Chapter Four
Sally woke with a start, disorientated and confused by her surroundings and the unfamiliar sounds coming through the open window. It took a moment to realise she was in Cliffehaven, and that it was the murmur of the sea and the screech of gulls she could hear. Then the memory of the previous night returned and she hurried out of bed to check the mattress.
The gas fire had gone out, the meter was empty, but the mattress had dried sufficiently, and there was only a small stain in the middle which she hoped Mrs Reilly wouldn’t notice if she put it back upside down. The pyjama trousers had dried well above the fire, but the sheets were still slightly damp. With a deep sigh of relief, Sally took the sheets from the wardrobe doors, and dragged the mattress away from the hearth.
It was almost seven, so while Ernie slept on, Sally dressed quickly in the skirt and sweater she’d worn the day before. She didn’t possess such finery as stockings, not even the thick lisle ones, so she pulled on knitted ankle socks and slipped her feet into the sturdy lace-up shoes. Running a brush through her tangle of fair curls, she attempted to keep them in order with two plastic combs firmly planted either side of her middle parting.
But her hair would not be tamed, and the curls sprang in all directions about her face. With a grimace of impatience, she glared at her reflection. There were dark circles under her eyes, her skin looked pale and blotchy, and her eyelids were still swollen from the tears she’d shed during the night. ‘There’s no doubt about it, Sal,’ she muttered. ‘You ain’t never gunna be an oil painting, so why bother?’
She put down the brush and went to open the curtains. Bright sunlight poured in, making her blink. The sky was pale blue, and there were two seagulls making a terrible racket on the roof across the street. She breathed in the clean, salty air, bracing herself for whatever the day had in store before she went to wake Ernie.
‘Come on, sleepy ’ead,’ she said softly. ‘Time for breakfast.’ She slipped her hand beneath him. The towel was still dry.
Ernie grumbled and fidgeted as she fixed the calliper and finished dressing him. After a trip to the bathroom, she carried him back upstairs and hurried to remake his bed. Not wanting a repeat performance of the night before, she decided he should have only one small drink with his tea and no more before bedtime. Once he was asleep, she would put the folded towel underneath him, and hope for the best.
If that didn’t work, then she didn’t know what she could do, other than keep waking up in the night to carry him to the lav. And, if she did that, then she was asking for trouble. No-one could go without that much sleep and, once she started working, she’d be dog-tired to begin with.
She carried Ernie downstairs, and stood in the hallway wondering if she was supposed to go in the kitchen or the dining room.
‘Good morning, you two,’ said Anne brightly, as she came out of the kitchen carrying bowls of steaming porridge. ‘Come and sit down before this gets cold.’
Sally followed her into the dining room and found that almost everyone was already at the table. To a chorus of greetings, she settled Ernie on the cushions and tucked in his chair before taking her place next to him.
Anne put one of the bowls in front of Ernie. ‘Now,’ she said, with a smile. ‘I expect you to eat all of that up so you’ll get big and strong.’
Ernie looked up at her with adoring eyes and nodded. It was clear he was smitten, and Sally had to bite down on her smile.
The porridge was like nothing she’d ever tasted before, and Sally relished every mouthful as Mrs Finch chirruped like a sparrow, the boys talked about the local football team and Ron carried on what appeared to be a well-worn argument with his son.
‘There’s no government order to put animals down,’ the old man said grumpily, ‘and there’s no man on this earth who will make me murder mine. I’ve seen the queues outside the vet’s, and it’s wholesale slaughter, that’s what it is.’
‘But it’s not fair to expect them to suffer when the bombs start dropping,’ said Jim Reilly, throwing down his napkin with impatience. ‘The poor things will go half crazy with fear.’
‘Harvey and the ferrets are used to loud noises,’ muttered Ron through a mouthful of toast and marmalade as he stirred four spoonfuls of sugar into his tea. ‘They’ve been out with the guns often enough.’
‘It’s not the same, and after going through the last war, you should know that,’ Jim persisted. He pushed back his chair. ‘You’ll see I’m right, Dad.’ He grabbed the newspaper from the table and left the room.
‘No-one tells me what’s best for my animals,’ mumbled Ron.
Sally realised this was a long-running argument between father and son, and wasn’t surprised when Peggy changed the subject.
‘What are everyone’s plans for the day?’ she asked brightly.
