The Girl With No Name (59 page)

‘Doodlebug!’ cried Billy and, grabbing Charlotte’s hand, dragged her into a shop doorway, holding her close against him as they huddled in the illusory safety of the porch. There was a moment’s silence and the doodlebug cruised on, then with a whoosh it hurtled out of the sky and exploded, the sound echoing down the narrow streets, the blast following, blowing in the windows and doors of the houses that lined the opposite side of the street. The noise of the explosion was followed by the sound of crashing masonry, shattering glass and screaming. Billy and Charlotte clung to each other, but the sheltering doorway had done its work. They were buffeted by the blast, but it had spent its force down the middle of the road, the flying glass had passed them by and they were uninjured. For a long moment they stood as if transfixed, then Billy said, ‘You all right, Char?’

Charlotte nodded a little shakily. ‘Yes,’ she breathed, ‘I think so.’

‘Come on then,’ Billy said, ‘we’d better go and help.’

He took her hand and they stumbled out of the doorway and made their way back up the blasted street. There was rubble everywhere, broken glass, shards of timber, heaps of bricks. Following the shouts for help, they rounded the corner and saw to their horror that the doodlebug had taken out the cinema with a direct hit. All that remained of the building where they had spent their evening was a crater in the ground and a heap of rubble. The buildings round it leaned at crazy angles, tottering as if trying to regain their balance; some of them succeeded, others continued to crumble and then, giving up, crashed inward, floor upon floor folding in upon anyone left inside.

People were pouring out of the buildings that had survived. Many were injured, some superficially with no more than cuts and bruises, others with broken limbs or blood-soaked bodies, struggling to drag themselves clear. Everything, everyone, was covered in the dust that still swirled like smoke in the air.

Charlotte stared in horror at the scene before her. From the darkness, voices cried out for help, cries of pain, desperate calls from beneath the ruins. Lights were brought and rescuers began the frantic search through the rubble, looking for survivors.

Billy said, ‘Wait here. I’ll go and help.’ And before she could answer he had hurried off towards a gaping hole that had once been the front door of a small block of flats. The top storey was missing, the roofless walls stark against the moonlit sky. He pushed his way in through the gap and, taking out the pocket torch he always carried with him, he shone it round inside. The ground was covered with chunks of fallen plaster, bricks and pieces of timber. Glass crunched beneath his feet and the dust filled his lungs, but the central staircase seemed to be intact, at least for the first flight up. He was about to creep up the stairs to see if anyone had survived on the floor above when he heard a woman calling.

‘Help, help, we’re under here.’ The cry came from somewhere beneath the stairs. Billy edged his way through the fallen masonry and shone his torch into the darkness.

‘I can hear you,’ came the cry. ‘Can you hear me? I can hear you. Please get us out. Get us out before the roof falls in.’

‘I’m coming,’ Billy called back. By the light of the torch he could see that there was a door leading to a space under the stairs, but the way to it was blocked by fallen debris.

‘Your door is blocked,’ he called. ‘I’m going for help.’ He went back outside to try and find someone to help him clear the rubble, but everyone in the street was working flat out to drag others from the ruins. Billy was on his own. He’d have to try and move the debris himself. He went back inside and, laying his torch on a pile of stone began to pull the rubble away from the door. ‘Don’t worry,’ he called as he heaved at the broken bricks and concrete. ‘I’m here. I’ll get you out. Who’s in there? Anybody hurt?’

‘No, it’s just me and my baby.’

Billy felt a bubble of panic. A baby. There was a baby in there. He had to get them out. ‘OK,’ he called. ‘Hold on, I’m doing my best.’

Suddenly he felt someone beside him and, glancing up gratefully, he found Charlotte reaching for a piece of timber, pulling it free and tossing it aside.

‘Char,’ he breathed, ‘you shouldn’t be in here, it’s too dangerous.’

‘Not too dangerous for you,’ she said as she pulled another piece of wood out of the way. ‘Two of us’ll get it cleared in half the time.’

It had taken her every ounce of courage to follow Billy into the depths of the pitch-black building. Her fear of dark, enclosed spaces had flooded through her as she’d approached the gaping doorway, but Billy was in there. She’d seen him come out once and look for help, but there’d been none and so she knew she had to go in herself. How could she stand out in the street, an onlooker, when there were people trapped in the collapsed building? Billy was risking his life trying to rescue them and though it was the stuff of her worst nightmares, Charlotte knew she had to confront her terror once and for all and go inside to help him.

