Ambulance Girls Under Fire

by Deborah Burrows

  As we got closer it became clear that he was attempting to cradle a very young child in his arms. Her small body was coated in grey-white ash and there was blood on her face. She was squirming hysterically, arching her back and making an unceasing high-pitched keening sound, more like the shriek of a small, terrified animal than a crying child. I had heard similar sounds from dying mice as the stable yard cats toyed with them before the final mercy blow.

  Sadler, the most cynical of all the officers in our station, the hard-faced spiv from the East End, who was as likely to make a sarcastic comment as he was an off-colour joke, was cooing and whispering to the child, obviously trying to calm her down. He watched her with what appeared to be frustrated pity as she continued her eerie wailing. Then he began to sing a nursery rhyme in a surprisingly fine tenor voice. Nanny had sung the same song to me when I was around the same age as the child in his arms.

  ‘London Bridge is falling down,’ sang Sadler, ‘Falling down, falling down. London Bridge is falling down, My fair lady.’

  The well-known ditty seemed to slice through the thunder of the guns, the roar of the ruptured gas main across the road, the hiss of the fire hoses and the shouts of rescuers. The child continued to squirm hysterically, arching her back and striking Sadler’s chest with hard little fists, and all the while making the awful, unearthly keening noise. Undaunted, Sadler continued his singing.

  ‘Build it up with wood and clay, wood and clay, wood and clay, Build it up with wood and clay, My fair lady.

  A nearby building collapsed with a deafening roar and flames shot up into the darkness. The child shrieked and arched her back until I was worried it would break. She kicked her little legs into Sadler’s stomach and continued the high-pitched shrieking. Sadler took the blows, held her closer and continued to sing.

  ‘Wood and clay will wash away, wash away, wash away, Wood and clay will wash away, My fair lady.’

  Maisie and I were near to him now. Sadler looked up and saw us.

  ‘I can’t take her to Harris like this,’ he said in a tight, frustrated voice. ‘She’s out of her mind, poor little devil, and she’ll do herself an injury. I don’t want her to be restrained in the ambulance – can’t bear the thought of tying her up – and we can’t dope her if we don’t know what injuries she has. So I’m hoping she’ll snap out of it. Not a word about this at the station, mind.’

  We nodded, and he bent his head to the child and continued his crooning.

  ‘Build it up with bricks and mortar, bricks and mortar, bricks and mortar, Build it up with bricks and mortar, My fair lady.

  ‘Bricks and mortar will not stay, will not stay, will not stay, Bricks and mortar will not stay, My fair lady.’

  I remembered that in his off time Sadler was a bandleader, and thought that this might account for the sweetness of his voice. The child continued to fight him but now with less fury. He held her against his chest and rocked her like a baby. The child’s awful keening became a series of hiccupping sobs. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her bloodied little face in his chest.

  ‘I’ll take her to Harris now,’ said Sadler. ‘Poor little devil lost her mum. I found her with the body.’

  Still holding the little girl close and rocking her gently, Sadler walked away from us through the mud and ash and wreckage, picking through the broken wooden beams and cracked pieces of plaster and all the usual detritus of bombed buildings, stepping over steel girders that had been bent and distorted by the heat of the fires. He was backlit by the roaring flames and he sang as he went.

  ‘Build it up with iron and steel, iron and steel, iron and steel, Build it up with iron and steel, My fair lady.

  ‘Iron and steel will bend and bow, bend and bow, bend and bow, Iron and steel will bend and bow, My fair lady.’

  Maisie sighed. ‘I should have known. People are always much more complicated than you think at first.’ She gave me a wink. ‘That includes you, the Honourable Celia, and your Dr Levy also.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I returned to St Andrew’s Court after my shift on a bitterly cold Saturday morning to find that a note had been delivered the previous afternoon. It was from Cedric. He informed me that my company was required that night at a dinner party to be held by our old friends, Sally and Harold Beamish, at the Hungaria restaurant. He was sure I’d be thrilled to accompany him.

  ‘Thrilled, my foot,’ I muttered, and seriously contemplated tearing the note very slowly into tiny pieces and letting them flutter to the floor, like an actress in a bad melodrama. I didn’t. I decided to keep to my plan. I would do what Cedric wanted until April while I made sure that Leo and Simon were safe and that Cedric was not a real danger to my country.

