by Sandy Taylor
‘Didn’t you mind saying goodbye to them, Gertie?’ I asked.
‘No, I didn’t. They’re little bleeders, I was glad ta get shot of ’em.’
We all burst out laughing.
That was the day that Gertie Lightfoot came into our lives and, like her name, she brought light into those darkest of days.
Brenda and I held her hands as she skipped happily between us down See Saw Lane.
Forty-Four
The wireless, which had been at the back of the bookshop, was ceremoniously moved to the carpet shop next door. It was decided to promote Afshid to chief wireless listener to stop her screaming at Hassan every day. It was her job to report any new developments concerning the war as fast as her legs could carry her from her shop to ours. It worked and Afshid became a very important member of the war council and, as a bonus, she stopped screaming at Hassan.
One morning in July she burst through the shop door. She gave me such a fright that Maggie had to steady the ladder before I fell off it.
‘What on earth’s the matter?’ I asked.
She was bright red in the face and it looked as if she was having trouble breathing.
‘Sit down, Afshid,’ said Maggie, guiding her towards the chair.
‘I must tell the men, I must tell the men,’ she spluttered.
‘Tell them what?’ I said.
‘It’s started, it’s started! They’re bombing London.’
‘Oh my God, Jack!’ I said. ‘Maggie, Jack’s in London.’
Afshid got up from the chair and ran into the yard.
Maggie helped me down from the ladder. ‘And he’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘He will, Maureen, he’ll be fine.’
‘But what if he’s not?’
‘You have to believe that he is, otherwise you’ll go mad.’
Next thing the baker came running through the door, flour drifting off him like snow. He was quickly followed by the butcher in his horrible apron.
‘This isn’t the bloody War Office, you know!’ yelled Maggie as they both disappeared into the yard.
‘We might as well close up,’ I said.
We turned the sign around and went outside. All the men were yelling over the top of each other. Afshid was sitting in the middle of Hassan and Peter, looking very self-important.
‘I ran as quickly as I could, Hassan,’ she said.
Hassan placed his arm around her shoulder. ‘You did well, Mrs Hassan.’ I could see her flinch at the use of the name but she didn’t want to spoil her moment of glory by complaining. She had brought them the most important piece of news since war was declared and she was making the most of it.
‘I shall get you all something sweet from the bakery,’ she said, kissing the top of Hassan’s head.
‘Did they say where they dropped the bombs?’ I said.
‘Her Jack’s in London,’ Maggie reminded them.
‘No, Maureen, they just said that it had been bombed,’ said Afshid.
‘Those planes will have been spotted coming across the Channel long before they dropped the bombs,’ said the baker. ‘There’s a little man in Littlehampton whose only job is to spot enemy planes coming across the channel. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.’
But I was worried; I was worried sick. If anything happened to Jack, I’d die.
‘If our fate lies in the hands of one little man in Littlehampton then God help us,’ whispered Maggie.
‘Why don’t you girls take a few hours off?’ said Peter. ‘I can manage here. You go and have a walk along the prom.’
‘Thank you, Peter,’ said Maggie. ‘Come on, Maureen, let’s go and blow the cobwebs away.’
We cut through the side streets and onto the seafront. There were rolls of barbed wire across the entrance to the pier but I was smiling, remembering my dance with Jack and the moment he told me that he loved me.
‘It’s suddenly becoming very real, isn’t it?’ said Maggie sadly.
‘I’m afraid so,’ I said, putting my arm through hers. ‘We will just have to be very careful and keep everyone we love safe. I wish that Jack wasn’t in London.’
‘I know you do,’ she said.
‘I’ve never asked you, Maggie, have you got brothers and sisters?’
‘I have an older sister,’ she said quietly.
I looked at her and sensed that something was wrong.
‘She’s my older sister but she’s more like my younger sister,’ she added.
I didn’t know what she meant.
‘She’s a Mongolian.’
I didn’t know what she was talking about. ‘She’s a what?’ I said.
