by Milly Adams
Steve bellowed to get the hoses on the flames which were licking the remains of what looked like a newsagent, judging from the newspapers flying about.
Dodge ground out, ‘We’ll need the rescue lot out sooner rather than later.’
‘They’re here, you daft old bugger. They followed us.’
Dodge shook his head as they ran. ‘Too damned old and tired for this job.’
Steve grinned, ‘You’ll do another few years cos Enid won’t want you at home. You’d only be sent to the allotment to stare at your cabbages, and all the while you’d be missing me.’
Dodge guffawed. They were rushing towards a terrace where Dodge remembered there were a few shops. ‘“Were” being the right damned word,’ he shouted above the noise of approaching vehicles, for whatever had been was blasted into heaps of fractured bricks and beams. ‘So, what’s new, man?’ one of the AFS men yelled, running up behind them. ‘I’ve got the barrier tape.’
‘Good lad,’ Steve said. He stared around. ‘Get it up here, quick as you can. The rescue boys are checking the houses, and debris?’
‘Aye, that they are.’ Tommy, who had been in the AFS since the beginning and was as good as any National Fireman, was setting up the tape as Dodge and Steve hurried on. Steve yelled to the other AFS bloke, ‘We’ll need to find the gas valve on each street, like always. It could be under the ruddy rubble. The pipes could be fractured.’
‘Right you are.’ The AFS gave directions to the new lot who were heading their way from another engine. Dodge and Steve carried on and could hear the crunch of bricks beneath their feet, the cries from who knew where. The Rescue Squad would help sort that out. Flames were licking from a block of flats. It would be all hands to the pump, again, with the Fire Service helping out the Rescue Squad, and the Rescue Squad helping out the Fire Service. Steve looked over his shoulder. ‘The pump’s got further in, and they’re dousing the shops and flats either side of the newsagent’s, putting ’em out, or damping ’em down in case they catch.’
Dodge wasn’t listening but pointing. ‘Would you look at him, poor lad.’ A naked young man sat slumped against a lamp post, dead but seemingly unmarked. It wasn’t the first time they’d seen such blast victims and it wouldn’t be the last at this rate. A young woman was heading towards the bloke, with a blanket over her arm. Steve trotted across. ‘You can’t help him now, lass, but let’s get you somewhere cosy.’
The young woman had curlers in her hair and a fag hanging from her mouth. She pushed Steve off. ‘I know ’e’s gone, and I don’t know who ’e is, but the least I can do is cover the poor devil’s crown jewels. As for cosy, the WVS will be along with their tea canteen any minute. Until then I’m checkin’ me neighbours, in what houses there are standing. Me nan’s probably still asleep, dreaming that the earth moved – at ’er age, for ’eaven’s sake.’
Steve wondered if she was in shock. She took her fag out of her mouth. ‘Don’t look at me like that, we’re bloody used to this, what wiv the Blitz and now this. Can’t spend all me life in a shelter and you never know when the bleeders are coming, does yer?’ She gestured to the surrounding chaos and the fug of blast, debris and the smoke over which hoses played. ‘There was three girls, you know, with a dog on a rope walking along, they was talking to me neighbour while she scrubbed her step. Seems they was ’oping to telephone, but me neighbour didn’t know some toe-rag ’ad robbed it and sent them on. Maybe Solly let ’em use ’is shop one. Or they was hit and just gone into dust? Poor cows.’
Steve felt odd. His head ached suddenly, and his mouth was dry. Three girls and a dog? Oh, they didn’t deserve that, they bloody well didn’t, and it was he who had said go to the left. ‘Where’s Solly’s?’
She pointed to where the shops had been. ‘The end one,’ she said. Steve looked towards the debris, defeated, then furious, then could have bloody well kicked the bloody crazy world to hell and back. He yelled to Dodge, pointing, ‘Come on, those girls and the dog were seen around there.’
Dodge leapt a fallen lamp post and headed back towards him. Steve turned to the woman. ‘Get yourself to the WVS van when you’ve sorted out your nan,’ he told her. ‘Any problems, the Rescue Squad will be bringing up reinforcements. Don’t go into any building yourself, you hear?’ But the young woman was already on her way, calling back, ‘Teaching your granny to suck eggs, is yer?’ Her laugh followed him as he headed for the shambles that had been Solly’s.
