Some Lucky Day (23 page)

The roar of the fighter planes rose and fell as they crossed the skies in deadly battle, and Peggy could now distinguish between the sound of a Spitfire or Typhoon from a Messerschmitt 109, or a Focke-Wulf. And yet that was hardly something to be proud of, she thought wearily – even small children could do it after so many raids on their little town.

Cordelia finished her drink, took out her hearing aid and wished Peggy goodnight. Closing her eyes, she was soon asleep, untroubled by the terrible booms, bangs and whines that were going on.

Peggy tucked the blanket over her hands and up to her chin, for it could get very cold in this damp shelter as the night progressed. She then checked on Daisy before she settled down to wait out the raid.

Ron and the girls would be all right, for he’d converted the pub cellar into a shelter, and the walls of the ancient pub were sturdy enough so deep underground. Rita, Ruby and Lucy were only a few steps away from the shelter behind the hall which now served as a cinema, so she didn’t have to worry too much about them either.

She eyed her dreary surroundings with little pleasure. As long as this bit of corrugated iron kept off bullets, bombs and shrapnel then she’d be fine too, but she didn’t have much faith in it – not after experiencing the damage that could be done to bricks and mortar from a bomb that had fallen two streets away.

Determined not to dwell on these morbid thoughts, she reached into the box of necessities that was constantly restocked from her kitchen and pulled out the
Radio Times
magazine that had been delivered that morning. Settling down to read it by the flickering lamplight, she tried to ignore the awful noise going on overhead by concentrating on the review of a play that was to be broadcast early next week.

KITTY REALISED THAT
the air-raid precautions were well rehearsed, for within seconds of the siren going off, every single member of the hospital personnel came running. Within minutes she was lifted into a wheelchair, covered with a blanket and taken out of the ward along with the beds of those who couldn’t be moved.

The tide of beds, wheelchairs and walking wounded was moved efficiently down the long corridors to the sturdy ramps that led to the vast underground shelter beneath the house. And orchestrating it all was Matron, her booming voice rising above the siren and the roar of RAF fighters.

Kitty was amazed by the enormous cellar, for it was even bigger than the one beneath Charlotte’s home in Berkshire. But if there had ever been wine stored down here, there was no sign of it now, for the floor had been concreted, the walls painted army issue beige, and the lights protected by wire cages. The NAAFI had set up a makeshift canteen at one end, and there were canvas screens to give privacy for those who needed to use the commodes or bedpans.

The beds were pushed against the wall in a neat line, leaving a large central space where a collection of chairs and couches had been placed to accommodate those who were mobile. There was a gramophone and a pile of scratched records on a low table, and lots of rather tattered magazines and newspapers to help while away the time until the all-clear sounded.

Kitty watched the nurses and doctors move among the patients with quiet efficiency as the orderlies tidied blankets and pillows and the canteen staff bustled about preparing tea in the vast urn and making piles of spam sandwiches.

Doreen flopped into the chair beside her. ‘It’s a blooming cheek, that’s what,’ she said crossly. ‘Why can’t flaming Jerry stay on his own side of the Channel for once? I was really enjoying the film.’

Kitty hadn’t fancied going into the big common room to watch a Laurel and Hardy film, preferring to read a magazine in bed. She giggled at Doreen’s crossness. ‘I don’t think Jerry picked you out to annoy you personally, Doreen. He’s not fussy who he drops his bombs on.’

‘Yeah, well. It’s a flaming nuisance, that’s what.’ She folded her arms around her waist and pouted. ‘You’re not even allowed to ’ave a fag down ’ere, either,’ she continued. ‘It’s a right bugger, and I’m just about fed up with it.’

‘Never mind, Doreen,’ Kitty soothed. ‘It’s better to be down here without a fag than up there with all the bombs.’

She grinned. ‘Yeah, I suppose yer right.’ She tightened the belt on her garish dressing gown and smoothed it over her thighs, then regarded Kitty thoughtfully. ‘I see you ’ad a visit from one of yer mates in the ATA,’ she said. ‘I recognised her from the
Picture Post
an’ all. She’s the society deb, Charlotte Bingham, ain’t she?’

Kitty nodded. ‘We were at school together and joined the ATA at the same time.’

‘Cor, were you a deb as well? Did ya get to meet the King and Queen?’

