A sad looked passed across Jerimiah’s angular face. ‘And now he’s a thousand miles away fighting in the desert.’
‘And will be back before we know it,’ said Ida, praying it would be so.
They sat quietly together for a long moment then he spoke again. ‘What else?’
Glancing down, Ida smoothed her skirt. ‘Oh, you know. This and that.’
‘James?’
Without raising her eyes, she nodded, as the pain of holding their much-wanted, much-loved lifeless son in her arms surged up in Ida.
‘I know it was terrible for you,’ Jerimiah said softly.
Ida looked up.
‘For both of us, Jerimiah,’ she said. ‘And that’s what I’ve been thinking about us. All we’ve been through and all we have. Our children and our grandchildren, too.’
‘And a new one on the way,’ he said.
‘And another one, too, by next year with Jo talking about a Whitsun wedding,’ said Ida.
Looking up at the ceiling, Jerimiah groaned. ‘You’re making me feel old.’
Ida’s eyes ran over him and she smiled. ‘I’m glad you said Jo and Tommy could get married.’
He laughed, and it rolled over Ida like a warm blanket. ‘Well, even I’m not strong enough to stand against Jo when she’s set her mind on something.’ His eyes twinkled as they danced over her face. ‘She takes after you for that.’
‘And I’ve been thinking about Michael,’ said Ida.
Apprehension flickered across Jerimiah’s face.
‘He’s a lovable little lad and already a part of this family,’ Ida said quickly. ‘And more importantly, Jerimiah, he’s your boy.’
‘He is,’ her husband replied firmly.
‘And none could doubt it,’ said Ida. ‘But you asked me yesterday if it was still me and you against the world.’ She looked him squarely in the eye. ‘And it is. We’ll face life together as we always have.’ One corner of her mouth rose slightly. ‘To be honest, I can’t see my life any other way, Jerimiah, than beside you.’
They stared at each other for a couple of heartbeats then stretching across the baby clothes on the bed, Jerimiah took her hand.
Raising it to his mouth he pressed his lips on her fingers, his breath warm on her skin. They lingered there for a moment then he raised his head.
‘I love you, Ida,’ he said, those dark grey eyes she’d fallen into the first time they met capturing her heart all over again.
‘I love you too, Jerimiah,’ she replied, knowing that despite everything she did.
He smiled and, her world restored, Ida smiled back.
They sat there spooning each other like a couple of fresh-faced youngsters rather than an old married couple for what seemed like hours then Jerimiah spoke again.
‘Well, wife,’ he said, giving her that half-smile of his that always made her glow, ‘is there anything else on your mind?’
‘Nothing, I don’t think other than I love my present,’ said Ida, touching the brooch with her fingers again.
‘Well, that’s a great weight off my mind, I can tell you,’ he joked. ‘Although, I wish it could be emeralds and diamonds. Oh, and I nearly forgot.’ He rummaged inside his waistcoat and pulled out something red. He handed it to her.
‘I don’t know if you recall but you were—’
‘Wearing a scarlet ribbon in my hair when we met,’ she said, gazing down at the coil of scarlet ribbon that had unravelled in her hand and remembering the fate of the original one. Images of their life together since that St Patrick’s Day dance flashed through her mind then she looked up.
And there he was beside her as always, the father of her children, the man she could totally rely on, who was the backbone of the family and who could drive her to wild fury at times, but the man she loved above all others, Jerimiah Boniface Brogan.
Tears, happy ones this time, sprang into Ida’s eyes.
‘Oh, Jerry,’ she mumbled, flinging herself into her husband’s arms.
His strong arms embraced her and the warmth and familiarity of his body engulfed her and happiness welled within her. In truth, it was more than happiness, it was more than contentment, it was the deep, deep unshakable confidence in his love.
Feeling his lips on her forehead, Ida looked up.
Jerimiah gazed down at her with all their history and his love shining from his eyes then he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.
A jolt of excitement shot through Ida and she kissed him back, enjoying his experienced hands caressing her back and hips. After a moment he raised his head.
‘I don’t feel old now, do you?’ he asked, his vibrant voice resonating through her.
‘No,’ she said, giving a look very like the one she’d given him at the St Patrick’s Day dance all those years ago.
His arms tightened, but just before his lips touched hers again the bone-jarring wail of the Moaning Minnie on top of the Town Hall cut between them.
Reluctant to leave the magic of her husband’s embrace, Ida didn’t move as the air raid siren ran through a couple of warning cycles and then the bedroom door burst open.
‘Dad, Dad,’ shouted Billy, as he and Michael dashed into the room. ‘There’s an air raid!’
‘Is there?’ Jerimiah roared over the incessant noise.
Ida rolled her eyes at him and slipping the scarlet ribbon into her pocket, stood up.
‘Start getting your things together, boys, and I’ll be down.’
The two lads dashed out on to the landing and ran back downstairs, the sound of their feet clattering like thunder on the stairwell.
Ida took Jerimiah’s hand. ‘Come on, we’ve got a houseful downstairs to get to the shelter.’
‘I know,’ he bellowed, putting his hands on his thighs as he stood up.
Ida turned to leave but he caught her around her waist and drew her back to him, he went to kiss her but placing her hands on his broad chest she held him off.
‘Later, I promise,’ she hollered, kissing his bristly chin.
He kissed her forehead and grinned down at her.
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he bawled.
