by Anna King
Readjusting her gas-mask case over the padded shoulder of her blue swagger coat, Grace carried on walking down Cheapside, her anger growing as she picked her way carefully through streets lined with fire hoses and past smouldering buildings still emitting choking black clouds of smoke. Mingled with her rage at the wanton destruction wrought by the enemy bombers was pride and admiration for her fellow countrymen. It was truly heartening to see and hear their good humour flourishing in such devastating circumstances. Some banks remained closed due to fires still unchecked nearby, but their staff were waiting patiently outside to begin work as soon as the doors reopened. Groups of firefighters, their filthy faces lined with exhaustion from their heroic efforts to combat the infernoes, were wearily rolling up the mountain of hoses to be replaced on their fire engines ready for the next onslaught. Grace’s heart went out to them all. One fireman, resting his aching body against a crumbling wall, looked up as Grace passed and emitted a soft whistle. Beneath his steel helmet was a face streaked with soot and grime, and eyes almost dead from lack of sleep, but still the valiant man managed to ask, ‘Wotcher, darlin’, fancy coming out for a drink tonight?’
A surge of emotion tightened Grace’s throat. Going over to where he lay, she smiled broadly.
‘Can I bring my husband and six kids with me? They’d enjoy a night out.’
The man grinned back. ‘If you’re paying, yer can bring your whole bleeding family. But let’s make it another time, eh, love? I’m gonna rest me eyes for a bit; I was working late last night…’ Even before he finished the sentence the man’s eyes fluttered and closed, his head falling to one side as he slipped into an exhausted sleep.
Grace walked on, her fingers crossed that her building has escaped the previous night’s blitz.
Finding the narrow road to her office block impassable, Grace took yet another detour trying to avoid the spray from a hose lying unattended amid the debris. Then her heart seemed to come up into her mouth as she looked aghast at the huge, empty space where her offices had once stood. All that remained was a smoking, smouldering pile of bricks and mortar.
‘Oh, no!’ A low moan emitted from her lips. Then her attention was caught by the sound of her name being shouted frantically. Raising her head she saw Jimmy Potter, the office junior, running towards her, his face lit up with excitement.
‘Cor blimey, what a palaver. I couldn’t believe me eyes when I got here. It’s like those newsreels you see at the pictures, ain’t it? I mean, I’ve seen plenty of bombed houses and shops since it all started, but never nothing as bad as this. Looks like Hitler meant to wipe out the whole city, don’t it?’
Bemused, Grace could only continue to shake her head in a daze.
‘Old man Laughton’s here, an’ the other guv’nors from the rest of the building… Huh! I mean what used to be the building. There’s a couple of girls from the typing pool here an’ all. C’mon, Grace, come over with the rest of us and find out what’s gonna happen – I mean about our jobs. Looks like we’re outta work, Grace. It don’t bother me much, ‘cos I’m gonna join up. Me mum’s been trying to stop me, but I reckon she’ll be all right about it now I’ve lost me job. At least I’ll still be able to pay her some housekeeping if I join up an’—’
‘Be quiet, Jimmy!’ Grace spoke brusquely as she pushed past the abashed young man.
Jimmy, a look of embarrassment replacing his excitement, hurried after the slim figure, anxious to redeem himself in Grace’s eyes.
Walking hurriedly alongside, he said in a calmer voice, ‘Could you come an’ have a word with Gert and June, please, Miss Donnelly. They’re in a bit of a state. Not crying or making a fuss or anything like that, just sort of like shocked. They don’t know whether to stay here or go back home, an’ Mr Laughton’s busy with the other guv’nors and the police.’
Grace had never taken to either Gert or June, the two younger typists: they were much too sure of themselves for Grace’s liking. But when she saw them sitting atop a pile of rubble, their normally pert faces now looking dazed and lost, Grace immediately tried to comfort them.
‘Oh, Miss Donnelly,’ Gert said as she got unsteadily to her feet. ‘Isn’t it awful? Poor Mr Laughton’s lost his business; he looked dreadful when he arrived and saw the damage. I felt so sorry for him.’
