by Carol Rivers
‘But what about all me furniture, me books and photographs?’ Vi whimpered.
‘You know the ropes,’ Harry told her. ‘No one goes into a damaged building until after it’s made safe.’
Just then there was an eerie creak and what was left of the roof disappeared. ‘Step back, ladies, please,’ ordered Harry as a plume of smoke curled up in the air.
‘Oh, me poor house,’ Vi sobbed, grabbing Harry’s sleeve. ‘When is help coming?’
‘I told you, Vi,’ said Harry gently, ‘the CD and Home Guard has been hard at it all night. We’re short of fire engines and ambulances as so many people need assistance.’
Kay looked along Slater Street towards Crane Street, beyond the empty and abandoned houses. Because of the bend in the road she couldn’t see as far as her closest neighbour’s house. Paul Butt and his father, Neville, still lived in one of the last surviving houses near the two Press sisters, who had also refused to evacuate. Their yards backed onto Crane Street which had also taken a pounding as the German fighters had aimed for the areas closest to the docks. Kay turned and her eyes searched in the other direction. There wasn’t much to see there either. Their good friends Babs and Eddie Chapman, the Suttons, Tylers and Edwards’ houses were all closer, but they too were lost in the mist.
‘There’s nothing we can do here, Vi,’ Kay said as she threaded her hand around Vi’s shoulders. ‘Let’s go back to my place.’
‘Good idea,’ said Harry, picking up his bike. ‘I’ve got a flask in me bag, so at least I can give you a cuppa.’
‘Is there any more damage to Slater Street?’ Kay asked as they walked, not expecting the devastating reply she was about to receive.
Harry nodded. ‘Number two was the worst.’
‘The Suttons?’
Again Harry nodded. ‘None of ’em made it I’m afraid.’
‘What!’ Kay stopped abruptly, wondering if she’d heard right.
‘Howard and Madge, old Mrs Sutton, young Robert who is fifteen and Kevin who was ten . . .’ Harry’s voice tailed away.
‘But weren’t they in the Anderson?’
‘The shelter was demolished too.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ Kay gasped incredulously. ‘I only saw Madge at the shops last week. And those lovely young boys . . .’ She stopped, staring at the warden. ‘Are you sure they weren’t at a public shelter?’
‘We’re checking, but from what has been found, it looks like they was all there.’
Kay felt ill. She just couldn’t take on board that a family of three generations had been wiped out in an eye blink.
‘The Chapmans have lost their house too,’ Harry informed her. ‘But they’re accounted for.’
‘Thank goodness.’ Kay breathed in relief. ‘But I can’t imagine how Babs is feeling right this moment.’
‘I tell you, they were sensible to have gone to the public shelter and they won’t regret having sent their two kids to stay with relatives in Essex. It was hard at the time, but just imagine if they’d all been at home. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’ Harry shook his head. ‘The only casualty was the cat. I told ’em enough times to get rid of it. But they never took any notice.’
‘What am I gonna do now?’ Vi whimpered, her gaze vacant as she appeared not to have understood what the warden had told them. ‘I’ve got nowhere to go, nothing!’
‘Have you got your gas mask?’ Harry asked ill-advisedly as he leaned his bike against the wall of Kay’s house. ‘You must keep it with you at all times.’
‘Harry Sway, do you imagine a gas mask was the first thing I thought of when the bombs started dropping?’ demanded Vi, suddenly rearing up. ‘Would I have said to meself, Vi, don’t worry about putting on yer warm coat and boots and three layers of clothing that will save you from dying of pneumonia in a rotten old tin shed. Instead go and find that flamin’ contraption that neither you nor the rest of the population has ever had the need to wear!’
Harry stared down at his dirty boots. ‘Sorry, gel. Didn’t mean to upset you. But rules are rules.’
At this, Vi burst into tears. Kay led her into the kitchen where Harry pulled out one of the four wooden chairs tucked under the square table. After brushing the dust from the seat, he stepped back, allowing Kay to make Vi comfortable.
Kay’s hands were trembling as she did so. She was feeling weak and shaken. The news of the Suttons’ deaths had made her feel physically sick. It was the worst tragedy in the street so far.
