Daughters Of Eden: The Eden Series Book 1 (39 page)

The RAF, the force that was to be the first to be engaged, was also in a parlous condition. Air Chief Marshal Sir Hugh Dowding was said to need 120 squadrons for the forthcoming task. He had sixty. Nor was there any chance of making the numbers up in time for the operation now dubbed Sea Lion.

On the other side of the park, from the window in his flat at the top of the Home Farmhouse, Eugene Hackett also watched the sky filling with aircraft heading for the City. He watched them through his binoculars without emotion, leaning his top half out of the attic window and steadying himself with one hand on the windowsill as the sinister pageant passed by overhead.

Finally, when the last fighters had flown past, protecting the rear of the vast squadron, Eugene threw his now finished cheroot out of the window, his relaxed expression changing almost immediately as he turned his thoughts to his duties.

Once he had closed the old sash window and pulled the blackout blind down into place, he opened the panelled oak cupboard in one corner of
the room, and deftly removed part of the back before finally producing a transmitter, a Morse tapper and a pair of earphones. Lighting a fresh cheroot he pulled a chair up to a table in one corner of the room, set up his wireless set and began to transmit a series of signals.

Unfortunately the news reached Bomber Command too late to scramble the necessary fighters. As a consequence German bombers were able to fly unopposed up the Thames and dropped hundreds of thousands of pounds of high explosive on a City with little or no air defence.

London was taken by surprise, and not just London. Poppy found herself being ushered down by her new friends to the basement of the Stanley to seek protection in the swimming pool complex, where the cubicles provided makeshift bedrooms as the bombs dropped, seemingly without cessation, above them.

‘We go here', the Duchess explained, ‘because of the concrete, you see, it's the concrete, modern concrete of the hotel that provides such an excellent shelter from the bombs.'

‘This is all so totally unnecessary,' Scott drawled as he lit a cigarette and produced a hip flask full of gin. ‘There is absolutely no reason for us to have to scurry down here, really there isn't.'

‘You think not, Scott,' Alfred Lypton said, accepting a cigarette. ‘You think perhaps Chamberlain was right in the first place. And that this isn't really our scrap.'

‘Course I do,' Scott sighed deeply, raising his eyes upwards. ‘It most certainly is not our scrap.
And it certainly isn't too late to sign on the dotted line right now and stop any further misery. If this war goes on it's going to ruin this country.'

‘I think I'm inclined to agree with that,' Lypton replied. ‘What say you, Lizard?'

The Duchess, who was busy playing Patience on top of one of the lockers, accepted Scott's offer of a shot from his hip flask and glanced at Lypton.

‘You know perfectly well what I feel, Toots,' she said. ‘And I certainly agree with this young fellow – any more of this and it will be the ruination of this country. We simply can't afford a war – and even if we do endure it and come up trumps, it'll be the end for the likes of us – you mark my words.'

‘I always do, Lizard – always do,' Lypton replied slowly. ‘One would be a complete ass not to.'

‘I can't imagine you feel differently,' Scott said casually to Poppy, offering her the hip flask, which she declined with a brief shake of her now blonde head.

‘Absolutely not,' she said. ‘I also understood from certain conversations of late with certain parties in certain places that one is not alone in one's desire to see this fracas concluded as soon as poss.'

‘Conversations, eh?' Lypton eyed her the way Poppy imagined a toad eyes a tasty insect. ‘Dinner party talk perhaps.'

‘Perhaps.' Poppy lit a cigarette and held the look between them, much as it upset her to do so.

‘Interesting,' Lypton remarked. ‘Wouldn't you say, Lizard?'

Elizabeth, Duchess of Dunedin, looked over the
top of the locker, tapped her cards on top of it, smiled briefly and dealt herself a fresh hand.

‘You must come and have dinner,' she said to Poppy. ‘One's always looking for new faces, particularly young ones. Or perhaps you might like to come down to the country this weekend, get out of the bombing for a bit. We have some home produce, and even a cook to cope with it. Not like the Duchess of Somerset who is doing all her own cooking, poor dear.'

‘Why not?' Poppy replied without displaying much enthusiasm. ‘I might like that. What fun.'

‘Good. Put it in the book then,' the Duchess replied. ‘I'll let you know chapter and verse later.'

