A Wartime Christmas (39 page)

Kay came to a small group of children. They were sitting on wooden benches with blankets tucked over their knees. One girl was drawing in a book. The boy next to her had a shaven head. Was this
boy Sean?

Kay walked closer. The boy was sitting with his back to her. He could be seven, close to Sean’s age. Without trying to draw his attention, she moved around the group. The girl stopped
drawing and looked up. She had dark hair pulled back from her face and very sad eyes that seemed almost indistinguishable from the bluish patches beneath. Kay smiled and received a smile in return.
The boy with the shaven head looked up. Her hopes were instantly dashed. He had pale eyes, though the skin beneath them was shadowed. His broad forehead and bone structure were nothing like
Sean’s.

Kay walked on. Soon she had come to the end of the garden, bordered by a high stone wall covered in a vine of pretty purple flowers. A mossy stone cherub stood in the centre of a small concrete
pond. There were five or six children sitting around it on chairs. No water came from the cherub, but it didn’t seem to matter. Kay thought how tranquil the picture looked.

She walked towards the waterless fountain. The scene before her could have come from one of Alfie’s picture books. A typical English summer’s day, except all the children were
wearing warm clothes and had pale, ghostly faces.

Kay stood still, her knees weakening at the sight of one boy. He stood with his back to her: small-boned, with slender shoulders and a thin neck under his close-cropped dark hair. Dressed in a
thick jumper and trousers, he moved slowly away from the others. Kay caught her breath. His bowed legs seemed too thin to support his body. Just like Sean’s had been when Dolly had first left
him.

It was all Kay could do to stop herself from hurrying forward. But then she remembered the matron’s warning. Kay waited patiently by the wall, hoping the small figure would turn. When
eventually he did, a pair of large, dark eyes gazed back at her and Kay knew her search for Sean had finally ended.

‘Sean?’ she called softly, then remembered he was now accustomed to hearing another name. ‘I mean – David?’

There was a moment when Kay thought he recognized her. She knew if he did, she would ignore the matron’s orders and gather him in her arms. But she realized quickly that she had been
mistaken as he stared at her unknowingly.

‘Do you remember me?’ she still found herself asking. ‘It’s Kay. Kay Lewis.’

No answer came, of course, and Kay stood uncertainly. All her hopes of a joyful reunion dissolved, leaving her feeling powerless and suddenly tearful. She had been so close to this child
once.

Kay cleared her throat and blinked away the tears. She couldn’t let him down now. He had suffered so much and lost even the mother who had not wanted him.

Forcing her weak legs to move, Kay sat down on the curve of the fountain. She wanted to take him in her arms, but knew it would only confuse him.

‘Would you like to sit here too?’ she asked, patting the warm stonework beside her. ‘It’s a nice sunny spot, don’t you think?’

The memory of the night in her kitchen when he’d woken from a bad dream suddenly sprang back to her mind. Then, as now, he’d had no experience of true affection. It was only through
time and perseverance that they had forged the bond between them. Perhaps this bond wasn’t forgotten, she found herself hoping. Perhaps it could be found again.

‘That’s it, sit here.’

Placing his small bottom beside her, he looked up, a frown across his forehead. Kay thought how white his skin seemed, almost glowing in contrast to the dark circles around his eyes. But his
hair was beginning to grow back and though his jumper was buttoned up to his chin, she could hear no terrible wheezes from his chest.

‘Perhaps you don’t remember me,’ she said softly, ‘but that doesn’t matter. Because I remember you.’

Sean continued to stare at her, watching her face curiously.

‘You once stayed with me and my son, Alfie. You even went to school.’

There was just the slightest tremble on his long lashes, the twitch of his dry lips. Kay said very gently, ‘Would you like to hear some more?’

As the sun warmed them and the birds sang in the lofty trees, Sean squirmed his thin body around, kicking the stonework with his heels. After what felt like a very long moment, he nodded.

Kay smiled again, daring to place her hand close to his on the mossy green patches of the fountain. ‘Your other friends were Gill and Tim who lived next door. The four of you played in the
yard. Sometimes in the Anderson shelter and sometimes in the street.’ Kay added very quietly, ‘Slater Street.’

