by Annie Groves
Sally took a deep breath, warning Dulcie, ‘It’s going to hurt when we get you upright. Whatever you do don’t try to move your foot or put any weight on it.’
Dulcie nodded, resolving inwardly that no matter how much it hurt she would manage to deal with the pain. And not just for her own sake, she recognised with a stab of shock; she wanted to do it for the sake of the girls who had offered to stay with her.
Five minutes later, sweating and feeling sick from the pain, like a knife slicing into her, that had been beyond anything she had ever had to bear, Dulcie was standing up, her head and her ankle pounding. Sally supported her on the side of her broken ankle, whilst Tilly and Agnes stood behind her carefully forming a seat for her with their hands.
Dulcie had more guts than she had expected, Sally admitted as she lowered her patient onto the makeshift ‘seat’ as gently as she could. She knew how much pain Dulcie was in from her broken ankle, and she was concerned too about that bump on her head, but Dulcie had not uttered one word of complaint or one protest when they had lifted her up. Sally’s estimation of her had risen a great deal as she witnessed this stoicism.
They could make only slow progress, Dulcie’s arms round Tilly and Agnes as they carried her, all three of them urging Sally to go on ahead, Tilly calling out to her that they would be fine, before telling Dulcie, ‘It’s a pity we haven’t got some of those Canadian airmen here to help us.’
‘What, and let them see me looking like this?’ Dulcie joked back. ‘No, thank you.’
It couldn’t be far to the nearest ARP post, surely, Sally reasoned as she ran to the end of the alleyway following the dogleg of a slightly wider empty street round until, to her relief, she could see where it opened out into Leicester Square.
The bombing seemed to have stopped, and wasn’t that an ARP post at the bottom of the road?
‘Hey, you, miss. What are you doing out here? Can’t you see there’s a bombing raid going on? Didn’t you hear the sirens going off?’
The man confronting her was wearing a tin helmet, an ARP band on his arm, his face and voice both evidencing his irritation.
‘There’s been an accident. My friends need help. One of them has broken her ankle. I’m a trained nurse but we need help,’ Sally told him breathlessly.
‘What the devil . . . ?’ The ARP man turned back to the post, with its covering of sandbags, and shouted into it, ‘Hey, Fred and Bert, get out here, will you?’
Two men emerged, one of them cramming his tin hat onto his head as he did so, the other finishing a cup of tea.
‘We’ve got some girls needing help. What . . . ?’ he ducked automatically as up above them the sky darkened as the German bombers turned for home. The sound filling the air now was of their engines and thankfully not the explosion of more bombs.
The other girls had just reached the first part of the dogleg and had paused for a minute because Tilly had a bit of a stitch in her side, when they too saw the German aircraft overhead.
They’d just started off again, Tilly and Agnes both ignoring the pull on their now aching muscles from the effort of carrying Dulcie, when suddenly one of the fighters escorting the bombers peeled off, screaming from the sky to head directly toward them.
For a second they all froze, and then Dulcie told the other two to run. ‘Go, leave me . . . just run.’
‘Quick,’ Tilly urged Agnes, ‘that doorway over there.’
It wasn’t easy to run and carry Dulcie but somehow they managed it, sheltering in the narrow doorway as best they could whilst machine-gun fire from the fighter plane rat-a-tat-tatted over the cobbles in flares of bright burning flames. The plane had come down so low that they could see the pilot in his helmet as the fighter’s guns fired another burst of bullets, the girls wincing as some struck the side of the building, narrowly missing the doorway.
‘What are we going to do if he comes back?’ Agnes asked.
‘You two are going to run, now, before he does,’ Dulcie answered ruthlessly.
‘We aren’t leaving you,’ Tilly told her. She was more frightened than she had ever been in the whole of her life, but there was no way she was going to leave Dulcie here on her own to be gunned down by that German pilot.
‘He’ll get us if he turns back,’ Dulcie told her grimly. ‘He knows we’re here.’
‘Then he’ll just have to get us, won’t he, Agnes?’ Tilly declared. ‘Because we aren’t leaving you.’