‘Absolutely,' Poppy agreed flatly, being careful not to look at Scott. ‘Why not?'

The first intense blitz by the Luftwaffe on the capital resulted inevitably in a number of bombs failing to explode when falling on their targets, which in turn led to a flurry of activity among the bomb disposal experts. Because of their growing reputation, due to further successful disarming of another half a dozen lethal mines that had fallen near important targets in Deptford and Chatham, Commander Fanshaw and 2nd Lieutenant Maddox therefore found themselves being invited by the army to use their newfound expertise to help detonate bombs whose apparatus, like the mines', was also of unknown construction. The bombs had all fallen in a normally busy part of the City, and as a consequence had brought life in that part of London to a standstill.

This particular morning Commander Fanshaw
and 2nd Lieutenant Maddox, together with two petty officers they had seconded to help them deal with their increasing workload, were all relaxing over a pot of tea after a splendid breakfast cooked for them by a local café owner when they received a call to go to the City where three more unexploded bombs had been located in the area of Moorgate.

Fanshaw and his squad hurried to the scene where they found the first bomb lying in only a shallow crater in the middle of the street, the other two having both penetrated the roofs of their intended targets to lie unexploded within the buildings.

‘Can you deal with this one, Bob?' Fanshaw asked Robert after their initial inspection of the first bomb. ‘Looks a fairly alfresco job!'

‘Alfresco it certainly is, sir,' Robert replied, having knelt down carefully to get a closer look at the bombshell. ‘But not entirely straightforward I'd say. The casing's taken a bit of a belt from striking the road surface, and I've a feeling the ring round the fuse casing might be damaged. Which might mean we won't be able to unscrew it.'

‘Hmm,' Commander Fanshaw said, leaning forward and putting his hands on the fronts of his knees while he also took a closer look. ‘Then you're going to have to try drilling it out – way you did with that mine in Chatham. What do you think?'

‘I'll give it a go, sir, certainly,' Robert agreed, standing up slowly and carefully before turning to the army experts. ‘Either of you chaps got a drill?'

While Commander Fanshaw and Petty Officer
Watkins hurried off to inspect the bombs lying inside two buildings no more than three hundred yards away, with the aid of a drill purloined from a small back-street factory Robert slowly and carefully drilled out four holes around the damaged holding ring causing it to splinter, and then fracture, which in turn allowed him to extract the fuse by his now well tried and proved method.

‘Not sure what we look for now,' Robert whispered to the soldier helping him. ‘We don't know whether these things have magnetic triggers, do we, now?'

‘So far not,' the other man replied, hardly able to breathe for the thumping of his heart. ‘We should be home and dry now we got the fuse out.'

Both men eased themselves back from the bomb, as confident as they could be in the circumstances that the device had been made safe. Just as they were getting to their feet they were knocked to the ground by a huge explosion.

In his confusion for a moment Robert thought he had been blown to pieces. It was only when he was sitting up and looking around him, as he saw his companion in arms was now doing, that he realised that the cloud of thick stone dust was actually rising from buildings not connected to them. There could be no doubt as to what had caused the explosion, just as there could be no doubt that anyone nearer to the blast could not be expected to have survived.

Lily was in the middle of typing a Top Secret report. It was actually more than Top Secret. It was the highest grade – and it was of a dullness that
couldn't be believed. She threw herself forward over her typewriter. Her war was going to be tip, tap, tip, tap, that was all her war was going to be, and what was more and what was worse, it was also going to be claustrophobia. Nothing but women, a sea of women, swarming all over Eden Park, and only a few ordinary soldiers, and poor Major Folkestone, to represent the all too divine opposite sex.

‘I feel like dancing a wild fandango, or singing “Love For Sale” at the top of my voice,' she told Kate who, seated at the next-door desk, was frowning at her shorthand notebook as if it was an importunate suitor whom she had come across in a dark alley.

‘Why don't you do both, Lily dear?' asked Kate. ‘It might make you feel less fractious.'

They both stiffened as the section door opened yet again, for despite the fact that dusk was falling they knew only too well that they would be lucky to be free by dinner time, such was the hurry on at that moment, what with the London bombing, the intercepts to type up, and the memos of the endless meetings held at Eden Park. Then Major Folkestone spoke.

