Fur Coat, No Knickers

by Anna King

  Her face white, Hetty quickly got to her feet.

  ‘Don’t say I told you so, Sam Donnelly, or I’ll bash you one… Oh, Sam… the girls. Sam, our girls!’

  A sudden deafening roar drowned out her words as the cinema took a direct hit, obliterating everything. And everyone in it.

  * * *

  Aggie sat on a lumpy mattress in the basement, her face streaked with tears, her thick fingers pulling and wrenching at each other in her agitation. With her were some of her neighbours and their children, the noise of the latter nearly drowning out the crumping sound of the falling bombs nearby.

  Sam had turned the basement into a shelter at the outbreak of war. He had deemed the basement, built well below ground level, to be safer than the customary Anderson shelters, and had extended the use of it to his neighbours if the need ever arose.

  Well, the need had arisen, and at the first sighting of the enemy aircraft, Jeannie Butcher and Rene Castle, together with their combined seven children, had hammered on Aggie’s door pleading to be allowed in. Reg Watson, now an ARP warden, had seen them all safely settled in the basement before dashing off to attend to his duties.

  Leaving their children, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the excitement, except for Rene’s eldest daughter, Linda, who looked scared to death, Rene and Jeannie came and sat either side of the trembling, distraught Aggie.

  ‘Come on, Aggie, old girl,’ Rene cajoled earnestly. ‘They’ll be all right, won’t they, Jeannie?’ She looked to her friend for support.

  ‘Course they will,’ Jeannie responded heartily. ‘Probably all tucked up in a shelter somewhere, worrying about you, ain’t that right, Rene?’

  The onus of conversation back on her shoulders, Rene shrugged, not knowing what else she could say. Flicking her eyes over her children, her glance rested on Linda, a surge of relief sweeping her body. If her sixteen-year-old daughter hadn’t come home an hour after her nine-o’clock curfew last night, then Rene wouldn’t have forbidden her to leave the house for two days, and she would now be out there in the thick if it somewhere. And judging by the frightened face of her Linda, she too had come to the same conclusion.

  The smaller children were running around the basement, screaming and shouting as they played at being soldiers, pretending to be shot, then jumping up again, and Rene, grateful of the diversion, let out a bellow of rage, ‘Keep the bleeding noise down, yer little buggers, or I’ll land yer all a good clout round the head.’

  ‘That goes for you lot an’ all,’ Jeannie warned her three boys.

  Aggie, sandwiched between the two women, continued to tremble, her mind forming the same words over and over again: Please God, let my family be all right… Please God! Let them be safe somewhere.

  Chapter Nine

  When the all-clear siren sounded – after what seemed to be an eternity – Grace and Polly emerged, dirty and dishevelled, from the shelter. After the darkness of the jam-packed subterranean shelter, their eyes squinted against the glare of the early-evening sun. Their legs were cramped from crouching in a sitting position for such a long period, and many of their companions stumbled, as they too scrambled from the leaden tomb. The young boy was still holding tight to Grace’s neck, as if his very life depended on it, his plump face streaked with dirt-channelled tears.

  Grace looked around warily, half expecting to confront a scene of total annihilation, and was relieved to see only a few smouldering craters amidst the parkland and an equally small number of fires scattered, seemingly haphazardly, above the chimneys of the rows of terraced houses on the opposite side of the park.

  ‘Blooming hell! I expected the whole park to be gone, the amount of noise that was going on… Are you all right, Poll?’

  Polly, her eyes wide, her face startling white against the grime that layered her freckled skin, remained silent. Only her fingers seemed to have any life, as they fiercely gripped the arm that held the child so protectively.

  Grace winced as Polly’s nails dug into her exposed flesh, but no sound escaped her lips. Instead she hoisted the child on to her hip, making soothing noises to placate the bewildered young boy, while every instinct in the body urged her to run towards home. The desire to be with the rest of her family was tearing at every fibre of her being, but outwardly she remained calm, knowing that if she were to show the slightest sign of fear, her sister, as well as the child, would collapse into hysteria. It was only her stoic demeanour that was holding them together.

  All around people were making their way home, or looking for friends and family from whom they had been separated during the frightening and unexpected attack from the skies. It still seemed unreal, like a bad dream, one from which you could urge yourself to awake. But this was no dream, and Grace was terrified – not for herself now, but for what she might find when she and Polly arrived home.

