Crossing the River (18 page)

NOVEMBER 1940

That silly brummie bugger Chamberlain’s dead. Almost exactly six months after stepping down. Common opinion is that the strain of holding the highest office killed him. Our blackout curtains need to be fixed. The bobby told Len that last night he saw light. I went into my sewing box to find a needle and thread. I thought, they’re a blessed nuisance. The curtains, that is. Then I saw a rag doll I’d been making for Tommy out of old stockings. I’d only to sew on the buttons for eyes. That was all I had left to do.

DECEMBER 1940

Thursday was always a popular going-out night, in town. I wonder if Hitler knew this. Maybe it was simpler than this, maybe he just knew it was going to be a full moon. It was the clearest night I’d ever seen. I could hear the town sirens in the far distance, wailing their warning, and then I heard the queer engines of German bombers, all out of tune. They sounded different from ours, uglier. And then, away on the horizon, our boys; the ripping sound of anti-aircraft batteries. Everybody knew they were after the steelworks. Firth Brown and Co., J. Arthur Balfour and Co., Vickers. All of them. But there were too many Jerry planes and I knew we were going to get a pasting. It was a real bomber’s moon, and from up there in the sky our roads -must have looked like frosty white ribbons pointing the way to the target. First flares, then incendiaries, then the heavy bombs. We all stood shivering on the hillside and looked down. The town soon looked like a thousand camp fires had been lit on it, beautiful little fairy lights, everywhere blazing. You couldn’t look anywhere without seeing fire. Len slipped a blanket around my shoulders, and the vicar started singing ‘Nearer my God to Thee’. I gave him a dirty look, but he didn’t stop. In between the verses, I heard somebody whisper, The town’s on fire. There was a huge celestial glow, as though the sun were about to rise out of the heart of the town. And then the vicar stopped. He pulled a piece of paper from his frock pocket and announced, ‘Repose.’ There were maybe two dozen of us. We all turned from the town and looked at him.

When he finished, there was silence. We all turned and looked back at the town. Fires were still blazing, but we couldn’t hear any more planes. Maybe it was over? Len whispered in my ear, I’m off to the pub. I’ll see you back later. I watched him and his mates walk off. I even heard them laughing. I imagined that I could hear the sound of the ‘All Clear’ in the distance. But, of course, I heard nothing. And then I looked around at the vicar who was praying, stiffing his fear between two folded hands.

DECEMBER 1940

Today I took a bus down to the town to find my mother. I hadn’t slept much. In fact, I hadn’t really slept at all, but I felt wide awake. The countryside looked much the same, but when I saw the town, I wanted to cry. Tram lines were twisted like liquorice. Iron girders were discarded across the street, jutting up into the air and pointing towards the now empty grey sky. I couldn’t believe that this was my town. The bus couldn’t go any further, so we all got off and began to walk. I stared at buildings that were now reduced to one or maybe two walk. Neat rectangular holes that used to be windows provided useless ventilation. Everywhere I looked I could see mountains of rubble, crushed cars, and battered trams. Up above me, the loose, swinging arms of cranes picked their way over the carcass of the town. And in the streets, men with flatcaps and women with head-scarves scavenged at the ruins of their houses, avoiding any hot debris, trying to find bits of furniture, photographs, anything that remained of their lives. As they did so, others – maybe family members – stared on, dumbstruck. I stepped gingerly around a sea of broken glass, and then saw a formal queue of parents taking turns to lift their children into the cockpit of a crashed Jerry bomber. I wondered about the pilot, and then realized that I should be wondering about my mother. I increased my pace. Down a side street, I saw charred bodies covered in soot and glass. Then I realized that they were just Burton’s dummies. It occurred to me that I was lost. That all the familiar landmarks had gone and that I was no better than the sad woman I saw wandering with a bird cage in one hand and some photographs in the other, singing ‘It’s a long way to Tipperary’. The bashing had obviously sent her beyond. I asked for directions from an ARP who looked half-asleep underneath his tin helmet. He said nothing, but simply pointed me towards a junction that I recognized. I wanted to ask him about the football rattle in his hand, but he looked too tired to answer, so I just said thank you. He nodded a quick acknowledgement. I walked on knowing that there was no longer any such thing as a familiar route. Fire hoses like long, endless snakes were strewn across the roads. Fires still spat, but down here the odd girder was all that remained of most buildings. I saw groups of patient employees standing outside shops and offices with no idea of what to do, their work places wrecked. The whole town was in a state of shock. Everyhody seemed to be suffering their own private war tragedy. The odd car rolled by at a funereal pace, but heads didn’t turn. People simply gawked at the destruction. I turned off the main street and continued to pick my way through the back streets. I looked on at the ATS girls, who seemed to be working non-stop, helping the police, driving, standing side by side with the ARPs. They made me feel useless.

