Ambulance Girls Under Fire

by Deborah Burrows

  One Thursday night in late February he insisted that I accompany him to a little nightclub in a narrow lane off Greek Street in Soho. Inside, it was small and dark and reeked of cigarette smoke. Small tables were set too close together and there was a rather tawdry floorshow and a minuscule dance floor in front of a small swing band. I realised, as the band moved into ‘Oh, Johnny’, that the bandleader was none other than Sam Sadler. He was a good ten to twenty years younger than the ‘boys’ in his band, probably because all the younger musicians had been called up, but they had real rhythm and Sadler kept them tight. I thought that Simon would have approved of the sound they were making.

  I found myself remembering how gentle Sadler had been with the child on the bomb site. When I first began working at the station, during the phony war, he had often made excuses for avoiding duties. But since the Blitz began Sadler had never missed a shift and he had saved as many lives as any of us at the station. I knew that in his own way Sadler loved London just as much as Simon did, even if he saw nothing wrong in taking advantage of the chaos of the Blitz to make a little money from its inhabitants. I tapped my feet to the beat and I thought that this war made for strange bedfellows.

  As was now usual, Cedric began drinking as soon as we arrived. He downed a double Scotch and ordered another. I sipped my pink gin slowly.

  ‘I’m fully convinced,’ said Cedric, in a low voice, ‘that the invasion will come in March with the better weather. There will be – simultaneously – a push into England and Ireland and a drive through the Balkans towards Greece, Turkey and Suez.’

  ‘Simultaneously? Not even Germany has that many troops and resources.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘You know nothing about it. Who’s telling you these things?’

  I shrugged. ‘I can read. It’s in the newspapers that Hitler does not have the capacity to invade both Britain and Greece.’

  ‘That’s whistling in the dark. The British authorities know what they’re facing and they’re terrified.’

  The upward notes of the Warning sounded outside, muffled in the nightclub by the sound of the band and the noise around us. When the Blitz began in September 1940, the manager would have come on to the stage when the Warning sounded and pointed out the nearest air-raid shelter. Now it was accepted that no one would take shelter during a raid unless it looked like annihilation was imminent. Most clubs had spotters on the roof to let them know when raiders were directly overhead.

  ‘I am willing to accept the hard truths,’ said Cedric. ‘Germany is too strong for us to withstand alone. A properly brokered truce will leave us in a position of power—’

  ‘Brokered by Cedric Ashwin?’ My voice was scornful.

  ‘Yes, why not by me? I’ve met Hitler. He likes me. I can negotiate terms with him that will be beneficial to this country. Why can’t they see that?’

  ‘Because they think we can win this war, Cedric. And I do, too.’ I repeated what Simon had said. ‘An invasion attempt on Britain could well destroy Hitler, but it won’t destroy Britain.’

  Cedric’s handsome face twisted in a snarl and his hand twitched, as if he wanted to strike me.

  ‘You’re parroting nonsense. Is that what the Jewish doctor tells you?’

  My temper was up and red hair defeated prudence. ‘Yes. It is. And I think he’s right. We can beat Hitler.’

  He half rose out of his chair, glaring at me. I tried to face him down, but his fingers had curled into a fist.

  ‘Hullo, princess.’ I looked up to see Sadler standing beside the table. ‘Looks like your old man’s in a bit of a temper.’ Safe on his home ground, Sadler’s tone was nicely balanced between annoyance and contempt. ‘We don’t put up with that sort of thing in this club. Or with his sort, actually.’

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ Cedric lowered himself into his seat, took a few breaths and said evenly, ‘I’m having a discussion with my wife. Please leave us alone.’

  Sadler ignored him. ‘You okay?’ he asked me.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, and smiled at him. ‘I’m fine. It’s good to see you, Sam.’

  ‘Me and the boys,’ said Sadler, ‘we see everything in this club. You get worried about anything, anything at all, mind, you just crook your finger.’ He glanced again at Cedric. ‘You want him out?’

  I smiled again. ‘No. But thanks.’

  He walked back to the band to start another number.

  ‘Who was that?’ Cedric was fuming. ‘He looks like an East End thug.’

  ‘He works with me,’ I said. ‘He’s someone I misjudged.’

