Cockney Orphan (15 page)

‘There’s nothing left of the house or its contents, I’m afraid.’ He ran his hand down her arms and turned her wrists. ‘Nothing amiss there. Can you move your legs?
The bench was across them when I found you.’

She wiggled her toes inside her shoes. She bent her knees and nodded.

‘I’ll help you up.’

With his arm around her she climbed to her feet. Slowly they walked to the house. He helped her into the kitchen and sat her on the chair. Lucky was in his cart on the floor. Miraculously
Billy’s invention had survived the blast. ‘Oh, Lucky,’ she sobbed, a lump in her throat. ‘I couldn’t hold on to you.’

Vic lifted him from the cart and laid him in her arms. To her astonishment he was fast asleep. ‘He’s none the worse for wear. When I found you, he was still wrapped in his shawl and
only crying a bit.’

She rocked him gently. ‘I can’t believe we escaped. I just hope the Spinks’ are all right. They never went in their Anderson. Like Mum, they hated it. They always went to their
church.’

‘I’m sure they’ll be all right.’

‘It will be an awful shock when they see their house, or what’s left of it.’

‘Talking of which, there’s damage upstairs above your room. The roof’s caved in where the Spinks’ house was joined to yours. I just had a quick look to make sure no one
was up there. I’m afraid you won’t be able to sleep there for a while.’

‘Oh, Vic, why was it so bad tonight?’

He drew up a chair and put his arm around her. ‘They came at low tide and bombed all our water mains. Must have been planned thoroughly as they knew where to hit. The blokes on the engines
ran out of water, which was what Jerry intended.’ He brushed back her hair and she took a shaky breath.

‘Lucky and me were so lucky tonight.’

Vic nodded. ‘He certainly deserves his name.’

It was light and Connie was sitting on the couch. The events of the night had left her shocked and dazed. When Kevin and Billy arrived home, Vic had gone to report in. Connie
wasn’t going into work. She and Lucky could have died last night. It had made her realize what was important. And at this moment it certainly wasn’t Dalton’s.

Kettle Street had suffered two more losses. Number thirty-five, the Spinks’ house, where it was confirmed the couple were safe. They had taken shelter at church. But number ninety-seven
had suffered a direct hit. Ken and Kitty Wilmot and their seven-year-old son Derrick had been killed by a high-velocity bomb. It was the force of these two bombs that had demolished the
Marshes’ Anderson. The news of the Wilmots’ deaths had come as a terrible blow. The rescue services had been working to retrieve their bodies since first light and the area was now
cordoned off. A silence had settled outside.

‘You warmed up yet, Con?’ Kevin asked as he dropped the poker in the grate. ‘Vic said you was a block of ice when he found you.’

‘I don’t remember much. Only the explosion and a gust of wind blowing Lucky out of my arms. The next thing I knew Vic was there.’

‘I shouldn’t have left you,’ Billy said unhappily. ‘Trust Jerry to pick my birthday to set fire to London. They dropped parachute mines on the water mains, then followed
with fire bombs knowing we’d be made short of water. I was waiting for a lull to get back here. But the bombing just went on and on.’

Kevin nodded. ‘I heard from one of the firemen that the exhaust pipes of the fire engines were red hot because of the pressure of pumping. In the end it was the boats that got their pumps
going and strung the hoses across the mudflats. They were going like stink all through the night at the bridges and docks. Trouble was the incendiaries kept starting fires in different places. As
soon as our blokes arrived at one, another started. Dunno what the City looks like today. A lot worse than us, I should think.’

‘Taffy told me the streets around Saint Paul’s are worst,’ Billy agreed. ‘The Guildhall went up like cardboard and the bell of Saint Bride’s melted.’

Connie stood up. Her legs were still shaking. She lay Lucky in the pram by the window and looked out. People were walking around with dazed expressions, dust and ash was still falling from the
sky.

At that moment Olive and Ebbie rushed in. Olive hugged her children, tears spilling from her eyes.

‘What happened to the Spinks?’ she sobbed.

‘They were at church,’ Kevin told them. ‘Mr Shutler said the Salvation Army have given them a bed for tonight and tomorrow they’re going to relatives.’

‘Thank God they’re safe. But they’ll never be able to come home, will they?’

‘We heard the Wilmots were killed,’ Ebbie said quietly.

‘Those poor, poor people,’ Olive wailed.

‘Like the Spinks’ house, it caught a direct hit. The one next door was damaged too.’