He kissed her again then let her go and marched towards the door.
‘Right now, everyone,’ he shouted, ‘make sure . . .’
Ida smiled as she listened to her husband taking the stairs two at a time.
When you come to the realisation that when you kiss your family goodbye in the morning there is no guarantee you’ll see them again in this world, then it tends to focus your mind on the only thing that really matters: love.
Acknowledgements
As always, I would like to mention a few books, authors and people, to whom I am particularly indebted.
In order to set my characters’ thoughts and worldview authentically in the harsh reality of 1941, I returned to Wartime Britain 1939–1945 and The Blitz, both by Juliet Gardiner; The East End at War by Rosemary Taylor and Christopher Lloyd; London’s East End Survivors by Andrew Bissell; Living Through the Blitz by Tom Harrison; and The Blitz by Cecil Madden to give me a feel for those dark days.
I also reread Wartime Women by Dorothy Sheridan; Millions Like Us by Virginia Nicholson; Voices from the Home Front by Felicity Goodall; A Wartime Christmas by Mike Brown; The Wartime House by Mike Brown and Carol Harris and Ration Book Diet by Mike Brown, Carol Harris and C. J. Jackson to help me construct Ida’s day-to-day struggle to provide for her family during a time of rationing and shortages.
As always, I’ve sprinkled Fullerton family wartime stories and anecdotes throughout A Ration Book Childhood, along with stories from The Wartime Scrapbook by Robert Opie.
I would also like to thank a few more people. Firstly, my very own Hero at Home, Kelvin, for his unwavering support, and my three daughters, Janet, Fiona and Amy, who listen patiently as I explain the endless twists and turns of the plot. I’d also like to thank the Facebook group Stepney and Wapping living in 60s early 70s, who this time helped me get the Tilbur
y Shelter correct and shared their families’ wartime experience.
Once again, a big thank-you goes to my lovely agent Laura Longrigg, whose encouragement and incisive editorial mind helped me to see the wood for the trees, and her colleague Julia Silk who has supported me marvellously this year. Last, but by no means least, a big thank-you to the wonderful team at Atlantic Books, Jamie Forrest, Karen Duffy, Patrick Hunter, Sophie Walker and Poppy Mostyn-Owen, for their support and innovation. And finally to my lovely editors Sara O’Keeffe and Susannah Hamilton who again turned my 400+ page manuscript into a beautiful book.
Author’s Note
As it became clear during the summer of 1939 that war with Germany was almost inevitable, the British government’s Committee for Evacuation began the largest movement of people in modern times.
It was believed that on the declaration of war Germany would launch gas attacks against the civilian population. Therefore, to limit the casualties from such attacks, almost a million school-age children, infants and pregnant women were moved out of cities to safer locations around the country.
Although the scheme was voluntary the Ministry for Information produced a great deal of propaganda urging mothers to send their children to safety. Many women, fearful for their children’s lives, signed up to have their children evacuated.
Today, because of mass communication, we are used to regional dialects and cultures very different from our own. But in those days many poorer East London children from tight-knit, working-class communities found themselves amongst strangers in a totally alien culture. What’s more, many people living outside the large industrial cities regarded city children as dirty, dishonest and just a step up from feral.
On arrival, children were lined up in the village hall and people picked their evacuee. Siblings were often separated and older children, who could be useful around the house, were favoured over younger ones who were regarded as more demanding.
However, despite their misgivings, many East London mothers took the government’s advice and on 31 August 1939 the mass evacuation of children from London and other major cities began. Not wanting to be judged as poor parents, mothers did the best they could to equip their children for what lay ahead.
In addition to their gas masks and identity cards, the government recommended that children take the following items with them:
2 vests
2 pairs socks
2 pairs knickers or pants
6 handkerchiefs
A petticoat, a gym slip, a skirt, blouse and cardigan for girls
Two pairs trousers, a cardigan and jumper for boys
School uniform (if they had one)
An overcoat
Wellingtons and plimsolls
Plus: soap, flannel, towel and toothbrush
Mothers also packed their children off to the country with their favourite toy and sandwiches for the journey.
I can’t imagine what it must have felt like to take your children to a railway station and hand them over to a complete stranger. They had no idea where their children were going or when they would see them again. However, by Christmas 1939, as the predicted gas attacks had failed to materialise and with not a bomb having dropped, people started to fetch their children home. Many never returned to their evacuation placements. Even at the height of the Blitz people decided it was better to face the danger together.
Billy Brogan is loosely based on my Uncle Bob who had just turned thirteen when war broke out in 1939. With his brothers, Arthur, Jimmy and George, in the army, Bobby decided he’d had enough of school so, by his own admission, he spent the days roaming the streets with his gang, collecting shrapnel, exploring bomb sites, getting up to mischief and generally having a brilliant time. My grandmother, living only a few minutes’ walk from London Docks, was right in the thick of the Blitz in 1940, but she decided, like Queenie, to take her chances up top and never bothered to go to the public shelters when the air raid siren went off. As the war progressed, Bobby signed up for fire watch on one of the local factories and on his fifteenth birthday in 1941 he started his apprenticeship with the Post Office’s telephone division.
Although he was eligible to be called up in the summer of 1944, he was by then a qualified telephone engineer and so he remained in civilian life until National Service was brought in in 1948 after which he served in Malta, Egypt and what was then Palestine.
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