Under the Apple Tree (12 page)

Commercial Road, and the Guildhall, and some of the

ordinary streets as well, and she saw our Clothing Depot,

and the billeting people, and the welfare offices, and then

they went and had lunch on the Victory.’

‘Oh, that must have been lovely,’ Alice broke in. ‘And

nice for the King, too, him having been in the Navy.’

‘Well, I don’t think he was ever on a ship like the Victory,’ Polly said with a grin. ‘And after that, he went to see the Gunnery School and she came on to the hospital and

some of the First-Aid Posts. They were on the go all day.’

She was silent for a moment, then she said, ‘I think she’s

right about dressing up, you know. It wouldn’t have been so

special if they’d come in old clothes - even if they’ve got

any! And it does make you feel better, knowing someone like that’s taken the trouble to look nice for you. It makes you

feel as though you matter to them.’

‘Yes,’ Judy agreed. She was still grieving for Sean, still

thought about him all the time, still felt cheated of all they

might have known and had together. But Polly was right,

she thought. ‘It does make you feel better.’

‘That bit about sunshine coming again,’ Alice said after a

moment. She looked at the two faces, showing the same

sorrow, and her own face softened in sympathy. ‘It’s true,

you know. You can’t go on without letting in a bit of

sunshine now and again. You’ve got to start living again.

You’ve got to.’

The raids continued, although all through January and

February the concentration was on other cities. Bristol, Plymouth and Swansea all came under heavy attack, and all along the south coast the sirens went night after night,

sending people to the shelters to sit listening to the snarl of German bombers overhead, and wonder where they were

making for.

The firewatcher’s post on the hotel roof had been taken

over by the Royal Observers’ Corps. Judy had noticed the

young men in their RAF uniforms coming in and out

several times before she found herself in the lift with one, on her way to the fifth floor with a message. He was tall, with

fair hair and blue eyes and a nice smile, and she smiled back

and asked, ‘What is it you’re doing up there? Looking out

for enemy aircraft?’

‘That’s right,’ he said. He touched the badge on, his arm.

It showed a Spitfire in flight. ‘The RAF advertised for chaps

like me who are keen on spotting aircraft, so I applied and

here I am.’ He grinned. ‘It’s like a dream come true, sitting

up there in the best place in Southsea, looking for

aeroplanes. I used to do it for a pastime and now I’m

helping the war effort as well!’

Judy looked at him, so clean and smart in his uniform,

obviously enjoying himself on the roof of a nice building,

with nothing uncomfortable or difficult to do, and thought

of the pilots who risked their lives every day in the air, and

the sailors like Sean and Johnny, who died horrible deaths at

sea. ‘Nice work if you can get it,’ she said tartly.

‘Well, someone’s got to do it!’ he said jocularly, and then

caught the note in her voice. ‘Look, I know it must seem a

cushy number - and maybe it is, compared with what some

poor blighters have to do - but it’s essential work just the

same. We’re the ones who spot the aircraft first and identify

them so that others can shoot them down and stop them

bombing Pompey. I know a lot still get through, but that

doesn’t mean we’ve just got to sit back and let them all come

in. It’d be even worse if we did that.’

‘Yes, but why does it have to be people like you? Why not

people who can’t go on active service? People who’ve been

injured or can’t serve for one reason or another?’

‘Like poor eyesight?’ he asked quizzically. ‘Well, don’t

ask me. I suppose because we’re the ones who volunteered.

Blokes like me who’ve always been keen on aeroplane

spotting. We’re the ones who’re good at it. And it does take

a bit of skill, you know, to be able to spot an aircraft coming in at twenty thousand feet and be able to recognise what it

is. It’s not all that safe sometimes either,’ he added as if as an afterthought, ‘sitting up on top of an eight-storey

building right on the beach. We’re an easy target.’

‘I suppose so,’ Judy said a little grudgingly. The lift had

arrived at the fifth floor and she got out. The young

Observer went on to the top; here he would climb the steel

ladder to the roof, originally installed as a fire escape. On

her way to one of the offices with her message, Judy passed

a room that the Observer Corps was using as a classroom

and glanced in through the open door. A row of young men

and two or three girls were sitting at desks while an

instructor fixed large sheets of paper covered with the

silhouettes of aircraft on a board.

I suppose it is skilled work, she thought, and I suppose

it’s a bit dangerous being up there like sitting ducks - but all the same, it doesn’t compare with what other people are

doing. It doesn’t compare in the least with what Sean and

Johnny and all those others in action are doing.

Even without the raids, the war news was bad. Malta, its position in the Mediterranean making it a vital possession,

was bombarded day and night while the islanders, with only

three Spitfires to protect them, dug themselves into caves

and catacombs and sat out the raids which all but destroyed

their island and capital city.

Meanwhile, the war had spread. Italy had taken over the

vital supply ports of Tobruk, Somaliland and Libya, as well

as Greece and Albania. Most people in Britain had never

even heard of these places and had to search out old school

atlases to find where they were, and daily newspapers

published large maps of the world which could be pinned on

walls. Even then, it was difficult to make sense of what was

happening.

‘I don’t see why it’s spread so much,’ Cissie said, staring

at the coloured pins Dick had put in to mark the progress of

the different armies - red for Britain, black for Germany,

blue for Italy. ‘It was just Poland and Austria, and places

like that, to begin with. Why does Africa have to get mixed

up in it?’

‘It’s because of Italy coming in on Hitler’s side,’ Dick

explained. ‘They’ve got all these places in Africa, you see,

and so have we, so we’ve got to defend ours against them.’

He paused doubtfully, his chest wheezing a little. It still

didn’t seem to make much sense. ‘Frank Budd was saying

the other day that they’re getting worried about the Japanese

now. They think they might come in.’

