The young man jerked his head towards the flaming house. ‘This lady was wiv me mum,’ he said. ‘She told me she died just as I left ter fetch yer.’
Old Dr Kelly brushed a hand over his snow-white hair and replaced his steel helmet. ‘That was a blessing, son,’ he replied quietly.
Tony nodded. ‘It must ’ave bin an incendiary bomb. I couldn’t get back in there fer ’er.’
Dr Kelly stared at the burning house. ‘Were your army clothes in there?’ he asked.
Tony nodded. ‘Me rifle an’ full pack as well,’ he replied.
‘Don’t worry, come and see me before your leave’s up. I’ll give you a letter to take back to camp with you,’ the doctor told him. ‘It should do. Now you’d better get off the street, it’s getting worse. Don’t worry, I’ll deal with everything,’ he added quietly, nodding towards Lola’s badly burned body.
Tony got up reluctantly and made his way to the nearby shelter, a brick-built, reinforced surface shelter that had been erected in a cul-de-sac off Ferris Street. In the covered doorway he saw a few faces he recognised among the men who were standing on guard, helpless as the fires raged and bombs fell. They were huddled together and one elderly man reached out towards him. ‘Are you all right, Tony boy?’ he asked with concern as he grabbed the young soldier’s arm and pulled him under the concrete canopy.
Tony gazed back out into the street. ‘The ’ouse is gone. I couldn’t get ter me muvver, the fire was too fierce,’ he replied.
The men all stared at him, not knowing what to say, and the elderly man looked down at his wet, sticky hand. ‘Yer bleedin’ son,’ he said.
Tony saw the large patch of blood on his coat sleeve and he realised it had come from Lola as he cradled her in the crook of his arm. ‘I’m all right,’ he replied.
‘I’m very sorry about yer muvver, son,’ the old man said. ‘She was a very nice lady. I knew ’er well.’
Tony gave him a brief smile. ‘She died before the fire started,’ he told him. ‘I would ’ave bin dead too if I ’adn’t gone fer the doctor. Me mum’s friend was wiv ’er at the time. She’s dead too.’
The old man shook his head sadly. ‘Poor Lola. She was very good ter yer muvver.’
‘Yer knew ’er then?’ Tony asked him.
The elderly man nodded. ‘We all did round ’ere. I can’t believe she’s gorn,’ he said miserably.
Lola’s last words came into Tony’s mind and he looked intently at the old man. ‘D’yer ’appen ter know who Gloria is?’ he asked.
A loud explosion shook the shelter and the men huddled down to escape the flying debris. The old man cursed aloud and dusted his coat with a gnarled hand. ‘Yer was askin’ me about a Gloria,’ he said.
Tony nodded. ‘Lola mumbled the name Gloria just before she died.’
‘I’m sorry but I don’t know anybody by that moniker,’ the old man said, scratching his bald head. ‘Any o’ you lads ’eard of a Gloria?’
The men all shook their heads. ‘Could be one o’ the street gels,’ one said.
Throughout the rest of the night, bombs continued to fall and many backstreets were hit and destroyed. Wharves, factories and warehouses burned out of control as the fire crews struggled to pump water from the middle of the river. The tide was at its lowest for years on that particular night. Medical staff worked tirelessly through the night as casualties filled the local hospitals; even the boiler room at one hospital was used to house the less severely injured patients.
As the dawn light filtered into the smoke-filled sky, Tony left the shelter and walked through the devastated streets. No buses or trams were running and everywhere he looked he saw grey-faced people standing around in a state of shock. The by now familiar smell of cordite and smouldering timbers filled the air, and as he made his way towards Rachel’s home in Salmon Lane, he shivered uncontrollably, although the morning was warm.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Page Street was deathly quiet as the bomb disposal team worked on the unexploded bomb in the Salters’ back yard. All the inhabitants of the little backstreet had been sent to a nearby rest centre and Maurice Salter found himself the centre of attraction.
‘Gawd, it must ’ave bin terrifyin’,’ Maisie remarked to him.
