by Ellie Dean
The Gerry plane roared away and Peggy lifted her head, ready to make a run for it. But as she warily emerged from her makeshift shelter she saw it turn sharply and come in low and fast – heading straight towards her, guns blazing. The bastard was coming back for a second go.
Peggy dived back into the doorway, her terror too great even to cry out as the bullets rattled and thudded and whined within inches of her. And then she was almost lifted off the step by the heavy blast from a nearby explosion.
Her ears were ringing as she cringed and trembled, and the house shook and debris rained down on her to scatter and tumble across the road and down the hill. ‘Anne, oh, Anne,’ she moaned. ‘Please, please, God, don’t let her be out in this.’
The presbytery had been standing next to the Catholic church for decades, but the nearby bomb-blast had finally signed its death warrant and, as Peggy huddled on the step, the walls began to crumble. Guttering screeched as it buckled and tore from its moorings, slates slid with a crash to the ground and the old house groaned as, bit by bit, it began to topple.
Peggy darted out just as a huge lump of concrete thudded onto the step. She stared at it, frozen in horror by how close death had come. Now the walls were beginning to bow, the window frames threatening to snap under the pressure. A slate came winging from the roof like a discus and she leaped out of the way as it thudded into the ground where she’d been standing.
Spurred into action, Peggy stumbled away, clambering over the debris, oblivious to the fact that the enemy was heading back over the Channel, the RAF boys in swift pursuit.
‘Anne! Anne!’ she called, her throat rough and dry, the smoke and dust making her cough and her eyes burn. The back of the church was on fire, and several buildings had collapsed following that terrible blast, and she could barely see anything. ‘Anne,’ she called again, more in hope than expectation.
‘Mum?’ The voice was faint, but unmistakable. ‘Mum, help me.’
Peggy looked wildly round. ‘Where are you?’ she yelled. ‘I can’t see you.’
‘The post office,’ came the hysterical response. ‘Under the post office.’
Peggy clambered and clawed her way over the rubble which lay strewn across the road, her heart pounding as she took in the devastation. ‘I’m here,’ she called. ‘Keep talking, Anne. You have to help me find you.’
‘Be careful, Mum,’ Anne sobbed. ‘The whole place is about to collapse and I’m trapped down here.’
‘Keep calm, love. I know what I’m doing.’ Peggy eyed the layer upon layer of bricks, beams, windows, doors and shattered concrete in despair. Ceiling laths were scattered like matchsticks; electricity wires threaded through the rubble, hissing like snakes as they came into contact with a leaking water pipe. She hadn’t a clue how she would get to Anne, but she’d damned well find a way, even if it was the last thing she ever did.
‘Keep talking,’ she said grimly, picking her way over the ruins with catlike caution.
‘I’m frightened, Mum,’ Anne said tremulously. ‘I think the baby’s coming.’
‘Dear God,’ breathed Peggy as she homed in on her daughter’s voice and carefully began to clear a way through. ‘Don’t cry, darling,’ she soothed, ‘just keep breathing deeply and evenly and everything will be all right. I’m almost there.’
She tossed aside a pile of lath and plaster and a block of bricks, hauled a shattered door out of her way and threw lead piping across the spitting tail of an electricity cable. There was a bit of a hole now, but all she could see down there was profound darkness. ‘Can you wave something so I can see where you are?’ she called down.
A flutter of something pale moved far below. ‘Can you see my scarf, Mum?’
‘Yes,’ said Peggy, ‘and I’ll be with you in a minute.’ They were brave words meant to shore up Anne’s courage as well as her own, but as Peggy worked furiously to make the hole bigger, she knew that one false move could bury them both. The whole pile of rubble was unstable, sliding and slipping beneath her bare feet, threatening to collapse at any moment.
‘I’m having another contraction,’ moaned Anne. ‘The baby’s definitely on its way.’
‘Work with it,’ said Peggy breathlessly as she smeared the sweat from her face and tried to find purchase on the jagged, slippery pile with her toes as she continued to work at making the hole bigger. ‘Breathe deeply, Anne, keep calm. Have your waters broken yet?’