Agnes nodded. She was surprised how calm she felt. But then what did it matter if she was killed? Not having Ted in her life any more was worse than being killed. At least that only hurt you once. Not seeing Ted hurt her every day.
‘Tilly, Agnes, where are you?’
‘That’s Sally,’ Tilly said unnecessarily, poking her head round the corner of their protective doorway to call back, ‘We’re here.’
At the other end of the street, the German plane banked and turned, with menacing intent, but then unexpectedly, and to their relief, instead of coming back it rose up and turned again before heading south at speed, leaving the sky clear for the girls to see the Spitfire following it, chasing it across the sky.
Thankfully, the three girls exhaled, no words necessary as they clung together. The smoke-tainted London air had never tasted sweeter.
Sally and the three men ran down the street, Sally offering up thanks for the girls’ safety. When she had seen the deathly bulk of that plane filling the other end of the street, she had been so sure that they would be killed. Now the relief was making her feel shaky and weak, but she was a nurse and she still had a job to do. She pushed her own feelings to one side, as they reached the girls and the men took charge, making a fresh, stronger chair for Dulcie.
‘We’ll need to get her to hospital,’ Sally told the men. ‘Barts will be best. I work there.’
‘We’ll try and get an ambulance sorted out for you once we get back to the post, although you’ll probably have a long wait. The docks and the East End have taken a real hammering. There’s hundreds been left dead, we’ve heard.’
Now that it was over the girls were silent, simply looking at one another with marvelling gazes, too filled with relief at their escape to be able to speak, other than to thank their rescuers. Besides, there was no need for words now. The bond that had been formed between them all in those terror-filled moments when they thought they would die, meant that they each knew exactly what the others were thinking and feeling.
In the air-raid shelter with the other WVS workers, Olive prayed that the girls would be all right. The Germans were bombing the docks and the East End, not Hammersmith, she tried to reassure herself. Mrs Weaver, the oldest member of their group, got out the knitting she always seemed to have with her. Olive envied her, wishing that she too had something to occupy her hands, even if the only thing occupying her thoughts was the safety of her daughter.
The girls had just reached Barts, Sally having decided that she would feel happier if Tilly and Agnes were with her rather than leaving them to make their way from the ARP post to the air-raid shelter and from there to home on their own, when the second wave of bombs were dropped on the docks and the East End.
The hospital was busy with the constant arrival of casualties from the bombing, and although strictly speaking Sally did not work in the Emergency Department, and was not on duty anyway, she insisted on being allowed to go there with Dulcie, pushing her wheelchair herself, to save the overbusy porters having to do so.
‘What’s going to happen to me?’ Dulcie demanded.
‘A doctor will examine you and then you’ll have to have that ankle set and put in plaster. They’ll take a look at that bump on your head and keep you in for a day or so to make sure that you aren’t suffering from concussion,’ Sally told her, handing her over to the ward sister. ‘Don’t worry, Dulcie. Everything will be all right. I’m going to offer to go on duty now, so I’ll be here and I’ll see if Sister will let me come down and see you later once they’ve made you comfortable.’
Dulcie, her defences weakened by pain, turned to Tilly and Agnes and told them emotionally, ‘What you two have done for me tonight, I’ll never forget. Never.’
Each of them holding one of her hands, they looked at one another whilst Sally looked on. They all knew that what had happened, what they’d shared, had forged a very special bond between them.
‘I’ve never been bothered about having friends,’ Dulcie continued. ‘I’ve never seen the point ’cos you always know that when it comes down to it someone who says she’s a friend will put herself first. I’d do the same myself. But tonight, well, you’ve taught me different; you’ve shown me what friendship really is. You’ve given me something that no one else has ever given me and I won’t ever forget that. From now on the three of you come first with me, and that’s a promise.’
Facing danger together bound people in a very special way, Sally acknowledged, listening to Dulcie. Tonight they had all individually and together shown a strength and a desire to put one another first that was the very best of human nature. Tonight a relationship had been forged between them that would last for the rest of their lives.
