A Wartime Christmas (37 page)

‘Don’t let’s think about war,’ said Kay, listening to the joyful laughter of the children as they ran on the frosty grass.

‘There’s been good things that’s happened,’ said Babs nodding. ‘Like your Alfie going to school. And Vi getting better. Any regrets about leaving
Drovers?’

Kay threaded her hand through the crook of her friend’s arm and grinned. ‘No, but being a lady of leisure is hard work.’

Soon they could hardly speak for laughter, causing the children to hurry over and stare at them.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Gill in concern.

‘Nothing, but laughter is the best medicine,’ Babs spluttered. ‘And it’s free.’

Tim and Alfie had crimson cheeks and drips on their noses. Kay handed them a hanky, giggles erupting once more as she and Babs saw the funny side of nothing in particular; a brighter end, she
decided, to the long and lonely year without Alan.

Kay had known that the early months of 1944 would be cold and lean, but keeping the house warm was almost impossible. Added to the work of chopping up the fire-wood and eking
out the coal, the Luftwaffe flew over again in January.

‘Thought that would happen,’ said Vi one bitterly cold day as the British planes droned overhead, chasing off the enemy. ‘Wasn’t going to let us get off scot-free.’
Kay was busy making up the fire as Vi’s poor circulation made her legs swell and she was often unable to do much other than sit with her feet up listening to the radio. They were both dressed
in coats, scarves and boots. Even the bombs that dropped on London were not as important as survival in the cold.

‘Well, it’s nothing like as bad as the Blitz. But all the same, it’s frightening when they fly over this way.’

‘Did you hear on the wireless that Jerry is supposed to have dropped two hundred and sixty-eight tons of high explosives and thousands of incendiaries on southeast England? It’s a
wonder we ain’t been blown sky-high,’ Vi pronounced from her chair. Kay knew the constant reports from the BBC only added to Vi’s irritability.

‘Well, there’s always the Anderson,’ commented Kay lightly, her fingers filthy and cold as she arranged the wood in the grate. ‘But it’s like a freeze-box in there,
as you know.’

‘You won’t get me back in there for love nor money,’ agreed Vi with a contemptuous snort. ‘Dunno how we managed it before. No wonder Londoners call this the Little Blitz.
Makes you wonder what’s coming next.’

Though Kay agreed with Vi, she tried not to let her fear get the better of her – or the cold. Vi had never really got back to her old self and in the dark days of winter her cough had
returned leaving her breathless at the slightest movement.

‘Let me give you some help, flower,’ tutted Vi, trying to get up.

‘Move and I’ll clock you,’ threatened Kay with a grin.

Vi gave an unexpected chuckle. ‘You know what?’ she asked dryly.

‘What?’

‘I’m fed up listening to meself.’

Kay was on her knees and turned round slowly and giggled. Careful not to place her dirty hands on the chair or Vi’s clothes, she leaned across and plonked a kiss on Vi’s cheek.

‘What’s that for?’ asked Vi in surprise.

‘Reminding me how lonely I’d be without you moaning.’ Kay saw Vi blush, waving her hand dismissively and blowing out derisively with her lips.

Just then, another wave of bombers flew over. Kay rushed to the window. ‘Don’t panic. They’re ours, I think. P’raps the bombing won’t last long,’ she said
hopefully, returning to tend to the fire.

But in February, she was proven wrong.

‘Whitehall, Horse Guards Parade, St James’s and Chelsea have all been attacked,’ Vi read from the paper one afternoon just before Kay left to collect Alfie from school.
‘Watch out as you go,’ Vi added warningly as she did every day. Kay closed the front door and before knocking on Babs’s door, glanced up at the sky. It was dull and grey still
with a trace of the snow that had fallen all over the country.

Babs did the same when she emerged, swathed in a thick, woolly scarf over the collar of her coat. As they did every day, they talked about the noise of the British guns in the night, seeing-off
the bombers, which kept them both awake. ‘Lucky to have such good defences, I suppose,’ said Babs as they went. ‘Glad it wasn’t us, though. Did you hear Whitehall got it
again in the early hours?’

‘Yes, so Vi said.’

‘Harry Sway called by and told me to tell you in the event of the docks being targeted, we’re to evacuate immediately to the Underground where everyone seems to be going these
days.’

Kay grinned. ‘I’ll get him to tell Vi that.’

‘Legs still bad, are they?’

Kay shrugged as they turned the corner towards Quarry Street. ‘It’d be like getting the Queen to move from Buckingham Palace.’

