Till the Sun Shines Through (33 page)

‘The weans,' she said to Peggy.

‘I hear them,' Peggy said. ‘I'm away, but I'll look in tomorrow. Ten bob – have it ready!'

Mary and Peggy passed each other in the doorway. ‘What did she want?' Mary asked, almost as soon as she was in the door.

‘To say she was sorry about Francis. Sorry for me, I mean,' Bridie said. ‘I nearly told her what I really thought but managed to stop myself.'

‘What was that, Auntie Bridie?' Jamie asked, and Mary gave her eldest son a cuff.

‘My fault,' Bridie said with a wry smile. ‘I forgot about little pigs having big ears,' and to her young nephew, she added, ‘and as for you, you can mind you own business and not worry a jot about mine.'

‘Don't encourage Peggy McKenna,' Mary warned.

‘I don't.'

‘Well, she's never away from the place,' Mary said. ‘People tell me. They wonder at it because no one else has much time for her.'

‘God, you can't blow your nose in this place before someone has you dead and buried,' Bridie snapped angrily, the stress of the fraught funeral, the insidious blackmailing of Peggy McKenna and the difficulty of getting her hands on ten shillings before the morning getting to her. ‘I wish everyone would mind their own bloody business!'

‘Oh well, if that's your attitude,' Mary said huffily.

Bridie immediately felt contrite. ‘Oh God, I'm sorry, Mary,' she said. ‘It's just the funeral and all. Stay for a wee bit.'

‘I can't,' Mary said, still a little annoyed with her sister. ‘Eddie will be in and no meal ready. Come on, boys.'

When she'd gone, Bridie sat on the chair and pulled her children onto her lap. ‘Did you miss me, Mammy?' Katie asked.

‘I did indeed,' Bridie said.

‘And me?'

‘And you, Liam,' Bridie assured him, and though she sat and talked to the children, hugging them and telling them about the cottage and the farm and their grandparents and cousins, the problem of getting ten shillings prayed on her mind. She only had a few shillings to last her until Friday, pay day, and the only other money she had was in the post office book that Tom set such store by. She'd thanked God he'd put it in her name, for she miserably conceded that she'd have to take money out of there, this week certainly. Maybe she'd have to take some out of it every week and she hoped and prayed Tom didn't look too closely at the book when he paid money in. She wondered bleakly if she'd be paying for Peggy McKenna's silence till one of them died.

Peggy McKenna continued to blackmail Bridie as 1939 dawned, coming almost every week for the ten shillings that Bridie often had to draw some, or all of, from the post office account. She thanked God that since Tom was working such long hours at the factory, he'd readily agreed with her suggestion that she put the money in every week. It would never occur to him to check it either and she thanked God for that too, for she often went hot and cold at the thought of Tom finding out how little savings they actually had.

Elsewhere too, the world was in total disarray. By the spring, Chamberlain authorised a doubling of strength of the Territorial Army and conscription was introduced. ‘That's it then,' Tom said, turning off the wireless one evening. ‘War can't be avoided much longer.'

They were all crowded into Bridie's house: Ellen, Sam, for he'd thankfully rallied with the warmer weather, Mary, Eddie and the boys, and no one disagreed with Tom. Half the world seemed ranged against Britain and despite America calling back its ambassador from Prague in protest after Hitler's invasion, they'd been remarkably quiet about other concerns.

‘At least France is joining in with us,' Eddie said.

‘Aye, if the bloody maniac attacks Poland,' Sam said. ‘And he will.'

No one spoke; there was nothing to say. Each one was busy with their own thoughts, wondering what the uncertain future held.

Worried though Bridie was about her children's safety if war should break out, their general good humour and laughter lifted her spirits when depression at the turn of world events threatened to overwhelm her. Each day was increasingly precious to her as she sensed time was running out for them and Tom would soon have to leave his family to help the war effort.

Tom was only too aware of that as well and knew he would miss the harmony of his home, but that he had to fight to defend his family's right to liberty and freedom from oppression. He was glad though that when the time came, Bridie would have Ellen and Mary beside her.

