by C. G Oster
Racing, her mind tried to think through the logistics. She would have to take the train from Liverpool Street Station. Checking her watch, she tried to see what time it was. "Bugger."
"Just go," Betsy said. "We'll find some way to cover for you if you're not back."
"If we're lucky, it will be a clear night and nothing will happen. Just go. Here, take a sandwich," Betsy said, handing over the sandwich she was just about to bite into.
"Alright," Dory said, her body still paralyzed with indecision. "Right. Bus."
"Yes, take the bus. Run along. Do you have any money?"
"Yes. Yes, I do," Dory said and pulled on the jacket she had just taken off. "Alright, I better go."
"I hope everything is fine. I'm sure it will be," one of the girls said as Dory opened the door and stepped outside. Automatically her feet took her toward the bus station. What if her mum wasn't alright? What then? Dory tried to think through the implications. Harry was off in the mines, and Tom would need somewhere to go. Either Dory had to quit the ATS, or Tom would have to come to her, and stay here in the East End where the Germans dropped bombs just about every night. That was not a good solution.
The bus was crowded when it came. It was just on midday and people were… Actually, Dory had no idea why so many people were on the bus this time of day. Slowly, the bus trundled along Whitechapel northward toward Barbican. It had been a while since Dory had been up this way. The bombing damage extended all this way. It was sad what this had done to the city.
The trip cost her one pound fifty, and she could probably only pay it because Lady Pettifer had given her money. But ticket in hand, she waited on the platform for the train to come. The porters were all women, which Dory hadn't noticed before. But there were still men in dark suits with their whistles, directing trains and traffic. The trains had to keep running. They were the lifeline of the country.
Dory wondered if any of the lines had been bombed. Surely the Germans were trying to strike them. Not that the BBC would report it if any of them were struck.
Finally, the dark mass of the locomotive came, steam billowing along the roof of the station as it came to the platform. Dory found a seat next to an elderly woman with a large package tied with string. The woman smiled and Dory returned it.
Now that she was sitting and the shock of the news was wearing off, Dory couldn't keep her eyes open.
"Where are you going, dear?" the woman asked.
Groggily, Dory opened her eyes. "Sorry, just got off duty. Swanley."
"You get some kip and I'll keep an eye out for your station."
"They've taken the station names down," Dory stated.
"In my years, I have done this journey a hundred times. I live in Dover."
"That must be interesting," Dory mumbled, genuinely interested in what life was like in Dover in these times, but her body wouldn't keep up with her curiosity, so she slept.
"Here you go," said the woman touching her on the knee. It felt as though Dory had just closed her eyes in London and woken the next moment in Swanley. "Hurry now."
"Thank you," Dory mumbled, her knees feeling unsteady as she stood, walking with a woolly mind down toward the car door. "Hello, Mr. Mitchell," she said as she saw the old stationmaster.
"Dory, how are you?" he said. "Haven't seen you back here in ages."
"It's been ages." Dory blinked, trying to clear her head. "Mum's injured."
"So I hear."
Mr. Mitchell blew his whistle and it pierced Dory's ear. The train blew its whistle and started chugging away. "Thought I would check on her."
"I'm sure she will appreciate it." His calm words reassured her. Mr. Michell was always calm and collected. Things would be alright. Mum would be fine, Dory said, but she felt the nervousness reassert itself.
"Bye, then."
"Bye, Dory," the stationmaster said and walked toward the station. "Give my regards to your mother and let me know if she needs anything. Beatrice will be more than happy to help."
With a nod, Dory ran to the station exit and down the street, seeing the familiar brick buildings she had grown up around. Her mother's house wasn't far away and Dory ran the whole way, reaching the small terrace home where she had been born.
"Mum," she said, walking in the door.
"Dory," Tom said, appearing in the small entrance. "You're here."
"Where's Mum?"
"Upstairs in bed."
"Is she alright? Are you alright?"
"Mum's got a gypsum cast."
