Orphans of the Storm (28 page)

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Authors: Katie Flynn

Tags: #Historical

BOOK: Orphans of the Storm
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‘Oh I know, really,’ Gwen said hastily. ‘I know you’d never tell a soul nothing that I wanted kept quiet. What I
should
have said was, do you want to hear a secret?’
‘Course I do,’ Debbie said promptly. ‘Spit it out!’
‘Well, you know Dicky, the boy who gave us a lift to Prince’s Park this morning?’
‘Of course I know him,’ Debbie said impatiently. ‘He’s nice, isn’t he? I thought it was really kind of him to pick us up and take us to the good old Forum. But so what? I mean, there’s nothing secret about that, is there?’
‘No-o-o,’ Gwen said. ‘But you know you joined the queue and he called me back to the van for a moment? Well, he – he asked me if I was doing anything tomorrow evening. And when I said no, not as I knew, he – he went a bit red and said would I like to go dancin’ with him.’ She looked shyly at her friend, a rosy flush beginning to colour her cheeks. ‘I – I said that would be lovely, so he’s goin’ to pick me up after work tomorrow!’
Debbie gazed at Gwen, almost unable to believe her ears, and realised, suddenly, how very much Gwen had changed over the course of the last year. When they had left school, Gwen had been a mousy little thing, skinny as a rake and with nothing to commend her but a pair of large brown eyes fringed with light brown lashes. Her hair had been lank and straight, like her figure, and she had been almost unbearably shy. Now, Gwen’s hair was fashionably cut, the ends curled under in a pageboy. She darkened her lashes, which made her eyes appear larger than ever, and despite the shortages she had filled out so that Jess had remarked, only a few days earlier, that Gwen was getting a very pretty figure.
The factory had cured her of her shyness; now she would chatter away happily in any company, and the fact that she was good at her job had given her self-confidence. No wonder Dicky wants to take her out, Debbie found herself thinking. I’ve always known she was a lovely person; I’ve often wished she were my sister, but I simply hadn’t noticed how pretty she’d grown.
‘Well? What d’you think? And why are you starin’ at me as if I’d got two heads?’ Gwen said plaintively. ‘Would you call it a date, Debbie? Oh, I know he’s not a stranger, I’ve known him for ever, but I’ve never been out with him alone before.’
Debbie leaned across and kissed her friend’s cheek. ‘Of
course
it’s a date and I think it’s grand,’ she said jubilantly. ‘I hope you’re going to tell me everything when you get home because I’ve never been out with a feller and I want to know what it’s like. Oh, Gwen, are you excited? Does it make you feel grown-up?’
‘It scares me a bit,’ Gwen admitted. ‘Suppose – suppose he tries to kiss me goodnight? Should I let him or will he think I’m fast?’
Debbie, who had not the faintest idea of what constituted fastness, shook her head wisely. ‘I see what you mean. I reckon he can kiss your cheek without anyone thinking the worse of you,’ she said. ‘It’s all this first date business, isn’t it? All the magazines tell you what you should and shouldn’t do on a first date because that’s the one the feller will judge you by for ever after. Tell you what, why don’t you say you’d prefer a walk in the park? It ’ud be safer.’
‘That’s a good idea. And in fact, if it’s another lovely fine evening, I’d rather go for a walk than go dancing,’ Gwen said. ‘I say, the baby’s waking up; do you want me to take it for a bit?’
Debbie was about to hand the baby over when an interruption occurred. From outside there came a loud crash and the tinkle of breaking glass, and then the heavy curtain which shielded them from the outside world was pushed to one side, and a wild-eyed mongrel dog with one fly-away ear dripping blood came hurtling into the shelter. Several people cried out that dogs were not allowed, that it should be evicted, but the marshal vetoed this suggestion and his voice was echoed by several others. ‘Poor critter, it ain’t his war, why should he have to face what’s up there?’ ‘Have a heart, the poor bugger’s wounded; part of his ear’s been blown off.’ ‘How’d you like to find yourself in the street with all this here noise a-goin’ on an’ buildin’s crashin’ about your ears? Lerr’im stay.’