Mrs Finch wanted to finish the book she’d been reading so she could return it to the library; Alex had to report to the Royal Air Force headquarters on the other side of town; Cissy was still in bed asleep, and Anne had some washing to do before she helped Peggy with her shopping.
‘What about you, Sally?’ Peggy’s smile was warm, but her eyes were concerned.
‘I thought I’d see how far it is to Goldman’s. I don’t want to get lost and be late on me first day tomorrow.’
‘I’m surprised they want you to start on a Sunday,’ said Peggy. ‘Even though there is a war on, it’s still the Sabbath.’
‘They’re upping production according to Mr Solomon,’ she explained. ‘We’ll be working in shifts through the week, including Sundays.’ She didn’t add that it would mean extra pay if she worked Sundays.
‘It’s over a mile and a half, and will be a bit of a trek for Ernie,’ said Anne, thoughtfully. ‘He could stay here with me for the morning.’
Sally did a quick calculation. The walk would certainly be too much for Ernie, and she doubted she could carry him that far – but she didn’t want to cause the family any upset by leaving him behind more than she had to. As it was, she would have to ask them to look after him when she was working. ‘If we walk slowly, we’ll be all right,’ she said without much conviction.
‘You’ll not be taking the boy that far,’ said Ron. ‘He’ll come with me and the lads up into the hills. Put some colour in his cheeks, so it will, and he can learn about Cleo and Delilah, and how they work with Harvey to catch rabbits.’
Sally had visions of Ernie getting lost or injured, perhaps even being bitten by something. She’d seen those ferrets and they had sharp-looking teeth and a vicious gleam in their eyes she didn’t trust. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she stuttered. ‘Thank you, but …’
‘That’s settled then,’ said Ron, as he pushed away from the table. He ruffled Ernie’s hair as he passed. ‘Eat up, young feller. There’s rabbits to be caught, perhaps even a hare, and the day’s wasting, so it is.’
Sally saw the eagerness in the boy’s face and looked to Peggy helplessly. ‘Will ’e be all right, Mrs Reilly, only ’e’s never been in no ’ills before, and ’e ain’t strong enough to go climbing, and …’
‘It’s all right, Sally, really,’ said Anne. ‘Granddad will look after him as if he was his own. Safe as houses, he is, and it will do Ernie good to get out and about.’
‘She’s right,’ said Peggy softly, rising to clear the table now everyone had finished eating. ‘You look as if you could do with some fresh air as well,’ she added, piling up the plates. ‘Didn’t you sleep well?’
‘Ernie was a bit restless,’ she replied quickly before the boy could say anything. ‘I’ll be fine once I know where the factory is, and can find me way round. I shouldn’t be gone long.’
‘There’s no need to hurry back. Ron will be out for hours, and I’ll pack sandwiches and biscuits, and put in a big flask of tea to take with them. They won’t starve.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Reilly. Are you sure ’e won’t be no bother?’
Peggy shrugged off her thanks. ‘One more small boy is no more trouble than the two I already have,’ she said firmly. ‘And I suspect you’ll want us to look after him while you’re at work, so he needs to get used to us.’
‘I was going to ask …’ she began.
‘No need, dear,’ she said comfortably. ‘I’ll gladly look after him when he comes home from school, and if you work a late shift, then I can put him to bed.’
Her kindness was overwhelming, and Sally felt close to tears. No-one had ever helped like this before without wanting to be paid.
Peggy smiled. ‘Why don’t you take a bit of time for yourself while you can? Perhaps have a walk along the prom, and get some good sea air into your lungs before you get stuck in that factory every day.’
Sally felt a surge of pleasurable hope. It would be nice to get her bearings, and to look at the sea for a while. To walk and not worry she was going too fast for Ernie, and spend a few minutes looking in shop windows without having to rush back. ‘Really? You wouldn’t mind? But what about the ’ousework? Don’t you want an ’and?’
‘Anne and I have it all under control,’ she said, carrying the plates to the door. ‘You go and enjoy yourself. We’ll manage just fine.’ Without further discussion, Peggy and Anne headed for the kitchen.
As Ernie finished his third piece of toast, Sally hurried upstairs to fetch hats, coats, scarves and gas masks. She took a long look at the room, checking that everything was neat and tidy and, when she ran back down to the kitchen to help with the washing-up, there was a lightness in her step she’d rarely experienced before.
