The Blitz Business

by D. A. Spruzen

  “You and your son wouldn’t want my sort around, would you? You especially wouldn’t want people knowing we’re related. I thought you’d turn out to be that sort.” He leaned back and raised his eyebrows in a ridiculous show of surprise. “But you can’t have people knowing how you turned away your dead sister’s grandson. A poor chap wounded in an air raid turned out on the streets by his aunty.” He bared his teeth and gums as if ready to laugh. “Tell you what, you see me right, and I’ll leave you alone. Forever.”

  “You young scoundrel, you’re blackmailing me! You ought to be ashamed of yourself with your grandmother and cousin dead. I’m not giving you a penny.”

  “All right then, next time you visit your precious son, I’ll pay a little visit myself. And a church meeting or two might make a change.” Even Roy’s sneer was crooked.

  “I’ve hardly got anything on me.” She couldn’t help her tremulous voice and she could tell it pleased him. He looked so smug. He’d won.

  “There’s only two banks around here, both still standing. One of them must be your branch. Let’s go for a little walk.”

  He kept close to her side, sometimes catching her leg with his crutch, and marched her to the Barclays where she told him she banked. She’d had no choice but to give in to his demands. Too numb to move after this latest raid, she watched him swing his cast down the road and out of sight with one hundred pounds of her savings stowed in his inner pocket. Thank goodness Roy didn’t know she’d deposited most of her savings at two other banks, just in case.

  3

  Why was the sky that funny color, all yellow and red? Jamie saw a sunset like that once when they’d gone on the train to Brighton. Lovely over the water, that sun. You could see it up in the sky and down in the sea, like a mirror. Lovely. Maybe it was sunset time now. But it was nighttime, wasn’t it? Not dark yet, so it couldn’t be. Everything topsy-turvy today.

  He walked nearly to the end of the street. He felt excited and scared all at once. He usually did as he was told, but now he was being a bad boy. He only wanted to see things other people were allowed to.

  So much smoke, just like the bonfire last Guy Fawkes Night. No sun that he could see. Some of the houses all the way down at the other end had fire up high, licking them like that monster licked people in one of his comics. People got burnt and hurt when houses got fire. Was this what bitz did, made fire in houses? Gran and Roy talked about bitz a lot, but Jamie didn’t quite know what it was. They did say lucky it hadn’t come on their street yet, though they heard bangs from other places sometimes. Gran said Hitler was a very bad man. He could see why, now. He walked some more till a really big bang knocked him over.

  Jamie sat up. His head hurt and his ears felt funny, though he could hear bangs a long way away and sounds like when he dropped a glass once, only louder. Had Roy come back and hit him? He looked back up the street. He couldn’t see Roy anywhere at all. Lots of houses weren’t there now, not mostly, they’d lost their windows and doors and lots of their bricks had gone, too. And there was fire in them. Where was the house with Gran’s flat? He tried to walk down to it, but everything was too fired up and he couldn’t see properly with his face all hot and tingly. It had probably been bitzed on and so had Gran and Biffy. He ran back down the street, crying and shouting, “Roy, Roy, come home.” Mustn’t cry, big boys don’t cry. He didn’t feel big, though. Even the broken houses were much taller than Jamie, and some of the fire almost touched the sky. Look for a grownup.

  He couldn’t run for long; he wasn’t ever very good at running and his breath came hard and hurting. He didn’t know his way to anywhere, but he had to find a policeman. That’s what Gran said to do if he got in trouble. No home and no Gran, that was trouble all right. People were running and being noisy, but they didn’t even look at him. He should run, too, but he was winded and didn’t know where his running should take him. A big gray lorry with bells came, but no policeman that he could see. And no one he knew. And he wasn’t to talk to strangers, except a policeman; that was a rule. The gray lorry’s bells sounded like a fire engine. But fire engines were red, weren’t they? He turned around a few times, but everywhere looked messy, where to go, what to do? He could hear his breath, felt it hot deep down inside. Was he going to get on fire? That would hurt. He cried a little, although fifteen year olds didn’t ought to and he’d be fifteen tomorrow.

  Jamie was hungry and thirsty, didn’t get any supper. Be a brave strong boy and keep on going. Be a soldier like we pretended at nursery school. He put his shoulders back and walked fast, swinging his arms like a smart soldier in a uniform. He got tired after a bit and had to slow down. Tears squeezed out again. He loved his Gran. And Biffy. He couldn’t bear it if they’d been blitzed. He should have stayed, just in case. This bitz business was horrible, bad as bad could be.

  Black smelly water, that must be the river. Oh, would he ever get in trouble if he fell in. He must stay away from where the dirty dark water touched the ground. He could see a big bridge. If he crossed it he might find a policeman. He had to stay tight to the side because of all the lorries going over. After he got across there were more big bangs and more red fires and it was very windy, not cold wind like usual, but hot. The smoke made him cough and his mouth tasted nasty. Jamie got coughs a lot, so he had to be careful. He covered his mouth with his hand. It wasn’t polite to cough without covering your mouth and besides, it helped keep the smoke out. His feet hurt and he had scrapes from when he fell down. Must keep going. One, two, one, two.

