by Ellie Dean
It was Jenny’s night off, but Mary and Ivy had spent a good deal of their night shift sitting in the vast underground shelter with the other factory girls. It had all been rather jolly as they’d swapped knitting patterns and gossip, tried each other’s nail varnishes and lipsticks, and made plans for the following weekend as the bombers and fighters roared overhead.
And then the world erupted in an ear-shattering blast of sharp masonry and choking dust that threw them into a vicious maelstrom, then blessed oblivion.
Mary eventually opened her eyes and for a moment wondered where she was, and what had happened. There seemed to be a dead quality to the sounds she could hear, and the darkness, although inky black, was filled with suffocating, acrid dust.
As her senses slowly returned, she realised she was lying amidst broken shards of brick and concrete, and, through the ringing in her ears, she could hear screams and groans echoing eerily through a numb silence. The shelter had been hit, people were injured, she had to try and help. However, as she attempted to move she found that the lower half of her body seemed to be weighted down.
Fighting to breathe and tamp down on the surge of terror which threatened to overwhelm her, she gingerly wriggled her toes and fingers and flexed her limbs. Nothing seemed to be broken, but she felt bruised and battered from head to foot and there was something sticky on her forehead. She ran her finger carefully over the large lump and winced as she found the deep cut just beyond her hair line. It was all right, just a nasty cut that would probably stop bleeding before long. Now she had to find some way of removing whatever was pinning her down without bringing the whole lot on top of her.
She reached behind her, and, after a quick exploration, realised she was covered in rubble. There didn’t seem to be any rafters or supporting beams across her, so she slowly and carefully began to pick away at the rubble until she could wriggle free. She sat up, coughing and spluttering from the cloying dust that seemed to have filled her mouth and nose, and blinking rapidly in an attempt to get the stinging grit out of her eyes.
‘Ivy,’ she called into the confusing darkness. ‘Ivy, where are you?’
‘I’m over here,’ she called back through a hacking cough. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ she replied as she hawked the filthy muck from her lungs and fought to breathe without inhaling yet more dust. ‘Are you?’
‘Everything seems to be working, but I got a bleeding great lump outta me flaming knee, I’m bruised from head to blooming toe, and me new dungarees ’ave ’ad it.’
Mary scrambled carefully over the debris towards her voice, and as they found one another they tearfully clung together, thankful that they were alive. Others were now moving about too, and the girls could hear some calling for help with the more seriously injured. It was still pitch black and the enemy bombers droned above them as they finally headed for the Channel.
Mary gripped her friend’s hand as another part of the shelter wall collapsed and they were once more covered in a cloud of acrid dust. ‘It’s all right, Ivy, we’ll be out of here soon,’ she muttered with rather more certainty than she felt.
‘I ’ope so,’ Ivy replied dolefully. ‘I’ve left me spam sandwiches on me work bench, and some other bugger will get them if I ain’t quick off the mark.’
Mary chuckled and gave her a hug. Ivy was always thinking about her stomach, but at least it meant she was feeling her usual cheeky self.
The all-clear sounded just before eleven and, with a deep sigh of relief, Peggy turned off the heater and the lamp before gently waking Cordelia. They were both stiff from sitting so long in the cramped shelter, and it took a while to get Cordelia mobile.
They emerged from the Anderson shelter to an empty sky. The air was heavy with the stench of cordite and smoke, but thankfully all the bomb-blasts had been some distance away, so there was hope that Cliffehaven had escaped any serious damage.
Peggy took Cordelia’s arm and helped her along the icy path and up the steps to the kitchen, where the fire in the range had finally decided to come to life. Settling her in the chair with her blankets, Peggy hurried to boil the kettle and check on the stew. It had gone a bit dry, but everyone would be glad of it by the time they got home.
Once she’d retrieved the rest of the bedding and the box of supplies from the shelter, she poured fresh hot water into the stone bottle and quickly placed it in Cordelia’s bed so that it would warm the sheets. Then, as the old lady dozed by the fire, she laid the table for their very late tea and settled down rather anxiously with a cuppa to wait for the others.
