The blood had rushed to my head from being upside down. Fortunately I had done some acrobatic dancing and had been held in this manner previous to being whirled round in the dance, so that keeping my body stiff was not too much of a strain, but the stench of blood and mess down there caught the pit of my stomach and I was afraid of vomiting and dropping the precious torch. There was plenty of room for my arms at the bottom of the hole so I took the torch cautiously from my teeth and began trying to soothe the remains of what had once been a man. He could still hear, for after I had repeated several times the formula we had been told to use to reassure trapped casualties, ‘Try to keep calm – we’re working to get you out. You’ll soon be all right… Very soon now’, the horrible screaming stopped, but the gap which had once been a mouth was trying to say something…it was impossible to catch what it was…so unintelligible were the sounds. ‘Pull me up,’ I called, and put the torch back in my mouth and kept my arms rigidly to my sides as they hauled me up. On my feet I felt violent nausea and vomited again and again. They stood back, and the doctor handed me a huge handkerchief. ‘All right?’ he asked when it was over. I was deeply ashamed, apologized, and told him what I had seen. ‘Have to be chloroform,’ he said shortly. ‘Have you seen it given on a pad?’ I nodded. He took the bottle with a dropper from his case and a cotton mask. ‘I’ll hold it in my mouth,’ I said. ‘When I’m down, if someone shines the torch down I’ll be able to see.’ The terrible screaming had started again down there. All I felt now was the urgency to stop it. ‘How many drops?’ I asked. ‘All of this,’ he said grimly, ‘and hold it over the face as near to the nostrils as you can judge. Try and keep yourself from inhaling it – be as quick as you can.’
I took the pad and the small bottle in my mouth. The big nurse lay down on her stomach by the hole – I thought it was asking for trouble for the whole structure was perilous and one false move could bring the whole pile down on to the trapped man and extinguish what small flicker of life remained there. But she did it very cautiously and carefully, so that she could shine a torch down for me. ‘Ready?’ asked the two tough-looking men in overalls. I nodded. They gripped my thighs and swung me upside down and lowered me again into blackness.
‘I’m back again, you see,’ I said to the terrible anguished thing down there. ‘The doctor has given me something to help the pain – they’ll soon be here now to get you out.’ I was dropping the chloroform on to the pad now. ‘Breathe deeply – can you?’ A sound as from an animal – a grunt – came from the thing which had been a face. I held the pad firmly over him. ‘Breathe deeply…deeply…deeply…’ There was a small convulsive movement of revulsion…another fainter one – and then the sounds stopped. All was quiet. The chloroform was affecting me, and it was all I could do to call ‘Ready!’ and they hauled me up. I disgraced myself by violently vomiting again and again – this time intensified by the chloroform and the stench of blood, for there were other bodies down there – I had seen the pieces. The big nurse held my head, and hastily pulled my dress back on me and then buttoned me into my coat. ‘All right?’ asked the doctor, taking my wrist professionally. ‘Breathe deeply yourself now – go on, several big deep breaths.’ I recovered quickly, and said I’d be getting along – it was very late.
‘I’d drive you home,’ he said, ‘but we’re wanted elsewhere. That’ll keep that poor fellow quiet until the rescue squad arrive to take over so that I can get down myself. Thank you, nurse. You did very well.’ All I wanted was to get away – I was going to be sick again. ‘Run along while it’s quiet,’ advised one of the wardens. I went – but I did not run – all the way back to Chelsea I vomited at intervals. Mrs Freeth, bless her, had waited up for me. She took one look at my face and fetched the brandy. ‘No,’ I said when the smell of it reached me. ‘No. A cup of tea.’ ‘I’ve got that – I was going to give you the brandy first. How’s Catherine?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Not bad news, is it?’ ‘Catherine? She’s the same – no change,’ I said. An awful shivering had taken hold of me – and nothing could stop it. I had never seen anything like that horror in the hole. Mrs Freeth’s comment on this episode was short and terse and was confined to my having removed my dress. She thought the man could have waited a bit longer – but she had not heard his screaming as we had.
