by Nancy Revell
‘Was there much damage to the actual hospital?’ Helen asked, sitting back in her chair, her energy suddenly depleted. She hadn’t slept a wink. Her mind had been working overtime.
‘Mainly broken windows and loosened plaster,’ Dr Parker said. ‘They’ll be moving most of the children back in there later today, I’d have thought.’
‘You can’t have been back long then?’
‘I was just walking through the main door when Denise waved me over.’
‘Thank goodness she caught you, otherwise she’d have had me ringing every couple of minutes.’
Helen heard some shouting in the distance.
‘Looks like we’re taking in casualties from town,’ Dr Parker said, explaining the commotion.
‘Go on, as long as you’re all right. That’s the main thing,’ Helen said.
When she put the phone down, she breathed a sigh of relief.
After hearing of last night’s devastation – and the lives lost – she realised how precious and precarious life was.
If anything had happened to John, she would have been devastated, but also full of regrets.
She’d made some huge mistakes in her life, but this wasn’t going to be one of them.
‘Oh my goodness, listen to this.’
It was lunchtime and the women were all sitting in the canteen. Polly was reading from the Echo.
‘A couple were trapped in their indoor shelter, under fifteen feet of debris, but they were rescued unhurt!’
‘Blimey,’ Angie puffed out air. ‘Fifteen feet!’
‘How weird,’ Polly continued. ‘The bomb landed right next to a filled-in crater caused by another bomb that was dropped a couple of years back – and the house nearby that had to be rebuilt back then was totally demolished this time.’
‘Talk about lightning striking twice,’ Dorothy said, taking a bite of her sandwich. She always got hungry when she was tired.
‘“The bomb fell in the garden of number three Seaforth Road where six people were sheltering in a Morrison shelter in the dining room,”’ Polly continued reading. ‘They were all right, but the house was totally destroyed around them.’
‘That was like what we saw this morning coming into work, wasn’t it?’ Hannah looked at Olly and Martha.
‘Yeah,’ said Olly. ‘The roof and all the walls of this building we passed had totally disappeared—’
‘But the cupboard was still standing – in one piece. It even had all the clothes still hanging in it!’ Martha said.
‘I dinnit understand how that happens,’ Angie said, drinking a glass of water in one go. She and Dorothy had walked around some of the ruins after the all-clear. She felt as though she had sucked in a bagful of dust.
‘It says here,’ Polly said, ‘that the River Wear Commissioner’s building was severely damaged and that a fire-watcher called Joseph Mutagh was killed.’
Everyone looked at Martha. She knew most of the wardens and fire-watchers.
She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t know him.’ She, too, was tired, having been up half the night helping the Civil Defence.
‘Oh no, St Thomas’s was bombed,’ Polly said. ‘The vicar killed … He was on fire-watch duty by the sounds of it … His wife and family had to be rescued from the ruins of the vicarage.’
‘I know,’ Dorothy said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. ‘We went to see what was left of the church, didn’t we, Ange?’
Angie nodded solemnly.
‘Was the Major all right?’ Gloria looked at Polly, who nodded.
‘He’s in Scotland this week.’
‘We had a walk up John Street,’ Dorothy said, ‘but none of the houses had been hit.’
The pair had also checked on Gloria’s flat in Borough Road – it had been their first port of call, not that they’d tell Gloria.
‘Where else was hit?’ Olly asked.
Polly looked down at the Echo and read on. ‘A third stack of firepots fell in Ashbrooke Cricket Grounds, Glen Path and The Cedars. But none caused any serious fires.’
Polly looked at Rosie.
‘I know. Charlie and I had a quick run up to West Lawn to make sure Lily’s was still standing. Which it was, thank goodness.’ Rosie took a slug of tea. ‘Of course, I had to practically drag Charlie back home.’
‘She wanted to go and see Lily?’ Gloria asked.
Rosie nodded.
‘I told her they’d all be back in their beds and wouldn’t appreciate being disturbed.’ Rosie rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. ‘And, of course, reminded her that she had school today.’