"Yeah?" Dory said. "You told me in your letter that she broke her arm. I'm going to go up and see her now."
"Okay," Tom said in the nonplussed way of an eight-year-old.
Dory walked up the staircase, the third step creaking like it always did. Her mother's door was open and Dory found her lying in bed, her arm in a sling. "Mum."
"Dory. What are you doing here?"
"Tom wrote and said you'd broken your arm," Dory said and walked over to the bed to sit down. Her mother’s room smelled so familiar and comforting, but her mum groaned when Dory sat down. "Is it sore?"
"It throbs like you wouldn't believe."
"What happened?"
"Well, there's this motor at the cannery and if you're not quick enough, the starter crank can whip around and take your arm off, which it did in this case. Broke my arm in two places. Quite clean breaks, they say, so that's something."
"I'm sorry. Are you alright?"
"You didn't have to come."
"Tom said you were in hospital."
"Well, they let me out. I'm fine, love. No need to worry. It will be six weeks before it will come right. Financially, it is not ideal."
"I can give you some money."
"You don't have to."
"It's not a problem. I have enough to help."
Her mum smiled. "I heard you saw Gladys not so long ago. How is she?"
"Good. Obviously she has to work harder now that the house has barely any help, but she's happy enough. They have plenty of food."
"More chicken than they know what to do with. She's sending us one for Christmas. A live one."
"Can they do that?"
"Apparently. Are you coming home for Christmas?"
"I don't think so. Not sure the Nazis celebrate Christmas. They would be spiteful enough not to."
"I worry for you so much. How are things in London?"
"Messy, but people get on with their business. Not much else you can do, really," Dory said and crossed her legs. Now that she was with her mother, it seemed like no time had passed at all.
"Grant's David asked about you the other day?" David was a boy Dory had gone to school with. Probably not a boy anymore. Apparently he'd been excused from the draft. There were all sorts of reasons that people were excused.
"I can't stay long," Dory said. "I have to get back."
"Just a flying visit, then?"
"Are you sure you're alright? Maybe I can stay a couple of hours," Dory said, guilt welling up in her. The clouds were gathering outside and the Germans would come. Still, Dory was probably going to be late for the start of her shift anyway. The four thirty train would be fine. "I'm investigating a murder."
"Are you still getting involved with such silliness."
Dory lay down along the foot of her mother's bed, but rose again as the softness of the bed was too tempting.
"I don't know who is putting all these silly ideas in your head. Gladys told me about some detective."
A blush crept up Dory's cheeks at the mention of Ridley. He was not someone she was ready to talk to her mother about.
"There is always need for more hands at the cannery. You can always come back home."
"I'm needed where I am."
"But it's so dangerous."
"It is necessary. We must all do what is necessary."
"Well, you running around and playing detective is not necessary, Dory. It's unseemly."
Apparently the police thought so too, because there wasn'
t a peep from them.
"No one cares about seemly anymore, Mum. You lying in bed with a broken arm is unseemly."
Her mother sighed. "Be a darling and cook us supper before you go. My arm will apparently stop throbbing in a few days."
"I'll do a big stew that will last a few days."
"You're going to have to go to the shop, because we're out of just about everything. Tom is starting to eat like his brother—anything he can get his hands on."
"I'll take him to the shop with me. Maybe there will be some treat we can get."
"That would be the day," her mother said, and raised the magazine she was reading.
Chapter 25
DORY ARRIVED AT Liverpool Street Station after dark. They'd had to cover all the windows of the train at dusk, which created a very claustrophobic environment within the car, so it was nice to step out into the dark skies. Unfortunately, it was raining, but Dory was still glad to escape as she ran for the bus heading to Poplar.
There hadn't been an air raid yet, so the bus was still running. Otherwise, she would have a long walk. But her luck didn't hold. On Whitechapel high street, the familiar wail of the sirens started and the bus pulled over at the nearest shelter and the few passengers were urged out.
