by Lorna Peel
“Flight Lieutenant Charles Butler,” he announced, and the secretary raised her head. She took her glasses off, allowing them to hang on a chain around her scrawny neck. She stared at him for a moment, taking in the uniform, while trying to place the name and the face.
“You’ve grown, Charlie,” she said, getting to her feet.
“Yes,” he replied. “I have.”
“Mr Jacobs is expecting you.” She went to the headmaster’s door, knocked, and opened it. “Flight Lieutenant Charles Butler, Mr Jacobs,” she said.
Charlie braced himself, took Kate’s hand, and they went into the office. Miss Ridley closed the door and Mr Jacobs rose from behind his huge desk. He had aged better than his secretary.
“It’s been a long time, Charlie, or should I say Flight Lieutenant?” He held out a hand, which Charlie shook reluctantly. “How are you?”
Charlie frowned and introduced Kate instead of answering.
“Please sit down.” Mr Jacobs smiled at them. “Miss Ridley tells me it was your Commanding Officer who made the appointment. He said it was urgent.”
“I’m afraid it is, Mr Jacobs.” Charlie clasped his hands tightly, balancing his cap on his knee and steeling himself not to break down for the first time in front of his old headmaster. He would not cry in front of Mr Jacobs and that was final. “It concerns Clive and Toby. Kate, here, is Toby’s cousin. She went home to Dunstan Street this morning to find half of it up in flames. The upshot is that—” He paused, realising he was speaking far too fast and took a breath.
“Clive’s… our parents are dead,” he continued, having to force himself to speak slowly. “Toby’s parents are dead, too, and also his grandmother.”
Mr Jacobs dropped the fountain pen he had been holding and alternated a shocked gaze between Charlie and Kate.
“Both boys’ parents are dead, and a grandmother?” he confirmed and Charlie nodded.
“Kate’s aunt and uncle were Toby’s parents, Barbara was their grandmother. The boys have to be told and more than likely excused from school for a while.” He surprised himself by recounting it so calmly.
“Of course.” Mr Jacobs was clearly at a total loss. “I’m sorry Charlie, Miss Sheridan, but I’m utterly shocked. You have my deepest condolences.”
“Thank you.”
Mr Jacobs rubbed his forehead and Charlie surprised himself again by feeling pity for the man. It was obvious he had never had to deal with this kind of situation before.
“We will, of course, have to discuss what will be best for the boys,” Mr Jacobs said eventually. “I say boys, but they are both seventeen – young men. Are you their next of kin now?”
“I am Clive’s. Toby’s aunt – Kate’s mother – lives in Ireland, so Kate is his only next of kin here.”
Mr Jacobs nodded. “The boys have two months until the summer holidays. I propose that they forgo those two months. I will speak to their form master. Once the boys are told they are going to need as much stability as possible. Do you have somewhere to live, Charlie?”
He nodded. “Yes. Rose Cottage in Market Kirby. It belonged to my late aunt. Kate and I have been granted three months compassionate leave, so we will live there.”
“Good.” Mr Jacobs stood up. “I’ll send for the boys. Can I get you a cup of tea? Something stronger?”
“No, thank you, we’ve not long eaten. Oh.” He remembered. “Their clothes?”
“That will be seen to.”
As the door closed after the headmaster, Charlie wondered how everything was going to fit into the car.
“It won’t all fit,” he said aloud, turning to Kate. “Their trunks will never fit in the car.”
“Surely someone could deliver them?” she said and he nodded.
They sat in silence until his heart thudded as he heard footsteps approaching the door and it opening. He braced himself, having to forcibly steady his breathing, and they got up as Clive and Toby were ushered into the office.
“What is it?” asked Clive immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“Sit down,” Kate told them, pointing to the chairs. “Please sit down, we have some bad news.”
They did as they were told and Charlie knelt in front of them, feeling Kate’s hands on his shoulders. He looked into their scared faces. He was about to change their lives forever and hated himself for it.