Dodge caught him up, and they slogged past damaged houses either side, intent on reaching the end of the demolished terrace. They were both sniffing for gas, it’s what they always did because gas and flames didn’t damn well mix. There was no gas, but the smell of cordite, blood and misery grew stronger and the air became darker from the smoke and spray as the hoses played. Steve heard more engines arrive, but now he could see a dog, the girls’ dog. Yes, they had been here. But … Dog, yes that was her name, was alive, so perhaps they might be too.
He looked up and down the street for a sign of them, but there was none, except for Dog, who was running around from one blasted building to another with a length of torn-off rope dragging behind her, her tail down, as though demented and confused. Dodge said, ‘Flippin’ heck, the woman was right, they turned left, like you said.’
Steve repeated Dodge’s words. ‘Yes, like I damned well said.’ It was his fault.
He headed towards Dog, calling, but she took no notice, and as they hurried he and Dodge checked for fire hazards. They gestured to a couple of AFS vehicles skidding to a stop behind their own pump engine that they should focus on the burning three-storeyed flats off to the left, from which he could hear cries. He cupped his hands. ‘Bring your engine as close as possible. And Tommy, once the tape is sorted, you know to let the engines through. I want a two-man rescue team with me.’ He saw the Rescue Squad officer in charge spin round. Steve yelled, ’All right with you, is it, Dave? We might have people buried here.’
Dave gave him the nod, and Steve caught up with Dodge and they jogged towards the terrace. All the time he was watching Dog, who suddenly stopped, crouched, and threw back her head and howled. Steve headed towards her. Were they there? But no, Dog was up, heading slowly now towards the end of the terrace, and it was then he saw the trail of blood Dog was following. He ran towards her, and then found that Dog was not following it; it was coming from her, pouring from a deep gash that gaped between her ribs and hips. He called her, but she took no notice. Instead, God bless her, she was clambering up on to the rubble that had been the terrace, working her way along. They must be under there. But where?
Dog reached the end, where the Furniture Emporium had been, or so Dodge said. She sniffed there too before clambering down the other side and into the road. She staggered, her head hanging, her tail down. Steve ran towards her but she turned from him and slowly sniffed her way back to the top and around the peak. She barked, then scrabbled with her front paws until they also bled.
As Dodge and Steve headed the last few paces to the rubble they never took their eyes off her, both of them calling quietly, ‘Come girl, come Dog, come on down, let us help. Come on, lass.’
She merely lay down on the rubble, sinking her head on to her front legs, her muzzle stained red from the blood of her paws. Steve felt he could hardly breathe as all around them the banging and crashing continued yet somehow here everything seemed silent. The two men were frozen to stillness as Dog howled, then barked once more before laying her head down, and Steve saw her tail wag. Then nothing.
He stared. She was listening, concentrating, that was all. She was hurt, but no more than that. She was having a break, like they all did. Just a bit of a pause before going on.
He yelled at Dodge, who stood by his side, ‘She’s having a rest, that’s all. She’s found them, and she’s having a rest. I know that’s all it is.’ Sweat was running down his face and his eyes were stinging, and as he moved to the foot of the debris he called, ‘You’re such a good girl, Dog. We’ll have you bett
er in no time, and the same with your girls, don’t you fret, our lass. Don’t you fret.’
Dodge was still beside him, and they saw Dog’s tail lift, then fall. Dodge said, ‘Don’t take on so, my old lad, she’s done good work today.’
Steve said, brushing his face with his arm, ‘Don’t be daft, I’m not taking on. It’s the sweat, that’s all. She’ll be all right, they all will.’ He put a foot on the heap of bastard bricks, mortar, beams and God knows what, but Steve dragged him back. ‘Let the Rescue Squad advise, lad, you know that. If they’re under there, we’ll get ’em out, but safely.’
So they waited for the two men from the squad to reach them, and as they did so they looked from Dog to the mayhem all around them and both men thought what a bloody awful war it was.
Chapter 4
Beneath the rubble
Polly tried to open her eyes, but her lids were too heavy. She was so tired. No, they should be up, and at the tiller, feeling the boat pat-pattering on the water. They’d be late with the delivery. What was it – aluminium again?