‘I don’t know,’ she sobbed. ‘But I think I’ve just wet myself.’
‘That’s nothing to be ashamed of.’ Peggy heaved bricks, slates and window frames out of the way.
‘I’m frightened, Mum,’ sobbed Anne.
‘I know, but you must try and be brave, darling. I’m almost there.’ She knelt by the narrow opening she’d made and gauged it was big enough to slip through. She took off her overcoat, her sweat chilled by the bite of the cold night air. ‘I’m going to throw you my coat,’ she called. ‘Put it over you while I climb down.’
‘I . . . I can just about . . . I’ve got it.’ Anne’s voice was thick with tears. ‘Please be careful, Mum.’
Peggy didn’t need telling, but now was not the time to hesitate or falter. She gingerly spread her weight close to the edge of the hole. The rubble beneath her shifted and dust sifted down. Peggy froze. ‘Put the coat over your face,’ she ordered, ‘and use whatever you can to shield you.’
‘I’m ready when you are,’ shouted Anne, her voice now muffled by the coat.
Peggy looked about her, searching for something to help her get down the hole without taking the rubble with her. She caught sight of a sturdy length of wood, which looked as if it might once have been a door frame, and slowly and carefully drew it towards her until it lay across the opening. Grasping it with both hands, she inched her body onto it, thankful she didn’t weigh much, and praying it would hold her.
As she tentatively lowered her legs into the void, Peggy heard the enemy planes returning. But this was not a moment to panic, or to think about anything but Anne. She shifted her hips until the wood cut into her waist, then shifted again, her fingers clawing for purchase as she swung like a pendulum. The debris was shifting, sliding, threatening to give way.
‘Can you see my legs?’ she yelled above the roar of planes.
‘Yes,’ shouted back Anne. ‘You’re about two feet to my right, with a drop of another two.’
‘Right,’ Peggy grunted. And let go.
She plunged into the darkness and hit the bottom with a jarring thud. Her bare feet slid off something smooth and she felt a sharp pain in her ankle as she fell in a heap, but all she could focus on was the pale shape of her daughter, who seemed to be trapped beneath a heavy rafter.
‘Are you all right?’ called Anne.
‘Yes,’ she breathed, wincing at the pain in her ankle and the sharp cut of something beneath her bare toes. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness and she scrambled through shattered glass and broken bricks, then reached for Anne’s hand, gripping it tightly and holding it to her lips. ‘It’s all right, darling,’ she said brokenly as Anne clung to her. ‘I’m here now.’
‘Oh, Mum,’ sobbed Anne. ‘You’re so brave.’
‘There’s nothing brave about falling down a hole,’ said Peggy as she did a quick assessment of their situation. The beam was lying across one of Anne’s legs and, apart from being far too heavy to lift, shifting it would bring the whole pile of rubble down on top of them. The space was about eight feet square and, she judged, about seven feet down from the gap she’d made in the rubble. There was very little room, and it was impossible to stand up except beneath the hole. Anne had been saved because of the enormous counter which had landed on its side next to her. Thankfully there was no smell of gas, or sign of fire.
‘Let me make you more comfortable,’ she soothed. Taking her overcoat, she folded it and pillowed Anne’s head, using her handkerchief to clear some of the dust and grime from her face. ‘How quickly are the pains coming, do you think?’
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‘I don’t know,’ Anne replied with a soft moan. ‘I lost track of time in the darkness, but . . .’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Peggy as a fighter plane screamed overhead. ‘If all else fails then I’ll help deliver my grandchild.’
‘I don’t know how you came to find me, Mum,’ said Anne, her voice high with rising hysteria, ‘but I’m so glad you’re here. It was awful being buried and alone in the dark. I thought I was going to die.’
‘That’s quite enough of that sort of talk,’ said Peggy firmly. ‘Do pull yourself together, Anne, or you’ll upset that baby, and I think it has enough to contend with at the moment, don’t you?’
‘Sorry, Mum,’ Anne whispered.
‘That’s all right.’ Peggy kissed her fingers, thinking that it hadn’t been much fun either, getting caught out in the middle of the raid and having Gerry chase after her, but she said nothing. They had found one another – that was all that mattered now – and whatever was in store for them would be seen through together.
