Chapter Five
Ernie had helped Ron and the boys feed the animals, groom the dog and fetch fresh vegetables from the garden. He was still overexcited about the adventure of the day, and talked non-stop through tea until he abruptly fell asleep with his head resting on the table.
Sally had carried him upstairs, woken him enough to use the lavatory, and put him to bed, the towel firmly tucked beneath him. She returned downstairs to help clear the dishes and put the kitchen straight, but the trauma of the day had taken its toll and she’d gone to bed soon after, clutching Peggy’s spare alarm clock.
Sleep came swiftly, but it wasn’t restful. The possibility that Ernie might wet the bed again was always with her, and the knowledge she dared not oversleep because of work in the morning kept waking her. Yet even her dreams made her restless, for they were of enemy planes, of small boys lost in the wilds of the hills and of bullets whining and thudding all around her – but, most disturbing of all, were the dreams of strong arms holding her, and of a pair of laughing blue eyes that seemed to know her every thought.
When the alarm clock startled her awake, she lay for a moment, groggy from lack of a proper sleep and loath to leave the warmth and comfort of her bed. She’d been up with Ernie twice in the night to ensure his bed remained dry but, as she clambered reluctantly out of bed and checked on him, she felt the dampness and sighed with weary despair. She simply didn’t have the time or energy for this, but she supposed she should be thankful it was only the towel and his pyjama trousers she would have to wash this time.
Swiftly pulling on her clothes and brushing her hair, she carried him, protesting, down to the bathroom where she gave him a quick wash. While he dressed, she rinsed out the towel and the pyjama trousers. The radiator was hot, but she wouldn’t have dared to use it anyway. Peggy Reilly would take one look and know what had happened, and she couldn’t afford to upset her.
‘I’m hungry,’ he said, as she fixed his boot and calliper. ‘Can I go down and ’ave me breakfast?’
‘Are you sure you can manage?’
‘Course I can,’ he said indignantly. ‘I got me bum, ain’t I?’ He slid from the chair and made his way out of the bathroom and on to the landing, where he grabbed hold of the banister to help maintain his balance as he hobbled towards the stairs. With a wide grin, he sat and bumped and slid his way down.
Sally grinned back at him and, on hearing a door open nearby, hurried back to their room. With the towel and pyjama trousers draped over the top window, she closed it just enough to anchor them firmly, and pulled the curtains together to hide what she’d done. She just had to hope no-one from the house looked up from the pavement.
Deciding she should try and make a good impression on her first day, she changed into the pencil-slim skirt and white blouse she’d finished sewing two nights before she’d left London. The blouse had been made from an old tablecloth she’d found in Petticoat Lane. The body of the blouse was linen, hand-sewn with pin-tucks that emphasised her slender figure. From the sweetheart neckline, the rest of the blouse was lace, with tiny pearly buttons at wrist and throat, and a Peter Pan collar. The skirt was plain navy blue, cut from a dress her mother had discarded as too dowdy.
With a dark blue cardigan to keep her warm and protect the blouse, she parted her hair down the middle and anchored it with combs before eyeing her reflection in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. She looked very smart, but it was a shame about the shoes and socks – they didn’t look right at all, but as they were the only ones she had, they would have to do. Grabbing her coat and gas mask, she went downstairs.
Everyone else seemed to be having a Sunday morning lie-in, but Peggy was already eating breakfast when Sally sat down next to Ernie and tucked into the porridge and toast. She ate quickly, for it was after seven, and she had to be at the factory by eight fifteen.
‘I’ll be back around four,’ she said, when she’d finished. ‘Are you sure it’s all right to leave Ernie for so long?’
‘Of course it is,’ said Peggy, folding the newspaper. ‘We’ve already discussed what we will do, haven’t we, Ernie?’
Ernie nodded, looking a little uncertain. ‘I’m going to ’elp Mrs Reilly peel the veg and make the pastry for the rabbit pie. Then I got to wash me face and ’ands and get ready for church.’
‘Church?’ In Sally’s experience, church was for christenings, weddings and funerals. Poor Ernie.
‘That’s right. We always go to church on Sundays, and Father McCormack gives all the boys and girls a sweet if they’ve been good during the service.’
‘What kinda sweets?’ Ernie looked at her suspiciously.
‘Toffees, usually,’ she replied with a smile, before rising from the table. ‘I’ve made some sandwiches and a flask of tea for you to take with you, Sally. It’s only Spam, I’m afraid, but you’ve got to eat something.’
‘That’s ever so kind, Mrs Reilly, but I can last out till …’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said briskly. ‘You’re far too thin as it is, and I’m determined to get some flesh on those bones and some roses in your cheeks. There will be sandwiches and tea every day from now on – and I won’t have any arguments.’ As if to emphasise the point, she left the room.
Sally looked at Ernie, who licked porridge from his chin and grinned back at her. ‘She’s bossy, ain’t she?’ he said. ‘But I like ’er – a lot. She makes good porridge.’
