I admired her attitude enormously. I had completed a sketch of Indi in his uniform and this I gave her now. She was delighted with it and asked if she might send it to her father. I looked at it again before she took it away. He was a wonderful-looking boy – with the proud straight features seen often in Hyderabad, which was his home. He had had a most endearing personality and I had loved his society. I could not look at the sketch without pain – but Kumari, tearless and composed, regarded the drawing critically. ‘It is a very good likeness,’ she said quietly, ‘Father will be delighted to have it.’
It was a quiet Christmas but it was a happy one for Carla, who was radiant. On Christmas Day the King broadcast from Sandringham. He spoke first to the children, to all those separated by war from their parents, to those in Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa. There were many of these, for the evacuation scheme had gone on in spite of the tragedy of the City of Benares. To the older people he said, ‘In the last Great War the flower of our youth was destroyed and the rest of the people saw but little of the battle. This time we are all in the front line and in danger together, and I know that the older among us are proud that it should be so. Remember this, if war brings separation it brings new unity also, the unity which comes from common perils and common sufferings willingly shared. To be good comrades and good neighbours in trouble is one of the finest opportunities of the civilian population…’
He finished with a warning that the difficulties and dangers still to come should not be underrated but that we might look forward to a happier New Year from the successes which our fighting men and their Allies won at heavy odds by land, air, and sea.
In the afternoon we had a party in the studio for Carla and the refugee children. Larry and Cecil gave away presents, dressed up as Father Christmases – the children were thrilled to have two of them, one from the Continent and one from Britain, we told them. The costumes had been dug up somewhere in the Town Hall and cleaned and renovated by Kathleen. Earlier, on Christmas Eve, Suzanne had received all the refugees who cared to go, in her drawing-room in the Royal Hospital where a noble Christmas tree was set in the windows: they had refreshments and sang carols. It was a lovely ceremony in a lovely room, but it was nostalgic too – for almost all the refugees were remembering other Christmases in their own countries, and on December 14th all Belgian males in the 1925 to 1941 class had been called to the colours in the Belgian Army in England. There were quite a number of lads about to be sixteen – it seemed terribly young to have to fight. (Our own youngsters of sixteen and seventeen were having a very difficult time. Either they were too old to be evacuated or were already out at work and had no spare cash. They had in many cases to fend for themselves, their mothers having evacuated and their fathers being in the Forces. They did splendid work helping out the ARP Services as messengers and extras, and Margerie Scott was one of those who occupied themselves with their welfare. From her eloquent radio appeals she had already received large sums of money to found dramatic clubs in reinforced basements for them so that they could find some form of light relief from the dreariness of their lives.) We dispersed before actual black-out for fear of an Alert. But there was no Alert! Apparently the Germans, in spite of Hitler, still loved their Heilige Abend too much to leave their bases to bomb us.
Richard and I had a late party to celebrate the first Christmas of our married life. We had asked all the guests to bring their night-clothes – it was quite common now when invited out for dinner to take pyjamas and toilet-bags – and were prepared to squeeze them all into the hall or the shelter. But the hours went on and no sirens interrupted our party – it was a bomb-free night everywhere. Nevertheless I decided to send Carla back on the morning of the 27th. She had had a wonderful few days, been thoroughly spoiled by Larry and Richard, by Mrs Freeth, and by us all. She wanted me to take her back – she had left without permission and I had telephoned the agitated nuns at the convent school. They were not angry with the child – they were understanding and kind women, and knew that Carla’s sense of insecurity and of not belonging anywhere made it vital that she found the affection she craved.
She gave me one small insight of how she was suffering at school. We were passing Shawfield Street where some of the Demolition Squad were still clearing the dangerous ruins and, as we passed one of them, a huge beefy red-faced fellow, who before the war had been a builder’s labourer, saw Vicki and shouted, ‘Heil Miss Hitler! Heil!’ and they all raised their hands in mock Nazi salute at Vicki. I was used to this – in fact it had become a standard joke and all my friends now called my Dachshund ‘Miss Hitler’. I waved at the men and laughed. But the effect on Carla was startling. She ran like a whirlwind over to the group of men and attacked the beefy one, Smasher, with her fists. ‘How dare you, how dare you! You bullies! You beasts!’ she screamed and her small face was contorted with fury. The men were flabbergasted; too taken aback to say a word they just stood staring at their huge comrade being attacked by this bundle of fury. It took quite a feat of strength to dislodge her and calm her down. ‘He’s mean! Mean!’ she kept crying. ‘It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault. I wish I were dead!’ I was as puzzled as the men were – that she should resent the nickname I understood – but this was out of all reason. I apologized for her and led her weeping away from them. Afterwards it came out that the girls at school all called her ‘Miss Hitler’.
The peace of Christmas was shattered by an appalling fire raid on London on the 29th. German machines dropped shower after shower of incendiaries on the City. It was a Sunday night and offices and buildings were for the most part unattended, and the Fire Service and ARP, who did heroic work in fighting the fires, had difficulty in getting into many of the blazing premises.