DECEMBER 1940

I suppose I knew that she’d be dead before I got there. It didn’t seem possible that others should have died, but not her. I saw the house, or what was left of it. A gap in the street, like a broken tooth. There were no windows, the front door hung off its hinges, and I could see that the ceiling plaster was down and that soot and dirt were everywhere. Nothing looked burned, so I knew that it wasn’t an incendiary. These could be put out with earth and water. That much I’d managed to understand from the papers, not that she would have bothered to do anything about it. It looked like the blast had come from a nearby bomb. And then I saw that the houses across the road had been hit. The ARPs were still cordoning off the road. I saw old Mr Miles. On his back he had a leather coat so mangled it looked like someone had thrown a dead cow over him. When he saw me, he handed his roll of string to another warden. I ducked under the barrier. He put his hand on my shoulder. I’m sorry, love. He took off his tin helmet. You know what she was like. She wouldn’t go in the shelter. She made us laugh, though. She said, I’ve never had a front seat in a war, and I’m not missing my chance now. Where is she? I asked. They’ve taken her off in a corporation bus with the others. It were not good around here as a lot of folk took their chances. They weren’t banking on a direct hit. If you’re a bit squirmish, you’d best make yourself scarce. We’re not finished yet, and there’s more trapped under that lot. I looked behind him as his fellow men, cigarettes dangling from their lower lips, feet stamping to keep themselves warm, shovels in hand, prepared to dig again in the rubble. You’ll get a chance to see her later, love. They’ll not be burying anyone for a while. Can’t do nothing for them. I expect they’ll want you to give identification. And don’t worry about your household salvage. There’ll be no looting while we’re about. So don’t worry. You can come back later today, or tomorrow. Sort out your stuff. I looked into Mr Miles’s tired and crease-lined face, and I knew that this kind old man was near the end of his tether. I wondered how many others he’d had to talk to like this.

DECEMBER 1940

By mid-afternoon it had started to snow. I was sitting in the park watching the endless flow of people filling tin baths from the lake. There was no water. After Mr Miles had sent me on my way, I spent a couple of hours wandering around the town in a daze. I’d noticed the long queues at standpipes. In some lucky streets, the water cart arrived with its large round cylinders. People with buckets and jugs and saucepans, whatever they had, pushed and shoved. The water, flecked with charcoal and lime, spluttered out of large taps, but at least you could drink it. And then the water-cart man shut off the taps and there was no more. That’s it until tomorrow, loves. And off he went to another lucky street. Some went back to the standpipes. I continued to walk and saw folk rummaging like paupers among the rubble of their houses. I spied on people’s lives. The fronts of their houses were often blown clean off, leaving the furniture still arranged, books and crockery in place. In one house, a hole in the back of a cabinet, that must have been previously hidden against a wall, was now revealed for all to see. Nearly everybody’s roofing slates had slid down and into the street, exposing sad, gaping lattice work. Some had been really unlucky. The insides of their houses had collapsed, mixing brick, wood and glass with papers, curtains and clothes. Ladders were up against what walk remained, and broken furniture was stacked neatly on the pavement. I couldn’t stand it any more. The Church Army Mobile Canteens, the WVS Mobile Canteens, the Salvation Army Mobile Canteens, all bringing food and drink to the workers and the homeless. In one street, Jerry had dropped a thousand-pounder bang in the middle of the tram track. The overhead wires were all down. A little girl was bawling as she looked at the burned-out shell of the tram. And outside a barber’s shop, a sign: ‘We’ve had a close shave. Come and get one yourself.’ I walked on in my dazed state, trying not to think of her lying wherever she was. And then I went into the park where I must have fallen asleep. The snow woke me up, cold flakes slapping against my cheeks. I opened my eyes and peered through the pale, watery light of afternoon. It was then that I saw people filling tin baths from the lake. I decided to go back to the village. There was no point in going back to the house and sorting through her things. They’d be wet and useless. And no point in going to find her. She didn’t need me at this moment. I decided to get back to Len. To get back to the village.

