Actually Joan and the children were being well looked after. When the raid began they were in the house next door with Mr and Mrs Rudney. And as soon as Mr Rudney heard the noise of the bombers, he decided that this was going to be ‘a big one’ and took them all down to the cellar.
‘They’re after something special tonight,’ he said. ‘You mark my words.’
‘Just so long as it ain’t us,’ his wife said, following him down the wooden stairs into the coal-damp darkness under the house. ‘You got the torches?’
What they were after was the City of London, left empty and unattended, like Christies warehouse, because it was a Sunday and the Sunday after Christmas what’s more. And they were after it at a particularly vulnerable time, when there was plenty of cloud to give them cover, and when the tide on the Thames was exceptionally low. Within the first hour of the raid they dropped over three thousand incendiary bombs on the heart of the City and because there was no one to give the alarm, the fires took hold secretly and then spread and raged. By seven o’clock there were so many fires out of control that the sky was blood red with reflected light and outside the wardens’ post it was so bright that Peggy and Mr MacFarlane could read notices and newspapers as if it were daytime.
The wardens who’d gone down to Christies Wharf had seen it all. They came back full of awed excitement.
‘There’s fires everywhere you look. It’s even worse than the docks was that time. Look at that sky!’
They looked at the awesome red of the sky for a very long time, feeling helpless and angry and yet acknowledging a shameful crawling excitement at the drama of what they were witnessing. This was no longer a series of fires, it was one enormous blaze and it stretched as far as they could see, the flames growing higher and denser as they watched. It was as if the whole of the city was on fire. As if Hell itself had come to their city.
Other wardens arrived to report back at the post, and the stories they brought with them were horrific. Every building in London was on fire on both sides of the Thames all the way from Moorgate and the Barbican right down to the South Bank. St Paul’s was ringed with flame, the cobbles in the streets were burning, the tram rails were melting, and as a final heart-stopping horror, the firemen had run out of water, and the fire-boats on the Thames couldn’t get near enough to the riverbank to help because the tide was so low.
By now the light from the inferno was so very bright it was like being on a stage under red floodlights.
‘We’re off duty in ten minutes,’ Mr MacFarlane said to Peggy. ‘Should we stay on a wee bitty longer, d’ye think?’
But she never got a chance to answer him because at that moment their messenger came cycling back to the post, his face gilded by the firelight, his eyes bulging, breathless with the news that there’d been a terrible incident in Blackwall Lane.
‘Parachute mine hit them big flats at the corner a’ the Woolwich Road,’ he gasped. ‘You know the ones. Them big four storey ones. Knocked flat. There’s dead bodies everywhere. Blew out all the winders in the hospital, St Alphege’s, you know. An’ there’s about ten shops gone. An’ the cinema.’
Peggy felt her blood running cold in her veins. ‘The Granada?’ she asked.
‘Yeh! That’s the one. There’s dead bodies all over the place.’
‘What’s up, lassie?’ Mr MacFarlane asked, his earnest face all concern.
‘My mum was up the Granada this afternoon.’
‘When did it happen?’ Mr MacFarlane asked the boy.
‘Quarter ter seven.’
‘Would she still be there at that time?’
‘She might be.’
‘Then you must go straight there and see,’ Mr MacFarlane decided. ‘Leave the post to me. The night team will all be along shortly. No, no, not a word. Off you go.’
So she went, cycling through the deserted streets with the sky glowing red as nightmare above her and the roar of the fire throbbing like the terror of her own heart. But being Peggy she tried to be sensible. She’d go home first. After all Mum could have gone home long before the mine fell. She could be sitting in the kitchen at that very moment as right as rain, and wouldn’t they laugh about it then.
But number six was unlit and empty, and her mother wasn’t in the shelter either, although Mrs Roderick was, and she was very surprised to hear that Flossie hadn’t come home.
‘I knew she’d get caught in the raid,’ she said. ‘Would stop to see the end of the picture, you see. I hope she’s all right.’
