Secrets of the Singer Girls (35 page)

‘My Sarah, I got separated from her!’ she screamed to anyone who’d listen. ‘I’ve got to find her. Help me!’

‘Come with me,’ said Sal, taking her hand and leading her up the line. Checking the bodies of children, the lady found the girl she believed to be hers, but identifying her bruised
face was too traumatic, until at last she examined her clothes.

‘It’s her,’ she breathed, gripping her face in shock. ‘She ripped her cardigan on the way to school this morning and there’s the hole, look. Oh my days, I tore a
strip off her for that. My baby girl, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

The woman let out a tortured wail as Sal drew her into her arms to give her what little comfort she could.

‘That’s my baby. Oh, however shall I live without her? I’ll never forgive myself,’ she wept. She wrenched herself from Sal’s embrace and threw herself back on her
daughter’s body, weeping inconsolably until at last her husband appeared and pulled her back.

‘She’s gone, gal,’ he whispered. ‘She’s gone.’

Sal gently closed the little girl’s eyes and drew back the sheet to cover her face. She shared that poor mother’s grief and swallowed back sobs, all the while offering up a silent
prayer of thanks that her two boys were safe.

By eleven forty that night, most of the dead and injured had been removed, either rushed to nearby hospitals or to the crypts of two local churches. Sal still hadn’t spotted Poppy, Archie,
Ivy, Betty or Freddie, but knew enough not to draw conclusions. They could be anywhere.

‘Word has come back there’s no more room at hospitals and they’re piling up the dead in the corridors,’ shouted a passing ambulance man. ‘Where shall we start
taking people now?’

‘Take ‘em to the crypt of St John’s over the road,’ a fireman called back wearily.

On instinct, Sal started walking towards the crypt of St John’s. She could walk there with her eyes shut: she had gone there often at night during the Blitz to shelter and had spent many
an hour singing underground. But once inside, she realized it was a very different place. Gone was the joyful camaraderie, in its place silent despair. Rows of bodies were laid out in the freezing
gloom of the crypt.

A tea urn had been set up and the WVS were gingerly picking their way around the room serving up hot tea to shaken survivors. On one side of a room, someone was busy erecting a makeshift curtain
to separate the bodies until they could be claimed.

Sal’s stomach lurched when she realized that now was the time she would have to start looking for Poppy, Freddie, Archie, Ivy and Betty. Pausing, she spotted the slight figure of a woman
she recognized hunched over a body, her shoulders shaking from the force of her sobs. She touched the woman lightly and she whirled round. It was Betty’s mother.

‘It’s not, is it?’ Sal asked, already knowing the answer.

‘It’s my Betty,’ her mother whispered, trembling. ‘I got separated from her. Breaks me apart to know she died alone. Do you know what she used to call me, Sal? The
Duchess. She used to say that nothing bad could ever happen to her while I was by her side . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Sal replied, tormented that the tragedy had claimed its first Singer Girl.

The woman shook her head and motioned to a body a few feet away. ‘And that’s Ivy.’

And Poppy, and Archie?’ Sal ventured, hardly daring to ask the question.

‘I haven’t seen them,’ she replied, stroking her daughter’s cold cheek over and over.

Sal gently touched her on the back and instinctively left the grieving mother to be alone with her daughter.

Tears blinding her eyes, she stumbled back outside onto the street.

‘Excuse me, love,’ said a fireman, with his arm around an elderly lady. ‘I got walking wounded coming through.’

At that moment, a movement just past his head caught her attention. In astonishment, she realized it was Vera. She was running full pelt down the road towards her, no coat. When she drew nearer,
Sal realized that tears were pouring down her face. It was the first time she had ever seen the older woman cry, she realized with a jolt.

‘Billy and Joey?’ Sal gasped.

‘Safe at home with Daisy. I came as soon as I heard, Sal. Where is he? Just tell me where – I have to see him!’ she babbled hysterically.

‘Calm down, Vera,’ she soothed, gripping her arm. ‘Who?’

‘Archie, of course!’ she yelled. ‘Now just tell me where he is so I can go to him. He’ll need me.’

Sal closed her eyes and gulped deep in her throat.

‘I don’t know, Vera. I last saw him going down the Tube and I haven’t seen him since.’

The blood drained from Vera’s face. ‘Oh no, not Archie,’ she cried, and then she was off, belting towards the Tube.