‘That’s what the doctors said she was, Mongolian.’
I was confused. ‘Have you got different fathers, then?’
‘Why would you say that?’
‘Well, you’re not Mongolian, are you?’
‘It’s an illness, Maureen, it’s not about the place.’
I felt stupid. ‘I’m sorry, Maggie, I’ve never heard of it before.’
‘That’s OK, not many people have. You must meet her. She’s sweet and funny and I wouldn’t change her for the world. She’s the best sister ever.’
‘I’d love to meet her,’ I said. ‘Because I wouldn’t change my sister either.’
We walked the whole length of the seafront, from the pier all the way to Shoreham harbour. There were some big ships in the canal. We sat on a grassy bank watching them. Some sailors waved to us and we waved back.
‘Have you heard from Nelson lately?’
That’s when I remembered the letter. It had come this morning, just as I was leaving for work. It was addressed to both me and Jack so I hadn’t opened it. I took it out of my pocket and looked at it.
‘Does it say where it’s been posted?’ asked Maggie.
‘I shouldn’t think we’d be allowed to know that.’
Maggie took the letter and looked for a clue. ‘I can’t make out what it says but the stamp’s English. I think he must still be in England, Maureen.’
She handed the letter back to me. I looked at the stamp. ‘I think you could be right. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he was?’
‘Yes, wonderful,’ she said.
We sat together watching the small boats coming in and out of the harbour. It was peaceful there; it was somewhere that Jack and I could come now that the beach was closed. I prayed Jack was safe. ‘Please keep him safe,’ I begged, to whichever saint happened to be listening. Right now I wasn’t that fussed which saint granted my wish as long as one of them did.
‘Feeling better?’ said Maggie.
I nodded and we got up and headed back to the shop.
Peter let me leave work early so that I could meet Jack at the station. I had to know that he was alright.
I was so relieved to see him coming through the barriers, I ran into his arms.
‘To what do I owe the pleasure of this?’ he said, kissing my cheek.
‘I heard about the bombs in London, Jack, and I was terrified.’
‘They weren’t near the university but they made a hell of a noise. I think everyone was shocked when the sirens went off,’ he told me.
‘Do you have to go there every day?’ I babbled. ‘Can’t you stay here at home, where it’s safe?’
‘You’re shaking,’ he said.
‘I’ve been so worried.’
He put his arm around me. ‘Come on, let’s go and get some tea.’
We walked across the station to the waiting room. It was pretty full but I managed to get a table in the corner. I sat down and waited for Jack to come back with the tea.
I started on at him again as soon as he put the tray on the table.
‘Couldn’t you study at home?’ I said.
He reached across the table and held my hand.
‘This is just the start of it, Maureen. Soon nowhere is going to be safe. Not here, not London, not anywhere. We have to carry on as normally as we can.’
‘Why do people have to
fight?’
Jack shook his head. ‘I don’t know, but they do. I have exams coming up and I’m not going to let anything get in my way, certainly not some stupid war. I’ve worked too hard for this.’
I nodded. ‘I’m being selfish, aren’t I?’
‘Not selfish, my love. Your worries are coming from a good place, it’s just that we can’t give up because we are frightened. Think of poor old Nelson, he could be anywhere.’
‘That’s reminded me,’ I said, getting the letter out of my pocket. ‘A letter from Nelson, it came this morning.’
‘What does it say?’
‘I haven’t read it, I was waiting for you. Go on, you open it,’ I said.
Jack opened the letter and started to read.
Dear Jack and Maureen,
You will be surprised to learn that I am still in England. I am pretty surprised myself.
