Backstreet Child (13 page)

Frank put down the newspaper and leaned back on the settee. The last few weeks had been very trying for him. There had been masses of paperwork to get through and two of his drivers had decided to volunteer for the services. The war crisis had thrown everything into chaos. Nothing was clear at the moment regarding the transport; there was talk of a motor pool being set up to handle essential supplies, and the existing contracts hung in the balance. His liaison with Peggy Harrison was very shaky at the moment too. Some of the excitement had waned, and Peggy appeared to be blaming herself for her husband’s illness. The shock of finding out about their affair on top of other problems concerning his business had caused his mind to snap, and Theo was now in a mental hospital with little likelihood of ever recovering.

Frank’s thoughts were interrupted as Bella walked into the room and motioned to the wireless. ‘Hadn’t you better put it on?’ she said irritably. ‘The Prime Minister’s speaking in five minutes.’

A strange stillness had settled over London as the sun climbed up into a cloudless sky. In the riverside borough of Bermondsey the quietness was broken by a tug whistle as it took up the strain on a brace of barges. Page Street and the neighbouring streets were deserted as everyone gathered round their wireless sets to hear the Prime Minister’s broadcast.

The tired, flat voice of Neville Chamberlain carried out through open windows: ‘I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at Ten Downing Street. This morning the British Ambassador handed the German Government a final note, stating that unless we heard from them by eleven o’clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you that no such undertaking has been received and that consequently this country is at war with Germany . . .’

Even before the Prime Minister had finished speaking folk were coming out into the street to talk with their neighbours. They huddled in little groups, occasionally turning their worried faces skyward, as though expecting an enemy air armada to appear at once. Others hurried along backstreets to their friends and scattered families, all anxious, fearful of the unknown and eager to seek comfort with those they loved.

At the Dawson household Dennis and Leslie were searching through their boxes of lead soldiers, Joyce was sitting in one corner talking to her one-eyed doll, while Dolly sat with her ear glued to the fading wireless, listening to the Prime Minister and occasionally waving frantically for the two boys to be quiet. Wallace was sitting in the back yard, his large feet resting on an empty beer crate, his face turned towards the warm sun. Suddenly a loud wailing started up, its rising and falling tone growing to a crescendo, and then it died away.

‘Quick! It’s an air raid!’ Dolly screamed, grabbing up her daughter and shepherding her boys out of the house.

Wallace had hurried in, troubled by the unfamiliar noise, and he shuffled behind the rest of the family as they dashed along to the shelter on the elbow of Page Street, with people joining them on the way. Maudie appeared from her house on the arm of her husband, and Sadie Sullivan came trotting along beside Maisie. Fred and Daniel followed behind their wives and an ARP warden waved them down the gently sloping path into the entrance. Granny Massey slipped and was held up by her two daughters. Charlie Alcroft came down the slope in his carpet slippers, and the Mortimers from Bacon Buildings came hurrying along with their tribe of children swarming around them, the smallest hanging on to Ada Mortimer’s shabby coat. Bringing up the rear was the Casey family. Ada Casey was a mousy-haired woman in her late thirties and with a cast in her left eye. She was a head taller than her husband Tom, a wiry individual in his forties with close-cropped hair and ears that stood out boldly. Two of the three children had casts in their left eyes, which had earned the family the unfortunate distinction of being known as the ‘cross-eyed Caseys’.

Last to come into the shelter were the three Salter girls, looking around anxiously as they sat down together on a bench near the door.

‘Where’s that bloody farvver of ours got to?’ Brenda Salter growled to her younger sister.

‘Gawd knows,’ Lily replied, smiling sweetly at the staring Ada Casey.

‘’E’s still up the Kings Arms, that’s fer sure,’ Barbara Salter cut in sharply.

‘Just wait till ’e shows ’is face in ’ere, I’ll give ’im what for,’ Brenda said with venom. ‘’E knows ’ow we worry over ’im.’

‘Give ’im a chance, Brenda,’ Lily cut in. ‘We’ve only just got’ere ourselves.’

Brenda gave her younger sister a disdainful look. ‘Anybody else would be out o’ the pub like a rocket, but not our farvver. If the bleedin’ place was burnin’ round ’is ears ’e’d still finish ’is pint.’

Suddenly the much maligned Maurice Salter slipped into the shelter, and as he caught sight of his three daughters he shook his head slowly before slumping down beside them. ‘I knew it, I just knew it,’ he said with emphasis.

