On a Turning Tide

by Ellie Dean

  She closed the door behind her and hurried into the small kitchen to dump her wet umbrella in the sink before it dripped everywhere, and then took off her raincoat and headscarf. Her stockings were wet through, so she peeled them off and hung them on the airer above the cooker to dry out, and then slipped her cold feet into slippers and went into the sitting room to switch on the wireless for company and light the fire.

  Coal was a real luxury now, and the low-grade anthracite that was on offer proved difficult to light and, with its low blue flame, didn’t really provide the warm orange glow that was so much more appealing – and yet when it did get going it gave off a really good heat, and didn’t smoke like coal. Adding a few bits of kindling, she placed the fireguard in front of it and went back to the kitchen to see to the stew and heat through the soup she’d made from the bottled tomatoes she’d harvested from her garden that summer.

  As she stirred the soup she smiled at the memory of her mother, Edna, and the lessons she’d given her and her sisters as youngsters in the art of cooking good nutritious food from the most basic of ingredients, and the tricks of running a home on a shoestring budget. Those lessons had served her well in these tough times and she was quite surprised at how many of them she’d remembered after so many years of never having to watch the pennies.

  She glanced across at her small larder which was stocked with homemade chutneys, jams and bottled pears; the cooking and eating apples from her trees were carefully stored in boxes between layers of brown paper that had started out as envelopes and packaging. There were dried herbs tied into bunches by the cooker, and onions strung up in a corner of the shed – and winter vegetables were now flourishing in her garden thanks to John’s patient guidance. Feeling rather pleased with herself, she cut a slice of wheatmeal bread to go with the soup and carried her lunch into the sitting room.

  The rain had stopped, but the wind still buffeted the bungalow as it came off the sea, and although it was barely past three in the afternoon, it was already getting quite dark. Doris drew the curtains on the dismal day, switched on a table lamp and settled down to her lunch by the fire.

  Time ticked away pleasantly as the aroma of the warming stew came from the kitchen and concert music played softly from the wireless. She finished the soup and picked up her library book, but the soothing music combined with the warmth of the fire made her drowsy and she set it aside when she realised she’d read the same paragraph twice and not taken in a single word. Resting her head back and settling deeper into the armchair, she closed her eyes and sighed contentedly. John would be back soon.

  The knock on the door startled her awake an hour later, and at the thought of John getting soaked on her doorstep, she groggily hurried to let him in.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Williams. May I come in out of the rain?’

  Shocked out of her grogginess, Doris drew herself up stiffly and glared at Chumley. ‘No, you may not,’ she snapped, and made to close the door only to find his large brown brogue was blocking it. ‘Remove your foot immediately,’ she ordered in her most imperious tone. ‘Or I shall call the police.’

  Chumley’s foot remained where it was. ‘That’s not very hospitable, Mrs Williams,’ he said, his expression mournful as he stood beneath his large umbrella. ‘Especially as I’ve come to apologise for ignoring you after our previous encounter. I’ve been in London, you see.’

  ‘I hadn’t noticed your absence,’ she retorted, looking down her nose at him. ‘And I’d appreciate it if you’d leave now and not bother me again.’ She tried to close the door, but Chumley’s brogue was still in the way, and as there was no sign of the chauffeur or any of her neighbours, she couldn’t expect any help in getting rid of him.

  ‘Mrs Williams – Doris – I really don’t understand why you’re being so hostile,’ Chumley persisted. ‘I thought we were friends, and I wish only to get to know you better.’

  Doris knew she had to be careful, for she didn’t want him to suspect she knew the true reason behind his harassment of her. ‘If I’ve been hostile, it’s only because you don’t seem to be able to take no for an answer,’ she replied coolly. ‘I have returned your very generous gifts and made it plain that I do not wish to further our acquaintance – and yet you have chosen to ignore my wishes.’ She held his gaze, determined to remain calm.

  Chumley put his hand on the door suddenly and before Doris could react, he’d thrust it open, shoved her out of the way and slammed it behind him. The smile was gone – all pretence at civility wiped away in cold fury. ‘Don’t stick your nose up at me, you supercilious bitch,’ he rasped, advancing on her.