I lay in bed and I thought of all those times we VADs had been dropped into holes for the rescue men to practise on us – and I thought of the times my sister and I had had a craze for acrobatic dancing and learned to be held upside down by the thighs or ankles. Who would have thought that such things would ever have been so useful? Any more than that my knowledge of Dutch and Flemish would have stood me in such good stead.
The guns were suddenly barking in short sharp bursts again. Something crashed down very near. ‘They’re chasing them off now – they always make that noise when it’s nearly over,’ called the calm, comfortable voice of Mrs Freeth, who was sleeping in the kitchen across the hall. ‘You know what?’ I called back. ‘You would have done for that job – you’re even smaller than I am – you’re tiny.’ ‘Not with my dress off – and all,’ said Mrs Freeth firmly. We said good-night. I clutched Vicki’s warm body to me and slept.
On the day Catherine was to come out of hospital Mrs Freeth and Madame R scrubbed, swept, and polished her room, we put flowers in it, they lit the fire in the open grate, and we unpacked the great parcel of clothes which had come for her baby from Canada; for Margerie Scott had written about Catherine and those generous people had sent everything she could possibly need for the baby. One of the local residents had given a lovely cradle and this was waiting ready in the room.
It was difficult to get transport of any kind – the petrol restrictions were so stringent that taxis were few and ambulances could only be used for the really sick and injured. Catherine was convalescent – but the hospital was a long way from Chelsea and she was very weak after the fever. I was hoping to get a taxi because there was the baby as well, but I could not find one anywhere near the hospital. Sister telephoned several places for me but it was useless.
While we were waiting in the hospital one of the doctors came in. ‘Would you mind riding with a mental case?’ he asked me. ‘She’ll be quite quiet – and there’ll be room for you if you wouldn’t mind taking her first. The ambulance can go on with your patient.’
I asked where she was to be taken. It was to a small nursing home quite near us. She was to stay there until her family decided where she was to be sent. Sister saw that I was rather dubious. ‘She’s all right – you needn’t be alarmed,’ she said. ‘She’s quite quiet, but we can’t keep her here because she’s a mental case. We need her bed.’
And so Catherine, the baby, and I rode with the mental case. She was a young woman – and must have been pretty when in normal health. Now she was not only pale and emaciated but she had a tic on her face even when apparently unconscious. She was on a stretcher and tied down. I viewed this with some apprehension but was assured that it was only so that she should not fall – she was not violent. Nevertheless it was an uncomfortable journey for it was late afternoon and there was a day-light raid. The sirens howling had a startling effect on the mental patient. She began howling too – in a low long drawn-out wail which was horrible. Catherine’s baby began to cry too and the noise of all these wailings was so extraordinary that Catherine and I burst into helpless giggling. The ambulance stopped and the driver came round and opened the door. ‘What d’yer like to do?’ he inquired, looking anxiously up at the sky. ‘Them b—s are at their bloody game again. Shall I drop yer and the baby by a shelter?’
‘And her?’ I indicated the mental case. Surely we could not take her into a shelter on a stretcher. He shook his head. ‘She can stay in th’ambulance. She don’t know the difference.’ ‘She does,’ I said. ‘She’s been wailing ever since the sirens started.’ ‘Oh well,’ he said indifferently. ‘Make yer mind up – I can’t stay here. There’s a shelter over there…’ Catherine had clutched her baby t
ighter when the sirens started and to my question as to whether or not we should get out and take shelter she said firmly, ‘No. Please let’s go on.’ A warden came up and put his head in. ‘Better get below,’ he said. ‘It’s quite lively.’
I indicated the patient on the stretcher. ‘We can’t take her in a shelter,’ I said.
‘Why not, what’s she got – plague?’
