Ruby's War

by Johanna Winard

  ‘Whatever’s happening, lad?’ he heard a quivery, old voice ask.

  ‘Go back inside, sir,’ Con whispered. ‘There’s goin’ to be plenty of shooting.’

  ‘I can hear that already, son. Who’s doin’ it? Is it fifth columnists?’

  ‘No, sir, it’s the MPs. Go back inside, sir, and keep away from the windows.’

  The slippered feet receded, and the door closed. Con looked into the darkness. He couldn’t hear Holt and the others. He hurried forward. A bullet exploded close to his head, showering him with fragments of coarse grit from a windowsill. Rifles spluttered and crackled on both sides of the street. He wasn’t sure who was ahead of him – MPs or his own buddies. Then the shooting stopped, the still air was punctuated with groans, a machine gun opened up and Con heard the thud of boots on the empty street. Uncertain what to do next, he took cover by a wall. From where he lay at its base, he could feel the warmth of the bricks close to his face. He waited, hoping to hear Holt call his name. He was on a street that ran parallel to the main road. At the next corner, the intersecting street led back to the main road. Halfway down, Con could see figures flitting across the centre of the street. He wasn’t sure who they were or which way he should go. He got to his knees, listening hard. Then the machine gun on the main road opened up again, making the flags under his knees shudder. Barely two houses in front of him, a guy ran out, criss-crossing the road, and firing as he ran. Con got to his feet and followed, the sound of the machine gun coming closer as he neared the main road. When he reached the guy, he was flattened against the side of the end house. Con slipped in beside him, the cinders in the back alley crunching under his boots. He heard a movement along the street, and when he peered out, two guys were limping towards them. The guy who’d been firing motioned to him to wait until they were alongside before breaking cover. One of the GIs was okay, but the other was groaning.

  ‘They’ve blocked the street,’ the GI said, adjusting the wounded man’s arm over his own shoulder. ‘We got to double back. Can you get his other arm?’

  Con helped to take the wounded man’s weight. They moved out, going back along the street to the intersection, where they came across another group taking cover by a wall.

  ‘He needs a doctor,’ Con said.

  ‘Get him out of the fighting,’ one of them said. ‘Make your way over to the churchyard. He’ll be safe there. We can see the road from here, and if they come this way, we can hold them off until you get to the cover of the trees.’

  ‘Do you think you could carry him?’ the injured GI’s buddy asked. ‘I want to go back to find my other buddy. I think he was hit, and the rest of the guys I was with got pinned down.’

  ‘I guess so,’ Con said, ‘if you help lift him on my back.’

  They waited until there was a break in the firing and then they lifted the injured man across Con’s shoulders.

  ‘I’ll take him to the priest’s house,’ he called after the GI, who was already heading back towards the fighting.

  ‘Don’t take him there,’ one of the other guys said, getting ready to cover him as he moved out, ‘if they see they’re hitting us hard, they might send in more reinforcements.’

  ‘He’s injured,’ Con said, balancing the weight of the slighter man on his shoulders, ‘and they’ll send for them anyway.’

  ‘Sure they will,’ another voice from the darkness replied. ‘That’s why we got to get as many of the bastards as we can, now.’

  Con moved out from between the streets of closely packed houses. He’d crossed the lane before firing began again and the guys moved off. He found that balancing the injured man on his back was easier than he’d expected and made good progress towards the churchyard, using the trees overhanging the larger gardens for shelter. He’d almost reached the inky bulk of the church, when a jeep hurtled around the bend. The guy on his back made it impossible for him to run, and when the jeep screeched to a halt beside him, he was relieved to hear Captain O’Donal’s voice.

  ‘Bring that injured man over here, soldier,’ he called. ‘I have Sergeant Mayfield with me.’

  The captain walked toward him and helped to steady the injured man, who grunted as he was eased from Con’s shoulder.

  ‘You’re the man who brought in the injured soldier, earlier?’

  ‘Yes sir. How is—?’

  ‘Bo’s dead,’ Sergeant Mayfield said, getting out from the jeep and interrupting his senior officer.

  ‘Yes,’ the captain agreed. ‘I’m afraid he is.’

