by Anna King
Barely three days into the new month, the Donnelly family, like the rest of Britain, were waiting to hear the outcome of the Prime Minister’s speech.
* * *
‘Mum, Mum! Will you stop that for a minute, please. We’re all waiting for you in the living room, it’s a quarter to eleven.’
Hetty stood in the kitchen doorway, her troubled eyes watching Aggie as the elderly woman darted back and forth from the hot stove to the table, laden with vegetables. Dropping another potato into a bowl of water, Aggie looked up sharply.
‘I know what the time is, Hetty, and I’m doing what I always do at this time on a Sunday morning, I’m getting the dinner ready. ’Cos whatever Chamberlain has to say, we’ll still be wanting our dinner at one o’clock.’
Hetty, her manner brisk now, took the knife from Aggie’s hand and laid it down between a pile of carrots and runner beans.
‘Yes, I know we’ll still be wanting our dinner, Mum,’ she said patiently. ‘But it won’t matter if it’s a little late today, now will it?’
Bristling restlessly, Aggie wiped her hand down the front of her apron saying, ‘Oh, all right. I’ll come an’ listen to the broadcast, though why we’re bothering I don’t know. It’s bleeding obvious what he’s gonna say, ain’t it?’
They were in the hall when they heard the knock on the front door. Both women looked at each other in surprise.
‘Now I wonder who that can be!’ said Hetty. ‘Stan’s already here, and we’re not expecting anyone else. Oh, look, you go and join the rest of them, I’ll see who it is.’
Hurrying towards the door, she opened it to find four of her neighbours standing awkwardly on the porch, their expressions anxious.
‘Oh, hello, Mrs Butcher, and you too, Mrs Castle,’ Hetty said, her voice showing her surprise. Behind the two women stood Bert Castle and Reg Watson from number seven. Bewildered by the arrival of her neighbours, Hetty asked, ‘Is there something I can do for you?’
The small group shuffled uncomfortably before Rene Castle, a small chirpy woman wearing a floral pinafore and a green turban, under which peeped steel curlers, stepped forward and said hesitantly, ‘Look, Mrs Donnelly, I know we’ve got a cheek. But the thing is, our wirelesses ’ave gorn on the blink, an’ we was wondering if we could listen to yours.’
Gathering courage from Hetty’s kind expression, Jeannie Butcher, a brash blonde who lived at number four, joined in her friend’s request. ‘We don’t ’ave to come in, like. I mean, yer don’t want us all trooping through yer nice ’ouse. But if yer could turn the wireless up an’ open the window, we could all hear from out here, like.’
Hetty’s eyes swiftly scanned the anxious faces of her neighbours, neighbours she had barely spoken to over the years except when meeting in the street or at the corner shop. And though their conversations had always been brief, they had also been cordial. Now they were asking a favour of her, and judging by the looks on their faces, it wasn’t something they had undertaken lightly. Quickly making up her mind, she said stoutly, ‘Don’t be silly. Come in, come in, all of you. There’s plenty of room in our sitting room.’
‘Oh, no, Mrs Donnelly, we don’t want to put you to any trouble,’ Rene Castle protested, her foot already over the doorstep.
‘Nonsense,’ declared Hetty firmly. Opening the door wide, she gestured the small group into her home.
Murmuring their thanks, the neighbours slowly filed past Hetty, down the wide hallway. And Hetty was amused to note that although her neighbours were genuinely anxious to hear Chamberlain’s speech, they weren’t going to let an opportunity to see what the Donnelly home looked like from inside pass by unnoticed.
And look they did. They were only in the hallway for a matter of seconds, but it was long enough for the neighbours to take in the long, wide staircase leading up to the first-floor landing, off which could be seen four stout wooden doors with brass handles; these obviously led to the bedrooms. The landing then branched off in both directions, with whatever rooms they contained not visible from the downstairs hallway. Then there was another smaller, narrower staircase on the right side of the landing, leading up to the attic rooms. Both staircases were carpeted, as was the landing and hallway, in a faded blue-and-gold carpet.
‘Coo, it’s like a palace,’ breathed Jeannie Butcher, unable to disguise her admiration of the surroundings.