‘So do I,’ Peggy said, grimly. But she went on being sensible, taking the time to write a note to Baby and Mrs Geary, to tell them that she’d ‘gone to an incident in the Woolwich Road’ and propping it against the clock on the mantelpiece where they’d certainly see it in that awful bright light. Then she set off on her journey again, worrying and arguing with herself all the way.
The boy could have got hold of the wrong end of the stick. It might be just an ordinary HE not a parachute mine. And even if it was, Mum could be taking shelter somewhere nearby. Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you. But no matter what she tried to tell herself, fear and anxiety howled in her mind all the way, and when she got to the Woolwich Road she knew at once that they were both justified.
The junction was full of debris. A whole row of shops seemed to have crumbled to pieces and fallen into the road, and where the flats had been there was a pile of rubble as high as a house. The rescue teams were still working in the ruins, there were several covered corpses lying where the pavements should have been and the whole scene was stained by the awful light from the fire, as if everything and everybody there was covered in blood. Oh dear God, Peggy thought, dear dear God!
She got off her bicycle and stood where she was until her heart was beating more normally and her stomach had stopped shaking. Most of the people she could see were rescue workers or wardens, and after a few seconds she realized that the warden standing on the broken steps of the cinema was a man she knew, so she propped her bicycle against a wall that was still standing and went across to ask him if he knew anything about the casualties.
‘Very bad,’ he said. ‘We’ve had ten dead and ever so many injured.’
‘Any names?’
‘Someone you know, is it?’ he asked, sensing the anxiety she was holding in check.
‘My mum.’
‘I’d cut across to St Alphege’s if I was you,’ he advised, turning his head towards the hospital behind him. ‘That’s where they was all taken, being it’s so near. Though mind you they’ve took a pasting an’ all tonight.’
So Peggy climbed over the wreckage and walked towards the hospital. In the lurid light she could see that most of the windows in the front of the building had been blown out and when she got through the gate and into casualty she found that none of the electric lights were working. But there was a nurse on duty at reception with a candle and a list of admissions, and to Peggy’s relief her mother’s name wasn’t among them.
‘But I’d check the ward if I was you,’ the nurse advised. ‘We’ve had quite a few brought in unconscious.’
‘Yes,’ Peggy said, swallowing back her distress. ‘I will. Thank you.’
‘I’ve got some clothing here you might like to see,’ the nurse said. ‘Not very much I’m afraid. A hat, shoes, gloves, handbags, that sort of thing. One of the wardens brought it over. It might help.’
‘Yes,’ Peggy said again, her mouth dry.
‘Come through into the office,’ the nurse said, picking up her candle.
The collection was spread out over a bench, lost and pathetic, like items in a jumble sale. And her mother’s new red hat was right in the middle.
‘Then she must be here,’ the nurse said, after reading the label on the hat. ‘It was found on the cinema steps. I am sorry. Can you find your own way to the wards? They’re all in surgical.’
It seemed such a long walk to the wards, down corridors flickering with red light and echoing to the shouts and cras
hes from the continuing rescue. Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you. Lord, give us strength to endure that which has to be endured. Please God don’t let her be dead.
The first ward she came to was still shuttered and very dark. There were nurses moving among the beds, candles in hand, and somebody was groaning in that low, terrible, instinctive way that Peggy now knew meant a pain beyond endurance.
‘Yes,’ the Sister said, appearing beside her, angel-faced in the candle-light.
‘I’m looking for my mother.’
‘Of course. Would you care to follow me.’
They walked slowly from bed to bed, carrying their little blue edged light before them. Flossie was in the fourth bed.
Peggy was so relieved that her legs gave way under her and she had to sit down quickly on the bedside chair or she would have fallen over.
‘She’s all right,’ she said. ‘Oh thank God!’
‘She’s just come down from theatre,’ the Sister told her, ‘but she’s as well as can be expected in the circumstances.’
Peggy looked at the cradle over her mother’s legs and nodded to show that she understood, but she was so stunned with relief she missed the warning tone in the Sister’s voice.
‘Could I stay with her till she comes round?’ Peggy asked.
