Daniel had been out in his cab when the sirens wailed their warnings. He was taking an RAF officer to the Air Ministry.
‘Drop me off as planned, please, cabby,’ the officer said calmly. ‘They won’t be here yet and there’s a shelter just round the corner.’
Dan did as he was asked, knowing the squadron leader was right. The sirens sounded as soon as enemy aircraft were detected, sometimes, as in a daylight raid like this, well before they reached the coast. He decided not to abandon his cab and take shelter. No, Dan decided, he would park the taxi in its usual place beneath the railway arch and then go to the fire station where he was a volunteer fireman. Naomi had hated him being out on the streets during a raid, but Dan was determined.
‘I can’t just sit in our cellar all the time when I could be out there watching for fires and helping to put them out. They’ll be dropping more and more incendiaries and unless we all do our bit, London will burn to the ground.’ He’d smiled across at her. ‘Don’t worry, girlie, I’ll look after myself. You look after you and Lisa, eh?’
Gradually, over the months since they had collected Lisa from Liverpool Street, Dan had become very fond of his foster daughter. Like Naomi he wished they had children, and he’d been happy enough to give a refugee child a home, but it had surprised him how quickly, despite her early difficulties, Lisa had become an integral part of their lives. He admired the spunk she’d shown when going to her new school when she spoke no English, and the way she always stood up for herself, facing down the bullies. She had an independent streak which was sometimes difficult to live with, but she also showed a dependence on him, asking him questions, paying attention to his answers, which he found endearing.
The siren continued its lament and the streets were crowded with people, hurriedly making for the shelter of the Underground. As he drove the two miles to his garage, he watched them pouring into the Tube stations and he gave a grim smile. Hitler won’t get any of these this time, he thought.
He parked the cab and then hurried to the fire station.
‘Need a spotter on that warehouse roof,’ the chief, John Anderson, told him briskly. ‘Get yourself up there and keep your eyes peeled.’
‘Right-ho, chief! On my way.’
Someone was always sent up to the roof of the nearby warehouse. Filled with paint, it would burn like an inferno if a fire took hold. Spotters were needed to deal with the fire before it could spread and alert the fire brigade if necessary.
Dan puffed his way up the metal staircase, his lungs bursting by the time he got to the top. The fifteen months he’d spent in the trenches of Flanders had taken their toll and any real exertion left him gasping painfully. But fire-watching was something he could do. He couldn’t fight again, that was for younger men, and how young they all looked to Dan these days, scarcely more than boys, but he could still do his bit to defend his home.
When he reached the roof he could see the jumble of streets laid out below him. The river shimmered in the late-afternoon sun, a gleaming trail for the incoming aircraft, leading them to the docks, the factories and the warehouses of London. All prime targets for the Luftwaffe.
His mate, Arthur, was already in position, binoculars in hand, scanning the sky to the south-east.
‘Here they come,’ Arthur said, the quietness of his voice belying his fear. ‘And our boys, too.’
Black dots, far away against the blue of the sky, grew bigger, an angry swarm of lethal machines, hell-bent on destruction. But the invaders certainly weren’t having it all their own way. RAF Fighter Command were up there too, diving in among the enemy bombers, machine guns blazing, harrying them, coming out of the sun to swoop and kill. Some of the Germans forced their way through the defending planes, unloading their bombs on the docks and the surrounding areas, before high-tailing it back the way they had come.
Anti-aircraft batteries strafed the sky, and they saw one bomber spiralling down, a plume of smoke streaming behind it as it spun to the ground, out of control, and exploded above the river in a ball of fire.
‘Got ’im!’ said Arthur with bitter satisfaction. ‘That’s one bugger that won’t be coming back!’
Many of the bombs were incendiaries, and the two men could see flame flowering in every direction.
Overhead, the German planes having unleashed devastation on the city below, beat a hasty retreat, chased all the way to the coast by the valiant fighter planes. Smoke and dust filled the air, a pall of grey hanging over the streets. Fires blossomed angry red below, but miraculously the warehouse had not been hit. The all-clear sounded and Dan and Arthur made one final sweep with the binoculars and having noted fires below in the next street hurried down to direct the firefighters to those and to join in their fight.