Sarah came in first, having been driven home by Captain Hammond, who quickly popped in to say hello before he rushed back to the estate.
‘It’s chaos up there,’ she said as she took off her thick coat. ‘An unexploded bomb was found very close to the Timber Corps accommodation and everyone had to sit about in the manor house while the Americans’ bomb disposal team went in to defuse it.’ She shot Peggy a weary smile. ‘Needless to say, the GIs used this as an excuse to throw a party.’
Fran turned up minutes later with Jane, who immediately raced upstairs to the bathroom. Fran held her hands out to the fire. ‘Poor Jane hates those buckets behind the hessian screens and refuses to use them, hence the dash upstairs,’ she explained.
Peggy didn’t blame Jane for holding on, for those buckets stank and there was a distinct lack of privacy despite the screens. ‘Where’s Robert?’ she asked. ‘Didn’t he bring you back?’
‘He has to be back in his office, so he dropped us off and apologises for not coming in.’ She shook back her hair and gave a deep sigh. ‘We’ve spent most of what should have been a lovely evening in a cold, damp, smelly shelter trying to keep warm – but at least we’re all still in one piece, so I suppose I shouldn’t be complaining.’
Peggy looked anxiously at the clock. Ron should be home by now with Daisy – and where was Rita?
Then the back door slammed and Harvey came racing up the stairs to be followed by Rita, who was looking very dishevelled. ‘Goodness me, Rita,’ breathed Peggy. ‘What’s happened to you?’
‘A bomb went off up on the factory estate, and we had to dig a few people out.’ She must have seen Peggy’s look of horror, for she added quickly, ‘No one was too badly hurt and Mary’s fine. Most of the damage was minor and as soon as the all-clear sounded it was back to work. She said she’d call in tomorrow afternoon to see you and put your mind to rest.’
Peggy hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath, and she let it out on a thankful sigh. ‘I’m due to have a cup of tea with Rosie tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll leave a message with Doris so Mary can meet me at the Anchor.’ She noted the dirt on Rita’s little face and the weary set of her shoulders. ‘Why don’t you have a quick wash and get out of those filthy clothes before tea? You’ll feel more ready to eat if you’re clean.’
Rita nodded and plodded upstairs just as Ron stomped up the cellar steps with a drowsy Daisy in his arms. ‘She’s been as good as gold,’ he said as he handed her to Peggy. ‘Rosie gave her something to eat and a bit of her bottle to help her settle – but I think she needs changing again.’
‘Sarah, could you help Cordelia to the table and then finish dishing out the stew while I see to Daisy? There’s bread in the larder if anyone wants it.’
Peggy hurried to her bedroom, where she changed Daisy’s nappy and quickly relieved her of the thick layer of cardigans which had kept her warm on her journey home. Once she’d given her a cuddle and rocked her back to sleep, she put her in the cot and wrapped her snugly in her blankets.
She was blessed, really, for most babies would have been screaming by now after such a disturbed night – but then Daisy possessed a pair of very strong lungs and a furious temper when she was thwarted, so she wasn’t absolutely perfect – just as near perfect as she could be. She kissed the sweet, slumbering face, stroked her dark curls and left the room, more than ready for her share of stew.
It didn’t take
long to scrape the bowls clean and mop up the last vestiges of the stew with the gritty bread, and because it was now almost midnight and everyone was exhausted, it was time for bed. ‘The washing-up can wait until morning,’ said Peggy. ‘Sleep well, girls.’
They kissed her goodnight and Peggy helped Cordelia out of her chair and up the stairs. Having made sure she was settled and warm, she went back to the kitchen to dampen down the fire and turn off the lights.
Harvey was snoring on the rug, his paws scrabbling as he dreamed of catching rabbits, and Peggy envied the ease with which he managed to drop off. She still found it difficult to come to terms with sleeping alone and would often lie awake for hours despite being exhausted.
She was about to turn out the light and go to her own bedroom when Ron came back into the kitchen. ‘Peggy,’ he said solemnly, ‘I know you must be tired, but there’s something we need to discuss, and I’m sorry, but it won’t wait until morning.’