At this she saw him stiffen and she was afraid that he was about to stand up. ‘Don’t worry if you can’t remember,’ she added swiftly, ‘it was a long time ago. But
there is something you might like to see.’ She brought the folded picture out of her pocket and placed it beside his hand. ‘You drew this lovely train with Alfie. It’s a very good
drawing. The train set was yours and Alfie’s favourite toy.’

She watched him pick up the paper and unfold it. Kay remembered the day he had drawn the train with Alfie in the front room. It was the same image that he’d drawn later at Stock’s
Lane.

As he studied it, Kay watched carefully. At first there was nothing, but then she saw something – a tiny widening of his eyes, a breath held in his thin chest.

Then, as the matron had warned, a bell rang. All the children began to move, but Sean continued to stare at the drawing.

‘You can keep it,’ Kay said and took the paper, folding it carefully into his trouser pocket. ‘When you look at it, you can think of me and Alfie.’

The bell rang again and Kay stood up. She didn’t want to leave. ‘I don’t know how soon I’ll be able to visit you again,’ she told him, her voice filled with
emotion. ‘But I promise to write. Would you like that?’

To Kay’s bitter disappointment he turned away, beginning to follow the other children across the lawn. Kay watched him go, trying to keep her tears in check and ignore the desperate ache
inside her.

Just before he reached the terrace he stopped and turned very slowly. Kay lifted her hand to wave. When she saw him smile, she waved even harder. It was only a smile, but it meant more to her
than any action or words could say.

Vi, Babs, Jenny Edwards and the children were huddled together in the darkness of the under-stairs cupboard. Even in here, they could hear the dreadful sound: a tinny rattling,
growing steadily louder. They linked arms, each one of them shaking with fear. Vi knew that hiding in a cupboard would make no difference if the bomb fell on them. But it was something to do, to
make the terrifying moments go quicker. To reassure the youngsters. They were all praying the bomb would fly over. But this too was a terrifying thought, as others would die, if not them.

‘Will it drop on us, Vi-Vi?’ Alfie squeezed himself closer. Vi hugged him tighter.

‘We’ll be all right, son.’ Vi stroked his hair, feeling its familiar thick texture. Despite what she said, she didn’t really believe they were going to survive. This time
the Doodlebug was close. As if it was in the cupboard with them, echoing around the confined space. She had never felt like this before. It was true terror, the gut-wrenching certainty inside that
you and your loved ones were about to die. If Babs hadn’t pulled her into Jenny’s house, she’d be out there right now, looking up at it, waiting for it to drop.

‘Mum, I’m scared,’ sobbed Gill.

‘Don’t worry, love, we’re all together,’ whispered Babs in a strangely calm voice.

‘Yes, Gill, love, your mum’s right,’ Jenny added. ‘We’ve been living in Slater Street too long to get blown out of it now.’

Because of the dark, Vi couldn’t see the others’ faces. But what Babs and Jenny had just said impressed her. There might have been ups and down between them all in the past, but when
it came down to it, they were friends and neighbours, solid as a rock. It had taken a Doodlebug to show them that friendship and neighbourliness could survive the effects of this miserable war. Old
Adolf would be right put out if he thought he had done them all a favour!

Vi smiled in the darkness, ready to accept whatever fate befell them. She felt at peace; the fear had receded. Her brave friends and neighbours were around her and so were these lovely kids.
Pressing Alfie’s face into her coat, her gnarled fingers lovingly caressed his hair again. As the noise overhead drowned out all her thoughts, she was barely conscious of the sudden silence;
the silence to end all silences as the flying bomb’s engine cut out and the weapon fell to earth.

Kay listened to the rumble of the car’s engine. She was purposely fixing her attention on the noise, keeping her thoughts at bay. She gazed out at the many bushes and the
tall trees of the sanatorium’s green wood. It looked different now; familiar and non-threatening. Even the rolls of hidden barbed wire didn’t seem intimidating. She had found Sean.

When they came to the gate and drove through it, Kay sighed deeply. She had never expected to travel here today and find Sean. Not in her heart of hearts.

‘Kay, shall we stop for tea as I suggested earlier?’ Jean glanced anxiously in her direction.

Kay shook her head. ‘No, I’d like to get home now.’

‘Will you tell Alfie?’

‘No, not until Sean’s better. And that could take a long time.’

