The Girls They Left Behind (49 page)

‘All right,’ she said. ‘Get your coat on, Diane. We’ll leave a note on the table for your dad.’ She found a scrap of paper and scribbled on it while Gladys waited impatiently. ‘Here they come.’

The drone was directly overhead. It sounded as if there were planes all over the sky. They looked at each other in sudden fear. They had suffered raids before, they all knew the sound of the planes, but this sounded different, louder, more menacing, as if Hitler had sent the whole of the Luftwaffe to obliterate their city and all within it.

Gladys thought of the blitz on London, of the merciless raids on Coventry, on Bristol, on Plymouth.

She jammed her tin hat on her head, switched off the light and opened the front door. Cautiously, they looked up at the sky, crisscrossed with its web of searchlight beams. The planes could be heard snarling high above, but now they could hear the different note of RAF night fighters flying to intercept them, and the sharp rattle of ack-ack fire. Maybe we’re fighting them off, she thought. Maybe it won’t be a bad raid after all.

Suddenly, high above her head, she saw a red light. It dropped silently through the darkness, falling like the red balloon young Rose next door had brought home from the Guildhall party. And then, as she stared, it opened out like a flower, like a blood-red rose or a poppy, blossoming as it fell and lighting up the sky around it, and the city beneath.

Before she had realised what it was, she saw another and another, until the sky was full of them. A shower of poppies, scattering over the darkened streets of Portsmouth, casting a warm glow as they descended. A bouquet of death.

‘Flares,’ Peggy muttered. ‘Parachute flares. They’re making sure they can see us before they drop their bombs.’

‘Gosh,’ Diane said, her voice awed. ‘It’s like firework night.’ Her voice quivered a little. ‘It’s like the biggest rockets you ever saw.’

Gladys gave her arm a shake. ‘It’s no good being frightened.

If you’re coming with us you’ve got to make yourself useful. Otherwise, you’d better go back home.’

‘Frightened?’ Diane said. ‘Who said anything about being frightened? I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Look at it!

Look at that one!’

Gladys stared at her sister. Her face was reddened by the glow of the flares, her eyes glittering with excitement. She had been drying her hair in front of the fire when the siren sounded, and now it flew loose and tangled about her head.

She looked as wild as a gypsy.

‘What’s got into you?’ Gladys said. ‘This is a raid - and it looks as if it’s going to be a bad one. It’s not a bonfire night party.’

‘I know. I can’t help it, I think it’s marvellous. Look at the sky. Look at the colour. It’s better than a sunset. Better than a rainbow. Look!’

Gladys turned her face to the sky. The flares were dropping thick and fast now, and in their light you could see that each was on its own parachute, drifting slowly down on the city. All around them were the silver searchlights, like a spider’s web woven against the velvet darkness. And between the blossoming blood-red of the flares and the shimmering filigree of the lights could be seen the brilliant white sparkle of bursting shells from the anti-aircraft guns. She watched them, bemused. How many did they actually hit? Weren’t they just firing at random, hoping to strike something up there in the limitless black sky? But even as she wondered she saw, here and there, a sudden spiralling orange flare as a plane was hit and corkscrewed downwards to the earth.

‘Look at that,’ Diane whispered, and as she spoke there was a tremendous explosion from somewhere deep in Portsmouth. The ground shook and a huge, billowing cloud of black and red and orange filled the sky.

Gladys was filled with sudden fury. For a moment or two she had been swayed into something very like wonder as she stared at the strange kaleidoscope of colour drifting above her. Now she was reminded forcibly of what it all meant. Her fear flooded back and she shook her sister’s arm savagely.

‘Marvellous? There’s nothing marvellous about bombs and people getting killed. If you think it’s so bloody marvellous, you’d better come with us and see what it really means. And do something to help. You’ll soon see how marvellous it is.

Well?’ Another shake. ‘What’s it to be? Make up your mind, quick.’

‘I’ll come with you. I don’t want to be home on my own.’

‘You could go in with Mrs Budd -‘ Gladys began, but her voice was drowned in the sudden burst of another explosion.

The sky flared with searing white light and another great cloud of smoke and debris rose into the air, turning rapidly red as the flames began. It was followed immediately by a third, and then a fourth, and then it was as if all hell had been let loose on the city as bombs were hurled one after another into the tortured abyss, exploding on every side so that it seemed that there could be no escape.