Her friend June now joined in, saying, ‘What shall we do, Miss Donnelly? It doesn’t look like there’s much point in hanging around here, does it? I mean we’re not going to get much work done today, are we…?’ She ended on a nervous laugh.
Grace patted her shoulder absently. ‘Just stay where you are, both of you, and I’ll see if I can find out anything. Though, like you said, there doesn’t seem to be much point in staying.’
Leaving the girls with Jimmy, Grace made her way to where Harry Laughton was standing with two men she knew from the other offices, and, waiting until he caught sight of her and moved away from his colleagues, she said sympathetically, ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Laughton. I don’t know what to say really. Is there anything I can do for you?’
Harry Laughton shook his head tiredly and smiled ruefully.
‘Thanks, Grace, but there’s nothing to be done today. I’ll stay here and see when I can get relocated, but there won’t be much happening today. Maybe not for weeks. There are a lot of us in the same boat. You get yourself off home and I’ll get in touch as soon as I have some news for you… Oh, and could you tell the others as well?’ he added, nodding towards where his depleted staff sat waiting for instructions.
Anxious to help in any way she could, Grace said quickly, ‘Of course I will. And, please, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know, won’t you?’
But Harry Laughton had already turned back to his fellow businessmen, each one trying to develop contingency plans that had been made early on in the war for just such an occasion.
Seeing there was nothing to do here, Grace made her way back to where Jimmy and the two typists were eagerly awaiting news.
‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing much I can tell you, except to go home and wait until Mr Laughton gets in touch with us.’ Grace hesitated, wondering if she should tell them what she knew. When war had first been declared, Harry Laughton had confided in Grace that if Germany bombed the City, he, like many other small businesses, wouldn’t be able to afford to set up again in London, and would probably have to transfer the offices to the bigger, safer cities. When Grace had asked if he had any particular place in mind, Harry Laughton had told her he had a brother in business in Hampshire, and if the worse happened, he would probably transfer his business there. Grace didn’t know if that plan was still on the cards, but she did know that neither she nor any of the others would be able to take up their old jobs if Mr Laughton moved so far away.
Gert and June looked to each other for support, then, as if of one accord, they shrugged.
‘Well, thanks for trying, Miss Donnelly,’ said Gert, ‘but I think we’ll stick around for a while until Mr Laughton has time to talk to us himself – no offence!’
‘None taken,’ Grace replied as she turned to leave.
Then she remembered Jimmy.
‘Will you walk with me a bit, Jimmy? That’s if you’ve nothing better to do.’
The gangly youth bounded to her side, relieved she was no longer cross with him.
Tucking her arm through his, more to help clamber over the mountains of rubble that littered the pavements than any form of affection, Grace said, ‘Sorry I was so short with you earlier, Jimmy, but it was a hell of a shock to find the entire street gutted. I know we’ve been half expecting it since the war started, but you never think it will really happen. Between you and me, I don’t think Mr Laughton will start up again in London, it’s too risky. But don’t take that information as gospel. It’s just something Mr Laughton said to me when the war started. As for now… I’m as much in the dark as you. Anyway…’ She gave his arm a squeeze. ‘What were you saying about joining up? You’re too young yet, Jimmy, so don’t go rus
hing to get yourself killed.’
Pushing back the brim of his cloth cap, Jimmy, his face unusually serious, looked at Grace, and said earnestly, ‘I could just as easily get killed here, Grace. Half of me street was bombed two nights ago, an’ there was seven people copped it. I didn’t know them all that well – you know what it’s like, say good morning, or bloody weather, that kind of thing, but them going like that… It shook me up, Grace. Made me realise how any of us could go just like that. It made me mum stop an’ think an’ all. She still ain’t keen for me to join up, but she ain’t as dead set against it like she was before the Blitz started. Me dad says I ought to go. He was in the last one, and he says if a bullet or bomb’s got your name on it, then there’s no point trying to dodge it.’ A slow, almost frightened smile came to his lips. ‘I’ll tell you a secret, Grace. All me talk of joining up and fighting the Hun, well, I mean all that, but every time that siren goes it scares the sh – I mean, it really frightens me. But I’m still gonna enlist. I’ll be eighteen next month, and I ain’t gonna waste time trying to get another job as an office boy, not when I could be doing a man’s job,’ he finished lamely and Grace’s heart went out to him. In that moment she knew she would probably never see him again and impulsively bent over and kissed his cheek.
