Keep Smiling Through (39 page)

Rita gave a deep sigh. ‘We won’t be going back there,’ she said. ‘Sorry, girls, but it looks as if we’re all homeless again.’

There was a groan of weary acceptance as Rita trudged back out of the trench. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of burning wood. Flakes of ash drifted and swirled in the wind coming off the sea, and there was a soft slither of something falling with a sigh inside the almost gutted house.

It was just after six, and she looked up at the sky which was now lightening over the eastern hills, the last few stars fading and dying in the emptiness. The silence was almost absolute. The raiders were gone.

Peggy had stood for over an hour watching the fires destroy London, wondering if Doreen had escaped, fretting that she might have been caught in one of the collapsing buildings, or be lying injured somewhere. Surely no one could survive such a firestorm?

Heartsick and dispirited, she’d eventually turned her back on it and found a space on the floor of the ladies’ waiting room. Sitting with her back propped against the wall, her handbag tucked safely under her arm and her suitcase and gas mask box on her lap, she’d doubted she’d be able to rest at all until she knew her younger sister’s fate. But exhaustion meant she’d fallen asleep within minutes, oblivious to everything around her.

It was the distant screaming all-clear sirens that woke her. She checked the time. It was six-fifteen in the morning, which meant she’d been on the move for almost forty-eight hours. She picked up her belongings and trudged wearily out onto the platform.

People were sprawled everywhere, making do with every inch of space, but they were rising now, bleary-eyed, their first thoughts – as Peggy’s had been – for London.

She stood on the platform and looked across the fields and the distant huddle of houses. The horizon still glowed – a false dawn against the soft velvet of the night sky that was clouded by smoke.

Peggy turned away, unable to comprehend the enormity of what she’d witnessed. She wanted to go home – needed Jim’s arms about her and to see her daughters’ smiles. She yearned for Beach View and the familiarity and warmth of those she loved. But her most pressing need was to get to Doreen.

She saw the station master emerge from his office and hurried across. ‘Will our train still be going into London?’ she asked breathlessly.

He shook his head. ‘All the lines are up and access has been forbidden anyway,’ he said wearily. ‘I’ve been talking on the radio to my opposite number at Paddington. London’s off limits until they can restore some order.’

‘But my sister lives there. I need to find her and—’

‘Sorry, madam. There’s nothing I can do to help.’ He looked down at her, his expression kindly. ‘Were you supposed to be going to London, or just passing through?’

‘I’m on my way to Cliffehaven,’ she murmured, ‘and was going to visit Doreen for a couple of hours before I caught my connection home.’

He gave a deep sigh. ‘You’ve got a long journey ahead of you, I’m afraid. The trains will have to skirt the city, and it’ll mean you going on very small branch lines to get to the coast. Even then, we have little idea of the damage that’s been done further down the country, so you’ll have to be prepared to take buses as well.’

‘I see,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t suppose I could use your telephone to let my family know? Only they’ll be worried by now.’

‘All telephone lines are down, and our radio is for rail personnel only.’ He squeezed her arm in sympathy. ‘I’m sorry I can’t be of any help.’

Peggy nodded her thanks and lugged her suitcase back into the station building. She found an empty stall in the ladies’ lavatory, locked the door and leaned against it. ‘Damn you, Hitler,’ she hissed as tears of fury ran down her face. ‘Damn you to hell.’

Anne put down the telephone receiver with a clatter. ‘The local lines are all right,’ she told Martin, ‘but everything beyond Cliffehaven is down. I can’t reach Mum, or Auntie Doreen.’

Martin put his arm round her shoulder and steered her gently into the kitchen where Mrs Finch was sleepily making the first cup of tea for the day. ‘Both of them will telephone when they can,’ he consoled Anne. ‘They’ll know we’ll be worried.’

‘Mum was due home today,’ she said. ‘I hope to goodness she wasn’t caught up in it all.’ She plumped down into a chair, her expression a mixture of fury and exasperation. ‘Why do things have to be so complicated?’ she snapped. ‘Why hasn’t someone invented a telephone system that doesn’t break down the minute something like this happens?’

Martin kissed the top of her head. ‘I’m going up to the base today. I’ll see if I can get any sense out of the boys at Croydon airfield. They might be able to shed some light on what’s happening with the railways.’

Anne felt a jolt of panic. ‘Why do you need to go up there today? You’re not fit for duty yet.’