Peggy sat in the darkness, gripping her daughter’s hand, her thoughts in a whirl of rising panic and dread. She’d promised Anne she’d help if the baby came before they could be rescued, but she had no medical knowledge past bandaging scraped knees. Having four children of her own didn’t count, for she’d followed the midwife’s instructions in a haze of pain, not really taking much notice of what the nurse was doing at the other end of the bed. If Anne’s labour progressed and something went wrong, then she’d never forgive herself.
As Anne breathed deeply through yet another contraction, Peggy looked up at the narrow patch of night sky through the opening, yearning to hear the ‘all-clear’ and the welcome arrival of the rescuers. But the only sounds were the ominous shifting of the pile of rubble that surrounded them, and the soft whisper of falling dust.
The all-clear sounded and Julie was on her feet and waiting first in line to get out of the shelter. As the warden slowly turned the wheel and the door creaked open, she squeezed through and ran up the steps, gulping in the cold air.
As the others emerged from the shelter and made their way across the field, Julie followed them in the hope that she’d find her way back to the High Street and, ultimately, Camden Road. It was clear that Cliffehaven had been badly hit by the enemy bombers, for the lovely old church was on fire, the presbytery now just a jumble of broken masonry.
The sight of such devastation did nothing to ease her fretfulness over William and Eileen and, as she reached what appeared to be the lower end of the High Street, her fears increased. Several buildings had been reduced to rubble and there was a vast crater where the High Street met the promenade. She began to run.
The streets radiating off the High Street all looked the same, and as the signs had been removed, she couldn’t tell which was Camden Road. Then she remembered there had been a bombed out building on the corner, and a fire station a short way down from it. She ran harder up the steep hill, her breath coming in painful gasps, her gaze fixed to what appeared to be her goal.
As she reached the bomb site, she realised her mistake, for this was a recent collapse and there was a knot of men frantically trying to clear the rubble while a large shaggy dog stood barking into what looked like a hole. She was about to hurry past when a powerful light was shone right in her eyes.
‘Oy,’ said the gruff voice. ‘You there. You’re a nurse, aren’t you?’
She shielded her eyes and tried to see who was behind the torch. ‘Yes, but how . . .?’
The old porter shifted the torch so she could see him. ‘We met earlier at the station,’ he said, his face as begrimed as his warden’s uniform. ‘We need you to get down that there hole and help the lady what’s down there.’
Julie looked at the dog which was still barking furiously, his shaggy head submerged in that ominous hole. She shivered with dread. ‘I can’t,’ she stammered. ‘I have to find William.’
‘You can, and you will,’ he said firmly, grasping her arm. ‘You’re a nurse, and about the right size. See, none of us is small enough to get through, and the lady down there’s about to have a baby, Gawd help her.’
Julie looked frantically round for help. She couldn’t go down that hole, she just couldn’t. It was too reminiscent of the one in Stepney. And then there was William. She had to know that he and Eileen had survived the bombing, and that he was safe. ‘I can’t,’ she said again, beginning to back away. ‘Have you called for an ambulance?’
‘It’s on its way, but it’s you what’s here now, and you what’s going down that hole,’ he said, grabbing her coat. ‘Get that off and we’ll lower you in.’
Julie realised she had a duty to the poor woman down that hole and this was not the time to let her morbid fears of being buried alive get the better of her. ‘I’ll need me medical bag,’ she said as she took off her coat. ‘It’s at thirty-seven A Camden Road, the flat above the bakery.’
‘I’ll send someone to fetch it.’ He turned and spoke to one of the other wardens, who hurried off into the darkness. ‘Right, love,’ he said more gently. ‘Let’s get you safely down. The girl’s mother has already managed to get herself down there, and the lads have shored it up as best they can until the heavy lifting crew can get here.’
‘I’ll need hot clean water, soap and towels,’ she said urgently. ‘I can’t deliver a baby with dirty hands.’
‘We’ll get them, don’t fret.’ He turned and yelled up to the man who seemed to be in charge of the barking dog. ‘Get Harvey out of there, Ron. He’ll have the whole blooming thing down in a minute.’