Hetty gave a short, pleasant laugh. ‘Hardly a palace, Mrs Butcher. The carpets have been here since my father-in-law first moved in, and they’ll be here for another good few years yet. The same can be said for most of the furniture, but thank you for the compliment, it’s very nice of you to say so.’
Rene Castle, her eyes seeming to be everywhere, asked, ‘How many rooms are there, if yer don’t mind me asking?’
Conscious of the time, but not wishing to appear brusque, Hetty answered, ‘Eleven in all. That’s the parlour to your right.’ She indicated one of the closed doors. ‘And the room next to it is the downstairs toilet, the bathroom has another one – well, you need two with all of us!’ Her voice trailed off lamely as she realised her gaff. Here she was wittering on about having two toilets in the house, when, as far as she knew, every other residence in the street had only one toilet, and that was out in the backyard.
Speaking more quickly now, she walked as she talked, adding, ‘We use this side of the house more.’ She tapped the first door on the left as they passed, saying, ‘This room is the one we call the library, nothing as grand as that, of course, but it’s somewhere to sit and read in peace when the fancy takes us. The kitchen is my favourite room. It was originally two rooms, but my late mother-in-law wanted a big kitchen, so it was knocked into one large room at the back of the house. There are four bedrooms on the first floor, and, as I’ve already said, the bathroom, though you can’t see that from the hallway. My brother-in-law has the attic rooms to himself, and this is the main room where all the family congregates.’
She stopped outside the sitting room, slightly out of breath after the lightning, impromptu tour. Pushing the door wide, she announced gaily, ‘We’ve got some company. Some of our neighbours don’t have access to a wireless, so I’ve asked them in to join us to hear what Chamberlain has to say.’
Sam immediately jumped to his feet, a beaming smile of welcome on his broad face.
‘Come in, come in, all of you,’ he said cheerfully. ‘There’s plenty of room. Now then, let’s get some seating arrangements sorted.’ Turning to the two other men in the room, he said jovially, ‘Danny, you and Stan get the settee and armchairs in from the parlour, while me and the girls move the furniture around in here to make room.’
As he spoke, Sam was already moving his favourite armchair to one side, his amused eyes catching the look that passed between his female neighbours, which clearly said, Two three-piece suites – swanky beggers. Aggie and Vi, who were sitting either end of the sofa, exchanged a look of annoyance at the arrival of the unexpected guests, causing Grace, who was perched on the arm of the sofa to nudge her nan’s arm, while at the same time sending a warning glance at Vi. Then she turned to the visitors and smiled a welcome.
‘Hello. I’m glad you could join us. The more the merrier, eh, Dad?’ She grinned at Sam as she went to help him move the armchair Stan had just vacated.
Standing awkwardly in the centre of the room, the group presented an uncomfortable atmosphere. Then Stanley and Danny reappeared with the settee, and suddenly everyone was busy rearranging the furniture, relieved to have something to do.
‘There we are, that didn’t take long, did it?’ Sam gestured towards the settee the men had brought in from the parlour. ‘Would you like to sit here, Mrs Butcher, and you too, Mrs Castle. Make yourselves at home.’
Both women took up the offer gratefully, immediately feeling more at ease now they were sitting down. The two men who accompanied them stood bunched together until the spare armchairs were brought in, whereupon they too sat down, much relieved they were no longer so conspicuous.
Then, on the wireless, Big Ben struck eleven. Everyone in the room tensed, then relaxed as the smooth voice of the announcer informed the listening public that the Prime Minister’s speech would be delayed for fifteen minutes.
‘Maybe there’s been some fresh developments.’ Sam, his gaze taking in his family and neighbours, nodded hopefully.
Aggie snorted. ‘I wouldn’t bank on it, lad. That blasted Hitler ain’t gonna give in that easily. He’s itching for a fight, that one, not that he’ll get his own hands duty. Oh, no! He’ll just sit back somewhere safe and give his orders, just like the last lot did.’ Suddenly unbending, she nodded towards the man sitting nearest and said gruffly, ‘You was in the last lot, weren’t you, Mr Watson?’