Olive sank down on the couch. ‘Is our house damaged?’

‘There’s a hole in the roof over Connie’s room,’ Kevin explained as he sat beside his mother. ‘But it’s not too bad really, considering.’

Olive burst into tears. ‘We’ll never see the Wilmots walk down the street again.’

Ebbie brought out the sherry left over from Christmas. He poured five measures into mugs and gave them out.

‘How big is the hole?’ Ebbie asked his son.

‘Big enough to see the sky.’

‘There must be a lot of mess,’ Connie said anxiously.

‘Me and Kev will see to all that,’ Billy volunteered. ‘But you won’t be able to kip there o’ course.’

‘Bring down the mattress and the cot and we’ll clean them up,’ Olive said, gulping her sherry. ‘You can use the front room till the roof ’s mended.’

Billy stood up. ‘I’ll borrow a roof tarpaulin from Taffy to keep out the weather.’ He grinned at his father. ‘You’ll be able to make use of that nice new toolbox
you got for Christmas, Dad.’

No one commented until Olive took another swallow of sherry and remarked, ‘Just as soon as he’s worked out how to open it.’

On New Year’s day, Vic took Connie for a drive. The mood at home was sombre. After the Wilmots’ deaths and the Spinks’ evacuation, everyone felt
vulnerable.

There was little traffic, but plenty of activity. People were salvaging what was left from the ruins; wardrobes, chests of drawers, tables and chairs, beds, birdcages, anything that could be
moved was moved. The devastation hadn’t stopped people burrowing, hammering and digging. The fire brigade’s hoses still lay on the streets as if to hint at more to come. Clouds of dust
rose up like walls. Horses pulled carts piled high with debris.

Queen Victoria Street was impassable. Prince’s Street now had a large crater in the middle of the road. The Houses of Parliament had been damaged. Masonry still toppled from the beautiful
ornate windows. There were warnings of unexploded bombs and dangers to the pedestrian, but no one took any notice. Life had to go on.

‘I feel blessed when I see all this,’ Connie sighed as she rested back in her seat. ‘We might have a hole in the roof but it’s nothing to what some people have
had.’

‘It’s making everyone stronger,’ Vic answered firmly as he swerved to avoid another hole in the road. ‘We’ll never give in. Winnie’s right. We’ll never
surrender.’

‘No, but there is a cost.’

‘It’s war, Connie. If we were prepared to live under a dictatorship, we’d have been trounced centuries ago.’ He pulled the car into the curb and switched off the engine.
They were by the Embankment. The river looked a misty grey. The sun broke through the clouds and sparkled off the water.

‘Sweetheart, I’ve got something to tell you.’

Connie felt her heart miss a beat. ‘What is it?’

‘I’ve been called up.’

Connie stared at him. She hadn’t really believed it would happen. ‘You won’t go, will you?’

‘I have to.’

‘But you had a reserved job.’

‘And anyone can fill it. I know it’s hard for you to understand. But fighting for my country is fighting for us. I’m coming back, I promise you. You mean the world to me and
now I’ve found you I never want to let you go.’

‘Then don’t,’ she begged. ‘Please stay.’

He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. ‘You don’t mean that,’ he murmured. ‘Do you?’

She pushed her face into his coat to hide her tears. His smell was so familiar, his voice, his laughter, his touch. She couldn’t bear to think of being without him. At this moment she
didn’t know if she had the courage to let him go.

He lifted her chin. ‘Let’s get engaged, Connie.’

‘But you’re going away.’

‘It will give me strength to know you’re waiting.’

For a moment she didn’t trust herself to answer. The most wonderful thing in the world was happening to her. The man she loved was asking her to be his wife. Yet the future was so
uncertain. If he went away to fight, would he ever return? She had seen other women waiting for letters that never arrived. There were wives at work whose husbands were missing and they were still
waiting, praying for a miracle, dreading the arrival of a telegram.

‘I want to say yes.’ She looked into his dark gaze. ‘But I’m scared.’

‘So am I.’ He nodded. ‘But you’re my brave little damsel and I’m your knight in shining armour. There’s no dragons we can’t slay together.’ He
pushed his hand in his pocket and brought out a small red box.

‘This is for you.’

Connie lifted the lid. She gasped. A bright blue jewel glinted in the morning light. ‘It’s a ring!’

‘The colour of your eyes, see? Sapphire.’ He slipped it on her finger.

‘It’s the loveliest ring I’ve ever seen.’

He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘So the answer is yes?’

