by AJ Pearce
*
It was a quiet day on the phones and Captain Davies let us take it in turns to get some rest during the afternoon, but I was anxious to leave on time and relieved when Mary arrived for the evening shift, followed by the B Watch boys who were full of jokes and colourful warnings to me about Not Wearing Roy Out.
Six months ago they would have made me blush, but I was used to them now and let them go on for a bit before asking if they wanted me to forget about putting the kettle on or not. Everyone was on good form and I didn’t notice until gone six o’clock that there was no sign of Joan, or more concerning, Vera and her friend Mo, who had swapped with Thelma so she and Vera could be on the same shift. Captain Davies emerged from his office, did a quick scan of the room and frowned.
‘Mrs North is ill,’ he said, referring to Joan. ‘I’ve only just heard. Where are the others?’
It was poor to miss a shift, but unforgivable if you didn’t give the station a chance to find a replacement, so Joan must have been in a grim way.
‘Would you like me to make some calls to find someone to cover for Joan, sir?’ I asked.
‘I certainly would, Miss Lake,’ answered the captain, sounding no happier. ‘Straight away, please. It’s going to be a clear night and busy with it.’
‘Would you like me to make some calls to the other girls, sir?’
‘I certainly would, Miss Lake,’ answered the captain, sounding no happier. ‘Straight away, and if you’ve no joy, I’ll have to send a dispatch rider out to them. It’s going to be a clear night tonight and busy with it.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I said and went over to the noticeboard and unpinned the list of numbers for people who had telephones at home or nearby. I started with Jocelyn Derrick, who was a good sort and might be able to come.
Just as I was dialling the number, Vera’s friend Mo breezed into the room, stopping abruptly when she saw Captain Davies standing by her empty chair with his arms folded.
‘I’m so sorry, Captain, the buses kept playing me up,’ she cooed.
The buses tended to play Mo up on a very nearly permanent basis, at least as far as getting to the station was concerned.
‘I see,’ said Captain Davies with a distinct lack of emotion. ‘And are we to assume Miss Woods is experiencing a similar challenge?’
‘Oh no, sir,’ said Mo who did amateur dramatics. ‘I’m afraid Vera might be a little bit late. She’s Not Been Well,’ she added, dropping her voice to show the gravity of the illness.
‘Good of you to let me know,’ said Captain Davies drily.
‘I could call her mother,’ said Mo in a small voice.
‘I should,’ said the captain and with one last glare at us all, he walked into his office.
There was no answer from Jocelyn. I rang the next number on the list while eavesdropping on Mo.
‘For goodness’ sake, Vere, he’s in a right mood,’ she said in a whisper. Her face clouded over. ‘Oh, suit yourself,’ she added and put the receiver down with a loud tut.
‘She’s going to do her very best to get here as soon as she can,’ Mo announced, and with the greatest of dignity, huffed away to give Captain Davies the news.
I couldn’t leave with just two girls on the phones. There was nothing to do but keep trying to find a replacement for the absent Joan. I called Bunty and told her the news.
‘Oh dear, no. But never mind,’ she said, being a trooper and almost managing to disguise the disappointment in her voice. ‘I’ll put your things in a bag, then if it gets hairy time-wise, Roy can bring them over and you can both come on from there.’
‘I’ll be there, Bunty,’ I promised. ‘You know I wouldn’t miss this for the world.’
‘Don’t worry, Em,’ said Bunty. ‘Now, I’d better go. I’m still in curlers and look a sight. I’ll see you later and if a raid starts, don’t do anything madcap, will you?’
‘I won’t,’ I said, planning to ignore her if required. I looked at the clock and picked up the phone to try Jocelyn again.
This time I was lucky. Although she had just got in, the good-natured girl said she would come as soon as she could. It was super news. I just needed Vera to get a wiggle on and then I would be free.
But Vera didn’t get a wiggle on. In fact I was fairly sure Vera wasn’t worried about hurrying in the least.