  ‘Sometimes I think you try to provoke me,’ said Cedric. ‘It isn’t a sensible thing to do, darling.’

  I decided upon discretion and said nothing in reply.

  ‘Ah, here they are,’ he said.

  Archie and Isolde Ramsgate were wriggling through the press of people towards us.

  ‘Good of you to come,’ he said, as they sat down.

  Isolde gave a low laugh, and her tone turned sarcastic. ‘I like your choice of surroundings. Is the floor show worth waiting for?’

  ‘Archie asked for somewhere dark and crowded,’ said Cedric. ‘I obliged.’ He ordered drinks and when the waitress had left us, turned to Archie. ‘Anyone would think you were ashamed to be seen with me. Any news?’

  ‘Sorry, old man, but you’re rather persona non grata at present. No one in the Cabinet is willing to speak to you.’

  ‘Fools.’ Cedric spat out the word with real venom. He gave me a narrow look, as if daring me to respond. I sipped my drink and let my gaze drift to the dance band, got a wink from Sadler and raised my glass to him.

  ‘They’ll need me to negotiate with the German High Command,’ said Cedric.

  ‘Steady on, old man.’ Archie made a calming gesture, but his eyes seemed to dart about the crowded room. ‘No need to let the world know our business.’ He gave another glance around, before saying softly, ‘I may have found someone, though. Someone who could be useful to you. Admirer of yours. Works in the War Office.’

  Cedric smiled. ‘Then I should meet him.’

  ‘Name’s Fripp. Arthur Fripp.’

  ‘Does he have a daughter?’ I asked. ‘I used to work with a Nola Fripp.’

  ‘Couldn’t say,’ was Archie’s reply.

  ‘Yes, he does,’ said Isolde. ‘Mousey little thing. Wouldn’t say boo to a goose.’

  ‘That’s the one,’ I said. ‘She’s recently transferred out of the ambulance service.’

  ‘All the better.’ Cedric looked very pleased with himself. ‘It’s good to have a personal connection. It takes time, but one by one, they’ll come back to me.’ The entire room jarred as a bomb fell somewhere outside. Cedric shook his head. ‘We need to begin negotiations now, while there is something of London left.’

  ‘We have to go,’ said Archie nervously. ‘Another engagement.’

  Cedric looked interested. ‘Something I should know about? Who’ll be there?’

  ‘The usual crowd. Sorry old chap, invitation only.’

  They left and Cedric sat in his chair fuming. ‘It’s Churchill. He’s behind this. He wants me out of society. He’s afraid of me.’

  ‘Why don’t we leave?’ I suggested.

  ‘You go,’ he replied. ‘I’ll stay a bit longer.’ He downed his Scotch and raised his hand to order another.

  I left him sitting there alone.

  The following Sunday afternoon, when Simon and Leo arrived as usual for Leo’s visit with Bobby, I was shocked to see that Simon’s face was a mess of grazes and bruises. My first thought was that Eddie had attacked him again.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Got caught in a raid. I’m fine.’

  As he always did, Leo rushed over to Bobby to tell him about his week. Some of Leo’s words seemed to jump out at me.

  ‘And then Simon was begraben…’ Leo looked at Simon. ‘What is the English for begraben?’

  Obviously flustered, Simon said, ‘Don’t worry about tha
t. Bobby doesn’t want to hear about it.’

  I glanced at Simon, at the bruises and grazes on his face. Then I looked at Leo.

  ‘Bobby wants to know all about it,’ I said firmly. ‘Bobby wants to hear all the details about Simon being begraben. You must tell Bobby everything about Simon being begraben.’

  ‘I really don’t think so,’ said Simon, just as firmly, ‘Bobby doesn’t need to know about it. There’s no need to tell him anything.’

  Leo looked across at Simon and me. ‘I do not understand. Why are you angry?’

  I was immediately contrite. ‘It’s just adults being silly, Leo. We’re not angry.’

  Simon sighed. ‘Of course we’re not angry. You tell Bobby whatever you think he wants to hear.’ He flopped into a chair and looked up at me. ‘Buried. That’s the English word, Leo. You tell Bobby that Simon was buried in the rubble of a bomb site and a big rescue worker hauled him out by his feet.’ He flicked me a glance. ‘It was quite amusing, really. Leo laughed when I told him about it, didn’t you, Leo? You laughed to think of a big rescue working pulling me out by my feet. You tell Bobby what a lark – ein witz – it was.’