‘I think that’s very sensible.’

Kay didn’t refer to the drawing or the brief moments she’d shared with Sean. She thought Jean might not approve of disobeying the matron’s orders.

Jean nodded her agreement as she turned the steering wheel. ‘Matron said that as you’ve confirmed it’s Sean, on your next visit you can spend more time together.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘Meanwhile, she feels confident to tell him that you visited for his benefit today.’

‘I don’t know when I’ll be able to visit again, Jean. But I’d like to write to him. Would that be allowed?’

‘I should think so.’

‘What will happen when he’s better?’

The young woman hesitated. ‘
If
he gets better, remember.’

Kay looked at her friend. ‘That little boy deserves a new start. I’d like to be able to help him somehow.’

‘I admire your resolve, Kay.’ Jean quickly drew her attention back to the road.

Kay folded her hands in her lap. She knew Jean, as usual, was the voice of reason. For the rest of the journey Kay sat quietly, thinking about her next visit to Sean. She would come while Alfie
was at school and be back in time to collect him. But with the Doodlebugs raining down, it might be some while before she could feel confident enough to leave her son again. For the time being
however, she would write to Sean, telling him that his friends from Slater Street would one day be with him again.

Harry Sway coughed, trying to clear the filth from his lungs, while making his way through the ruins of Crane Street. The path ahead was hidden under a thick, sulphurous cloud
of smoke and fumes from the fractured drain. Amidst all the debris and chaos there were shadowy figures moving slowly about. Fire engines and ambulances were trying to weave through the mayhem.
Shattered glass, bricks and roof tiles were strewn along a haphazard path. A block of four terraced houses had disappeared with one flying bomb strike.

Harry had never thought that tragedy could strike again in this area. Many roads had taken hits of some kind or another in the Blitz, but rarely had a whole neighbourhood been brought to its
knees as it had been in Crane Street and Slater Street.

‘How many dead?’ he asked the rescue crew, as he wiped the dirt from his face under his tin hat.

‘Five in Crane Street – so far,’ replied the man brusquely. He was covered in sweat and dirt, his helmet askew on his head as he wrestled with the stretcher and the motionless
blanket-covered body beneath it. ‘Thank God most of the houses left in this road were empty. It was the blast of air that caught Slater Street, as if the bomb gave a bloody great fart where
it fell. All the houses have been damaged, and the two gaffs over there closest to the terrace also took the impact.’

‘Struth,’ Harry mumbled. ‘Have you got any names?’

‘An old boy, Neville Butt, and the two biddies next door, Hazel and Thelma Press.’

Harry groaned in distress.

‘You knew ’em?’

‘I’ve known Hazel and Thelma for years. A nice couple too, never married, salt of the earth. And Neville, well, he lived with his son Paul until the lad enlisted. But Paul took a
bullet in France after the landings. I was going to organize some transport for the old geezer to visit him in hospital.’

‘He won’t need it now.’ The man grasped his shoulder. ‘You’d better not go any further, chum.’

‘But I need to get down to the other end of Slater Street. See if there’s anyone there that needs help.’

‘Too dangerous. Leave it to us.’

‘But I—’

‘Sorry, I can’t let you through.’ The man held out his filthy hands. ‘Go back to the post and get yerself a cup of Rosie.’

Harry nodded resignedly. It was probably best in the long run. But people he cared about, his friends and neighbours and his wartime charges, lived down there. It was his sector in the Blitz. He
regarded Slater Street as his patch, his turf and he’d always tried to look out for those who lived there. Like old Vi and Kay and Babs and their kids and the Edwards and Tylers too. Now it
was the end of the line. He couldn’t bear to think what had become of them. Instead, he concentrated on picking his way back to the post over the bricks, mortar, wood and masonry of Crane
Street. Coughing with the dust that stubbornly filtered back into his lungs, he acknowledged the blackened faces of the fire engine crews that were dousing the flames of the many small fires. The
search in the demolished buildings would continue till nightfall, any casualties sent to hospital, the dead to the morgue. Harry forced his shaking hands over his cheeks, suppressing a sob that
welled up from deep inside of him.

‘It’s just so bloody unfair,’ he muttered to himself. ‘As if the East End ain’t suffered enough. Someone needs to give that ruddy Hitler his comeuppance.’