The Blitz (2 page)

 

 

Mum's been like a cat on hot bricks since Frank's visit. I caught her moping in the kitchen after he'd roared off down the road towards Bromley. She said Frank had told her bad things.

Apparently there's German aircraft in the skies over Kent every day now, trying to take pictures, and Frank says it's only a matter of time before they try to shoot up the airfields. After that he thinks they really will start bombing London.

Building the Anderson has made it all seem so much more real. Dad's taking it more seriously too. He checked all our gas masks last night and made Tom and me practise putting them on, in case Hitler puts poison gas in the bombs. When you look in the mirror, it's like there's a monster or a creature from outer space looking back at you.

Then after dark we tried out the shelter. Dad's made it as comfortable as possible with a bit of old carpet laid across the planks, but it's cold and clammy even on a nice warm and dry July evening. Whatever's it going to be like when it rains and it's the middle of winter? As soon as we got in there, Tom decided he wanted to go to the toilet. Mum tutted and said he should have thought of that earlier. That's all very well, but what if we're in the shelter for hours, and the bombs are falling? What do we do then? Run inside the house and go as quickly as possible, I suppose. Dad won't have time to read the newspaper like he usually does!

 

 

What a cheek! I know Mr Churchill, the Prime Minister, says we've got to “dig for victory”, because Britain needs to grow more food, but digging up the Lewisham municipal park's going a bit far! Where am I going to walk Chamberlain now?

I said to Dad I couldn't see the point, what with it being July. There wasn't anything they could plant. Dad said he reckoned they'd put in allotments and everyone would grow cabbages. Wonderful! So not only is the park going to look horrible, it's going to smell awful too. Not fair!

Shirl's got herself a boyfriend at last. I'm sure she has. If not, who was the bloke who walked her home after work last night?

 

 

The strangest thing happened yesterday, really frightening. It's getting dark slightly earlier again now, and when I went up to bed at about nine o'clock there wasn't enough light to read. Shirl needed to take off her warpaint and we had two candles lit in the room so we could both just about see without having the electric on. Anyway, we mustn't have drawn the curtains properly, because five minutes later there's a huge knock on the door like the world's coming to an end and when Mum answers it she finds a policeman on the doorstep making a fuss. Then he elbows his way past her into the house, saying someone's signalling to the Germans.

Mum tells him as politely as she can that he must be off his rocker, but he demands to see our room and waltzes upstairs to give us a right bawling out, shouting didn't we know there was a blackout and were we on Jerry's side? Shirl was completely shocked and embarrassed, and I cowered under the eiderdown. Good job Shirl still had most of her clothes on!

When he'd finally gone Mum went completely mad. She didn't know whether to be more annoyed with us for showing her up, or with him for being so rude and barging in like that. Shirl and I ended up in tears and all in all it was a horrible end to the evening. When Dad came home at the end of his shift this morning, Mum packed him off down the police station to tell the desk sergeant what he thought, but I don't see what good that'll do.

I suppose the blackout's necessary. It makes sense that we shouldn't give the Jerry bombers any idea of what's on the ground, but it doesn't half cause problems. Dad said it was a good thing it was only a beat copper and not one of the ARP wardens who usually go round telling people to put lights out, because they really
are
little dictators. Then Mum shocked us all by saying that if you can't beat 'em you should join 'em, and that she thought she'd apply to be a warden, because none of them had two grains of sense to rub together and if things got really nasty we couldn't afford to leave it to morons. So that'll be four of the family with uniforms, five if you include what Shirl has to wear for Chiesman's. Shirl said I could always join the girl guides if I was so desperate. I told her she must be joking. No uniform was worth that!

 

 

You've got to hand it to Mum. If she says she's going to do something there's no stopping her. Yesterday she went down and signed up as an ARP warden, just like she'd said. No uniform, though. Just an arm-band with ARP (for “Air Raid Precautions”) written on it in big white letters.

Dad laughed when he saw her. “We're all in trouble now, Beattie,” he said. “Signed up just like that! How do they know you aren't a German spy?”

“Sid Bazeley's running the show down there,” Mum answered, unpinning her hat. “If he doesn't know I'm not a spy, there's something wrong. We were kids together in Madras Terrace. There's a few stories I could tell you about Sid!”

Ever since Shirl and I had our spot of bother last week, Mum's been flapping about the blackout. She checks our room every evening, and makes us pin up spare blankets round the window.

“Now it won't matter what you two monkeys get up to,” she says.

I suppose if she's going to be a warden and boss other people about, she's got to keep things tight at home.