‘I’ve drawn you a map,’ said Anne, once everything had been dried and put away. She spread the piece of paper on the table. ‘This is us here, and this is the seafront. I’ve put in the names of the roads, and some of the big buildings you’ll pass and, of course, marked where the public air-raid shelters are just in case.
There haven’t been any raids yet, but there’s no guarantee they won’t start any minute.’
She smiled and returned to the map. ‘That cross is where the factory is situated. From there, you can walk into the main part of town and back to the seafront. In essence, you’ll be walking in a large circle. If you get lost, just ask for the pier, then take the third left up the hill from there.’
‘Thanks, ever so,’ breathed Sally, who was very impressed by Anne’s drawing.
‘It’s no problem at all,’ she replied, her brown eyes warm and friendly. ‘And if you find yourself anywhere near the Daisy Tearooms in the High Street at about four o’clock, Mum and I will treat you to a cup of tea and a bun.’
Sally blushed at her kindness and could think of nothing to say.
Ron broke into the awkward moment by appearing at the top of the cellar steps. ‘Where’s that boy, Ernie?’ he said. ‘I need him to carry me nets.’
Ernie could barely keep still he was so excited, and Sally had a job to get him into his mackintosh, cap and scarf. She couldn’t fit the wellington over his special boot, but Charlie’s cast-off fitted his other foot perfectly.
She smiled nervously as Ron took charge of the gas-mask box and stowed the packets of sandwiches and the flask into the deep pockets of his ankle-length coat before carrying Ernie off under his arm like a sack of potatoes.
Ernie didn’t seem at all put out by this strange behaviour; in fact he was laughing fit to bust and urging the old man to go even faster down the cellar steps.
Sally followed them and stood in the basement doorway to watch as Ron whistled up the dog, checked his pockets and then swung Ernie on to his shoulders. He set off down the garden path to the gate, surrounded by boys.
With a huge grin and barely a wave, her little brother was soon out of sight as they went down the alley that ran between the backs of the houses. Ernie seemed to have forgotten all about her.
It was bitterly cold despite the bright sun, and the wind that came up from the sea tugged at Sally’s hat and tore at her coat. Squashing the hat in her pocket, she battled to cover her hair with the brightly coloured square she’d bought for tuppence from a second-hand clothes dealer who had a stall in the Portobello Road.
With it tied firmly beneath her chin, she hitched the handbag and gas-mask box over her shoulder and walked down the hill. Turning into the first street on the right, she passed two pubs and a small parade of shops. Rationing hadn’t started yet, but the shortages were beginning to be felt and there were long queues of patient housewives outside the bakery and grocer’s.
The hardware store seemed to stock everything from a nail to a wheelbarrow and, through the butcher’s shop window, she could see rabbits and chickens hanging from hooks. The little corner shop supplied cigarettes, newspapers and magazines alongside shelves of canned and bottled goods. Behind the counter there was one entire shelf reserved for large jars of sweets.
She eyed the gobstoppers, sherbet dabs, farthing chews and liquorice bootlaces and breathed a sigh of relief that Ernie wasn’t with her. She had no money, and she hated having to deny him such special treats.
She passed the school where Ernie would start on Monday. The building looked in a better state than the one in Bow, and the playground had swings and slides in one corner, and part of it was marked off for football. The hospital opposite the school was large and grey and looked a bit forbidding, and she hurried on until she found the factory. That looked forbidding too, but then factories, in her experience, were never very attractive.
Goldman’s took up an entire block. Built of red brick, there was a high wall round the perimeter, which was topped with coils of barbed wire, and a pair of impressive iron gates barred entry. Walking a bit further on, she found a smaller entrance and passed through into a large concreted yard where several lorries were parked by a series of loading bays. She headed for the door which had ‘office’ written on the glass, and followed the clattering sound of a typewriter down a long, gloomy corridor.
The office was square and would have seemed larger if there hadn’t been such a big desk in the middle and so many shelves and cabinets lining the walls. Behind the desk sat a dark-haired woman with bright red lipstick and rather alarming eyebrows which seemed to be arched permanently in surprise. Dressed in black, with the white collar of her blouse peeking at the sweater neckline, she was thudding the keys of the Olivetti with some vigour, and didn’t seem to notice Sally standing there.