It was another bitterly cold October morning, the sun only just emerging over the horizon to struggle against the thick, low cloud. The sea was as grey as the sky, and the gulls sounded mournful as they floated on the wind and called from the rooftops and lamp posts. But, despite the bank of cloud, the air was fresh and clean – unlike the thick, choking smog of London, where thousands of factory chimneys belched their filth over everything.
Sally had sponged off the worst of the damage to her coat and stitched the tear at the side so no-one would know it had ever been there. The handbag was beyond repair but, as she didn’t need it today, it didn’t matter – yet she mourned the loss of her pretty headscarf, and wondered if it had been blown out to sea, or was lying somewhere, trapped in a tangle of barbed wire.
Accepting that it was gone forever, and there was little she could do about it, she hitched the gas-mask box over her shoulder, and swung the string bag from her wrist, feeling the weight of the flask and packet of sandwiches. She usually had a crust of bread and cheese, and a cup of water from the street standpipe when she was at work, and although she’d eaten her fill at breakfast, she was looking forward to the luxury of Spam sandwiched between slices of soft, fresh bread.
She arrived at the factory with ten minutes to spare and saw women hurrying towards it from all directions. Following them through the side gate, she realised most of them were her mother’s age, or older, and spoke with a strange, drawling, rolling accent that was hard to decipher. There were a few younger ones, and she was pleasantly surprised to hear the welcoming sound of the East End coming from a group of three who were arm-in-arm and chattering nineteen to the dozen. It would be nice if she could get to know them, she thought. It would make her feel more at home.
As they walked across the vast concrete yard, another swarm of women emerged from a door at the far end of the building, and Sally realised this must be the night shift clocking off. It paid really well, but Sally had had to forget even trying for it – she couldn’t leave Ernie all night with Mrs Reilly, especially if he was going to wet the bed.
Sally followed as the women swarmed into the building, grabbed their work-cards and, with the careless ease of long familiarity, slipped them into the machine that would mark their time of arrival with a small puncture hole, before taking it out again and sliding it back to where it had come from.
She took a moment to find hers before she could do the same. Then she let herself be carried along by the chattering, laughing stream into the workroom where the BBC Home Service radio programme blared out from two huge speakers strung from the rafters.
She let the river of women flow round her as she stared in amazement. It was five times bigger than the factory in Bow, and cavernous, with row upon row of long tables supporting dozens of heavy, industrial sewing machines. There were windows in the roof, but they were so grimy that very little light penetrated them – but this was counteracted by banks of lights hanging from the ceiling.
Huge rolls of khaki material lay beside rolls of air-force blue on the specially made shelves that took up the whole of one end of this enormous space. In front of them were the numerous tables where the paper patterns would be outlined in chalk before the skilled cutters got to work and each section of uniform began to emerge from the expensive cloth.
At the other end of the building, Sally could see the packers loading the finished uniforms into boxes, which were then hauled away on special trolleys to the loading bays at the top of a short concrete ramp. The height of these loading bays had been calculated to match the height of the lorries’ storage space, so the boxes could be loaded quickly and efficiently.
Sally turned and regarded the long wooden stairway that ran behind her to a broad balcony high above the factory floor. Built into this balcony was a room with a window that took up most of one side. This was where the manager could watch every worker’s move. He was as powerful as the factory owner, for he was king of all he surveyed – and had the livelihoods of his workers in the palms of his hands.
‘We don’t pay you to stand about gawping.’
Sally looked up and swallowed. ‘I’m new,’ she managed. He was an unattractive man in, Sally guessed, his late thirties, with bad skin, greasy hair and a mean-looking expression. He had thick glasses and wore a long, dun-coloured duster coat, buttoned over his clothes, which did little to enhance his pallor.
‘And I’m the shop-floor supervisor, Mr Simmons.’
‘Sally Turner, sir,’ she replied, playing up to his undoubted ego.
He sniffed and looked at the clipboard clasped awkwardly in his withered hand before pointing vaguely to the other side of the cavernous room. ‘Row nine, machine fifteen.’ His pale eyes bored into her from behind the thick lenses of his glasses. ‘We expect the highest standards here, or you’re out,’ he warned. ‘You’ll have fifteen minutes for lunch. Tea will be available at eleven and four and must be drunk at your station. The cost will come out of your pay-packet.’
‘I don’t need tea,’ she replied. ‘I brought me own.’
He obviously didn’t approve of his routine being changed and glared at her before putting a mark beside her name on the piece of paper in his clipboard and eyeing his watch. ‘Get to work, Miss Turner.’
Sally quickly walked down the rows, counting them as she went. Row nine was about halfway down, her machine two from the end. She slipped behind the two gossiping women, shrugged off her coat and hung it with the string bag and gas-mask box over the back of her chair.
