Cockney Orphan
Authors: Carol Rivers
ORPHAN
Carol Rivers, whose family comes from the Isle of Dogs, East London, now lives in Dorset. Visit www.carolrivers.com and follow her on Facebook and Twitter @carol_rivers
Also by Carol Rivers
Lizzie of Langley Street
Bella of Bow Street
Lily of Love Lane
Eve of the Isle
East End Angel
In the Bleak Midwinter
East End Jubilee
(Previously
Rose of Ruby Street
)
A Sister’s Shame
First published in Great Britain under the title
Connie of Kettle Street
by Simon & Schuster, 2006
A CBS COMPANY
This paperback edition first published, 2013
Copyright © Carol Rivers, 2006
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.
The right of Carol Rivers to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act,
1988.
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
1st Floor
222 Gray’s Inn Road
London WC1X 8HB
Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney
Simon & Schuster India, New Dehli
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Paperback B ISBN: 978-0-85720-650-3
E Book ISBN: 978-1-84983-520-6
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Typeset by M Rules
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
I dedicate this book to all the Islanders, both past and present, in celebration of their courage and tenacity.
My thanks to the Island History Trust Docklands Settlement and especially the Island History News which helps to keep Islanders in touch and brings memories alive of the old
days. My thanks also go to my dear buddies, Chris and Bart.
Chapter One
The London Blitz
Isle of Dogs
Saturday 7 September 1940
C
onnie was running. Running as fast as her legs would carry her through the unlit streets of east London. Above her, the smoke-strewn sky was
filled with an eerie, crimson glow. To the south, across the river, blood red flames leaped high into the air over London’s Surrey Docks.
An ear-deafening bang sent a shiver through the ground. But she ran all the faster, dodging the ambulances and the firemen dousing the fires that were already spreading from the incendiary
bombs. Their shouts were lost in the deafening noise of the return fire of the British anti-aircraft guns. Even the colossal barrage balloons sailing high above the city hadn’t proved an
effective deterrent to the Luftwaffe.
Connie hurdled a wall; sweat was soaking her pale blond hair and dripping on the collar of her old tweed coat. At the top of Kettle Street she stopped to wipe the moisture from her eyes and
blinked at the sight of a lone cyclist pedalling towards her.
‘What’s up, Connie?’ The ARP warden jumped off his bike. ‘You shouldn’t be out in this lot.’
‘It’s Billy, Mr Jackson, he’s done his disappearing act again.’
‘Well, you ain’t got time to find yer brother now. You’d better get down your Anderson before the sods come back again. I’ll keep a lookout for him on me
rounds.’
‘Thanks, Mr Jackson.’
The warden hopped back on his bike. ‘Take care of yourself, Connie. And keep yer head down, love.’
Connie pushed open the squeaky front gate of number thirty-three Kettle Street. The sooty but sturdy semidetached boasted a Beefeater-red front door and all four of its neat square windows were
criss-crossed by blackout tape. She pulled up the length of string behind the letter box and let herself in, stood quietly in the darkened passage and listened for movement. Hearing none, she
groped her way up the stairs. After what she’d found under Billy’s mattress this morning, she had no doubt as to what he’d been up to.
In the boys’ bedroom, she slid her hand under her younger brother’s flock mattress, searching for the pile of coupons and identity cards she had discovered this morning. But now
there was nothing, nothing at all, just the hard curl of the metal springs.
‘Sis?’
Startled, Connie turned round. ‘Billy!’
‘What are you doing? Where is everyone?’
‘Dad’s fire watching and Mum’s gone to the public shelter. I’ve been looking all over the place for you. Mum is worrying herself silly. Where’ve you
been?’
He shrugged lazily, pushing back the tumble of blond curls that fell over his face. ‘I was with a pal, that’s all. We was having a bit of a lark when the warning went.’
‘A
lark
?’ Connie rolled her eyes. ‘Billy, there’s a war on, a real war this time. The Luftwaffe’s not playing games. I suppose you’re gonna tell me
those coupons and identity cards I found when I made your bed this morning are a bit of a joke, too? What if it was Mum who’d discovered them and not me?’
Connie waited for an explanation. At fourteen, four years her junior, Billy was already her height and still growing fast. Although they were identical in looks, with corn-coloured hair and soft
blue eyes, Connie thanked her lucky stars that up until now she didn’t appear to have any of Billy’s more wayward tendencies.
‘You won’t tell her, will you?’ he said sheepishly.
‘I’d be too ashamed to and that’s a fact—’ Before Connie could finish, a huge rumble followed by a burst of bright light lit up the house. Billy grabbed her hand
and pulled her down the stairs as more explosions followed one after another. Before they reached the back door, the front one blew off its hinges and landed behind them. Connie felt the rush of
wind in her face and was blown against the wall. Billy dragged her on through the kitchen and into the yard. Dazed and terrified, she tumbled with him down the slippery steps of the Anderson and
into the dark, musty smelling shelter covered in sandbags.
