The Girl With No Name (43 page)

It was the early hours of a Sunday morning some weeks later that the air raid sirens began to wail. Though there was no moon, the sky was clear and it wasn’t long before the roar of approaching aircraft and the blast of ack-ack could be heard. The Home Guard were out in force, checking all the houses in the village and the outlying farms to be sure no lights were showing. Billy and his mother, asleep at Charing Farm, woke with a start and Billy hurriedly pulled on some trousers and a thick jersey over his pyjamas.

‘I’m going out to the barn, Mother,’ Billy said. ‘Dad’s out on patrol and someone should be in there with the last of the ewes. This noise’ll terrify them.’

Reluctantly his mother agreed and Billy hurried out across the yard. The thunder of the planes filled the sky now and as he reached the barn he looked up. Coming in from the south, the planes flew in formation, dark sinister shapes against the night sky.

Heading for Bristol again, he thought as he watched them. Hope Jane’ll be all right. The first flight were almost out of sight when they seemed to release a trail of lights. Bright flares spiralled downwards, erupting into brilliant yellow and white fires, targets for the bombers following in their wake.

‘They’re dropping short!’ Billy cried as he watched the incendiaries burst into flame somewhere beyond the ridge on the distant hillside. Anti-aircraft guns, dug in somewhere up on the hill, pounded away at the incoming planes, blasting the sky with shells in an effort to bring down the enemy, or at least to drive them away.

The first aircraft peeled away, their job as pathfinders done, but the roar of engines didn’t fade as another flight passed overhead and, homing in on the incendiary-lit target, off-loaded their bombs. Explosions cracked the air as the waves of bombers emptied their bomb bays before swinging south again towards France.

Billy wasn’t the only one watching, fascinated, as the Luftwaffe mistook its target and bombed the open hillside. The bombing sounded so close that people from most of the villages that nestled among the hills were at their windows, staring incredulously as the last of the raiders flew away. How had the Germans made such an incredible mistake? Surely they must have been aiming for Bristol. No one could speak of anything else.

In Wynsdown they gathered outside the church for morning service, exchanging ideas as to what could have happened.

‘How did they come to miss Bristol like that?’ Billy asked his father as they went out to the sheep. ‘You were out on patrol, you must’ve seen the whole raid from out there.’

‘I don’t know,’ replied John. ‘It’s the pathfinders must’ve got it wrong. They drop their lights and the bombers drop their bombs. If the pathfinders get it wrong, like last night, then the bombers do, too. Just thank God they did. Saved Bristol from a rough night.’

‘Thank God indeed,’ echoed his wife, her thoughts flying to Jane working in Bristol.

Billy thought about the bombs. There must be huge damage after such a heavy bombardment. He knew roughly where they had landed and was even more intrigued.

‘You know what, Dad? I reckon they were targeting that military zone. P’raps it wasn’t a mistake. P’raps they knew there was something top secret there and bombed it specially.’ He shook his head. ‘The poor buggers underneath it all. Whatever it was, it must be destroyed now.’

It was a plausible explanation and one which many local people came up with. Somehow the Germans had learned that there was a top-secret project and had set out to destroy it, but, surprisingly, the army land was still occupied and so they must have failed.

All built safely underground was the perceived wisdom, so the project, whatever it might be, was safe.

‘Must have been told by a spy,’ said Bert Gurney. ‘Stands to reason, don’t it? There’s spies about, fifth column.’

‘My dad says there’s a German spy round here,’ Tommy Gurney announced to the school bus two days later. ‘He says there must be, cos how else did they know where to bomb?’

‘But they missed Bristol,’ pointed out Fred Moore.

‘Yeah, but maybe they didn’t.’

‘Didn’t what?’

‘Didn’t miss Bristol. Maybe they hit their target. My dad says that they must’ve knowed that there was a top-secret place up there and that’s what they was aiming for.’

‘Well, it’s certainly top secret,’ put in Stephen Morgan. ‘Me and Sid went over that way the other day and we was chased off by a man with a big dog.’

‘Yeah,’ Sid agreed. ‘Couldn’t get close enough to nothing, so must be top, top secret. Them Germans’d want to bomb that, wouldn’t they.’

‘Yeah, that’s what I’m saying,’ Tommy averred. ‘My dad says someone must’ve tipped ’em off. Someone what knew it was there. Someone who’s German!’ He stood up and looked round the bus. ‘And who do we know who’s German?’