  Suddenly the small body jerked in Grace’s arms, one grubby finger pointing to a spot nearby, his face lit up with excited relief as he sobbed, ‘Shoe, Mummy’s shoe. C’mon, lady, let’s go and get my mummy’s shoe. She’ll be looking for it.’

  Grace’s eyes followed the pointed finger, her body slumping with relief at the thought of relinquishing her burden. Then her heart skipped a beat. There, lying on its side only a few yards away on the gravel path, among the newly formed debris thrown up from the park, lay a solitary red shoe.

  And it was this pathetic object that finally brought home the true tragedy of the day.

  Turning away swiftly, Grace looked around for some form of authority, needing desperately for someone to tell her what to do with the child. Two ARP wardens were busy dispersing the crowd with good-humoured banter, despite their own desperate need to return to their own homes and families.

  ‘C’mon, you lot. Ain’t yer got no homes ter go to?’

  Someone in the crowd called back, ‘I bleeding well hope so, mate. It was there when I left it a couple of hours ago.’

  The warden grinned tiredly. ‘Just get yerselves off ter yer own shelters in case the buggers come back. Come along, people. Look lively.’

  The man’s words had a startling effect on the silent Polly. Her eyes nearly popping out of her head, she dug her nails deeper into Grace’s arm, crying hysterically. ‘Did you hear that, Grace? He said they might come back. We’ll be killed… We’ll all be killed!’

  Feeling like screaming herself, but unable to indulge in the luxury of relieving her pent-up emotions, Grace thrust her sister away impatiently, her fear bringing a harsh, jarring note into her voice.

  ‘Pull yourself together, Polly, for heaven’s sake! The poor little sod’s frightened enough without you screeching in his ear.’

  Polly reared back, her face stricken, her head drooping in shame, while her feet shuffled anxiously on the rubble-strewn ground.

  Shifting the weight of the child once more, Grace turned his face into her shoulder, at the same time jerking her head at Polly.

  ‘Look! Over there, Poll. It’s his mum’s shoe. Well… I assume it must be. Shoes like that aren’t exactly common, are they?’ She had dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Goodness knows where the poor woman’s got to. She wasn’t in the shelter – at least, not the one we were in… Oh, there, there! Don’t cry, sweetheart, don’t cry. It’ll be all right…’

  Still stung by Grace’s harsh words, Polly had momentarily put aside her own fear, and when her gaze travelled over the ground and came to rest on the discarded shoe, her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Ooh, Grace. Oh, the poor woman. She must have—’

  ‘Sshh, keep your voice down, he’ll hear you… Oh, for goodness’ sake, there must be someone around who can help. Oh! Excuse me. Could you help us, please?’

  Grace had grabbed at a passing warden. Quickly explaining the presence of the child and the ominous significance of the shoe, Grace waited hopefully for the uniformed man to advise her while the child continued to thrash around in her grasp, calling out piteously, ‘Mummy! Mummy’s shoe, Mummy’s shoe. Me go a
nd get Mummy’s shoe and find my mummy.’

  ‘’Ere, give him ter me, love. I’ll take him ter the church hall over the road. The Red Cross ’ave set up a temporary infirmary there. Maybe his mum’ll be there. An’ if she ain’t… Well, I’m sure they’ll take care of him, poor little sod.’

  Now that she was about to be relieved of her burden, Grace found herself tom between her urgency to get home and being loath to relinquish the small body that clung so trustingly to her neck. Then the situation was taken out of her hands. With great tenderness, the elderly warden took the child with practised ease, his kindly weathered face bent close to the quivering tear-streaked face of the young boy.

  ‘C’mon, me brave little soldier. You come with old Charlie, an’ we’ll see if we can find yer mum, eh?’

  At the mention of his mother, the little boy’s grimy face lit up in delight. Quickly transferring his allegiance to the kindly stranger, he looked at Grace, crying gleefully, ‘Bye, bye, lady. I’m gonna find me mum.’ Then, shyly, he leant forward and placed a wet, sticky kiss on Grace’s cheek.