At a quarter to eight, she still hadn’t arrived. Jocelyn had arrived in a rush, and moments later, following a mighty cheer from the boys downstairs, in came my date for the evening.
‘Ladies,’ said Roy. ‘I have a fashion delivery for Miss Lake.’ He waved the holdall that Bunty had packed with my things.
‘I say,’ said Mary as we all stared.
Roy gave a short bow to acknowledge the attention. He looked smashing. His uniform had been carefully steamed and pressed, its buttons under orders to make an even bigger effort than usual to shine and it looked as if he had scrubbed his face half to death with a Brillo pad to ensure he was top notch. Brylcreemed to within an inch of his life, he had a real sparkle about him.
Jocelyn let out a loud wolf-whistle, suggesting she wasn’t a stranger to its use. ‘Doesn’t he scrub up?’ she grinned.
‘He certainly does,’ I said as he handed me the bag. ‘Thanks ever so much, Roy. You look very handsome.’
I was touched he had made such an effort, even though I was sure it was more for William and the brigade than for me. A lot of the men there tonight would be in military uniform and I knew he wasn’t going to let the Fire Service down.
‘Hurry up, Cinders,’ said Roy, who made an unlikely Fairy Godmother. ‘Glad rags on and we can get off.’
I smiled my thanks and rushed to the Ladies. As fast as I could, I wriggled out of my uniform. My hair was rather dreadful, but Bunty had sent along some grips and a diamanté hair slide so I was able to pin it back and make not too bad a fist of the thing.
A brief check in the little mirror above the sink said I would hardly turn heads, but hopefully I wasn’t too bad. After a quick teeth brush, I swapped my thick work stockings for a precious Going Out pair, anxious not to put my fingers through them in the rush, and then I threw my best dress on over my head. Evening shoes buckled with fingers trembling under pressure, a dab of lipstick I could improve when we got there, and I was ready. I had taken all of three minutes.
‘Blimey, girls, who’s this?’ said Roy as I walked back into the control room, which was ever so kind and Mary and Jocelyn joined in with some oohs.
I was quite out of place standing by my seat in a full-length evening gown and dancing shoes, especially with all the girls in their uniforms, but I felt a buzz of excitement all the same. In a disloyal fashion I wished it was Charles standing there as I bet he’d look the bees’ knees in black tie or dress uniform, but I was honoured to be accompanied by Roy. Now I just wanted to get into town, clear the air with William, and have a jolly time of it all celebrating with my best friend and the boys.
And then the sirens began. My heart did a nosedive.
‘Don’t you worry,’ said Jocelyn, indefatigable to the last. ‘We’ll be OK. Vera should be here in ten minutes. We can manage until then, can’t we, girls?’
I didn’t trust Vera as far as I could throw her. With a raid on I wasn’t leaving until she arrived.
‘I don’t mind,’ I said. ‘We’ll wait until Vera gets here. Roy, is that all right with you?’
Roy agreed and said he’d go and check if there was anything he could do to help the lads in the meantime.
Within minutes we could hear the drone of enemy planes. Putting my tin hat on over my hair and the fancy slide, it was business as usual as a call came in about a High Explosive which had made quite a mess. The gunfire had started right over us too.
Vera Woods finally wandered into work at twenty-five past nine and despite declaring that she probably had pleurisy, a healthier type you couldn’t have seen. She was three and a half hours late.
I jumped up from my chair and grabbed my overcoat a
s Captain Davies appeared with a face like thunder.
‘Miss Lake, find Fireman Hodges and leave. Miss Woods: I would like to see you in my office. NOW.’
It took some effort not to throw Vera a look, but there was no time for silliness. Roy was ready to go, and with a hurried goodbye to the girls, we raced from the station and out into the darkness of the street. With the planes and gunfire rumbling overhead, we were heading out into what had turned into a very nasty raid.
To the east, the sky was already turning pink. Later, it would go orange and red as the fires took hold, but for now the moon was lighting up London for the Luftwaffe and they were taking full advantage of it. Outside the station, the drone of their planes was far heavier and even more oppressive, like a monster calling to its friends. Which was pretty much exactly what it was.