‘It could be quite a long time.’
‘I don’t mind. I’m not on duty till eight tomorrow morning.’
So she sat by the bed in the groaning darkness and waited. At a little after ten o’clock the all-clear sounded, and around midnight the ward lights came on again to an audible sigh of relief from the nurses. And as if the light was a signal Flossie stirred and opened her eyes.
‘That you, Peg?’ she said thickly. ‘Where am I, gel?’
‘In hospital,’ Peggy said. ‘You’re all right.’
‘Thought I was at the pictures,’ Flossie said. And slept again.
The second time she woke she sipped a little water and complained that the light was hurting her eyes. The third time was at six o’clock and by then Peggy was beginning to think she ought to go home.
‘You been here all night?’ Flossie said.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve been here all night then.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll get up presently and fix that stove,’ Flossie said. ‘It’s ever so cold in here. Fancy being here all night. What is the world coming to? I’ll have a little nap and then I’ll get up.’
‘I’ll come in and see you tonight,’ Peggy promised, as Flossie closed her eyes.
‘Um.’
It was cold and slightly foggy out in the street and the red light was still casting an eerie patina over the bomb site. But the bodies were gone and so were the rescue teams and the street was silent and empty.
Her bicycle was still where she’d left it the night before, so she pedalled wearily home. Now she realized that her neck was aching and her feet were sore and her eyes were smarting with smoke and unshed tears. So as there was no one to see her she cried all the way home.
Baby was still fast asleep in her bed on the kitchen floor and she stirred and grumbled when Peggy came in.
‘What’s a’ time?’
‘Quarter to seven,’ Peggy said. ‘Get up, Baby, I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘Tell away,’ Baby said easily, staying where she was.
‘Mum’s in hospital.’
Baby woke up at once and sat up in a fury. ‘She ain’t,’ she said. ‘You ain’t to say such things.’ But now she remembered that Mum hadn’t been in the house when she got in last night. ‘She was down the road with Mrs Roderick, wasn’t she? Well then, how can she be in hospital?’
‘Don’t be a fool,’ Peggy said. She was too tired to cope with one of Baby’s tantrums. ‘She is. She’s been hurt.’ Now that she was home she realized that she hadn’t asked anyone about her mother’s injuries. ‘Her legs are hurt. I told her we’d go in and see her tonight.’
‘She can’t be hurt,’ Baby insisted. ‘If she’s hurt who’s going to look after the kids? Joan’ll be here with them in half an hour, I hope you realize.’
Peggy had forgotten all about the practical details she’d have to attend to now. ‘We’ll think of something,’ she said. ‘Just get up, will you? I’d like to get these beds cleared before they come.’
‘And who’ll get the shopping?’ Baby went on. ‘I can’t, I hope you realize. Not when I’m at work all day. I shan’t be able to do anything.’
And she didn’t. Of course. It was Mrs Geary who looked after the kids all day and Joan and Peggy who queued at the shops in their lunch hour. And that evening it was Joan and Peggy who went to the hospital because Baby said she couldn’t possibly go, not when there was a raid on.
Flossie was wide awake and complaining. Her face was deathly pale and there were two bright spots of unnatural redness in the centre of her cheeks, but her speech was clear and she could focus her eyes and she looked much more like herself than she’d done the night before.
‘I’ve got the most awful pain in my legs,’ she said, when they’d kissed her and settled into chairs beside her bed. ‘They won’t give me anything for it. I do think it’s mean. Go and see if you can persuade ’em, Peg, eh? They’ll do it for you.’
‘I’ll see the Sister,’ Peggy promised. ‘In a minute. How d’you feel apart from that?’
‘They won’t tell me where my shoes are either,’ Flossie said. ‘I had my new shoes on. I remember particularly. They say they don’t know. What a lot a’ nonsense! They must have took ’em off before they put me to bed. I don’t want ’em lost. Good money they cost me.’
They let her talk for the half hour that was left of visiting time and then they went down to see the Sister.
