The East End Girl in Blue

by Fenella J Miller

  He had two helpings of soup and devoured both sandwiches. The kettle was steaming, the teapot warmed and the tea leaves already in it. All he had to do was to pour the water in.

  Jill had left but would be back at five o’clock when he had a dozen or more appointments to get through. Before that he had to make the house calls. He called up the stairs to tell Nancy he’d made some tea but got no response.

  He didn’t want to wake her if she was sleeping deeply. She’d had a bloody horrible time and the more sleep she got the better. Both the patients he visited after lunch were housebound, but neither of them required anything more than reassurance.

  Eventually he dumped his bicycle against the front wall of the house at four thirty. Just time for a cuppa and a freshen up before the first patient. He’d expected to hear sounds from the kitchen but there were none. He pounded up the stairs and walked into the room that Nancy was using.

  Her kitbag was gone. The bed was neatly made and there was a note on the mantelpiece addressed to him.

  Deer Daved

  I’ve got the bus to Chelmsford. I’m going home. Ta ever so for taking me in but folk don’t like me being here.

  Nancy

  He’d heard the bus go past whilst he’d been eating his lunch. If he’d bothered to look for Nancy then he could have stopped her. Something must have happened when she’d gone to the post office to make her change her mind. He bitterly regretted his lack of thought as the East End wasn’t going to be a safe place for anyone, and especially not someone as vulnerable as her.

  7

  Nancy hid in the shadows waiting for the bus to come, not sure in which direction David would return from his emergency call. He was a good man and she didn’t want to make his life difficult by staying with him any longer. She had a home in Poplar and that’s where she was going.

  Her family didn’t know Tommy was dead or that he’d died two days before their wedding. As far as she was concerned, she was now Mrs Smith and the baby would be legitimate. The only problem was that they’d expect her to register the baby and have money from the government and she wouldn’t get anything.

  She’d hardly spent any of her wages since she’d signed up last year and had almost thirty pounds in the bank. If she could find a job then nobody would ever know the true circumstances. Despite feeling so wretched about everything she was chuffed with herself. She reckoned from now on she could talk better – certainly she wouldn’t get was and were confused no more.

  People made assumptions when they heard her speak. If she made a bit of an effort she wouldn’t be immediately identified and considered common and spoken to like those nasty pair in the village had done.

  If David hadn’t pointed it out to her then she’d never have made the effort. There must be work somewhere in one of the factories that produced clothes and such. She’d been a decent seamstress before she’d joined up so maybe Mr Hyam would take her on again until she was too big to work.

  Eventually the bus trundled up and she hefted her kitbag over her shoulder and scrambled on.

  ‘Here, love, put your bag in this space with the others. You don’t want to drag that all the way down the bus. There’s a couple of seats at the back.’ The conductor looked old enough to be her granddad but was sprightly enough.

  ‘Ta, it’s almost as big as me.’

  The bus took off whilst she was still negotiating her way. Being in uniform meant people nodded and smiled as she went past. The first available place was next to a fat lady who took up more than her fair share of the seat. No wonder no one else had sat there. Good thing she was a little one herself.

  ‘You based at Hornchurch, dearie? My Trevor’s on the guns there.’

  ‘I am. Been on leave but going back today.’ It was none of anyone’s business what she was actually doing. Pretending she was a normal WAAF made things easier.

  The bus lurched and bumped, a few more people squeezed on, and then it arrived in Chelmsford. The conductor hadn’t asked her to pay – maybe service personnel travelled free. There was a London train due in half an hour.

  Again, she was waved through by the guard and found a corner to prop her kitbag and then sat on it. Bloody hell! Everything in her kitbag had to be returned and signed for or she’d be charged for the lot. She wasn’t entitled to wear this uniform she’d been so proud of so had no option but to cross the station and catch a train to Romford. From there she’d walk if she didn’t get a lift.

  Being a small girl with a large kitbag meant an army lorry stopped to offer her a ride before she’d gone more than a hundred yards. The driver leaned out and grinned.