She grimaced as she sat down. The chair was wooden, the legs at different lengths. No doubt it had been rejected and passed down the line – and now, being the new girl, she was the unlucky one to have it. Making a mental note to bring in a cushion tomorrow, she looked round for something to jam under the leg.
‘Hello, ducks. The name’s Brenda. Welcome to hell.’ The woman had a cheerful face despite her words, and she continued to smile as she covered her curlers with a scarf and tied it firmly at the front.
‘It can’t be that bad, can it?’ Sally was still trying to find her balance on the chair.
‘You wait until Hitler Simmons over there starts having a go,’ Brenda said grimly, cocking her head towards the supervisor and folding her meaty arms over her vast bosom. ‘Thinks he knows it all, strutting about like a cockerel in a hen house – all puffed up and full of himself.’
She reminded Sally of Maisie Kemp – right down to the curlers, and the fag hanging out of her mouth.
‘Here you go,’ said Brenda, reaching for the empty cigarette packet in her apron pocket. ‘Double that up and stick it under the leg, or else you’ll be lopsided all blooming day.’
Sally tested the effect and discovered it did the trick as long as she didn’t wriggle about too much.
‘Yeah, y’wanna watch Simmons,’ confided the girl on the other side, giving Sally a nudge and a wink. ‘Gets a bit ’andy, if yer know what I mean. Thinks ’e’s Gawd’s gift.’ She gave a snort of derision, tossed back her fair hair, and tugged the ratty cardigan more tightly over her narrow chest. ‘As if any of us would give ’im the time o’ day.’
Sally perked up as she recognised the Cockney accent. ‘We ’ad one of them in Bow,’ she replied. ‘Someone told ’is missus what ’e were up to and we never ’ad no trouble again.’
The girl’s blue eyes lit up. ‘Bow? We’re almost neighbours. I’m from Stepney, just off the Mile End Road. Pearl’s the name.’
‘Sally.’ They grinned at one another in delight.
‘I love your blouse,’ said Pearl, wistfully. ‘Where’d you get it?’
Sally unbuttoned her cardigan to show it off, delighted Pearl liked it. ‘I made it out of an old tablecloth.’
‘You made that?’ Brenda eyed it keenly, and ran a finger over the tiny pin-tucks. ‘That’s lovely work,’ she said admiringly.
‘Me gran was a seamstress. She taught me to sew.’
Pearl leaned in closer to inspect the workmanship. ‘You could make a bob or two doing stuff like that,’ she murmured. ‘Especially when them clothing coupons come in.’
‘Yes,’ said Brenda. ‘Make do and mend is what we’ll all have to be doing from now on, and there will always be repairs and alterations – as well as clothes for special occasions.’ She nodded as if to confirm this statement. ‘I’ll put the word out for you, ducks. These can use machines, but when it comes to real sewing they don’t know one end of a needle to the other, let alone do fine work like that.’
Sally’s smile was warm as she thanked Brenda. She was so glad she’d worn her blouse this morning – perhaps this was to be a lucky day. ‘I can only do the ’and stuff for now,’ she warned her. ‘I ain’t got a machine yet.’
Brenda nodded and began a conversation with the woman on the other side of her, so Sally turned back to Pearl. Within minutes they were chatting like old friends, finding places and people they both knew and reminiscing about the King’s Coronation two years before and the street parties everyone had had to celebrate. They agreed he sounded lovely on the wireless, but it was a terrible shame he stuttered.
Then the runner dumped the piles of cut fabric beside each of them and, before she was halfway down the line, the whistle had gone to begin work. ‘We’ll ’ave a chinwag later,’ shouted Pearl above the racket of over eighty machines.
Sally swiftly and expertly checked her machine was properly threaded and working, then picked up the wad of material that had been pinned together at one corner. It was a pair of khaki trousers, with seams, pockets, zip and waistband to be sewn together before it went to another table for the hem, buttonhole and button to be done by hand.
It felt good to be back at work again – and good to know she had someone her own age, and from a similar background, to chat to in the breaks.
The whistle went at noon and there was a stampede for the back door. They poured out into the large rear garden which had been concreted over and furnished with a collection of battered tables and benches. The air was cold and made them pull up their coat collars, but it was good to be out of the noise and stale atmosphere of the factory.
The promised canteen would be finished by the end of the month, and the workmen on the scaffolding whistled and called down to the women offering everything from a kiss to a bite of their sandwiches. When they clambered down to join them, there was a great deal of laughter as they exchanged sandwiches and flirted over cigarettes and teacups.
Pearl tugged at Sally’s hand. ‘Quick, over there.’ They jostled through the melee and managed to grab a sunlit space on a low wall. Grinning at each other, they unwrapped their sandwiches and began to munch.
‘So, what you doing all this way from ’ome, Sally?’