I clutched my torch in one hand, and Roy’s arm with my other. It wouldn’t be easy to find a cab but as they always kept going unless things got horribly sticky in the immediate area I held out hope.
Then we saw one. Creeping along the street with a tiny shaft of light pathetically acting as its headlights.
‘TAXI!’ Roy and I shouted at the same time, both of us breaking into a run towards it and then cheering as we saw it slow down.
‘Any chance of Coventry Street, old son?’ said Roy through the wound-down window. The driver grimaced. It was slap bang in the middle of the West End.
‘Sorry, governor,’ he said. ‘It’s a right stinker tonight. I wouldn’t go into town if I were you. You’d be best off making a night of it at home.’ He winked at Roy and put the cab into gear to drive off. Roy ignored him and leant in further.
‘It would be such a favour. We’re AFS,’ he added in case the cabbie hadn’t noticed the uniform and badge. The driver rolled his eyes, but he put the handbrake on rather than run over Roy’s foot. Roy carried on talking and I couldn’t help thinking he could make a fortune selling encyclopaedias after the war.
‘You see, one of our brigade is getting married next week. This one’s Chief Bridesmaid and I’m his Best Man. I wouldn’t normally ask, but . . .’
Just as I was about to say that we could all get hit by a bomb in the time he was taking to make up his mind, the driver said he’d give it a go, nodding at us to get in. He launched into a story about his cousin who was a fireman in Limehouse where you wouldn’t believe the show when the docks took a direct hit.
As Roy joined in with some gusto, I sat back in my seat. We’d struck lucky and if that luck held, we would be with Bunty and William just after ten.
Before the War, if one was feeling swank and wanted to take a taxi, Pimlico to Piccadilly Circus was not a huge fare. But road blocks, bombed-out streets, and the blackout meant any journey might take three times as long as it should and even that could change if someone dropped a bomb on the route you’d planned. Once you were on your way there was nothing much you could do other than become wildly philosophical and hope to get there at some point. London’s cabbies were awfully resolute and if there was a fare to be had, invariably they’d give it a go even when the raids were on. Chat with any of them and you’d learn that the last few months had meant that if they didn’t, there was an awful lot of sitting around drinking tea and going home with empty pockets.
Tonight we did well, despite the horrible noise surrounding us. Bombs were going off thick and fast, great flashes lighting up the street for a second before another enormous bang took our concentration elsewhere. The jovial chat became forced and then non-existent as we crawled, queued, and jolted our way through cratered streets, taking back routes that were unrecognizable from this time last year. Every now and then we’d have to do a U-turn due to a new roadblock where a shop or an office had been blown into the street.
I hadn’t been out in anything this bad for weeks. It was on a different scale altogether from the night at the cinema with Bunty and Charles. It was far from the best idea to be heading into the West End on a night like this, but I wasn’t going to miss it for the world. I sat quietly and concentrated on not flinching at the noise.
We made progress to Hyde Park Corner, where we’d hoped to then head along Piccadilly and onto Coventry Street and the Café de Paris. But even though we were all acting as if everything was just fine, it was impossible for any of us to pretend we hadn’t heard the aching whine of bombs falling. Seconds later the whole road shook and the cab jumped almost out of its skin.
We ground to a halt just before Green Park.
‘I’m sorry, it’s getting too lively for me,’ the cabbie said to Roy. ‘I should give it a miss. Anywhere towards home you fancy instead?’
I shook my head violently, even though he hadn’t directed the question at me.
‘We’ll be all right,’ Roy said, fishing in his pocket for his wallet. ‘Thanks for getting us this far.’
I added my thank-you and, clambering out into the street, wished the driver a safe journey back.
As soon as I opened the door I could smell burning. A rumbling noise a couple of streets away backed it up. Someone had taken a hit. The noise of the guns was deafening now. They were fighting right over our heads.