The warden's post is in our old school, down Hengist Road. They moved in as soon as the kids were evacuated last year. There hasn't been any proper school since, because all the teachers were evacuated as well, and it's funny to think of the wardens sitting in our old classrooms drinking tea. Mum says it's about time the ARP did something more for people than just shouting at them. She's got ideas about running concerts, and parties for the kids and all that. We'll see. From what I remember of Sid Bazeley, it's not the kind of thing he'd go for. He keeps a fruit and veg shop up towards Catford and he's always been as miserable as sin with us kids.

As far as the blackout goes, there's good news and bad news. You'd be surprised at the number of accidents that happen because no one can see anything in the dark. Last week in Dad's local paper I read that someone was killed falling off a railway platform over near Bromley. And just down the road old Annie Makins toppled off the kerb one night and broke her ankle, poor thing! In some places they're painting the kerbs white, and even putting a white band round postboxes so that you don't walk into them, but they haven't got to Summerfield Road yet.

The good news? You should just see the stars! In the old days before the war they were always hidden by the street lights. Now on clear evenings the sky's jet-black and covered with millions of sparkly diamonds. You can even see the Milky Way stretching across like a sort of gauzy scarf.

 

 

I'm really bored. It's raining and it doesn't feel like the summer holidays one bit. But then since there's no school terms now, what's a holiday and what isn't?

When everyone was evacuated last year, it was great at first. As I said, all the teachers went off with the kids, and there wasn't anyone left to run the schools so we had to stop at home. But I really didn't want to be packed off to Sussex or Devon or somewhere where we wouldn't know anybody, and I could see Tom was scared stiff too. I got myself in a right state worrying till finally Mum said they'd send Tom and me away over her dead body.

Mrs Chambers from the school paid us a visit to try to make her change her mind. I was listening outside the front parlour door and there was quite a row. Mrs Chambers said Mum was setting a bad example. She ought to do what the government said was best. Mum said she didn't like anyone telling her what to do when it came to her children. Mrs Chambers snapped: what would Mum feel like if a bomb dropped and Tom and me were killed?

Mum didn't say anything for a moment. I put my ear right to the keyhole and heard her whisper that if we were, she hoped we'd all go together, and she wasn't going to give in to threats from Hitler or Mrs Chambers, thank you. And that was that.

So, most of this year, Tom and me have spent three mornings each week with Mrs Riley. She used to be a teacher until she retired. Mrs Riley's very nice, but it's not like school. For starters she has trouble staying awake a whole morning, and though she's all right at reading and writing, I know more about geography than she does. Tom isn't interested at all. It's all Mrs Riley can do to keep him in his seat for ten minutes at a time, he's such a shufflebottom. I read with him a bit each day and give him a few sums to do. The rest of the time I help Mum, and do as many paper rounds as I can for Mr Lineham. He owns the corner shop.

So you see I miss school, and my friends. Especially when it's raining like it is today!

The same bloke walked Shirl home again last evening. Looks a bit old for her, if you ask me! And he's got a moustache. I won't ask Shirl if it tickles!

 

 

Yesterday was my birthday. I can't quite believe I'm twelve. I keep saying, “Edie Benson is twelve years old!” to myself. I think it sounds much better than eleven, don't you?

Mind you, it was a funny start to a birthday. We were all in the Anderson half of Thursday night. The sirens went at nine in the evening and then again somewhere around midnight, so we were all a bit bleary-eyed by the morning. There's still no bombs, leastways not that we've heard. I wonder what it's going to be like when they do start falling?

In Mum's
Woman's Own
the “Doctor's Note” column says if you want to sleep at night you should eat lots of lettuce and nothing at all in the evenings. Oh, and cotton wool ear plugs are supposed to help too. I bet the Doctor doesn't spend his nights with four other people in a hole the size of a rabbit hutch! Is that why rabbits eat lettuce? To help them sleep?

There was a lovely surprise at tea-time. Maureen had got some leave and turned up on the doorstep with a big bunch of flowers for Mum, and a really nice hair-band for me. Fancy that! I'd been secretly hoping Frank would get home too, but at least he remembered to send a card to his “favourite not-so-little sister”.

In the evening we all went off to the Lewisham Hippodrome to see
Over the Rainbow
, with me feeling very grown up about going out to the theatre of an evening. Even Dad managed to wangle out of a shift to come with us.
Over the Rainbow
is the Wizard of Oz story, just like the film with Judy Garland that everyone's talking about. It was so funny and sad and beautiful, and even though we were sitting right up at the back it was a wonderful treat for a special day. Best of all, we got right through the evening without an air-raid warning, so well done Frank and the lads in the RAF. They must have scared the bombers away just for me. By the time we'd walked back to Summerfield Road we were all properly done for, what with the lack of sleep from the previous night.