Bridie was glad too, for both women were very important to her and at the beginning of the summer that year, Bridie said to Mary, ‘I'm pushing all this war talk to the back of my mind as far as I can. I know Katie only looks about three, but she was five in June and will be at school in September – God knows I'll miss the chatter and company of her.'

Mary caught her sister's mood. ‘I agree with you,' she said. ‘Let's make this a summer for the children and make the most of every day.'

The weather was kind to them too, for while July was wet and miserable, from early August it was warm and sunny day after day. Bridie and Mary spent many days in Cannon Hill or Calthorpe Park with the smaller children. Jamie wouldn't come with them though: he considered himself far too old at eleven to be going about with women and kids. He'd also told his astounded mother that Jamie was a babyish name. From now on, he informed them all, his name was Jay.

‘Thinks he's the bee's knees, that one,' Mary remarked to Bridie as they made their way towards Cannon Hill Park one afternoon in mid-August. Liam was kicking his legs in the pushchair while Mary held Katie and Mickey's hands. ‘Says if his dad enlists, he'll be man of the house and not to even think of sending him away anywhere.'

‘Evacuation?' Bridie said, and she shivered in sudden fear. ‘I've never even given it a thought. I could never send my children to live with strangers – anything could happen to them. Were you seriously thinking of it?'

‘Eddie and I have talked of it,' Mary admitted. She knew the way Bridie felt about her children. She seldom let them out of her sight. Even going to the funeral she'd fretted leaving them with Ellen, and that was with Tom on hand a lot of the time. She knew evacuation wouldn't be on the cards as far as Bridie was concerned. Still, Mary thought, she was no better – she couldn't imagine how empty the house would seem without her boys. ‘Mine won't be going either', she said. ‘Well, Jamie, or bloody Jay as he calls himself now, won't go and I'd not have Mickey go without him. To tell you the truth, I wasn't that keen anyway – sending your children across the country to perfect strangers, I'd be worried stiff about them.'

‘I know,' Bridie agreed. ‘God knows I'd be lost without mine and I'd never know a minute's peace if they were away from me.'

Air raid shelters were being delivered to those who had gardens to put them in and public shelters had been erected too. Local children, fortunately still on holiday from school, had been drafted in to help and fill sandbags to pile around the outside of them. Jay was amongst those helping. It was hot and heavy work, but he did it day after day, pleased that he was doing his bit for the war effort.

Mary, Ellen and Bridie went to the Bull Ring together to buy blackout material for the curtains and shutters to shield the windows, ensuring no light was visible to aid any enemy bombers. It was a big job and they were all grateful of the treadle sewing machine that Ellen had got a loan of from a neighbour.

‘They look horrible,' Katie announced, as Bridie stood back to examine the curtains she'd just hung. ‘Take them down.'

‘I can't do that,' Bridie said. ‘I'd be in real trouble. The ARP warden would be after me if I did.'

And they would. Many thought they were worse than police, parading around in their uniforms and throwing their weight about. Bridie, however, thought people might be glad of those wardens before too long. She'd seen the trenches dug in the parks and the wardens running classes in Calthorpe Park helping people practise first aid on volunteer patients, potential victims of the bombs everyone said would soon fall from the sky. It looked like some game weans would play together, until you remembered grimly why they were doing it.

Everyone was instructed to collect gas masks, which they would carry in a box around their neck at all times once war was declared. On the wireless, the normal sound of the air raid siren was demonstrated, and the whistle if it was suspected that poison gas had been used, but the information did little to reassure Bridie, but rather chilled her to the marrow.

For the first time, she wondered if she were selfish in keeping her children beside her, for her own sake, when they could live relatively safely in the country. Tom understood her concern, but he was as worried for his wife as the children.

One evening with the children in bed, he sat on the chair and pulled Bridie onto his knee. All evening he'd known she had something on her mind but he also knew she'd say nothing until the children were out of earshot. ‘What is it, love? What's bothering you?'