She nodded. ‘But what about Mum and Dad?’

‘I’ll have to ask for their daughter’s hand in marriage, won’t I?’ He grinned as he lifted one eyebrow. ‘Think they’ll say yes?’

Connie smiled as she thought of her parents’ faces when Vic broke the news. A regular bloke was all they had ever wanted for her. And now Connie had to agree, it was all she wanted for
herself.

‘W
here the flippin’ heck are we?’ Vic muttered as he and his fellow conscripts disembarked from the bus. Pushing back his ruffled
dark hair with the palm of his hand and being vaguely aware that the stubble on his chin needed swift attention after the long journey from Paddington to North Wales, he nudged the arm of the young
man standing next to him.

Both men squinted up at the ornamental archway emblazoned with the words ‘HMS
Glendower
’. Beneath this was the not so carefully hidden greeting, ‘Welcome
Campers.’

‘Strike a light!’ exclaimed the tall, fair-haired young man with freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose.

Vic dropped his kit bag and eased his stiff shoulders back and forth. ‘Don’t count your chickens. Here comes the gaffer.’ He stood to what he thought resembled attention as the
uniformed officer strode towards the straggling bunch of young men who had tumbled wearily from the naval bus. The barked orders had them scurrying towards the camp’s reception area. Here
they were counted, re-checked and assaulted by a blast of tannoy. ‘All men who arrived on this morning’s bus report to the clothing store at the double.’

‘Struth,’ muttered George as he stamped his cold feet, ‘I thought the first thing they’d do is put food in our stomachs.’

‘Yeah,’ grinned Vic as they were frog-marched along to the clothing depot. ‘But then you can’t have everything On His Majesty’s Service.’

George laughed loudly, only to be stopped in his tracks by the thrust of a giant hand.

‘What’s so funny, son?’ bellowed the officer, causing George to stumble backwards.

‘Nothing – nothing.’

‘Nothing –
what
, you ignoramus!’

‘Sir, nothing,
sir
,’ George mumbled.

‘Blimey, don’t you know anything, lad? It’s Chief Petty Officer sir! – got it?’

Vic stood with his eyes in front of him not daring to look sideways as George was made to eat humble pie in front of the assembled. When they were marching again, George groaned.
‘I’ve gone off camping already.’

Vic smiled ruefully, wondering what Connie would make of all this. His emotions were divided between the desperate miss of her and the simple desire to get through his first day in the service
of his country. At least he had made a friend in George Mullen.

All thoughts of home vanished as they approached a counter staffed by a long line of Wrens.

‘Females!’ croaked George. ‘I’m not letting that big one take my trouser size.’

‘You’ll be lucky to get a smile,’ Vic remarked as each rookie sailor was solemnly kitted out with his uniform.

‘I’ve got thoroughbred legs,’ George complained as they were hurried on without the appearance of a tape measure. ‘I like my trousers to fit. I don’t want a tight
crutch or short bottoms.’

Vic grinned as he heaved a khaki bag over his shoulder that felt like the weight of an anchor. The two men were loaded with the last of their gear: a piece of grey canvas with brass eyelets, two
sizes of mess rope and two rough woollen blankets.

‘What’s this for?’ George asked curiously as lastly an ink pad and rubber stamp dropped on top of his kit.

‘What do you think, you fairy?’ demanded the Chief Petty Officer appearing from nowhere. ‘That is to mark your name on your kit bag, this is your ’ammock and these little
things are the ropes to ’ang it up with. Now, unless you have any more questions, sonny, get your arse out of this shed and into those clothes in double quick time.’

Once again Vic avoided eye contact with his superior and breathed a sigh of relief at his escape as the contingent of men were marched back to their freezing cold quarters.

‘Home from home,’ George remarked as the four inmates of billet 219, now stripped bare with just enough floor space to swing a cat, selected their corners.

Vic took hold of the piece of canvas that was to be his bed for the next three months and began to assemble its construction. His first day could have been worse. He was billeted with George and
two others, Tommy Drew and Sammy Kite, all three good blokes. But what was worrying him was what they had discovered from some of the other lads. HMS
Glendower
was a land training base for
naval gunners; some of the men had brothers or friends stationed here, all serving on the country’s merchant ships. It was common knowledge that a merchant ship was fitted with toy guns,
whilst the escorts did all the work. In Vic’s books he had a whole lot of fighting in front of him. Hiding behind the skirts of a Royal Naval battleship was not his idea of fighting a
war.