‘Bye, Jimmy. I hope I’ll see you again, but if not… Well! Good luck.’
The youth’s eyes reddened suddenly and he coughed to hide his emotion, saying, ‘This bloody smoke’s everywhere. I’m gonna see if I can get a cuppa off of the Red Cross. They’ve been handing it out all morning. I’ve already had one, but I don’t suppose they’ll know if I go back for another.’
Suddenly awkward, Jimmy shuffled his feet, the toe of his shoe kicking up pebbles of dirt. Quick to notice the young lad was nearly on the point of tears, Grace, who was also starting to feel emotional, said briskly, ‘I don’t suppose they’ll notice. Anyway, I’m off home. Goodbye, Jimmy. And like I said before, good luck.’
She left him staring after her, the way he had done many times before. But this time Jimmy knew it might be the last time he would ever see Grace. Giving his eyes a surreptitious wipe with the back of his hand, he went back to join the two girls, still waiting hopefully for news of their jobs.
And Grace, looking after his gangly figure through misted eyes, whispered huskily, ‘Goodbye, Jimmy. May God watch over you and see you safely home.’
Walking quickly away, Grace waited until she was well out of sight of her former work colleagues before sinking down on a lump of rubble, her face held despairingly in her hands. With her defences down, the now-familiar rush of anxiety and deep fear came surging through her. She had experienced these same feelings repeatedly since the night of her parents’ deaths. They would start in the middle of her stomach and work their way slowly up to her chest and throat. Once there she would feel a weakness overtake her, and in her mind she could see clearly a dark, welcoming tunnel waiting for her, beckoning her towards the blackness that would afford her the release from all the anguish and grief that remained locked up tight inside her, and which, up until now, she had managed to fight off. But now, with the devastation she had just witnessed, and the certain knowledge that she would never again make the journey to her place of work in the City, and see the same familiar faces surrounding her, her defences began to crumble.
Maybe she would have succumbed to the inviting blackness, where she would no longer have to try and fill every moment of her days, leaving her too drained to dwell on the fact that her beloved parents were dead, and the knowledge that they still lay buried amidst a pile of rubble, left to rot alongside strangers, instead of the serenity and dignity of a proper burial place. Maybe if a passing policeman hadn’t stopped by her side, dropping to his knees in concern at her obvious distress, she would have slipped silently towards the dark tunnel of her mind, but as soon as she heard his deep, cockney voice ask anxiously, ‘You all right, love? I mean ter say, d’yer need any help in getting back home?’ her head snapped back on her shoulders, and, taking the constable’s arm for support, she once again push down those feelings.
Looking up into the warm concern of the middle-aged man, Grace attempted to smile, saying, ‘Thank you, but I’m quite all right now, honestly.’
Feeling the constable’s eyes still on her retreating back, Grace climbed carefully over the mountain of bricks and broken shards of glass, holding a handkerchief over her mouth and nose to avoid breathing in the smoke and dust that filled the air around her, and began the long, arduous journey home.
Chapter Fifteen
Upon entering the house on her return, Grace hung her coat and hat on the hall stand and took a quick look at her reflection in the long mirror on the wall, then groaned. God, what a mess she looked. Her hair and clothes stank of smoke and her face looked like it hadn’t seen a drop of water for weeks. She had a sudden longing for a hot bath – a proper bath with loads of bath crystals and piping-hot water up to her neck. Instead all she could look forward to was a measly five inches of water, the amount now allocated per person, or two if you were really patriotic, and a sprinkling of the last remaining crystals she had hidden away in her chest of drawers. Hidden because of Vi and Beryl, who had already depleted Grace’s hoard of bathing luxuries. It wasn’t that she was mean, but those two took liberties. Grace hadn’t been surprised when Vi got pally with her new sister-in-law, for Beryl was cut from the same cloth. Not that Vi was as common as Beryl, nor had she acquired a reputation, as yet. But working in a nightclub up West wasn’t, to Grace’s way of thinking, the most respectable of jobs. Still, it was Vi’s choice, and seeing as she herself was now out of work, she hadn’t any right to criticise her sister, not when Violet was the only one bringing money into the house.