Maurice shrugged his shoulders. ‘I took a good look at it an’ I could see the nuts an’ bolts on the side of it,’ he replied. ‘So I put me ear to it ter find out if it was tickin’.’
‘Was it?’ Maisie asked, her eyes open wide.
‘Nah, there was a funny whirrin’ noise though,’ he told her. ‘I guessed it was the auto-gyro goin’ round so I decided I’d better sort it out.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, I made meself a cuppa an’ I thought about it while I was drinkin’ me tea.’
‘What then?’
‘I got me tools out to ’ave a go at it while yer were still in the shelter but I thought better of it. I wasn’t worried fer meself, yer understand, but it could ’ave done untold damage ter the street if it ’ad ’ave gone up.’
Maudie was equally eager to talk to Maurice. ‘I bet yer won’t be sleepin’ in yer own bed from now on,’ she said, thinking of what her husband had promised her.
Maurice shrugged again. ‘It don’t worry me, luv,’ he said. ‘I get a better sleep in me own bed. It’s more private, too.’
Brenda Massey was standing beside him and she stifled a grin. Maudie, however, looked horrified at his bravado. ‘Didn’t yer feel a bit scared when yer see that ’orrible fing stickin’ up in the yard?’ she asked him.
‘Nah. Like I said, I understand about mechanics,’ he replied. ‘Yer gotta know about such fings when yer work at the gasworks. As a matter o’ fact I wanted ter give the bomb disposal chaps an ’and but the sergeant in charge said they could manage quite well. ’E promised ter give me a shout if they do need any’elp though.’
‘Cor, ain’t yer brave,’ Maudie told him. ‘My Ernest would’ave run a mile, wouldn’t yer, luv.’
Ernest growled an unintelligible reply and dragged his wife away. Sadie meanwhile, had been talking to Maurice’s daughters and she was of the opinion that their father was a raving idiot.
‘What possessed ’im ter stay in the ’ouse last night?’ she asked Lily.
‘’E’s so bleedin’ obstinate at times,’ the young woman replied. ‘We kept tellin’ ’im that one night somefing would’appen. Who’d ’ave thought it’d be an unexploded bomb though? Jus’ fancy, ’e could ’ave bin blown sky ’igh.’
‘’E would ’ave bin, an’ the ’ole bleedin’ lot of us too if ’e’d started fiddlin’ about wiv the bloody fing,’ Sadie told her.
‘I don’t fink ’e would ’ave touched it,’ Lily said smiling. ‘Our dad looks all cool, calm an’ collected but it’s all swagger. ’E’s bin shakin’ like a leaf ever since ’e first discovered it.’
Brenda and Barbara Salter both looked a little embarrassed as they listened to their father going on about the unexploded bomb and Barbara was moved to interrupt the conversation he had started with Bert Jolly and the three wise ones, the Mrs Green, Haggerty and Watson.
‘Why don’t yer sit down an’ rest, Dad?’ she said, giving him a wicked look. ‘Yer look tired.’
Maurice scoffed at the idea. ‘I was just tellin’ the ladies, I might be called ter give the bomb disposal fellas an ’and,’ he said. ‘I know the layout o’ the place, yer see. There’s the gas pipes an’ water supply. Yer gotta know where all those fings are.’
‘Why’s that?’ Mrs Green asked.
‘Well, yer see, if the bomb did go orf an’ they ’adn’t shut the gas orf, then there’d be a sort of chain reaction,’ he told her, hooking his thumbs through his braces.
‘Oh yeah,’ Mrs Green replied, not knowing what he was talking about.
‘’Alf o’ Bermon’sey could go up if they never shut the gas orf,’ Maurice told her.
‘Yer mean ter tell me the bomb disposal blokes wouldn’t know ’ow ter shut the gas o
rf?’ Bert queried.