One of the things I miss about school is not being in plays. I'd really, really like to be Dorothy in the
Wizard of Oz
. Last night I just wanted to jump up on stage and sing along.

 

 

Today was Civil Defence Day in Lewisham, and of course Mum had to be on duty along with all the other wardens. Dad was working, and went out grumbling. They'd all been told to turn up with their shoes shined and their uniforms smartly pressed. “Someone important” was coming to inspect them. “Don't they know there's a war on?” he muttered. “We've got more than enough work to do, without standing around waiting for la-di-da rubberneckers.”

Shirl had gone off to Chiesman's at about half past seven, so when Tom and I'd done the breakfast dishes and got the house more or less straight (well I had!) we sneaked out to see what was going on.

Until we talked about it the other evening, I hadn't cottoned on that Mum's going to be right in the thick of things if the bombs do start falling. When a factory or a house gets hit the wardens are supposed to get there as quick as they can. They take a quick shufti and then they've got to telephone the Town Hall to tell the ARP centre what's happened. How many people have been hurt or killed? Is anyone still trapped in the rubble? Then they do what's necessary, rescuing people and giving first aid until proper help arrives.

Mum's very brave. It made me shudder to think about finding dead bodies and things. I don't think I could do it.

Down by Finch's Builders' Yard there was a crowd gawping at something, but we couldn't get close enough to see. Tom amazes me, really he does. He knows the alleys and back doubles much better than me, and eventually he found a wall we could sit on with a view out over the yard.

Everyone was pretending a bomb had just fallen. We couldn't see Mum but various wardens were running around like scalded cats. There were people lying on the ground. They were groaning loudly and waving their arms and legs to show they were injured until nurses came and bandaged them up. None of them would have won any prizes for acting. Then they were stretchered off into a couple of ambulances. After five minutes of this Tom was already saying, “I've had enough,” so we jumped down from the wall and walked on into Lewisham. Occasionally we could hear the bells on the fire engines ringing, so we headed for the Fire Station, me trying to keep up with Tom.

“Just make sure Dad doesn't see us,” I shouted at his heels. “We'll catch it if he does, especially today!” Dad doesn't like us hanging around the Station. “Work and home?” he says. “Oil and water!”

The crowd around the Fire Station was huge, so this time there was nothing for it but to push to the front. There was a lot of excited chatter.

“Let the littl'uns through,” said a big lady wearing a pink and yellow headscarf who was looming behind us. “They'll want to see royalty.” As the crowd parted, she shoved us forward, using us as the excuse for her to get a better view too.

I turned my head and asked her, “What royalty?” and over the crowd's cheering she shouted, “It's the King and Queen, ducks! Come to see how the other half lives!”

In front of us we could see a line of firemen standing against a gleaming fire engine, while with their backs to us a man in smart military uniform moved slowly down the line accompanied by a lady in a blue feathered hat. We were just in time to see them pass Dad. The King stopped and seemed to say something, and Dad bowed his head slightly, smiling a reply.

“It's not the King!” said Tom a bit too loudly. “Where's his crown?”

“Don't be so daft,” I said. “You don't think he carries it with him everywhere, do you?” Tom tutted. “You're the end, you are,” I said. “Here's your dad meeting the King, and all you care is that he's not wearing the Crown Jewels on his head.”

A few minutes later, the King and Queen shook the mayor's hand and sped off in shiny black cars towards Blackheath. Then there were some rescue demonstrations with people jumping off the Fire Station tower into sheets, and firemen showing how to put out pretend incendiary bombs – the little ones that don't blow you up, but just burn you to death by starting fires. Apparently you don't throw water over them like everyone thinks. That only makes things worse. You have to use sand. I think Tom enjoyed that more than seeing the King.

“Funny thing about that inspection, Beat. . .” Dad said to Mum later at tea.

“I know,” she said. “I heard. Didn't come to see us workers, did they?” She sounded miffed, but she was only joking. Proud really.

“Spoke to me, he did,” said Dad, looking round at us all. “Our King spoke . . . to
me
.”

Dad had us in the palm of his hand. We were holding our breath waiting to hear details of this great conversation.

“Do you want to know what he said, then?”

We all nodded our heads. Dad pulled his mouth wide, showed his teeth and put on a high-class accent, “‘
Isn't it a laavely day
'.”

“Bert!” said Mum.

“He did!” said Dad. “Come to Lewisham to cheer us up, and talks about the weather. I ask you! I feel so much better now!” He shook his head.

“At least he came!” said Mum. “They could just hide away in a bunker, you know!”