Sal caught up with her just in time. ‘You can’t go down there, Vera,’ she panted. ‘Anyone still left down there is bound to be dead by now.’

‘But you don’t understand, Sal,’ Vera wept bitterly. ‘I argued with him, told him I didn’t need him in my life. Such horrible words. I have to be with him, tell him
I meant none of it.’

‘No, Vera.’ Sal wept helplessly. ‘You can’t go down there.’

Eventually, Vera’s body slumped in her arms and Sal released her grip. Vera was a broken woman.

‘I love him, Sal, and now it’s too late to tell him.’

There was nothing Sal could say or do to ease her torment, and though she didn’t like to admit it, after what she had witnessed tonight, Vera was probably right. All Sal could do was lead
her home. It was nearly midnight and she was bone-weary and sick of heart. There was nothing more any of them could do now, except wait.

Vera glanced at the clock over the mantel. Five thirty in the morning. Sal had called the doctor out last night and he had given her a sleeping draught, but it hadn’t
worked. Regret had stolen any chance of sleep. Nothing could calm the savage sense of guilt that had burrowed into her head and heart.

One thought worked its way repeatedly through her mind.

‘You told him you didn’t want him in your life,’ she whispered to herself. ‘And now God’s punishing you. You brought this on yourself.’

Gingerly, she pulled on her coat and peeked her head round the parlour door. Sal was fast asleep on her makeshift bed where she had fallen in exhaustion when they got in the night before, her
face black with grime and her arms clamped protectively around her two boys. Thank heavens they were unharmed. Daisy was asleep upstairs, and as for their father’s whereabouts, goodness only
knew. Vera hadn’t seen him since she had left for work yesterday morning and he hadn’t come home last night.

Taking care not to wake anyone, she crept silently from the house and began to walk in the direction of the Tube.

She had no idea why she was going there, but it felt necessary in order to make sense of Archie’s death.

As the first light of dawn tinged the sky, she stopped in front of the scene of the disaster and drew a long, shaky breath. Sal had described the horrific events of the previous evening and yet
this morning it seemed barely credible that it was the same place. In the grey half-light, all was still and quiet. No bodies, no emergency services, no noise. Nothing. The only way you could tell
that so many poor souls had perished there was the small pile of wet shoes neatly stacked by the entrance and a broken pram that lay discarded by the railings.

Vera pressed her knuckles into her mouth to prevent a sob escaping. Such a senseless loss of life. Over a hundred people killed in the crush, the doctor had told them, and that death toll
rapidly rising. Word had already filtered back that the loud explosion had been some sort of new antiaircraft rocket they had been testing from nearby Victoria Park. No enemy aircraft had even been
spotted in the immediate area. All that fear and confusion, and it hadn’t even been the Germans. Two of the Singer Girls dead and a third still missing, believed dead. She wanted to howl at
the thought of sweet, innocent Poppy lying alone and in pain or worse . . .

For the past year all Archie had done was show her his undying love and support through his everyday actions. He was just an ordinary man with an extraordinary capacity for love. His heart was
made of pure gold and she had trampled all over it.

Staring at the broken pram by the railings, she hugged her arms around herself and started to cry.

‘Now, whatever are you crying for, woman?’ said a familiar gruff voice from behind.

Vera whirled round and gaped in astonishment. There, as black as night, with his clothes hanging off him and looking fit to drop, was Archie. She flew at him, nearly knocking him off his feet,
and clung to his chest.

‘Blimey,’ he gasped. ‘Steady on, girl.’

‘I thought you were dead,’ she breathed, gripping his arms as if he might just suddenly melt under her touch.

‘No,’ he said wearily. ‘But I do feel like I’ve come back from the dead. I’ve been up at the churches all night – St John’s first, then St James the
Less – helping get the survivors sorted.’

‘Of course you have,’ Vera said, shaking her head. Knowing the man as she did, why had she not thought to look there?

‘So many people in shock. I saw one woman’s hair turn from brown to grey overnight, I swear, but I guess they’re the lucky ones. They escaped with their lives.’

Vera nearly couldn’t speak for the lump in her throat, but she had to ask.

‘Did you hear, about Ivy and Betty?’ she asked.

His face darkened as he regarded the pavement. ‘I did, and I take it as a personal failure. They were my girls and I should have saved them. I let them down. I’ve let all the Singer
Girls down.’