‘Not in our ’ouse, they wouldn’t,’ Maurice informed him. ‘Yer see, I boxed all the pipes in when I done a bit o’ decoratin’. They wouldn’t know where ter look. Mind you, I’m not sayin’ I wouldn’t be a bit scared ter go back in the ’ouse wiv that bloody great bomb sittin’ in me back yard, but at times like these yer ferget yer fears, don’t yer?’
Bert nodded. ‘If they call yer back ter give ’em a bit of ’elp, yer could be in fer a medal, yer know. Yer could even get the George medal.’
‘They’ll more likely put ’im up fer the VD an’ scar, lavatory ball an’ chain,’ Tom Casey growled to his wife.
‘Don’t you start,’ she told him sharply. ‘One joker’s about all I can stand, fank you very much.’
By midday the bomb was disarmed and the Page Street folk returned home. Granny Massey had the final word on the subject.
‘Trust that clown ter be different,’ she growled. ‘If it ’ad landed anywhere else, it would ’ave gorn orf.’
‘Well, it wasn’t Maurice’s fault it didn’t go orf,’ Brenda said sharply.
‘Pity it didn’t. Did you ’ear the silly git goin’ on about what’e was gonna do? Take ’is tools to it indeed,’ Granny said scathingly. ‘There’s only two tools ’e know ’ow ter use an’ one’s an ’ammer.’
Bella Galloway was not too sure any more whether returning to her home in Ilford had been a wise move. The reading of the will had been a bombshell but Frank had taken it all so calmly. She had expected him to rant and rave about it all and she would have understood. If it had been her father, she would have contested the will but Frank had said that it was not worth the expense.
Bella cursed to herself as she sat in front of her dressing-table mirror and brushed her unruly hair. It used to be so manageable, she thought. Her face was looking blotchy, too, and there were pouches forming beneath her eyes. Thank goodness her talent had not deserted her. Graham Cunningham had been at pains to say that she would be his first choice when he put his new show together. There might be a part in it for Caroline too, he had said. Caroline was doing well at drama school and she had been in a few student revues to entertain the forces recently. A chip off the old block, Graham had said, though Bella recalled admonishing him about the word ‘old’. She would have to keep an eye on Caroline, she realised. Graham was a lecher, and she had learned through experience that he enjoyed seducing his female cast. She had been in that position herself long ago, though she could not really consider herself to have been seduced. It was more a case of vamping her director.
Caroline came into the bedroom and flopped down on the bed. ‘He’s still snoring, Mummy,’ she said disdainfully.
‘We’ll let him sleep,’ Bella replied with a false smile. ‘Daddy was at the yard all through last night’s raid.’
‘Why did he have to be there?’ Caroline asked, looking over her mother’s shoulder at her profile. ‘Surely the manager could have sorted things out?’
Bella shrugged her shoulders. ‘You know how Daddy has to supervise everything,’ she sighed, ‘and that manager is a complete nincompoop, from what I’ve heard. It’s been a week now and the front gates are still not repaired. Then there were the files and books to salvage from the office fire. I think it’s all been too much for the poor dear. When he came home this morning he was absolutely all in. I made him go to bed immediately. I can’t stand him around me when he’s tetchy, and you know what he’s like when he gets tired, especially since that business of the will.’
Caroline pulled a face. ‘Yes, but he’s not being fair to you, Mummy. After all you’ve done to support him. I mean to say, how many in your position would have given up a marvellous career for a grumpy husband?’
Bella smiled benignly at her daughter. She would not have described her career as all that marvellous over the past year, though Graham seemed to think that she had been a wonderful trouper. But then Graham had said that one night when he had had too much to drink and was trying to atone for his inadequacy between the sheets.
‘We must make allowances,’ Bella said with forced gravity.
‘Will you stay here or go back to the show now that Daddy’s got to carry on with the business?’ Caroline asked.
Bella sighed and put down the brush, feeling that she was wasting her time on her hair. ‘I’ll wait and see. It all depends on Graham Cunningham,’ she replied with a sly smile. ‘He’s promised me a lead in the new show.’