It was some time before the fires in their area were under control. Dan and Arthur and other volunteer firemen dealt with small fires which had broken out in the narrow streets and on waste ground, leaving the more serious fires to the regular and auxiliary fire services.
‘Hear that Kemble Street took a hit,’ one man said as he shovelled sand on to a patch of burning weeds. He looked across at Dan. ‘You live that way, don’t you?’
Dan had gone pale. ‘Kemble Street? You sure?’
‘Called in from the ARP post earlier. Pub on fire.’
Arthur looked up. ‘Better go straight home, Dan,’ he said, ‘we can cope here now!’
Dan hesitated for a moment, then with a quick word of thanks darted off along the street, heading for home.
Lisa and Naomi had just got back when he appeared round the corner, his face red from running, his breath ragged. When he saw them he stopped, flopping forward to ease the pain in his chest.
‘Thank God you’re all right!’ he gasped as he pulled Naomi to him. ‘They said the street was hit.’
Naomi returned his hug, holding him close, her arms tight around him.
‘We’re all right,’ she said, and reached out to include Lisa in her embrace, ‘both of us. It’s the Duke what’s been hit.’ Her voice trembled as she said, ‘Mary was inside. She’s dead.’
‘Mary?’ echoed Dan. ‘Does Tom know?’
‘Yes, he was there when they got her out. As you can imagine, he’s in a dreadful state.’ She didn’t mention Tom’s reaction when he’d seen Lisa in the crowd, she’d tell him later when Lisa wasn’t there. ‘They took her away on a stretcher. Tom went too.’
Dan looked shaken at the news. He tried to imagine what Tom must be going through, but he couldn’t... If it had been his Naomi... He turned towards the house and saw the blast-damaged door, hanging on its single hinge. It had been close for her, too.
‘Much damage inside?’ he asked, trying to sound normal.
Naomi shook her head. ‘Some broken glass, that’s all, I think. We was lucky. We heard the explosion, me and Lisa, in the cellar. It must have been the blast from the Duke what...’ Her voice trailed off.
She led the way back into the house and between them they set about clearing up the mess. Sweeping up the broken glass, tears brimmed her eyes as she had a sudden vision of poor Mary, lying pale and broken in the road; killed in her own home. They had been friends since their school days and for as long as Naomi could remember, Mary had been part of her life. She couldn’t yet believe that Mary would never again wander in through the front door with a cheerful call of, ‘Kettle on, Naomi?’ Dear Mary, who despite Tom’s antipathy, had taken the trouble to get to know Lisa, showing her great kindness.
‘You finish peeling them spuds,’ Naomi said to Lisa now, knowing that she, too, was upset and needed to be doing something, however mundane.
Without a word, Lisa turned to the sink and picking up the kitchen knife lying on the draining board, began peeling the potatoes Naomi had left when the siren had sounded. How long ago? It seemed to Lisa that it was a lifetime, a time when Mary was still alive.
‘Did you look upstairs?’ Dan asked when he had nailed a blanket over the gaping front door.
‘No,’ answered N
aomi. ‘We went straight out into the street.’
‘I’ll have a look.’
He went through the little house, checking for more damage. The window of the tiny front parlour wasn’t broken though there was a crack right across one corner, but a bedroom window upstairs lay in pieces on the floor.
When the kitchen had been set to rights, glass swept away, the broken windows boarded up, Naomi made a pot of tea and they all flopped down round the kitchen table.
‘We’ll have to check the blackout again,’ Dan said. ‘May not fit closely with the window blown in. You can help me, Lisa. I’ll put it up, you can go outside and see if there’s any light getting out.’
Later, when Lisa had gone to bed, Dan and Naomi sat in the kitchen together.
‘I just can’t believe she’s gone,’ sobbed Naomi, at last giving way to her grief. She had held herself together for Lisa’s sake. The child had lost another person she was fond of and Naomi had known that she must be strong for her. ‘And I had such good news to tell her,’ Naomi said on a sob.
