Sweet Memories of You (Beach View Boarding House) (25 page)

‘That’s settled then,’ he said as he dumped his coat on a nearby chair and reached for the sharpest kitchen knife to prepare part of the belly for rolling and roasting and score the skin.

‘It’s very sweet,’ murmured Cordelia as she gently ran her finger over the tiny black head. ‘But haven’t you got enough to contend with without looking after a crippled kitten? Besides, Harvey might eat it.’

‘Harvey likes cats,’ Ron said over his shoulder.

Harvey whined and tried to clamber onto Peggy’s lap so he could sniff the new arrival. The tiny creature hissed and struggled in her hands and Peggy was terrified she might drop it right into Harvey’s jaws.

‘Leave them be, Peg,’ said Ron. ‘Animals have their own way of getting to know one another. They’ll soon sort out who’s boss.’

Peggy was certain that the kitten would either get chewed or trampled by Harvey, who was now eagerly trying to lick it. ‘Get down, Harvey. Sit and stay,’ she ordered.

Harvey sat with his tongue lolling and his ears pricked, his amber gaze fixed eagerly on the ball of fluff that was now staring at him rather imperiously from Peggy’s lap. He’d obviously learned nothing from this morning’s run-in with the tom, for his endless curiosity got the better of him and he simply couldn’t resist giving the kitten just one more sniff.

A tiny paw shot out and a set of claws batted his nose twice in quick succession.

Harvey backed away and whined, his gaze sorrowful as his head drooped and he sloped off to the safety of the rug in front of the range. With a snort of disgust he stretched full length, his back to everyone, one paw placed protectively over his poor battered nose.

Before Peggy could stop it, the little creature scooted down her leg and softly landed on the floor. It eyed Harvey for a moment and then, dragging its back leg, stalked across the room, traversed the mound of Harvey’s ribcage and, after turning in a tight circle several times, settled down between his paws and started to purr.

Harvey lifted his head and looked back at them all, the realisation in his sorrowful eyes that he was now at the mercy of a tiny tyrant who seemed determined to usurp his place at Beach View and make his life a misery.

‘Well, I never,’ breathed Cordelia.

‘Oh, poor Harvey,’ said Peggy through her giggles.

‘He’ll be fine, so he will,’ said Ron. ‘They’ll come to their own arrangement, you’ll see.’

Peggy watched as Harvey rested his head back down onto the rug and gave a sigh of defeat. But she noticed that he didn’t seem to mind that the kitten had now shifted so that it was snuggled against his belly. As the kitten purred contentedly and Harvey began to snore she realised Ron was right – as always.

‘We have to find a name for it,’ she said. ‘What sex is it?’

‘Female, so Chalky reckons.’

‘We should call her Queenie then,’ said Cordelia. ‘She’s certainly put Harvey in his place and is obviously destined to rule us all.’

Peggy laughed. ‘That’s perfect, Cordelia, but I get the feeling that we’ll all be run ragged with yet another little soul to look after.’

‘Ach, Peggy, girl. You’re at your best when you’ve a waif or stray to care for.’ Ron turned from the sink and gave her an affectionate wink.

It was late Sunday and the rest of the household were sleeping peacefully as Ivy slipped downstairs. The sweet little kitten was fast asleep at Harvey’s side in front of the range, having avoided being strangled by an overexcited Daisy, and trampled on by an unwary Rita. She’d never lived with pets before, but their presence seemed to enhance the feeling of home, and she silently vowed that when she had somewhere of her own, she’d think about a cat or dog for company.

She pulled on her coat, grabbed her gas-mask box and headed out of the door. The night was cold after what had been a pleasant spring day, with the wind whipping up from a stormy sea, but the moon was bright and the sky was clear. It was a perfect bomber’s moon, and Ivy suspected there might be a raid at some point, which would be a ruddy nuisance, because it interrupted work and cost her a loss of earnings.

She headed up the hill, taking the back roads up to the factory estate, her thoughts happily occupied with the plans she and Rita had made for the following evening. She’d be glad to get off the night shifts, for it left little time for any sort of fun, and she found it hard to sleep through the day, even with the blackout curtains pulled.