  And so I stood in the lobby holding the note, pondering what to wear to a dinner party held by friends who had barely acknowledged me since Cedric’s incarceration.

  ‘Bad news?’

  I looked up. Katherine Carlow was standing in front of me and I threw her a perplexed smile. ‘What does the well-dressed girl wear to a dinner party at a smart restaurant these days?’

  ‘Nothing too ostentatious,’ she said. ‘There’s a war on, you know.’

  ‘I had noticed.’

  ‘Bright colours are in vogue, because they are cheerful in dark times.’ She tilted her head, looked me up and down and said, ‘If I were you I’d wear that dark green woollen number I saw you in last May. Your hair is bright enough provide good cheer to all.’

  ‘You remember what I was wearing in May last year?’

  ‘I always remember clothes, especially when they cause me a jolt of lustful envy. It’s a gorgeous frock.’

  Albert the caretaker and doorman popped up from his basement flat. He was a wizened little Irishman with ginger whiskers, who was always immaculately dressed and liked to wear the Queen’s South Africa Medal, awarded to those who had served in the Second Boer War, as a decoration on his hat.

  ‘You’ll be wanting Bobby,’ he said.

  Albert had taken to looking after the bird when I was away from the flat for any length of time.

  ‘Do you mind keeping him until tomorrow? I really need to sleep, and I’m going out tonight.’

  Albert grinned. ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘He’s a grand bird, that Bobby.’

  ‘I’ll pick him up tomorrow morning. Leo’s coming to visit him in the afternoon.’

  I fell asleep as soon as I dropped into bed, and woke five hours later feeling unrested with gritty eyes and the beginning of a headache. But I dressed carefully in the green woollen frock and I fixed my hair and applied my make-up to look as glamorous as possible. Cedric was waiting for me in the lobby when I descended that evening.

  ‘Darling, you look washed out,’ were his first, cheering words. ‘You should join me at the Dorchester. One is scarcely aware that a raid is in progress. You’d get a better night’s sleep with me.’

  I doubted that. ‘We’re in a lull, Cedric. There have been no heavy raids for the last few weeks. You’ve never experienced a heavy raid – I’m sure that even in the Dorchester you’d know about one of those.’

  ‘Poor darling,’ he murmured, as he ushered me out of the building, ‘you’re working too hard. Makes you fractious and ill-humoured.’

  A taxi was waiting by the kerbside and once we were settled it rattled off in the direction of the West End.

  ‘Harold and Sally Beamish have barely given me the time of day since you were—’ I paused, and glanced towards the cabbie. ‘In the past months. I’m surprised that they invited us to dinner.’

  ‘It’s a celebration for Sally’s birthday.’ He held up a small, wrapped package. ‘I managed to find some scent for her. You were presented with Sally, weren’t you, darling? She’s quite a friend of yours, so Helen tells me.’

  ‘Ye-es,’ I said. ‘She used to be.’ I had caught a false note in his voice, a hesitation that hovered beneath his usual certainty. It was so unusual for Cedric to be uncertain of anyt
hing that I looked at him sharply. ‘Cedric, we have been invited, haven’t we? I’ve heard nothing about this.’

  ‘Helen and Rory were invited,’ he said smoothly, ‘but I convinced them to let us go in their stead.’ He held up an invitation card. ‘After all, you were presented with Sally. You’re more her friend than Helen is.’

  ‘But why? Why are we pushing into their celebration?’

  ‘I told you. I want to re-enter Society, re-establish my political influence. I want to position myself to be of use when…’ He also glanced at the cabbie. ‘When things change.’

  ‘So we’re barging in on a private party?’

  ‘They’ll be delighted to see us, I’m sure.’

  My face became hot at the thought of turning up uninvited to a birthday celebration. Head high, walk tall. I’d suffered worse than being socially embarrassed in the past few months.

  Of course, Sally and Harold were too polite to throw us out. Harold, who was in the uniform of the Coldstream Guards, and Sally, who was in the blue Wrens uniform, greeted me cordially and Cedric with cool courtesy.

  ‘Poor Helen,’ said Sally, as Cedric gave the excuse for the absence of my sister and her husband. ‘A nasty cold is just awful. Please give her my best, and Rory also. We’re delighted you and Celia could come instead.’