  ‘Mutti didn’t laugh,’ said Leo.

  My mouth had become very dry and the air seemed thin. I pulled in a shaky breath. ‘You were buried? For how long?’

  ‘Not long.’ He stood and said, in a conversational tone, ‘You were going to show me that thing. You know, that thing in your bedroom.’

  I stared at him. ‘Oh. Yes. The thing. I’ll show you it to you now.’

  We left Leo chattering to Bobby, and once we were in my bedroom I turned to Simon, ‘Why wouldn’t you tell me?’

  He ran a hand across his face, winced. ‘Because I’m fine. I didn’t want you to make a fuss.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘A single raider, what they call a cloud snooper, dropped a single bomb. One bomb. Only it hit a railway arch near London Bridge that was being used as a shelter. One plane dropped one bomb.’ His face twisted as if he was in pain. ‘Dozens of people died. Many more were injured. I thought I heard someone calling. I went in to help them and part of a wall collapsed on me. A rescue worker hauled me out. That’s the whole story.’ He touched his face. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks. I’m a bit stiff, but I won’t even be left with an interesting scar.’

  I sat on the bed and looked through the door at Leo and Bobby, at something sweet and wholesome that might take away the picture in my mind’s eye of Simon being buried under a pile of rubble, crushed and choking for breath until a big rescue worker hauled him out by his feet.

  I turned back to Simon and said, in a tight, thin voice, ‘Are you ever going to stop taking such insane risks, Simon?’

  ‘Probably not.’ He looked at me, laughed, and held up his hands in a defensive gesture. ‘My dear Ice Queen, cease that freezing look right now, please, because words such as pot and kettle and black spring to mind.’

  ‘Oh, that’s—’ I gave him a reluctant smile. ‘Touché.’

  He sat next to me, and the springs of the bed squeaked under his weight. ‘I’m fine. Really. I think your cosy meetings with your fascist husband are a great deal more dangerous than anything I do on a bomb site.’

  ‘Oh, that’s nonsense. It’s all rather sad, actually. He drags me along with him and we’re snubbed and frozen out.’ I shook my head. ‘Cedric’s nothing if not persistent. A lesser man would have given up by now.’

  ‘He is facing the loss of everything – wife, social position, political influence. He’s a cornered rat, Celia, and they’re very dangerous indeed.’

  ‘I can handle Cedric,’ I said, and we returned to Leo and Bobby.

  Miss Marshall, the governess who taught me about the Greek words for love, also taught me about the Greek word, hubris. It refers to the sort of excessive pride that annoys the gods, and leads to your own destruction. Cedric’s deluded belief that only he could lead Britain into its new future as a Nazi dominion was hubris.

  As was my deluded belief that I could handle Cedric.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  It happened because Moray changed our shifts. Just before Christmas we had moved to three twenty-four-hour shifts per week. Since then I had worked from seven-thirty each Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning until seven-thirty the following morning, with a full day off on Sunday. Then Moray decided it was time to change our rosters.

  When I arrived at the ambulance station on the first Monday in March I was told that under my new roster I would start work at seven-thirty every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday morning, with Saturday free, beginning at the end of the week. That meant my cosy Sunday afternoons with Leo and Simon would have to cease.

  Cedric had already given me my orders for the weekend. We were to join Archie and Isolde at the Café de Paris nightclub on Saturday evening, where we would meet Mr Arthur Fripp and his daughter, Nola. I was to be ready at eight, which would give me, I thought, enough time to see Leo and Simon on Saturday afternoon before Cedric arrived to collect me. As the Levys weren’t practising Jews, I assumed that there would be no religious objection.

  So I sent a note to Mrs Levy, and her reply came by return of post.

  Dear Celia,

  Of course Leo must visit his friend Bobby on Saturday. Simon is on duty at the hospital that day, so my husband, Jonathan, will bring Leo to you at three o’clock. I hope that you have no objections to entertaining the boy alone, as Jonathan is otherwise engaged for the afternoon. Simon will collect Leo at his convenience. He apologises, but sometimes he cannot be sure of leaving the hospital at a given time. If this is suitable to you, I look forward to your confirmation.