‘You’ve got a plucky one there,’ I heard the driver shout at Roy, trying to make himself heard. ‘Take care of her.’
Roy laughed and thanking him, shouted back that he would. Then he gave a wave and took my arm.
‘Come on, Emmy,’ he yelled, knowing he didn’t have to ask if I was all right. ‘Once we’re there, we’ll be safe as houses.’
‘I know,’ I bellowed back. ‘The safest and gayest restaurant in town.’ I was quoting the Café de Paris advertisements that ran in the London magazines.
‘Even in the air raids. Twenty feet below the ground!’ finished Roy. But then he looked up at the sky where a vast marker flare had lit up the city. ‘Damn it,’ he said, more to himself than to me. ‘The buggers can really see what they’re doing now.’
Neither of us needed more encouragement to move on. You got used to being out during raids, but this was unnerving. Evening shoes were not the ideal footwear and I’d have given anything to be back in my brogues, but lifting the bottom of my dress up with one hand and holding fast on to Roy’s arm with the other, I broke into a jog as he lengthened his stride.
The Germans were having a fine time of it, and although we could hear the British machine-gunners going at them full blast, the horrible whine of their bombs didn’t stop. We both knew it was getting worse. At first Roy made jokes as we went past the shops. ‘Hamper for Ascot?’ he shouted as we passed Fortnum’s. ‘Two!’ I yelled back as if we were on an absolute lark, but it was hard to keep it up and by the time we were at Piccadilly Circus, the comedy routine had almost petered out. Despite my high heels, we were running at a pretty good lick.
‘Fancy a new cricket bat?’ I shouted at Roy, relieved to be nearly there as we made it to Lillywhites, its windows blacked out but advertising signs still up and announcing garments for all services and ranks.
Roy stopped. The ear-splitting whistle of a bomb falling was right over our heads. There was no point trying to cover it up with jokes. This one was terribly close.
Roy pulled me against Lillywhites’ locked doors and we held on to each other as we braced ourselves against the oncoming blast. I pushed my head into Roy’s uniform, my face pressed against one of the silver buttons he had polished and polished until it shone. We were so very near to making it to Coventry Street and the safety of the Café de Paris.
I was not ashamed to say I closed my eyes in the last seconds, but even with them tight, tight shut, I couldn’t block out the vast flash of light.
Roy flattened me into the door, using himself as a barrier without a thought for the risk, and I pulled him in even more, trying to will him out of the way of the oncoming blast.
We clung to each other. If they were going to get one of us, they would have to get us both.
And then the bombs landed, threatening to burst our eardrums with the
noise and making my insides feel as if they were being turned upside down as everything around us shook to the foundations.
But they didn’t get us. We hadn’t taken the direct hit.
I looked up. While still holding on to me for dear life, Roy had half-turned and was looking over his shoulder across Piccadilly. He now had the same expression I had seen at the station when the crews were called out for something awful, like when a hospital or a school had been bombed. Only this time, for us at least, it was worse.
I knew where he was looking. They had hit Coventry Street.
And that’s when we started to run.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Someone Shone a Torch
Even in the blackout, the sky was so bright we could see our way easily. Holding hands, we ran towards the bombs at full pelt. Roy was nearly dragging me, but I kept up, always a good runner since school and not even conscious of my high heels or silly, impractical dress. As we got nearer to the Café de Paris, we had to slow down. It became hard to get through the crowds of people that had already started gathering. Desperate to get into the club, we started to push our way through.
I kept telling myself perhaps we had been wrong. From the outside of the building you couldn’t be sure. The street was full of glass as windows in all the buildings around had been blown out, but perhaps we had overreacted and guessed it wrong. It would still be awful for other people of course, but we would know Bunty and Bill were safe.
It was wishful thinking.
I could just see the main entrance of the Café. The double doors weren’t there any more. Someone was trying to pull down what remained of the thick blackout curtains to get them out of the way. Shocked, injured, dishevelled people were stumbling out into the street, helping each other or being helped by the people outside.