The sky was brilliant now with the burnished glow of flames, the brightness of new fires added at every minute to those already burning. The stark white beams of the searchlights turned to red as the enemy showered bombs like deadly rain upon their target. And all the time, in a chorus of menace, the drone of the planes overhead sounded in their ears and the sharp rattle of the ack-ack guns gave a bitter commentary on the enemy’s progress.

‘Well, we don’t have to worry about not finding our way.’

They had paused, cowering back against a wall as the first explosions shook the ground, but now Gladys was off again, running. So far, it seemed that no bombs had been dropped on this part of Portsmouth but the streets were lit by the orange glow that was now spread over the whole sky. It seemed as if the supply was inexhaustible.

They reached the school which was serving as a First Aid post. It was in semi-darkness, lit only by a few hurricane lamps. Casualties were already coming in and the superintendent looked relieved to see Peggy and her daughters.

‘Thank God you’re here. This looks like being the big one.

We think they’ve hit the electricity station, all the lights went out with the first bomb. Who’s this?’

‘My other daughter, Diane. She’s come to give a hand.’

‘We can do with all the help we can get. Can you put a bandage on? Go over to Mrs Jenkins, she’ll tell you what to do.’

Diane nodded. Her strange exhilaration had passed and her face was pale, but she set her mouth firmly. She went over to one of the long tables which was piled high with bandages and dressings. A big, florid woman in a brown coat was already attending to a man with a bleeding head and Diane

picked up a roll of bandage and held it out to her.

‘She’ll be all right,’ Peggy said. ‘Old mother Jenkins is a bit of a tartar but she won’t give her a chance to get frightened.

Now what d’you want us to do?’

‘Get in the ambulance on standby. The way they’re hammering us, it won’t be long before you know where to go.

Anyone not too badly hurt, take ‘em to the nearest post, if it’s too bad for us to deal with, get ‘em to the hospital and then come back. Just do whatever you’ve got to do.’ The superintendent looked up as another bomb whistled above their heads. ‘They all sound so near. God knows what it’s like when they’re really on top of you.’

‘They say you never hear the one that hits you,’ Peggy remarked, intending to sound cheerful. But it didn’t come out like that, somehow. She followed Gladys to the old van that had been converted to an ambulance. Bunks had been fitted inside so that it could carry several casualties, and there were benches for Peggy and less badly hurt people to sit on. A locker had been screwed inside the door and was filled with bandages and bottles of iodine and Dettol.

The explosions were coming thick and fast. Every second, the ground shook with fresh detonations and it seemed impossible that any part of the city could survive unscathed.

Gladys sat in the driving seat of the ambulance, her fingers twitching with impatience. There must be people out there needing help.

A figure suddenly skidded into the playground and Gladys realised it was a boy on a bicycle. He was wearing Boy Scout uniform. His face was ruddy in the glow and there was a smear of black across his forehead. He gave her a quick, slightly wavering grin, and ran through the door, leaving it ajar. It hardly mattered about blackout now, she thought, with all this blazing light showing everything up. You could see to read a newspaper in this.

The super ran out and she leaned from the window.

‘Where do they want us?’

‘Palmerston Road. It’s going up like a torch. The whole place is alight, there’s buildings collapsed, people buried, it’s chaos down there. They need all the help they can get.’

Gladys was already starting the engine. She jammed it into gear. ‘Take this kid with you and drop him off at the ARP

Control Centre.’

The scout scrambled into the back with Peggy, dragging his bike in after him. Gladys drove the van out through the wide gates and on to Copnor Road. Palmerston Road! That was right out at Southsea. Surely there must be people nearer at hand needing help. She sped through the reddened streets.

They looked as if they were already running with blood, she thought. And, with a flash of wry gratitude, at least you could see where you were going … She had always been terrified of running someone over in the blackout.

The blitz was still going on. There were explosions on every side, and long before she was anywhere near Palmerston Road Gladys was flagged down by a warden and sent down a side street. She pulled the van into the side of the road and jumped out.

‘Over here!’ A bomb had fallen on a row of houses, demolishing at least two and leaving the others badly damaged. Two more were on fire and a crowd of people were trying to douse them with stirrup pumps and buckets of water.