She was on the narrow side-bed but she needed to turn over because the mattress was lumpy. She was half sitting – but why? She wanted to move, but there was a lump hurting her hip. She tried to open her eyes again, but gave up, too tired, just too tired, and her ears hurt. Bells were buzzing, but bells didn’t buzz. And what bells? It was war and the bells didn’t ring. Her mouth was so dry that her lips were stuck together. How silly. She jolted suddenly, as there was a loud crack from somewhere, then she rested. It was probably ice along the hull. They’d have to hack their way out. She should get up.
She tried to cough, but the skin on her lips tore away and she tasted blood, warm it was, because she was so cold. Her throat grated and her chest hurt. Was Dog lying on her again? Something heavy was. Dog was getting fat. She smiled. Dear old Dog. She’d write that to Saul, but not say that she wished he was still on the Mulberry harbour instead of driving a lorry. Or that she wished he was here, with her on the cut, chugging along behind them on Seagull with Granfer on Swansong and how the hell had he learned to drive a lorry? Did the powers that be think because you could drive a boat, you could drive a lorry? Saul, my love, I miss you, every minute of every day, but I have this funny buzzing in my head and I can’t move. I must be so tired, but I can’t remember why, but I can remember you.
She tried to lift an arm to stroke Dog. Her beloved friend was too heavy, and pressing too hard on her chest, on all her body really, but she couldn’t move her arm. Perhaps she was asleep and all this was a dream? Yes, that’s what it was. She was asleep. Dreams were strange. Did Saul dream when he rested from his driving?
Was it Potty Thompson in the Ministry of War Transport, the one who had recruited the girls, who had come up with the daft idea that narrowboat ‘steerers’ could drive lorries? Why couldn’t lovely Saul stay safe on the Mulberry harbour at, what was it? Shiny Beach, no, no. Gold Beach. But no, he had to take supplies to the men who were chasing the Germans, he had written, because he could write now. Her boatman could write.
She tried to move again, but everything hurt, and her eyelids seemed stuck together. Everything in her dream was stuck, and hurt, and heavy and now she must sleep again.
Verity wondered why her arm was wet, with a wetness that was running to her hand. Had they left the roof slide open a bit above the double doors into the cabin? She tried to move it. It hurt too much. She tried to open her mouth to call Polly. Then forgot who she was going to call. Her head was full of little bits that leapt and then fell. She opened her eyes, or thought she had but it was dark and no fire or ashes glowed in the firebox beneath the range. She tried to open her eyes wider, but it was still black as pitch. There were cracking noises, and creaking so the wind must be whooshing down the cut, but how strange that the boat was still.
Was it still like this where Tom was? Well, it would be if he was on land, and of course he was on land because he had gone ashore on D-Day. Perhaps he was crouching with his rifle in a ditch or charging across a field after the Germans, because at last the enemy were on the run. Soon they would be in Germany, and they’d better stay there and then it would be over. All of it, and Britain would be free of it. The world would be free … but now the words were falling about in her head. She listened for the creak but her head was buzzing, and she didn’t know what she’d just been thinking, and she couldn’t hear anything but the buzzing so she searched for a crack in her mind and dragged Tom through it, ‘Tom’, her lips had moved, but were clagged with lipstick, thick thick lipstick that was warm in her mouth, and gritty.
She made them work again. ‘Tom.’ She heard it cutting through the buzz in her head and she could see him, but he wasn’t in Germany. He was wearing a cap, why? Oh, yes, he’d been their chauffeur, her mother, not her real mother, but someone who was better than that and who had adopted her and loved her all her life, hadn’t liked him. She did now though, and wanted them to marry, wanted him to come home, but where was he? She couldn’t remember. She thought she just had, but it had gone because something was lying on her, taking her thoughts away. Oh, Dog, yes Dog, but there was something else, and it was all so sharp and heavy. She hurt, and her head did too. It was the rain coming in through the hatch and running along her arm. She really should shut the hatch, but she was too tired.
She mustn’t be tired, they had a load to deliver, but she couldn’t remember what. ‘Tom, do you know?’ she asked, but it wouldn’t come through the grit in her throat, and the grit in her lipstick. What grit? Why grit? Why did her lipstick hurt? She slept. Then woke, thoughts playing through the buzzing, and the weight, and the grit. Tom had written and told her that he had thought of the three of them as he struggled up the beach on D-Day, remembering how the waterway girls just kept on, keeping on. He said it had helped him endure.