In my last letter I told you that we were on the move. Well, we only got as far as Catterick army base, which is in Yorkshire, a long way from Brighton. After being here for about a week, we were told to get ready as we would be moving out. Well, as it happened, some of us were told that we would be staying put. It turned out that I had been chosen, along with some other chaps, to help with the training of new recruits. Chalky said that I must have the luck of the Irish but I’d been ready to go and it was hard to say goodbye to my friends, especially him. I’m sure that I will soon be joining them, but for now, this is where I am. I wish you could see it. The camp is right on the edge of the Yorkshire Dales and it’s breathtaking. I walk on the moors as often as I can and I always think of you. I heard that they’d started bombing London. I hope you are OK, Jack.
My love to you both and to Monica.
Keep safe.
Love,
Nelson x
Jack put the letter back in the envelope and handed it to me. ‘So there you are, my love, you can stop worrying because we are all safe.’
‘But for how long?’ I said, sadly.
Forty-Five
In the early morning of 15 July, we were woken by the wail of an air-raid siren. At first I thought I was dreaming and then Gertie was shaking me.
‘You gotta get up, Maureen, the bloody bombs are coming!’ she yelled.
Brenda was screaming out on the landing. ‘Gertie, where are you?’
‘She’s in here, Brenda!’ I shouted back.
Mum was calling from downstairs. ‘Grab your coats, girls, hurry now!’
We ran downstairs and put on our coats and shoes.
‘I can’t find me bloody shoes!’ shouted Gertie.
‘Don’t worry, pet, I’ll carry you,’ said Brenda, lifting her up into her arms.
We rushed out the door and Jack met us at the gate.
‘Quickly now,’ he said, taking Gertie from Brenda.
We hurried through Jack’s house and out into the garden. Mr Forrest was waiting at the entrance to the Anderson shelter and he guided us inside. Mrs Forrest was sitting on the bench. She had rags in her hair and was white as a sheet. I could see her legs shaking under her nightie.
We all sat down. It was dark in there and it smelt damp. I had never been so scared in my life. The only sound was Brenda’s voice murmuring gently to Gertie as she held her in her arms. ‘We’re safe now,’ she was saying. ‘Those bombs can’t get us in here.’
I was so proud of her because I knew how frightened she must be, but her only concern was for the little girl she was holding in her arms.
I looked across at Mum. ‘Are you alright, Mum?’
She nodded but I could see how white her knuckles were as she clutched her old brown handbag on her lap.
Then we heard the drone of an aircraft and it seemed to be directly above us. Automatically we all ducked, then we heard what sounded like a whistling and screaming noise that was getting closer and closer.
Mr Forrest was just about to light a candle when the first bomb dropped. Mrs Forrest screamed and grabbed her husband, knocking the candle out of his hand. I wanted to scream as well but I looked across at Brenda, who continued to talk gently to Gertie and I stayed silent: if Brenda could be brave, then so could I. The first bomb didn’t seem too close but when the second one dropped, the earth beneath our feet shook and the metal walls of the shelter rattled. A shower of dust fell from the roof, turning Mrs Forrest’s white rags black. Even with Jack’s arms around me I was terrified.
Suddenly Mrs Forrest stood up and started screaming, ‘I’ve got to get out of here, Frank! I can’t stand it.’
‘Stay calm, love,’ said Mr Forrest, gently easing her back onto the bench and putting his arms around her. ‘It will soon be over.’
‘Why don’t we pray?’ said Brenda suddenly. ‘What prayers do you know, Gertie?’
‘I dunno,’ said Gertie.
‘Have a think.’
‘At home we say a prayer before we tuck into our grub.’
‘We’ll say that one then. Will you start us off?’
And so as the bombs continued to fall, Gertie started singing…
Thank you for the world so sweet
Thank you for the food we eat.
The rest of us joined in.
Thank you for the birds that sing
Thank you God for everything.
Gertie finished it off with a great big amen and we all managed to smile, even Mrs Forrest.
Brenda hugged her. ‘Thank you, Gertie,’ she said.
‘Did I do it proper?’ asked Gertie.
‘You did it proper, proper,’ said Brenda, smiling down at her.
After that we sat quietly, until we heard the welcoming sound of the all-clear.