Her four friends were waiting for her at the gates, and after teasing the guard, which had become a bit of a ritual, they went giggling and chattering into the munitions factory alongside hundreds of others. The workforce was a mixture of women of all ages, young boys, and men who were either too old for service or suffered from some disability. But that made no difference to the cheerful atmosphere, for there was a sense of camaraderie, the knowledge that they’d get a good pay packet at the end of this shift, and the feeling that despite all the dangers, they were united in doing a job that would help England win the war.

The girls went their separate ways and the night shift began with the machines thumping away, the stink of sulphur everywhere, and someone singing a favourite dance tune to which most of them could join in. Ivy sang along happily, not really concerned that her voice sounded more like a crow than a blackbird. She glanced round and noted that most of the others seemed to be in a good mood, cracking jokes and telling stories – although there were one or two who were a bit glum, and Ivy wondered if they’d had bad news or simply weren’t feeling well amid the stink of all that sulphur.

She was actually feeling quite chirpy, for her mum had written to say that the gas board had given her dad a promotion and that she was saving hard to try and get enough money together so they could come down to the seaside for a visit. Her eldest brother had written to say he’d met a very nice girl in Liverpool on his last leave and was thinking about asking her to marry him, and her sister, Edith, was madly in love with some Yank who was promising her the earth if only she’d spend the night with him.

Edith had of course turned him down flat, but from the tone of her letter, Ivy knew that she was definitely considering it. She just hoped she’d be careful. The Yanks were only here for a short while before they were posted away, and although they could charm the birds out of the trees with their white teeth and wholesome good looks, they were the same as all other men and were after only one thing. The last thing her sister needed was to end up in the club, for it would mean losing her job and having to face their father, who would rant and rave and probably chuck her out of the house.

Ivy set aside her concerns for her sister. Edith was old enough to know the score, and they’d both had the riot act read to them by their father, so she also knew the consequences if she stepped out of line. She continued to work as she sang along and swapped gossip with Dot and Freda, who were working alongside her. The shift had only just started and it would be hours until they could take a break, so it was best to keep up the chat and the singing to make the time go faster.

An hour had passed and she’d just been to get her can refilled when the siren began to wail. She dumped the can on her workbench and shot a questioning look at her two friends. ‘Shall we bother, or not?’ she asked.

Freda shrugged. ‘It’ll probably be just the usual routine, with Jerry going over us to get to poor old London – and we’ll miss out on an hour’s pay. I’m staying put.’

‘I’m off to the shelter for a sit-down and me sandwiches,’ said Dot. ‘Are you sure you wanna risk it ’ere?’

‘I’ll leave it a bit and see how it goes,’ said Freda.

Ivy was uncertain and she looked round to see what everyone else was doing. It was quite usual to ignore the sirens, and her friend Freda was one of several who were determinedly still working, but the majority of the others were heading obediently for the two flights of iron stairs and the safety of the large underground shelter on the far side of the estate.

‘Nah, I’ll be all right,’ she said. ‘See you later, Dot.’ As her friend rushed off, Ivy started on filling yet another shell with the TNT.

The sirens stopped wailing and above the thud of the machines she could hear the planes taking off from Cliffe. ‘The RAF boys will soon sort out Jerry,’ she shouted above the racket. ‘Then we can all just get on with winning this war.’

There was a chorus of agreement from the few left behind, but despite her bravado, Ivy was beginning to have second thoughts about staying here. It would take time to get down those stairs if there was a last-minute crush, and then about another four minutes to run to the shelter over the far side of the estate.

She kept alert for the sound of Jerry bombers and continued working, glancing across at Fred, who was manning the big mixer. If someone as old as Fred had the guts to stay, then it would be a pretty poor show if she shot off like a scalded cat.

Minutes later there was a thunderous roar overhead and Ivy recognised the sound of the Jerry bombers. The danger signal rang out as the crump and whoosh of incendiary bombs and flares could be heard all over the estate. Jerry was attacking them and they were sitting on a powder keg. It was time to get out before the whole place blew up.