The terrifying glow in the sky could be seen all up the river, and it was so light in Chelsea that one could almost see to read in the streets. Fire bombs fell in our area too, but they were easily dealt with, while the blaze in the City went on all night – a target for bombs from the Luftwaffe who had set it alight. Every Fire Service in the Metropolitan area was called in to help and they fought the flames with epic courage. But in spite of Government appeals so many commercial buildings were locked against burglars and so many of the City’s historic churches locked also that the flames got a firm hold before anything could be done. The Thames was at its lowest tide, as it had several times been when we had needed water in Chelsea, and some of the pumps had been rendered useless when the mains had been severed. In one of our Chelsea fire raids the water mains had been burst so that the fire-points were useless and the Thames was so low that there was only mud, while in the streets the water from the severed mains near the Embankment was deep enough for a boat to float on and for cars to be half-submerged in it.
We got more news of this terrible fire raid than of almost any calamity hitherto – for it was impossible to keep a catastrophe of such dimensions from the public. The raid lasted only two hours, the firemen told us next day; obviously the Germans intended returning with fresh loads of incendiaries – but for some reason they did not do so. The sky was a bright orange-red – as it is soon after sunrise – indeed it gave the feeling of a sunny dawn in the night. We went up on to our flat roof, which was pretty high and gave a splendid view over London, and it was awful – although beautiful, a brilliant blood-red – the kind of sky in which Turner would have delighted. All I could think of were the words of the round, ‘London’s burning, London’s burning. Fire, fire. Fetch water, fetch water, or all will be lost’, and thousands must have felt as furiously angry at the sight and at their inability to do anything about it.
The Press told us quite quickly this time about the appalling destruction and vast areas of burnt-out buildings, and later we heard about the danger which St Paul’s Cathedral had been in – ringed by fire, but not locked and unattended like all those other City churches – and so it was saved. The Cathedral had a splendid fire-watching team led by the Dean, and at great personal risk they fought
the fires with water from tanks and storage baths which they had had the foresight to keep ready. It is difficult to explain the feelings which such a terrible spectacle caused in us all. So it must have been in the Great Fire of London – the citizens, much less well-equipped for fire fighting then, must have stood and watched with similar rage, fear, and that sense of helpless frustration which anyone watching the death of a beloved friend and unable to help must feel. Many firemen lost their lives – and many had their eyesight damaged. There were not so many casualties amongst the residents because the City is not a residential area – but even so there were too many, and when we heard the number of historic and much-loved buildings which had perished the fury of everyone was fanned anew. The Guildhall, over five hundred years old, was badly damaged. St Bride’s Fleet Street, the newspapers’ church, St Lawrence Jewry, Christ Church, Greyfriars, St Andrew by the Wardrobe were some of the Wren churches which were hit. The Central Criminal Court, Dr Johnson’s house, the Society of Apothecaries, Trinity House, the Coopers’ and Saddlers’, the Barbers’ Hall, and many other world-famous City landmarks had vanished or been severely damaged.
The Lord Mayor of London, Sir George Wilkinson, said of the Londoners this night, when he was walking in the City, ‘In the face of destruction they carried on as though engaged on everyday peace-time occupations. Young and old they passed on their way through the City calmly as though no unusual conditions existed.’ He called the British ‘truly an incalculable and unshakable race’ and paid high tribute to the Fire and Police Services’ magnificent work, which was still unflagging at the end of the long night.
It was several days later that we heard that the continuation of this devastating attack was only prevented by the sudden changing of the weather over Northern France, so that the German bombers could not leave their bases. The public’s comment was, that, as in the days of Drake’s encounter with the Spanish Armada, God had intervened now, as then, to help England by changing the weather!
The immediate result of this catastrophe was the bringing in of the Fire-watching Bill by Mr Herbert Morrison on December 31st, by which fire watching was made compulsory for every house, office, factory, and shop. Some of the City fires went on smouldering for days, and the New Year’s Honours List was dwarfed in the Press by details of the full magnitude of the calamity, which cast gloom over us all. The Fire-watching Bill made little difference to us in Chelsea where we had been formed in fire-fighting parties for months, but it did mean that the owners of large buildings and factories had to take some kind of responsibility for fire-guarding them instead of leaving it all to volunteers. I was thankful that I had not given way to Carla’s entreaties to stay and had sent her back immediately afterwards. The spectacle of a Chelsea mother with two dazed small boys emerging from a shelter and pointing out to them the orange sky as ‘That’s the City burning – you look now, Ken, so you won’t forget what the Germans did,’ was indicative of its effect on the boy, who replied apprehensively, ‘They won’t burn Chelsea, will they, Mum?’ Having been brought up from their peaceful country evacuation home to Chelsea for Christmas it was obvious from their faces that their fear was lest Mum should burn too!
The New Year was seen in quietly by Richard and me at the Café Royal but quite riotously in many West End night-clubs and cafés, which were crowded. From all the pubs and the wardens’ posts there were also sounds of jollification and singing. The Belgians were happy because there was strong resistance in Belgium to the Nazi Occupation, again chiefly amongst the students in the universities and schoolboys. They now had their own French/Flemish newspaper printed in London and were getting news in it from neutral sources of how their country was faring. So hostile were the students of Brussels University that a German Commissioner was installed to participate in its running and it was not to be closed as in the last war, but Belgian professors were to lecture in Germany while German ones were to be appointed in Liege, Ghent, and Brussels.