‘What? They still have to gan to school even after half the town’s been bombed?’ Angie asked, amazed.
Rosie nodded again. ‘They certainly do. As long as the building’s standing.’
As they all started to clear away their dirty dishes, Rosie looked at Polly. She looked pale and tired. As they all did – but they weren’t all three months gone.
‘You feeling all right, Pol?’ Rosie asked.
Everyone looked at their pregnant workmate. Her overalls, which had always been a little too big for her, were now quite snug.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said. Seeing everyone’s looks of concern, she stressed, ‘Honestly, I am. Just tired, like everyone else.’
‘Come on, then,’ Rosie said, knowing the hooter would be sounding out the start of the shift in the next few minutes. ‘Let’s get the Chinese Prince ready for her big day.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
A week later
Monday 22 March
‘To my granddaughter or grandson. Boy or girl, may the bairn be strong ’n healthy.’
Agnes raised her teacup.
‘To the baby,’ Polly said.
Mother and daughter chinked their china cups and took a sip of their tea.
‘I’d feel a lot happier if you packed yer job in, though.’ Agnes eyed her daughter. This was their main bone of contention. She didn’t want to push the issue too much and make Polly even more resolute than she already was. But at the same time, she didn’t want her to think it was fine to carry on doing what amounted to a man’s job when she was expecting.
‘You know, Ma, you worry too much. I promise you, if I start finding it hard or I’m feeling unwell, I’ll stop. You’ve got to trust that I’ll be sensible and do the right thing.’
She picked up her cuppa.
‘I know this baby’s going to be fine.’ Polly threw a look at her mother and smiled mischievously. ‘After all, yer not the only one who has the gift o’ foresight,’ she said, taking off her mother’s subtle Irish brogue down to a T.
‘Mmm,’ Agnes said, pouring her tea into her saucer to cool it down and then taking a sup. ‘At least the bab should be nicely settled now. God willing.’ She took another sup. ‘Not that anything’s ever certain, but it’s as certain as yer can get, I suppose.’
‘I wish you’d told me you were so worked up about me catching the measles,’ Polly said, stroking Tramp, who was curled up at her feet. ‘Thank goodness for Beryl having a memory like an elephant.’
Agnes laughed. ‘It’s a bit worrying when yer neighbour can remember more about yer own bairns than yer can yerself.’
Polly looked at her ma, her face becoming serious. ‘I know, but it was understandable. Beryl said it was just after Dad had been declared missing, presumed dead.’
‘It’s true,’ Agnes said, ‘shock can play games on the mind – and the memory.’
She pushed herself out of the chair.
‘Anyway, no more morbid talk.’ She went into the scullery and brought out a plate of custard tarts. ‘It’s not exactly the Grand, but it’s a little something to mark the occasion. My daughter having her first bab, eh?’
‘Thanks, Ma. My favourites.’ Polly took one and put it on a side plate. ‘I seem to have developed a real sweet tooth.’ She took a bite. ‘Gloria was the same when she was carrying Hope.’
‘I remember being the same with you,’ Agnes said. �
�But not the twins. With them, I’d eat anything and everything. I was starving all the time.’ She smiled, thinking of her own pregnancies, before her face became sombre.
‘We might be allowing ourselves to have a little tea party of sorts, but yer must remember – there’s to be no buying of any baby clothes. Not until the bab’s born.’
‘Honestly, Ma, you’re so superstitious.’ Polly laughed, but seeing the look of earnestness on her mother’s face, she added, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’
‘And just so you know, this is not a celebration. There’s to be no celebrating until the bab’s arrived safe and sound. This is simply the marking of the bab’s presence in our lives.’
They were quiet for a moment, both enjoying the rarity of a calm, quiet house. Everyone was out – Joe was with the Major, Pearl was at the Tatham and Bel had taken Lucille to the cinema. She had apologised no end, saying she had totally forgotten they were having a little tea party, but there would be another war on if she told Lucille their trip to see Jungle Book was cancelled.