DECEMBER 1940

The corporation buried them today. Christmas Eve. Some had private services, but most went at the same time. They were all there, the dignitaries. The Lord Mayor, representatives of the Civil Defence Services, clergy from all denominations. I stood in the snow. It had snowed for nearly two weeks now. I thought of her standing looking up at the skies as Jerry dropped his bombs. The best cinema show in the world. I imagined that’s how it must have looked to her. Standing out there in the cold night air, with all that noise, and the red glow of the fires lighting up her neighbourhood. I could picture the child-like pleasure on her face. And then the service was over and we began to leave the cemetery. I remember thinking that it didn’t feel like Christmas. And that it was so cold that I would have to ask the fuel controller for extra coal.

JANUARY 1941

I read in the
Star
that the King and Queen visited the town yesterday. They stayed three hours and visited bombed-out houses and talked to folk. All I could think about was the smell of the chemical lavatories and cesspools in people’s back gardens. I hope the corporation did something about them. There’s nothing anybody can do about the snow. It’s not stopped for weeks.

FEBRUARY 1941

Len, of course, had refused to come to the funeral. She never did like me, he said. But that wasn’t the point. As far as I was concerned, it was a matter of respect. Who said that she had to like you? She tolerated you. That was a lot for her. Believe me. But Len still wouldn’t come to the funeral. When I got back from the funeral he laughed at me. He lowered his newspaper. She died because you left her down there on her own and went off with me, he said. I walked out of the room. I decided that on the first Sunday of every month I would take the bus into town. I would play daughter. This morning was Sunday. Despite the cold I had no choice. There’s one bus in the morning and one that comes back at night. They’ve cut to a skeleton schedule, having decided to commandeer the buses to serve as emergency ambulances. This being the case, I knew right off that I would have to spend the whole day there. It didn’t take long at the graveside. It was very much a matter of Hello, Mother, how are you? Hope you’ve found Dad again. And if you’ve found him I hope you’re happy. Happier than I am, at any rate. I can’t rightly see how you couldn’t be. You’d have to be a miserable bugger to be unhappier than I am. Now that she was with her maker I had the feeling that she was listening to me. Which is more than she ever did when she had some breath in her body. I left, then decided that I should buy her some flowers. I bought them at the hospital next door. Handy that, having a hospital right next door. I suppose some might look upon it as being a bit creepy, but I didn’t think so. After I’d bought the flowers I walked back into the cemetery and laid them on the grave. I stood back. I wondered if it was possible to place them in such a way that people would understand that they were meant for my mother and not for the other two people who shared this communal grave with her. An infant. Didn’t last a day. Its mother had no money. Probably no bloke either. And an old man. Truly old. Lived sadly past his time until there was nobody left. Probably wore out his memories like a gramophone record that’s been played too often. I tried to place the flowers so that Mother would know. But did it really matter? After all, nobody had brought flowers for the other two. Let them all share them, I thought. And then I went for a walk in the park. I sat by the lake and stared unashamedly into space for the rest of the afternoon. People used to come and feed the ducks. But nobody’s got bread to spare any more. The ducks have to eat whatever it is they used to eat before people were generous. Then the weather turned bad again. It began to snow. The branches of the trees were already bowed under a thick crust of ice. So I went to the pictures to get out of the cold. I found it difficult to find a cinema without a House Full sign. Other people must have had the same idea before me. Lonely people. Single people have no shame about going to the cinema. Why should they? It’s dark. Nobody can see them. Nobody cares. But these days, I hate the films. Short government instructional films on how to win the war. They treat you like a fool. What to do. How to do it. How to save. What to save. And then a feature about how classless England is now that we’re all pulling together to win the war. Classless my arse. A toffee-nosed bugger’s still a toffee-nosed bugger to me. And then the lights came on and we all filed out. Outside it was getting a bit dark. I waited at the bus stop. There were a few people I recognized in the queue. They nodded, then wrapped up warm and kept themselves to themselves. Like me, they’re likely to have been visiting family or friends. Except in their case I imagined their lot were still alive. The bus takes about an hour or so to reach the village. Longer these days. As we laboured up the hill, the tyres spat gravel and ice behind them. We’re its last but one stop. We clambered off and tried to avoid giving each other a final nod. And we succeeded quite well. Very well, in fact.