Yes, she must get up. She couldn’t. Dog, move, she thought. Dog didn’t. So she must be asleep. Everyone was asleep so all this was a dream. But Dog had barked, earlier. Yes, and howled, she had. Just one bark or was it two? It was so far away, and yes, Verity had been frightened. So frightened because … She couldn’t remember. It was all just a dream. Darling Dog. Should they let the firemen have her, or was it the rescue lot who needed her? It would be kind, but she was their beloved, she made a foursome. They hadn’t decided, she was sure. She must call out to Polly on her side-bed, just to check on that.
She opened her mouth, but she was so dry. It still seemed so dusty and as she turned her head, something hurt her cheek and then there was nothing, again.
Sylvia called, or thought she did, but she couldn’t hear the sound. ‘Polly, Verity, Dog.’ There was no answer. They were probably asleep. When she first joined the waterway scheme she thought it was so unhygienic to have a dog in Marigold’s tiny cabin, just nine feet by seven, and she, Sylvia Simpson, wouldn’t have had one on Horizon. That was all so long ago. Then she had been alone, the new girl, and now they were all for one, and … She couldn’t remember the rest. Her ears hurt, and sort of buzzed. Her eyes were sore beneath their lids and she wanted to turn over in her cross-bed. There was room to turn on this big bed, but not on the side-bed. Polly slept on the side-bed in Marigold’s cabin. Perhaps she should offer to swap.
Swap what? She couldn’t quite breathe. In and out she had to go. She tried. Of course, yes, in and out. That was better. Oh yes, she remembered now, the side-bed. In and out, but the air was so thick. Was it foggy outside, and creeping into the cabin? It seemed to cover her. They should be working, but perhaps it was still night. She listened for owls but there was another noise … a saw? Was that what was buzzing? It hurt her ears.
She should talk to someone in her head, she knew she should, but who, she couldn’t … She slept. She woke and thought she heard Tom, inside her head, leaving the buzzing outside. He was a good boy. He’d had to stay on the butty or motor with her because of his broken leg while the girls wound the locks, and he steered as she’d talked. She had found herself tellin
g him all about her problem with her Lord. She felt looser once she’d shared it but couldn’t understand why she’d told him. He’d said it was like talking to a stranger on a train. That you tended not to talk to a friend, they knew you too well, but she had talked to her friends in the end. There should be a song. I know you so well, she thought. Someone else knew her inside and out. Who? She couldn’t remember. Was it the Lord she was thinking of?
She did hope he was all right. Who was all right? She couldn’t remember. Was it Tom? Ah yes, Tom. And Saul too. Saul who was away from his Polly, and his beloved canal, his granfer, and Joe his nephew, Maudie’s son. Joe was with Mr and Mrs Holmes who were evacuated to Dorset and staying with Lord and Lady Clement. Why? Oh that’s right, because his mother had been hurt by his father, the dreadful cruel Leon, and had to get better. But he had hurt Joe too before Saul rescued the boy.
She lingered on Joe, dear little Joe, whose darkness had lifted now. They sent one another pictures, but his were better than hers. She tried to draw otters, and birds. Her kingfisher had been her best, but Joe’s was better, and he drew the sheep, and the cows, and his pony, but she couldn’t think of the pony’s name. What was it? What was what? She couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter because lovely Joe wrote her notes at the bottom of his pictures, and she replied at the bottom of hers. He was precious, a dear precious boy who she loved, who must be kept hidden and safe from Leon. Yes, yes, all the thoughts were running so fast, chasing one another in and out of her ear. Why her ear? Oh, yes, they wanted to play with the buzzing.
She tried to open her eyes. When you were asleep things felt heavy, but why did they hurt this time? Granfer would know but he was at Buckby by Braunston Tunnel. Why was he there? She couldn’t … Ah yes, it’s where the old boaters lived. He was with Lettie. Lovely lettuce, no, no, Lettie. His sister. Everyone had someone, except her. God should be enough, but … Ah, that’s right, God. She slept because she didn’t know if He was enough, because she was so lonely, and she hurt. She couldn’t open her eyes, but it was only because she was dreaming.