‘Friends?’ Dulcie asked gruffly.
‘Friends,’ Agnes, Tilly and Sally answered her, all four of them reaching out to place their hands one on top of the other.
It was daylight before Tilly and Agnes arrived back at number 13 to find Olive waiting anxiously for them. They had spent the night in a large public shelter close to Barts Hospital and had had to wait for the all clear to go off before they could leave.
Over hot strong cups of tea, Tilly told her mother what had happened, her daughter’s matter of fact, ‘Dulcie wanted us to run for safety and leave her but, like Agnes said, we couldn’t do that,’ leaving Olive torn between surprise that Dulcie of all people should have shown such selflessness, pride in Tilly’s bravery and shaky relief that they had all made it to safety.
‘Dulcie will have to stay in hospital until they say she can leave,’ Tilly continued, ‘and Sally said that when she is allowed out her leg will still be in plaster.’
‘Has anyone told Dulcie’s family what’s happened?’ Olive asked. ‘Only if they haven’t, I’d better go round and let them know.’
‘No one’s sent a message, as far as I know,’ Tilly answered her, hesitating before adding, ‘Dulcie’s family live on the edge of Stepney, and by all accounts that got badly bombed.’
Olive nodded. ‘I know. We heard about it last night after the all clear.’
What Olive didn’t want to say was that the ARP official had also said the devastation in the East End was beyond description and had spoken of stumbling across bodies, so many people had been killed.
The plain unvarnished truth was, according to the ARP official, that those in charge of areas like Stepney had simply not done enough to make plans in the event of a serious bombing raid.
‘You and Agnes have had a tiring night – why don’t you try and get a couple of hours’ sleep instead of going to church this morning, and I’ll try and call round on Dulcie’s family? I’ve got their address from when she first came here.’
‘Me and Agnes thought that we’d go up to the hospital this afternoon, Mum, and see how Dulcie is. We felt really bad about leaving her there last night, didn’t we, Agnes?’
Agnes agreed.
‘Of course, Sally will be there to look out for her,’ Tilly acknowledged before adding, ‘Dulcie was ever so brave, Mum, telling us to go and leave her.’
‘Yes, she was,’ Olive was forced to admit.
* * *
Later that morning, though, setting out to tell Dulcie’s family what had happened, Olive felt more concerned about the danger her own daughter had been in than she was about Dulcie. Not that she wished any harm on the girl, she assured herself as she headed for Stepney, but there was no getting away from the fact that helping Dulcie had put her own daughter’s life at risk and that was something Olive didn’t like at all.
Even though, mercifully, Holborn and the City of London beyond it had escaped the ravages of the bombing, the Germans having concentrated on the docks and the East End, there was still a pall of smoke hanging in the air, as Olive set out on what she knew would be a long walk, the pavements busy with ARP wardens, firemen and the police, as well as some of the more adventurous Londoners themselves, come to see the damage inflicted on their city.
Olive didn’t want to risk catching a bus, though, even if she could find one that was running, in case it couldn’t take her very far.
Not knowing what to expect, she found the sight of familiar buildings still standing, their sandbags still in place, reassuring. Her route took her past St Paul’s, thankfully untouched, but when she paused to look at the cathedral an elderly shabbily dressed woman standing close to her said, ‘St Paul’s might be standing now but them Germans will be back, you mark my words. Practically done for Stepney, they have. I was lucky I’d gone to the Tilbury shelter, off the Commercial Road, ’cos our whole street’s bin flattened.’
Olive made a small sound of sympathy.
‘My daughter reckons we’d be better off sheltering in the underground, but we was barred from doing that last night at Liverpool Street station. I’m off out of here this afternoon. Putting us on coaches, they are, to take us somewhere where they can rehouse us, so I thought I’d come have a look at St Paul’s just in case it ain’t standing when they bring us back.’
Already apprehensive about what she might find in Stepney Olive was now increasingly anxious at the old lady’s words, especially when she got closer to the area and saw how many people were trudging around in family groups, carrying bundles of possessions, the blank look on some of their faces giving a hint of what they might have been through.
