The Girl With No Name (37 page)

Charlotte stared at Miss Edie for moment and then flung her arms round her, enveloping her in a huge hug, and Miss Edie knew that whatever problems having a young dog in the house meant, they were worth it.

And so a month later, Bessie, named for Princess Elizabeth, joined the household at Blackdown House.

When Dan had finally got through to Naomi and told them that their home had gone, she broke down and begged him to come up to Feneton and stay with her.

‘You ain’t got nowhere to live now,’ she said, her voice quavering with shock. ‘Just get out of London, now, while you still can.’

‘Not as easy as that,’ Dan said gently. ‘I still have to earn us a living. Can’t just jack it all in.’

‘Come up here and get a job,’ Naomi begged. ‘Just get out of London before you’re killed. Nicholas and I need you, Danny. Please?’

As Dan was about to answer, the pips went and the call was over. He’d heard the tears, the desperation in her voice, and he was tempted to ring straight back and say he was on his way, but a moment’s thought made him wait. He didn’t know what to do and until he’d thought through all the possibilities, he didn’t want to commit himself. He went back to the house and down into the cellar. He didn’t relish sleeping there, but at least he was on hand if decisions were to be taken about what was going to happen to the house.

The London sky was still filled with smoke, swirling in the wind among the gently swaying barrage balloons, and it was clear that many fires were still burning. Perhaps he should go to the fire post to see what he could do to help. He would go later, he decided, but first he’d go to the railway arches to pick up his cab. It was already nearly midday, but he might as well ply for hire during the afternoon. In the evening he’d go back to the post as usual and join his fire-watching team. On his way to the arches he went into the Dog and Duck and used the men’s toilet. It was cold and dank and supplied only cold water, but at least he could wash his hands and remove the soot and grime from his face before he tried to pick up passengers. There was a cracked mirror over the single basin and Dan stared at himself. Unshaven, with red-rimmed eyes and hair standing up on end, he didn’t look a good prospect for any work today, but until he could sort out some more clothes there was little more he could do. He damped his hair and tried to smooth it down with his hands. There was no towel, and so he came out of the toilet flapping his hands before wiping them on his trousers.

Feeling marginally better, he had a pint and a sandwich and then set out for the railway arches. The taxi was still there, undamaged by the raid, and Dan gave a sigh of relief. He still had a way of supporting them all. He was about to get into the cab and drive out into the street, when a man in the uniform of a fire service officer appeared at the entrance.

‘This your cab?’ he demanded without preamble.

‘Yes,’ Dan said cautiously.

‘Requisitioning it,’ said the man. ‘Need it for the fire service.’

Dan stared at him. He knew they’d been requisitioning cabs on and off for some time now, but his had not been taken. ‘My cab? Am I to drive it?’ he asked.

‘No,’ replied the man. ‘It’ll be converted to carry water tanks and hoses. A regular fireman’ll drive it. You’re to take it to this depot.’ He handed Dan an official-looking form with an address on it. ‘Take it there now and you’ll be given the requisition paperwork. Weren’t enough vehicles last night,’ he added, ‘and we’ve lost too many.’ He looked round at the two other taxis which were still parked under the arches. ‘Know who owns these?’ he asked.

Dan did, but he wasn’t going to say so. ‘Not always the same cabs parked here,’ he hedged.

‘I see,’ replied the man. ‘Well, you get along to the depot, the sooner they get to work converting yours the sooner it’ll be out on the street.’

‘Yeah, all right,’ said Dan, knowing there was nothing he could do about the requisition.

The fire officer seemed to relent a little and said, ‘Good man. Need all the help we can get. Bad raid last night.’

‘I know,’ snapped Dan, resenting the man’s patronising attitude. ‘I was firefighting till dawn.’

‘Weren’t we all,’ the man retorted. ‘Bloody fires are still burning. Still,’ he added as he turned away, ‘at least we saved St Paul’s.’

Dan drove his cab to the depot and there he handed it over to the fire service. He was given a receipt and told that when the war was over he might seek recompense.

Recompense indeed! he thought as he strode away to reach his fire post on foot. Be lucky if I see a single penny.