  ‘Hop in the back, love – that’s if you can get over the tailgate. There’s half a dozen blokes inside will give you a hand.’

  ‘Ta ever so. Save me the walk.’

  When she arrived at the back two young soldiers jumped out, one grabbed her kitbag and threw it over the tailgate, the other picked her up and dropped her inside as if she was no heavier than her bag. They vaulted into the lorry just as it pulled away and both of them sprawled face first, making their mates laugh.

  There was scarcely time to get settled before the lorry screeched to a halt outside the gates and the soldier who’d lifted her in reversed the process and the other one tossed her bag out after.

  ‘Ta, boys, much appreciated.’

  She showed her pass to the guards and then trudged across to the admin buildings. She ducked instinctively every time a plane landed or took off. Her hands were clammy and her heart was pounding. She staggered into the building and dropped her bag. Several RAF and WAAF members looked at her curiously. She tried to stand tall, march across the lobby, but everything was swirling around her. Her knees buckled and she slid to the lino and from a distance heard voices and then nothing at all.

  ‘LACW 1377, wake up. Can you hear me?’

  Nancy opened her eyes. She was stretched out on the floor in an office. Someone had put a folded coat under her head. ‘I felt a bit faint…’

  ‘You certainly did, young lady. Now, up you come. You can’t lie around on my floor any longer.’ The speaker was an officer and Nancy tried to salute from where she was. ‘Not necessary, silly girl. Can you stand without help?’

  There was no one else in the room. She’d been carried in and dumped on the floor like a sack of spuds. ‘I can, ma’am. Sorry to be a nuisance.’

  It took two attempts, but then she was upright, still a bit wobbly, but otherwise nothing damaged apart from her dignity.

  ‘Sit in that chair and tell me what you’re doing here. As far as I’m concerned you’re on sick leave.’

  Nancy explained about the medical certificate but was too embarrassed to mention the contents. ‘I were… was on me way to London when I remembered I had to hand all me stuff back so I came here.’

  ‘I see. The letter from your doctor hasn’t been logged as yet. Do you feel well enough to take your things to the stores and get them signed in?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I ain’t… I haven’t got any civvies so what do I wear after?’

  ‘Good heavens, child, we let you keep what you’re wearing. You can hardly walk out of here in your birthday suit. Now, off you go, and I’ll see what I can do about the paperwork. I think it unlikely you can be discharged today.’

  ‘Could I see the doctor here and get him to supply the certificate, ma’am?’

  ‘Wait outside. I’ll check first if it has arrived from this Doctor Denny.’

  There were no chairs in the passageway and Nancy wasn’t sure she would be allowed to sit on her kitbag. Then she did so anyway – she wouldn’t be in the WAAF much longer so it didn’t really matter what anybody thought. Nancy had just got comfortable when the officer called her back.

  ‘Good news. The letter from that doctor of yours arrived this morning. I’ll expedite matters as I’m sure you don’t want to remain here any longer than you have to.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry for your loss, LACW 1377. Most unfortunate. Dismissed.�
�

  Nancy saluted and marched out. It took two hours to dispose of the contents of her kitbag but at the end of that she had the necessary paperwork to say she’d returned everything and didn’t owe the RAF a penny.

  She hadn’t eaten since breakfast but had no intention of venturing any further than the admin building in case she bumped into anyone she knew. As long as nobody mentioned Tommy’s death then she’d be okay.

  At five o’clock she left Hornchurch for the last time, looking like a WAAF, but no longer a member. It had been a pleasant surprise to discover she had a few pounds owing to her as well as another three pounds’ discharge pay. They’d allowed her to hang on to the canvas haversack and all her worldly goods were inside. Her toilet bag, her sewing kit, plus a few photographs of her and Tommy, and her discharge papers.