  ‘How are you injured, son?’ Sergeant Mayfield asked the GI Con had been carrying.

  ‘It’s my leg, sir. I caught a bullet in my leg.’

  Con helped them ease the injured soldier inside the jeep and watched it speed away. Then he crouched by the church door; his throat felt tight and his hands and chest were still sticky with Bo’s blood. He could hear the occasional burst of rifle fire coming from the terraced streets around the main road and the ping of bullets striking the hard surface of a road or wall. He wanted a smoke, but didn’t dare light a match. He wanted to find his buddies, but didn’t know where to start. Most of all, he wanted to go back to the pub, and this time, when Bo argued with the MP, he would hold on to him harder and force him to leave.

  The next time the shooting stopped, he decided to head back towards the camp, moving carefully, using the hedges and the wall for cover. In the distance, a jeep was taking the lane’s twisting bends far too quickly. He wondered if it was O’Donal and Mayfield collecting the wounded. He retraced his steps to the alleyway where he’d met the injured soldier. The tips of two cigarettes waved in the darkness. One of the guys he’d been with earlier stepped out.

  ‘Is he okay?’ he asked.

  ‘O’Donal and Sergeant Mayfield took him to the hospital.’

  ‘The officers agreed to let O’ Donal and the sergeant go out earlier to check if the MPs had injured any of our guys. Mayfield insisted. They shook on it. Did he say how many of our guys is injured?’

  ‘No, but one of my buddies, Bo, is dead. The MPs shot him on the road on the way back from the pub.’

  Con eased himself into a crouching position by the wall, a lighter flared, and he could see there were at least four other men in the alley.

  ‘Should we go back?’ he asked.

  ‘You crazy?’ the first guy said, tucking his lighter back in his pocket. ‘You hear what they’re doing in Detroit? There’s MP battalions from Fort Custer shootin’ black folks. What do you think they gonna do with us?’

  ‘I hear they got white GIs out on the streets in Paradise Valley shootin’ women and kids, draggin’ them out of cars,’ another GI said. ‘Hospital’s full.’

  ‘Hold up,’ the first GI said, as two shapes broke out of the shadows.

  Two new GIs slipped down beside them breathing heavily.

  ‘More of their guys have arrived,’ one of them said. ‘More MPs. They pulled up at the camp in an armoured car and two jeeps with machine guns fixed to the top.’

  ‘We got to split up, make ourselves scarce for a while,’ the first GI said. ‘I’ve a girl, lives just outside of town. I’m going there. Can you guys find somewhere you can hide out? Or head into the fields and wait up. You go back now, they’ll shoot you for sure.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Ruby was woken by a noise – a sharp clattering – outside her window. She reached out and nudged at the blackout curtain. It was daylight, somewhere between five and six o’clock. She yawned: it had been three before the shooting had finally stopped and she was foggy with lack of sleep. When something struck the pane a second time, she scrambled to her knees and pressed her face to the glass. She peered down; the garden was empty. Then Con walked out from the shelter of the building and tossed a tiny stone up at her window.

  Using the handrails to take her weight, Ruby moved noiselessly down the uncarpeted stairs and carefully drew the bolt on the kitchen door. Con was waiting on the bench, his elbows on his knees, his should
ers and hair encrusted with crystals of morning dew.

  ‘We heard shooting,’ she said.

  ‘It was the MPs. It was like a war.’

  ‘Who were they shooting at? Granddad said it sounded like there was a machine gun.’

  ‘At us,’ he said, staring across the garden at the familiar rows of vegetables. ‘At the black soldiers. They were out to kill as many as they could.’

  ‘Come on,’ she said, gently taking hold of his sodden sleeve. ‘Let’s go inside.’

  ‘I got to hide my gun,’ Con said, pulling the half-hidden weapon from under the bench with his foot and making its barrel scrape along the flags. ‘We broke into the gun store, fought back. It was dark and you couldn’t tell who was killing who.’ He looked up at Ruby, his eyes raw and bloodshot. ‘The other guys said it was best to hide until things calmed down. I don’t know if it’s safe to go back.’

  ‘You’ll be safe here. I’ll put that under the pigeon cabin,’ she said, and ran back inside, her naked feet slapping on the damp stones.