  She leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘I’ve missed you, Celia. It’s been so fraught lately that I’ve had little time for old friends. I hear you’re doing marvellous work driving ambulances. And aren’t you involved with Jewish refugees? Well done. Do let’s catch up soon for tea.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ I said.

  Cedric beamed at me as we walked away. ‘Well done,’ he said, echoing Sally. ‘Do renew your friendship with her. Her father is close to Kingsley Wood and others in Churchill’s war ministry. I want to meet him, offer my services. Make them understand how Churchill’s grandiose idiocy will destroy this country.’

  ‘Please keep your voice down,’ I said. ‘And I seriously doubt that the Chancellor of the Exchequer will agree to meet with you, Cedric.’

  He made a gesture with his hand, as if brushing away my comment as a mere quibble.

  As I walked by his side, greeting acquaintances in the crowd, I thought I understood why Cedric was so anxious to have me with him. Although no one wanted to know him, they were polite enough to me, and it was fairly clear that he would not have been tolerated without me. Towards the end of the evening we were standing near a major in the uniform of the Scots Guards, who was holding forth about Hitler.

  ‘He overran the greater part of Europe because he was aided by treachery,’ said the major, waving his pink gin like a banner. ‘But, as Churchill says, at last he’s abandoned the attempt to defeat Britain in the west.’

  ‘The Americans claim that invasion of the British Isles is imminent,’ Cedric put in smoothly.

  ‘What? Nonsense.’ The major looked more closely at him. ‘I say, aren’t you Cedric Ashwin? I thought they’d locked you up.’

  Cedric inclined his head. ‘And they let me out. So you don’t accept what the Americans are saying?’

  ‘I most certainly do not.’

  And with utmost deliberation he turned his back on Cedric and continued his conversation. ‘It’s bad news about Bulgaria. But the important thing is that trouble in the Balkans keeps the Nazi invasion army well away from us.’ He raised his voice and declaimed, ‘What we need to worry about are Nazi-loving quislings.’

  Cedric stood behind the major for a beat or two, staring at his back. Then he whirled around, taking hold of my arm as he did so. He dragged me through the crowd towards the buffet table, where he picked up a plate.

  ‘Would you care for some potatoes?’ he asked me. ‘Chicken?’

  I nodded woodenly and he filled a plate before handing it to me.

  ‘Fools,’ he said, in a low, conversational tone. ‘They’ll learn. Come spring, they’ll learn.’

  The following afternoon while Leo communed with Bobby, Simon and I sipped tea, ate Mrs Levy’s stollen and dissected the war news.

  ‘I heard someone say that Hitler must choose either a blitz in the Balkans or an attack on England,’ I said, as I poured tea into Simon’s cup. ‘Cedric remains convinced that we’re facing German invasion within weeks.’

  Simon glanced at Leo who was giggling as Bobby pushed his feathery head under the boy’s chin to nuzzle his neck.

  Once he was confident that Leo was not listening to us, Simon said quietly, ‘Who knows? We’re talking about Hitler. To get to Greece he’d have to embark on a serious Balkan campaign. He might decide it’s better to start his delayed-action invasion of Great Britain instead.’

  ‘He can’t do both?’

  ‘It would be difficult with his commitments in his occupied territories. He needs to keep his occupying army in adequate strength.’

  ‘But there are millions of men in the German Army.’

  ‘And those men must garrison Poland, Denmark, Norway, Holland, occupied France, and…’ His lips twisted in a bitter smile. ‘I’ve forgotten the other countries he’s subjugated.’

  ‘Belgium, Czechoslovakia, Luxembourg and our own Channel Islands.’

  ‘Thank you. And he also has to keep enough troops in Germany to protect the fatherland. Given all of that, even Hitler would find it hard to embark on a tough campaign in the Balkans plus a full-length invasion of Britain.’

  ‘Which would be the better move? Tactically, I mean.’

  Simon sighed. ‘Hitler’s a gambler. A successful invasion of Britain would allow him to end the war at one supreme stroke.’

  It was exactly what Cedric had been saying. ‘And we just have to wait and see what he decides.’

  ‘Pretty much. All we can do is to keep up war production and morale and deal with the air attacks. He’ll not find us a pushover. An invasion attempt on Britain could well destroy him.’

