‘You’d do that?’ Peggy’s eyes were moist as she grasped Sally’s fingers. ‘Oh, Sally, you are a good girl. But what about all your plans to move in with Pearl?’
She kissed Peggy’s damp cheek. ‘I can do that when the war’s over,’ she said softly. ‘You’ve been more of a mother to me than Florrie ever was, and if I can do this for you, then I’ll feel that in a small way I’m repaying you for all you’ve done for me and Ernie.’
‘But how long would you all have to be away?’ sighed Peggy, mopping her tears.
‘For as long as it takes to win this bloody war,’ muttered Jim.
‘I don’t like the thought of my boys growing up without me,’ said Peggy. ‘What if it’s years before they can come home? They might not even recognise us.’
‘Now you’re talking daft, woman,’ growled Jim. ‘If the boys have a chance of growing up at all, it won’t be here with us. We have to let them go, Peg.’
‘Doesn’t anyone have any relatives the children could go to?’ piped up Mrs Finch. ‘Only, it seems to me that would be far safer than entrusting them to strangers.’
‘There’s an ancient aunt in Dublin, but I wouldn’t leave a dog with her, let alone my boys,’ growled Ron. ‘The rest of the Reillys are scattered over America and Australia - which isn’t any help at all.’
‘My dad’s got an older sister. I think she lives in Somerset, or somewhere down in the west, anyway. I only met her a couple of times, and she was really nice.’ Sally grinned for the first time for hours. ‘She and Florrie took one look at each other and the hatred was instant. You could literally see their hackles rising. Poor Dad, he didn’t know what to do – it was ever so funny.’
‘I don’t suppose Florrie would have her address, then?’ said Jim.
Sally shook her head. ‘I could write to Dad, but the letter might take weeks to reach him. If he’s not part of the Atlantic convoys, then he could be anywhere.’
Further discussion was interrupted by the wailing siren, and they swiftly went into what had become a nightly routine. Weighed down with children, blankets and pillows, they trekked down the garden path. Searchlights pierced the darkness hunting for enemy planes, the warning siren so shrill it rang in their heads as they entered the tomb-like dankness of the Anderson shelter.
Peggy lit the lamp, settled Mrs Finch in her deckchair, and swathed the boys in blankets. Ron and Jim got out a pack of cards and Sally opened a comic so Ernie could look at the pictures. They’d probably be stuck in here for an hour or so, and they’d become inured to the nuisance of it all.
The silence was deafening as the siren stopped shrieking. And then they heard it, and all eyes looked to the ceiling, following the ominous sound. The mighty, deep and continuous roar was unmistakable. It was the sound of hundreds of enemy planes coming from over the sea. ‘Oh, my God,’ breathed Peggy. ‘This is really it, this time, and my girls are out there in the middle of it.’
‘They’ll be in a shelter, Peg. Don’t you be frettin’.’ Jim put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek. ‘They know the drill, darlin’, they’ll be quite safe.’
‘But this is a proper raid,’ protested an ashen faced Peggy. ‘Just listen to how many enemy planes there must be.’
‘Hush, now,’ he murmured, ‘or you’ll be worrying the boys.’
Peggy wiped her eyes and turned to Bob and Charlie, gathering them into her arms and holding them close.
The crump of heavy artillery and the sharper ‘ack-ack’ of the anti-aircraft guns on the cliffs joined the steady, menacing drone, and through the gap between the door and the arc of corrugated iron, Sally watched the great white searchlight beams hunting them, finding them, pinpointing them and starkly revealing the vast numbers that flew above them. It was an awesome, terrible sight.
Despite her own terror, Sally put her arm round Ernie, whose eyes were wide and frightened. ‘It’s all right,’ she murmured in his ear, as she pulled him on to her lap and rocked him. ‘We’re all here, nice and snug and safe in our cave.’
The mighty explosion rocked the earth beneath them, making it tremble. It reverberated in their heads and through their bodies, making them all cry out.
Harvey began to whimper as a second explosion swiftly followed. It was much nearer this time, and had them cringing and clinging to each other, wondering if the next would kill them all.