‘Excuse me,’ Sally said above the clatter.
The typing continued until she reached the end of the page. Ripping it out of the machine, she placed it in a metal basket on the desk and finally looked up. ‘Yes?’ Dark eyes coolly regarded Sally from head to toe.
Sally squared her shoulders, unwilling to be cowed. ‘Is Mr Goldman in today?’
There was the hint of a sneer to those red lips. ‘What do you want with Mr Goldman?’
‘My name’s Sally Turner, and I’m due to start work here tomorrow. I have a letter for him from Mr Solomon.’
She put out her hand, and Sally noted the nails had been painted to match the lipstick. ‘You can give it to me. I’ll make sure he gets it.’
Sally held firm. ‘Mr Solomon asked me special, to give it straight to Mr Goldman.’
The woman took a deep breath and reluctantly left her desk. Her skirt was pencil-slim, reaching to just below her knee, and her shoes were high-heeled, showing off slim ankles and shapely legs encased in fine stockings. ‘I’ll see if he’s in,’ she said smoothly. ‘Don’t touch anything while I’m gone.’ She tapped on the door behind her desk and eased round it and out of sight.
Sally stood by the desk, hands in pockets, not daring to move.
A huge man emerged from the other room and instantly made the office even smaller. He had a large cigar wedged into the corner of his thick lips, his eyes were small but sharply intelligent, and his three-piece suit looked as if it had been specially made to restrain his girth.
He looked down his bulbous nose at her, his head wreathed in cigar smoke as he stuck his thumbs into the pockets of his straining waistcoat. ‘You have a letter for me?’ His deep, gravelly voice told of years of cigar smoking.
‘Yes, sir.’ She handed it over and shuffled her feet, not sure what to do next.
A diamond ring winked on his little finger as he took the letter and stuck it into an inside jacket pocket. ‘Marjorie tells me you start here tomorrow.’ At Sally’s nod, he scrutinised her from head to toe, just as his secretary had done. ‘You look a bit young and skinny for my liking. I need my workers to be robust. How old are you?’
‘Sixteen, sir. I been with Mr Solomon for two year now, and ’e’s never had no reason to complain about me work.’
‘Hmph. We’ll see,’ he muttered. ‘Give her sixpence for her trouble, Marjorie, and then get me a cup of tea. I’m parched.’ He gave Sally another fleeting glance and left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Marjorie sniffed as she dug into a tin box on her desk, and almost grudgingly handed Sally the sixpence . ‘Mr Goldman is a fair employer, but he doesn’t hold with tardiness. If you’re not on time tomorrow, you will not be hired.’
Sally had no intention of being late. She wouldn’t have taken the sixpence either if she hadn’t needed it. She gave a sharp nod and quickly left the office, which reeked of Marjorie’s sharp perfume and Goldman’s cigar. It was quite a relief to get back in the cold, fresh air.
Following Anne’s map, Sally headed for the High Street. After a leisurely stroll, during which she’d explored every shop window and market stall, she bought a penny’s-worth of humbugs for Ernie to share with Bob and Charlie, and headed back down the hill towards the seafront. The town hall clock was striking two, and she was amazed at how quickly the morning had passed.
She reached the seafront and settled out of the wind on a concrete bench that had been set inside an ornate, open-fronted shelter. Her first, awestruck impression of Cliffehaven had been interrupted by Ernie being sick; now she had time to take it in and get a real feel for the place.
The pier must have looked lovely before the army ruined it. Now the once-elegant attraction had been boarded up and festooned in barbed wire. It stretched into the sea rather forlornly, stranded like some forgotten island far from shore. But the sea still sparkled and softly splashed against the great iron feet of the abandoned pier, and Sally hoped it wouldn’t be too long before it was open again, and she could have the chance to explore it.
She turned her attention to the way the town sprawled along the edges of the crescent of shingle that ran between jagged white cliffs to the east, and softly rolling hills to the west. It wasn’t anywhere as big as London, of course, but it was a fair size, with houses thickly massed nearest the sea, thinning out beyond the town centre and dotted among the hills that ran behind it like protective arms. She could imagine it in peacetime, with lots of families walking the promenade, children splashing in the sea, music coming from the pier, and colourful stalls selling cockles and whelks and candyfloss.