She explained about her brother and described the family she’d been billeted with. ‘They’re ever so kind,’ she confided, ‘and Ernie’s ’aving the time of ’is life, so I reckon we landed on our feet.’ She regarded the china-doll face with the big blue eyes, and the slender figure wrapped in a threadbare coat.
Pearl was aptly named and, despite the fair hair and Alice band, was probably older than she looked. ‘What about you?’
Pearl wrinkled her delicate nose and tossed back her long fair hair. ‘I’m eighteen and shouldn’t be ’ere at all,’ she said, through the last of her jam sandwich. ‘But I come down with me little sister who ’as the asthma something chronic.’ She shrugged. ‘What with nothing ’appening in London – no bombs and such – Mum wanted her ’ome again. I already got this job, so I stayed on.’
‘What’s yer billet like?’
‘They’re an old couple what expect me to clean and cook for ’em. But at least I get good grub and a comfy bed, so I don’t mind.’ She giggled and blushed. ‘They even let me use the front room when Billy comes round.’
‘Billy?’
Pearl nodded with a dreamy expression. ‘He’s lovely, is Billy. Works on ’is dad’s fishing boat.’ The softness faded and she frowned. ‘But they got a letter the other day from the Admiralty which will change things.’ She sighed and sipped her tea. ‘They’re going to requisition the big trawler to use as a minesweeper, and Billy’s planning to join the Royal Naval Reserve so ’e can captain it. It’s all a bit worrying, really.’
Sally didn’t know what to say. Everyone’s lives were upside-down at the moment and nobody knew what the future held.
Pearl’s expression suddenly hardened. ‘Watch out, Sal,’ she hissed. ‘Here come the cats.’
Sally followed her gaze. The three women she’d seen ahead of her in the queue this morning were making their way towards them. They looked pleasant enough, but Pearl obviously knew them better. ‘Cats?’ she murmured.
‘Mmm. With claws. Don’t for one minute think they’ll be your friends. That Iris just wants to be Queen Bee and lord it over us cos we’re from London.’
Sally watched them cut a swathe through the gathering, noted how many of the women turned their shoulders, their gazes sliding away as they passed. One was blonde, one brunette and the other a redhead – they made quite an impression – and Sally guessed they were in their mid-to-late twenties.
‘Who’s this?’ said the brunette, who was clearly the ringleader.
‘This is Sally from Bow,’ said Pearl. ‘Sally, this is Iris.’ She pointed to the redhead and the blonde. ‘Jean and Pat.’
Sally smiled, taking in the smart clothes, the make-up and fashionable hairstyles.
‘What you doing over ’ere?’ Iris’s dark eyes bored into Pearl. ‘You know I don’t like you mixing with this lot. We London girls gotta stick together.’
‘It’s sunnier over ’ere,’ said Sally quickly, ‘and after sitting inside all morning, it’s nice and cheerful.’ She held Iris’s steady gaze. ‘There’s room on the wall. Why don’t you join us?’
Iris glared at her before giving a nod to the other two, and sitting down. ‘Got a fag, Pearl? Only I’ve run out.’ Iris screwed up the empty cigarette packet and threw it to the ground in disgust.
‘You know I don’t smoke, Iris.’
‘What about you, Sal?’
‘I don’t either.’
‘Blimey,’ muttered Iris. ‘You’re a pair of right little goody-two-shoes, ain’t yer?’ She sniggered and nudged the redhead. ‘What you reckon, Jean?’
‘I reckon they’re just a couple of kids and not worth our time,’ she replied, her expression scornful.
‘You could be right. Come on Jean, give us a fag. The whistle’ll go in a minute, and old Simmons will be on the warpath.’
Sally had met her type before and wasn’t impressed or cowed by her. She finished eating her delicious sandwiches and watched as the cigarettes were lit and the three women began to talk amongst themselves – patently ignoring Pearl and Sally, who didn’t mind a bit, but who would have preferred to carry on their own conversation in private.
It soon became clear to Sally that, although they were all from the East End, she and Pearl had very little in common with the other three. They were married, for a start, but with their husbands away with the forces, they’d come down to the coast to find work and have a good time.
Sally poured tea from the flask and shared it with Pearl as she listened to their conversation. It was full of bitchy remarks about the other women to begin with, but this soon turned to comparing the generosity and allure of the foreign servicemen who were stationed in and around Cliffehaven. The general consensus seemed to be that the Yanks were the most generous, the French the most romantic and the Poles were real gentlemen but almost impossible to understand.
From there, the talk continued to the local dances, the pictures they’d seen and the conquests they’d made. It was a boastful, coarse exchange, interspersed with shrieks of raucous laughter that had people turning their heads and made Sally wince. They sounded just like Florrie and her mates when they got together.
She glanced at Pearl who merely shrugged and drank her tea. It seemed the other girl was similarly unimpressed and had nothing to bring to the conversation either, and that made Sally like her even more. But Pearl had obviously gone along with Iris and the others before today, and she hoped there wouldn’t be any fallout over her standing her ground.
