‘I’ll come to you, because I won’t be able to leave until Mam’s made a list of the messages she wants done,’ Debbie explained. ‘She was doing a double shift so she had no chance to shop yesterday and will probably go straight to bed as soon as she’s had her breakfast. See you later, then!’ The city had been bombed before, she reflected, as she crossed the main road, but never so badly. The inhabitants of the shelter had heard the steady thrum of hundreds of planes passing overhead, and the whoosh and crump of falling bombs, and had speculated on the destruction that must have resulted.
Even on Stanley Road the air was dusty, presumably as a result of fallen buildings, but Debbie could see no actual signs of destruction. She walked down Fountains Road in the slowly strengthening light and made her way back to Wykeham Street.
An ARP warden, making his weary way home along the Fountains Road, told her that the canal had been hit, releasing millions of gallons of water which had poured into the Canada Dock railway station. ‘My brother works there, but he were at home last night, thank gawd,’ he said gruffly. ‘The overhead railway’s been hit, though, and the shipping’s in a right shambles. Eh, we’ve been that sorry for poor old London, and now we know what it’s like ourselves.’
Debbie still had several yards to go before she reached her gate when her mother emerged from the house, coated and hatted and white as a sheet. She saw her daughter and gave a little shriek, then began to run. She flung her arms round Debbie, giving her a hard hug. ‘Oh, my love,’ she gasped, and Debbie felt her mother’s tears wet on her own cheeks. ‘Oh, my love, I’ve been so worried. It said on the wireless that the docks had been bombed and the shelter isn’t that far from the docks. You’re so sensible, I knew you’d go down the shelter as soon as Moaning Minnie started, only even shelters can’t guarantee complete safety.’
‘It’s all right, Mam. So far as I could see, it really was mainly the docks and the railway,’ Debbie said reassuringly, just as she saw, past her mother’s shoulder, the large figure of Uncle Max erupt from the front door and begin to roll along the pavement towards them. He was red-faced and beaming, and, somewhat to her surprise, he looked honestly delighted to see her. Debbie, who always treated him rather coolly, felt a stab of guilt. If only he would keep his hands to himself, he wouldn’t be a bad sort of fellow, she supposed. The trouble was, he was the type of person who always stood close and had to touch. Indeed, right now, he was giving her and her mother a hearty hug whilst saying over and over how glad he was to see that Debbie was obviously unhurt and in good spirits.
‘As y’know, I’m a fire-watcher when I ain’t on duty in my own job,’ he said. ‘Last night I was seconded to one o’ the tallest buildings in the city so I had what you might call a bird’s-eye view of everything. When the raid was finished and I came home, I was able to assure your mam that the Stanley Road area was clear, but of course she just had to see for herself.’ He cocked a quizzical eye at Debbie. ‘I’ll be bound you was every bit as worried that the hospital might have gorra packet, but we were lucky.’
‘Yes, I was worried,’ Debbie admitted, as the three of them turned back towards the house. She looked hopefully at her mother as they entered the kitchen. ‘Have you and Uncle Max had your breakfast yet? Only I’m just about starving.’
‘You poor thing,’ Jess said mockingly. ‘No, we’ve not eaten yet, though I did make Max a big jam butty when he came back; then I set out to find you, queen,’ she went on, heading for the pantry. ‘I think we all deserve something nice and hot, so I’ll do porridge first and then scrambled eggs on toast.’
By two o’clock that afternoon, Debbie and Gwen were ensconced in the Lyons restaurant on Church Street, eating beans on toast and discussing the raid. ‘Well, it could have been worse,’ Gwen said philosophically. ‘I know some people got killed when there was a direct hit on the railway viaduct, but apart from that it really was mainly warehouses and docks, wasn’t it?’
Debbie nodded, her mouth full. ‘But it won’t half disrupt things,’ she said, as soon as she could speak. ‘The Dockers’ Umbrella stops at Canada Dock now and someone said some of the other stations had been hit, though Lime Street is still okay.’
‘I know, and I expect there’ll be more on the news tonight,’ Gwen said, nodding wisely. ‘I’m going to listen to old Haw-Haw on the new set; I bet he’ll have a gloat about it.’ She imitated his well-known and much hated voice. ‘Garmany calling, Garmany calling. He’s always telling us our “Empah” is crumbling; now he can crow over all the shipping the bloody Luftwaffe sank last night, though a good few of ’em came from foreign countries who aren’t even in the war.’