John Anderson was already back at the post when Dan got there, but the scene round it had entirely changed. The warehouse where Dan and Arthur had been watching had lost its roof and top floors. A thin column of smoke still drifted up from this blackened section. The fire brigade had sent a fire engine as soon as the fire had been phoned in. Paint, so combustible, would burn out of control and they’d done all they could to contain the blaze. They’d had some measure of success; it was the upper floors, where the offices were, that had been burned out, the lower levels had survived the attack and the feared inferno had not burst forth. All round the area were damaged buildings, skeletal trees and blackened patches on road and pavement where incendiaries had been doused before they could take hold.

‘Christ, Dan, you look rough!’ John Anderson exclaimed by way of greeting. Dan pulled a face.

‘Lost my house last night,’ he snapped. ‘No other clothes and nowhere to clean up!’

John looked lost for words and simply clapped Dan on the shoulder and said, ‘So sorry, chum. Glad you came back. We’ll need every pair of hands tonight if they come again.’

‘Where’re you going to stay if your house has gone?’ demanded Arthur when he heard what had happened to Kemble Street.

‘Cellar’s still all right,’ Dan told him. ‘It’s got a mattress, I can doss down there.’

‘Don’t be silly, mate,’ cried Arthur. ‘Come round ours. Matty’ll be pleased to see you.’

Dan smiled wearily. ‘Thanks, pal,’ he said, ‘but I’ll go back home when we’ve done here. Need to keep an eye on the place. Not much to steal, you know, but don’t want anyone else moving in just cos I’m not there. Assessor bloke was round this morning. Thinks they may bulldoze the lot. Need to be there, you know?’

The night was another busy one; so many fires from the raid the previous night were still burning, a beacon to the incoming planes, but at last John Anderson sent them home.

‘You sure you won’t come to us?’ Arthur offered again. ‘Be no problem, for a few days at least. You know, just till you get sorted?’

‘No, thanks again, mate, but I think I’ll head on home for now. Maybe take you up on it later, if they flatten.’

Dan had told none of the firefighters that his taxi had been requisitioned. He’d keep that to himself until he’d decided what to do next. He had no income now and no way of earning any. As he walked back to his burned-out home, he thought about Naomi and Nicholas in Feneton. He had no reason not to go up and join them now – well, the fire-watching – but he was a volunteer, not part of the auxiliary fire service. He had nothing to bind him to London and perhaps Naomi was right, he could get some sort of work up in Suffolk. Suddenly he wanted to be back at the Feneton Arms, his own arms round his wife. His longing for her was intense, a physical ache.

It was almost dawn when he reached home and he crept into the ruined house and down into the cellar. It was bitterly cold, but at least he could lie down and catch a few hours’ sleep before finally making up his mind. He gathered the blankets they’d kept down there and, lying down on the lumpy mattress, piled them on top of himself in an attempt to keep warm. At last, despite the cold and his continuously churning thoughts, he finally drifted off to sleep. He awoke in the late morning, his mind made up as he slept. He’d go to Suffolk and look after his wife and son. He’d done his bit in London, he’d fought fires and he’d given up his cab. Now, he decided, he’d do his proper job in life and provide, somehow, for his wife and child.

He crawled out from under the blankets and went back up into the burnt-out kitchen. He tried turning on the tap, but no water came out. He had no other clothes and nothing to eat. Nothing left but a ruined house and a few quid in his pocket. He looked round to see if there was anything else he could salvage, but could see nothing. He returned to the cellar and there he picked up the blankets and bundled them into their box. He couldn’t take them with him and he could do nothing with the mattress, so he left them where they were. Suddenly he caught sight of the biscuit tin Naomi had put on the shelf and he grabbed it and, pulling the lid off, he found there were half a dozen biscuits inside. He took out two and crammed them into his mouth while he searched along the shelf for anything else that might be edible. There was a pot of jam, half full, and he stuck his fingers into it, scooping the jam out in dollops into his mouth. He hadn’t eaten, he realised, since midday yesterday.

He was about to leave the cellar, his pockets full of biscuits and the now almost-empty jam jar, when he caught sight of the small suitcase Naomi had insisted on storing in safety. Lisa’s suitcase. It was all they had left of her and so, catching it up, he carried it upstairs to take with him. He stood in the kitchen and looked round. Everything was black and the smell of smoke still almost overpowering. He looked at the cellar door still lying in the ash on the kitchen floor. Perhaps he could secure it, so that anyone wanting to break in would have to make an effort to do so, not just walk in off the street. He knew there were squatters everywhere as people looked for somewhere to sleep when their homes had gone.