Nevertheless, Grace worried about her sister. Since starting her new job she had become even more outrageous in her behaviour. Sometimes she didn’t come home for days at a time, and when she did she offered no explanation for her absence. And Aggie, that once fierce matriarch, had long since stopped trying to curb her spirited granddaughter’s nefarious activities. Then there was Beryl, her despised sister-in-law, who now stuck to Vi like glue, hoping no doubt that some of Vi’s glamour and popularity with the men would rub off on her. Not that Vi seemed to mind; both women liked a good time, it was something they had in common – and common was the right term for Beryl. If Vi didn’t watch out, she would find her name linked to Beryl’s, in more ways than by marriage.
Tucking a lock of dirty hair behind her ear, Grace walked slowly down the hallway towards the kitchen, then stopped in startled amazement as the sound of laughter came roaring from the sitting room. It wasn’t the usual polite laughter or false gaiety that had replaced the natural enthusiasm the house used to ring with; this laughter was genuine, and loud. The kind of laughter only her nan could make. Then Grace’s eyebrows arched even higher, for along with the raucous sound of Aggie was the pealing laughter of Polly – Polly who had barely smiled since the death of her parents.
Her face creased into lines of puzzlement, Grace hurried towards the sound. As she flung open the door she heard a man’s voice crying loudly, ‘I tell you it’s true. As true as I’m sitting here. If you’re in the army you get three sheets of toilet paper each time you go. One up, one down, and one to polish… Honest!’
‘Get outta it, you daft bugger… Oh! Gracie. What you doing back home?’ Aggie, tears of merriment running down her fat face, turned to where Grace was standing, stunned, in the doorway. The sound other grandmother’s voice brought Grace back to earth. Moving into the room, she walked over and kissed Aggie’s cheek.
‘We’ve been bombed out, Nan. I’m surprised you didn’t already know. There must have been something on the wireless this morning after I left.’
Still wiping her streaming eyes, Aggie said, ‘Yeah, it did say the City had copped a bellyful, but it ain’t all gone, has it?’ The elderly woman gazed in anticipation at Grace.
‘No, most of it’s still sta
nding, but my office got a direct hit. There’s nothing left but a pile of rubble. It’s like a madhouse up there…’ Shifting around to where the dark-haired man, fully dressed in the smart dark blue airforce uniform, sat idly in the armchair, Grace, aware of her pounding heart, said almost shyly, ‘Hello, Nobby. When did you get here?’
Nobby Clark, his handsome face suntanned, leant forward, his hands resting on his knees, and grinned.
‘Just after you left. Which is a shame. I could’ve saved you a journey. After that raid last night, I’m surprised anything’s standing. It’s lucky the weather was so bad, otherwise the bastards would’ve done more damage. As it was, it was a deliberate attempt to set the whole of the City on fire. And they nearly succeeded. A few of us went up after them, but all we could do was scatter them a bit.’
‘You were up there?’ Polly was staring at the uniformed man, her face filled with awe.
Grace, watching her youngest sister intently, noted how different Polly was when there was a man around the house. First with Stanley and Danny, and now Nobby Clark. It seemed only the men had the power to buoy up Polly’s spirits and quell her terror of the chaos in which they now lived. Out of Sam’s three daughters, it was Polly who had been a proper daddy’s girl, so it was understandable that she, more than her sisters, had come to rely on a male figure to lean on.
Glancing back at Nobby, Grace admitted that out of the three men who had visited them since the tragedy of their parents’ deaths, only Nobby came close to possessing her father’s strength of character. You could almost feel the power of the man, the comforting presence he engendered just by being here. Yet as her rapidly pounding heart reminded her, it wasn’t just comfort Nobby Clark represented. Oh, don’t be so daft, she chided herself. He’s a good-looking bloke. Even in civvies he would turn heads, but add to that the glamour of the RAF uniform, and he must have the women falling all over themselves to get at him.