  With best wishes,

  Elise Levy

  Jonathan Levy arrived with Leo promptly at three o’clock on Saturday. When I opened the door, Leo was jiggling with excitement. He pulled Mr Levy over to Bobby’s cage, where they both stood, gravely examining the bird.

  ‘If I hold out my arm,’ Leo explained, in his careful English, ‘he will walk up my arm and sit here.’ He pointed to his left shoulder. ‘And he does this to my hair.’ Leo ruffled the dark hair over his ear. ‘Once he put the side of meine Brille in his beak—’

  ‘Your spectacles,’ said Mr Levy. ‘That’s the English word.’

  ‘Yes. My spectacles. But I said, “Bobby, let go,” and he did.’ He stared up at Mr Levy. ‘He is a smart bird. Simon says so, too.’

  ‘He’s obviously a very smart bird,’ agreed Mr Levy.

  ‘Stand back.’ He gave Mr Levy a little push and opened the cage door. ‘Now he will walk up my arm.’

  Bobby performed exactly as expected, clawing his way up Leo’s sleeve to sit on his shoulder.

  ‘Say Simon Levy,’ ordered Leo.

  ‘God Save the King,’ said Bobby. ‘Simon Levy. God Save the King.’ He whiffled Leo’s hair, making Leo giggle, and then disgraced himself by saying, ‘Bloody hell. Simon Levy.’

  Leo’s eyes went wide with dismay and filled with tears. ‘No, Bobby. Don’t say that, or Mutti won’t let you come home, ever.’ His lip quivered.

  Mr Levy glanced at me, then squatted down in front of Leo, just as Simon had done when he was upset. ‘Mutti will let Bobby come to visit. I promise.’

  Leo sniffed and blinked away his tears. ‘I have a plan,’ he whispered. ‘If I think Bobby is going to say that word, I will say, very quickly—’ His voice rose almost to a shout. ‘Cover your ears, Mutti.’

  Bobby fluttered off his shoulder to land on the bookcase by the window.

  Mr Levy laughed. ‘I can see you’ve given it a great deal of thought. I suspect Bobby will behave like a gentleman in front of Mutti. Even so, I’ll warn her that a certain word might slip out and I’m sure she’ll pretend that it’s not been said.’

  Jonathan Levy ruffled the boy’s dark hair and stood up. ‘And I must leave you now.’ He looked at me. ‘Simon hopes to be here around five to collect Leo, but he said to warn you that he can’t give any guarantees. He�
�ll let me know if he can’t make it by six, and if so I’ll come myself.’

  Leo was chatting to Bobby as I accompanied Mr Levy to the door and handed him his hat and coat. He paused in the doorway. A sharp crease had formed between his eyebrows and he seemed lost for words. He looked so much like Simon at that moment that my breath seemed to catch in my throat. It did so again when he cleared his throat gently, exactly as Simon often did.

  ‘My mother, Mrs Cora Levy, is staying with us at present. I believe you met her some weeks ago?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘She wishes to see you again. Elise has suggested that perhaps an afternoon next week may suit.’

  ‘Your mother wants to see me? Whatever—’ I blurted out the words, recollected my manners, and spoke in a more measured tone. ‘I’d be delighted, of course.’

  Jonathan Levy smiled.

  ‘Do you know why she wants…?’ My voice trailed away.

  ‘I have no idea.’ He added dryly, ‘She knows nothing about you and David, if that’s what concerns you.’ He shrugged. ‘My mother’s motives are usually unfathomable.’

  ‘I’m free on the afternoons of Monday, Wednesday and Friday next week.’

  I wished I knew why Simon’s grandmother wished to see me again, and I was afraid that she had indeed heard about David and me. Head high, walk tall. If she had I’d simply have to deal with it.

  ‘Elise has a second motive for your invitation,’ said Mr Levy. He laughed. ‘And a third, actually. She, Simon and Leo have been practising a Mozart piece and Leo is anxious for you to hear it. If you brought the bird, my mother could see you again, Elise could meet the remarkable Bobby and the three musicians could give a recital.’ He glanced back at Leo. ‘I must say, the boy is a talented violinist. Elise is already working out how best to nurture his talent.’