Ambulance Girls Under Fire

by Deborah Burrows

She gave me a sceptical look. ‘Are you sure you are well enough to be working? Simon seemed to think—’

  ‘I am perfectly fine.’ I sounded sharper than I had intended, and softened my tone. ‘I was entirely recovered four days ago, but Si– Dr Levy told my station officer I wasn’t allowed to return to ambulance work until tomorrow.’

  ‘Simon is a tyrant sometimes,’ she agreed. ‘“Mutti,” he says to me, “you must rest. You look haggard.” I know that a hag is an old and ugly woman, so I take to my bed. Then he orders me up. “Mutti, you must exercise. If you don’t, you’ll never walk without crutches again.” So I do his horrible exercises, and when he sees me next it’s, “Mutti, you look terrible. You must rest.” He is impossible.’

  Her indulgent smile took the sting out of her words. The smile reminded me so much of David that I had to look down to hide hot tears. With her delicate features and luminous dark eyes, anyone less like a hag than Mrs Levy would be hard to find.

  I decided to bring the conversation back on point. ‘I don’t understand how you found out about Leonhard Weitz.’

  ‘I telephone the hostel regularly to see if they are in need of anything. Food, books, supplies, anything they might need. Florence mentioned Leonhard, and she told me that the other boys were shunning him. What is your English expression? Ah yes, sending him to Coventry. An odd expression, I think. Apparently he had struck a boy when he was being teased, and broke his nose.’ She smiled. ‘It’s exactly what my Simon did, at Harrow.’

  ‘Simon did that?’ My voice was high and shocked.

  Mrs Levy smiled at this. Embarrassed, I said, more moderately, ‘It’s difficult to believe.’

  ‘Oh, yes. It shocked me, too, at the time. Simon was my shy boy, not a fighter like his older brothers. We found out later that Saul, my oldest, had taught both Simon and David how to box and fight before they went to school because he thought it was necessary that they knew such things.’ Her eyes misted, and her lips trembled as she said, ‘All through his time at Harrow, my hothead, David, was in trouble for fighting. I did not expect it of Simon.’

  I nodded. I didn’t expect it of Simon either.

  ‘The other boy was quite badly injured and Simon was almost expelled.’

  ‘Almost?’

  ‘When Jonathan went to the school he found that they had decided to give Simon another chance because he had behaved so well after the fight.’ She gave a soft laugh. ‘Simon had taken care of his victim very efficiently, Jonathan was told. He stopped the nosebleed, and bandaged the boy’s injuries with a handkerchief. He was found out because of the boy’s two black eyes and his handkerchief-splinted broken arm. The other boy bore him no rancour and they became fast friends afterwards.’ She laughed. ‘Boys.’

  I couldn’t help but laugh as well. ‘So he broke the boy’s arm as well as his nose? How old was Simon?’

  ‘He was thirteen years old.’ She smiled. ‘He told me later that he decided then and there that it was better to look after injuries than to inflict them. But he also told me it had felt good to punch the boy who had called him a filthy Yid.’ She sighed. ‘All my boys were bullied at Harrow, because they were Jewish. I wanted to take them out, but Jonathan said they had to learn to cope with it, because they would find it everywhere.’

  ‘And that is why you want to help Leonhard? Because he was being bullied at the hostel? I’m sure that we can find an excellent set of foster-parents for him.’

  ‘No. No,’ she said firmly. ‘Now we are settled in the new house it is right to foster a child. This boy needs mothering.’ Mrs Levy frowned. ‘He came here with nothing, absolutely nothing.’ Her expression lightened. ‘I will need to buy him clothes, toys, everything.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘It will be good to have a young boy to fuss over again. He reminds me of my own boys in his looks, particularly my Simon, but I fear the boy is indeed … damaged. In his mind, you understand. He will need patience and love. I hope it is enough.’

  ‘And he won’t talk at all?’

  ‘Not a word. It is very sad.’ She looked up at me and smiled. ‘You should meet him. We are about to take tea. Please join us. I will fetch Leonhard.’ Her smile dimmed. ‘You will find my mother-in-law, Mrs Cora Levy, in the drawing room. Please introduce yourself. She has just arrived to stay with us for a few days. Although she has moved to the country for the duration, she finds it difficult to be away from London.’