She smiled. ‘No, I wasn’t presented at court. The debutante season is for the daughters of the very rich and well connected, and although Charlotte’s parents offered to sponsor me, I didn’t want to go through all that dreadful rigmarole of being mauled about by chinless wonders with two left feet. The whole thing is little more than a cattle market for pushy parents to get their daughters married off to someone even richer.’

Doreen roared with laughter. ‘You are a scream, Kitty. Blimey, gel, you should be on the stage.’

Kitty couldn’t really see what Doreen was finding so funny, but let it pass. ‘I’m surprised
you
never went on the stage,’ she said. ‘You’ve got enough personality to fill a theatre.’

Doreen shrugged. ‘I’d’ve loved it, if the truth be known,’ she admitted with a sigh of longing. ‘I always fancied being a dancer like in the Busby Berkeley films where the girls get to wear gorgeous frocks and feathers, but I ’ad to earn a proper living to help out me mum. I’m the oldest of nine, you see.’

Kitty couldn’t begin to imagine being one of nine, or how it must be to live in one of the awful hovels or tenements of the East End that she’d seen on the Pathé News, and her admiration grew for this cheerful girl who seemed to meet every disaster with a curse and a grin. ‘Have your mother and the younger ones moved down here too?’ she asked.

Doreen shook her head, her fiery curls bouncing on her shoulders. ‘The three eldest boys are in the army. Me sister’s got a sprog now, so she lends an ’and with the WVS, and the other one’s joined the Wrens. The littler ones were evacuated to Somerset for a bit, but Mum didn’t like the thought of them being farmed out with strangers who might not look after them proper, so she brought ’em home again.’ She gave a wan smile. ‘Turns out she were right, ’cos they come home with horrible great boils on their bums through being fed beetroot and not much else.’

‘But that’s awful,’ gasped Kitty. ‘I hope she complained to the authorities.’

‘Gawd bless you, Kitty,’ chuckled Doreen. ‘People like us don’t complain to them what’s in charge. There was no real ’arm done, and they’re right as rain now.’

They both fell silent as they listened to the distant thunder of the bombers and Kitty wondered if Freddy and Roger were up there in their Spitfires, fighting for their lives. She closed her eyes and silently prayed that they’d come through.

‘He’ll be all right,’ soothed Doreen, who’d obviously read her thoughts. ‘Blokes like your Freddy have charmed lives.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ murmured Kitty. ‘But it only takes a second of lost concentration, or a stray bullet . . .’

‘It’s a bugger, all right,’ Doreen said cheerfully, ‘but there ain’t no point in getting down about it and thinking the worst. What you need is another game of five card brag.’ She pulled the pack of greasy cards from her dressing gown pocket and waggled it under Kitty’s nose. ‘Up for it?’

Kitty smiled and nodded. ‘As long as you’ve got the matches to lose, I’m up for it.’

The all-clear sounded just after eleven, and once Peggy had settled Daisy back in her cot and Cordelia in her bed, she went downstairs to put the kettle on the hob. There was just about enough cocoa to go round, and with the extra ration of milk she got because of the baby it would be nice and creamy.

Sarah, Jane, Suzy and Fran came in giggling. ‘Honest to God, Auntie Peg,’ said Fran as she plumped into a kitchen chair. ‘Ron’s got a complete home from home down in the cellar. There’s a bar and a kettle for tea, a gramophone and records, and even a couple of old couches and chairs. It was quite a party.’

Peggy realised that all four girls were slightly tipsy but she said nothing, for it was good to see Fran almost back to her old self. ‘And where is Ron?’ she asked casually as she doled out the cups of cocoa.

‘He’s helping Rosie tidy the bar and clean the glasses,’ said Suzy as she blew on the hot cocoa. ‘There’s little doubt he knows you’re cross with him, and I think he’s rather hoping that you’ll be in bed by the time he gets back.’

Peggy didn’t reply, for the anger had dwindled into mild annoyance and she was far too tired to start a row at this time of night. She glanced at the clock. ‘Rita should be back by now.’

‘We saw her taking Ruby home, so she shouldn’t be long,’ said Sarah. ‘There was no damage to Cliffehaven tonight, so she won’t have to go back on duty until her shift tomorrow.’ She finished her cocoa and washed out the mug. ‘Come on, Jane, we’ve both got a very early start in the morning. It’s time for bed.’

One by one the girls finished their drinks, washed out their mugs and kissed Peggy goodnight before trooping up the stairs to their rooms.