The flames were already flickering through the roof and, as Gladys watched, a huge orange tongue bellied out through a window and licked up the wall. The roof collapsed amidst a gush of fire.

‘There’s people in there!’ Someone was screaming loudly near her. ‘There’s my Gramp and Granny in there. They wouldn’t come down the shelter - they’re burning alive in there.’

‘Oh, my God.’ Peggy was beside her. ‘They’ll never get them out…’

‘Where’s the fire engines? Where are they? Why don’t they come, oh God, why don’t they come?’ The woman was in a frenzy. ‘Gramp and Granny, they’re in there, burning alive, they’re burning alive, oh God, oh God…’

‘Where’s our Joan?’ An elderly woman, her hair in curlers, staggered along the pavement. ‘Where’s our Joan? ‘Ave you seen ‘er?’ She peered into Peggy’s face. ‘Our Joan, ‘ave you seen ‘er?’

‘Gramp, Gramp…’

‘Over ‘ere.’ A man tugged at Gladys’s sleeve. ‘You’re the doctor, ain’tcher? Over ‘ere, there’s people buried, we can’t get ‘em out. They’re hurt.’

‘Our Joan, Joan…’

‘Oh, Grampy, poor old Grampy … Why don’t they come, why don’t they come?’

‘Over ‘ere,’ the man urged, pulling Gladys’s arm.

‘I’m not a doctor,’ Gladys began, but he was dragging her across the road. She reached into the van as she passed and grabbed her First Aid satchel. She wasn’t a doctor, but she had trained for this and would have to do what she could. But suppose there was nothing …? She thought of the other raids in which she had worked and bit her lip.

‘Down ‘ere, look, we’ve got a tunnel through. They’re in the cellar.’

The man pushed her down and Gladys saw a huge pile of debris. Splintered wooden beams, shattered bricks, plaster, laths, all were stirred together and heaped high in what had once been someone’s sitting room. Only half an hour ago, people had been sitting here, having a cup of tea, listening to the wireless. But there was no time to think of that. The warning had gone and they’d dived down the cellar steps. And now they were buried.

‘We can ‘ear someone calling,’ the man said urgently. ‘A kiddy. We’ve managed to get through so far but we don’t dare go any further, it might bring the whole lot down. If you could just get through, see if she’s hurt, like …’

Gladys stared in terror. I’m not a doctor, she wanted to say, I’m just supposed to drive an ambulance. I can’t go down there. I won’t know what to do. I might make it worse …

‘Give me a torch,’ she said, and lay down flat on her stomach.

The ground was covered with broken bricks and other rubbish. She could feel something sharp digging into her thigh. She pointed the torch down the hole and crawled forwards, praying that the structure would hold up, praying that no more bombs would fall.

‘That’s it, love. Keep goin’.. .’

I can’t, she thought, I can’t…

She was inside the rough tunnel now, pushing herself forwards with her toes, dragging herself with both hands. She clawed at rough stone, at bricks and mortar, feeling their sharp dust under her nails. Something sliced along her arm and she felt a sudden warmth on her skin. She was halfway along the tunnel now and the light of her torch showed a small, dark cellar just beneath her.

It was only two or three feet away, but it might as well have been a hundred miles. In the torchlight she could see the dankness of it, the water running down the walls, the blackness of the floor. One corner was piled with coal. She squirmed a little further, heard an ominous creak from above, felt the whole of one side of the tunnel shift a little. Oh God, if it collapsed now…

I can’t be buried alive, Gladys thought, I can’t. I’m not ready to die yet. I’m too young. I haven’t done anything, I haven’t had any life yet, I haven’t even had a proper boy…

Please God, don’t let me be buried alive, not before I’ve done anything…

But other people got buried alive. Other people got blown up and burned to death and shot. And maybe most of them hadn’t done anything either …

She found that her hands were working, as if they had decided to go ahead without the rest of her. They were pulling at the bricks, dragging at bits of wood. They were making the hole larger, carefully, almost tenderly. She watched as if they belonged to someone else and admired their sureness of touch. What a good job she’d brought them with her.

Blimey Glad, she thought, you’re going barmy. Talking to your hands like that. You’re going off your head and no wonder. It’s enough to send anyone round the bend, down here.