Sally let her gaze drift over the large hotels and private houses that lined the seafront. They were mostly boarded up for the duration, but it was clear from the different flags that fluttered from turrets and poles that some of them had been taken over by the forces. She could even see servicemen rushing back and forth or lounging on the balconies and terraces with pints of beer.
She turned her attention back to the promenade which had been closed off with rolls of barbed wire and heavy artillery emplacements, There was still a strip of pavement to stroll along and, although there were no deckchairs like in the postcards she’d seen in the corner-shop window, the bright winter’s day had brought people out of their houses to stroll, or watch the Australian soldiers play a noisy game of football in the street.
Soldiers, sailors and airmen in the uniforms of many countries strolled in groups along what was left of the promenade. They were whistling and calling out to the giggling girls, who pretended not to be watching them. Sally smiled wistfully, and felt strangely distanced from it all.
She moved away from the bench and pulled up her coat collar as she headed into the east wind. The London streets were full of servicemen as well, and she’d come to recognise the nasal twang of New Zealanders, and the slow drawl of the Australians, which was so different to that of the Yanks, who seemed to think they owned the place, regardless of the fact they weren’t even part of the war yet.
She shyly walked past a group of whistling sailors, keeping her chin tucked into her collar, and her gaze firmly on the pavement as they tried to coax her into talking to them. She wished she knew how to react without giving them the come-on – wished she could laugh, and flirt, and treat the whole thing as a bit of harmless fun. But she was too inexperienced and unsure of herself. Unlike her mother, who always had an answer, a smile, or a flirtatious look to throw back at them. It would have driven Dad wild if he’d caught her behaving the way she did when he wasn’t around.
The sailors finally gave up and she was left in peace to continue her walk towards the fishing boats that sheltered beneath the cliffs. There were several moored on the narrow strip of shingle that was free of barbed wire and hidden mines, and the fishermen were doing a roaring trade as the housewives jostled to buy a share of the day’s catch. It was all very different to Billingsgate, and even the smell wasn’t quite so bad because of the sharp sea wind.
The blood-chilling wail of the air-raid siren filled the air at the very moment an aeroplane dived out of the sun. It swooped below the barrage of gunfire from the Bofors guns on the cliffs, the rat-a-tat-tat of its bullets strafing the promenade. Sally couldn’t move – and couldn’t think. The plane seemed to be heading straight for her, its spew of deadly bullets flying ever nearer. She was mesmerised.
A hand grabbed her arm, yanking her off her feet. She cried out as she was thrown to the ground and rolled unceremoniously beneath a concrete bench. Bruised and shocked, she was about to protest when his weight squashed the breath out of her.
She fought against him, but found she was imprisoned, strong arms holding her against a thick woollen coat-front that smelled vaguely of moth-balls. ‘I can’t breathe,’ she managed, struggling to escape him.
‘Keep still, woman,’ he growled, even as he shifted his weight slightly.
She could breathe now, but her cheek was pressed intimately into his neck, her lips almost touching his ear lobe.
‘He’s coming back. Hold on tight.’
The roar of the enemy plane grew louder as it came nearer and nearer, and Sally forgot her discomfort as terror flooded through her and she clutched the stranger’s coat.
She flinched as bullets thudded into the bench above their heads and sprayed them with needle-sharp shards of concrete. Tried to burrow into his chest, as they clattered along the pavement, pinged off railings and lamp posts, and embedded themselves deeply into the grassy kerb. The down-draught of the Fokker’s low-flying passage above them threatened to blow them out of their hiding place – and he pressed harder against her, anchoring her to the ground.
The noise was deafening as the Bofors guns fired from the cliff-tops and along the promenade. The enemy plane roared over them again, still firing its deadly hail of bullets. And then it was gone.
Sally lifted her head as the welcome sight of two Spitfires came roaring over the headland. She could see them giving chase out into the channel and watched in awe over the stranger’s shoulder, as they did battle with the enemy plane. Diving, twisting, turning, they seemed to be taunting the Fokker. It was a deadly, almost graceful ballet against the clear blue sky.
The Fokker took a direct hit, burst into flames and nose-dived into the sea, and a ragged cheer went up as the Spitfires executed a victory roll above the seafront before disappearing back over the hills.