  If only she wasn’t in the family way then she could have stayed in and asked for a transfer. Had she made a real error believing what the doctor had said without any actual proof? She’d burnt her boats so couldn’t go back now even if she wanted to. Tommy would be disappointed that she’d given up so easily. She blinked, trying to hide the tears.

  She marched out not looking back and walked the two miles to Romford station. This was no problem now she was no longer burdened by her heavy kitbag and wasn’t as dizzy as she’d been earlier. Being waved through by the guard for the last time brought a lump to her throat. Her life was going to be different now, not how she thought it would be, but she was going to do the best she could for Tommy’s baby.

  London looked different from the last time she’d been there. Barrage balloons everywhere, more people in uniform than out, and even more signs on every corner directing you to the air raid shelters. These had been built before she left last year but there hadn’t been all the signs and things. She hesitated at the steps that led down to the underground and then decided to take the trolleybus back.

  She gazed out of the window, looking but not really seeing anything. Her head was full of what-ifs – what if she had made an error leaving Hornchurch when she might not have had to?

  She wasn’t looking forward to turning up at home and announcing that Tommy was dead, that she was expecting and was no longer in the WAAF. Ma might be sympathetic but Pa would immediately think she’d had to get married because of the baby. He wouldn’t understand that sometimes a doctor could be sure of his diagnosis even after missing only one monthly.

  Ruby, her good friend who’d come with her to sign up last year but then changed her mind and stayed at home, was the first person she saw as she turned down Cottage Street.

  ‘Bloomin’ heck, Nancy Evans, never thought to see you here.’

  ‘It’s Nancy Smith now.’ She held up her hand showing the new wedding band and her eyes filled. She was unable to continue.

  ‘Is your Tommy dead?’

  She nodded and when Ruby took her hand and pulled her along and into Poplar High Street she didn’t protest. There was a little caf they’d used to go to and it was still open.

  ‘You sit down, Nancy love; I’ll get us both a nice cuppa and a bun, if they’ve got one spare.’

  This gave her a precious few moments to find her hanky, wipe her eyes, blow her nose, and try and push the misery back where it belonged. She had to get her facts right – she’d been married on Saturday, the last day of August. Tommy had been killed on the 3rd of September. How could it only be two weeks since he’d died? It didn’t seem real, none of it did. A while ago she’d been looking forward to getting married on the 5th and now she was out of the WAAF, in the family way and Tommy was dead.

  ‘Here you are. You don’t look too clever; get this down you before you tell me what happened.’

  Nancy ignored the iced finger but drank the tea. Strong and sweet, just how she liked it. She took a small bite of the cake but despite chewing it a hundred times it refused to go down. Eventually she got rid of it with a mouthful of tea.

  ‘We were married just over two weeks ago and he was killed three days later.’ She gripped the edge of the table, took a deep breath and continued. ‘We spent the night together two weeks before we got married and I’m expecting. I’ve left the WAAF and need to find a job.’

  Ruby reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘There was bombs dropped the other week, Nancy. You don’t want to be here once it kicks off. Not in your condition.’

  ‘I’ve got nowhere else to go. I need to work – I’ll only get a pittance from the government and it won’t be enough to keep me and the baby when it comes next year.’

  ‘How’d you know you’re expecting? Can’t be sure for another few weeks.’

  ‘I’ve missed me monthly and I’m regular as clockwork. I also keep fainting and Doctor Denny was certain enough to write me a letter so I could be discharged from the WAAF.’

  ‘Who’s this Doctor Denny when he’s at home? Someone where you was based?’

  ‘Jane – you remember I signed up with her – took me to her in-laws in the country somewhere in Suffolk. He’s the doctor there. I fainted in front of him, which is how he got involved.’

  ‘All right then. I reckon I can get you into the factory with me if you want.’

  ‘I’m hoping Mr Hyam will take me back until I’m too big to sit behind a sewing machine. I was good at me job and I know he was fed up about me leaving.’

  ‘They ain’t making frocks no more – it’s shirts for sailors or somethink like that.’

