Churchill’s Angels (11 page)

‘I never locked the door, Dad, but I don’t think it would have made much difference.’

They discovered that the front door of the shop had been blown off its hinges and several windows were smashed. The barrel of barley lay on its side and what was left of the barley was scattered, with everything that had been on the shelves, all over the floor.

‘Hope you got a lot of that barley packaged, our Daisy,’ said Fred with an attempt at a smile. ‘No, never mind the brush now, pet, George’ll do it. He likes things tidy. How about making a pot of tea? In fact, if the Christmas sherry bottle is whole, we’ll all have a snifter. Your mum’s shaking like a blancmange.’

He handed her an unopened bottle of brandy that he unearthed from under the counter.

‘First-aid manual, Daisy, love. Brandy for emergencies and this is one stinker of an emergency. You go on up with your mum. Make her sip some of that, even if it makes her cough, and just talk to her while I have a look outside. The joiner’ll be busy so I’d best get to him quick as.’

Daisy was only too happy to return to the family flat. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was look outside. Bullets had rained down on the street. What if someone had been walking there?

But Dartford was not too badly damaged on that first raid. Chimney pots, doors windows, garden walls, bicycles had all suffered, but there were no major casualties.

Fred, for the moment unsure whether or not he should have sought shelter or gone out into the fray – after all, he was an ARP warden – left his daughter to begin the clean-up once he was sure that Flora was fine. He picked up his respirator, although for the life of him he could not smell gas. The unpleasant smell of burning accompanied him as he headed off through the smoke-filled streets to the ARP station. What could he say? He had acted on instinct and he hoped that his instincts were right.

‘You’re only expected to patrol when you’re on duty, Fred, and this afternoon wasn’t your hours. We got off light but this shows the way it’s going. We’re right between Herr blooming Hitler in Germany and Mr Churchill in London, and the German Air Force’ll fly over us every time they want to take a poke at him.’

‘Then likely we’ll be ’it on their way back too.’

‘Afraid so, Fred. Lots to look forward to, I don’t think. How’s the missus? Any word on your lads?’

‘There’s a war on, Harold. They got more to do than write letters. Flora’s fine, a real brick, and Daisy and Rose is a great support.’

‘Daisy not left the nest yet?’

‘No, she knows what she wants; biding her time, I’d say. I’d best get off home. Got next week’s pulses all over the place. Where I’m going to get more at such short notice, I do not know. At least the weather’s fine and the ladies isn’t making thick soups.’

The men said goodbye and Fred, his uneasiness at rest, hurried off home, via the home of the nearest joiner, and was delighted to meet Rose on the way. She looked rather shaken but made no complaint.

‘Going in for an extra shift, Dad. We are really increasing production.’ She stopped suddenly right in the middle of the High Street, and drew his attention to a large sign on the King’s Head Inn. ‘Look there, the very thing. You should take Mum out for lunch one day soon. That’ll cheer her up. You two’s done nothing for months.’

Fred’s gaze followed her pointing finger. They had just experienced the first raid of the war but a sign showed that life had to try to go on.

‘Luncheons for one shilling and sixpence, and they’re advertising Loman Ales. We could all go on Sunday after church. Do us good. Six shillings for four and then a few shillings for drinks and a tip. Your mum couldn’t do that at home. I’d have walked right past that, Rose. May I take you to luncheon on Sunday, madame?’

‘You’re ever so kind, sir,’ she teased, fluttering her eyes at him, ‘but I can’t. I’m going to teach physical jerks at the factory. Big posters all over the walls. “Fitness in Defence”, they’re calling it, and besides, we’re probably doing an extra shift, Sunday. You should do some classes with the wardens; some of them look like they need exercise. It’s direct from the Government, Dad, and I bet you can still shin up a tree faster than any of us.’

‘I think I’ve enough to do, Rose Petrie. I’m needed in the shop and will be even more when Daisy goes, and now that the raids have started I’ll spend hours patrolling my area and helping when I can, and assessing damages and reporting it when I can’t.’

They had reached the back door of the shop. Just inside was the staircase to the flat. Fred moved to put his key in the lock.

‘What do you mean, Dad, Daisy going? She hasn’t said nothing to me. Has she had a letter?’