‘They’ll get into trouble for that,’ muttered the man. ‘Victory rolls are a definite no-no, especially so close to civilians.’ He gave a sigh. ‘But that’s the boys in blue for you – never know when to stop showing off.’
Sally tried to wriggle from under the stranger, but he was too heavy to shift. ‘Get off,’ she protested. ‘You’re squashing me.’
He didn’t move. ‘The name’s John Hicks, by the way. What’s yours?’
‘Sally Turner,’ she replied through gritted teeth. ‘Now, will you get off?’
He kept hold of her and rolled them both out into the open.
Disconcerted, Sally found she was lying on top of him in full view of everyone on the promenade. She looked down to find she was being regarded by a pair of laughing blue eyes that were fringed with long dark lashes. ‘You can let go of me now,’ she said stiffly, to hide her embarrassment.
‘I rather like the view,’ he replied unrepentantly. ‘Are you sure you want to leave?’
She tore her gaze from those bright blue teasing eyes and pushed away from him. Staggering to her feet, she brushed down her coat and took in the aftermath of the attack. There were several wounded people lying on the pavement and in the street, windows had been shattered by bullets, and someone had crashed their car into a lamp post. There were already two ambulances pulling up and lots of people rushing to help.
Realising she wasn’t hurt, and couldn’t do much to help anyone, she searched for her handbag and gas mask. To her dismay, she discovered they’d been blown into the coils of barbed wire and were stuck fast. There was no sign of her pretty headscarf.
‘I’ll get them.’ John Hicks sprang to his feet and within minutes was back with her belongings. ‘I’m afraid there’s a bullet-hole in your handbag, and it’s got a bit scratched on the wire,’ he said. ‘You must let me buy you a new one.’
‘This one will do fine,’ she said firmly, eyeing the damage with despair. It was the only one she had, and now it was ruined. But she wasn’t about to accept presents from a stranger – she wasn’t that kind of girl.
She looked up at him. He was very tall, with broad shoulders and the manner of a man used to getting his own way – but there was no sign of a uniform, and she wondered at that. ‘Thanks for rescuing me,’ she said.
‘At least let me buy you a cup of tea. I know a very nice place …’
‘Oh, my Gawd. Ernie!’ Sally snatched her gas mask from him. ‘I gotta go,’ she breathed, ‘me little brother’s …’ She didn’t have time to talk, so she turned and started running.
‘Can I see you again, Sally Turner?’ he shouted after her. ‘Where do you live?’
She didn’t answer him. Her heart was racing, her mouth dry and tasting bitter. Ernie was up in the hills where the enemy plane had come from. She could only pray that Ron had brought the boys home long before the attack – if he hadn’t, then she couldn’t bear to think of the consequences.
Ron had spotted the enemy plane long before the sirens had gone off. He’d swiftly ordered the boys into the circle of gorse, and had sat with them in its deep shadows, chewing thoughtfully on his unlit pipe as they’d watched the dogfight from the cliffs.
When the enemy plane exploded and fell into the sea, he’d given a grim nod of satisfaction and patted the lurcher’s soft, shaggy head. ‘That’ll teach ’em to disturb decent folk going about their business, Harvey,’ he muttered.
The dog looked back at him and wiggled his brows. Nothing much fazed Harvey, for he was used to the sound of gunfire – but he wasn’t at all sure about low-flying aircraft and air-raid sirens. He’d dug himself deep beneath the gorse throughout the attack, now he’d edged out his nose, waiting for the all-clear to sound.
‘That was terrific, Gramps,’ enthused Bob. ‘Did you see how quick the Spitfires were to shoot him down?’
‘I saw,’ said Charlie, his eyes gleaming with excitement. ‘And when me and Ernie are grown up, we’re going to fly a Spitfire just like those.’
‘I probably won’t be allowed,’ said Ernie, ‘but I could fire one of them guns easy enough.’ He mimed turning the wheel that moved the huge anti-aircraft guns into place, and pretended he was firing at the enemy.
‘It’ll all be over by the time we’re old enough,’ said Bob gloomily.
‘Let’s hope so,’ muttered Ron. ‘But if the last war was anything to go by, you might get your wish yet.’ He eyed his grandsons with a scowl that hid his deep affection. All three boys were wearing school caps, belted gabardine coats, wellingtons and short trousers, their faces ruddy with the cold, eyes sparkling with excitement – and Ron hoped with all his might that this war would end soon and they would never be called to fight.