  The siren went off and Ruby grabbed her arm. ‘There’s that public shelter a few doors down – we’ll have to go there.’

  Outside, people were panicking. ARP wardens were running up and down, blowing their whistles and shouting for people to take cover. They followed the stampede towards the shelter, stumbled down the steps, and the warden slammed the door after the last person.

  It smelt damp and nasty. She reckoned no one had emptied the Elsan. She hoped she didn’t have to use it whilst they were down there. There were candles in jam jars positioned on a shelf at head height. Even the smell of smoke was preferable to the contents of the bucket.

  There were spiders on the ceiling and one or two ladies were complaining. Then the bombs started exploding. The shelter shook and dust and dirt came down in a shower along with the spiders and cobwebs.

  The guns were firing at the bombers. The distinct noise of planes flying overhead added to the horrible noise. There wasn’t any room on the benches so she and Ruby stayed up near the door, pressed against the slimy corrugated iron that lined the shelter.

  It seemed like hours before the all clear was sounded. Being at the front of the shelter meant that they emerged first. Nancy blinked in the sunlight and looked around. The street was packed with ambulances, fire engines, all of them clanging their bells.

  ‘Someone’s copped it – God – I hope it ain’t Cottage Street,’ Ruby said.

  The gutters were running with water filled with soot. The oil had rainbows in it and reflected the dark red glow from the sky caused by burning buildings a few streets away.

  ‘Hurry up, those buggers might be back in a minute. We need to get home and see that everyone’s all right.’ Ruby grabbed her arm and pulled her in the direction of home.

  The Spitfires and Hurricanes were doing their best to shoot down the bombers. The battles were taking place thousands of feet above them – the vapour trails from the fighters crisscrossed the sky. Nancy prayed that her family hadn’t been killed in the raid. She’d already lost Tommy – she didn’t think she could cope if she lost anyone else.

  They dodged around the wardens, firemen and ambulance drivers, ignoring their instructions to stay where they were. Just as they arrived to see, with considerable relief, that no bombs had dropped in their own street, the siren went off again.

  ‘Where do we go? No one here has an Anderson shelter. We’ll have to run back to the one in the High Street,’ Nancy shouted above the racket.

  ‘There’s one for us now at the other end, on the corner. Quick, they sound real cl
ose.’

  They were the last to tumble down the steps and the door slammed behind them not a moment too soon. For the second time she was standing in the space at the bottom of the steps. There was plenty of room to sit down but she hoped they wouldn’t be in there very long so didn’t bother.

  This shelter was bigger than the other one, was lit by oil lamps as well as candles, and there was a curtained-off area at the far end for anyone caught short. There were rough benches running down either side and a narrow gap between them. Apart from the smell of unwashed bodies it wasn’t too bad down there compared to the other one.

  Once her heart stopped hammering and her eyes adjusted to the flickering light she began to recognise voices and faces.

  ‘I can hear me ma down there. I can’t hear me brothers or me dad. They must be at the docks.’ She’d had to shout to make herself heard over the noise of the bombs dropping. Unfortunately, everyone else was doing the same and she doubted anyone could make sense of anything that was being said.

  ‘I can see her, and me own ma and me nan and two little sisters sitting at the far end. Don’t you want to go up there?’

  ‘No, not worth the effort. I’ll see her soon enough. This bloody air raid can’t go on forever.’

  The noise from the bombs dropping, the ack-ack firing and the Spitfires and Hurricanes trying to shoot down the Germans continued for an hour. It had been impossible to ignore the fact that ma was at the other end of the shelter. Nancy had waved but remained where she was.

  She and Ruby had found themselves a place on the end of the bench. ‘Bleedin’ hell,’ Ruby said loudly. ‘I’ve got splinters in me arse from sitting on this.’

  An old man, snot dripping from his nose, no teeth at all, heard her comment. ‘Think yourself lucky you’ve got anything to sit on, girly, and stop moaning. There’s a war on, you know.’ He wiped his nose on his sleeve and continued to mutter under his breath.