  I sighed. ‘Wouldn’t do us much good either. Think of the civilian casualties.’

  ‘It’s war,’ said Simon. His face lightened and he threw me a maniacal grin. ‘But you’ll be fine either way, beautiful Celia. I have it on very good authority that Hitler will adore you.’

  I hoisted the teapot. ‘And I have it on the best authority that hot tea poured in the lap will cause nasty damage.’

  Leo looked up in surprise. I winked at him, and he smiled.

  ‘How sad,’ Simon declaimed to the room, ‘that the face of an angel should hide such vicious tendencies.’ Another grin. ‘Must be all that red hair.’

  ‘You do like to live dangerously, Dr Levy,’ I remarked, and put down the teapot.

  I glanced at Leo, who had gone back to chatting comfortably to Bobby about Mozart, and looked again at Simon. Perhaps Cedric was right, and Hitler would adore me. I may well comfortably survive a successful Nazi invasion, but it would be entirely different for a little Jewish boy and a Jewish doctor. Our futures were dependent on the whim of a cruel dictator, who was perhaps also a madman. And I had no idea if Cedric had a part to play in any of it.

  ‘How is your delightful husband?’ asked Simon.

  ‘Mind-reading again?’

  Simon put down his cup and looked hard at me. ‘Are you seeing much of him?’

  ‘Last night we gatecrashed a birthday party because the birthday girl’s father is well connected to Churchill’s war cabinet. Is that suspicious?’

  ‘It’s poor form, but I’m not sure it’s suspicious.’

  ‘I wish I could refuse to see him, but I want that divorce, and I’m still concerned for Leo. It was all said rather obliquely, but Cedric definitely threatened Leo.’ The enormity of what I had just said hit me like a sledgehammer.

  ‘I need to see you,’ I said. ‘About that thing. In the bedroom. Now.’

  Obviously perplexed, he followed me into my bedroom.

  ‘What’s up?’ he said.

  ‘Should you continue to bring Leo to my flat, given Cedric’s threats? S
hould I give him Bobby now? Would your mother accept the bird? I know he’s not attractive with so many bald patches, but he seems to be growing new feathers.’

  ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself. I think you should wait until Bobby is fully recovered before you give him to Leo. I don’t want him and my mother coping with a sick bird. Or worse, a dead bird. Leo’d blame himself and—’

  ‘Should we find him a parrot of his own? A young healthy parrot.’

  ‘I think only Bobby will do, but I could ask him.’

  ‘No-o, you’re right. He really seems to love Bobby.’ I straightened my shoulders. ‘I’ll keep the bird until he’s well enough to go to Leo for good. But please keep a close eye on Leo.’

  He leaned towards me and whispered, theatrically, ‘I can protect Leo.’

  In a normal voice he said, ‘Stop worrying about Leo and tell your swine of a husband to leave you alone.’

  ‘It’s only for another seven weeks.’

  ‘You trust Cedric Ashwin?’

  ‘I have to. I want the divorce.’

  I rubbed my tired eyes and followed Simon back into the sitting room. Leo had extracted a piece of shrapnel from his pocket and placed it before Bobby.

  ‘It was red hot,’ he said to the bird, pointing at the small piece of shattered metal. ‘And Mutti said I shouldn’t pick it up, but I did. And I burned my hand. See. There is the mark. Simon put salve on it but it still hurt.’

  ‘And so you won’t pick up red-hot shrapnel again,’ said Simon. ‘Will you, Leo?’

  Leo shook his head obediently. Then he turned to the bird saying, in a hissing whisper, ‘I will. I am making a collection.’

  ‘God Save the King,’ said Bobby, watching Leo with bright little eyes. He bobbed his head, fluffed his feathers and stretched out his neck. ‘God Save the King. Leo Weitz. Good bird.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Cedric insisted that I accompany him to various dinners, nightclubs and parties whenever I had a night off during the following fortnight. He seemed convinced that Hitler wouldn’t take him seriously unless he had a formal position in the government and he was worried that time was running out and Hitler would have invaded before he could do so. So he pulled in favours, made veiled threats and used his very real charm on anyone he thought might help him. Despite all his attempts, and to his chagrin, no one of any importance or with any real influence wanted to know him.