Backstreet Child (38 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

At breakfast time on a bright morning the following week, Rachel sat chatting with her friend Mary Hannen in the dining hall. The sky above West Marden was clear, with only a wisp of cloud, and an early sun shone through the dirty windows onto freshly scrubbed tables. The two friends were both on early shift that morning and during the few minutes’ free time left to them Mary listened with keen interest as Rachel talked excitedly about her budding romance.

‘We took the early tram ter the Embankment an’ walked all around the West End,’ she told her. ‘Then we went inter this posh cafe fer coffee, an’ then we went inter St James’s Park. It was really romantic.’

‘Did you have a kiss and cuddle in the park?’ Mary asked with a grin.

‘’E put ’is arm round me an’ we chatted a lot. ’E’s really nice.’

‘What did you do then?’ her friend pressed her.

‘Well, we stayed in the park fer quite a time,’ Rachel replied, ‘then we walked along Piccadilly an’ went ter see this exhibition that was on. It was all about sculpture.’

Mary pulled a face. ‘I bet that was boring.’

‘No, it was really good,’ Rachel said. ‘We went ter the pictures in Leciester Square after that ter see
Northwest Passage
wiv Spencer Tracy. It was smashin’.’

‘What about when Tony brought you back home? Did you let him kiss you, passionately?’ Mary asked with a saucy smile.

Rachel nodded, feeling her face getting red. She remembered that Tony had seemed reluctant to make the first move but then, when he suddenly came closer and slipped his hands on her waist, he had certainly kissed her with passion. Rachel recalled the feeling she had experienced as his body pressed against hers. It was delicious, and her heart pounded as his lips met hers in a long, lingering kiss which left her breathless.

‘Well? Was it nice?’ Mary repeated, enjoying her friend’s embarrassment.

‘Course it was.’

‘Did he try to get you going?’

‘’Ow d’yer mean?’

‘You know, did his hands start wandering?’

Rachel flashed her friend a quick look. ‘No, they didn’t. Tony was very proper,’ she said indignantly.

Mary grinned back at her. ‘Tim wasn’t. The first time we went out together he was all hands. Men are all the same. It just takes some of them a little longer to get round to it.’

Their conversation was interrupted as the orderly officer came over to the table. ‘You’re wanted in admin, Hannen,’ he said in an unusually quiet tone.

Mary shrugged her shoulders at Rachel as she hurried away. A few minutes later, as Rachel was making her way from the mess hall to the plotting room some distance away, the air-raid siren suddenly wailed out.

‘Take cover!’ a voice screamed out.

Rachel saw the officer running and at that instant she heard the loud roar of planes. Suddenly she saw them swooping down over the airfield, flashes of light coming from their wings. Personnel were throwing themselves flat, caught out in the open and unable to reach the dugouts in time.

Rachel turned towards a nearby mound of sandbags piled round a gun emplacement and threw herself down just in time as the first Messerschmitt passed over her. Other planes screamed low out of the clear blue sky and she pressed her hands tightly over her ears and gritted her teeth, her heart pounding madly, expecting any second to be blasted from her meagre hiding place.

The planes roared off, climbing high now, leaving behind them the first casualties West Marden had experienced. Someone was screaming out for help and as Rachel raised her head above the sandbags she saw the carnage. Two aircraftmen were lying still, their bodies twisted in grotesque positions, and one young aircraftwoman was sitting upright on the edge of the runway, holding the top of her arm and crying for help. Everyone seemed to be running now and the gun crew opened up beside Rachel, the deafening noise making her ears hurt.

‘Get in the dugout quick as you can!’ a flight sergeant ordered her as he hurried past.

Rachel dashed for the shelter while there was still a lull and as she hurried down the steep steps, she heard the roar again. This time it was more of a scream and a voice from the dugout shouted, ‘Stukas!’

The dive bombers were dropping almost vertically and as they pulled out of the dive their bombs were released. One blasted concrete and earth skywards, leaving a large crater in the middle of the runway. Other bombs hit the hanger and another explosive turned a parked Hurricane into a ball of flame.

The Messerschmitts were returning, strafing the airfield with their machine-guns. Spurts of earth and tarmac shot up as the bullets hit and the planes climbed quickly, turning to make another run over the almost defenceless airfield.