‘It’s nice, just being us two,’ Polly said. She had felt a little relieved when Bel had said she was taking Lucille to the flicks. She knew her pregnancy was difficult for Bel, even though she was doing a good job of not showing it.
‘It is,’ Agnes said. ‘It’s good that Bel’s busy with LuLu. It’s not easy – not with her so desperate for another little ’un.’
Polly looked at her mother. She had an uncanny knack of reading her mind sometimes.
‘It’s good yer being so thoughtful,’ Agnes added, ‘but yer must still enjoy this time. It’s special, you know. Yer making a life … And it’s even more special with all this warmongering and death going on.’
Polly nodded. ‘Tommy said something similar in his last letter. “A bit of love to combat all the hatred” was how he put it.’
Agnes smiled. Polly had found a good man. He had a sensitive soul. This baby would be special in many ways.
‘He’ll make a good father,’ Agnes mused.
‘If he makes it back,’ Polly said.
Agnes looked at her daughter. She had thought the same but would never have said it. It was important for Polly to be hopeful.
‘We talked about it,’ Polly said. ‘If he doesn’t make it back.’
Agnes sat back. ‘And what did yer both say?’
‘Tommy made me promise that I wouldn’t give up on life if he lost his out there.’ Polly topped up their cups.
‘And did yer? Promise?’
Polly nodded solemnly. ‘I did.’
Agnes felt a sense of relief.
‘But knowing that I’ve got a part of Tommy growing inside of me now,’ Polly added. ‘That I’m going to have his child – well, that makes me feel like I could really keep on going if anything happened to him.’
As they continued to chat and enjoy their custard tarts, Agnes said a silent prayer that nothing – absolutely nothing – would threaten the life of this baby now growing in her daughter’s belly.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Four days later
Thursday 25 March
‘So, we’re definitely on for this evening?’ Helen was trying not to appear too pushy.
‘Definitely.’ Dr Parker’s voice sounded tired, but certain. ‘I’m going to make sure that Clarkson is on standby this evening should there be an emergency. He owes me one. Actually, he owes me more than one.’
Helen felt reassured.
‘Right, so you’ll come here around six, and we’ll go straight there.’
It had been agreed they were to go to a little café-cum-restaurant on the promenade at Seaburn run by a woman called Mrs Hoggart who had decided to open the cafeteria every Thursday evening for pie ’n pea suppers. Helen had heard about it from Polly, who had worked there before she’d started at Thompson’s. It wasn’t the café – or the pie and peas – that had appealed to Helen when she had been planning this evening so much as the location. This time when John insisted on walking her home, she was going to insist he come in for a nightcap.
She was holding steadfast to her resolve to lead a life of no regrets.
‘Yer boys all reet?’ Angie asked.
They had all been going through the newspapers at lunchtime and had been reading about the devastating convoy losses in the Atlantic due to increased U-boat activity.
‘I hope so,’ Gloria said. ‘I got a letter from them on Saturday. They’d written it on the Monday.’ She paused. ‘It’s just hard not to worry, isn’t it?’
She looked at Polly, who nodded.
‘Whenever I get a letter from Tommy, I always look at the date …’
‘And worry that something might have happened from the time they wrote the letter to when yer got it,’ Gloria said.
The women’s attention turned to Rosie, who they all knew would have given anything to receive a letter.
‘I really don’t know what’s worse,’ she said, knowing what they were all thinking, ‘getting a letter or not. Either way, you can’t help but be worried sick.’
‘We’ll be gibbering wrecks by the time this war does end.’ Polly forced out a laugh. ‘They’ll be sending us all up to the local asylum by the busload.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Martha said, looking down at the front page of the Daily Express. ‘It says the middle of the Atlantic is not “sufficiently” covered by planes or ships.’
‘But last month they were saying our anti U-boat campaign was doing well,’ Dorothy said, looking puzzled.
‘Aye, I knar, it doesn’t make sense,’ Angie agreed. ‘We’re knocking them out fast and furious. We just sent the Chinese Prince down the ways on Tuesday.’
‘In spite of the air raid on Monday night,’ Martha added.