‘You must come with us tonight,’ said Iris, suddenly turning to Sally. ‘We’re going to the dance at the Pier Hotel. The Yanks come into town from their base nearby, and they know ’ow to splash their money about.’ She reached into her handbag and pulled out something wrapped in tissue paper. ‘Look what I got last night,’ she breathed.
Sally eyed the silk stockings. They were beautiful, but she could imagine how Iris had come to have such a gift. ‘Not tonight,’ she replied pleasantly. ‘I got things to do.’
‘Nothing’s more important than ’aving a good time. The blokes will pay, it won’t cost yer nothing.’
‘Don’t make no difference,’ replied Sally. ‘I still got other things to do.’
‘What about you, Pearl?’ The brown eyes were daring her to refuse.
‘I got a date already,’ she said.
‘I ain’t one to take no for an answer,’ Iris said evenly. ‘Bring ’im along, if you must, but I expect you and Sal to meet us outside the Town Hall at seven.’
Sally glanced at Pearl and could see she was wavering. ‘We already gave you our answer, Iris,’ she said quietly.
‘So you’re refusing to come out with us?’ Iris put her hands on her hips as she stood and viciously crushed the cigarette beneath the toe of her fancy shoe.
‘That’s right,’ said Sally. ‘I got a little brother to look after, and Pearl’s got a date.’
‘Then get a babysitter,’ snapped Iris.
‘I already left him all morning. I ain’t leaving ’im again.’ She stood and tipped out the dregs of tea from the cup and screwed it back on to the flask as the whistle signalled the end of the break.
Iris sniffed with derision as she eyed both girls.
‘You’d only cramp our style anyway.’ Her sneering gaze swept over Sally’s shoes and socks, and Pearl’s threadbare coat. ‘Your bloke can’t be up to much, Pearl Dawkins, cos no-one decent would want to get within half a mile of you and your smelly clothes. As fer you,’ her eyes bored into Sally, ‘you’ll regret this. And that’s a promise.’
She linked arms with the other two and headed for the factory door. A muttered exchange between them had them shrieking with laughter again.
‘Blimey, you got some nerve, Sal,’ breathed Pearl. ‘No-one says no to Iris.’
‘Then it’s time someone did.’
‘You’re very brave,’ said Pearl, as they hurried indoors. ‘But you’d better watch yer back from now on. That Iris is a spiteful piece and no mistake.’
‘I’ve met ’er kind before,’ said Sally, ‘and she don’t frighten me.’
‘Well, she does me,’ muttered Pearl, as they weaved their way back to their work-station. ‘She can be a right cow when someone upsets ’er – and the other two are just as bad, cos they do what she tells ’em.’
‘If you’re up for it, what you say we stick together?’ said Sally, as they took their places in front of the machines. ‘There’s strength in numbers, and if we keep firm, and make friends with some of the other girls, then they’ll just ’ave to accept we don’t want to get involved.’
‘Yea, why not?’ Pearl smiled. ‘I’m glad you came to work ’ere.’
Sally smiled back. ‘So am I,’ she replied – but she was all too aware of Iris on the other end of a far table, shooting her hostile glances. Pearl’s advice was valid; she’d definitely have to watch her back.
Aleksy had been at the airfield all morning, struggling like the others with the English language. The teacher was a retired college lecturer who liked the sound of his own voice, and Aleksy had spent most of the lesson staring out of the window at the grey skies and the windswept grass, his thoughts drifting.
There were no planes as yet, for they were all still based at the old airfield on the other side of the hills. This new airfield had been sited on a requisitioned farm which sprawled across the broad, flat lands that swept northward for many miles beyond Cliffehaven. It would soon be operational with a proper runway, flight-tower and hangars. The barracks were almost completed, the offices, canteen and workshops at the point where they were being fitted out. There was a great deal of activity outside as men from the Royal Engineers dug and built and hammered and sawed, but he missed the roar of the Spitfires and Hurricanes.
He was restless and on edge, impatient to be in the thick of things instead of hanging about. All this inactivity gave him too much time to think and fret over the lack of news coming out of Poland. The new group of Polish airmen had nothing to add to what he already knew, but at least it meant he had something to do. He’d made a start at getting to know them, and to gauge their capabilities. Many of them were boys who’d managed to escape Poland by making the long, hazardous journey across Europe to be here, but they were inexperienced and poorly trained, their English non-existent. He would have his work cut out to get them through the rigorous demands of the RAF examinations.
But there were older, battle-hardened fliers, like himself, who simply wanted to get on with the job. In his role of senior officer in charge of the local Polish contingent, he understood only too well how they felt, but it was the devil’s own job to keep discipline when they drowned their sorrows and their impatience with the prodigious amounts of vodka they always seemed to have stashed away.