‘We shouldn’t listen to him, I suppose, but he’s good for a laugh,’ Debbie said. ‘Uncle Max hates him and so does Mam, but they usually listen in. He’s got it into his head – Lord Haw-Haw, I mean – that he can stir up rebellion in India by pretending we’re as good as beaten, but Uncle Max says he’s barking up the wrong tree there.’
‘I thought you hated your Uncle Max,’ Gwen said slyly. ‘I thought you said he knew nothing about the war and was just a big show-off.’
Debbie grinned rather sheepishly. ‘I’m trying much harder to see his good points,’ she said gruffly. ‘I haven’t said anything before, Gwenny, but I used to have a bit of a problem with Uncle Max. He would march into my bedroom when I was getting ready for bed, and if I wasn’t fully dressed he’d get awfully excited and red in the face, and keep sort of grabbing at me. I hated it, but he doesn’t do it now, though he still tries to give me a cuddle if we’re in the house alone or if Mam’s upstairs and we’re down.’
Gwen’s eyes rounded and her fork stopped halfway to her mouth. ‘Why didn’t you never tell me before?’ she breathed. ‘That’s awful, queen; no wonder you didn’t like him much. You should have told your mam, you know; I would have.’
‘I did tell her about his coming into my bedroom,’ Debbie admitted. ‘She said she’d speak to him and she must have done so, because after that he did steer clear. But he still cuddles in corners, if you know what I mean. Mam says it’s because he thinks of me as a child, but I don’t think a man of his age should cuddle anyone when they make it plain they don’t like it. I got terribly worried when Mam first told me she was going back to the hospital, because Uncle Max and I would have been alone in the house morning and evening. But then your mam said I could stay at your place when my mam was on nights . . .’
Gwen interrupted, a slow smile stealing across her face. ‘So that was why you started coming to us,’ she said triumphantly. ‘I thought you might be trying to avoid that Herbert bloke, but it didn’t seem likely. It’s a pity him and your Uncle Max don’t take a house on their own account, then you and your mam could have your place to yourselves, but there’s fat chance of that happening. I’ve yet to meet a feller who can cook and clean, get the messages, peel the spuds and light the fires of a morning.’
‘Do you know, I’ve never thought of it like that,’ Debbie said, awed by her friend’s remarks. ‘When you think, my mam does all those things and has a full-time job nursing at the hospital, and takes a turn at fire-watching or giving a hand at the WVS canteen . . . well, it does show you which is the weaker sex, doesn’t it?’
Gwen giggled. ‘You’re right there,’ she agreed, then set down her knife and fork with a regretful sigh. ‘That were really good. Now let’s stop gossiping and get down to brass tacks. How many presents have you bought this morning and how many have you still got to get?’
Debbie sighed but fished out her list. ‘I’ve got everything except something for Uncle Max. I’d like to get him a cigarette lighter if I could find one cheap enough, because he’s always reaching for a fag and he’s one of those fellers who strikes a match, uses it to light up and then puts it back into the box. Then, of course, when you reach down the matchbox from the mantelpiece, you have to root through all the old dead matches to find a live one. It fairly drives me mad and even Mam said the other day that it annoyed her. She chucks her used matches in the fire or in the bin, same as I do, but when she moaned to Uncle Max he said she was wasteful and didn’t she know there was a war on.’
Gwen laughed. ‘Silly old fool; does he think you can make a warship or a Spitfire out of matchsticks?’ she asked derisively. ‘So all you want is a lighter for your uncle; is that right?’
‘Not quite; Mam’s old purse is so worn that any day now it’s going to give way and she’ll be chasing pennies and ha’pennies across the pavement,’ Debbie said. ‘I know I said I were going to give her that pretty headsquare with the orange and lemon pattern all over it which we got off Paddy’s Market, but I’d feel a bit mean just giving her that. It was second hand, after all, so a nice new purse would be really useful. Oh, and I want to buy your mam something; she’s invited me to come to yours on Boxing Day, ’cos Mam’s working and Uncle Max is going to the footie with Horrible Herbert.’
‘But you said you were making up bags of toffee for each of the kids,’ Gwen protested. ‘Mam will be that thrilled, because your mam’s toffee is the nicest we’ve ever tasted, and she’ll say you shouldn’t go wasting your money on her what with the war ’n’ all.’