With a deep sigh, he checked that the two ferrets were happily ensconced in their separate inside pockets of his poacher’s coat, scratched the greying stubble on his chin, readjusted his cap and got to his feet. ‘Come on. It’s time to collect the purse-nets and get home.’
‘Do we have to?’ groaned the three boys in unison.
Ron didn’t bother to argue. They had enough rabbits for the pot and to sell to the butcher, it was a long walk home, and his orders would be obeyed. His grandsons knew the penalty for disobedience – a clip round the ear and no hunting trips for at least a week.
As he balanced Ernie on his hip and pushed his way through the spiny ring of gorse, his ankle-length coat caught on the thorns, hampering his progress. With a soft oath, Ron freed himself, set Ernie on the grass, and turned his face into the biting wind that came off the sea.
The boys and the dog scrambled after him and, as little Ernie watched enviously, Bob and Charlie raced off through the long, windswept grass – the dog in search of rabbits, the boys pretending they were Spitfires.
Ron watched them for a moment, glad of their innocent pleasure in a world gone mad. No doubt people were killed or injured in that surprise attack, but all the boys had in their heads were thoughts of the daring adventures they read about in their comics and the Biggles books they borrowed from the library. Please God, he prayed silently, don’t let them ever learn what it’s really like.
He remembered his own enthusiasm for war, and how he’d so naively enlisted in search of adventure, only to face the shattering reality of the trenches and the horrors of the Somme. He’d been forty – and really too old for enlistment – but his two sons, Jim and Frank, had barely left school when they’d joined the Royal Engineers to fight alongside him. It was only a matter of chance they’d all survived to come home – and now, a mere twenty-two years later, they were at war again.
He thought about his sons, and the rift that had grown between them. They had once been so close, but Jim and Frank lived very separate lives now, and hadn’t spoken to each other since they’d been demobbed. He’d never discovered what had caused the quarrel and, as they both refused to discuss it, he had to accept he never would.
Setting the dark thoughts aside, he ignored the twinge in his lower back – a reminder of the shrapnel still embedded there – and lit his pipe. He might be regarded as past it by some, but he’d joined the local Defence Volunteers, carrying the old Enfield rifle he’d kept after being discharged from the army. To his mind it was only playing at soldiery, and his skills were going to waste. He had little respect for Colonel Stevens, who led the platoon; he was only a librarian, and had spent the better part of the last war well behind enemy lines in the catering corps.
Ron hawked phlegm and spat before surveying his kingdom of windswept grass and arthritic trees. The softly rolling hills above Cliffehaven were as familiar to him as the back of his hand, and a welcome escape from the claustrophobic confines of the basement rooms beneath Beach View. From his vantage point, he could see the great sweep of farm-land and pastures to the north, the sparkle of the sea beyond the white cliffs, and the tiny farming hamlets in the valleys. It was a green and pleasant land and a priceless legacy for these young ones to inherit – and although he was no spring chicken, he was determined to defend it to his last breath.
The pipe smoke drifted behind him as he called the boys to help retrieve the dozens of nets he’d laid over the rabbit burrows. Once they were all gathered and tucked away in one of his many pockets, he whistled the dog to heel and set off for home with Ernie on his shoulders, the other boys racing ahead of him.
Sally was out of breath as she fumbled with the key and stumbled through the door into the hall. ‘Ernie? Ernie, where are you?’ she cried out desperately.
‘It’s all right, dear,’ said Peggy, hurrying to her. ‘They’ll be back any minute, I’m sure.’
‘They haven’t come ’ome?’ Sally covered her mouth with her hand to hold back the anguished tears. ‘Oh, my Gawd,’ she sobbed. ‘I knew I should never ’ave let ’im go with Ron. Now ’e’s injured or dead or … or …’
‘Now, now, that’s enough of that my girl,’ said Peggy firmly as she steered her into the kitchen. ‘You’re letting your imagination run away with you. I’m sure Ernie’s absolutely fine.’
‘How can you be sure?’ Sally demanded. ‘They ain’t back, and I saw people lying in the road, dead or dying, and the plane kept coming back and back again, and there was bullets and …’ She fell into Peggy’s arms and sobbed against her shoulder.
‘Anne,’ ordered Peggy, ‘go and get the brandy.’