‘No chance of that,’ said Babs, smiling.

But just a month later Kay read of the close shave that central London had taken. ‘The buggers dropped them phosphorous incendiaries followed by high explosives near the palace,’
shouted Vi angrily from the front room as Kay was cleaning the kitchen, as once again there seemed to be dust everywhere.

Kay didn’t answer, but sank down on a chair, looking out at the grey spring day. She was fed up with all the bad news, the cold and the shortages. Then a reluctant smile lifted her lips.
Conditions weren’t half as bad as they could be. During the real Blitz she remembered returning to the house to discover there was dust covering even the Spam!

It was a warm and sunny day when Kay looked out on the yard from the kitchen window to see Alfie and his friends playing near the Anderson. Neither she nor Babs allowed the
children to venture into the street now because of the danger of Germany’s new weapons of mass destruction, the Doodlebugs, as everyone called them. Kay had taught Alfie to stay alert,
listening out for the pilotless aeroplanes packed with explosives that could be heard from some distance by the menacing drone of their engines. It was when the flying bombs stopped making the
terrifying sound and fell to the earth that tragedy struck.

Kay sighed heavily as she reflected on the long campaign of air raids that had once again forced Londoners to take shelter. No sooner had the Little Blitz ended in April, than the Doodlebugs
began in June. Even the success of the D-Day invasion, when people assumed the war was almost won, had been forgotten in the onslaught of Hitler’s vengeful new weapons.

Kay opened the back door and saw Vi sitting on the wall. As usual, she was darning, a thread and needle in one hand, Alfie’s grey school sock in the other. Every now and then, she would
take a puff of her roll-up, then balance it back on the bricks and give a hacking cough.

‘Everything all right?’ Kay called.

Vi looked up at the sky. ‘I ain’t heard none of them blighters yet.’

‘Come on in for a cuppa.’

‘Don’t like leaving the kids out here with no one to watch.’

‘I’ll leave the door open. If there’s a Doodlebug coming our way, we’ll hear it.’ Kay knew there was little they could do to protect themselves anyway. If one of
these ‘buzz-bombs’, as they were also known, fell to earth then there was little chance of escape for the people below it. Every Londoner prayed the eerie rattling noise of their
engines didn’t stop overhead. Kay always felt guilty for wanting it to drop elsewhere. But she had felt sick at the sight of the pictures in the newspapers. After a Doodlebug strike, there
was nothing much left of the buildings it exploded on, and even the Andersons were of little protection.

‘Harry Sway reckons our ack-ack boys are intercepting a few of the stray ones,’ Vi sighed as she entered the kitchen. ‘Some of ’em hit the cables of the barrage balloons.
But those that do arrive on target do worse damage than any of the Luftwaffe’s bombs.’

‘And we thought the air raids were bad enough,’ said Kay as she poured the tea. In the cool of the kitchen it just seemed like another beautiful summer’s day. But below the
surface, everyone was living on their nerves.

‘I was reading about the Lewisham bombings,’ Vi complained glumly. ‘Fifty-one killed in the blink of an eye and at the Aldwych, almost as many. Then there was the Guards
Barracks, over sixty soldiers perished it was reported, and more.’

‘Come on, take the weight off your feet,’ Kay urged, filling Vi’s mug to the brim. She could see that although Vi had weathered the long years of the war and been an
inspiration to them all, since the Doodlebugs had started she looked at the end of her tether. ‘Is it your chest troubling you?’ Kay enquired gently. ‘You’re not going down
with bronchitis again?’

‘Just getting old, love.’

‘You’re only as old as you feel,’ said Kay, smiling.

‘Blimey, that’s gorn and done it. I should be six feet under by now if that’s true.’ They both laughed.

Kay sat forward, folding her arms on the table. ‘Do you fancy a nice port and lemon tonight?’

‘I ain’t had port since before the war.’

‘All the more reason to enjoy one now.’

‘No, ducks, port don’t appeal when there’s no celebration to be had. Anyway, we can’t afford those kind of luxuries.’

Kay’s cheeks flushed with guilt. ‘Yes, we can. I’ve a confession to make. I broke into that hundred pounds.’

‘Don’t surprise me, flower,’ Vi said dismissively. ‘After all was said and done, you couldn’t get that job you was after, not with what Jerry had in
store.’

‘Nevertheless, I feel ashamed. I dropped me principles.’

‘Principles don’t put food in yer mouth, ducks.’