‘Harry, have you seen Alan?’ asked Kay, as Vi blew her nose loudly while continuing to glare at Harry. ‘Is he working in this sector?’
‘Don’t think he is,’ Harry replied with a frown. ‘His squad might have been sent up West to help out. Word came through to the ARP depot this morning that the House of Commons, Westminster Hall and St Paul’s all bought it. What’s worse, there’s hundreds buried under the rubble all over the city. There’s people still trapped as it’s too dangerous to try to rescue ’em.’
Kay felt another wave of nausea. Alan was in the thick of it and though she prayed every night and morning that her husband would be safe, she knew there was always a chance he wouldn’t come home.
‘Don’t worry, he’ll be all right,’ Harry said when he saw the effect his words had on her. ‘There’s no one savvier than your Alan. He knows when not to push his luck.’
Kay hoped so, although she wasn’t as certain as Harry that Alan wouldn’t risk his own life to save someone else’s. He worked in dangerous situations helping the fire-fighting teams and demolition squads to rescue victims of the bombings. Knowing Alan as she did, she suspected it was his heart rather than his head that sometimes governed his judgement.
‘Well, where’s that cuppa you promised me?’ Vi blinked back the tears and frowned at Harry’s canvas bag. ‘Gawd, I really fancy a smoke too. But I suppose striking a match is out of the question?’
‘Fraid so, love,’ Harry said. ‘But I’ve got a sandwich if you’d like it.’ He slipped the bag from his shoulder and opened the flap, removing his whistle, respirator and flask, together with a brown paper packet covered in greasy stains.
‘I ain’t hungry,’ Vi said sourly. ‘The Rosie will do.’
‘You should have a tot of something stronger with it,’ Harry suggested. ‘Got any brandy, Kay?’
‘We keep some for medicinal purposes.’ Kay hurried to the front room to fetch the small bottle from the sideboard. Once back in the kitchen, she added a tot to Vi’s tea.
‘Go on, Vi,’ urged Harry. ‘Trust me, it will help.’
‘It ain’t bad,’ Vi admitted after a sip or two.
‘Don’t worry about nothing,’ Harry said cheerfully as he repacked his bag. ‘We’ll soon have you sorted. The council will see you go somewhere safe for the future.’
At this, Vi nearly dropped her mug as she stared up at the warden. ‘What do you mean, “somewhere safe”?’
‘Well, you can’t stay here, love.’
‘I’ve lived in Slater Street all me married life!’
‘Yes, but you ain’t got a—’
Kay was relieved when Harry stopped himself in time from repeating the obvious. Vi was in no mood to be told again that she had just lost her home.
‘Well, can’t stop.’ Harry patted his pockets and took a step to the door. ‘Gotta meet the rescue services in Crane Street now I’ve checked on you two. But I’ll let you know when the gas is safe to use. Keep the flask, ladies, till I see you next.’
He didn’t wait for Kay to reply but rushed out, leaving Vi staring after him. ‘He wants to get rid of me!’ she exclaimed.
‘He was only trying to help.’
‘Well, he didn’t. He put the wind up me instead.’
‘Drink your tea.’ Gently, Kay drew the mug to Vi’s lips. She knew Vi must be in a state of shock. She hadn’t even registered the deaths of the Suttons or the Chapmans becoming homeless.
Vi downed two more cups of alcoholic tea before allowing Kay to take
her to the front room. In a matter of minutes she had fallen asleep on the couch. Kay gently removed her boots and lifted her feet, her heart squeezing with pity as she saw the big holes in her thick socks. Covering her with a blanket, Kay drew the curtains and, closing the door softly, made her way back to the kitchen.
Standing quite still, her thoughts went to the Suttons. They had been a lovely young family. Madge Sutton had vowed she would never leave her East End home but had evacuated her two boys. But Robert and Kevin had taken it into their own hands to return. Just after Christmas, they had appeared on the doorstep, refusing to go away again. Tears filled Kay’s eyes as she remembered the brave family.
‘Snap out of it, Kay,’ she told herself firmly, sliding the palms of her hands over her damp cheeks. ‘Find yourself something to do.’