The driver tapped his head significantly. ‘Loopy – ought never to have got sent to us.’ The warden looked puzzled, but only for a moment. ‘You can draw the ambulance under those trees there,’ he suggested, ‘or under that bridge a few hundred feet on.’ ‘And have the bloody bridge on top of us? No, thanks – if the passengers agree we’ll get moving. Okeydoke, Nurse?’ ‘Okeydoke, Mama?’ Catherine blushed a bright pink at being addressed as Mama. Then she began laughing again as both the baby and the patient started howling. ‘You do so at your own risk,’ said the warden disapprovingly.
‘What the hell am I to do then? With a loony and a new-born baby no shelter’ll welcome us.’ ‘Oh, let’s go!’ I said impatiently. At the beginning of the Blitz all traffic had ceased when the sirens sounded – and passengers and driver went to shelter. Now that there were sirens all the time the traffic took little notice unless the police or wardens stopped them and ordered them off the road. ‘Suits me,’ said the driver. ‘Don’t make no difference to me. Drive this bleeding hearse whether it’s raining cats and dogs or bombs – it’s all the same ter me.’ He slammed the door and the engine started up.
‘I went to hospital in a raid – and I had the baby in a raid – now I come out in a raid –’ said Catherine, beginning to giggle again. ‘She ought to be named Raida.’ She cuddled the child to her while I tried to soothe the young woman, who lay moaning as if she were suffering horribly.
When we reached the nursing home, which was quite near the King’s Road, the patient did not appear to be expected. I wanted to get Catherine back as she was looking alarmingly white. At last a male attendant came out and he and the driver grumblingly carried the moaning one inside. ‘Thank heavens she’s gone,’ he said, as he came out mopping his brow. ‘Gave me the willies, that moaning did – worse than the sirens – they do ’ave a fixed time limit for ’owling.’
Mrs Freeth and Madame R were waiting for us in Catherine’s room and made a great fuss of the baby. ‘What about the night?’ asked Madame R anxiously. We all go to the shelter – we can’t leave her alone in the house.’ It was quite obvious that Catherine couldn’t sleep in a shelter, and it was already dusk. Madame R was perfectly willing to stay in the house with her but she knew that her husband would not allow it. I foresaw that for a few nights at least, until other arrangements could be made, I would have to sleep there with Catherine. Richard did not like this although he was awfully patient and understanding about our home being invaded at all hours of the day and night by refugees, wardens, and friends on shifts from the Control or the FAP. I had lived alone there until we married and it had been open house – it still was.
Now that it was bitterly cold at night Mrs Freeth and I always kept a great pot of soup on the stove. Tea was rationed – and not everyone drank coffee – but soup was popular. Anyone who dropped in – wardens, AFS, VADs, or refugees and friends – could always have soup, and Mrs Freeth’s soup was extremely good. She shopped on her way to Cheyne Place very often and was a very clever manager.
Old Granny, who lived in Paradise Walk, got into the habit of dropping in every morning for her soup. Her husband went to Covent Garden and fetched vegetables in the early mornings in an old cart with the horse Beauty. We all called the old woman ‘Granny’, and she was a grandmother many times over. She did not know her age and had no idea where she had been born, and now that they were getting old and times becoming hard she was anxious to get an old-age pension; but for this a birth certificate had to be produced – and Granny had not got hers or her husband’s.
She had a face which I can only describe as luminous – the pale skin had a transparency which was extraordinary, as had the eyes, which were as clear and had the blue-tinted whites of a young child. I liked old Granny. She had had a hard life – and if she was so set on a purpose as to appear perverse, almost arrogant, on the subject, it was understandable when one realized the odds against which she had battled all her life to bring up a large family. They had a man lodger – I think he was some kind of relative – and they lived over a kind of stable or garage in which the cart and Beauty were housed; but now that the Blitz was so bad the two old people slept with Beauty down in the stable. The horse was terrified of the Blitz and they slept one each side of her, holding her and patting her all night.