Some pilots were able to take off before the airstrip was put out of action and they joined combat high over the Kent fields. A Stuka crashed in flames and another seemed to disintegrate in mid-air. White, shocked faces peered from the dugouts at the inferno, and as the roar of the attacking Messerschmitts increased, Rachel saw Mary. She was walking towards the billet, totally unconcerned by all that was taking place around her. It was as if she was in a trance, sleepwalking through the carnage, her head held low as though deep in thought.

Rachel screamed out her name but it had no effect on her. She walked on as the roar reached a new crescendo. Bullets spurted around her and one of the mechanics suddenly left the safety of the dugout and ran as fast as he could towards her, his head thrust forward. As he reached her he threw her to the ground, covering her with his body. All around them debris flew up into the air from the planes’ cannon and bullets, and flames licked at destroyed aircraft that had been caught in the surprise attack.

The enemy planes climbed high towards the Hurricanes and Spitfires in combat above them, and Rachel gave a cry of joy as the two prone figures on the tarmac started to move. Mary was gripping a piece of paper as she was quickly led into the dugout and made to sit.

‘You could have got killed!’ the mechanic shouted at her angrily.

Mary looked through him, her eyes dull and lifeless. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she whispered. ‘It just doesn’t matter.’

The mechanic was about to say something more but Rachel shook her head at him. ‘What is it?’ she asked Mary quietly.

Mary just stared into space and Rachel reached for the paper clutched tightly in her hand. ‘Let me see,’ she said gently.

Mary clasped the piece of paper even more tightly, and then the orderly officer hurried into the dugout. ‘Get her to the sick bay,’ he ordered.

Rachel reached down to take her arm but the officer pulled her back. ‘Not you, Bradley,’ he said. Other willing hands guided Mary from the dugout and then the officer turned to Rachel. ‘You’re her best friend, I’m told,’ he said.

Rachel nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Hannen got a telegram this morning. It seems her young man was killed yesterday,’ the officer said quietly.

‘Oh my Gawd!’ Rachel uttered, sitting down heavily on the bench.

‘Hannen’s going to need you now,’ the officer told her.

‘’Ow did it ’appen, sir?’ she asked.

‘It was some experimental work that went tragically wrong. That’s all we know, all we’re allowed to know,’ he said.

The Battle of Britain was at its height over southern England when Bert Jolly walked along Page Street with the evening paper under his arm.

‘They’ve shot down ’undreds,’ he told Sadie.

‘I know,’ she replied. ‘I jus’ bin listenin’ ter the wireless.’

Maisie came hurrying along the turning. ‘’Ere, Sadie, there’s’undred an’ forty-four bin shot down, accordin’ ter the wireless,’ she said breathlessly.

‘Ours or theirs?’ Sadie asked.

‘The Jerries, o’ course,’ Bert chimed in.

‘I ain’t talkin’ ter you,’ Sadie replied abruptly, giving him a sharp look.

Bert decided to leave them to it while Maisie leaned against Sadie’s doorpost, glad of an excuse to leave the ironing.

‘That silly ole sod is always pokin’ ’is nose in where it’s not wanted,’ Sadie moaned.

Maisie nodded. ‘’Ere, Maurice Salter’s back wiv that Massey woman,’ she said, slipping her arms through the front of her apron. ‘I saw ’em the ovver night. Bold as brass they was. She was all over ’im as they walked down the turnin’.’

‘Don’t it make yer sick,’ Sadie remarked. ‘That affair’s bin on an’ orf like a cock sparrer on a crust o’ bread.’

‘’E’s ’eadin’ for a fall, if yer ask me,’ Maisie replied. ‘She’s got a right name round ’ere.’

Dolly was busy in her front room and through the window she espied the two women deep in conversation. Being naturally inquisitive, she decided to take the women a new titbit to chew over. She slipped off her apron and put on the shabby coat she wore to go shopping before darting across to them.

‘I’m just orf ter the corner shop fer Josiah’s fags,’ she lied. ‘Did yer ’ear about ole Mrs Wishart in Bacon Buildin’s?’

The two shook their heads.

‘She got bound over ter keep the peace,’ Dolly informed them.

‘What was that for then?’ Maisie asked.