Debbie got to her feet, scooped up the bill and joined the queue at the cash desk. As Gwen came and stood beside her, she said decisively: ‘I’m really grateful to your mam, Gwen. So what do you think she’d like, then?’
‘She could do with a new umbrella,’ Gwen said, with a promptitude that told Debbie that Gwen had decided to protest no more. ‘I see’d a real smart one in Bunney’s but I dare say there’ll be one on Paddy’s Market if we look around.’
At this point, the girls reached the head of the queue and paid for their meal, then set off into the cold December afternoon. ‘I’m pretty flush at the moment so she shall have the one in Bunney’s,’ Debbie said grandly, as they traversed Church Street. She also meant to buy her mother’s purse at the popular shop. She knew that if she went to Lewis’s or Blackler’s she might buy quality goods but she would pay quality prices, whereas Bunney’s catered for folk like themselves, who liked nice things but could not afford to throw their money about.
They reached Whitechapel and plunged straight into the department store, emerging as the early dusk was beginning to fall not only with the umbrella and a purse, but with a small metal lighter. ‘And now we’ll nip into St John’s Market and see what’s going cheap,’ Gwen said. ‘I shouldn’t think there’ll be another raid, not two nights running.’
Debbie, however, looked up at the sky, in which she could just see stars beginning to twinkle. ‘The planes always come over on a clear night,’ she observed, ‘but it takes them a while to get here so we can still do St John’s Market and be home before a raid starts, if there is one. Mam will be that pleased with any extras we may find; c’mon.’
The two girls had a successful trip to the market, each coming away with a bag of eating apples, some pears and a mixed assortment of vegetables, all being sold off cheaply since the stallholders wanted to get home before darkness fell. They were lucky enough to catch a tram almost as soon as they left the market so Debbie emptied her fruit and vegetables out on the kitchen table scarcely twenty minutes after purchasing them. She hurried the rest of her shopping up to her room, and when she came down her mother was laying the table for supper whilst Uncle Max got himself ready to fire-watch should there be another raid.
Jess smiled at her daughter and gestured at the vegetables now neatly piled on the draining board. ‘Thanks, queen, you’re a grand girl, so you are,’ she said, beginning to dish up. ‘I’m not on duty tonight, thank goodness, so I thought we’d go to bed as soon as we’ve finished our meal. I’m hoping there won’t be another raid, but if there is, we’ll have had an hour or two’s sleep before it starts.’
‘There will be another raid, Jessie,’ Max said grimly. ‘It’s a clear night and the Luftwaffe have got their eye in now and know exactly where we are. The docks took a fair pounding last night so I reckon they’ll come back tonight to finish us off.’
‘Well they won’t bloody well succeed,’ Debbie said quickly. ‘Our fighters weren’t around last night, someone told me, because they didn’t know where the German planes were heading, but they know now. Oh aye, they’ll be out in force tonight. And did you hear our ack-ack batteries? They make a good old racket, don’t they?’
Uncle Max grinned at her, settled himself at the table and began to eat the food which Jess set before him. ‘I dare say you’re right, young ’un,’ he said, rather thickly. ‘And your mam’s right, too. We should get what sleep we can before Moaning Minnie starts to wail.’ He turned to Jess. ‘Any chance of a few sandwiches so’s I can keep body and soul together if I’m fire-watching till dawn? These winter nights are too bleedin’ long an’ I get rare starving by two in the mornin’.’
Jess assured him that she would pack him up a carry-out, and presently they made their way to their beds, though they were not there for long. The siren sounded and almost immediately the three of them left the house. Uncle Max hurried to his post whilst Jess and Debbie joined the crowd making their way to the big public shelter. They carried with them a bag containing a loaf, a square of margarine, half a pot of jam and a flask of tea, as well as blankets and pillows, for though the shelter was provided with army issue blankets and hard little bunks, there were never enough to go round.
Everyone did their best to sleep but this raid was even heavier than the previous night’s and sleep was almost impossible, for the noise was incessant. This time, the All Clear did not sound until almost eleven hours had passed, and Jess and Debbie re-entered their house as dawn was breaking, almost astonished that it was still standing. They heard on the wireless, later that morning, that many of the bombs had fallen in Cheshire as well as on the docks.