He heaved the door up and pushed it against the door frame, wedging it so that at a casual glance it appeared closed. It didn’t really matter, he supposed, but somehow it made him feel better that a small part of their home was still their own.

When Dan finally emerged into the street it was deserted. A chilly wind was blowing and the sky was dark, threatening rain, or possibly snow. He had made his plans. He would go first to the rescue centre where they could perhaps give him another set of clothes and maybe even a square meal, then he would go the station and catch his train. He would be out of London before dark, away before the next raid. He felt a stab of guilt at leaving John Anderson, and particularly Arthur, in the lurch, but he pushed it aside. His place was now with Naomi and Nicholas. Surely there’d be war work he could do in Suffolk.

The WVS woman at the rescue centre was as helpful as she could be.

‘I suppose you’re looking for somewhere to stay,’ she said wearily.

‘No,’ Dan replied. ‘I got somewhere to stay, just wondered if you’d got any clothes, you know, what have been given for people what have been bombed out.’ He held his arms out and looked down ruefully at his grimy, soot-covered clothes. His shirt was black and the knees of his trousers were ragged where he’d struggled moving rubble and heaving water tanks.

She was so relieved that he wasn’t looking for shelter that she gave him a huge smile. Looking at his filthy clothes, she waved her hand to the door of the next room. ‘You do look a bit the worse for wear,’ she agreed. ‘Have a look in there. I expect you can find something.’

Half an hour later, Dan, clad in clean clothes and carrying the old ones in a bundle tied with string and Lisa’s suitcase, made his way to the station. He was leaving London like so many others already had and, as the train drew out of Liverpool Street, he looked back at the pall of smoke that still hung over the city and felt himself well out of it.

Naomi was in the pub kitchen when he arrived, unannounced, in the bar. Jenny sent him through and Naomi greeted him with a shriek of joy, dropping the rolling pin she’d been using to roll a pie crust and flinging herself into his arms.

‘Danny, oh Danny,’ she cried, over and over as they kissed and kissed again. ‘Thank God you’ve come. I was so afraid for you in London. How long can you stay?’

Jenny sent them upstairs for a short while together and Dan was able to admire his son, just a week old, but already putting on an ounce or two. It was still a miracle to him that he had a son at all, but seeing him, such a beautiful baby with tiny fingers curled in sleep, gave him an unexpected jolt of joy.

‘They’re calling it the Second Great Fire of London,’ Naomi told him. ‘There was a picture of St Paul’s Cathedral in the paper Jim had today. The fire and smoke all round the dome. It must have been the worst raid yet!’

Dan told her a little of what he’d seen. He didn’t mention the incendiaries on the warehouse roof – she was quite alarmed enough already – but then went on to explain about his cab being requisitioned. ‘So, you see, girlie, I can’t work as a cabby no more, so I thought I might as well come up here with you and try and get something here.’

‘You mean you’ve come... to stay?’ Naomi’s face was suffused with joy. ‘Oh, Dan, really? You ain’t going back?’

‘Nothing to go back for,’ Dan replied. ‘The house is in ruins, though perhaps it can be repaired one day. I’ve no work down there and we need to be together as a family.’ He hugged her to him again. ‘I’ll have to find something up here, of course. But I did bring the savings pot from under the stove, so we’ve a little cash in hand.’

‘And Lisa’s suitcase,’ murmured Naomi. ‘I’m so pleased you thought to bring that, Dan. When this dreadful war is over I want to be able to give her things back to her family.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ answered Dan and neither of them mentioned that Lisa’s family had disappeared and wouldn’t come looking for her. They needed something to cling to.

The snow lay heavily on the hills for several days after Christmas. Wynsdown was snowed in, the road down to Cheddar blocked with drifts and impassable. Miss Edie wasn’t able to go to work and people were turned in on their own resources. Charlotte went out and joined the other village children as they played in the deep white snow. Billy came into the village several times, trudging in pulling a sledge to carry home his family’s rations from the village store, but he never stayed, he was needed by his father on the farm. There were sheep to be brought in from fields before they were buried in drifts, or fell into snow-filled ditches and couldn’t get out. Some were almost ready to lamb and they were kept close to the barn.