‘And Poppy?’ she asked haltingly.

He shook his head in sadness. ‘No, Vera, I haven’t seen her, and I looked everywhere, believe you me. I’m so sorry. I should have got all my girls out.’

‘Oh, Archie,’ she wept, feeling as if her heart might just burst out of her chest. ‘If only you knew how we all feel about you.’

He fixed his gentle eyes on her, and there it was, that look of admiration and adoration.

‘There’s only one person whose feelings I hold above all others, and I think you know who that person is, Vera.’ Tears formed rivulets of grime down his gnarled cheeks.
‘After the night I’ve had, I may as well lay myself bare,’ he stuttered. ‘I’ve . . . I’ve loved you from the moment I set eyes on you.’

‘But why?’ she spluttered, genuinely mystified. ‘Look at me.’ Slowly she pulled down her top to reveal the scars snaking over her chest. ‘Really look at me.
I’m ugly. I’m prematurely old. I’m covered in scars.’

Archie took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. ‘They’re battle scars, and they’re part of you, Vera, so of course I love them. I hope one day you’ll open up to me
about your past, but more than anything I want a future with you. After all the suffering and loss I witnessed last night, I need something good to cling to.’

He hesitated and then dropped to one knee. ‘I want to make old bones with you. Marry me?’

Vera knew her father would kill her, but she may never get this opportunity again. If the last night had showed her anything, it was that she couldn’t live her life without Archie in it,
and second chances like this rarely came around.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

‘Get off the pavement, you daft sod – your knees aren’t up to it,’ she ordered.

Looking resigned to a knockback, he hauled himself slowly to his feet, but his face was a picture of surprise as Vera leaned over and brushed her lips against his.

‘I will.’

Relief washed over her and she leaned her head against his solid chest. She could have stayed that way all day except for the lights of the station flickering on.

They both watched flabbergasted as a stream of weary shelterers stumbled out onto the street, yawning and blinking into the half-light.

‘All right, Archie,’ called a man Vera recognized from the market. ‘You haven’t seen my brother, Ron, have you? He was supposed to join us down in the shelter last
night.’

‘Oh no,’ moaned Archie under his breath. ‘They don’t know yet.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked quizzically.

‘They’ve been shut away down in the tunnel, oblivious to what was happening over their heads. The wardens probably hushed it up, as the last thing they would have wanted was folk
running up and causing more mayhem.’

Vera closed her eyes and leaned back against the railings. ‘You go and break the news to him. I’m going to head up to the hospital. See if I can’t find Poppy.’

All right, love,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you back at yours.’ He pulled her hand towards him as she went to move off. And thank you, Vera, for giving me something good to live
for. This might sound strange, now of all times, but we are so blessed. This war seems to have no end, but with you by my side, I know we’ll have the strength to see it through.’

Vera started to walk in the direction of the hospital and wearily let her eyes flicker down to the pavement. She couldn’t bear to see all those confused faces spilling out of the Tube,
knowing as she did the dire news that awaited them. Bethnal Green was a small place. Almost everyone who had made it to the safety of the shelter last night would know someone who hadn’t.

With her eyes downcast, she didn’t see Poppy coming out of the station until she bumped clean into her, and when she did raise her gaze, she felt as if she had seen the second ghost in as
many minutes.

‘You’re alive!’ she wept, feeling her legs start to shake.

‘I am,’ Poppy smiled weakly, plainly exhausted. ‘Thanks to this man.’

Vera hadn’t noticed the shy-looking man in cracked spectacles until Poppy held tightly on to his arm.

‘This is Freddie. He saved my life. He’s a very dear friend.’

Vera saw the secret look that passed between the two and was surprised by the affection in Poppy’s eyes.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s get back to mine. I think I need to hear this, and there’ll be a couple of girls who will be extremely relieved to see you.’

Ten days after the Tube disaster, Daisy dressed carefully for the funerals of Betty and Ivy. She still could scarcely believe what had happened. The final death toll was now
in. One hundred and seventy-three poor souls killed in the crush, sixty-two of them children, all dead through suffocation. The life had been literally squeezed out of them. The thought made her
shudder. The biggest civilian wartime disaster, they were calling it. She supposed it really ought to put her own recent loss into perspective, but somehow it didn’t.