‘Miss Ormerod here?'

Every head turned at that. To be called by name out of the section by the major meant bad news, everyone knew that. Only last week the girl on the other side of Kate had hurried out to find that most of her family were missing in an air raid. She had not yet returned.

Lily lost colour as she rose reluctantly to her feet.

‘Follow me, Miss Ormerod, would you?'

Seeing Major Folkestone's expression Lily at once hurried after him, realising now that he did indeed want to speak to her, rather than send her to take yet more dictation from yet another security officer.

‘Miss Ormerod.' The major, tall, respectable and wildly in love, as Lily well knew, with Kate, not to mention several other girls in the section, looked down at her with less of his usual authority. ‘The thing is, Miss Ormerod, there's been a bad accident, I'm afraid, in the City, one of several, I gather. Bomb disposal's taken a bit of a lashing, and Kate's brother, young Robert—'

Lily stared up at him, knowing at once that she wasn't going to be able to concentrate on the next few words he was going to speak, because that was what always happened to her in moments of crisis. She found that what was actually said did not penetrate her waking consciousness; rather the words seemed to pass her as if they were unidentified birds flying silently by.

‘He just rang from London. From what I gather, he's had a bit of a tough time of it. Just lost his commander. I think he's rather in need of company. Brave chaps these bomb disposal people, you know. Well, of course you do. At any rate he asked me to give you a late pass, which I willingly do. Six hours' compassionate leave do? He'll be ringing back early evening.'

He handed Lily a late pass.

‘But see here, best probably if we don't tell Miss Maddox. I can't lose two of you out of the section at this moment in time, and, you know, no matter how much a young man loves his sister, at these
times he needs a pretty girl, which is probably why he rang up, because if you ain't pretty, Miss Ormerod,' despite himself the major's eyes ran appreciatively over Lily for a few seconds before finishing, ‘then no one is, you know. No one.'

He turned on his heel and walked off, swagger stick under his arm, ready to do battle with the night's problems.

Chapter Fourteen

As he went about the City at first trying to help not just to defuse several more bombs, but to restore order, Robert finally gave in, and went into the nearest pub and drank two large quick whiskies, but even as he did he could not get it out of his mind that Fanshaw was still with him, as he had been up until now, laughing, holding up his glass, toasting the next ‘big so-and-so that Jerry sends us, God rot him'.

He knew Fanshaw had a wife and two children, he knew he lived in Sussex, somewhere near the sea, and that before the war he had liked to sail a boat that he kept at Itchenor harbour, but that was all he did know, because that was war, most especially their war. The people who did his kind of work, his and Fanshaw's kind of work, they couldn't expect to live long; to do so, he had known from the first, would be ridiculous. In which case why was he so surprised that Fanshaw was dead, that Petty Officer Watkins was dead, that, inevitably, he too would be dead soon. Why was he so shocked?

‘Another?' The publican looked at the glass that Robert had handed him.

‘Make it two, would you? In the same glass.'

It was only after the whisky started to do its work, at what seemed to be too slow a rate to be possible, that Robert came to and realised that there was only one thing he needed now, and that was a woman. And not just any woman. He needed Lily. He went to the pub telephone, raised the receiver and then thought better of it. Lily worked with Kate. He didn't want Kate, he wanted Lily. He replaced the telephone. It was damned embarrassing, but there it was. The wise thing to do was to explain to their Head of Section first. That way he would be able to see Lily, without Kate.

Robert drove faster out of town than he would have imagined possible a few hours earlier. He had more than enough petrol coupons to last the journey, so he did not care how much fuel the MG was using. It was only when he nearly lost control going round a bad S-bend as he sped down a deserted country road that he came to his senses and slowed to a stop, realising that there was a flaw in his plan. He had forgotten to ask Lily's Head of Section, Major Folkestone, to get Lily to telephone him. He stared out of the car window at the sky, hearing the sound of aircraft long before he saw them. He stared up at the fighters, soon to be followed by bombers. More, and more, and more bombers, all heading for London, more bombs, more devices to stare at while sweat dropped into his eyes, more magnetic triggers, more and more, and more. He should have stayed where he was. He should be helping, not driving
down to see Lily Ormerod, not running away. He should be like the young men overhead, preparing for battle, not longing for love.