Peggy refilled the flasks with water and washed out the tin mugs and the kettle before putting them back into the air-raid box alongside the packet of biscuits, the matches, candles and first-aid kit. She folded the blankets and stacked them in a corner with the pillows, hung up the overcoats and dampened down the fire in the range. Turning out the light, she wearily crossed the hall in the darkness and went into her bedroom.

Sinking onto the bed, she flopped against the pillows and closed her eyes. It had been a very long, trying day – the sort of day when she’d felt Jim’s absence most strongly. She curled her knees up and hugged the pillow, missing him so much it was an ache weighing heavy in her heart. Where he was and what he was doing was a mystery, and all she could do was pray that he’d soon get some leave.

Peggy woke to the sound of Daisy’s furious yells, and for a moment she wondered what on earth she was doing lying on top of the bedcovers fully dressed and shivering with cold. Then she remembered how tired she’d been last night, and realised that while she was thinking of Jim she must have nodded off.

Daisy was standing in her cot and clutching at the rails as she bawled with fury, and Peggy groggily left the bed to see to her. ‘It’s all right,’ she soothed as she quickly peeled off the sodden nappy and wrapped her in a blanket. ‘Mummy will soon have you all clean and dry. Just please stop yelling. You’re giving me a headache.’

She carried her into the kitchen where she found that Rita and Jane had already left for their early shifts, and the other girls had prepared the breakfast porridge and were also on the point of leaving. There was still no sign of Ron or Harvey, but Fran looked much better this morning, Peggy noted as she filled the sink with warm water and tried to placate the screaming Daisy with a brightly coloured teething ring.

The ring was angrily thrown to the floor and Peggy took a deep breath. It was going to be another one of those days.

‘I’m seeing Anthony this evening,’ said Suzy. She fastened her nursing cloak round her neck and then picked up a small case. ‘I’ll change my clothes at the hospital. Anthony’s picking me up from there and taking me out to dinner, so don’t keep me any tea. I shouldn’t be too late; we’ve both got early starts in the morning.’

‘I’ll be back for me tea,’ said Fran. ‘I’ve some darning to do on me stockings, and Matron says I’m not to have any more until there’s more darn than stocking.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘To be sure, that woman’s mean.’

‘Well, there is a war on and stockings aren’t easy to come by,’ said Peggy as she struggled to wash a squirming, kicking Daisy in the sink and not get soaked herself.

‘Don’t I just know it,’ muttered Fran.

The three girls left together, and moments later Cordelia came into the kitchen. ‘Good morning, dear,’ she said brightly. ‘The papers have come. Isn’t it a marvel that, despite everything, we still get milk and papers delivered every morning without fail – even on a Sunday?’

‘It certainly is,’ said Peggy as she lifted Daisy out of the sink and wrapped her in a towel. ‘And it’s girls like little Jane that we have to thank for that. She’s up before the birds every morning to bring the milk, and is always cheerful.’

Sitting down at the table, she began to dry Daisy, and then had to wrestle her into a clean nappy, rubber pants and a cotton dress. At least she wasn’t yelling any more, Peggy thought thankfully, but she was clearly full of energy this morning and would no doubt prove to be a handful for the rest of the day.

With Daisy finally ensconced in the high chair, she drank the tea Cordelia had poured for her, and then spoon-fed Daisy some milky porridge. ‘So, what’s in the papers this morning?’ she asked Cordelia in the blessed silence.

‘Nothing to cheer about, as usual,’ the elderly woman replied sadly. ‘The Germans lost thirty-three fighters in the raid yesterday, but in the process, we lost fifteen bombers. There’s fierce fighting on the Russian Front, and the destroyer
Fearless
was lost defending a convoy in the Mediterranean. There was a bad raid on London the other night, and a vast number of Japanese troops are pouring into Indo-China. The only good news is that some German air-ace has committed suicide,’ she finished with a sniff.

Peggy was about to reply when Ron came stumping up the cellar steps, followed swiftly by Harvey, who delightedly began to lick the remains of Daisy’s porridge from her face.

‘Don’t do that,’ she scolded as she pushed his great head away and swiftly cleaned the laughing baby with a damp flannel. ‘Honestly, Ron,’ she said in exasperation, ‘can’t you
ever
keep him under control?’

He eyed her warily from beneath his bushy brows as he shooed the dog out into the garden. ‘I’m thinking you’re still a wee bit put out that I took Daisy on me fishing trip,’ he said.