  Doris shuffled back along the hall. ‘Get out,’ she managed, her pulse thudding as fear threatened to overwhelm her.

  ‘I’m not leaving until I get what I came for,’ he growled, grabbing her by the throat and thrusting her against the wall. ‘Where are those notebooks?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she gasped, clawing at the strong fingers that were threatening to squeeze the life out of her.

  The fingers tightened. ‘You know damned well,’ he hissed inches from her face. ‘Just as I know you didn’t destroy them.’ He squeezed a little harder. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘I burned them,’ she gasped, fighting for breath and clawing frantically at his hand.

  He leaned his considerable weight against her. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘But I did – I did,’ she choked out. Spots were appearing in her eyes and a terrible darkness was beginning to fill her head as he pinned her to the wall. In that moment of blinding terror, she knew that if she didn’t fight back he would kill her.

  Doris stopped grappling with his fingers and rammed the heel of one hand under his nose and swiftly followed this up with a poke in his eye. As he loosened his hold on her and reeled back from her attack, she kicked him hard in the shins and then rammed her knee into his groin.

  He fell to his knees and clutched his testicles, blood dripping from his nose and claw-marks showing vividly on his face. ‘I’ll get you for this, you bitch,’ he gasped.

  Doris was poised to flee for her life when the front door was kicked in and John was standing there.

  Taking in the scene at a glance, he advanced on Chumley and dragged him to his feet before delivering a punch that sent him crashing back onto the floor. ‘Are you all right, Doris? He didn’t hurt you, did he?’

  She couldn’t speak, her throat was too sore, but she shook her head to assure him she was fine.

  John dragged the groaning Chumley to his feet and propped him against the wall in much the same way Chumley had held Doris.

  Chumley cringed and blubbered, begging John not to hit him again and accusing Doris of attacking him.

  John’s expression was scathing as he looked him up and down. ‘Get out, and stay away from Mrs Williams. That punch was just a taste of what I’m capable of, Chumley, and I assure you, if you cross either of us again, you’ll feel the full force of my many years in the army boxing team.’

  ‘I’ll have the law on you for assault,’ slurred Chumley through his bloody mouth.

  ‘I doubt that very much.’

  ‘She’s got my property and I want it back!’ Chumley shouted.

  John didn’t bother to reply. He grabbed Chumley by the collar, opened the door and shoved him so hard he stumbled over the step and ended sprawled on the path, the rain beating down on his bloodied face. John tossed the umbrella after him, and then stood ready to boot him down the path to his car if he didn’t clear off immediately.

  Doris was trembling with shock as she went to John’s side and watched Chumley stagger to his car and drive off. Her throat was aching, but her admiration for John was such that she had no words to express it.

  John closed the door and she leaned into him as he put his arm around her and kissed her forehead. ‘I’ll mend that broken lock later,’ he murmured, regarding her keenly. Seeing the marks on her throat, he tenderly traced a finger over the bruises.
‘Did he do this?’ he asked with cold, grim fury.

  Doris nodded and then managed a wry smile. ‘But I did worse to him,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Went for his eyes and probably broke his nose as well as his balls.’

  John’s eyes widened momentarily at this plain speaking which was so unlike Doris, and then drew her to him and chuckled. ‘Clever, brave girl,’ he murmured against her cheek. ‘Let’s sit you by the fire and I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

  Doris let him fuss over her, and once she’d drunk the tea and had a cigarette she at last stopped trembling and began to relax, for surely Chumley would never dare approach her again?

  She remained by the fire whilst John replaced the broken lock on the front door and then, ignoring his protests, she went to clean away the smears of blood from her hall wall and floor and wash her hands. She still had no idea how she’d found the strength and courage to fight back, let alone remember the self-defence course she’d attended whilst in the Girl Guides all those years ago – and could only assume that fear had driven her and given her the clarity of mind she’d needed in that desperate situation.