‘Sit down, Tommy Gurney,’ Sam roared from the front of the bus. ‘No standing up while we’re moving.’

Tommy flopped back down on to his seat, but he could see he’d made his point and he grinned wolfishly at Charlotte, sitting pink-faced beside Clare halfway down the bus.

Clare turned to face him. ‘You talking about Charlotte?’ she demanded.

‘Anyone else we know German?’

‘That’s just stupid, Tommy Gurney,’ Clare shouted at him. ‘How would Charlotte get a message to Hitler?’

‘That’s what we’d all like to know,’ shouted Sidney Morgan. ‘Spies have ways.’

‘Yeah, they send messages in code!’ cried his brother.

‘Charlotte’s not a spy!’ cried Clare.

‘How do you know? You don’t know. She might be.’

‘Nobody knows where she came from, do they? Just turned up with you vaccies.’

‘She could be fifth column,’ called out Ernie Clegg. ‘She’s probably been telling them all about us ever since she got here.’

‘She’s fourteen,’ Clare said dismissively. ‘What Nazi is going to use a fourteen-year-old as a spy?’

‘She’s German,’ stated Tommy, undeterred. ‘She’s German and we hate Germans, don’t we?’

There was a murmur of assent all around the bus.

‘So,’ continued Tommy, triumphant, ‘we don’t want nothing to do with her.’

‘You’re just stupid,’ declared Clare. ‘A stupid, stupid boy!’

‘And we don’t want nothing to do with you, neither, stupid vaccie!’

By the time they got off the bus, Charlotte and Clare were on their own. All the other children preferred to side with Tommy Gurney, seeing safety in numbers. Whether Charlotte was a spy or not they neither knew nor cared, but she was German and therefore the enemy and fair game.

For Charlotte it was a return to the early days in London. She remembered only too well the days back at Francis Drake Secondary, Roger Davis and his gang with their taunting and bullying; until, that was, Harry had hurtled to her rescue, fists flying. Tears pricked her eyes at the thought of Harry. She could do with him now. This time, however, Charlotte knew that she had to stand up for herself; there was no Harry to come to her rescue.

She got through the day with pale-faced determination, ignoring the collective spite of the other children. Clare stayed with her in the playground in the morning, but like Hilda, she fell victim by association. On the bus home she sat with Charlotte, but it was an uncomfortable journey for them both as the jeering continued.

That evening Charlotte’s spirits were low, her face pale, and a haunted look in her eyes. She’d become used to being part of Wynsdown. That she was German had ceased to be important; she was just Charlotte Smith, who lived with Miss Everard and was popular with the girls at school.

‘What’s the matter, Charlotte?’ Miss Edie asked over their supper. ‘You seem a bit down. Aren’t you feeling well?’

‘I’m all right.’

Miss Edie’s lips tightened. ‘No, you’re not. Come on, tell me what’s the matter.’ She waited, watching Charlotte struggling with her decision. Clearly something was wrong but unless Charlotte confided in her, Miss Edie knew she could do nothing but wait.

Her silence was rewarded when, with a deep sigh, Charlotte said, ‘They say at school that a German spy told the bombers about that army place.’

‘So?’ prompted Miss Edie.

‘They say it was me.’

‘You!’ Miss Edie gave an incredulous laugh. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, my dear.’

‘It is not ridiculous if you are me and no one speaks to you.’

‘Is that what’s happening?’ Miss Edie’s laughter died as she saw the misery on Charlotte’s face.

‘It was Tommy Gurney’s idea, I think,’ said Charlotte and she explained what was being said about her.

‘I’ll come down there tomorrow and speak to the headmaster.’

‘For me... better not,’ Charlotte said. ‘It’ll stop soon.’

Yes it will! thought Edie. If she doesn’t want me to go to the head, I won’t, but I will get it stopped.

That evening, while Charlotte was doing her homework, Edie went out.

‘I shan’t be long,’ she said, ‘I just have to see the vicar about something. Don’t forget your piano practice if I’m held up.’

Charlotte, struggling with an algebra problem, just nodded and Edie went to the vicarage.

‘Is the vicar in?’ she asked as soon as Avril opened the door.

‘He’s in his office, but he’s got Peter Bellinger and John Shepherd with him. I don’t suppose he’ll be long. Would you like to wait?’

‘Yes, please,’ Edie replied. ‘Actually, I wanted to talk to the major as well, so perhaps I can kill two birds with one stone.’

They waited in the kitchen and Avril, always someone unhappy with an uneasy silence, said, ‘Nancy Bright was telling me that you used to sing in the church choir.’