For Dory, though, she needed to get over to Poplar and started running down the emptying streets. A warden stopped her and she had to shout 'ATS' without slowing down.
Before long, the rumble of the planes came, then the whine of the dropping bombs. In the sky, the parachutes of the different bombs were also seen. Seems the Germans were carrying mixed loads that night. An incendiary even landed down in front of her, looking like a long baton, exploding into showers of sparks when it landed. They were filled with flammable oil that flared.
It had landed next to a cloth merchant and the building would start burning in a minute. Dory was torn between keeping going and finding some means for dealing with this bomb. They were so damned bright, they burned the eyes, but she stopped running and went in search of a sandbag, which never seemed to be around when needed.
A few doors down, she found one and hauled it back, throwing it on where she assumed the bomb was amidst the bright sparks. The sparks burned the bare skin of her hands and she probably had little burn marks all over her trousers as well. It didn't take, so she had to go back for a second one, which did manage to quell the bomb, but the fire had spread up the wood paneling of the shop.
Finding an empty, she beat the flames, hearing the bomb trying to burn its way through the sand. The rain would get it before it did any more damage. That shop was lucky she was passing. It survived to trade another day.
Putting this bit of excitement behind her, she started running again. Fires had started elsewhere and the whine of the fire engine could be heard coming down the street. Dory had to ignore those. They were too established for her to help. She had to get to her post.
Arriving at Poplar, she could see the searchlight traveling across the sky. They had managed to get it working, but Vera was likely manning it, which meant she couldn't do any spotting. They were basically working blind.
Another wave of planes came overhead and the familiar whine followed. These were dropping nearby. Dory felt it in her bones and her concern grew into panic. They couldn't be seen, only heard, and this one was coming closer and closer. She didn't know what to do. Was she standing in the wrong place, or running to the wrong place. It was all a gamble, but this one would hit.
A shower of brightness slammed into her eyes, or was that the percussion of the bomb. It was too bright to tell where it was, but she wasn't knocked to the ground. It couldn't have been that close, but it was definitely in front of her. The searchlight. They had been targeting the searchlight, Dory realized.
The brightness receded to darkness, but that might simply be her eyes. She couldn't run for a moment, because she couldn't see. The bright lights were burned into her eyes and blinking didn't shift the glowing hindering her sight. A sense of panic pierced through her. They had struck the searchlight.
Blinking furiously, she tried to clear her vision, which she could manage in the peripheries of her vision. Vera and Betsy were up there. They had been struck. Cloying panic reasserted itself. This could not be happening.
Eventually, her vision cleared somewhat. There were still red spots in the center of her vision, but she could move, slowly walking toward the building they used. The bell of the fire engine was heard, and as Dory got closer, she could see it was the building next door that had been struck.
Relief flooded through her. Hopefully there hadn't been anyone in that building. Rushing forward into her building, she climbed the stairs three at a time.
Dory bypassed the radio room and went straight to the roof, her concern more for Vera. It was dark as she got to the roof. The searchlight had stopped working, and the only light was the glow from the dancing flames of the fire. The building next door cracked and groaned in its demise.
A lump was moving and Dory rushed forwards. "Vera?"
"WHAT?" Vera said and Dory helped her to stand, which she was having some trouble with.
"Are you alright?"
"WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR A DAMNED THING. THEY GOT US, I THINK."
"They got next door."
"WHAT? IS BETSY ALRIGHT?"
"I'll go check."
"KNOCKED ME CLEAR OFF MY FEET," Vera yelled as Dory ran back to the doorway to the stairs. Again taking three steps at a time until she got down to the radio room. It was utterly dark in there, but she saw Betsy's outline.
"The whole building shook. I thought it was going to collapse for a moment," Betsy said, taking her headphones off. "Is Vera alright?"
"Seems to be in one piece."
"Bloody hell. That was a close one."
"Next door," Dory confirmed.
"We heard it coming. It just got closer and closer. I've never been so scared. Completely cut the power. We're dead. The radio's dead."
"The searchlight is off too."