‘I don’t want no brandy. I want Ernie. Oh, Gawd, I’ll never forgive meself if ’e’s been ’urt.’
Peggy gently stroked the hair out of Sally’s eyes and held her face. ‘Stop it, Sally. You’ll make yourself ill. Ron is with the boys and he’ll make sure they’re safe. They’ll be home in a minute, you’ll see.’
‘But the plane come from up there where they’ve gone. I saw it.’
‘It was too busy shooting at everyone down on the seafront to bother with an old man and three boys,’ she soothed, taking the glass of brandy from Anne with a nod of thanks. ‘Drink this, Sally. It will make you feel better.’
Sally took a sip and screwed up her face. It tasted horrible – but the shock of it seemed to calm her.
Anne came and sat beside her. ‘Did you get caught in it all, Sally? Is that why you’re so frightened?’
Sally nodded and sniffed and had to borrow yet another of Mrs Reilly’s handkerchiefs to blow her nose. ‘It were awful,’ she hiccupped. ‘It come out of nowhere and just started shooting everyone. Some bloke grabbed me and shoved me under one of them seats, otherwise I’d’ve been killed too.’
‘Whatch’a crying for Sal? Yer ain’t ’urt, are yer?’
‘Ernie? Oh, Ernie.’ Sally flew across the room and grabbed hold of him. ‘I thought you was shot,’ she said against his neck. ‘I was out of me mind with worry.’
He squirmed away from her grip. ‘Granddad Ron made us all hide in the bushes,’ he said. ‘I weren’t frightened,’ he added defiantly.
‘Thank you, Mr Reilly, for looking after ’im. I were that worried.’
Ron shrugged off her thanks, muttered something about feeding the ferrets and went back to the basement.
Ernie was frowning as he tugged at Sally’s arm. ‘What ’appened to yer coat, Sal? It’s all dirty and yer got a cut on yer knee and all.’
Sally hadn’t noticed. ‘I fell over,’ she said, smoothing back his hair from the little face that was still rosy with fresh air and excitement. ‘Weren’t looking where I were going, as usual.’
‘Cor,’ he yelled. ‘Is that a real bullet-’ole in yer bag? Is the bullet inside? Can I ’ave it?’
She took her bag from him, eyed the neat hole in the side, and realised there was another in the bottom. ‘It must ’ave gone right through,’ she said. ‘Sorry, Ernie, there ain’t no bullet.’
His little face looked mournful as he stared at the handbag. ‘Are you sure?’
She realised she had to distract him. ‘Look what I got, Ernie.’ She pulled the bag of humbugs out of her coat pocket.
‘They’re all squashed,’ he complained.
‘Sorry, luv, I must have fell on ’em. But I reckon they’ll still taste all right. Mind you share ’em now.’
She watched him sit on the top stair to the basement and bump his way down on his bottom before she sank into the chair by the fire. Her legs were shaking, and she felt as if the stuffing had been knocked out of her.
‘How can I go to work and leave ’im?’ she asked Anne. ‘What if there’s another attack and I can’t get to ’im? I thought we was supposed to be safe ’ere.’
Anne put her arm round Sally’s shoulder. ‘We can’t stop going to work, or keep the children from school, or not have any fun, and just sit about waiting for the next raid, just because there’s a war on,’ she murmured. ‘If we do that, then we’re letting down all those brave boys who’re risking their lives for us.’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘Like those pilots today. They knew what had to be done, and they did it with no thought for their own safety.’
‘I saw a poster today.’ Peggy put the kettle on the hob and rattled teacups. ‘It said something like, “Your Courage Will Bring Victory”, so that’s the attitude we’re going to have in this house,’ she said, with quiet determination. ‘No matter how bad it gets, or how frightened we are, we will keep our heads high, roll up our sleeves and keep going until this war is won.’
Sally nodded, calmer now. ‘I’m sorry for making such a fuss,’ she said, balling the handkerchief in her hands. ‘But Ernie’s all I got till Dad comes ’ome, and I promised I’d look after ’im.’ She looked at the two kind faces and felt the tears rise again. ‘I’m frightened,’ she whispered.
‘We all are,’ soothed Anne, ‘but there’s nothing like a nice cuppa to perk us all up. I don’t know about you, Sally, but I’m parched.’