Together they pulled at the rubbled remains, using their bare hands to shift the detritus away from the door. It seemed to take for ever, but with both of them clearing the way it wasn’t very long before they had made a narrow passageway through to the door. Not only had all the debris been blocking it, its lintel was aslant the top, wedging it in place.

‘We’re nearly there,’ Billy called encouragingly to those trapped inside. ‘Which way does the door open? In, towards you or outwards?’

‘Outwards,’ came the shaky reply. ‘Oh, do hurry! There’s bits of ceiling crumbling in on us here.’

Billy grasped the door handle and heaved, but the door remained jammed. ‘I can’t open the door,’ he said. ‘It’s stuck. Can you stand clear of it? Is there room in there?’

‘Not much, but I’m standing clear.’

‘Right,’ Billy said, trying to keep his voice calm. ‘I’m going to try and break the door open.’ He looked at Charlotte. ‘Go outside and see if you can get someone to come and help,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure I’ve the strength to do this on my own.’

Charlotte nodded and hurried back out into the street. Everything was in chaos. People scurried in all directions, air raid wardens giving instructions, men hauling bricks away from a collapsed doorway, rescuers carrying away the wounded on makeshift stretchers, firemen further down the street, dousing a fire that had broken out in one of the damaged buildings. There seemed to be no one she could call to help Billy. Then she saw that one of the firemen had an axe and was clearing some debris away from the flames that still flickered within the building. She rushed over to him.

‘Come quickly, oh, please come quickly!’ she called. ‘There’s someone trapped in those flats over there. My boyfriend, Billy, is trying to get them out, but he can’t break down the door.’

‘Right-ho, love, show me where.’

She led the man back to the flats and in through the gaping doorway.

He took one look at the situation and swore under his breath. ‘Christ almighty, this whole bloody lot could come down any time!’ He turned to Charlotte. ‘You wait outside, love,’ he said firmly. ‘We’ll have them out in no time. Stand well clear.’ He gave her a little shove towards the door and then turned his attention to the job in hand.

‘Billy?’

‘Yes, I’m here.’

‘Better leave this to me, mate. I got an axe. Soon have that door open. Who’s in there?’

‘Don’t know. A woman and a baby, I think.’

‘Going to get you out, lady,’ the fireman shouted through the door. ‘Got to break the door down, so stand well clear if you can. Who’s in there with you?’

‘Just me and Josie.’

‘All right. Just hang on tight and be ready to come out fast. I’m coming in.’

Billy stood aside, keeping his torch focused on the door as the fireman edged down the pathway they had cleared. He swung his axe and the blade bit into the wood of the door. There came a scream from inside.

‘Hold on, lady,’ commanded the fireman, and swung the axe again. The door shuddered but still it held firm.

‘Oh, hurry, do hurry,’ came the cry from inside. ‘Stuff’s falling on my head!’

The third swing of the axe produced a slit in the door and Billy, still shining his torch for the fireman, could see two frightened eyes peering out through the gap.

‘Stand back!’ bellowed the fireman and the eyes disappeared. He swung the axe yet again and this time the door disintegrated. He grabbed the broken pieces and pulling them free called, ‘Out with you, lady.’ The woman emerged through the hole, clutching the baby in her arms. As she did so there was a rumble above them. Billy grabbed at her and propelled her out into the street. About to follow, he glanced behind him to see the fireman crashing to the ground as a piece of falling stone struck him on the head. The ominous rumbling increased, but oblivious to its warning, Billy turned back to the prostrate fireman. As more debris began to shower round them, Billy managed to get his hands under the man’s arms. Backing towards the doorway he half lifted, half dragged him towards the safety of the street. The fireman was no light-weight and though Billy was strong, he was struggling to move him. A sound like a gunshot made him look back. The staircase had cracked, its central pillar folding under the strain, and the ceiling above sagged, a spider’s web of cracks snaking from one side to the other. It would only be moments before the whole lot collapsed in on them. With a super-human effort, Billy heaved the inert man through the door and staggered out into the night, dragging them both clear. With a final creak, the concrete ceiling crumbled and the floor above plunged to where they’d been standing. Someone was shouting as hands reached to pull them away from the disintegrating building. ‘Look out! Look out, she’s going. She’s going!’