The lesson was over at last, and Aleksy pulled on the sheepskin-lined leather flying jacket and stepped out into the grey drizzle of an English winter. He could smell the delicious aroma of bigos – a traditional Polish hunter’s winter stew of cabbage, meat, sausage, tomatoes, honey and mushrooms – coming from the cookhouse, and his mouth watered. Though he doubted there would be honey, bay leaves and smoked plums in the stew, or the heavy, dark bread his mother had always made to accompany it, it was still a link with home and family.
He loaded his plate with stew, potatoes and the soft English white bread, and found a seat with some of the other veteran pilots. He was enjoying the stew, even though it wasn’t a patch on his mother’s, when he saw the padre come into the cookhouse. Not taking much notice of the man, Aleksy carried on talking and eating.
‘Aleksy Chmielewski?’
The soft voice was at his shoulder and he looked up into the calm face of the elderly padre and lost his appetite. ‘What is it?’
‘There is a letter for you,’ he said, reaching into his pocket. ‘From Poland.’
Aleksy had to resist snatching it from him, but he sat and stared at it as the padre placed it on the table. He was vaguely aware of the silence that had fallen amongst his comrades, but all he could see was the familiar writing.
‘I will leave you to read it in peace,’ the padre murmured. ‘May God go with you.’
‘And with you,’ he muttered automatically. Aleksy stared at the envelope, which had been sent to several places before it had reached him here in the south of England. He softly touched the familiar writing as he tried to decipher when it had been posted – but with so many stamps and markings, it was impossible.
With barely a muttered apology to the others, he left the cookhouse in search of somewhere he could read this precious letter without interruption. In the far corner of the airfield he found the ruins of the farmer’s barn and sat down on an abandoned bran tub. With his back pressed to the great oak beam that held up one sagging corner of the barn, he took a deep breath and opened the letter with trembling fingers.
It wasn’t long, merely two sides of one sheet of thin, cheap paper, the words small and neat, the style fluid and poetic as only a Pole could write.
My dearest brother,
I write this in the hope it will find you, and that you are safe and in good health. We heard you had been injured again, and were in hospital in Spain, but despite having written many times, there has been no word from you. We can only pray you have found sanctuary in England like so many of our brave friends. This letter is carried by a friend who has promised to send it on for me.
I know the war in Spain is over for you, but for us, my dearest Aleksy, there is much sad news and my heart is sore that I must tell you, but it is right you should know what has happened. My tears fall, for it is hard for me to write of such things, so I will do it swiftly.
Aleksy’s sight blurred with tears and his heart thudded painfully as he stopped reading. He didn’t want to see the words he’d dreaded ever since he’d left Spain. Didn’t want to know what terrible things had happened to his loved ones during his absence. But he knew he had to – he owed them that much. With a deep and trembling breath, he returned to his sister’s news.
Our family is scattered and our apartment building is destroyed. There is much hunger here, and the winter is cruel, but I managed to find shelter with Mamma and Papa in a tiny basement on the other side of the city. The siege meant there was very little food, even though I was willing to sell everything for just a crust of bread or a turnip to make soup. Mamma and Papa fought bravely to survive, but they were too old and frail. They fell asleep in each other’s arms one bitter night, and I carried them back to our old home one by one and managed to bury them in the garden. If you should return, there is a rough-hewn cross to mark their resting place, and I stole some holy water from the nearby church to bless the earth that now covers them.
Aleksy wept, the tears rolling down his face as the pain seared through him and threatened to tear him apart. But the agony was not over, for Danuta’s letter continued.
Anjelika and Brygida moved into the basement with me, and for a while we managed to survive on what we could forage or steal. I was out trying to find wood for the fire when they were taken. The neighbours tell me they were forced into trucks with many others and driven away. No-one knows where they have gone, and no-one dares to ask – but the rumours here are of labour camps. If that is where they have gone, then at least they will be fed and sheltered, for what use is labour if it is too weak to work?
My dearest brother, my heart is heavy for you and my prayers are offered daily – but in this terrible place it is hard to believe there is still a God, for no-one is listening to our cries for freedom from this tyranny. We live like animals, hiding in the darkness. The world we once knew and the friends we once had are gone.
I have left the basement for it is no longer safe. I wander the streets, hiding in the shadows as the tanks and trucks go past, making my way to the far side of the city where a friend has promised to get me out of Warsaw so I can fight in the Resistance. If you do not hear from me again, it is because I have failed.
May God go with you, sweet brother, and hold the memories in your heart of those days when the sun was shining and we thought our world would never change. I love you, and pray we shall all be together again – if not in this world, then in the next.
Your loving sister, Danuta
Aleksy bent his head, the tears coming from the depths of his soul.
‘See ya tomorrow morning.’ The shift was over and she and Pearl went their separate ways home. Pearl was billeted in one of the houses behind the town and, as it was a long uphill walk, and Billy was due to visit at six, she was in a hurry.