  There was St. Paul’s with its great big round thing up top. That must have been the bridge him and Gran had gone over in a bus when she took him there once. She got him a picture postcard of it and he’d kept it on his shelf where he could look at it every day. He must have got very strong now he was nearly fifteen because they’d come on a bus for a long time, and he’d just walked here all on his own. Had his postcard been blitzed too? And the stuff for his cake?

  St. Paul’s looked funny. It was up high, sitting on clouds. It must have been bitzed and sent to heaven like a good person would, like Gran would be because she was good. Churches could probably do that, and St. Paul’s was a special big church. He couldn’t remember the special name for churches like that. But it looked beautiful. Heaven must be a super place.

  “Hey! What’re you doing here? Don’t you know there’s a big raid on? You’re supposed to be in a shelter, young man.”

  Jamie turned and saw two men in uniforms. One tall and skinny with a ginger moustache, the other ordinary, the sort Jamie might not remember next time he saw him. Strangers, but must be police, only different uniform from Constable Wilson.

  “I think my house was bitzed—be-litzed—and I’ve been looking for a policeman. I think my Gran was bitzed too and Biffy and the stuff for my birthday cake.” Jamie began to cry again. “Are you policemans?”

  “Where d’you live, son? What’s your name?” asked the ordinary one.

  Jamie stood up very straight, hands by his sides. “My name is Jamie Jenkins. I live at twenty-two Hortey Street, Southwark, London, England.” He said it loud and proud. Gran had practiced that with him over and over, and today he’d got it right first off. And got in the aitch. Remember be-litz.

  “Blimey, you’re a long way from home. You come along with us. We’re going to take you to the station. It’ll be safer than out here.”

  “Slow, don’t you think?” the tall one sort of whispered to the other. Hard to whisper low with all the noises going on.

  “Ssh, you’ll hurt his feelings,” said the other one.

  “You won’t hurt my feelings,” Jamie said. “It wouldn’t be kind to call me stupid, but slow is all right. I just take longer to learn things than other people. But I know things. Lots of things.” The men looked surprised.

  They hurried along some side streets and came to the fire station. Inside they passed lots of funny big boxes and some gray lorries and one red one.

  “What’re those for?” asked J
amie.

  “Get a move on, Simon, busy night.” The ordinary one seemed crotchety. Maybe being easy to forget did that to people.

  “A few minutes to cheer him up won’t be missed.” Jamie liked this tall one best.

  “Those are pumps, they carry water to fires and get pulled by taxis,” said tall Mr. Simon, pointing at the big boxes. “And those are fire engines. They all used to be red like that one, but they’re supposed to be gray now. We ran out of paint. Soon as we get some more, we’ll paint the red one.” He looked down at Jamie, his eyebrows up like he had a question. Funny those eyebrows weren’t ginger like his moustache.

  “I like red best,” Jamie said.

  “Yes, but red is too easy to see from the air.”

  Jamie didn’t know why that would be a bad thing, it sounded like quite a good thing. Red was a happy color. He must ask lots of questions so he didn’t have to think about being sad. Gran told him to keep his mind busy if things went wrong. “Especially yours,” she said.

  They came to a room with some ladies with telephones and big bits of paper with pictures up on the wall.

  “What’re they doing?” Jamie asked.

  “That’s a watch room where people telephone to tell us where there are fires. Those are maps on the wall and they stick pins with little flags in them so we can see quickly where the fires are and send the pumps and engines to put them out.”

  “There are lots of fires. Why are the pumps and things still in here?”

  “Can’t crowd them together too much. And we have to keep some back in case fires start up in other places. Probably hard for you to understand. Enough questions for now, I think!” Tall Mr. Simon sounded a bit crotchety himself now.

  They went down lots and lots of stairs to a huge room with no windows. There was a sort of kitchen at one end where a pretty lady was making a huge pot of tea.

  “That’s the ticket, Joyce!” said the ordinary man. “I could just do with a cuppa. Look who we found outside. This is Jamie. Reckon he’s been bombed out. Got a sandwich for him, have you? I reckon he could do with a feed.” He whispered something in her ear.

  “Poor little chap,” Joyce said. “You just come and sit down here by me, Jamie, and I’ll find you a bite to eat. Do you like tea, dear?”

  “Yes, please,” said Jamie. “Can I have milk and sugar in it?”

  “Milk of course, love. No sugar to spare with this rationing, I’m afraid.”

  “Here, Joyce, I’ve got a twist of sugar in my pocket. He can have it.” The ordinary man was quite kind after all.

  “Thank the nice man, Jamie.”