Granny had an ulcer on her leg and asked me if I could dress it for her. She would come to the kitchen every morning and I would bandage the leg, and then she would drink her soup or have a cup of tea and tell us all the news and all her troubles. The horse was very cold, she told me, and she had no coat for her. She felt that if Beauty had a covering she would feel less frightened of the bombs. When I gave her a thick double-breasted blue overcoat of Richard’s which he seldom wore, for Beauty, she was delighted. That night when I went to visit her because her leg was particularly painful, I saw the two old people fast asleep, one each side of the horse, holding her legs, and draped over her was Richard’s overcoat. There was something quite lovely in the scene. They used to leave the doors unlocked, as we were all supposed to do in the Blitz; and sometimes they left it slightly ajar. I had not the heart to wake Granny up to dress her leg and I stood there looking at this trio – and I went home and sketched what I had seen – I thought it so moving.
Richard was not very pleased about the coat. He did not wear it much but he had liked it. I could not ask for it back – so agreed to buy him a new one. This I did – but he is a very big man and the blue one had been specially made for him. He liked it better than the new one. Apparently Beauty only needed it at night for, when returning from night shifts, Richard had the tantalizing spectacle of seeing Grandpa huddled in the coat, in which, being a small man, he was almost lost, driving the naked Beauty to Covent Garden. He teased me about this for a long time – as he did about my passion for all animals. Mrs Freeth urged me to get it back and give them a blanket for Beauty – but Richard said he did not fancy it after Beauty had worn it as a nightshirt!
We had moved a divan bed from upstairs to the dining-room on the ground floor now that the Blitz had become a nightly occurrence, and had put two camp beds in the kitchen, which was a large room across the small hall. A mattress was on the floor in the hall for guests, who often had to stay the night when the Blitz was too noisy for them to find transport. The dining-room had a large and very charming bay window looking on to the pavement of the Royal Hospital Road and we used to eat at a small table in this window when we were alone, but when we had guests we had to eat in the huge studio upstairs. There was only a short, easy flight of stairs to the studio. Mrs Freeth would serve dinner up there absolutely unperturbed by any amount of plaster which fell whenever there was a bomb nearby. Not all our guests enjoyed this, and on several occasions their appetites were not very large, but the sight of tiny Mrs Freeth, absolutely immaculately turned out in a diminutive lace apron serving them as calmly and efficiently as if there was nothing happening at all, forced them to hide their fears and conform to her rigid idea of what was what. I admired her enormously. Once when one of her twin sons was sleeping in the kitchen with her and the bombs were appallingly loud and frequent the boy complained a little. I heard his mother say, ‘What’s the matter with you? Nothing’s hit you – time enough to holler when it does!’ Her husband had been in the Grenadier Guards and was a night-watchman – he was a fine man of whom Richard thought a great deal and was now doing a dangerous, lonely task guarding a large city building all through the bombing, with no word of complaint or sign of fear. The twins were fifteen at this time, sturdy boys and splendidly brought up. I don’t think I could have got through tho
se winter months of the Blitz without Mrs Freeth. I was alone so much – as she was – and together we could face far more than we could separately.
Chapter Fifteen
OUR NEIGHBOUR at No. 1, Swan Walk, the oldest house in Chelsea, was David Fyffe, whom Richard had known in India. He was in the Ministry of Information and had not been long home from Bombay. We were fascinated by the house which he had been lent; it was said to have a strange history and had an underground passage leading to the Royal Hospital. David told us that there was supposed to be another underground passage from it to a subterranean tunnel under the Thames and that long ago the house had been used for escapes. It had an ageless, matured, much lived-in feeling and could have been a house of ghosts – although David had never seen any he was always hoping. Its beautiful panelling was of an earlier date than that in the Royal Hospital and the house stood back from Swan Walk in a paved garden. It could have had no prouder occupant than David, who loved showing its beauties and extolling them. The staircases were the original ones – twisted and tortuous, even dangerous – but one could imagine no others in such a house, and we descended one to the room in the basement where he slept in the Blitz.
Since he and Richard had met again after returning from India, David had been dropping in to us for meals sometimes. He seemed lonely.
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