As Gwen took the baby from her, Debbie reached out to the dog. Someone warned her that the terrified animal might snap but, on the contrary, it came to her at once, wedged its trembling body as close to her as it could get, and reached up to lick the side of her face. Debbie got out her hanky and mopped the blood from its ear. ‘I reckon it were hit by flying glass,’ she said to Gwen. ‘Poor thing. I wonder who owns it. But when the raid’s over I dare say it’ll make its way home.’ She chuckled. ‘Dogs are cleverer’n babies; that poor little mite . . .’ she indicated the child, now wriggling and beginning to make small, discontented noises in her friend’s arms, ‘couldn’t tell you who its mother is, let alone where it lives.’
Gwen laughed. ‘A fat lot you know about babies,’ she observed. ‘Come to that, we neither of us know much about dogs, either. But this here baby could do with another mug of that milk mixture. It must be a good four hours since it was last fed . . . oh! Oh God, it’s been and gone and pee’d all over me. Did you say there were a clean nappy somewhere?’
She stood up, holding the baby away from herself, and Debbie took back the small, wriggling body. ‘Yes, it’s on the bench beside the old wom—beside Mrs O’Shea, I mean,’ she said. ‘Tell you what, Gwen, I’ll take it up to the far end of the shelter, behind the curtain, clean it up and put on the new nappy whilst you can fetch another cup of the milk mixture.’
‘I’ll change the nappy if you’d rather,’ Gwen said. She pulled the shawl aside and rolled up the child’s long nightdress, then stepped back quickly, wrinkling her nose. ‘Phew, the poor little blighter’s dirty as well as wet! Look, if you want me to change it . . .’
For a moment Debbie was tempted. She had never changed a baby’s nappy in her life but knew that Gwen had probably done so when her brothers and sisters were small. But Gwen had already taken a big step ahead of her by getting her first date; it was clearly time that she, Debbie, asserted herself. Besides, she would take careful note how the baby was pinned into its nappy when she removed the dirty one, so the task should not be beyond her. ‘No, it’s all right, Gwen, I’ll do it,’ she said airily. ‘You get the milk. I shan’t be a tick.’
She headed for the curtain which screened the privy buckets. There wasn’t a lot of room back here but she sat herself down on one of the benches and began to remove the dirty nappy. The dog had accompanied her and was gazing, curiously, at the baby as it kicked its little legs. She saw that the small bottom was scarlet and sore and looked round for some water. There was an enamel jug nearby so she dipped her hanky into the liquid and did her best to clean it up, noticing as she swabbed away that it was a girl. It took her rather longer than she had anticipated to get the baby comfortable but she managed it, pleased to see that the nappies were both fairly new and that the safety pin which anchored the new one into position was neither rusty nor bent.
Debbie had finished her task and was rewrapping the baby in its shawl when she heard the scream of a descending bomb. Instinctively, she clutched the baby and the dog to her, thinking that it sounded close. Then there was a tremendous explosion. Debbie was hurled off her feet by the blast, and descended into total darkness.
Chapter Nine
Debbie came round groggily. The darkness was total and she found she was freezing cold. She reached for her blankets, believing herself to be in bed, and turned her head to glance towards where the window should have been. It was not there, and neither were the blankets, but as she moved she felt someone touch her face very gently with something which was both warm and damp. A flannel? Had she been ill? Was it her mother gently stroking her cheek with a warm, wet flannel? She tried to speak, but at first no words would come. Instead, a tiny moan escaped her parched lips and was immediately echoed by someone near at hand. Debbie frowned. Where the devil was she? She had no recollection of what had happened, or where she was, but she knew now that she was not in bed, or even in her own room.
She put out a tentative hand and felt someone move against her, and all of a sudden memory came flooding back. She had been in the shelter, changing a baby’s nappy – she even remembered it was a baby girl – and then there had been a tremendous crash and she had felt as though a giant had picked her up, squeezed all the breath out of her, and hurled her into a dark pit.
Against her side, someone moved and gave a little whining moan. ‘Gwen? Gwen, are you all right?’ Debbie said tremulously. This time the words came out, but there was no answer. ‘Gwen, have you got the baby? I can’t . . . hang on a minute! Oh no, it’s all right, I’ve got her.’ She lifted up a bundle which had been sheltered in the curve of her body, and felt immeasurable relief as the child moved and then began a hiccuping cry. ‘Oh, and there was a dog . . .’ Despite the cold, the dark and the fear, Debbie chuckled. ‘I thought someone was wiping my face with a damp cloth, but of course it was the perishing dog licking my cheek.’ She was sitting up now, cradling the baby, and could feel the dog pressing against her. She put a comforting arm round its shaggy neck. ‘Are you all right, old feller? I wish I had a torch, but if we can find the curtain we can get back into the rest of the shelter and someone out there is bound to have a light.’