Reg Watson jumped nervously at finding himself singled out, then, his confidence returning, he stuck out his chin proudly and answered, ‘Yeah, I was, Mrs Harper. The First Regiment along with me mates from me old street. Copped a bellyful of shrapnel an’ all. Though I was luckier than me mates. All killed they was, I was the only one in me street to get back alive.’ Aware he had become the centre of attention, the man shifted his buttocks on the soft cushions, twisted his flat cap nervously, then, his face setting into grim lines, he added stoutly, ‘I never thought I’d live to see another war. Not after the last lot. You’d ’ave thought they’d ’ave learnt their lesson, wouldn’t you? But nah! There’ll always be some clever bugger who thinks he can be cock of the walk… Begging your pardon, missus.’ He inclined his head at Hetty.
‘Gracious, don’t apologise, Mr Watson. If anyone has the right to voice an opinion, you have.’ Twisting round on her chair, Hetty looked over at Grace and said cheerfully, ‘Seeing as we’ve another fifteen minutes to wait, we might as well make some tea and sandwiches. Give me a hand, would you, Grace?’
As Hetty left the room she turned to Reg Watson and, inclining her head at Sam, said, ‘My husband and late father and father-in-law also fought in the last war and—’
Reg Watson looked at Sam in surprise. ‘You was in the last lot, sir? Why, you don’t look old enough.’
Sam shuffled uncomfortably, uttering a short self-deprecating laugh. ‘Huh, I certainly feel it some days. And I was only eighteen when I joined up, and back home again at twenty with trench foot. I was lucky though, I didn’t lose any of my toes, unlike some.’ Turning in his chair, Sam brought the other man into the conversation by asking, ‘I suppose you were too young for the last lot, Mr Butcher?’
Tom Butcher, a pleasant-looking man in his early thirties smiled grimly. ‘Yeah, I was, thank Gawd. But I don’t think I’m gonna be as lucky this time. Still… it’ll get me off the dole, so I suppose some good might come of it.’
Grace felt herself stiffen and glanced apprehensively at her grandmother, but Aggie was keeping her counsel this time. Even she had come to realise and accept the inevitable by now.
Tom Butcher then looked over at the quiet man sitting opposite him, looking slightly out of place in his army uniform, and asked cheerfully, ‘So what’s it like in the army, mate? Recommend it, would yer?’
Stanley sat forward with a jerking movement and, flexing his fingers in the familiar way he had when excited or agitated, answered, ‘Yeah, it’s not bad. There’s plenty to do, an’, like you just said, it’s better than being on the dole. Though what’ll be like if there’s a war is something else. Still, we’ll just have to wait an’ see, eh?’
When Hetty and Grace reappeared carrying a tray of tea and hastily prepared sandwiches and the remains of last evening’s currant cake, the atmosphere lightened considerably.
Feeling more at ease, Rene Castle, accepting a cup of tea but refusing anything to eat, patted a small bulge in the pocket of her pinafore and asked hesitantly, ‘D’yer mind if I ’ave a fag, Mrs Donnelly? Only me nerves are all of a twitter.’
‘Yes, oh, yes, of course, Mrs Castle. You go right ahead – and anyone else who wants to smoke,’ Hetty answered, whereupon the men, including Stanley, gratefully took out their cigarettes and lit up. Stanley had the only ashtray available, and Hetty, looking round for a receptacle to serve as an additional ashtray and finding none close at hand, handed a saucer to her neighbour, at which the horrified woman protested, ‘Oh, no, that’s one of yer good bits of crockery. I can’t flick me ash in that…’
‘Shush everyone, it’s starting.’ Sam spoke sharply as the BBC announced the Prime Minister was about to speak. Silence enveloped the room as all trained their attention on the wireless. Outside in the street not a sound could be heard. All of Britain was listening to their leader’s words – and all were stiff with fearful anticipation.
Then Chamberlain spoke, his familiar voice sounding so weary and dispirited that before he had uttered his first sentence, those listening were filled with foreboding. Their fears were soon founded.
‘I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at 10 Downing Street. This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note, stating that unless we heard from them by eleven o’clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you that no such undertaking has been received and that consequently this country is at war with Germany…’
A startled cry of pure terror from Polly cut the air, and for a few moments the people in the room were distracted as they tried to calm the terrified girl. Her face set firm, Aggie pulled the quivering body of her youngest granddaughter on to her lap and held her fast, while straining to hear the rest of the Prime Minister’s speech above Polly’s heartrending sobs.