Connie shivered as he secured the corrugated iron door behind them. Her teeth chattered, even her bones seemed to be shaking. She wondered if they would die immediately if one of the bombs hit
them, or would it be a long and lingering death? She didn’t want her life to end, not now, like this. Billy pulled her down on the wooden bench. ‘’Struth, that was a close
one,’ he sighed as they huddled together. ‘Stay put. I’ll light a candle.’
A gentle amber glow soon illuminated the darkness. The meagre contents of the small shelter came into focus: the wooden bench they sat on, three of Dad’s army blankets folded on a stool
and a row of gas masks placed on a wide wooden shelf. Squeezed beside these were four chipped enamel mugs, four plates and a brown china teapot. A bottle had fallen over beside it. Billy picked it
up. ‘What’s this, Con?’
‘Phosferine tonic wine.’
Billy rubbed his hands together. ‘We’re all right for a drink, then.’
‘Mum said it’s for medicinal purposes only.’
He laughed. ‘I was only joking. Come on, give us a smile, we’re all in one piece, ain’t we?’
‘Yes, but I thought the house was coming down on top of us.’
Billy sat beside her again as the walls of the shelter vibrated. ‘Mum’s gonna have a fit when she sees what’s happened.’ He chuckled. ‘I ain’t never seen our
front door open so quick.’
Connie admired his spirit. He was a happy kid, a character trait that endeared him to everyone. They’d grown up in poverty, knew what hardship and going hungry was when Dad had been
unemployed or he’d had a bad week on the gee-gees. But Billy was bright and always on the lookout for an opportunity to make money, his natural talent aided by the outbreak of war twelve
months ago. With evacuation of children in full swing, Billy had been in his element. Left to his own devices, he had relied on Connie to bail him out of the trouble that always dogged his
footsteps. Now she looked at him and sighed heavily. ‘Tell me the truth, Billy. Did you steal those coupons and identity cards?’
‘No, Con, course not. I was just . . . looking after them for someone.’ He gave a light-hearted shrug. ‘Me mate Charlie asked me to keep a few things for him.’
‘Why should he do that?’
‘Dunno, he just did.’
‘Billy, this is your sister you’re talking to. I’m not daft.’
‘I never said you was.’
‘Then tell me the truth.’
He smiled widely, lifting his hands in a gesture of innocence. ‘Come on, Con, give us a break—’
‘No, Billy,’ she interrupted angrily. ‘I’ve always taken your side when you’ve got in trouble because I thought it was just schoolboy pranks. But today was
different. I actually saw the evidence for myself.’
Slowly his smile faded and he leaned his elbows on his knees. ‘I found this handbag. It was just lying around.’
‘Then why didn’t you take it to the police station?’
He laughed. ‘You’ve got to be joking. I’m not that much of a mug. They’d say I nicked it.’
‘Did you?’ Connie knew she was being lied to and Billy’s lies weren’t even very clever.
‘No, Con. It was like I said. Someone must’ve dropped it. It was there in the road staring me in the face. If I hadn’t grabbed it someone else would.’
Connie wondered if he was telling her the truth. ‘It’s not so much what you do, Billy,’ she said more gently then. ‘It’s the way you come out with these stories,
expect me to believe them and even stick up for you. You’re me kid brother. I don’t want you ending up on the wrong side of the law.’
It was the emotion in her voice that made him turn and face her. ‘It’s too late, Con. I’m in over my head already.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The handbag was kosher. But I done a really bad thing today.’ His blue eyes stared emptily into hers. ‘I broke in to someone’s gaff.’
‘You
what
?’
‘I climbed in through this fanlight in the back of a pawn shop up Stepney. I’m thin, see? The right build for a creeper. Getting into places and opening doors from the inside. I
didn’t steal nothin’ though. These other two blokes I was with did the actual business.’
Connie gulped. ‘Billy, I can’t believe you would do such a thing!’
‘I told you I didn’t steal nothing.’
‘So what did you do it for then? And don’t say it was just for a lark, ’cos I won’t believe you.’
Billy muttered under his breath. ‘I wish I hadn’t told you now.’
‘Well, you have, so you’d better tell me the rest.’
He looked at her sullenly. ‘I was to keep a look out, that was all. They said they’d bung me a few quid. And it would have worked out if the warning hadn’t gone. I ask you, for
a whole year we’ve been twiddling our thumbs waiting for Jerry and he has to arrive today. Anyway, the old boy’s gaff was upstairs. He was deaf as a post and had to be at least ninety.
If the siren hadn’t gone, he wouldn’t have known we was there. The old geezer saw Reg and Charlie stuffing the gear in the boot of the car. He was waving this rifle, a big museum piece
it looked like. I heard the first shot and nearly shit me pants. I jumped in the car. Charlie jumped in beside me and there was another shot. I didn’t see what happened to Reg ’cos
Charlie drove away.’