We later discovered that the second bomb had indeed been very close to See Saw Lane. A row of houses not far away had been destroyed. Four people died that morning and many others were injured. The war in Brighton had begun.
* * *
Peter and Hassan erected an Anderson shelter in the yard, which doubled as a place of operations when it rained. The baker was sent down to the junk shop to pick up another table for more books and maps. Peter informed us that the German plane that had dropped the bombs was a Do 17. As far as the war was concerned, we were the most well-informed bookshop in Brighton and Peter and Hassan were the two generals in charge of operations.
If you can get used to bombs dropping out of the skies, then I suppose that most of us got used to them. As soon as we heard the wail of the sirens, we ran for cover, either in the yard or in Jack’s garden. If we were on our way home from work, we ran to the closest shelter we could find. If we happened to be on the bus, the driver would stop and lead us to safety.
September the seventh saw the start of the Blitz on London; hundreds of people lost their homes and their lives. Most of the bombs fell on the East End, near the docks, and I was grateful that Jack’s university was on the other side of the city but I lived in daily fear for his safety.
Afshid was like a woman possessed as she rushed in and out of the bookshop, carrying news that we would rather not hear.
‘Entire streets have vanished!’ she yelled, rushing through the shop. ‘Men, women and children are buried beneath the rubble.’
‘I wish she’d stick to selling bloody carpets,’ said Maggie. ‘I could live without hearing about the blood and gore. I’m scared enough as it is.’
Bombs were dropping daily and Gertie’s school had closed. She couldn’t be left on her own, so between us we looked after her. Sometimes Mum took her to work with her and sometimes she helped Aunty Marge and Uncle John on the fruit stall, but mostly, she spent her days with me in the bookshop. Brenda was teaching her to read and she loved being amongst all the books. She looked so happy curled up in the big comfy chair with a book in her hand.
She happily made cups of tea for the War Council. ‘I used to make tea at home,’ she said proudly, ‘so I knows ’ow to do it.’
‘You’re a clever girl, Gertie,’ I said.
‘I know I am,’ she said, giving m
e a cheeky grin.
The generals loved her; everyone loved her.
‘You make the best tea in Brighton, Gertie,’ said the butcher.
‘Fanks, mate,’ she said, grinning.
‘In fact,’ said Peter. ‘We have decided to promote you to lieutenant.’
‘Bugger me!’ said Gertie, grinning.
With the beaches mined and the piers closed, people flocked to the town’s cinemas. We were lucky in Brighton; the town had loads of picture houses. There was the Regent, the Odeon, the Savoy, The Duke of York and that was just a few of them. I think the picture houses served as a place of refuge from the grim reality that we were all living through. Gertie loved going to the pictures and she loved spending time with Jack. We laughed at Old Mother Riley and Arthur Askey. We rode the plains with John Wayne and we cried with Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard in Brief Encounter. For those few hours we could forget about the war and the bombs. Very often, air-raid sirens went off halfway through the film. At first people ran for shelter but as time went on we grew more gung-ho and stayed in our seats, much to the anguish of the manager.
One Saturday afternoon, Maggie and I were sitting on the bench in the yard while Peter rummaged for more war books. It was late September and we were making the most of the warm day. All of a sudden, we heard Afshid screaming.
‘Ignore her,’ said Maggie, lifting her face up to the sun. ‘I can live without any more bad news.’
Then I heard her saying something about a cinema. I ran into the shop.
‘What’s happened?’ I said.
‘Oh dear God!’ she said, running her hands through her hair.
‘Tell me, Afshid,’ I said urgently.
‘They’ve bombed the cinema.’
I could feel my blood run cold.
‘Which cinema, Afshid? Which cinema has been bombed?’
‘And it’s full of children,’ she moaned.
‘Which cinema?’ I screamed.
Peter came across. ‘What’s wrong, Maureen?’ he said.
‘Brenda has taken Gertie to the matinee at the Odeon.’