‘Knew what?’ Brenda asked irritably.

‘I knew yer’d all run out an’ leave the gas on,’ Maurice replied. ‘I could ’ave bin killed runnin’ back ter the ’ouse ter check. Didn’t I warn you silly mares? Didn’t I tell yer only the ovver night what could ’appen if yer leave the gas on?’

The three Salter girls looked shamefacedly at him and Lily patted his hand. ‘It’s a good job we’ve got you ter look after us, Dad,’ she purred.

Brenda and Barbara exchanged meaningful glances and Maurice settled down on the bench with a self-satisfied look on his broad face.

‘Jus’ remember in future. Yer can’t be too careful wiv gas,’ he said smugly, as he leaned his back against the damp concrete wall.

The shelter construction took the general shape of a wide tunnel, separated into two galleries by a thick concrete wall running down the whole length. The local ARP wardens had arranged with the police that the Bacon Street inhabitants should use the left-hand shelter and Page Street folk the righthand one, so that should there be a direct hit on the shelter, identification would be that much easier.

Sadie had other ideas, however. ‘’Ere, Mais, did yer ’ear that copper tellin’ the Bacon Buildin’s mob ter go in the ovver shelter?’ she asked as she made herself comfortable on the hard wooden bench against the wall.

‘Yeah, I thought it was strange,’ Maisie replied, scratching her left ear.

‘It’s ter keep us from arguin’,’ Sadie told her. ‘There’s one or two nasty so-an’-so’s live in those buildin’s an’ they might start trouble.’

‘What, like that Casey family?’ Maisie ventured.

Sadie shook her head. ‘Nah. They’re a nice family,’ she replied. ‘Ada Casey’s as good as gold. Mind you I ain’t got much time fer that lazy git of an ’usband of ’ers. ’E’s always orf sick, accordin’ to Ada.’

‘What’s ’e do fer a livin’?’ Maisie asked.

‘As little as possible. ’E’s a tram driver,’ Sadie told her.

Maudie was sitting quietly, her ears pricked for the sound of falling bombs; whenever her friends looked in her direction she gave them a brave smile.

The last arrival walked into the gloomy, kerosene-lit interior and squeezed into the only available space, beside Brenda Massey, further along the cavern where she sat with her mother and sister.

‘Yer Annie’s ’usband Billy, ain’t yer?’ Brenda asked the sleepy-eyed newcomer.

Billy nodded, brushing a hand over his dishevelled hair. ‘I slept late. The bloody siren frightened the life out o’ me,’ he grinned.

Brenda laughed nervously. She was an attractive brunette of forty with smiling eyes and prominent white teeth. ‘My name’s Brenda, an’ that’s me sister Rose,’ she said. ‘I ’ad a right job wiv Mum. She didn’t want ter come down the shelter. It’s a good job Rose was visitin’. She ’elped me get ’er out the ’ouse. Rose’s two boys are evacuated an’ ’er bloke’s in the navy.’

Billy smiled at the friendly woman. ‘Are you married?’ he asked.

Brenda nodded. ‘My ole man’s in the merchant navy. We’aven’t got any children,’ she replied.

Billy glanced around at the rows of anxious people chatting nervously. There were four rows of seating, long benches arranged along each wall and down the centre of the concrete cavern, the people on the middle benches sitting back to back. There was a strong smell of carbolic in the air and the temperature was rising steadily. Billy looked up at the ceiling. There were two small vents spaced some distance apart and he could see the smoky fumes from the kerosene lamps wafting up through them.

‘It’s gettin’ stuffy in ’ere,’ Brenda remarked. ‘I ’ope we don’t’ave ter stay ’ere too long.’

At that moment the faint wail of the all-clear sounded and a cheer went up. The heavy stable-type doors were opened and a welcome draught of fresh air rushed in. People were already milling around at the entrance and Billy leaned down and took one of Granny Massey’s arms. ‘C’mon, gel, time ter go,’ he joked.

Brenda took her mother’s other arm while Rose gathered up the handbags. The old lady winced as the circulation came back into her legs and she sagged. ‘I ain’t ’avin’ too much o’ this, I can tell yer,’ she moaned. ‘Next time the bleedin’ maroon goes I’m turnin’ over an’ puttin’ the bedclothes over me ’ead. If yer ter go, yer’ll go, no matter where you are.’