With a final rumble the remaining walls imploded and the building came crashing down, a cloud of dust and debris boiling round it.

Charlotte flung herself into the arms of the still-dazed Billy, clinging to him and crying, ‘Billy, oh, Billy, I thought you were dead. Oh, thank God, thank God!’

For a moment they stood there, clinging to each other amid the tumult and the swirling dust, before they returned to the reality of the devastation around them and broke apart.

Billy looked down at the fireman who, still out cold, was being loaded on to a stretcher. One of the other firemen put a hand on Billy’s shoulder.

‘Thanks, mate. If you hadn’t got him out he’d be under that lot.’ He jerked his head at the flattened building. Sighing, he added, ‘Doubt if anyone else from them flats has survived. No more we can do for them now.’ He looked round at the general chaos left by the flying bomb. ‘Not much we can do here for anyone, not till it’s daylight and we can see the worst. I should take your girl home, now. You’ve both had enough by the looks of you.’ He nodded towards Billy’s face. ‘You should go to a first aid post and have that cut looked at, too,’ he advised. ‘Looks like it needs a stitch to me.’ He raised his hand in salute and turned away to oversee his mate being loaded, with other casualties, into an ambulance.

Billy put a hand to his forehead and felt it come away sticky with blood. He hadn’t even realised that he’d been injured. He turned to find Charlotte trying to calm the woman they had rescued. She stood, clinging to her baby, with tears streaming down her face.

‘What do I do?’ She was almost incoherent. ‘Where do I go?’

‘Anyone else with you?’ Charlotte asked.

‘No, just Josie and me sleeping in the broom cupboard under the stairs.’ She looked at the collapsed building. ‘We’ve lost everything,’ she wailed. ‘Everything. We’ve got nothing left. What am I going to do? What am I going to do?’

‘You’d better come home with me,’ Charlotte said. ‘I work in a children’s home not far from here. You can stay there for tonight.’ She turned to Billy. ‘Come on, Billy, we’ve got get...’ She turned back to the woman, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Ethel, Ethel Shilton.’

‘We’ve got to get Ethel and Josie back to the home.’

Together they led Ethel, with baby Josie in her arms, back through the streets to Livingston Road. The debris from the doodlebug was extensive, with broken glass, fallen chimneys and blown-in doors for half a mile. When they reached the home and opened the front door, Caroline appeared, pale-faced, in the hallway.

‘Charlotte, Billy, thank God!’ she cried when she saw them. ‘I was afraid you were somewhere near that bomb.’ Then she took in their dust-covered clothes and faces and the cut on Billy’s forehead. ‘You were! Are you all right? Billy, that cut looks nasty, let me see.’

‘Caroline,’ Charlotte cut across her, addressing her by her Christian name for the first time, ‘this is Ethel Shilton, with her baby, Josie. The bomb wrecked their home. Billy got them out, but they’ve nowhere to go, so I’ve brought them here.’

‘Quite right, too,’ Caroline said, wondering, even as she said it, where on earth she was going to find room for this woman and her baby. ‘Come with me, Ethel, let’s get you and Josie comfortable.’ She turned back to Charlotte and Billy and said, ‘You two better go into the kitchen and get cleaned up. The kettle’s on the stove. We’ll make some tea.’ And with that, she and Ethel disappeared upstairs.

Charlotte took Billy’s hand. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘let’s wash that cut of yours. It looks nasty.’ Once in the kitchen, Billy pushed the door shut behind him.

‘Let me look at that cut,’ Charlotte began, but Billy simply stepped towards her, took her in his arms and as she clung to him, he bent his head and kissed her. Kissed her as he had kissed her so long ago on that midsummer eve.

To his delight he felt her respond and when he finally lifted his head, he said, ‘Oh, Charlotte, my darling Charlotte, I do love you.’

1945

Prison had not improved Harry. He had been held in Brixton while on remand, but once he’d been sentenced – three years for looting, resisting arrest, assaulting a police officer and selling goods on the black market – he was transferred to Gloucester gaol.

He had been allowed to write one letter and he’d written to Lisa, explaining what had happened to him, but he’d had no reply. He didn’t know if she’d ever received the letter, but decided that if she had, she must have answered after he’d been transferred to Gloucester. Screws weren’t in the business of forwarding mail.