‘And Pickersgill’s just launched Stanridge,’ Marie-Anne chipped in.
‘And Laing’s launched Empire Alliance and Doxford’s the Empire Cheer the other week,’ Bel said.
‘We can’t build the buggers any quicker,’ Angie lamented. ‘It’s not possible.’
‘And it’s not possible to do any more overtime,’ Dorothy said wearily.
For once, she wasn’t full of beans.
No one was.
‘And it says here,’ Martha continued to read the paper, ‘that this is the worst it’s been – even though we’ve got the Yanks on board.’
‘And their production rates are pretty immense,’ Rosie said.
‘Only ’cos they’re not having to worry about being bombed every minute of the day,’ Angie said.
They were quiet for a moment.
The town was beginning to feel punch-drunk with the barrage of blows being meted out by the Luftwaffe of late.
‘And just to depress everyone even more,’ Bel said, ‘I heard today from Helen that the mayor’s son’s been reported killed in action. His only son. Flight Lieutenant Michael Myers Wayman.’
Everyone was quiet. They had wondered why the mayor hadn’t been at Tuesday’s launch.
‘You feeling all right?’ Gloria asked Polly as they were walking back over to the dry basin.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Polly said, pushing loose strands of hair back into her turban.
‘You look a little peaky, that’s all,’ Gloria said. She was keeping an extra-close eye on Polly after Agnes had expressed concerns.
‘I think I’m just tired. After Monday’s air raid I seem to be struggling to sleep.’
Everyone knew the hour-long raid shortly before midnight on Monday had resulted in the death of one person after two bombs had been dropped near the south dock. There had also been a load of homes damaged by incendiaries. It had been the fourth bombing in as many weeks, with the south of the river and the east end being the worst hit.
‘Not that I’ve been sleeping brilliant anyway, but the past couple of nights I’ve been jerking awake every time I start to nod off. It’s really annoying.’
‘And very tiring,’ Gloria said.
They walked on in silence for a litt
le while.
‘I don’t want to sound like a nag,’ Gloria said, ‘but would yer not think about asking Helen to move you somewhere else in the yard that’s not so labour-intensive?’
Polly looked at Gloria.
‘You didn’t go over to the cranes until you were out here …’ Polly put her hand out in front of her stomach. ‘And even then it was only because Angie wanted to do a job swap with you.’
Gloria laughed at the memory. ‘I’m not sure she wanted to, more that she got bullied into it by Dorothy.’
Gloria slowed down.
‘I know, but I’m different to you. For starters, Hope was my third child, and I didn’t have all these air raids we seem to be having at the moment.’
‘Only when you were giving birth!’ Polly gasped.
‘Well, that was really bad luck, but what I’m trying to say is that I wasn’t spending most of my evenings in a shelter, getting next to no sleep, and I hadn’t just waved my fiancé off to war.’
She took a deep breath. ‘And before you say it, Jack was in America. He was safe. He wasn’t doing what Tommy’s doing.’ Gloria could have slapped herself. She was meant to be trying to get Polly to take it easy, not making her even more worried than she already was.
‘Honestly, Gloria, I’m fine. You’re getting as bad as Ma. I think she’s more worried about this baby than I am.’ Polly put her hand on her stomach. It mightn’t be showing too much with her overalls on, but when she’d tried to put her skirt on the other day she’d had to leave it half unzipped at the back.
‘It’s just—’
Gloria was about to continue her case, but was prevented by the klaxon sounding out the start of the afternoon shift.
‘I’ll see you all tomorrow,’ Polly said, grabbing her holdall. ‘I’m just nipping across to see Ralph and his lot. I said I’d say hi from Tommy and see what they’ve been up to.’
‘See you tomorrow!’ the women chorused back as they made their way over to the main gates.
Polly walked over to the quayside and for a while stood chatting to Ralph and the two other divers and the linesmen. Every time she saw them, they never failed to mention the wedding and how much they’d enjoyed it. ‘The best Christmas ever,’ they said every time, without fail.