“It’s about Mother and Father,” he told Clive as slowly and gently as he could. “And your mother and father and your grandmother, Toby.” Keep calm and breathe, he ordered himself. “Kate went to Dunstan Street this morning, she had leave, but when she got there the far end was up in flames.” He paused for breath again. “The houses and shelters at number 25 and 26 are either on fire or gone.”
“They’re dead,” Clive stated flatly. “Everyone’s dead.”
“Yes,” he said and waited but no tears or hysterics came. The two boys sat as if turned to stone.
Toby spoke first. “Mother, Father, Granny, Cook, Millie?” he asked, looking up at Kate.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“A bomb?”
“Yes. Lots of bombs. Last night was bad.”
“What are we going to do?” he whimpered.
Charlie laid a hand on each boy’s knee. “We are all going to live together in my aunt’s house. Aunt Winnie’s,” he told Clive. “Kate and I have been granted leave, so we’re going there, to Market Kirby.”
“When are the funerals?” Clive asked and Charlie stared at his brother. How could he tell him and be even more cruel? His heart began to thump wildly. Breathe. Breath in and out. Tell him the truth. The truth is best.
“Clive, the street is burning. I doubt if there will be any funerals.”
“You mean their bodies are burning, too?”
“Yes, I would think so,” he whispered.
Clive covered his face with his hands. Toby began to sniff and Kate went to him and he clung to her, his hands clawing her uniform.
“Clive,” Charlie whispered and the boy fell sobbing into his arms. “Oh, Clive…”
“I want to see,” he croaked. “I have to.”
Charlie ran a hand over his mouth. To see their homes in flames… Did he want to? He looked up at Kate but she frowned and shrugged. It was up to him. Breathe, Charlie. Keep calm.
“Toby?” he called softly and the boy turned a tearful face towards him. “Do you want to see? You don’t have to. Don’t let us force you.”
“No, I want to see.”
“All right, we’ll go.”
He squeezed Toby and Clive’s shoulders and went to the door. Opening it, he saw Mr Jacobs with the boys’ form master, Mr Blake. Bloody hell, had anything changed here in ten years?
“Charlie.” Mr Blake came forward and clasped his hands. “Charlie, I don’t know what to say…”
“I know. Thank you.”
“Could you come inside?” Mr Jacobs took Mr Blake’s arm, led him into his office, and closed the door. “Now, we both agree that both Toby and Clive should forgo the last two months of term. Matron is packing their trunks.”
“About their trunks, Mr Jacobs. I’m afraid they won’t fit in my car.”
“The trunks will be delivered to Market Kirby this evening.”
That was a relief. “That’s very kind, thank you. We’re going to London now.”
“London?” Both men stared at him.
“They want to see,” Charlie explained. “I suppose I do, too. And I have things to do,” he added and clenched his fists. The thought of having to register the deaths filled him with dread and he hoped he wasn’t visibly shaking.
“Of course. Now, Charlie, if there is anything I or any of us here can do.”
“Thank you, Mr Jacobs, Mr Blake. Well, we’d better go now.”
“I’ll get the boys’ coats and caps.” Mr Blake hurried out of the office.
“Are we set?” Charlie turned to the boys but there was no reply. “Come on,” he said softly.
Taking thei
r coats, scarves and caps from Mr Blake, Clive and Toby said goodbye then went out to the car with Kate. Charlie shook the two teachers’ hands before following them. Kate and Toby got into the back and Clive sat in the front passenger seat.
Charlie got in, twisted around in his seat, and looked at them all. “Anyone who doesn’t want to see, say so now.” No-one did and he nodded. “All right.”
As Charlie drove into London it struck him hard that this would be the last time they would all be going ‘home’. He gazed at what had once been London. Now it was a mass of burning, gutted, or demolished buildings. He saw old haunts, now almost unrecognisable. No. This wasn’t the London he knew anymore. He parked as close to Dunstan Street as he could and a police constable ran towards them, waving his arms in a ‘you can’t park there’ gesture.