‘I don’t suppose I’ll ever know where that hundred pounds came from. Alan was the only one who knew.’

‘Was
!’ Vi exclaimed loudly. ‘You ain’t given up on him, have you?’

‘I’ll always have hope, Vi.’ Suddenly there was a loud knock at the front door. They both gave a start.

Kay rolled her eyes. ‘Those blasted Doodlebugs make me jump at any old noise.’

‘Me too. Wonder who it is.’ Vi was about to get up, when Kay pushed her gently back. ‘Sit down and finish your tea.’

When Kay opened the front door she took a sharp breath. The last person she expected to see was Jean Pearson.

Both Kay and Vi looked shocked as they sat in the front room with their visitor. ‘You say you may have found Sean?’ Kay repeated Jean’s words in bewilderment.
‘Why can’t you be certain?’

‘Remember Kay, it’s almost two years since I’ve seen him.’

‘Where is he?’ Kay held her breath. Had Sean been found in some slum like Stock’s Lane or on the streets begging? These thoughts had often troubled her.

‘This boy is a patient in a North London children’s sanatorium,’ came Jean’s startling reply. ‘He was admitted with tuberculosis just over a year ago. He was very
sick but has shown signs of improvement.’

‘TB?’ Vi gasped.

Jean nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’

Kay felt her stomach sinking. Tears filled her eyes as she swallowed on the lump in her throat.

‘The sanatorium recently received a letter,’ continued Jean. ‘It was written anonymously, giving the date of the boy’s admission to hospital a year ago and naming the
Isle of Dogs as his former home. Naturally, the hospital authorities were baffled. So they contacted my department and last week, I went there. I had no idea then who I was to find. But when I saw
this child, although being very thin and pale and with his hair shaven, I thought I could see a resemblance to Sean.’

‘But who would write a letter about Sean?’ Kay questioned. ‘Who would know he lived on the island?’ She gave a soft gasp. ‘Could it be Dolly? Is she still
alive?’

Jean frowned thoughtfully. ‘I’ve considered that, Kay. But if it was Dolly, what motive could she have for leading us to Sean? Why not go to the sanatorium herself? She is his
mother, after all. And yet, if she has no interest in him, why write to the sanatorium?’

‘So if it wasn’t Dolly,’ asked Vi, ‘could it be that friend, the one Dolly said she left him with?’

‘Unfortunately, it’s only the boy who can shed light on the mystery.’ Jean paused.

‘So have you asked him?’ Kay said bewilderedly.

‘This child has no memory of what took place before he was admitted. Not even his name. So the nursing staff call him David, a name to which he now responds.’

Kay put her hand over her mouth to hide her distress.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Jean quietly. ‘But remember, he may not be Sean.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ whispered Kay hoarsely, ‘whoever he is, he must have suffered.’

‘In my professional capacity I have to ask you if you would be prepared to help me identify him,’ Jean murmured. ‘But speaking as a friend, I must remind you that you’re
under no obligation at all to do so. There is no guarantee he’ll recover from the TB. And even if he does, he certainly won’t be fit to leave the sanatorium for some while.’

‘Jean’s giving you the plain truth,’ said Vi with a nod. ‘Sean ain’t your blood, although I know you felt like he was family. But as much as your heart may go out
to any child in trouble, you’ve put time between you and the past. This lad is ill. He’s in a world of his own. Who’s to say it’s the right thing to do, to make him come out
of it? P’raps it’d be better to leave the past behind, once and for all.’

At Vi’s warning, Kay was filled with doubt. This boy, whether it was Sean or not, was beyond her help. Was it time, as Vi said, to leave the past behind?

‘All I can suggest,’ Jean said in a quiet voice, ‘is that you take time to decide. If you agree to see him, I’ll take you to the sanatorium. But if your answer is no then
I quite understand.’

Kay was steeling herself; either way, it would be a painful step she was taking. Her heart was telling her one thing and the voice of reason another. Sean, as much as Kay cared for him, was
Dolly’s son. Dolly had caused him unbearable suffering. Even if he recovered, how could she help him?

It took Kay only a few moments to make her decision.

‘We’re close now,’ said Jean one late August morning as she drove Kay through the tree-lined streets of North London in her small car.

‘This must be a very expensive place to live,’ remarked Kay as she noted a few late office workers travelling to the city. Despite the threat of the flying bombs, they were smartly
dressed in suits and many wore bowler hats. The housewives, too, looked smart and elegant in their tailored coats and hats. ‘There’s not a turban or raffia shopping bag in
sight!’