‘The Japanese!’ Cissie stared at him. ‘Why? Whatever’s it

got to do with them?’

‘Well, nothing, but apparently they don’t like America

being in the South Pacific. They’ve got places in Hawaii-naval bases - so they’re quite close to Japan really.’ He

looked at the map again. ‘You can see it better on a globe.

They look far apart on a map, but if you imagine it sort of

bent round the back, then you can see how close they are.’

‘But America’s not even in the war,’ Cissie said. ‘What’s the point of Japan butting in?’

‘They think the Americans want their oil. And they’d like

to take over China as well, and maybe even go up into

Russia, and this would be a good chance, while we’re all

busy defending everywhere else.’ Dick began to cough. His

chest was getting worse again and he’d had two mild asthma

attacks in the past week or so. ‘I don’t understand it any

more than you do, Cis, but that’s what I’ve heard.’

Cissie shook her head. ‘I can’t make it out at all. Seems to

me they’ve all gone mad. The whole world’s going to be

fighting each other at this rate, and what’s the good of that?

What’s going to be left when they finish? What’s the point

of it all?’

Judy, who had been sitting quietly mending her stockings,

looked up and said, ‘Freedom, Mum. That’s what it’s

all about. We couldn’t let Hitler march all over Europe and

take away everyone’s freedom like he did to the Jews and all

those other poor people. We had to stop him.’

‘Yes, but all these others - Africa and Japan and Russia he

wasn’t marching into their countries. It’s like boys

fighting in the street. One or two start scrapping and then

the rest all pile in just for the sake of it, and in the end no one knows what it was all about. It was the same in the

Fourteen-Eighteen War - someone shot that man in

Yugoslavia and before we knew where we were, all our men

were being marched off to fight. Millions were killed, and

thousands like your dad, messed up for the rest of their

lives. It’s like a disease.’ She stopped and stared at them all.

‘Like a horrible, mad disease.’

Mike Simmons turned up on Jess Budd’s doorstep one day

and, after some discussion, agreed that the two little girls

should go out to Bridge End and be billeted at the vicarage.

‘I wanted them to be evacuated right at the beginning,’ he

said sadly, ‘but Kathy wouldn’t hear of them going without

her, and she wouldn’t go herself because she wanted to stay in Pompey for when I got home. We went over it again and

again, but all she would say was that the Queen wouldn’t let

her girls go to Canada without her, and she wouldn’t go

because she wanted to be with the King, and it was the same

for her. I stopped trying to talk her round in the end. I

didn’t want to spend all my time arguing.’ He shook his

head. ‘Perhaps I ought to have put my foot down - said

she’d got to go. But how could I make her, Mrs Budd?’ He

lifted his head and looked at Jess. ‘How could I?’

‘Well, it’s the same with me,’ Jess said a little uncomfortably.

‘I feel the same about leaving my Frank, and so of

course the baby has to be here, too. And Rose went to start

with, but she wanted to come home … But I do think your

little ones’d be better off out there now, Mr Simmons.’

Polly was given the task of taking Stella and Muriel out to

Bridge End on the train. So far, she’d not had any specific

job to do in the WVS but had just helped wherever she was

needed, but since the Blitz, more and more children who

had returned to Portsmouth for Christmas and stayed there

- or perhaps not been evacuated at all - were going back,

and they all needed escorts. Polly had accompanied several

already, and enjoyed the task, though the children varied

greatly.

‘You should have seen the boys I took last week,’ she told

Laura when she was in the office collecting the documents

that would have to go with the two girls. ‘I thought I knew

Pompey pretty well, but I’ve never seen anything like the

home they came from. It was no better than a hovel. And

their clothes! Well, I’ve seen better on a scarecrow — toes

poking out of their boots, hardly any backside to their

trousers — I felt ashamed, I did really, to be taking them to

strangers in that state.’

‘Weren’t there any clothes in the Store they could have

had?’ Laura asked, shuffling the papers together.

‘Yes, there were as it happens, and I got them fitted out

with nice flannel shorts and a jacket and shirt each, and a pair of Wellington boots — there weren’t any other shoes

that would fit them. But that was only one outfit. I just hope

they can put something together in the country.’ Polly

shook her head. ‘But it’s not just that, Laura. It’s the boys

themselves. They were sick on the train, all three of them I

don’t know why it is that boys are always sick, the girls

don’t seem to suffer like it - and they’d obviously never seen

a hanky before in their lives, their noses never stopped

running. And their language! I tell you, I didn’t know half

the swear words they came out with!’

‘How did you know they were swear words then?’ Laura

asked with a grin and Judy, who was putting some papers

away in a” filing cabinet in the corner, chuckled.

Polly smiled too, pleased to hear her niece laugh. ‘It was

the way they said them. And the way they looked at me, too,

as if they wanted to see what I’d say — I knew they were

swearing all right. I don’t suppose they knew what they

really meant, though, any more than I did. And I’m not

going to repeat them now,’ she added firmly as Laura’s

mouth opened. ‘Goodness knows what I might be saying!’

She collected the railway tickets and other papers and

went out. She was to deliver the children next day, and went

down to Jess Budd’s early in the morning to find the two

girls waiting for her, neatly dressed in clothes that Jess had

found for them amongst her own daughter’s old things, with

their faces shining and hair brushed.

‘Well, you do look smart,’ Polly said, gazing at them. ‘I

should think anyone would be pleased to have two nice little

girls like you billeted with them.’ The little one, Muriel, was nearly eight, just the same age as her Sylvie, and Stella was

ten and old enough to be sensible. They looked back at her

and then turned to Mrs Budd.

‘Do we have to go, Auntie?’ Muriel asked, her bottom lip