  When I entered the drawing room I saw a small, dark-haired old woman seated by the window, who was busily knitting something in khaki wool. The tea trolley was near her, and plates of cakes and sandwiches had been set up on it, next to a silver teapot and cups and saucers made of china as delicate as eggshells.

  I walked across and introduced myself.

  ‘Celia Ashwin?’ She scowled a little as she considered my name. I waited for her to realise who my husband was, and for her manner to change when she did. It took a minute or so, but then she gave a slight start and looked at me closely.

  ‘Your maiden name was Palmer-Thomas.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, surprised.

  ‘And your mother was a Beaumont?’

  ‘Yes.’ My shoulders relaxed as I realised that Mrs Levy apparently had no interest in Cedric, but was engaged in the game of ‘where are you placed among the county families’. It was a common game with the older generation of my set if they met anyone new, but I had not expected a little Jewish matriarch to be interested in my family.

  Mrs Levy nodded again. ‘And her mother was French. Célia Bernard, from Toulouse. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I was named after my grandmother.’

  She looked hard at me, pinning me with the full force of her shrewd gaze, and apparently expecting me to say more. When I remained silent, she sighed. ‘Please tell Elise that I am tired after my journey and have gone to my room.’

  The old woman rose and walked a little stiffly to the doorway. There she turned and said to me, ‘You seem a nice enough girl. How silly you were to marry that nasty man.’ Before I could reply she had opened the door and was gone.

  Five minutes later Leonhard Weitz entered the drawing room with Mrs Levy.

  There was something about the boy that tugged at my heart. He had outgrown the jacket he was wearing and thin childish wrists and hands hung limply by his side. His head was pulled down into his shoulders, as if waiting for a blow to fall and there was a quality of watchful, fearful silence around him. A mop of black hair framed a pale face with big dark eyes that regarded me from behind his spectacles with wan hopelessness. No child should look so defeated, I thought, and felt suddenly angry.

  After our introductions – I said hello and he gave me a formal little bow – Mrs Levy led him across the room to the tea trolley by the window and offered the boy a glass of milk. He shook his head. She cut a piece of cake and placed it on a small plate. Although he accepted it, he made no move to eat. Mrs Levy lifted her eyes to mine and shrugged delicately before smiling at someone behind me.

  I turned to see that Simon had entered the room. He greeted me with an expression of studied indifference rather than hostility. I saw it as indicating an improvement in our relations, so I gave him a smile. He looked away and went over to his mother, who had poured him a cup of tea. Then he walked across the room to stand by the fireplace. Somehow I knew he wanted to talk to me in relative privacy and, after accepting my own cup of tea, I joined him. I saw Mrs Levy’s small smile as I did so, and suspected she was well aware of the fact that Simon and his father did not approve of her taking in the boy.

  ‘His name is Leonhard Weitz,’ said Simon, in a low voice. He pronounced it the European way, Ley-a-nard.

  ‘I know that,’ I said.

  ‘And he doesn’t talk.’

  ‘I know that, too. According to his notes, he hasn’t said a word since he arrived here in England last year.’

  Leonhard had shifted his surprisingly adult and intense gaze away from Mrs Levy to look ou
t of the window. The cake on his plate remained untouched.

  Simon frowned. ‘Do they know if he speaks English?’

  ‘According to the notes, he complies with directions given in English. But his first language is German. He comes from Vienna. It may be comforting for him if your mother speaks to him in German.’

  ‘My mother said his foster-family was unkind to him and he was bullied at the hostel. That’s all she’s told me.’

  ‘She probably didn’t want you to worry. Actually, he’s been returned by two foster-families. They found him morose and uncooperative, sometimes aggressive. He was in trouble for fighting at the JCPB hostel. Your mother insists that he was bullied, and is determined to care for him.’

  We both looked at Leonhard. The fixed immobility with which he stared out of the window was difficult to witness in a child of eight. I have never been sentimental about children generally, but suddenly, and indeed almost violently, I wanted to help this child.

  Simon shook his head. ‘He’ll be difficult to look after and she’s not robust. Her legs are not healing as quickly as we had hoped.’ Our eyes met, clashed, and we turned again to look at the boy who, at Mrs Levy’s urging, had taken a small sip of milk.