Olive had almost reached Stepney when she had to stop because of the ARP men turning people back, and explaining that it was too dangerous for them to go into the area because of the number of bombed and collapsed buildings.
When Olive told them where she was heading, though, after consulting a street map she was told she could go ahead, and given instructions of how to get there.
It seemed that because Dulcie’s family’s home was in a street on the city side of the area, the houses were still standing, although by the time she got there Olive felt that she was almost choking on dust and smoke.
It was Dulcie’s mother who opened the door to Olive’s knock, her facial resemblance to Dulcie plain, despite her careworn appearance. However, the relief on her face when she opened the door changed to apprehension when she saw Olive standing there.
Thinking that her anxiety was on Dulcie’s account, Olive made haste to tell her, ‘It’s all right; Dulcie’s all right. I’m her landlady . . .’
But to her surprise, instead of greeting her news with relief, Mrs Simmonds simply said sharply, ‘Oh, yes, of course Dulcie would be all right, knowing her.’ She was looking past Olive now and out into the street. ‘It’s our Edith I’m worried about. She’s a singer, you know, and she’s going to be famous. She’s got a top agent looking out for her,’ she told Olive proudly, fresh apprehension colouring her voice as she added, ‘She was singing last night at a club up the West End. I just hope she’s all right.’
‘I’m sure she will be,’ Olive tried to comfort her. ‘The West End wasn’t bombed at all, according to what I’ve heard. But about Dulcie . . .’
‘What about her? She’s been causing trouble, I suppose. That’s Dulcie all over. She’s always been difficult and hard work.’
Although privately Olive might have agreed with the other woman’s comments, somehow hearing them spoken by Dulcie’s own mother made her feel unexpectedly protective of her lodger so that she said firmly, ‘I think I’d better come in.’
‘Well, if you must, but this place won’t be what you’re used to. Always singing your praises, Dulcie is, and telling us what a lovely house you have and how much at home you’ve made her; how you think so much of her and treat her like a da
ughter, asking her to look out for your Tilly.’ Mrs Simmonds gave a sniff of disdain. ‘Always going on about Tilly and Agnes and Sally, she is, saying what good friends to her they are and how much they think of her. Of course, she only does it to upset Edith, and why I don’t know. I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter than Edith, good from the minute she was born, Edith has been, and sing – she’s got the voice of an angel.’ Fresh anxiety showed on Mrs Simmonds’ face. ‘Worried to death about her, I am, and I shan’t have a second’s peace until I know she’s safe.’
Olive’s thoughts were whirling after Dulcie’s mother’s revelations about what Dulcie had said to her. Normally Olive would have wondered what on earth had made Dulcie create such a fabrication, but after listening to Dulcie’s mother praising her younger daughter whilst criticising her elder, Olive suspected that she knew the reason for Dulcie’s behaviour. Against her will she felt sympathetic toward Dulcie, her compassion aroused at the thought of a child – any child – being rejected by its mother in favour of a sibling. It was no wonder that Dulcie was the way she was.
Mrs Simmonds showed Olive into a small, cramped and dark back room, lifting some clothes off a chair and putting them down on the table so that Olive could sit down.
‘Them’s our Edith’s stage clothes. Course, they cost a fair bit, they did, but then like she says, she’s got to look the part if she’s to get the good jobs. Her agent reckons she’s going to be bigger than Vera Lynn. I just wish I knew she was safe.’
‘Of course you must be worrying,’ Olive agreed. ‘That’s the price we mothers have to pay for loving our children, isn’t it? I don’t like to add to your worries, but I thought you’d want to know that Dulcie had a bit of an accident last night. She ended up with a broken ankle, and they’re worried that she might have concussion.’ Olive paused, waiting for Dulcie’s mother to express alarm and concern and then, when she made no comment, continued quietly. ‘She’s in hospital – Barts – I expect she’s told you that Sally is a nurse and works there. You’ll want to go and see her, of course.’