Rolling up her sleeves, she set to work washing every surface in the kitchen with cold water and Lifebuoy soap, leaving the air smelling pleasantly of disinfectant. She threw the pails of dirty water over the yard and swept the path clear of punctured sandbags. There were roof tiles and bricks scattered everywhere. Alan would be able to replace a few, but most were broken. At least the toilet in the yard was working. She could hear the clang of fire-engine bells in the distance. That meant the demolition and rescue squads were on their way to clear the roads and check the gas mains. She thought the noise would wake Vi and fully expected her to come bursting out of the front room, but she didn’t. Kay guessed that Vi was exhausted both from the shock she’d received and their nights of broken sleep.
By the time Kay had restored order to the kitchen and upstairs landing, it was the afternoon. The last time she and Vi had eaten was in the shelter and too many hours ago to admit. She was tempted to take Vi a snack, but instead she let her sleep. Going to the larder, Kay did as Vi had suggested and wiped the Spam clean with a cloth. As much as she hated Spam, she carved two thin slices and lay them on a small wedge of bread taken from the safety of the bread bin. She found she was ravenous and didn’t care about the taste. With the sandwich devoured, her spirits revived.
Feeling more like her old self, Kay took out a small, rust-pitted mirror from the kitchen drawer. All the other mirrors had been taken down. No one wanted seven years’ back luck if they were cracked in a raid. To her horror, the woman who returned her stare was a complete stranger. The dust and ceiling plaster had formed her coppery-coloured waves into stiff, ugly spikes. Her skin looked like a mask. It was only the soft, light grey of her eyes that showed any sign of life. ‘Kay, what’s happened to you?’ she gasped. ‘You look a hundred and seven, not twenty-seven!’
She considered dragging in the tin bath and braving a scrub in cold water. But one of the civil defence workers or Harry might knock to tell them about the gas supply. No, she would have to make do. And since she didn’t have to go to work at the armaments factory on Sunday, there was time to stand at the sink and wash.
When she felt clean again, she brushed as much dirt from her hair as she could then leaned over the sink and put her head under the cold-water tap. The remains of the Lifebuoy was not the best shampoo in the world but was better than nothing. When she looked in the mirror again, her skin was back to its normal healthy colour. Her high cheekbones had regained their prominence in her oval-shaped face. Shaking out her damp hair, its glossy thickness started to dry. Kay even considered changing her clothes but what would be the point? In a few hours’ time she and Vi would return to the shelter for another cold and sleepless night.
Just then, Kay heard the front door open. She ran into the passage and very soon was buried in the arms of a tall, lean man with unruly black hair. As usual her husband was clad in his dirty overalls and his beautiful brown eyes looked tired under their heavy lids.
Alan Lewis lifted his wife’s small chin with his dirty hands and kissed her hungrily.
Chapter Three
‘Thank God you’re safe,’ Alan whispered, his lips pressed against her hair. ‘I was worried about you.’
‘It was a terrible night, Alan.’
‘The worst,’ he agreed. ‘The city took a real pasting, with very few sectors left untouched.’
‘Yes, Harry Sway told us.’
‘Are you and Vi all right?’
‘Vi’s asleep in the front room whilst I’ve been cleaning round. The back door blew open and the dust got everywhere.’ Kay pressed her face against his chest, inhaling the smells of the city. The London as it was now, in the raids and under pressure and in some parts razed to the ground. The fumes and dust and polluted gassy air, the mustiness of ancient buildings, the dampness of the slums and the river with its wet, mossy wharfs and timbers reeking of tar. There was oil too, and grease and the faint whiff of some ingredient that Alan had told her was contained in the dangerous explosives they dealt with. But most reassuringly of all, she could smell Alan himself. His sweat and his energy. His essence.
They walked slowly into the kitchen, arms linked. ‘There’s tiles off the roof,’ he noted, ‘and bricks dislodged from under the eaves. But they were loose already and will have to be mortared when I get the chance. We seem to have no broken windows at the front or back. I hope Vi’s house has fared the same.’
Kay looked up at him. ‘You didn’t pass her place?’
‘No. I came home through the Cut.’
‘The waste ground was bombed and Vi’s house took the impact.’