  ‘My father and I are both worried that it will be too much for her, looking after a child like that.’

  ‘Perhaps it will do her good to cosset him.’

  ‘I doubt he will let her, and it is dispiriting never to get any response, any gratitude for kindnesses one performs.’

  Was this a sly dig at me? I didn’t answer. Instead I walked across to Leonhard and sat beside him on the sofa. He turned his head to regard me gravely.

  ‘Hello, Leonhard,’ I said, saying his name the English way.

  ‘It’s pronounced Ley-a-nard,’ said Simon again. He sat on a chair opposite and picked up a sandwich.

  ‘We pronounce it Lennard in England.’ I looked at the boy. ‘You’ll have to get used to people saying it like that. A new name for a new country.’ I smiled. ‘Do you mind? Or…’ My smile widened, and I said, ‘What about Leo? Leo Weitz. I like the sound of that. Would you like to be known as Leo, here in England?’

  He looked at me unblinkingly for a full minute before he nodded his head.

  ‘Leo it is then,’ I said. ‘Leo the lion.’

  A thought suddenly occurred to me. My stomach clenched at the impudence of it and my heart raced. Could I? The child seemed so lonely. And children needed animals. Especially emotionally disturbed children. I couldn’t imagine how I would have got through my childhood without my dog and pony. Not to give him Bobby, not yet anyway. But the boy, like Bobby, was all by himself. Perhaps Leo Weitz simply needed something to take care of, to cosset. After all, it was a truth universally acknowledged that the company of a parrot could prevent moping. Lily Brennan said so.

  I asked Simon, ‘What’s the German for parrot?’

  He stared at me. ‘Papagei. What are you—’

  ‘Leo,’ I said, ‘I have a papagei.’ I glanced at Mrs Levy, who was watching me with interest. I raised an eyebrow and she made a moue that I interpreted as permission to proceed. So I ignored Simon’s sharp movement and went on quickly, before he could interrupt.

  ‘He is an African Grey papagei. His feathers are grey but he has bright red tail feathers. Actually, at the moment he’s rather bald. That’s because he’s been very frightened by the bombs and when he’s scared he plucks out his feathers. Would you like to meet him? He talks sometimes, and he also makes bomb noises that are quite realistic and can be frightening. His name is Bobby. Perhaps you could have him come and visit you here once he is recovered. But you should meet him first.’

  ‘Bobby? From the bomb site?’ Simon’s face lit up in his sudden transforming smile. ‘Your saviour?’

  ‘And the reason I was buried in the first place. Yes. The very parrot.’

  Leo stared at me. His eyes were dark and fathomless behind his spectacles. My voice faltered under the intensity of his gaze. ‘Would you like that, d’you think?’ I mumbled.

  But when I caught the spark of interest in his eyes my skin prickled again. Leo moved his head into the slightest of nods.

  I smiled at the boy, and he almost smiled back. Mrs Levy’s smile was seraphic. I did not look at Simon.

  ‘A parrot?’ said Mrs Levy. ‘How splendid. I had a parrot when I was a little girl in Berlin, and I loved it very much.’ She glanced at me. ‘Another cup of tea, Celia?’

  At my nod she took my cup and picked up the teapot.

  ‘We will arrange for Leo to visit the bird at your flat to meet your parrot,’ she said. ‘He will enjoy it, I’m sure.

  Simon showed me to the door after we had finished our tea.

  ‘Good God,’ he said, unknowingly echoing my sister. ‘A parrot?’

  ‘He’s company. Lily thinks he prevents me from moping. I think he’ll be good for Leo.

  His smile was sceptical. ‘I wonder if you really just want to rid yourself of an annoying pet.’

  ‘Not at all,’ I said, incensed. ‘I like the parrot. Very much. But I think Leo needs something to think about. Perhaps to care for eventually.’ I looked straight into his eyes. ‘And I think your mother needs Leo. I think she’s bored and desperately needs to feel needed.’

  ‘Let’s say you’re right about that, is this boy is the right one for her? I’m worried that she’ll end up frustrated and unhappy when she can’t help the child. He needs professional care, not a well-meaning woman who wants to mother him.’

  ‘He needs love,’ I said. ‘And your mother can give him that.’