  Once everything was back in order, John set up a card table in front of the fire and served their supper. When they’d finished eating, he pulled his chair next to hers and held her hand whilst they listened to the wireless, and Doris was almost consumed by a deep sense of contentment that she’d never known before.

  The clock chimed eleven, which was the usual signal that the evening was over, and they both reluctantly got to their feet.

  ‘I’d better go home,’ he said, not making a move.

  ‘Do you have to?’ she asked softly.

  His gaze was intense as he looked into her eyes. ‘Not if you don’t want me to,’ he murmured.

  Doris could feel the electricity between them as they gazed at one another, and felt such an overwhelming need to be loved by him that she couldn’t speak. She answered him by switching off the light and taking his hand to lead him to her bedroom.

  8

  Peggy was fast asleep and dreaming of walking on that lovely beach with Jim when she was thrust awake by an enormous explosion which rocked the house and rattled the windows. Scrambling out of bed to snatch a terrified Daisy from her cot, she almost lost her footing as a second explosion reverberated through the old walls and sent a shower of dust and plaster over them.

  Thunderous gunfire from the emplacements on the surrounding hills and along the promenade swiftly followed and she gripped the screaming Daisy tightly in her arms, grabbed a blanket and dressing gown and fled into the hall, yelling to the others at the top of her voice to get downstairs.

  There was no need, for within seconds she was joined in the kitchen by the five ashen-faced girls and Robert who was carrying a very confused Cordelia. As there was no sign of Ron or Harvey, Peggy could only assume they were at the Anchor with Rosie, and Queenie would still be out on her nightly prowl – but were they safe? Those V-2s had been too close for comfort.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Cordelia was trembling so much that when Robert carefully set her on her feet, she almost collapsed into the nearby chair.

  ‘It’s Hitler’s bleedin’ rockets, Grandma Cordy,’ said Ivy through chattering teeth. ‘Nearly blew the bleedin’ ’ouse up this time.’

  ‘All right, Ivy,’ snapped Rita, ‘there’s no need to put the wind up us even more. We all know how close they came.’

  Cordelia still looked confused, and Peggy realised she hadn’t had time to put her hearing aid in before Robert hauled her out of bed. She put her free hand on her shoulder in an attempt to soothe her, but Daisy was squirming and yelling, so Sarah hurried to Cordelia and gently embraced her – explaining to her great-aunt what was happening by talking clearly, and very close to her ear.

  The big guns were still hammering away and now they were joined by the sirens which began to wail, gathering volume and pitch as they were activated all through the town.

  ‘We ought to go into the Anderson shelter,’ said Robert, gathering Fran to him.

  ‘A fat lot of good that would be,’ said Ivy, shivering in her thin nightclothes. ‘If one of them things comes down, that bit of tin won’t save us. We’d be better off in the cellar.’

  ‘Not if the next one hits the house,’ said Peggy, still trying to soothe a sobbing, clinging Daisy. ‘We’d be buried under it.’

  ‘If it hits the house none of us would know about it anyway,’ said Danuta grimly. ‘We’ve all seen the craters those things leave. I vote we stay in here and take our chances.’

  Another blast rocked the house and the pistol shot of cracking glass made them all cower. The kitchen window had split in half.

  Galvanised into action, everyone scrambled for shelter beneath the kitchen table. There wasn’t much room, but they huddled there, holding each other for comfort as the sirens continued their blood-curdling moans, the guns pounded and a fourth rocket exploded in the distance.

  The lights went out, and the darkness made it even more terrifying. Peggy heard the shatter of glass and china, and the clang of something heavy hitting the range before it thudded onto the floor. There was the ominous clatter and thump of things tumbling over the roof and crashing onto the front steps, and the creak of guttering as it was torn from its fixings.

  Peggy could scarcely breathe for fear that her home was about to fall on top of them all, and the awful claustrophobia of being crushed in that small space as she was half-strangled by Daisy. Yet as she tried to ease Daisy’s grip on her neck, the child merely tightened her hold, her knees and feet digging painfully into Peggy’s stomach and ribs.