Sally buried Ernie’s head into her chest and closed her eyes, but she could hear more explosions in the distance, could hear the sound of tumbling masonry and shattering glass nearby, could smell burning, and hear the urgent clanging bell of the fire engines.
And still the heavy-bellied drone of the enemy planes continued. On and on it went, filling the very air around them and making the corrugated iron shudder as Harvey shivered and cringed, and Ron tried to comfort him.
The guns boomed from the cliff-tops and along the seafront, searchlights strafed the skies, and ambulance and fire engine bells added to the cacophony.
Sally prayed for it to end as she held Ernie and tried not to panic. She glanced at the others and realised they too were making a brave show for the children’s sakes. Yet, as she looked at Mrs Finch, she couldn’t help but giggle. She was fast asleep and snoring fit to bust.
Harvey had clambered into Ron’s lap and buried his nose deep beneath his coat – from this questionable place of safety, he, thankfully, had stopped howling.
And now they could hear the lighter, quicker buzz of Spitfires and the throaty roar of the Hurricanes. Their eyes turned heavenward again, their spirits rising.
‘Come on me boys,’ yelled Jim. ‘Show ’em what we’re made of!’
They sat and listened, prisoners in this iron shelter, hostages to whatever was happening outside.
‘I can smell smoke,’ said Peggy, suddenly alert. ‘Oh, Jim, you don’t think it’s us, do you?’
He opened the door a fraction and looked out. ‘I can’t see anything much over our roof, but I’m guessing it’s a couple of streets down from us,’ he muttered. ‘The fire brigade is already on to it.’
‘Oh, those poor people,’ muttered Peggy. ‘I do hope it isn’t too bad.’
Sally continued to rock Ernie, finding it gave her comfort to feel his solidity and warmth in her arms. This was her first experience of a real air-raid, and she was terrified, but looking at Peggy’s calm, sad face and the stoicism of Ron and Jim, she took heart.
As the brave little Spitfires and Hurricanes tried to push the invaders back out to sea, they sat listening to the dog-fights overhead and silently cheered their brave boys on. It seemed to last for hours, and every time they heard the deathly whine and crump of a fallen plane they prayed it wasn’t one of their own.
‘They’re probably heading for London,’ muttered Peggy. ‘I do hope Doreen and the kids are safe in a shelter somewhere.’
‘Probably down in Cannon Street Tube station,’ replied Jim, ‘though the thought of being trapped underground with hundreds of strangers doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘I know, Jim.’ Peggy held his hand. ‘After what you went through last time, that’s understandable.’
‘He wasn’t the only one to get buried in a trench,’ said Ron scornfully. ‘His brother almost died in one when it caved in.’
‘You’ll not mention his name, Da,’ Jim growled.
‘Frank’s my son too, and I’ll talk about him whenever I want,’ fired back Ron. ‘What happened to make you both so bitter?’
‘I’ll not be talking about it.’ Jim wrapped his thick coat more firmly round him and crossed his arms. ‘Leave it, Da. This is not the time.’
‘When is the time, then, Jim? Tell me that. After I’m dead and buried – after we’re all killed in this damned war?’ He chewed furiously on his unlit pipe. ‘I would have thought your shared experience of going to Dunkirk might have knocked some sense into you. But it seems you’re still as pig-headed as ever.’
‘That’s enough, the pair of you,’ said Peggy. ‘What’s done is done, and if neither of them wants to talk about it, Ron, then there’s nothing you can do to alter things.’
‘Hmmph.’ Ron stroked the dog who’d almost crawled inside his coat. ‘It comes to something when brother fights brother and their father can’t mention their names. What the hell was the first war all about? What good did it do? It was supposed to be the war to end all wars – now look at us. Cowering in this bit of tin while men kill each other in the skies above our heads. We never learn. Never.’
‘I know, Ron, I know,’ soothed Peggy.
‘And all because men have too much pride to say they’re sorry. Too stiff with it to admit they’ve done something wrong. If I go to me death before you boys make it up, I’ll never forgive either of you.’
Jim’s face broke into a grin. ‘And what will you be doing after you’re dead, Da? Haunting us?’