Brenda pulled a face at Billy, her eyes flashing. ‘Annie’s away wiv the kids, ain’t she, Billy?’ she asked.

He nodded, suddenly feeling a little uneasy. He was very lonely in the house at night. He missed the laughter of the children, Annie’s warm body next to his and her arm over him as she slept. ‘I’m goin’ down ter Gloucester soon ter see ’em all,’ he said quickly.

The exodus continued and Billy blinked in the strong sunlight as he helped the old lady up the slope and out into Page Street. There was time for a pint, he decided and then he had to present himself at the Tanners’ house for Sunday dinner.

In Wilson Street the air-raid siren had precipitated similar scenes as everyone rushed for the shelter on the ground floor of the warehouse at the river end of the turning. The building had been reinforced with thick wooden supports reaching up to the high ceiling. Sandbags partially covered the entrance against blast and there was a large gas blanket that was pulled down over the heavy iron door. Like the shelter in Page Street, it was stuffy on that fine morning but the families here sat around more comfortably on sacks of nut kernels. The place smelled of spice and was lit by two unshaded electric light bulbs.

Danny Tanner sat with Iris while the children played unconcernedly. Seated next to Danny was an elderly man with a walrus moustache and wiry hair poking from the sides of his cap. Once or twice he looked hard at the younger man, and then after a while he said, ‘Yer drink wiv young Sullivan, don’t yer?’

Danny nodded. ‘Me an’ Billy are pals. We go back a long way,’ he replied.

The old man wiped a finger along his thick moustache. ‘I was in the Kings Arms the ovver Saturday when the trouble started,’ he said. ‘That pal o’ yours can still chuck a right-’ander.’E certainly put that monkey’s lights out.’

Danny grinned. ‘’E was up an’ comin’ once,’ he said proudly.

The old man nodded his head vigorously. ‘I seen ’im box a score o’ times,’ he said, wiping his moustache again. ‘’E was in fer the title fight at one time. The war finished ’im though, like it finished a lot o’ people. Don’t you an’ ’im train the kids in the gym?’

‘We did once,’ Danny replied. ‘It’s all bin stopped now though. They’re usin’ the place fer the ARP.’

The old man leaned towards Danny. ‘I should keep yer wits about yer when yer in that Kings Arms, son,’ he said in a low voice.

‘Oh, an’ why’s that?’ Danny asked.

‘Look, son, I’ve bin livin’ round this area all me life,’ the old man went on, ‘an’ I’ve seen a few nasty characters come out o’ the woodwork, but those two blokes Sullivan tangled wiv take the biscuit. They’re what yer might call paid troublemakers. I was in the docks fer years an’ when we ’ad the troubles in the twenties they brought a load o’ scabs in ter break the strikes. Those two was scabs o’ the first order. Musclemen, they was. We ’ad some set-to’s wiv the likes o’ them. I’ve seen ’em around, but it was the first time I seen ’em in the Kings Arms. It’s got somefink ter do wiv that guv’nor. If yer ask me there’s a few ole scores ter settle an’ one was settled that Saturday. The lan’lord got a bottle over ’is ’ead an’ they smashed the place up. If it wasn’t fer Billy Sullivan, there’d ’ave bin a lot more ’arm done.’

‘I know,’ Danny replied. ‘I went in lookin’ fer Billy an’ I saw the damage.’

The old man folded his arms and rocked backwards. ‘Jus’ take my tip,’ he said quietly. ‘Watch points when yer drink in there. I don’t fink that’s the last yer’ve seen o’ those two monkeys.’

The blast of the all-clear brought a huge sigh of relief from the shelterers. Iris stood up and adjusted her coat. ‘C’mon, kids, I got a dinner ter get,’ she said, and to Danny she added, ‘if yer goin’ fer a drink, don’t let Billy get too sloshed or ’e won’t eat’is dinner.’

Danny slipped his arm round Iris and pecked her cheek. ‘I’ll see yer ’ome wiv the kids first. We won’t be late fer dinner,’ he told her.

The all-clear was also greeted with a huge sigh of relief at the Maitlands’ house in Salmon Lane. Nellie had collapsed on hearing the news that war had been declared and Joe had carried her into the back bedroom. She soon recovered, however, and she put the fainting fit down to lack of sleep. Carrie had seen the colour drain from her face and lips and she was afraid that it might be the start of a heart attack.