‘Not yet. She was excused with the boys away and me needing another driver, but your mum can manage the shop and, I hates to say it, but them Preston lads is good workers. We’ve even had a couple of Mum’s beetle drive ladies saying they could use a few hours’ work. Daisy wants to join the WAAF and we can’t hold her back.’

The film was everything they had hoped it would be. It was called
Storm in a Teacup
and was touted as being very amusing. It was. Daisy thought it hilariously funny and Vivien Leigh the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Sally, though, was still very faithful to her first favourite, Margaret Lockwood.

Daisy would not be so juvenile as to tell Sally, but it had also been really lovely to spend an entire evening with her. Their old school friend, Sally, a rising actress, was more glamorous and elegant than ever. She might be well on her way to becoming a real star, but inside, Sally seemed little changed since the days when they had played together in the playground or on the floor of the projectionist’s room at the cinema.

‘I don’t think we’ve had an evening – all four of us – since that party you gave for me, Daisy, just before war was declared.’

‘Feels as if that was a long time ago. Do you think we all seem much older because of the war? Don’t know about you, Sally, but I feel a hundred years old sometimes.’

‘You don’t look it. I miss us all getting together. Don’t know what’s happening to Grace. I don’t think she’s forgiven me for laughing at Sam, and now he’s gone too.’

‘Missing, not gone, Sal. We’ll soon find out where he is. I think Grace has what our lovely vicar calls issues, things, probably from her early childhood, which she has to come to terms with. Maybe she’ll tell us, maybe she won’t. She knows we’re here.’

‘Hope you’re right. Gosh, I forgot to tell you. Dad says he’s getting
Wings of the
Morning
back for reshowing. Did you see it? It was the very first colour film made in England. You’ll love it, lots of horses and – Henry Fonda.’ Sally said his name as if it were written in huge lights before her. ‘His eyes are incredible, look right into you. He is just so … so …’

Such intensity made Daisy slightly uncomfortable. She decided to tease Sally. ‘Sally Brewer, you haven’t, you know …?’

‘Wash your mouth out with soap, Miss Petrie. I’m saving myself for Clark Gable.’

‘Now you’re talking,’ said Daisy, who had sat, motionless and almost breathless, through
Gone with the Wind
three times, and would probably have seen it more often but for the fact that it had to be sent to the next cinema on a long list of waiting customers.

They were laughing the way they had laughed together as schoolgirls. It felt good.

‘Damn.’ Sally had tripped over a rough part of the pavement.

Daisy grabbed her. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine, frightened the life out of me, that’s all. I really hate being in the dark. Feeling your way around, not knowing who is near you, is one of the worst parts of blackouts. Creepy.’

Daisy could think of nothing to say.

They had reached the Brewers’ little house. ‘Come in and have some hot chocolate.’

‘Can’t, Sally. Dad’s in the markets tomorrow and customers’ll be at the door before eight.’

They hugged, promised to see each other before too long, and Sally let herself into her house. Daisy hurried on towards home, being as careful as she could, still moving with the many other people who had been at the cinema. In less than five minutes she would be climbing the stairs to her comfy bed.

The air-raid sirens seemed to blare from every factory in Dartford. The frightening noise filled the air and sent people stumbling and running towards the nearest shelters. Dartford had prepared well, and there were excellent shelters on the streets and in the basements of department stores.

Daisy found a seat beside a rather large but very pleasant woman, who smelled, unfortunately, of disinfectant, and prepared to wait it out with as much fortitude as possible. There was a light, limited but still a light, and seats. So many people had packed into the shelter that it was warm. Even inside this concrete box, however, they could hear the droning of enemy planes and the ack-ack and rat-tat, rat-a-tat of guns, both friend and enemy. Low booming sounds were heard and then the floor of the shelter seemed to shake as something heavy thudded down near to it.

‘That’s a bomb,’ came a frightened man’s voice. ‘Right beside us. God ’elp us. It goes off and we’re all done for. I’m getting out.’

He tried to force his way to the entrance but was stopped by several men. ‘You’re safer in here, lad. Sit yourself down and think of something else. Anyone know a good song?’

Immediately a rousing chorus of ‘Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag’ began. The air was soon full of singing voices, the smells of unwashed bodies and of too much cheap perfume. Not a nice mix, thought Daisy, as she tried to think calm thoughts. She was beginning to relax when there was a piercing scream.