Sally waved and headed into the wind. She wasn’t as tired as she usually was after a shift, and put it down to having eaten properly for once. It was good she’d made a friend, and there had already been three enquiries from other girls about doing alterations. Apart from the run-in with Iris and her cronies, it had been a good day, and she was feeling positive and happy as she came to the end of the long climb and opened the front door to Beach View.
She could hear the boys making a racket in the back garden as she ran up the stairs to their room, and it made her smile. But as she opened the door her smile froze and her spirits tumbled. The curtains were billowing in the wind that came from the open window. There was no sign of the towel, or the pyjama trousers.
‘I put them on the washing line.’
Sally whirled to find Peggy standing on the landing. For the first time since her arrival, there was no smile on the other woman’s face. ‘I … I …’
‘You should have warned me Ernie wets the bed,’ she said evenly.
‘He don’t usually,’ stammered Sally, ‘but with all the up’eaval …’
‘That’s understandable,’ said Peggy as she came into the bedroom, ‘but you should have told me. Then you wouldn’t have had to go through all this subterfuge.’
Sally was uncertain what that meant, but suspected Mrs Reilly was accusing her of hiding things from her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘But I was frightened you’d chuck us out, and Ernie’s beginning to settle, really ’e is, and ’e only done a tiny bit last night and—’
‘It’s all right,’ she cut in softly. ‘I do understand, and of course I wouldn’t throw you out. But I would appreciate honesty, Sally. If there’s anything you think I should know, then you must tell me.’
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Reilly. I only done what I thought were best.’
‘I realise that, but you could have saved yourself a lot of bother by coming to me straight away instead of washing sheets in the bath in the middle of the night, and hanging things out of the window.’
She looked at her aghast. ‘How did you know?’
‘Our room is right under the bathroom, and I heard water running at two in the morning. I got up to see what was going on, and heard you and Ernie. I realised at once what must have happened.’
Sally reddened. ‘Oh.’
‘I waited for you to say something, but of course you didn’t. When I heard you get up twice last night, I knew I had to do something about it.’ Her stern expression had lightened, but Sally could see she was still displeased. ‘Ernie needed his coat and cap for church, and I came up to collect them.’
‘And found the towel and pyjamas.’
‘Silly girl,’ she murmured, her demeanour softening. ‘Am I so terrifying?’
‘No,’ said Sally hastily, ‘of course you’re not, but because you’re so nice, I didn’t want to upset you or make you angry.’
Peggy gave a deep sigh. ‘Sally, you have to realise that I’m here to help. I applied to take in evacuees, and was fully prepared to look after them on my own. Just because Ernie is with you, doesn’t mean you have to carry the full responsibility of looking after him. Any other evacuee would have to be fed and taken to school and entertained until bedtime – it will be the same with Ernie.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I didn’t think of it like that. Only I’ve always looked after ’im, ever since ’e were a baby.’
Peggy patted her arm. ‘Then it’s time you let someone help you,’ she replied. ‘You’re far too young to have such responsibilities, and you need to have time to yourself once in a while.’ She didn’t wait for a reply, and went to Ernie’s bed to show her what she’d done.
‘I’ve hunted out an old mattress and a rubber sheet, and put extra linen in the dressing-table drawer. I suggest Ernie has nothing to drink after five o’clock, and that you lift him to the lavatory just before you go to bed.’
‘Of course,’ Sally murmured. ‘I’ll do me best to make sure ’e don’t do it again.’
‘I’m sure you will, but don’t make too much of it, Sally. Any fuss and the boy will take much longer to settle in and return to his usual routine.’
‘In a way,’ Sally confessed, ‘I’m glad you found out. I couldn’t have gone much longer without a proper night’s kip.’
‘Yes, you did look very tired this morning.’ She brightened and dug her hands in her apron pocket. ‘How did your first day go?’
Sally smiled and finally relaxed – she’d been forgiven. ‘The work’s easy, and I made a friend. Her name’s Pearl – then there’s Betty who promised to tell everyone about me home-dressmaking work, and I already got three enquiries.’ She realised she was babbling and came to an abrupt halt.
‘You do sewing? What sort of sewing?’
‘Alterations, hems, zips, patching and repairs. I can also draw patterns and make clothes.’ She took off her coat and showed Mrs Reilly her blouse and skirt. ‘I made these before I come down ’ere, but I ’ad to leave me gran’s Singer back in London, so it’ll just ’ave to be repairs till I get enough money together to rent one.’
Peggy eyed the pretty blouse and the beautifully tailored skirt. ‘Well, well, you are full of surprises, Sally Turner.’ Peggy chuckled and beckoned her out of the room. ‘I’ve got something to show you, come on.’
Sally tried to quell the hope that soared through her, but it was impossible, and when Peggy opened the door to the cupboard under the stairs, she almost burst into tears at the sight of the Singer sewing machine.
‘I don’t know what state it’s in, haven’t used it for years; but if you can get it going properly, you can borrow it for as long as you want.’