He ran his hand softly over her shining hair. ‘I might not be able to fly, but I’ve still got responsibilities, Anne, and I’m perfectly fit enough to sit behind a desk.’

‘You never said,’ she muttered. ‘I thought . . .’

‘I know,’ he soothed, ‘but I can’t be on holiday while my men are putting their lives on the line. They need me there, Anne – and I need to be with them.’

Anne bit back the tears, knowing they wouldn’t sway him, knowing they would just make things worse for him. ‘Then we must give you a good breakfast,’ she said, dredging up a false bright smile. ‘Will you be coming back tonight, or staying at the barracks?’

‘I’ll be back here for New Year’s Eve – unless Hitler has other ideas.’ He grinned in an attempt to lift her spirits. ‘Just be sure to wear your prettiest dress. I’ve booked tickets for the dance at the Galaxy and intend to whirl you very sedately round the floor.’

Anne rose from the chair and softly kissed him before she went outside to see if there were any fresh eggs for his breakfast. But the hens had been upset by the enemy planes and there were no lovely brown eggs hidden in the straw.

Tears pricked and she determinedly blinked them away. The world of certainty she’d once taken for granted had been twisted out of shape – her family scattered and her nerves stretched to the very limit. But her mother would keep smiling through, and so would she, regardless of how much effort it took.

Rita had been hosing down the garage floor when Louise came to find her. She’d spent the night in the shelter beneath Goldman’s, and had burst into hysterical tears as she was forced to digest the fact they were homeless again. Rita had swiftly bundled her up the stairs to John’s office, where she parked her by the heater with a cup of tea and the gentle but firm order to calm down and not get in the way.

The day had dawned cold and grey, but Rita was feeling surprisingly chirpy as she helped clean the fire engines and tidy away the equipment. She stank of smoke and her face and hands were black with soot, but her most precious belongings were safely tucked in the Norton’s panniers, she and Louise had come through without a scratch, and if the worst came to the worst, they could always camp out in Tino’s shed until the authorities could find them another billet.

LOUISE HAD REFUSED
to camp out in Tino’s shed, so she and Rita had had no option but to move into the emergency shelter provided by the many rooms in the Town Hall. They had now been there for two days. It was noisy and chaotic, every moment spent against the background noise of screaming babies, shouting toddlers and arguing women. The close proximity of so many crammed into one place did not make for easy living, and tempers, already sorely tried, were quickly frayed.

The large assembly room downstairs had long been the clothing and utilities centre for the WVS, while two of the side offices had been turned over to the almoners and housing people, who had the unenviable task of trying to find billets for the dispossessed. The Mayor’s parlour hadn’t been invaded, but the rest of the offices and meeting rooms had been turned over to row upon row of camp beds. A vast kitchen had been set up to provide food, and this was run by a small army of volunteers.

This morning they’d seen the headlines in the newspapers. The raid was being called the ‘second fire of London’. There had been surprisingly few casualties, although the Guild Hall and six city churches had been burnt to the ground, which made everyone very angry. The damage was such that it could take a long time to restore order to the city, and the pictures that accompanied the articles were graphic, showing the full horror of what the Londoners had gone through.

But the photograph that had everyone gasping with awe, showed St Paul’s dome rising above the smoke and the flames to stand proudly in defiance of everything the Luftwaffe had thrown at it. It was a symbol of the spirit of London and the people who lived there – proof, if it was needed, that Britain would not cower under Hitler’s jackboot.

‘It makes you feel proud to be British,’ said Rita as she passed the newspaper to Louise. ‘If the Londoners can survive that, then we can survive anything.’

‘Do you know if there’s any news of Peggy’s sister?’

Rita shook her head as she made the beds. ‘I saw Anne yesterday, and she said there was no news of Doreen, but she thought Peggy was probably stuck somewhere south of London, still trying to get home.’ Rita paused. ‘Poor Anne. She looked exhausted by all the worry. I wish there was something I could do to help.’

‘It would have been nice if she’d offered us a bed at Beach View,’ said Louise sourly.

Rita began to repack their bags. Aggie and one or two others she didn’t trust were billeted in the same building, and as she and Louise would be out at work all day it seemed wiser to keep their precious things with them. ‘That’s unfair,’ she said flatly. ‘There’s no room, and Anne has enough to worry about.’