"The engineers will have to come look at it in the morning. There's nothing we can do. Might as well go home."
"YOU IN HERE?" Vera said from the doorway.
"We're here."
"STILL CAN'T HEAR A DAMNED THING. MY EARS ARE RINGING LIKE CHURCH BELLS."
"Let's go home. Are you alright? No cuts?"
"WHAT?"
Betsy moved forward and grabbed Vera by the arm, making walking movements with her fingers.
"SEARCHLIGHT IS DEAD."
"WE KNOW," Betsy shouted.
"We need to go in case the fire spreads," Dory said.
Both of them took Vera by the elbows as if she were an invalid, which annoyed her. They emerged to chaos outside. The fire brigade was there, pumping water onto the building where fire spilled out of the windows, the orange glow reflecting off every surface around. The heat was extraordinary.
Another wave of planes flew above them.
"BASTARDS," Vera yelled.
"Come, let's go," Dory said.
"We should probably go to a shelter," Betsy said. "But what are the chances that we'll get bombed twice in one night."
The last thing Dory wanted to do was to sit cramped like a sardine in a shelter which stunk of waste.
"How was your mum? I didn't think to ask," Betsy asked. Vera wasn't paying attention, which showed she still didn't hear anything. Hopefully it wouldn't be permanent.
"Broke her arm. She's at home resting. It will take six weeks to heal the doctors say."
"That's rotten," Betsy said. "She'll be alright, though?"
"Yeah. The neighbors will help her. Swanley is good that way."
The streets were dark and empty, except for the firefighters and the rescue brigade. It was a busy night, as if the Germans were catching up on what they missed during the clear nights.
"THAT SEARCHLIGHT IS BLOODY HOT," Vera shouted. "I'M STILL COOKING FROM IT."
"Any notes come from the coppers?" Dory asked. She knew that Betsy had a less t
han kind opinion of the police.
"Nope. Those bastards never do anything you actually need them to."
In this case, that seemed to be right.
"Well, I am glad you are both still alive," Dory said. "You had me worried there for a bit."
"You and me both," Betsy said. "That was scary. I thought without a doubt that Vera had copped it."
"WHAT?" Vera said.
"NOTHING. GLAD WE'RE STILL ALIVE."
"ME TOO," Vera said with a smile.
"Maybe we should go to the hospital and have her checked out?" Dory said.
"What for? What are they going to do other than tell us that her hearing is shot and they hope it recovers?"
That was true. There was little they could do.
A fire engine rushed passed them.
"Get to a shelter," a man with a warden helmet demanded.
"Oh, piss off," Betsy roared back. "We've already been bombed once tonight. Don't need you piping off at us."
Betsy had the means to be completely ineloquent when she felt like it, or when she was stressed.
"WE LEFT OUR SANDWICHES BEHIND," Vera yelled.
"Bugger," Betsy said. "We've got practically nothing at home. Maybe I can go around to Mum's and nick some bread."
"Or we'll go to the shelter and buy some Chelsea buns."
"It's so sad that we go to the shelter for food," Betsy stated, but it was the only place to buy food during the night. Usually they had quite a range. Apparently, some people made their living selling food in the shelters. "Fine, we'll go."
Chapter 26
FOR ONCE, DORY WOKE up feeling refreshed, perhaps because she'd slept close to twelve hours. They'd left the shelter shortly after midnight, when the bombing seemed to die down. The all-clear hadn't been blown, but they decided to risk it. Now it was close to midday when she got up to what looked like a fairly clear winter's day.
Her thoughts turned to Vera, who had been the most injured from last night, and then her mother. Then Ridley, her brothers, and even Vivian—all these people she had to worry about.
She was going to write Lady Pettifer later today, but she might go speak to the Limehouse police first, to see if they had actually done something and forgotten to inform her. After deliberation, she decided to omit how close the bomb had been last night. There would be no purpose in telling Lady Pettifer and it would only make her worry more. There was too much worry as it was in this war.