‘News?’ asked Dan, hoping to divert her thoughts from Mary. ‘What was you going to tell her?’
‘I was going to tell you first, of course,’ Naomi said, grasping his hand. Despite her tears and the sadness and the terror of that dreadful day, a new light of happiness glowed in her eyes.
‘Well?’ prompted Dan. ‘What news?’
‘You’re going to be a father.’
‘What?’ asked Dan feebly.
‘You’re going to be a father. I’m going to have a baby. Dr Marshall confirmed it today. I’m nearly four months gone.’
Dan stared at her in mute amazement for a moment before he eventually said, ‘Are you sure? I mean, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Didn’t want to get your hopes up – or mine for that matter,’ beamed Naomi, ‘not till it was confirmed.’
‘When’s it due?’
‘January.’
‘January!’ he echoed. ‘I’m going to be a dad in January.’
Dan still couldn’t believe what she was telling him. They’d given up all thoughts of children of their own. ‘Aren’t you too old? I mean...’ he stammered as he saw the look on her face at this remark, ‘I mean, well, I thought...’
‘I’m only thirty-nine. It’s old for a first baby, but Dr Marshall says everything seems to be going fine. I’m fit and healthy and lots of women my age have babies. And Dr Marshall says it’s probably due to Lisa being here. We’ve been so busy worrying about her, we’ve stopped worrying about babies and relaxed. Think about it, Dan, our own baby!’
‘I am thinking about it,’ Dan said, ‘and I’m thrilled to bits, girlie, but it’ll take a bit of getting used to.’
‘I just wish Mary had known,’ said Naomi sadly.
‘P’raps she does,’ Dan said.
‘D’you really think so?’ Naomi’s face brightened.
‘I don’t know, do I? Maybe she does. More important, what’s Lisa going to say?’
‘I don’t know. I hope she’ll be pleased with the idea of a brother or sister. But we don’t have to tell her yet. It’s early days. Let’s just keep it to ourselves for now, shall we. Our secret.’
‘Whatever you want, girlie,’ said Dan. ‘Whatever you want.’
8
The death of Mary and the destruction of the Duke weighed heavily on Kemble Street. There was an air of sadness, but with an underlying anger that Hitler had finally burst in upon their corner of the world. The rubble was cleared away, the overhanging roof pulled down and the doors boarded up. The Duke of Wellington, the social centre of the area, would be closed from now on.
The air raid warnings continued, often with two or three a night. At first they all trooped down to the cellar, but with so many broken nights Dan finally agreed, to Lisa’s immense relief, that they not go down until they heard the planes overhead and the sound of gunfire.
Mary and Dan went to Mary’s funeral. Lisa stayed at home; they all knew that Tom would not want her there.
‘It’ll be a difficult day for him, pet,’ Naomi said. ‘It’s not your fault.’
It was this that decided her to go and meet Harry the next Saturday. She hadn’t been going to go, but now she needed to be with someone the same as she, someone else who was an outsider.
Saying she was going to Hilda’s, Lisa set off for the park. Harry was sitting on his usual bench, waiting for her.
‘Knew you’d come,’ he said by way of greeting.
‘Needed to get away,’ Lisa said and flopping down beside him told him about Mary.
‘Well, she ain’t the first and she won’t be the last,’ Harry said dismissively.
‘Harry! How can you say that?’ cried Lisa.
‘Cos it’s true. Something you got to get used to, Lisa. You know that. We had some bombs, yeah, but Hitler’s blitz ain’t started yet. Lots more people are going to die before he’s done.’
‘You sound as if you don’t care,’ Lisa said bitterly.
‘How can I care?’ demanded Harry. ‘It’s all too big for me to care about. I can only care about me.’
‘And me?’
‘Yeah, and you. Come on, Lisa, let’s go up west and forget it all for a bit. I got money and we’ll go to a caff and eat sausages and chips.’
This time when they took the bus Harry felt in the depths of his pocket and produced money for the fares, so they were able to travel all the way to Trafalgar Square without having to get off. They spent the morning exploring the small streets around Soho and Leicester Square and then, as he’d promised, Harry treated them to a sausage and chips. Lisa had never been to a café to eat before and she sat at the table in the window watching all the people coming and going in the street outside.