‘It was over whose turn it was ter do the stairs,’ Dolly went on. ‘Apparently ole Mrs Dalton ain’t bin doin’ ’em ’cos of ’er back an’ when Mrs Wishart was scrubbin’ ’em, Muvver Dalton trod dog shit all over the clean stairs. There was a bit of a bull an’ cow by all accounts, an’ then Mrs Wishart chucked the bucket o’ water all over ’er. The police got called an’ they nicked poor ole Mrs Wishart fer usin’ bad language. Mind you, she can let it rip sometimes.’

‘Well, I’d ’ave chucked more than the water over ’er if she’d’ave trod shit all over my scrubbin’,’ Sadie said quickly. ‘I’d ’ave crowned ’er wiv the bucket.’

‘No, that’s what Mrs Wishart done. She let go o’ the bucket. That’s why they called the police,’ Dolly told them.

The three stood chatting for some time and when they saw Maudie approaching, Sadie sighed. ‘ ’Ere she comes, gloom an’ doom.’

Maudie was looking very worried. ‘There’s bin bombs dropped in Croydon,’ she said fearfully. ‘I just ’eard it on the wireless.’

‘It was on this mornin’s news,’ Sadie said offhandedly.

‘I didn’t listen ter the news this mornin’,’ Maudie said, holding her back. ‘I ’ad a lay-in. Me back was killin’ me.’

‘It’s those ’ard seats at the muvvers’ meetin’s what’s doin’ it, if yer ask me,’ Maisie said, smiling at Sadie.

‘I’ve stopped goin’,’ Maudie announced.

‘Oh, an’ why’s that?’ the women chorused.

‘It’s the new vicar,’ Maudie explained. ‘’E’s all fire an’ brimstone. Scares the life out o’ me, ’e does.’

‘I like a bit o’ fire an’ brimstone,’ Sadie said. ‘Farvver Murphy was like that. ’E used ter rant an’ rave at Sunday Mass.’E’s bin sorely missed around ’ere.’

Maudie decided that her back was not up to it and she took her leave. The three women continued their chat for a few more minutes then Dolly decided to get back home before Josiah came in from work.

‘I feel sorry fer Dolly,’ Maisie remarked as she watched her walking back to her house. ‘’Er Wallace ’as bin in trouble again.’

‘What’s ’e bin up to this time?’ Sadie asked.

‘They caught ’im pissin’ on Mrs Brody’s front doorstep an’’er ole man give ’im a clip roun’ the ear,’ Maisie said. ‘Dolly’s ole man went roun’ ter see the Brodys an’ it nearly come ter blows, by all accounts. Then last week Wallace nicked the pram ole Mrs Webster uses ter collect the bagwash when she left it outside ’er front door, an’ she ’ad ter go round an’ see Dolly. They found it in Wilson Street the next day. All the wheels were missin’.’

‘’E’ll get put away if ’e keeps that up,’ Sadie told her. ‘They can take ’em away if they’re out o’ control.’

‘That’s what Dolly’s worried about,’ Maisie said.

‘She’s got somefing else ter worry about too,’ Sadie remarked.

‘Oh, an’ why’s that?’ Maisie asked her.

‘She come out ter get ’er ole man’s fags an’ she’s gone straight back indoors,’ Sadie replied grinning.

‘I tell yer, Danny, this ’eavy rescue squad they’re formin’ is a very good idea,’ Billy Sullivan was saying over his usual weekend drink with Danny at the Kings Arms. ‘What they’re askin’ for is buildin’ workers an’ carpenters an’ all sorts o’ construction workers ter volunteer. The likes of us know quite a bit about ’ow the places are made, an’ should there be a bomb drop on a row of ’ouses, Gawd ferbid, we’d ’ave a bit more chance o’ savin’ lives when we’re workin’ in the ruins, proppin’ up timbers an’ such.’

‘So yer goin’ inter the ’eavy rescue then,’ Danny said. ‘Well, good luck ter yer, Billy, but I ’ope ter Gawd yer never ’ave ter put the idea inter practice.’

‘I’ll drink ter that,’ Billy said with a serious face.

The pub was filling up as the two continued their chat, Billy talking about his coming visit to Annie and the children, and Danny telling him about his strange next-door neighbours the Dawsons. The piano was playing and a few of the regulars were singing. The balmy night and the sky full of stars formed a peaceful setting, far removed from war and the death and destruction soon to rain down on the little dockland community.