‘Help her, help her, my sister’s having a baby.’

The singing grew quieter and quieter and above it rose the distressed sounds of someone young trying hard not to scream.

‘Quiet, everyone,’ came a voice of obvious authority. ‘Anyone here with any medical knowledge?’

The woman beside Daisy sighed, said, ‘No rest for the wicked,’ and stood up. ‘I’m a hospital nurse,’ she said. ‘Anyone else know anything, even how to hold someone’s hand?’

Feeling as cold as ice, Daisy forced herself to follow the nurse. Holding hands I can do, holding hands I can do, she repeated to herself as she found herself, the nurse, and a thin woman kneeling on the cold cement floor beside two very frightened young girls, one of whom was possibly about to have a baby.

The thin woman looked at the girl and then at the nurse and whispered, ‘I’ve ’ad three as lived; should remember something.’

‘Very encouraging,’ said the nurse. ‘How far on?’ she asked the young woman and when she said nothing she asked, ‘Come on, pet, seven months, eight?’

‘She doesn’t know.’ The sister was stroking the whimpering girl’s forehead.

‘Is her husband here?’

‘Missing since Dunkirk.’

Daisy was holding the pregnant girl’s cold and very small hand.
She’s younger than I am; she has a missing husband and she’s worried sick and terrified of having a baby.
‘There, there,’ she soothed. ‘It’s going to be all right. This lady is the best nurse in the whole of Kent, you know, and she’ll take super care of you.’

‘Good girl,’ whispered the nurse. ‘Carry on talking to her while I have a look. Shine that light here, please, Warden, and would you hold your coat up to give us some privacy.’

The girl had stopped sobbing and although she moved in embarrassment and discomfort, she seemed to be calmer. Her sister kneeled on the floor beside her, holding her other hand, and Daisy chattered about the film she had just seen.

‘We was there,’ said the sister. ‘Rex Harrison’s ever so ’andsome, isn’t he?’

There was no time for Daisy to reply as the nurse had straightened up with a smile. ‘Baby’s in no hurry, love. False alarm. You had a bit of a fright but everything’s fine.’

Daisy’s first emergency was over and she hoped she had been of some use.

‘Thanks, pet.’ The tired nurse, who had arranged with the ARP warden that the girl would be taken home by car, turned to Daisy as they stood together outside the shelter watching them leave. The all clear must have sounded but neither was aware of actually hearing it. ‘Our “three as lived” wasn’t much of a bargain; God knows what she’d have done if that child had been in labour, but you kept your cool. Well done. If my bike hasn’t been pinched, I’ll be in bed and sound asleep in five minutes. Far to go?’

‘Just down the High Street. Can’t say as I really enjoyed that, Nurse, but I did like working with you and helping a bit. Good night.’

‘Go careful, lass.’

‘You too.’

Daisy managed to straighten her cramped limbs. Somehow she felt a bit flat, though she was sure that she should have been exhilarated. After all, had she not actually helped a young pregnant woman? She had stayed calm. She prayed with all her might that the baby would grow up to be a happy person, surrounded by love, if not by wealth, and that the father would return safely from some prison camp. She followed the crowds along the pavement. How quickly the days had grown shorter. Surely at this time only a few weeks ago she had cycled across Dartford Heath in lovely summer twilight.

She was so busy thinking that she had bumped into a bulky figure without noticing. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she began just as the man, for it was a man, started to say exactly the same thing. They laughed and began again but then stopped, again in tandem. She would know that lovely voice anywhere. She had not looked up into his face and could scarcely bring herself to do so now. Adair … It was Adair Maxwell and he was very solidly and healthily alive.

‘Well, if it isn’t my favourite aircraft mechanic. Daisy, how absolutely splendid to bump into you. I was on my way to your shop, hoping someone would still be awake, when the raid started. We ran and literally fell into a trench in the park. I can still smell it so I apologise. Now I have to get some chums back to base.’ He gave her no time to talk. ‘Are you alone? Are you on your way home? We’ll drop you off, if you don’t mind perching in a military vehicle – if it hasn’t been totalled, that is. Not good to be out alone in a blackout.’