Caroline hid her displeasure. Graham had told her that he was looking for a new, fresh face, someone with exceptional talent who would take the audience by the scruff of the neck, captivate them by sheer presence. He had intimated that she was in the running for the starring role, and Caroline was more than willing to make the necessary sacrifices for stardom.
In Salmon Lane, Carrie and Joe were still clearing up after the raid. The yard was strewn with rubble from a nearby explosion and one of the lorries had had all its windows blown out. The gate was hanging from its hinges and neither the water nor the gas was working. Worse still was the news that Paddy Byrne had been bombed out and was going to be off for a few days while he sorted things out. Rachel was due home that day and Carrie was worried about how she was going to get to London. The local policeman had told her that all the nearby stations were closed due to extensive damage and the regular routes throughout the borough had been disrupted. The transport manager of the leather factory she was contracted to had been on the phone to say that the warehouse had been badly damaged during the raid and they would be unable to trade for at least a week or two.
Joe was whistling as he swept up the yard, trying to remain cheerful in spite of all the dislocation, but Nellie was very pessimistic about their chances for survival if they had to face another air raid.
‘I was listenin’ ter the news earlier,’ she told her daughter. ‘They reckon it’s the worst raid we’ve ’ad in London. We can’t stand much more of it. I saw Mrs Black come past the gate early this mornin’ an’ she got talkin’. D’yer know that they’ve gotta let the fires burn themselves out? The Thames was almost dry last night. ’Er ’usband’s in the fire brigade an’ ’e told ’er that it was the worst night they’ve ever ’ad ter face. Gawd knows what’s ter become of us.’
Carrie went out to help Joe in the yard, and suddenly she looked up to see a young man standing by the gate. He was ashen-faced and dishevelled and his clothes were creased and blackened. She quickly went over to him, shocked by the state he was in.
‘Whatever’s wrong?’ she asked him anxiously.
‘I didn’t know where else ter go,’ he said in little more than a whisper.
‘You’re – you’re Tony O’Reilly,’ Carrie said suddenly, looking into his frightened eyes.
The young man nodded slowly and Carrie felt his eyes searching her for some reaction.
‘I’m Rachel’s mum,’ she said quickly. ‘Whatever’s’appened?’
Tony’s head drooped and he shuddered noticably. ‘My mum died last night, in the air raid. The ’ouse was bombed.’
Carrie had often wondered how she would receive the young man who had captured her daughter’s heart. Would her feelings against the Galloways erupt into anger or would she feel a coldness towards him? None of that mattered now as she stood at the gate facing the distressed young soldier. Her warm heart went out to him and she wanted to hold him tight against the tragedy he had experienced. She slipped her arm around his shoulders and led him into the yard.
Joe hurried over. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked sharply.
‘This is Tony, our Rachel’s Tony, an’ ’e’s out on ’is feet,’ Carrie said, her eyes wide with concern. ‘Tony lost ’is mum last night. Their ’ouse was bombed.’
Joe led the young man into the house.
‘’E’s in a state o’ shock,’ he whispered to Nellie as Tony slumped down into the armchair.
Carrie took the steaming kettle from the fire and made a pot of tea while Joe went into the yard to t
hrow some more wood onto the large brazier they were using to heat up buckets of water.
Tony sat sipping his tea, slowly telling them what had happened. ‘I didn’t know where ter go after the raid ended,’ he said in a hushed voice. ‘I started out ter come ’ere but I suddenly felt so tired. Me legs were givin’ out an’ I sat in the churchyard fer a while. I must ’ave fallen asleep an’ I woke up shiverin’.’
‘Well, we’re glad yer ’ere now. We’ll fill the bathtub an’ yer can ’ave a nice soak, then it’s bed fer you, me lad,’ Carrie told him firmly.
Tony started to protest but she silenced him with a wave of her hand. ‘Rachel’s gonna be ’ome terday, please Gawd, an’ yer wouldn’t want ’er ter see yer lookin’ all tired and worn out, now would yer?’ she reminded him.
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