  She reappeared with her shoes and sat down beside him, forcing her feet into the cracked leather. Then she lifted the gun, wrapping her pale arms around it. As Con watched, she carried it through the vegetables, the dew from their leaves streaking the twill overall that served as her dressing gown and soaking the washed-out nightdress she wore underneath.

  ‘Let’s go in, but you’d best take your boots off,’ she said, pulling off her own wet shoes. ‘They should be fast asleep. We were up most of the night. Thought the Germans had landed. You go up. You know which is my room. I’ll bring you a brew and something to eat.’

  The last time he’d visited the little room, Con hadn’t noticed how bare it was: there had been an open trunk, glittery dresses scattered over the floor and Lou’s crinkly cardboard wedding cake sitting forlornly on the bed. That was little more than six months ago, when England still felt real strange. It was Lou’s wedding. There’d been some upset over the cake, and he’d come to collect it because he’d been sweet on Sadie. They’d heard Ruby sobbing; he’d comforted her and thought she was just a sad, little kid.

  ‘There’s meat and cheese and some pickle,’ she said, putting a plate on the floor and handing him a mug of tea. ‘I daren’t start cooking; it might wake them all up.’

  As she knelt on the floor, he could see the delicate pink blush of her body beneath the damp nightdress. He looked away, concentrating on the shelves of the battered bookcase.

  ‘I’ll go downstairs … You need to sleep.’

  She placed her finger to her lips, frowned and whispered, ‘You’ll not. Take your jacket off and get in that bed. You look awful. Come on. Do as you’re told. Don’t worry. Once Granddad’s awake, I’ll ask him to find a better place for the gun. He’ll know what we should do.’

  Con took a bite from the thick sandwich. ‘I can sleep on the floor.’

  ‘You’ll not. You’ll do as you’re told. I’ll go downstairs. I’ll sit up. I’ll read, until I hear him moving about.’

  Con made a mock salute. ‘Stay a while, until I’ve eaten my food,’ he said, pulling the counterpane from the bed and slipping it around her shoulders. ‘Here. You’ll need this if you’re going downstairs.’

  ‘I’ll sit here on the floor, until you’ve had your tea. It’s all right to talk, if we’re quiet. I’ve closed their door, and Sadie’s. They’re all well away. It was a right carry-on last night. Mrs Bland arrived with that flippin’ cat in its basket and this old gun her father had in the last war. She gave it to Granddad to shoot the Germans with, but the bullets weren’t the right ones for it. We were sure it was the Germans that had landed. Then Mrs Lathom arrived with Bess. I don’t know which poor Bess was most frightened of, the noise or the cat. Mrs Bland and Mrs Lathom both wanted to go in the shelter, but Jenny said there was no point, because the siren hadn’t gone, and if the Germans had come, there would have been a siren, because they would have been dropped from planes. Mrs Lathom was in a right state. She said the Germans was that crafty they’d probably come in ships. She kept on saying that they might have sailed up the Ribble and given everybody the slip, and the more Granddad tried to reason with her, the worse she got. What really happened?’

  There was no reply, and when she whispered his name, he didn’t move. She took the sandwich from his hand and crept over to her chair. Snuggled inside the counterpane, she watched his long curling lashes twitch, and as the daylight slid under the dishevelled blackout curtain, she tracked a perfect triangle of sunlight over the pillow and across to the gently beating pulse in his throat. When the hens began to wake, Ruby cursed the cockerel’s boasting, but she need not have worried: neither Monty’s bragging nor Henry’s shuffling footsteps on the stairs woke him. Then she crept out, shutting her bedroom door as gently as she could on the exhausted soldier, and hurried down to the kitchen.

  ‘Tha’d best get back upstairs and warn Jenny and Sadie,’ Granddad said, when she’d explained about the gun. ‘We don’t want them waking the lad.’

  The four of them ate their breakfast in silence, and when Henry disappeared, warning that they shouldn’t open the door to anyone, they crept about making pots of tea and telling each other what might have happened.

  ‘Where’s the gun now?’ Jenny asked, when Henry returned.

  ‘It’s best not to ask me,’ Henry said, pouring more water on to the already weakened tea.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You don’t ask, and I’ll not say. That’s the best thing.’