She and the others dashed for the stairs, urging Fred to hurry up and not get left behind, but he was at least sixty-five, with a pronounced limp and terrible short-sightedness, so Freda and Ivy got hold of his arms and virtually carried him down the stairs. And then the lights went out, plunging them into utter blackness.

‘Go careful, Fred, we don’t want you taking a tumble.’ Ivy was wishing she’d put a new battery in her torch – not that it would have done much good, she realised, for it was down in the changing room.

Fumbling in the darkness with Fred stumbling blindly between them, they slowly descended the stairs and joined the stragglers who were pouring out of the lower floor. They finally reached the bottom, but one look outside told them it was too late to try and reach the shelter. Enemy planes were circling overhead as British fighters harried them; anti-aircraft guns were thudding; searchlights flashed back and forth as tracers stitched red lines into the sky; and the air was full of smoke and phosphorus from the enemy flares as incendiary bombs shook the earth and sent a sea of flame across the factory concourse.

‘The basement,’ shouted Freda. ‘Get down into the basement.’

Ivy and Freda had sheltered down there several times, so they quickly got Fred down the concrete steps and into the great square space that ran the length and breadth of the munitions factory. All of them were aware that there were two floors above them, each containing hundreds of tons of machinery, live shells and gallons of TNT – and if the place went up like a Roman candle, then they would too. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and they just had to pray that Jerry’s aim would be off and that the factory wouldn’t take a direct hit.

The heavy iron door clanged shut behind them, blotting out the bright flares and flashes from outside and muffling the sounds of bombs and bombers; but the hurricane lamps had been lit, giving them just enough light to be able to see their way to the benches which had been put around the walls.

It always struck Ivy as rather strange that they always chose the same place to sit, and she and Freda sat down on their usual bench, while Fred stretched out his legs, closed his eyes and prepared to have a snooze until the all-clear went. There was no sign of Mabel, or Gladys, but there were plenty of others in the basement who’d left it until the last minute.

As they settled on the bench, Ivy became aware of a strange sort of hush in the semi-darkness. It was as if they were in church, for people talked in low voices as they discussed the prospect of a long or short raid, and their worries over their homes and families. Ivy could hear the muffled thuds from outside and wondered if they were guns or bombs. It was difficult to tell, but it seemed to her that there was a full-scale attack going on up there.

She leaned back against the cold stone wall, wishing she’d had time to collect her coat and the sandwiches Peggy had made for her with some of that lovely pork they’d had for lunch. She could still taste it even now and her stomach gurgled at the memory of golden roast potatoes, glistening meat and crisp, salty crackling.

Freda had moved along the bench a bit and was chatting to one of the other girls as the bangs and crumps continued to go on above them. The talk amongst those sitting in the basement grew louder, and soon there was laughter and the passing round of biscuits. To everyone’s delight, an accordion struck up in the far corner and a group of men began to sing along. Ivy closed her eyes with pleasure, for although she couldn’t understand a word of it, those Welsh boys could certainly sing a lovely tune.

Freda and the other girl wandered over to join the men in their sing-song, while Fred sat up and pulled a packet of sandwiches from his jacket pocket and shared them with his old pal Charlie, who acted as caretaker for the factory. Ivy shifted away from them so she could concentrate on reading a magazine someone had left behind during a previous raid.

As time passed and the guns and planes continued to rumble overhead, some chose to settle down for a bit of a sleep, while others got out packs of cards to while away the hours. It promised to be a very long night.

Ivy gave up on the magazine, it was simply too dark down here to read it properly and her eyes were starting to ache. She curled up on the bench and closed her eyes, hoping to snatch a bit of kip before she had to return to work.

The dull thud came without warning and rocked the ground beneath their feet. Bright lights stabbed the darkness for a blinding second and then there was a deep-throated rumble that made the walls tremble.

‘We’ve been hit!’

Ivy was snapped awake by the piercing scream from the other side of the basement. She froze in terror as the rumbling noise increased and she realised that the whole building was collapsing on top of them like a monstrous pack of cards, bringing with it the hundreds of tons of machinery and liquid TNT. She opened her mouth to scream for Freda, but something heavy knocked her flying – and the world went black.