However, as soon as she began to move towards where she thought the curtain hung, she realised she had lost all sense of direction, for her seeking hand – she had the baby in one arm – found only concrete. Sighing, she called once more: ‘Gwen? Are you there, Gwenny? Mrs O’Shea? Has the blast sent you all deaf? It’s bloody dark here among the privies. Can’t one of you show a light to guide me back?’
It was some time before Debbie could face the terrible truth that she, the dog and the baby were completely cut off from the other inhabitants of the shelter. Using only her hands, for her eyes were useless in the complete dark, she realised that the roof, and some of the walls of the shelter, had caved in, leaving the three of them in a tiny space probably no more than four feet wide in any direction. By the time she had discovered this, she had called herself hoarse to absolutely no avail. All that happened was that the inside of her mouth and throat began to feel as though they had been sandpapered, because every time she shouted she inhaled more dust.
At first, she had cried rather a lot, and the dog, who could probably sense if not see her tears, had licked her face, making her laugh in a choked and miserable sort of way. As time passed, she began to worry about the baby. It had been crying and Debbie’s heart had bled for it, because it had been hungry when she had been changing its nappy and now it must be very hungry indeed. But now its cries had stopped and its breathing had become uneven. Now and then it coughed; a pathetic little sound that worried Debbie. She knew she must get the baby out as soon as she possibly could if it was to survive, and she had no idea how to do so.
She thought she had explored every avenue in the small space but realised she had not done so when she heard the dog lapping. Hesitantly, she made her way towards the sound, shuffling along on her bottom with the baby against her shoulder, and moving very slowly. If the dog had found the jug of water, which seemed likely, then the last thing she wanted to do was discover it herself by kicking it over.
But it was all right. She found the jug, still about half full of water, and gave a gasp of relief. She took a small drink herself and felt immeasurably better for it, then removed the skimpy waist petticoat she was wearing, dipped it into the water and began to move the wet cotton around the baby’s face, searching for the mouth. The baby co-operated eagerly, seizing the wet cloth between her lips and sucking enthusiastically. Debbie recklessly plunged more of the petticoat into the water, then tilted the jug so that the cloth was really wet. After a while the child stopped sucking and Debbie’s heart gave a frightened leap, but very soon the child’s even breathing told her that she slept.
Debbie settled herself against a block of concrete which seemed a little smoother than the others and began to rock the baby gently, murmuring to her that they would soon be rescued because Gwen knew where she was and would tell someone. She wondered whether it was daytime yet, whether rescuers were already digging their way down to the shelter. She refused to allow herself to think about the ominous silence on the other side of the fallen masonry. Why, there must have been nearly a hundred people in the shelter. It was clearly impossible that she, the baby and the dog were the only survivors. No, the marshal was a clever and resourceful man. He would have guided everyone to safety, and very soon rescuers would reach the end of the shelter and daylight – or torchlight – would be begin to filter through to Debbie’s tiny prison.
She began to get drowsy, but she fought against it at first, thinking that she would hear sounds of rescue presently, and must be awake to inform whoever came of their whereabouts. But she was very tired and it was difficult to fight sleep when the darkness was so complete and the air so horribly stuffy. So she settled herself as comfortably as she could, with the dog warm against her side and the baby cradled in her arms, and addressed her two companions. ‘I shall call you Dusty, because you are dusty, I expect,’ she told her shaggy companion, ‘and I shall call you Baby, because I don’t know your real name.’ She tickled the dog beneath his chin as she spoke. ‘Now, Dusty, listen to me; Baby and I are going to have a nap because babies need an awful lot of sleep and I’m tired out, and that means we’re relying on you. D’you remember my friend, Gwen? She was going to fetch a mug of milk for Baby here when the bomb landed, so she knows where we are and she’ll tell everyone, and that means you can’t go to sleep like me and Baby here. You’ve got to sit up straight and listen with all your might, and as soon as you hear folk beginning to search for us you must bark. Understood?’

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