. But as he’s waiting for his call-up and they were short of wardens in this area, they took him on temporarily.’ Pat looked down at the baby in her arms. ‘I’ve washed and dressed him in one of Doris’s old vests, a gown and matinée coat. The pink mittens and bootees are the wrong colour but they’ll keep him warm. He’s a lovely little boy, you know.’
Connie gazed in wonder at the spotlessly pink face. The little boy was now swathed in a clean white shawl and Connie felt the urge to grab him and cuddle him tight, only preventing herself from doing so as Pat seemed to be enjoying cuddling him too.
‘How old do you think he is?’ Connie asked.
‘He’s a good weight, well nourished and cared for – about three months I should say,’ Pat decided as she stroked his cheek. ‘Now, how do you fancy some breakfast?’
‘I’d love some. Is the raid over?’
&nbs
p; ‘Yes, thank God. Where do you live?’
‘Number thirty-three Kettle Street.’
‘What about your family?’ Pat asked as she led the way along the passage.
Connie was wondering that herself and trying to block from her mind any negative thoughts. ‘Mum went to the public shelter and Dad was firewatching. Kevin, my brother, was over his girlfriend’s in Blackwall. And I dunno where me other brother Billy is,’ she ended glumly.
‘How old is he?’
‘Fourteen.’
‘You know what kids are, I’m sure he’ll be safe,’ Pat said confidently as she led the way to the kitchen. ‘The gas and electricity’s working in this road, which is amazing as most other streets are turned off.’
‘Will Vic be coming back?’ Connie asked hopefully.
‘Don’t think so. There’ll be a lot to sort out after the raids, including the poor dead girl you found.’
Connie felt sad when she thought of last night. Pat must have guessed what she was thinking. ‘Don’t let it prey on your mind, love. You saved her baby. How grateful she would be to you for that.’
The kitchen was filled with every conceivable pot and pan either fixed to the walls or standing on shelves. A wooden rack, lowered from the ceiling, was filled with vests, underpants, knickers and petticoats from which floated a strong soapy smell.
‘You must be Connie.’ A wrinkled old woman with a face like a walnut smiled as she poured tea into mugs on the big wooden table. Vic’s grandmother had the piercingly dark eyes of both her grandchildren. Her long grey hair was drawn back into a bun at the nape of her neck. ‘You’ll be needing the lav, ducks. Go through to the yard and help yourself.’
Connie hurried out, forgetting to breathe slowly. She inhaled a big gulp of acrid air. As she used the lavatory she could hear voices in the distance, people beginning to take stock of the damage. The island was waking up to reality. She wondered what slice of reality she would have to deal with herself today.
‘Sit yourself down,’ Gran told her when she returned. ‘I’ve made some egg fingers, not with real egg of course, but you wouldn’t know the difference. There’s a mug of tea and sugar in the pot. Owing to someone’s sweet tooth that’s the last of our ration. There’s not much left, but you’re welcome to what there is.’