Immediately alarmed, she sat down at the table. ‘What is it, Ron? What’s happened?’
‘Nothing – as yet. But I overheard something today, and I think it’s important you should know about it before you go and see Rosie tomorrow afternoon.’
Peggy felt the colour drain from her face and she clasped her hands tightly on the table so they wouldn’t tremble. ‘Go on.’
As Ron recounted what he’d learned, and the conversation he’d had with Rosie, Peggy’s dread grew heavier. ‘I knew about the contraband – I’ve got a suitcase full of cigarettes and tobacco on top of my wardrobe,’ she said almost dismissively as she tried desperately to think how to say what she needed without giving too much away. ‘But it’s vital Rosie doesn’t broach the subject of Cyril with Mary.’ She reached across the table and gripped his hand. ‘It could destroy her, Ron.’
Ron’s blue eyes sharpened beneath his lowering brows. ‘If this is going to hurt my Rosie, then I’m thinking it’s time you told me the secrets you’ve been keeping, Peggy Reilly.’ His gaze never wavered. ‘And don’t deny it, girl. I know you too well.’
Peggy regarded him in silence for a moment, and then came to the only sensible conclusion open to her. It was indeed time to tell Ron, for Rosie would need support from them both to help her through the dreadful inevitability of what was about to come.
Her tears were not for herself, but for Rosie, as she revealed the truth of what had happened all those years ago. And yet, by the time she’d reached the end of the tragic story, she felt unburdened finally, for she’d carried that secret for too long.
Ron took her hands and grasped them tightly, his face etched with pain, his eyes suspiciously bright. ‘Mother of God, Peggy,’ he rasped. ‘She’s been carrying that inside for all these years?’ He paused a moment to get his emotions under control. ‘But she has to know, Peggy. You realise that, don’t you?’
Peggy nodded.
‘And so does Mary,’ he added softly.
‘No, Ron,’ she moaned. ‘It would be too unkind after everything she’s been through.’ She clutched at his hands. ‘Couldn’t we just persuade Rosie to say nothing to her – to leave things as they are?’
He gave a deep sigh and then came round the table to draw Peggy into his arms. ‘You know that would be impossible once Rosie knows the truth, Peg.’ He held her close, his chin resting on the top of her head as his rough old hands gently stroked her hair.
‘But it would be so cruel – not only to Mary, but to Rosie too,’ she sobbed. ‘Oh, Ron, I just don’t know what to do for the best.’
His voice was a deep rumble in his chest as he continued to hold her. ‘You know, Peggy darlin’, cruelty often lies in the well-meaning silence, not in the barbs of truth, and there have been enough lies and secrets. It’s time to cauterise this wound that has been festering over the years, and to make a fresh start.’
Chapter Twelve
THEIR RESCUE FROM the bomb-blasted shelter had come even before the all-clear had sounded, and as the men and women from the fire brigade and rescue services had dug away the debris, Mary and Ivy had closed their eyes against the bright lights of their lamps. They’d emerged into the night to discover it was snowing, and they’d lifted their faces to it, revelling in its cool, soft touch as they’d breathed in the cold, clean air that burned its way through their raw throats and into aching lungs.
After Rita had checked to see that both of them were all right, she’d sent them over to a girl from the ambulance service, who’d inspected their cuts and bruises, declared them to be minor and dabbed them with iodine.
‘Perhaps this’ll mean we don’t ’ave to finish our shift,’ said Ivy as she’d woefully inspected her ripped dungarees and bloody knee.
They hadn’t noticed the doughty figure of Sergeant Norris, and her booming voice had made them both jump. ‘Production does not come to a halt because you’ve got a grazed knee.’ She was sporting a bandaged wrist and a black eye, and her usually pristine army uniform was torn and dirty – but her paradeground manner remained intact. ‘Wash your hands and faces and get back to your posts immediately.’
Mary and Ivy had rolled their eyes at one another and then hurried through the swirling snow to their separate factories. Any hopes of a cup of tea or a proper wash had been dashed.