Bridie told him of her fears, especially those she had for her children. ‘God, but I'd hate to put one of these contraptions on the children,' she said, dangling a gas mask in front of him by its strap. ‘But then not to do it and have them poisoned to death … It doesn't bear thinking about. What if they're blown to smithereens by a bomb or crushed to death or trapped? Oh Tom, do you think I should send them away?'

‘Yes,' Tom said firmly. ‘And you should go with them.'

‘Me?'

‘Yes, love,' Tom said. ‘You know I won't be here and I'll worry myself silly over you if you stay here – Birmingham is bound to be a target being such a large city and one that contributes so much for the war effort.'

‘How could I run away to safety somewhere and leave Aunt Ellen and Mary to manage on their own?' Bridie demanded. ‘And anyway, how could I just up and leave the house? It might not be much, but it's ours. You know yourself with the housing shortage here, if I was to leave, someone else would be in it before I reached Bristol Passage.'

Tom knew all Bridie said was right, but fear for her safety overrode all practical concerns. ‘You'd not even consider it?'

‘No, Tom.'

‘Well, I think the children would fret without you,' Tom said. ‘Liam is not yet three years old and Katie is just five.' They knew no life beyond those narrow streets, where there might be many deprivations, but where most of the neighbours were decent people who were always there if help of any sort was needed. Maybe it would be better to stay where they were for the time being, Tom finally conceded, especially if Bridie was so determined to stay.

‘Aye,' Bridie said with a sigh. ‘They're both little more than babies. They'll bide with me like so many more and we'll face whatever comes together.'

The evacuation of women and younger children had begun in London in late August and plans were in force to evacuate the school-aged ones from other major cities on Friday 1
^st
September.

Mary and Bridie went up to St Catherine's school that Friday morning to wave off the children whose parents had allowed them to be evacuated. There were about thirty of them assembled in the yard. Their clothes – two changes of everything – were in various containers, little cases, or haversacks; a couple even had their things in brown carrier bags. But every child had their gas mask in a case hung around their neck.

Bridie saw some of the mothers of the children wipe tears from their eyes surreptitiously. Their children were nervous and apprehensive enough without crying in front of them Bridie thought, although she knew their hearts must be breaking, and she hoped no one would break down completely. Mr Steele, the headmaster, must have thought the same and he started the children singing ‘Run Rabbit, Run Rabbit' as they marched out of the school and began to mount the bus that was to take them to Moor Street Station.

‘Poor little things,' Bridie said to Mary as they made their way back. ‘Some of the younger ones looked frightened to death and no wonder: even adults wouldn't like to be taken away and not told where they were going, to live with people they'd never met in their lives before.'

‘It's hard, right enough,' Mary agreed. ‘But what about the bombs? We all saw those pictures from Spain.'

‘There are shelters,' Bridie said. ‘That one just off Bristol Passage is only a few minutes away. But we're luckier, for we can hide out in our own cellars. We'll all be as safe as houses in there.'

‘'Course we will,' Mary said, and wondered who she was trying to reassure, herself or her sister.

And reassurance was needed even quicker than they expected, for they heard on the wireless that evening that Germany had invaded Poland.

Neville Chamberlain was to speak on the wireless the following Sunday morning. Everyone knew what he would say.

St Catherine's was packed for the children's Mass at nine o'clock and the same applied to many churches that day. Some, who'd rarely gone across the threshold of a church the whole of their lives, felt the need of spiritual guidance and comfort that morning.

Later, they all gathered in Bridie's house, feeling the need to be together as they readied themselves for the inevitable. Many neighbours who hadn't a wireless themselves wanted to hear the broadcast and crammed into Bridie's, far too many for the little house to hold, and so the door was left open to the street. Katie took one look at the mass of people and scuttled under the table, pulling her little brother after her.

There was a hush over everything: no baby cried, no dog barked, no squealing children played outside. The pavements and streets were empty. No trams clattered along Bristol Street, neither was there a light rumble of other traffic, or clip-clop of horses' hooves. It was as if the world held its breath. Everyone was waiting for the dreaded news from the Prime Minister. It finally came at 11.15.