  The touching gesture was almost the undoing of Grace, but she gamely swallowed hard, gave the boy a final hug, then waved him goodbye. Then the warden was gone, carrying the child in the direction of the nearby church.

  ‘Come on, Grace. I want to get home and make sure everyone’s all right.’ Polly was tugging at Grace’s arm, and this time Grace needed no more urging.

  The short journey home was like travelling through a foreign country. Familiar streets, streets they had passed through only a few hours earlier, now appeared alien. Windows had been blown out of houses and flats, the pavements and roads littered with shattered glass, bearing testament to the disaster that had befallen the tough East Enders. Isolated pockets of smoke hung in the air, but, as far as Grace could tell, there were no major fires to be seen. The streets were teeming with people examining the damage to their homes, all stunned and angry, but nowhere was there any sign of panic. And this realisation alone brought a light quickness to Grace’s step.

  ‘Well, if this is the best Hitler can do, then we’ve nothing much to worry about, eh, Poll?’ Grace turned to her sister as they picked their way over a small pile of rubble in the road. ‘I was expecting it to be much worse than this… Oh, look, Poll, it’s Vi… Here, Vi. Vi, over here!’ Grace waved furiously as her sister came into view. ‘Blooming hell, Vi, you look terrible. Mind you, I don’t suppose we look much better.’ Grace gave a shaky laugh, and was amazed that she could even smile, let alone laugh. Maybe she was gathering courage from the apparent calm of the people milling around the street.

  Linking her free arm through Vi’s, Grace kept up a steady stream of nervous chatter to mask the eerie silence of her sisters, who where walking either side of her in an apparent daze.

  ‘We were over the park when it started. Lucky there were shelters nearby. Coo, it was horrible down there, like being buried alive… Well…’ She emitted a self-conscious cough. ‘That was an unfortunate choice of words in the circumstances, but you know what I mean. Anyway…’

  Leaning into Violet’s side, she asked shakily, ‘Where were you when it started, Vi?’

  Violet jerked away sharply, then shrugged.

  ‘With a friend,’ she answered dully, pushing a lock of dirty blond hair behind her ear. ‘He ran back into the flats to see if he could help anyone still in there and a bomb dropped on them. He’s dead of course, and that’s a shame. He wasn’t a bad sort of bloke. Still…’ She lifted her shoulders listlessly. ‘I don’t suppose I’d have seen him after today anyway. His leave was up. I only went round to say goodbye.’ A short gurgly sound came from her throat. ‘And it was definitely goodbye, as it turned out. There won’t be any love letters arriving from him, will there? And there was me hoping we could keep in touch.’

  Shocked at Vi’s story, and her seemingly heartless attitude, Grace could find no answering platitudes, nor could she summon up any false sympathy for Vi’s friend, whom she had never met. And never would now by the sound of it. Oh, Lord! What was she thinking? Violet had witnessed the death of a friend in the most horrible circumstances imaginable. It didn’t seem possible, yet Vi had spoken of it as if describing an accident involving a pet dog. Grace stared into her sister’s face, still beautiful in spite of the grime and dirt from the polluted air, and thought quickly, She’s in shock. We’re all in shock. How could we be otherwise on such a day as this. Oh! Let’s get home. Let’s get back to normality.

  They entered the street by the corner-shop end, and had hardly stepped foot in the road when a shrill scream of delight split the air. Aggie was storming towards them, her fat face wreathed in undisguised relief. Hurrying behind her came the neighbours, their expressions bearing testimony to the welcome sight they made.

  ‘There yer are, Aggie. What did I tell yer?’ Rene Castle yelled triumphantly. ‘I said they’d be all right, didn’t I… Well, didn’t I?’

  Aggie made no answer. She was too busy gathering her granddaughters to her heaving bosom.

  ‘Oh, me angels, me angels. I’ve been half outta me mind with worry. Where’ve yer been? Oh, what does that matter, you’re here now, that’s the main thing… Here! Where you sliding off to, madam?’