Billy Watson might only have been seventeen, but he knew when he was on to a good thing. He’d spent the past three hours chatting up Marlene as they’d sat in the public air-raid shelter, and she’d proved to be a right little smasher who could be easily persuaded to partake in a bit of slap and tickle. Now he was leading her down the quiet alleyway which just happened to be on the way to her billet.
She complained a bit about the cold, for there was snow on the ground and it was still coming down quite heavily. But he promised he’d soon warm her up as he kissed her and shuffled her back into the deeper darkness, his hand already exploring the delicious flesh between stocking top and knicker-leg. It was a curse not to be able to take girls back to his room, but his mum would blow a fuse if she caught them and he was in too much of a hurry to try and find somewhere else.
He was about to press her up against the wall when she stumbled over something and gave a cry of fright. ‘What’s that? Oh, Billy, I don’t like it ’ere. Can’t we go somewhere else?’
‘You’re safe with me, darling,’ he said as he urgently pressed himself against her and scrabbled to get into her knickers. ‘It’s only a pile of rubbish.’
She twisted away from him. ‘I don’t like it, Billy. It pongs, and I’m freezing me tits off.’
Frustration made him sharp with her. ‘Then shut up and let me warm them,’ he rasped as he made a grab for her.
The soft groan stilled them.
‘What were that?’
He prickled with unease as his desire fled. ‘I dunno,’ he whispered as he dug in his pocket for the small torch he always carried.
‘Let’s get outta here, Billy,’ she whimpered. ‘I don’t like it.’
There was another groan, and Billy was rigid with fear as he fumbled to switch on the torch. He didn’t like it either, but he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself in front of Marlene.
The pale beam swept across the scattered litter and overflowing dustbins in the narrow alley, catching the tail of a swiftly disappearing rat.
Marlene squealed and grabbed his arm, making the beam flash back and forth over something sticking out of the snow-covered rubbish. ‘What was that?’ she demanded, her voice high-pitched with fear.
Billy’s hand was shaking so much the beam danced over the exposed leg and foot. ‘Christ Almighty,’ he breathed as the full import of what he was seeing sank in.
Marlene began to scream, and Billy clamped his hand over her mouth. ‘Shut up or we’ll have the coppers on us,’ he hissed as his terrified gaze remained on the snow-covered body.
Billy had never seen a dead person before, and although in some macabre way he found it fascinating, he was loath to approach it. He stood transfixed, his hand pressed a
gainst Marlene’s mouth as she tried to fight him off and scream her lungs out.
It was only when the body moved with a groan that Billy released his hold on Marlene. As her piercing screams echoed into the night, his courage failed, and he took flight.
Ron hadn’t slept well, for he was a man who knew too much – and yet he had no possible way of putting things right for either Rosie or Mary. He’d tossed and turned as he’d thumped his pillow and tried to force himself into sleep, but his overactive mind refused to be still. So many pieces of the puzzle had finally slotted into place, but there were many more which simply didn’t fit, no matter how hard he tried – and it was those pieces that made him dread the coming day.
He’d eventually become impatient with his thoughts and the inability to sleep, so he’d climbed out of bed and quietly left Beach View with Harvey to go to the Anchor. There had been no sign of life upstairs, for it was only just light and Rosie was probably still asleep, so he’d taken Monty with him and had spent the past two hours tramping the hills with the dogs.
He could think up there in the settled silence of those ancient hills, which were now dusted with a thick coating of snow that glittered in the rising sun, making everything as pretty as a frosted Christmas card. The temperature was slightly warmer now the snow had come, and as the dogs had raced about in delight, he’d let his mind wander until he’d found a way through the labyrinth of knowledge he’d acquired over the past twenty-four hours. The solution, he realised, was ridiculously simple – but he would have to apply it with great care.
The Town Hall clock struck seven as Ron headed towards Camden Road and the Anchor. He usually stopped in to have a cup of tea with Rosie after he’d walked the dogs, but since Tommy had moved in that pleasant ritual had sadly come to an end. It was hard enough to stomach Tommy any time of the day, but first thing in the morning was too much to ask, and he deeply resented the loss of those precious quiet times with his Rosie.