Charlie braced himself, got out of the car, and explained who he was and why they were there. The constable relented and stared at Kate as she and the boys got out.
“There you are,” he exclaimed. “One minute you’re there, the next you’re gone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Could I speak to you in private in a few minutes, please?” Charlie asked the constable in a low voice.
“Of course. Don’t attempt to climb over the barricade or go up the street, please. The buildings are unsafe.”
Charlie nodded and they walked to the barricade. Kate stood with her arms around Toby and Charlie stood behind Clive with his hands on the boy’s shoulders, feeling him shaking, and they all stared. The houses were still on fire. It took him a minute or two to even locate number 25. Everything – Father and Mother, pictures, books, ornaments, furniture, clothes – all gone. He turned to number 26, thinking of how he had first seen Kate getting out of the cab with Helen and tottering up the drive in her high heels. He put an arm around her and she leant her head on his shoulder. They only had each other and two stunned boys now.
“I have to speak to the constable,” he whispered to her and she raised her head and nodded. He turned away from the fires and went to the constable, standing on guard beside the street sign. Someone had left a bunch of daffodils wedged between the sign and the wall. “There’s no chance,” he asked, trying to keep a desperate hope out of his voice, “that any bodies might be found?”
“The houses have been on fire all night and all day, sir. It would be a very slim chance. It rained bombs here last night. Everything went up – houses, shelters, cars – the lot. If remains are found you will, of course, be contacted. What are your details, please?”
“Flight Lieutenant Charles Butler, Rose Cottage, Market Kirby.” He watched as the details were scribbled down in a notebook.
“Is she your wife?” The constable nodded at Kate. “No, wait, she lived at number 26.” He flipped the pages over and over. “She gave me some details this morning. A neighbour gave me her name… Kate Sheridan?”
“That’s right, she’ll be living at my address too, so if…” He left the sentence unfinished.
“Of course, Flight Lieutenant.”
“The cook and housemaid in number 26 were mother and daughter. The mother was a widow; I don’t know if there are any relatives.”
“I’ve spoken to a relative of theirs, a sister of the cook, a Mrs Aubrey. She has registered their deaths.”
“I see. Where do I go to register deaths?” he asked, wincing as his voice shook. He longed to put it off but he couldn’t. It had to be done.
“Deaths from this area are being registered at the Register Office in Hilkney Road. Go there and give them the details but be prepared to queue.”
Queue. Charlie stared at him for a moment before nodding and asking the constable if he could borrow his notebook and pencil. He turned back to Kate and the boys. He didn’t want to bring them to the Register Office as it would be full of other grieving relatives but he couldn’t leave them here either. He caught Kate’s eye and she led the boys towards him.
“Put them in the car,” he murmured in her ear. “Then come back.”
She did as she was told and returned to him.
“Kate, I need to go to the Register Office in Hilkney Road to register their deaths, but I don’t know how old Bob, Helen and Barbara were.”
“Bob was—” she began and Charlie held out the notebook and pencil to her.
“Write it all down for me?” he asked. “Full names and dates of birth, if you know them. I don’t want to make any mistakes.”
“All right.” She took the notebook and he watched as she wrote the details down. “Granny Barbara would have been seventy-five on Saturday. She’d have hated to be seventy-five.” She gave him a wobbly smile and handed the notebook back.
“I know. Thank you. Go back to the car, I’ll be there in a minute.”
Tearing the page out of the notebook, he put it in his wallet and returned the notebook and pencil to the constable. He walked to the barricade and looked up the street for the last time, feeling the heat from the flames blowing into his face – still intense – even though the houses had clearly been burning for hours. His street. His home. He had been born in that house. Now it was destroyed – just like that. Tears stung his eyes but he blinked them away. Do not cry. You have to keep calm. He turned and watched Kate getting into the car. He clenched his fists to stop himself shaking before turning his back on Dunstan Street and walking away.
Chapter Eleven
Kate sat in the back of the car with an arm around Toby as Charlie got in. He drove to Hilkney Road and pulled up just down the street from the Register Office.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” he said and got out. He was gone well over an hour and came back grey-faced. “Right,” was all he said. “Let’s go.”