‘…bitter blow it is to me that all my long struggle to win peace has failed. Yet I cannot believe that there is anything more or anything different that I could have done…’
A harsh laugh of derision came from Reg Watson’s dry lips.
‘Well, he’s got that right, ain’t he? He done everything but crawl on his ’ands and knees ter Hitler, for all the good it’s done ’im… Huh!’
The bitterness in the elderly man’s voice struck a chord among those present, for it was true that Chamberlain had lost the respect of many people by his compromising and mealy-mouthed attitude towards the German leader, who seemed hell-bent on conquering the entire Western world with his newly formed Nazi Party. Yet even in their scorn of Chamberlain, the British people had hoped fervently his tactics would work. Well, they hadn’t. So much for the soft approach!
Sam, his eyes filled with empathy for the older man’s rage, lifted his hand for silence so that they could hear the rest of the Prime Minister’s speech.
‘Now may God bless you all. May He defend the right. It is an evil thing that we shall be fighting against. Brute force, bad faith, injustice and oppression, and persecution, and against them I am certain that the right shall prevail.’
All those present in the room had fallen silent, yet in that brief space of time the initial onslaught of fear was slowly being replaced with defiance, and when the broadcast ended and Hetty murmured absently, ‘Well, we’d best drink our tea before it gets cold,’ Aggie roared, ‘Stuff the bloody tea, girl, and get out the brandy!’
Her words caused the sobbing girl in her arms to cry louder and, gently, Aggie pulled the shaking form closer to her stout body, murmuring words of comfort.
Apart from Polly, the adults seemed to have taken the news in their stride, for deep down they had known war was imminent. Hadn’t they been preparing for such an event for the past year?
The atmosphere was beginning to appear almost convivial as everyone gratefully accepted the offered brandy. And when Rene, another cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth, said gruffly, ‘Well, war or no bleeding war, me old man’ll still be expecting ’is dinner on the table when ’e finishes ’is night shift…’, they all felt themselves relaxing at the normality of the stoic woman’s attitude.
It had been barely fifteen minutes since the Prime Minister had finished relaying his doomladen message when the unearthly sinister air-ra
id siren began to wail and everyone jumped for their lives.
‘Oh, me Gawd. The buggers are gonna bomb us!’ Rene Castle shrieked wildly. ‘I’ve gotta find me gas mask. Gawd knows where it is now… Thank Gawd me kids are safe…’
There was pandemonium in the room. Poor Polly continued to scream with terror, expecting a bomb to drop on their heads at any moment.
‘Settle down, settle down.’ Sam shouted to be heard over the mêlée. ‘All of you, get yourselves down to the basement. We’ll be safe enough there, I reckon. Come on, everyone, get a move on.’ His tone was that of a teacher restoring order among unruly children, and it worked. With startling efficiency the small party scrambled down into the basement of No.l Lester Road, and waited for the bombs to fall. And when the all-clear sounded without a bomb in sight, the occupants of the basement scrambled shamefaced from their temporary shelter, embarrassed now at the fuss they had made earlier.
On Aggie’s insistence, the neighbours stayed to finish their impromptu lunch, aided by a further measure of brandy. A goodly drop was added to the weeping Polly’s cup of tea, and within minutes the exhausted girl was curled up in the corner of the settee, mercifully dead to the world for a couple of hours.
Once the neighbours had left, effusive in their thanks for the hospitality they had received, Aggie returned to the kitchen, carrying on where she’d left off as if nothing had happened. As did Hetty, who disappeared upstairs to finish her weekly dusting and polishing of the bedrooms, giving Sam and Danny the opportunity to slip down the pub for their Sunday lunchtime drink.
Everything appeared to be so normal that Grace, left to tidy up after the unexpected visitors, looked over to where Stanley was sitting silently by the fireplace and said in wonder, ‘It’s like nothing’s happened, isn’t it, Stan? I mean… well, I don’t know what I expected to happen after the news, but I didn’t expect everything to carry on as usual…’ Her voice broke suddenly, and tears began to fill her eyes.