  ‘But what if he comes down and wants it?’

  ‘Then I’ll tell him where it is.’

  ‘And what if you’ve gone out?’

  ‘I’ll not have.’

  ‘What about Johnny?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Well, he’s expecting you to meet him. I thought you said—’

  ‘He’ll not bother if I’m not there.’

  ‘Well, what if they come looking for it?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Americans.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about it, and neither do you.’

  ‘You’ll get yourself into trouble.’

  ‘Well, I might.’

  ‘And the rest of us.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Ma,’ Sadie said.

  ‘I was only saying,’ her mother said, banging the teapot down on the table and taking out a cigarette.

  ‘Give us one, Ma. I keep wondering about Bo. He’d have been in Manchester. Said he’d most likely have to stay. I told him to do his best to get back, with Lou not being here for me to go out with. Mind you,’ she said, puffing on the cigarette, ‘if he had come back, he’d have come here. Still, if they were shooting, he might not have. He might have gone to see what was happening. Did Con say it was just here at the camp? What if he heard the shooting and thought it best to stay away and he’s stayed out all night? Or what if it wasn’t just here, what if it was all over and one of their MPs has got him? He might not have known, and if they flagged him down … I think we should waken Con. Like Mum says, what if the Yanks come …’

  ‘We’ll tell them he’s not here,’ Ruby said. ‘Con would have told me if Bo was there, and if Bo had been outside the camp with Con, he’d have come with him. Like you said, he wasn’t at the camp.’

  ‘Well what if they do come and if they want to look round?’

  ‘They’ll not be able to,’ Henry said. ‘They’re not our police.’

  ‘They might come with—’

  ‘I think that’s Con,’ Ruby said. ‘I think I can hear him.’

  ‘Then let your granddad go and see,’ Jenny said.

  When Henry opened the bedroom door, the dejected GI was sitting on the edge of the bed.

  ‘This is a rum do and no mistake,’ Henry said. ‘Our Ruby says it was your own side as was firing on you.’

  Con looked at his hands and then up at the old man. ‘Yes, sir, that was about it. I’m awful sorry to have—’
>
  ‘No, lad. I’m glad you came to us.’

  Con stood up and – swallowing hard – tried again to break the terrible news. ‘I’m awful sorry I have to—’

  ‘No, lad, don’t you worry about us,’ Henry said, pushing open the curtain and pointing towards the river. ‘Now, come here, and I’ll show you. I’ve wrapped that gun in some oiled cloth and moved it into an old rabbit hole on the bank. Just down there, you see. See down there; it’s just down there where the river bends. It’ll be safe there. You have to lie down on the banking to see the hole. I’ve pushed the bugger down as far as me arm would reach.’

  Henry turned and smiled, his eyes shining with excitement, and the news of Bo’s death shrivelled on Con’s tongue.

  ‘Come on, now, don’t look so downhearted. What you need is some breakfast,’ the old man said, patting him on the shoulder. ‘Then, if I was you, I’d try and get a bit more sleep. I’ll keep them women out of your way as long as I can, but they’ll want to know all the whys and wherefores. Well, at least Bo would have been well out of it by all accounts. He told us he was going out Manchester way, and they’d probably either keep him there overnight or send him further on. Not at all pleased about that, Sadie wasn’t. Had words they did, but it was all for the best, after all. Though she’s still moidered about him. Do you know what’s happened to the rest of ’em?’

  Con turned to the window and looked out at the morning sunlight. ‘I don’t rightly know, sir,’ he said.

  Ruby had begged to be allowed to stay at home, and Sadie wanted to stay as well, in case Bo came to find her, but Granddad said it might look funny if none of them turned up for work. In the end, they’d left Granddad and Jenny to take care of Con. It was the best thing to do: they didn’t want anyone coming to the cottage and finding him there. On her way to the factory, Ruby called in on Mrs Lathom: it was Granddad’s idea, just in case Nellie took it into her head to call at the cottage to find out what they’d heard about the shootings. When she’d knocked on the door, Mrs Lathom had been so glad the Germans hadn’t arrived, she’d even agreed to let her take Bess out for a walk the next day.