She hoped Charlie knew where he was going as they left London behind and sped into the countryside because she certainly didn’t. Market Kirby. She had never heard of the place just as its inhabitants would never have heard of Ballycarn. Could she face another query of, “Are you from Wales?” After today what would her reaction be? Would she be angry or just laugh hysterically? She hoped she wouldn’t have to find out and stared out of the window at the blur of hedgerows.
There was no sign for Market Kirby, and the next thing she knew was Charlie braking sharply and reversing back along a wide village street.
“There it is. At last,” she heard him mutter. “Here we are,” he announced as he parked and got out. “No keys, of course; I’ll have to break in. I suppose I’d better find the police station and warn them. I couldn’t face being arrested.”
Kate and the boys clambered out of the car. She had pins and needles in her legs, thanks to being squashed in the back for so long. She leaned on the wall surrounding the front garden and stared up at Rose Cottage. It was beautiful, and it was a pity they were coming under such awful circumstances. Built of stone and thatched with pink roses growing around the red front door, the cottage reminded her of those in Ireland.
“Hello?” A sharp voice hailed them and they turned. An elderly woman approached them across the lawn of the neighbouring cottage’s garden.
“Hello.” Kate straightened up.
“I know you.” The woman peered at Charlie and Clive. “You’re very familiar.”
“Clive and I were Winnie’s nephews, Mrs Hodges,” Charlie told her. “We used to come and stay with her and our grandparents. I’m Charlie Butler.”
“Charlie Butler,” she repeated, then smiled. “Yes, I remember you. Come to take care of the cottage, have you? To be honest with you, I expected someone to have come long before this, and either have the electricity disconnected or rent the place out. I don’t like seeing it standing empty.”
Kate saw him hesitate before answering. He glanced at her and she knew he was wondering if he should tell the woman the real reason why they were there.
Banging a clenched fist against his leg, he walked up to her, clearly having decided the truth was best.
“Mrs Hodges, I’m afraid our homes in London
were bombed last night so we’re coming to live here.”
“Oh, how awful. Will your parents be coming, too?”
Charlie’s face contorted and for a moment Kate thought that the tears were coming at last.
“I’m afraid they died, Mrs Hodges,” he replied, reaching back a hand for Kate and she took it and joined him. “This is Kate Sheridan. Toby is her cousin. Her aunt and uncle – Toby’s parents – and their grandmother died, too. So, you see.” He gave her a crooked smile. “We really don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“They’re all dead?” Mrs Hodges stared at them in horror.
“Yes, so I’m going to have to break in. Could you tell me where the police station is? I’ll go and make myself known to them.”
“Oh, you don’t have to break in. I always had a key. Gordon?” she called, presumably for her husband. “Gordon, the key to Winnie’s house – quickly.” Turning back, she smiled at them. “My husband’s coming.”
“Thank you.”
Mr Hodges came outside with the key. It was snatched from him by his wife, who hurried out of her garden and up the path to Rose Cottage.
Kate exchanged a weary glance with Charlie and she squeezed his hand as they followed Mrs Hodges inside. Their new neighbour meant well, but Kate wished the woman had just handed over the key and left them to it.
“The cottage has been empty for some time now,” Mrs Hodges informed them, sounding like an estate agent. “You’ll have to air the rooms and the bedding. I do hope you’ll all fit, there are only two bedrooms.”
“Oh, I’m sure we will, thank—” Charlie began before Mrs Hodges interrupted him.
“Of course, I tidied up after poor Winnie was found dead. It was a stroke, you know? Now.” She stood in the hall and pointed to the doors. “Kitchen, dining room, living room, bathroom and two bedrooms. I suppose you have no food at all?”
“No,” Kate told her. “And no ration books yet either.”
Mrs Hodges stared at her while plainly trying to place her accent. “Well, Mr Gibson in the village shop is a very obliging man. He will be able to accommodate you until your ration books do come.”