‘That’s for me to know and you to find out. I could bang your heads together, so I could.’
It was clear the tense situation had got to them all, and they sat in a long silence after that, listening to the battle going on overhead.
And then the guns stopped. The searchlights pierced an empty sky and all that could be heard were the shouts of men and the crash of masonry and breaking glass.
‘The planes have gone,’ said Bob. ‘Can we go back indoors?’
‘Not until the all-clear.’ Peggy rammed a woollen hat over his ears and found another for Charlie. ‘Is Ernie warm enough? I’ve brought another sweater.’
‘He’s fine, thanks, Peggy.’ She smoothed back the hair from his forehead and kissed him. ‘He’s almost asleep now the noise has stopped.’
Peggy smiled and nodded at Mrs Finch. ‘He’s not the only one,’ she murmured.
They waited for what felt like hours in the shifting, flickering light of the hurricane lamp. And then the bombers returned – dropping the last of their loads on Cliffehaven so they were light enough to outrun the British planes that pursued them over the Channel.
Half an hour after that, the welcome sound of the all-clear sounded and they clambered, cold and exhausted, from the shelter into a dawn filled with thick smoke and the stench of burning. Ash floated like confetti, charred paper drifted in the light breeze, and they soon discovered there was no electricity or water.
They all sighed gratefully that the house was still standing, but the garden wall had taken a hit and collapsed, along with the shed. The outside lav stood in solitary splendour among the debris of its walls and roof. A tree had come down on the house behind them, telegraph poles had fallen like ninepins, and the chimney on the house opposite had toppled and taken half the roof with it.
Peggy left Jim in charge of Bob and Charlie and hurried off to check on the neighbours. There were several elderly people living nearby, and Peggy had taken it upon herself to keep a close eye on them.
Sally carried Ernie upstairs and put him to bed.
‘Where’s Mum?’ he asked sleepily.
Sally felt a stab of guilt – she hadn’t given Florrie a thought all through the raid. ‘She’s down in the town with her friend,’ she replied softly. ‘She’ll be back later.’
‘D’ya promise?’
Sally gritted her teeth. ‘She’ll turn up, Ernie. You can bet on it.’
Once he was asleep, Sally went back downstairs and on to the pavement. The thick stench of burning filled the dawn, and she could see the orange glow of fire in the distance. Their own terrace of houses seemed to have escaped the worst of it, but no doubt a copious amount of tea would be called for to cater to the men clearing the rubble and the ambulance drivers and firemen – as well as any neighbour Peggy could find who needed a bit of help, or others needing the comfort of a kitchen and a good gossip. And that was all before the cleaning up began in the house.
Sally sighed deeply and headed for the kitchen. Her shift began at one this afternoon. It was going to be a very long day.
Chapter Thirteen
Florrie appeared later that morning, dishevelled and clearly in a foul mood. Without a word to anyone, she staggered up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door.
Sally was just thankful she hadn’t brought some awful man home with her, and that Ernie was still asleep, so couldn’t witness Florrie’s less than sober state. As she finished the dusting, Sally wondered how long it would be before Mr Solomon realised just what he’d taken on with Florrie.
She went to wake Ernie at lunch time, and he threw back the covers. ‘Where’s Mum? I wanna see Mum.’
‘She’s asleep, luv, and you know she doesn’t like being woken up.’
‘But I wanna see ’er,’ he insisted.
‘Well, you can’t.’
‘I ain’t washing till I do,’ he said, folding his arms and glowering.
Sally swept him up, none too gently, and carried him along the landing, thanking her lucky stars that Florrie had indeed come back and on her own – she didn’t dare think what she could have done if that hadn’t been the case.
‘Don’t you
dare
make a sound,’ she whispered in his ear, ‘or we’ll both be for it.’ She opened the door just enough so that he could see the mound under the covers, and hear Florrie’s snoring.
‘Right,’ said Sally, having shut the door, ‘
now
will you get washed and dressed?’
He nodded and tucked his head beneath her chin as she carried him to the bathroom. ‘That was ’er, weren’t it?’ he asked.