The man grabbed the dog’s collar and swung him, struggling, into his sturdy arms before carrying him down the mound. ‘To be sure, ’tis a grand dog ye are, but give it a rest. You’ve done your bit.’ He regarded Julie from beneath his brows as the dog lay panting in his arms. ‘I know you’ll do your best for ’em, girly,’ he said. ‘Good luck.’
Julie took a deep breath for courage and tentatively stepped onto the pile of rubble. She slipped and slid her perilous way to where two beefy men lay on their stomachs either side of the hole. She looked down into the profound darkness and shivered, the old fears of dark, enclosed spaces returning a hundredfold.
‘To be sure, ’tis all right, me wee girl, we won’t be dropping you,’ said one of the men in a soft Irish lilt. ‘That’s me wife and daughter down there, and I need you to look after them for me.’
Julie swallowed the lump of fear. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Put this torch in your mouth, then give us your hands,’ he replied. ‘Once you feel secure, swing your feet over the edge and we’ll lower you down.’
She bit hard into the sour-tasting rubber then reached forward and felt her hands and forearms being clasped in vice-like grips which almost lifted her from her feet. With the sob of fear trapped in her throat, she closed her eyes, bit harder onto the torch and lifted her legs. Then she was being lowered, her arms almost torn from their sockets as she hung in the void.
Hands grasped her ankles then slid up to her knees and a woman’s voice echoed in the tense silence. ‘It’s all right. I’ve got you. Lean towards me and let go.’
Julie did as she was told and grabbed the other woman’s shoulders as she slid to the rubble-strewn floor. She switched on the torch, dispelling the surrounding blackness. ‘Thank you,’ she breathed, shocked at how small and slight her helper was. ‘I’m surprised you found the strength to break my fall.’
The woman shrugged. ‘I’m tougher than I look.’ She led Julie towards the young woman who lay a few feet away. ‘This is my daughter Anne,’ she said, stroking back the damp hair from the girl’s forehead. ‘Her contractions are coming every two minutes by my reckoning. Her waters broke just before you were lowered down.’ She looked back at Julie. ‘I heard the warden say you were a nurse – is that right?’
Julie nodded. ‘Nurse and midwife,’ she replied as she flashed the torchlight over Anne, noting the heavy beam that pinned one o
f her legs to the floor. Her mother had obviously done her best by removing her underwear and placing her coat beneath her bottom, but it was going to be a tricky delivery and certainly couldn’t be performed with the girl flat on her back.
Julie ignored the darkness surrounding them, and the looming ceiling of rubble that hung suspended only inches above her, focussing only on the beam of torchlight. ‘I need me bag and the hot water and soap you promised,’ she called up to the men.
‘They’re here,’ shouted the Irishman. ‘We’re just lowering them down now.’
Julie felt a small surge of relief: the arrival of her bag meant that Eileen must be safe at home. She watched as her precious bag was lowered down, swiftly followed by a large tin bowl in a string bag in which lay soap, a flask, and several towels.
‘Thank you.’ She swiftly untied everything and washed her hands and arms. The water was tepid, but it was better than nothing. She opened her bag and knelt by the girl, who was moaning in pain. ‘Hello, Anne,’ she said softly. ‘My name’s Julie, and I’m going to help you deliver your baby. Have you been injured anywhere else other than your leg?’
Anne shook her head. ‘I want to push,’ she panted.
‘All right, I’ll wait until the contraction ends, then I need to examine you.’
‘She will be all right, won’t she?’ asked Anne’s mother anxiously.
Julie kept her voice calm and soothing as the contraction ended. ‘Could you hold the torch steady for me? I need both hands free.’ She ducked between the beam and the overturned desk into the tight space above Anne, and did a quick examination. The second stage of labour was well advanced, but the leg injury was another matter, and would have to be dealt with later.
She pulled the girl’s dress down over her knees and edged up until she was squatting by her side. ‘The head is almost crowned, and your labour is progressing normally,’ she said quietly. ‘Now, I’m going to help you roll over onto your side, and I want you to put your free leg up towards your chest. Can you do that, Anne?’