‘What about that Mr Hicks at the fire station? I hear he’s living in a big house.’

Rita was close to losing her patience. ‘He lives with Sally and his mother, and there are only two bedrooms. He offered us the floor in the lounge for a couple of nights, but we’re better off here where we don’t make extra trouble for anyone.’

‘It comes to something when we have to rely on charity,’ Louise muttered.

‘Better that than sleeping in Tino’s allotment shed.’ Rita pulled on her moth-eaten flying jacket and picked up her bag. ‘I’ll be back at about five after I’ve picked up my dress from the fire station,’ she said. ‘What are your plans for the night?’

‘I’m going to the pictures with two of the other women at the factory. We’re of the age when dancing the night away with strange men holds little appeal,’ Louise said stiffly.

Rita kissed her cheek and left. It seemed Louise was never happier than when she could have a good moan.

Ron was as concerned as the others over Doreen and Peggy, for he adored his daughter-in-law and admired Doreen. Peggy’s younger sister had a verve and dash about her which probably came from escaping Cliffehaven to live and work in London. Her visits had been few and far between, but he’d come to like her very much indeed, for there were no flies on Doreen, and she stood up to toffee-nosed Doris and gave as good as she got.

He finished polishing his shoes over a piece of newspaper on the kitchen table, then went down to his basement room to get dressed in his best suit and tie. Every night at the Anchor was lively, but he suspected it would reach new heights tonight, and had promised Rosie he’d help behind the bar.

There had been no sign of Findlay since Christmas Eve, and Ron hoped he’d finally realised he wasn’t wanted and had slung his hook. Rosie certainly seemed much happier and more relaxed with him out of the picture, and Ron hoped it would remain that way. But he was still intrigued by Rosie’s relationship with Findlay, and knew that sooner or later he would have to persuade her to explain.

He put down his hairbrushes, eyed his freshly shaven chin and winked at his reflection. ‘Not bad for an auld fella,’ he muttered. ‘You’ve still got it, Ronan Reilly.’

‘Talking to yourself again, Da?’ Jim appeared in the doorway and gave a low whistle. ‘My word, you’re looking sharp tonight. Rosie won’t stand a chance.’

Ron ignored him, trying not to look too pleased at the praise as he settled the soft felt hat carefully over his brushed hair. ‘Some of us have got it, son – and know how to use it.’ He turned to Jim, noting that he too looked very smart. ‘I thought you were working tonight?’

‘That I am, auld man, but I mean to have me a little drink or three after to welcome in the New Year. Most of the pubs have got an extended licence for the night, and I’ll be thirsty after sitting in that projection room.’ Jim’s smile faltered and he became thoughtful. ‘Besides, this house will be empty of everyone but Mrs Finch, and I need to take me mind off Peggy.’

‘Aye, this place doesn’t feel right without her,’ agreed Ron, ‘but knowing Peg, she’s doing her best to get home.’

He went up the stone steps into the kitchen just as Anne and Martin were preparing to leave. Anne looked lovely in her long, flowing dress of buttercup yellow, and Martin was handsome in his freshly pressed uniform. ‘Where’s everyone else?’ Ron asked. ‘We might as well walk together as we’re going the same way.’

‘Cissy and the other girls have already left and Sylvia is staying at the hospital to see in the New Year with Christopher,’ said Anne as she pulled on long gloves and reached for her warm cape. ‘Mrs Finch has gone next door to play gin rummy with Mr Ferguson and two other old cronies. I think she’s planning to make a bit of a night of it, as she said she’ll be staying over at number forty-two with Ena West and her sister.’

‘Let’s be going then,’ said Jim. He looked at Anne and grinned. ‘To be sure, you’re looking well, me darlin’ girl.’ He held out his arm. ‘Will you be letting your Da escort you to the end of the street?’

Anne laughed and took his arm as Ron whistled for Harvey. The four of them left the house, determined to put their worries behind them. But as they ambled down Beach View Terrace, the spectre of Peggy’s unknown fate shadowed them.

Louise had already left the Town Hall when Rita had rushed back from the factory and picked up her lovely frock. There was very little privacy at the Town Hall, and she’d had to wait an age to use the washroom. There were no bathing facilities, but the queue at the public baths down the road was endless, so she’d made do with a thorough scrub with a flannel. Now she was finally dressed, and Cissy was doing her make-up and hair.