‘Thank you, oh, thank you, Mrs Reilly. You don’t know what this means to me, really you don’t.’ She threw her arms round a startled Peggy and gave her a hug. ‘I’ll do all yer sewing in return for the loan,’ she cried, ‘everything from turning sheets to making you a lovely outfit. Just say the word, and it’s yours.’
‘Let’s see if it works first,’ said Peggy dryly. ‘Come on, help me get it out, and mind, it’s a heavy great thing.’
They got it into the hall and slowly trundled it into the dining room and placed it under the window with a chair. ‘I’ve said Anne and Martin can use this room in the evenings, but you can use it the rest of the time.’ Peggy dusted the cobwebs off the mahogany lid with the hem of her apron before she unclipped it. Then she stood back and watched as Sally checked the shuttle, the needle and the treadle.
‘A spot of oil and she’ll run smooth as silk,’ breathed Sally. ‘Oh, and look!’ She’d opened the drawer at the side of the smart mahogany casing and discovered numerous coloured cottons, a thimble, a box of pins, tailor’s chalk and replacement needles. In another drawer were strips of ribbon and lace, zips of varying sizes, and buttons. It was a treasure-trove.
‘I’ve got some old paper patterns somewhere,’ murmured Peggy. ‘I’ll look them out for you later, though you might find them a bit old-fashioned.’
‘That don’t matter,’ breathed Sally, still starry-eyed. ‘I can change ’em about, or even make me own.’
‘Sal, Sal. Come and look what we made.’ Ernie was hobbling as quickly as he could into the dining room and came to a halt, staring at the machine. ‘What’s Gran’s Singer doing ’ere, Sal? I thought it was in London?’ His eyes widened and he looked over his shoulder with joyful expectancy. ‘Has Mum come? Is she ’ere?’
Sally gave him a hug. ‘It’s Mrs Reilly’s Singer,’ she said. ‘Mum’s not ’ere, Ernie, she’s still in London.’
His little face was crestfallen. ‘She ain’t comin’ then?’ At Sally’s shake of the head, he squared his shoulders and put on a brave face. ‘I ’spect she’s doing ’er bit, like Old Mother Kemp said.’
Sally couldn’t meet Peggy’s gaze as she bit her lip. ‘I expect she is,’ she said. She ruffled his hair. ‘So, wot’s all the excitement about, Ernie?’
His face lit up and he tugged at Sally’s hand. ‘Come and look, sis. Ron and Bob and Charlie and me made something, and you gotta see.’
She looked at Peggy questioningly as he dragged her towards the door, but Peggy just smiled and shrugged.
‘We gotta go outside,’ he said, bumping down the cellar steps. ‘It’s in the garden.’ He paused at the back door. ‘Shut yer eyes, Sal, and count to ten before you come out, or you’ll spoil the surprise.’
Sally and Peggy exchanged smiles and she did as she was told. She counted slowly, listening to the urgent whispers and the giggles from the other side of the door. Whatever they’d been up to had certainly generated a great deal of fuss.
‘Ready or not,’ she called, ‘here I come.’ She stepped outside and took in a sharp breath.
Harvey was barking as he charged alongside Bob and Charlie who were pulling on a loop of stout rope that had been attached to an old orange crate fixed to two sets of roller-skate wheels. They were moving at some speed and Ernie was yelling encouragement as he clung tightly to the sides.
‘It’s a crate-car, Sal!’ he shouted as they came to a slithering halt in front of her. ‘Now you don’t ’ave to carry me no more.’ He spluttered and protested as Harvey slobbered all over his face and tried to climb into the cart.
‘Get outta there, yer daft, heathen dog,’ muttered Ron, grabbing his scruff. ‘So,’ he said, turning to Sally. ‘What are ye thinking about this fine mode of transport for the wee lad?’
‘It looks a bit dangerous,’ admitted Sally, having visions of him going too fast and falling on his head. ‘What if ’e can’t stop it and it goes down’ill with ’im inside?’
‘To be sure I’ve put a brake on it. See.’ He reached into the crate and pulled on a sturdy handle that had the pedal of an old bike attached at the end which acted as a brake against the right front wheel. ‘It will need some refinement, so it will, and he mustn’t be trying the steep hills just yet – but he can get to school and about the place without you having to carry him. Tis a grand thing, so it is.’
Sally saw the sparkle in Ernie’s eyes and the rosy cheeks of a little boy who was having fun. She couldn’t spoil it. ‘Yes, Mr Reilly,’ she murmured, giving him a fleeting kiss on his prickly cheek. ‘It is a very fine thing. Thank you.’
‘Hrrumph. Right then,’ he blustered. ‘Let’s be testing this magnificent vehicle on the pavement.’ With the barking dog and the two whooping boys running alongside, he towed Ernie through the back gate and swiftly disappeared down the alleyway.