‘This is lovely,’ she said, ‘eating in a proper restaurant, like grown-ups.’ Then she looked anxiously at Harry. ‘You have got the money, haven’t you, Harry?’
‘Of course!’ Harry looked affronted. ‘Told you I had, didn’t I?’
By the middle of the afternoon Lisa knew she had to go home. She had been asked to Hilda’s for tea and she was determined to get there in time. She’d told Naomi she was going to Hilda’s, and she wanted to make it true.
‘I got to go, Harry,’ she said when they’d finished eating. ‘I got to go to Hilda’s like I told Aunt Naomi.’
‘OK.’ Harry shrugged. ‘I got to stay up here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I got to see someone,’ Harry said. ‘I’ll put you on the bus.’
‘Aren’t you coming with me?’
‘No, I told you, I got to see someone up here. Don’t worry,’ he said with exaggerated patience. ‘I’ll give you the bus money.’
He waited with her at the bus stop and waved as she looked back at him through the window, before disappearing into the crowds on the street.
The bus was quite full and Lisa was pleased to get a seat inside. She paid the fare and sat back to enjoy the journey. Her enjoyment was short-lived. Suddenly the air was rent by the blast of air raid sirens.
‘Bloody Wailing Winnie off again!’ groaned the man sitting next to her. The bus continued its way along the road for another few minutes and then it pulled up.
‘Everybody off,’ shouted the conductor. ‘We ain’t going no further till them Nazis has gone home.’
People began to clamber off the bus, heading for the public shelters. Many of them hurried down the stairs into the Underground. Lisa, standing for a moment on the pavement, didn’t know what to do. All around her people were hurrying to find shelter, the continuing sirens encouraging them to be quick, and even as she stood there she heard the thunderous roar of hundreds of planes in the sky above her.
‘Come on, love,’ cried a woman, catching her by the arm and pulling her towards the Tube station, ‘got to get under cover.’
But as they reached the entrance and Lisa saw the people thronging the stairs leading down, she knew she couldn’t go in there. With a sharp t
ug she pulled herself free and began to run. She didn’t know where she was running to, but nothing would have induced her to go into the Underground. Somehow it felt safer to be running than standing still staring up at the bombers overhead.
And then the bombs started to fall; the whistle through the air followed by the boom of the explosion. Even as she ran, fires began to blossom in nearby buildings. Firemen and volunteers rushed to each red and orange glow to douse it with sand or water to prevent it from taking hold.
Lisa continued to run, ducking into doorways, cowering against the buildings as the intensity of the raid increased. The noise of the planes, the crump of the bombs and the thunder of the anti-aircraft guns were deafening, an all-enveloping din which intensified the chaos around her. She was completely disorientated, veering from one side of the street to another looking for shelter. She had no idea of the way to the nearest shelter, nor the way back to the Underground station. There were other people in the streets, the air raid wardens, firemen and first aid volunteers, but they were all intent on dealing with and trying to contain the damage caused by the bombs. No one seemed to see the young girl whirled about by the turmoil and confusion. There was no respite as wave after wave of enemy aircraft filled the skies. Harried by the fighters of the RAF, dogfights developed among the clouds, but the bombers continued dropping their deadly load on a London already on fire.
Lisa was shaking with fear, her arms about her head as she curled in a ball in a shop doorway.
‘Christ, child!’ cried a voice. ‘What are you doing out here?’ Someone reached into the doorway and hauled her to her feet. ‘There’s a shelter this way. Come on!’ Holding her firmly he hustled her along the road towards the concrete shelter little more than a hundred yards away. Lisa allowed herself to be dragged along, her legs too weak with fear to support her properly.
Above them there was a swish and a whistle. The man grabbed her into his arms as if to shield her with his body and then there was an almighty explosion and a building only a couple of hundred yards behind them disintegrated, folding in on itself with a crash that reverberated along the narrow street, bringing with it a thick cloud of dust. The man and Lisa collapsed on to the pavement and neither of them moved again.
The Girl With No Name Page 9