  Peggy bore the discomfort, for she could feel Daisy’s little heart thumping wildly against her, and although she was finding it very hard to stay calm, she knew she must for everyone’s sake. She could hear Ivy’s stifled sobs and Fran’s quick, shallow breathing, and felt Rita trembling every time the guns boomed and something else smashed onto the floor. It seemed Danuta was the only one not to be affected, for she sat calmly next to Cordelia and didn’t even flinch when something heavy hit the front wall.

  ‘This is like the bad old days,’ said Cordelia with a shudder. ‘I thought they were behind us.’

  ‘It’s much worse, Grandma Cordy,’ rasped a distraught Ivy who was clinging to Rita. ‘At least then we could ’ear the bombs coming before they ’it.’

  No one had an answer to this, so they remained silent and tense in the darkness, straining to hear anything above the sirens and cannon-fire that might herald yet another V-2. But everyone knew it served little purpose, for Hitler’s new weapon brought death without warning, and there was nothing they could do to escape it should fate decree that their time was up.

  Endless minutes passed; the guns stopped their thunder; Daisy’s sobs quietened as she fell into an exhausted sleep and Peggy prayed for their deliverance. And then the sirens faded and the all-clear was finally sounded.

  The silence was deafening and no one moved until Rita disentangled herself from the crush. ‘I have to get to the fire station,’ she said urgently, crawling out from beneath the table. ‘Watch out!’ she yelped in pain. ‘There’s glass everywhere.’

  ‘Stay where you are, Rita,’ ordered Danuta sharply. ‘I am wearing shoes and will fetch torch from emergency box.’

  ‘Right you are,’ said Rita, ‘but do try and hurry. They need me to drive the fire truck.’

  ‘I too will be needed,’ said Danuta as she bent and crab-walked out from beneath the table.

  They could hear the crunch of glass beneath her feet as she carefully crossed the floor to retrieve the emergency box that had been kept by the sink since the war had begun. After fumbling around she found the torch and switched it on.

  Peggy gasped in horror as the weak beam swept over the glittering shards of glass and china that had been strewn across the floor. Rita’s knee was bleeding, and she stood barefooted amidst it all, not daring to move.

  Danuta snatched up the broom and swept a clea
r path for everyone before shining the torch on Rita’s knee. ‘You will need to check there is no glass left in that wound, Rita, and then you must clean and dress it before you go out,’ she advised.

  ‘I’ll see to that while you get dressed, Danuta,’ said Fran, gingerly following the cleared path in her slippers to take the first aid kit out of the box. ‘We’ll both be needed at the hospital. Lord only knows how many casualties there might be.’

  As if to underline her words, the urgent ringing of fire and ambulance bells came from Camden Road.

  The electricity was still off, so Sarah lit all the candles she could find in the box, anchoring them firmly into any bit of china she could find before handing one each to Fran and Danuta.

  Whilst Fran hurried upstairs with Rita, and Danuta shot off to get dressed, Sarah placed the candles about the room and the others slowly emerged to stare in shock at the mess. The cracked window hadn’t withstood the blast of that fourth rocket, nor the thudding of the guns, and there were lethal shards of glass glinting in the sink and on the draining board.

  Peggy’s china had been jolted from the shelves and now lay in shattered pieces amidst the pool of porridge that was still dripping from the overturned pot – and her heavy iron skillet had dropped from its nail above the range leaving a nasty dent in the hotplate cover before it hit the floor and buried an edge in the lino.

  A layer of dust covered everything and Peggy’s resolve to remain calm began to falter as she eyed the large framed print of the King and Queen which had shifted on its hook to a sharp angle, knocking her mother’s clock and all the photographs off the mantelpiece. By some miracle, the precious clock had landed on the fireside chair and was still in one piece, but it was the sight of Jim’s certificate and newspaper cutting lying on the floor that broke through the tight hold she’d kept on her emotions for the past hour, and she burst into tears.

  Robert put his hand gently on her shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Peggy,’ he said softly. ‘Sarah and I will clean up here whilst you see to Daisy.’