  When Aggie had descended on them, Violet had instinctively moved to one side, thinking her grandmother would be concerned only with Grace’s and Polly’s welfare. It had been a long time since Vi had been held in her nan’s arms, and even in such an emotional moment as this, she felt unsure of her welcome. But if her body was refusing Aggie’s comforting arms, her mind had different ideas. Vi felt hot tears spring to her eyes and dashed them away self-consciously, but not before Aggie had spotted them. Aggie recognised the struggle raging within Violet, and her throat swelled with raw emotion; for what she was witnessing was a reflection of her own blasted stubbornness and pride. Gently freeing Grace and Polly from her embrace, Aggie looked hard into the tear-filled, defiant face and cried loudly, ‘C’mere, yer silly cow!’

  At the strident voice Vi deflated like a balloon, and when she found herself enveloped in the familiar fleshy, sweaty arms of her grandmother, she broke down completely.

  ‘Oh, Nan, it was horrible, horrible. I was so… so scared.’

  ‘There, there. Now come on. We was all scared, love. Nothing to be ashamed of in admitting that. I nearly shit a brick meself when I saw all them planes flying overhead, an’ when the bombs started ter drop, I nearly dropped one meself… Still! We’re all safe now, that’s the main thing. And as soon as yer mum and dad get home, we’ll have a real celebration.’

  All the girls’ heads came up in unison.

  ‘Wh—what do you mean, Nan?’ Grace was the first to find her voice. ‘I thought they were indoors.’ Yet even as she spoke, Grace knew that if her parents had been home, they would have been the first ones flying down the street to meet them. Her stomach listed sharply. ‘Where are they, Nan? Have they been home yet?’

  Ushering her granddaughters ahead of her like a mother hen, Aggie made reassuring noises.

  ‘Now don’t start me off again, for Gawd’s sake. They’ll be home soon. We’d’ve heard if anything had happened to them. They’re well known around these parts. They’re most likely helping out somewhere, ’cos you know yer mum and dad. They wouldn’t be able to walk by if someone needed help. An’ there’s likely many a poor bugger needing a helping hand today. Now c’mon an’ let’s get indoors. We’ll probably meet them on the way, you’ll see. They’ll be coming round the corner any minute now, with yer dad yelling his head off for a cuppa and as mad as hell into the bargain. You wait an’ see…’

  * * *

  An hour later there was still no sign of Sam or Hetty, and the tension was becoming unbearable for those waiting for them to return.

  Pacing up and down the spacious kitchen Grace pleaded for the umpteenth time, ‘Look, Nan, let me go and look for them. I won’t go far, I promise. Just to the top of Well Street and back. It won’t take m
e ten minutes and—’

  ‘No!’ Aggie shouted, the fear inside her growing by the second. If she hadn’t the girls to think of she’d be out there herself looking for her daughter and son-in-law. But she did have the girls to consider, and not for anything was she going to let them out of her sight again today.

  A sudden loud knocking at the front door brought them all to their feet in a huddle in the middle of the room.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Grace shouted as she ran down the passageway.

  Reg Watson, dressed in his ARP uniform stood on the doorstep, his lined face etched with tiredness.

  ‘Hello, Gracie, love. Can I come in a minute?’

  Standing to one side Grace gabbled,’ Yes… Yes, of course you can, Mr Watson.’

  ‘Who is it? Oh, it’s you, Reg. Come in, come in.’ Aggie ushered the man into the hall, but not before casting a quick look over his shoulder into the street, praying for some sign of Hetty and Sam. Her spirits fell as the familiar loved ones failed to materialise.

  Leading the way back to the kitchen, Aggie placed a steaming mug of tea in front of the weary man.

  ‘Here, get that down yer, Reg. It’s as weak as piss water, an’ there’s no sugar, but it’s better than nothing.’

  Reg Watson gratefully took a gulp of the hot liquid.

  ‘Thanks, Aggie, ta, I needed that.’

  ‘Would yer like a drop of something in it, Reg?’ Aggie asked solicitously.

  Reg shook his head regretfully.

  ‘No, thanks, Aggie, I’m still on duty. As a matter of fact, that’s the reason I’m ’ere.’ He took another long slurp of his tea. ‘I’ve just come ter make sure you’ve registered your cellar as a shelter. I did tell Sam he had ter register it last year, but I don’t know if he did or not. D’yer know anything about it, Aggie?’ He shot a questioning look at the elderly woman.

  With more important things on her mind, Aggie bristled impatiently, wondering why the man was bothering her with such a trivial thing.