Alan closed his eyes for a second then opened them. ‘But Vi was safe with you in the shelter, right?’
Kay nodded. ‘But she’s lost everything, Alan. Everything except her overnight bag and the few personal things she keeps in the Anderson.’
‘Can’t anything be done for the house?’
‘Very little, I’d say.’ Kay tried to keep her voice steady as she continued. ‘And there’s more. Babs and Eddie’s house was destroyed, although they’re both safe. Thank God Tim and Gill are in Essex. But the Suttons . . .’ Kay’s voice trembled. ‘The family was at home when the bomb fell.’
‘My God, not the boys too?’ Alan gasped.
‘The whole family.’ She swallowed. ‘I . . . I was only talking to Madge in the butcher’s on Friday. She had enough coupons to buy sausages. They were Kevin’s favourite and she hadn’t been able to get them for ages so we queued for over an hour because there were still some left on the butcher’s shelf. Madge wanted them for Saturday’s dinner. Oh, Alan, that would have been the last meal she cooked!’
‘Come on, love.’ Alan hugged her. ‘Don’t torture yourself.’
‘I can’t help it.’
‘Close the door on your imagination,’ Alan said sternly. ‘It’s the only way. You can’t let your feelings get the better of you. This is a hard and sometimes unforgiving world we live in.’
Kay knew that Alan spoke from experience. He had seen terrible things during the Blitz and had to steel himself against the sight of death, maiming and gruesome injuries. He always kept the worst to himself. She knew he didn’t want to frighten her. But all the same she didn’t like to hear him speak so bitterly. In fact, it frightened her when he showed this side of his character – which wasn’t often – and yet the closed look in his eyes and strained expression caused her to think that something in his past, the past that they rarely if ever discussed, still haunted him.
‘I’d better go down the road and see if there’s anything that needs to be done for the Suttons,’ he said, shaking his head slightly as if to return himself to the present.
‘But you’ve only just finished your shift,’ Kay protested before she could consider her words. Then, realizing his meaning, she put her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh, of course, you might have to help with the identification.’ Kay knew that sometimes there was no family or even neighbours who could perform this awful procedure. Alan had to give what help he could to the teams who dealt with the remains.
‘You won’t be too long, will you?’
He drew his hand gently down her cheek. ‘When I come back we’ll discuss wha
t’s to be done for Vi.’
After he’d gone, Kay sat on a kitchen chair and looked around her. She had washed the dresser shelves and stood odd bits of china on them to replace the tea service. The puddle on the floor was gone and she had satisfied herself that there was no blast dust left to contaminate the food. But she couldn’t help thinking that Slater Street had had more than its fair share of bad luck in recent times.
Just after Christmas, Amy Greenaway, a teacher who lived on her own at the top of the road close to the Butts and whose house had backed on to Crane Street, had died in a raid. She usually went to her church where the vicar had opened the cellars to provide shelter. But on this occasion she had been ill and in bed when the fatal bomb dropped. Then there was Florence and Herbert Shorter of number eighty-four. The elderly couple had survived damage to their house from a heavy explosive but both had perished from their injuries later. Now Vi’s house and the Chapmans’ were more notches on the Luftwaffe’s belt. But no loss in the street compared to the tragedy of the Suttons.
Just then there was movement behind her. She glanced round to see Vi who had a look of complete confusion on her face. ‘I can’t take it all in,’ Vi murmured hoarsely. ‘Is it true my house was bombed?’
‘I’m afraid so, Vi.’
‘Did Harry say the Suttons were dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought it was an ’orrible dream.’
‘I wish it was,’ whispered Kay sadly, ‘and we could wake up to how it was before this rotten war started.’
‘Anyone ’ome?’ A loud voice came from the passage. Kay went to see who it was. The gas man stood there, his face black and greasy and, like Alan, his overalls were covered in grime.
‘All safe to turn on now, missis,’ he called. ‘You can make that cuppa you’ve been gasping for.’
Kay thanked him for the welcome news. A cup of tea would go down very well at this moment. But when Kay turned back to Vi, she saw that the gas being restored was the very least of their problems. Vi looked utterly dejected. Her downcast face and blank, lifeless eyes told Kay just how much she was suffering.