Edie gave a knowing laugh. ‘Well, Nancy Bright would, wouldn’t she?’

Avril smiled ruefully. ‘I’m afraid we were talking about the choir and your name came up. It’s a pity you don’t still come and sing. We’re a bit thin on the ground these days and Nancy says you’ve got a lovely voice.’

‘Does she now?’ Miss Edie’s face was hard for a moment and then she said, ‘So’s she, for that matter!’

‘Would you like to rejoin?’ Avril asked tentatively.

‘I’ll think about it.’

Before either of them could say more, the door opened and the vicar came in with John Shepherd and Peter Bellinger.

‘Miss Everard! What a lovely surprise,’ the vicar cried. ‘We were just going to have a drink before Peter and John went. Can I tempt you to one too?’

Miss Edie shook her head. ‘No, thank you, vicar, but don’t let me stop you. I just wanted a word with both you and Major Bellinger.’

‘Sounds serious,’ said the major, watching as the vicar poured each of them a measure of whisky.

‘Well, I think it is,’ Miss Edie replied.

‘Now,’ said David settling himself at the kitchen table with the others. ‘What’s the problem?’

As quickly as she could Miss Edie repeated what Charlotte had told her. ‘I have no idea what’s going on in that military place over the hill,’ she said, ‘and I’m not asking. But somehow I want it scotched that there was a German spy. My poor Charlotte has been taking flak at school today because she’s German and the stupid children, led by Tommy Gurney, of course, and egged on by the Morgan twins and that Clegg boy, are saying she told the Luftwaffe where the military zone was so they could bomb it.’

Peter Bellinger gave a guffaw. ‘But that’s ridiculous!’

‘I have to admit, I laughed, too, when she first told me,’ Miss Edie said, ‘until I saw her face. As far as I understand it, she’s been sent to Coventry. The children are calling her a spy. It’s a bit of excitement. Charlotte’s German and it’s an excuse for bullying.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ insisted Avril. ‘You must speak to the headmaster. He’ll have to deal with it once and for all.’

‘I can’t, she’s asked me not to. I think this sort of thing happened to her in London when she first arrived and she weathered that storm, but now it’s happening again. Children can be very cruel, particularly in a gang, and they’re ganging up on Charlotte now.’ She turned to Peter Bellinger. ‘I was wondering if you could have a word with Tommy’s father. He’s in your Home Guard, isn’t he?’

The major grimaced. ‘Yes he is, and I imagine that’s where the stupid idea came from in the first place. He’ll have said something like it and Tommy’s just parroting his father. I’ll see what I can do, of course, but Bert Gurney isn’t an intelligent man and once he’s got an idea in his head it’ll be difficult to shift it.’

‘Billy and Charlotte were found up by the zone that day,’ John Shepherd reminded them. ‘That was before the raid. They’ve said nothing, but anyone could have seen them. The rumour could have come from there.’

‘But the whole thing is utterly preposterous,’ said the vicar. ‘As if a fourteen-year-old girl had the means to contact the Germans.’

‘I believe they’re suggesting she’s in touch with the fifth column,’ Miss Edie said.

‘Leave it with me, Miss Edie,’ Peter Bellinger said. ‘I’ll do what I can to put a stop to it.’

But it wasn’t Major Bellinger who put a stop to it, it was Billy Shepherd. When his father got home and told him what was going on, Billy felt rigid with rage. How dare they bully his Charlotte? His Charlotte. She was the first and only girl he’d ever been interested in and that was how he’d come to think of her. He listened to what his dad was saying and then spent the night awake, planning what he was going to do about it. Next morning he went to Blackdown House.

‘I’ve come to walk Charlotte to the bus,’ he told Miss Edie when she opened the door.

A smile flashed across her face. ‘Billy, how very nice. Come in. I’ll tell her you’re here.’

Charlotte was amazed that Billy had turned up so unexpectedly on her doorstep.

‘Hallo, Billy,’ she said. ‘You’re early into the village.’

‘Yes,’ Billy answered casually. ‘Had something to do, so I thought I’d walk you to the bus.’

Miss Edie watched them set off down the lane with relief. Billy’s father must have told Billy about Tommy Gurney’s rubbish and he was going to deal with it.

Charlotte had no idea Billy knew about the events of the previous day, but she wasn’t looking forward to school.

‘You’re very quiet,’ Billy remarked. ‘You all right?’

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Charlotte replied, and they walked on in silence.