On the 3rd we had a sharp night air raid and incendiaries were dropped in an attempt to set fire to the City again, but this time there were plenty of fire spotters and fire guards and the bombs were promptly dealt with. The All Clear went before midnight and there was very little damage. Other parts of Britain were now receiving the Luftwaffe’s attention, especially Bristol and Plymouth, and in the middle of the month Plymouth had one of the worst fire raids it had yet experienced.
Jennie, who had spent most of Christmas with us, was furious because those Dutch Nazis who had betrayed Holland had been put in charge of the Dutch radio, which was not a state one but was composed of four privately owned companies. On every front there seemed to be fighting – the war between China and Japan was still dragging on – and General Chiang Kai-shek made a broadcast saying that 1941 would he a decisive year for China.
British preparations for the assault on Tobruk were being made by the RAF, who were bombing it heavily, and in the Sudan fighting was continuous. South African troops supported by Abyssinians had occupied El Bardu, while Rhodesian aircraft were attacking East Africa and British, Indian, and Sudanese troops were pursuing the retreating Italians. The Belgians were told by M Camille Gutt, the Belgian Minister of Finance in London, that Belgian-Congolese troops were already operating with British and Sudanese ones in the Sudan and that further contingents would be sent to the War Zones.
During the first part of the month we experienced some short, sharp, day-light raids on London. They came to be known as ‘hit and run’ raids. The planes usually came in low cloud, flying at a great height, and, suddenly emerging, would swoop down, drop their bombs, and make off, pursued by Spitfires. They caused quite a lot of damage, and sometimes a bomb would drop before the sirens sounded or we would hear the plane and the swoosh of a bomb simultaneously with the sirens.
The capture of Tobruk was completed by nightfall of the 22nd, the assault of Bardia having been led by the Australians, and helped by some Free French troops who played an important part in the victory in which some 20,000 prisoners were taken. We began to get accustomed to pictures in the Press of great masses of miserable, exhausted-looking prisoners behind barbed-wire compounds. Some of them looked thankful to be out of the fighting.
When the Emperor of Abyssinia, Haile Selassie, crossed the frontier from the Sudan into his kingdom at the head of his troops after five years of exile there was great exultation, and he personally planted the red, green, and gold flag on Abyssinian soil as part of a solemn religious ceremony. He was the first exiled monarch to be restored to his throne since the outbreak of war – it must have given hope to those others being given the hospitality of our land.
At the end of January an unexploded bomb fell in Tedworth Square, fortunately in the gardens, but the refugees in the several houses near had to be evacuated and go to a Rest Centre in the day and change their shelters at night. They did not like this, although the nearness of the bomb had shaken them! They, like thousands of Londoners, had become accustomed to their own bunk or space in their own shelter – they regarded it as part of their home. The wardens and I had a lot of trouble calming them down and settling them into other shelters until the bomb had been removed.
The Giant had become rather silent and morose, and had almost ceased his pranks and practical jokes. I was sorry to see him so gloomy – and this, the second bomb very close to the shelter he and his family used, depressed him further. He felt that the course of the war was not hopeful – and was doubtful of the outcome. He shook his head gloomily, and I was thankful when another house in Royal Avenue offered him hospitality until the bomb had been removed – had he been in a Rest Centre there might have been trouble. Almost as soon as the UXB had been removed by the REs another one fell and this time exploded in the square on February 8th.
It was most unfortunate, and the refugees were again firmly convinced that either there was a spy amongst them who signalled or that the Luftwaffe knew that they were all in Chelsea.
The two power stations, Battersea a
nd Lots Road, were the real targets, and the hit-and-run raids proved this – for the planes came astonishingly low and near to them. The bombs would fall in the river again and again, without harming either the power stations or the bridges across the Thames. After every raid we would look up and there were the great chimneys still intact, belching out smoke, and the bridges still spanning the river.
Wardens were being cut down – and it was rumoured that in March they would be further reduced in number. Now that there were intervals between the raids ungrateful people forgot their need of them and began making remarks that the wardens and the AFS personnel did nothing but play darts and cards, and sit about or lie about sleeping, just as they had done in the phoney war.
Having more free time now I began going to some concerts with Larry. He loved music and whenever he could get off from his duties he would come with me. I had a portable gramophone which had travelled all over the Far East with me, and Larry was always giving me records of the music we heard at the concerts. I had a wonderful collection of classical and jazz music. From China and Japan and India I had brought back a collection of records of music of those countries, and these never failed to fascinate him. He was a dreamy, rather sensitive person and it seemed extraordinary to me that he had volunteered for the Canadian Army as he had done. But he had ideals – and he was willing to fight for them although the idea of war was repugnant to him. When I used to tell him of the horrors left behind after a heavy raid, and of the grim task which fell to the wardens and nurses, he would look at me and say that to do such work I must have the same ideals as he had, but I couldn’t honestly say that I had. I hated anything to do with war and violence and cruelty – that was all.
A Chelsea Concerto Page 23