  He lifted his hand in a gesture of defeat. ‘When can I bring him to your digs to meet the bird?’

  ‘You don’t have to bring him.’

  He shrugged. ‘Who else is there? You’re working tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’ll be there Sunday afternoon.’

  It must have been a small devil that prompted me, because the words were out before I could think. ‘Don’t forget your date tomorrow evening. With Kitty at the Paramount.’

  Immediately, I wished the words unsaid. Simon was silent for a few seconds that seemed to stretch into minutes. Then he smiled gently. ‘You know, I’d completely forgotten about that. Thank you for the reminder.’ He opened the door. ‘I’ll see you Sunday. Three o’clock.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The following morning I arrived at the ambulance station early and found most of the shift in a sombre mood. London had had a quiet night, with only a few raiders coming over, but the morning news revealed that it was because the enemy had attacked Portsmouth instead. The city had suffered its most severe raid of the war, with hundreds killed and injured. It was a matter of pride that the capital could take whatever the Luftwaffe threw at us and Londoners hated to hear that the smaller cities and provincial towns had been badly hit.

  ‘Your Dr Levy was here Thursday morning,’ said Powell, as I entered the common room.

  I answered with a non-committal, ‘Really?’ But then, stupidly, I added, ‘He’s not my Dr Levy,’ which made Maisie smile.

  ‘He asked after you,’ said Sadler to me.

  To my horror I felt my cheeks become warm. I assumed an indifferent tone. ‘Really?’ I repeated.

  Sadler laughed. ‘Yeah. He said –’ He changed his voice to parody Simon’s public-school accent. ‘“Mrs Ashwin isn’t on duty, I trust.”’

  I raised my eyebrows and gave him a look that I hoped registered chilly disinterest. ‘Well, I wasn’t, so I assume that put an end to any further discussion.’

  Sadler’s smile broadened. ‘Nah. It didn’t. He told Moray you were to be on light duties for a week. So it looks like you’ll be manning the phone while Fripp drives a car, coz no one’s willing to go with her in an ambulance.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ said Fripp, who had slipped in behind me. Her voice was high and incensed, but it was true, and we all knew it.

  Sadler shrugged and said with
out any indication of remorse, ‘Sorry, Fripp, didn’t see you there.’

  He stood and held up a canvas bag.

  ‘Now we’re all gathered together, is anyone interested in a few knick-knacks?’ He upended the bag. Various odds and ends tumbled out and scattered on to the table.

  ‘Where did they come from?’ asked Harris.

  ‘From a man who bought them from a bombed-out chemist,’ he said, assuming a pose of righteous indignation. ‘It’s all entirely above board, I can assure you. Take your pick. As you are aware from past experience, my prices are always reasonable.’

  We all had a look and the pile gradually diminished. I chose a tube of toothpaste, two cakes of scented soap (one for Lily) and a tub of cold cream. His prices were high, but not extortionate, and at least I didn’t have to spend hours queuing for the items. Even Moray came out of the office to buy razor blades and toothpaste.

  ‘I hope you don’t have any tins of toffee,’ said Powell.

  ‘Don’t ask her,’ said Sadler, rolling his eyes. ‘It’ll be another of her loopy rumours.’

  ‘Why is toffee suspect?’ asked Purvis with a smile and a wink for the rest of us.

  Powell frowned at Sadler. ‘You may not believe it, but this came from an impeccable source. Enemy aeroplanes are dropping tins of toffee. They have a tartan design, and on the lid they’re marked Lyons’ Assorted Toffee.’

  Maisie gave her a sceptical look. ‘And these toffees are bad because… ?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Powell. ‘But if the enemy dropped them they must be dangerous. Maybe they’re poisoned.’ Her eyes became wide. ‘Or there are little bombs in them that go off when you open the tin.’

  ‘I know,’ said Sadler with a wry smile. ‘They’re toffee bombs. Like heartburn, only much, much worse.’

  ‘Those Germans and their nasty plots,’ said Purvis, smiling widely. ‘What will they think of next?’

  Just after darkness fell, the Warning sounded. A few minutes later came the booming of the guns, followed by the drone of aircraft.

  ‘Sounds like a fair few aircraft,’ said Squire.