‘She’s got rather a lot of pain in her legs,’ Peggy said, tentative and polite, but hopeful. ‘Could you give her something for it?’
The Sister looked at them carefully before she answered, which was rather disconcerting. ‘If there were anything we could give her to stop this pain, we would,’ she said. ‘But the truth is, there isn’t anything. The truth is … it’s a phantom pain you see. It wouldn’t matter what we gave her, she’d feel it just the same. The truth is …’
The two sisters looked at her questioningly. ‘A phantom pain?’ Peggy prompted.
‘Her legs were blown off in the explosion,’ the Sister said. ‘I am sorry to have to tell you. The left leg is gone below the knee, the right went six inches below the hip socket.’
Peggy felt sick and stupid with shock. ‘But she’s feeling pain in them,’ she said. ‘There must be some mistake.’
‘They often do,’ the Sister said sadly. ‘We don’t know why it is, but we see it over and over again. There’s no mistake, I’m afraid. What I’m telling you is true. She is feeling pain in limbs that aren’t there any more.’
The two sisters left the hospital that night in a very bad state.
‘Poor Mum,’ Joan said, ‘how will she manage?’
‘We’ll have to manage for her I expect,’ Peggy said. ‘The first thing is to get her over the operation and well enough to come home.’
‘She looked awful,’ Joan said.
‘Never mind,’ Peggy tried to comfort. ‘Perhaps she’ll be better tomorrow.’
‘Are we going to tell Baby how bad she is?’ Joan asked.
Peggy considered it. ‘Not just yet,’ she decided. ‘You know what she’s like. We don’t want her going hysterical and upsetting the kids. Time enough when Mum’s back home. We’ll be more used to it ourselves by then.’
The next evening Baby suddenly decided she ought to visit her mother too, so all three of them went to the hospital. Flossie looked a great deal worse. She slept through most of the visiting hour and groaned in her sleep.
‘I can’t see the point if she’s going to sleep all the time,’ Baby grumbled. ‘Why didn’t you tell me she was like this?’
‘Just shut up,’ Joan said, frowning at her.
‘Can’t you see how ill she is? She’s ever so bad. Worse than you know.’
Baby decided to ignore that remark. It was altogether too painful. ‘Hospitals make me nervy,’ she complained.
‘You make us sick.’
‘I shan’t come again if you’re horrid.’
It upset Peggy to hear them quarrelling. And as her mother was still deeply asleep she went off to find the Ward Sister and see what she had to say. It wasn’t encouraging.
‘Yes,’ the Sister agreed, ‘she is a bit worse today, I’m afraid. But you must remember she sustained very serious injuries and we are doing all we can.’
The next night Joan had to stay at home with the kids because Mrs Rudney was out at work, and Baby said she’d had enough of hospitals for one week and what was the point anyway, so Peggy went alone. Her mother was awake but she seemed feeble and small as if she was shrinking and fading.
‘I’ve been lying here thinking about your father,’ she said. ‘He was a good man, you know, and I wasn’t always as kind to him as I should’ve been.’
Peggy decided to ignore the confession and concentrate on the praise. ‘He was a very good man,’ she said. ‘A dear.’
‘I couldn’t help it, you know,’ her mother said, reaching for her hand. ‘It was my blessed nerves. I’ve always suffered terribly with my nerves.’
‘I brought you some flowers,’ Peggy said, taking her hand and giving it a little squeeze. ‘I put them in the vase, see? Ain’t they pretty?’
But Flossie didn’t look at the flowers. ‘If anything was to happen to me,’ she said, ‘you know, you would look after Baby wouldn’t you?’
‘Nothing’s going to happen to you, Mum,’ Peggy said, swallowing her tears. ‘You’re going to be all right.’
‘She’s always been delicate,’ Flossie went on. ‘Even as a little thing. I used to have to boil the milk for her. She couldn’t take it cold, you know. Upset her poor little stomach. Nerves, you see. She’s nervy. Like me. Always took after me, much more than the other two.’ Her voice was getting softer and slower, drifting away. ‘You will look after her, won’t you?’
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