  “Thank you, how very kind.” He’d heard Gran say that.

  “Well, such lovely manners. Who looks after you at home?” She combed Jamie’s hair off his face with her fingers.

  “My Gran. Roy, he’s my cousin, lives there too. Roy and me have different mums and dads. Roy’s died in a train crash. Mine just had to go away somewhere they couldn’t take me.”

  “I see, dear. And where is Roy now?”

  “Roy, he went out and Gran was taking a nap. I was outside looking for Roy and I think our house got bitzed.”

  “Do you mean blitzed, dear?”

  “Keep forgetting. Be-litz. You know, when houses get bangs and fall down and get fire in them.” Careful, talk right or people won’t treat you right.

  “Bombs, dear. When there’s lots of them, we call it blitz. ”

  The lady called Joyce poured Jamie a big cup—milk must have been in the cup already—and stirred in the sugar for him. It felt very comfy on his scratchy throat.

  “Did you see the bomb fall?”

  “No. Something hit me and I fell down. I couldn’t see and my head hurt.”

  “That would be blast, from the bomb exploding. It can do that. You were lucky, it must have been a long way away from you.” She clicked her tongue a few times, scaring Jamie a bit because when Gran did that it was to tell him he was doing something wrong. But she smiled, so it must be all right. Pretty smile. Didn’t Gran say blast was a naughty word, though?

  “Maybe Gran’s just got a hurt head and can’t see properly. I should go back and look. But I’m so tired, I can’t walk anymore.”

  “He seems to have walked all the way from Southwark,” tall Simon said as he sucked up his tea, making the sorts of noises polite people shouldn’t.

  “Good gracious,” Joyce said. “You must be a strong boy. But don’t you worry. These wardens will telephone through and ask people to check up on your house and your Gran. You leave it all to them.”

  “Wardens? Aren’t they policemans?” asked Jamie, breath coming hard again. “I was told to find a policeman if I was in trouble. Gran and Roy will be really cross with me if I didn’t do it right.”

  “They are sort of policemen, Jamie, you did quite the right thing.”

  “Good. It’s not nice when people are cross. Can they ask about Biffy, too?”

  4

  Wake up, Jamie, there’s someone to see you.”

  Jamie looked around and sat up so fast his head got all swimmy. “Where am I?”

  “You remember, dear, you’re in the fire station, you got bombed out,” Joyce said, stroking his hair. “I’m going to get you some breakfast, but first this lady wants to talk to you.”

  Joyce pulled a chair up to his bed and a lady with beige clothes and face and hair sat right on the edge of it, all that beige pulled tight by hands that clutched the big blue handbag on her lap. She glanced at Jamie’s face before moving her eyes down to his chest.

  “Did they find my Gran?” The lady’s shoulders went up, almost to her ears and she made fists. She looked unhappy, almost as if she’d been made to swallow a spoonful of medicine. Though no one would ever make a grownup take medicine, of course.

  “Jamie, I’m afraid I have very sad news for you, dear. Your house has gone, and so has your grandmother. I’m so very sorry. Was anyone else living there?”

  It might be a mistake. Gran had always been there and said she’d never leave him. Roy might know where she was.

  “Only my cousin, Roy, but he locked us in and went out, don’t know where. Maybe he got back by now.” No tears came. The lady had an odd smile, a worried smile, like it hurt her to stretch her lips.

  “Locked you in? Why ever would he do that during an air raid?”

  Roy did all sorts of funny things. No telling why, but he was quite smart, so he had to have his reasons. “Said he had to go out and couldn’t have me wandering. Gran was taking a nap. He’s going to be really cross now. Because I wandered. He’ll hit me.”

  She turned the smile off and frowned instead. She looked at his face now and seemed more normal. She kept scratching at a rough spot on her neck. It didn’t look very nice; she should leave it alone.

  “No one’s going to hit you, Jamie. We’re going to put you on a train with some other children and you’re going to stay on a farm in the country. That’ll be nice, won’t it?”

  “Can’t I go to the seaside? I went there once. It was lovely.” Will Gran know where to find me? Just in case there had been a mistake. Should I ask? Grownups get angry when people say they’ve made a mistake.

  “I’m afraid not, Jamie. But the farm will have animals and lots of fields to play in. And it’s actually not far from the sea. You’ll have to help Mr. and Mrs. Lake, but not much. Of course, you must behave nicely and do as they say.” Scratching again. Maybe being unhappy made her itchy.

  “What’re fields?”

  “Why, Jamie, haven’t you ever seen one?”

  “Perhaps I seen one and didn’t know. I don’t go out much.”

  “Well, it’s a great big piece of land that is only grass, or some sort of crop like wheat or barley, and it doesn’t have any houses on it.”

  “No, I never seen a field. What’s a crop and them other things you said?”

  “Oh, Jamie, you’ll see it all when you get there. It’s such a change from London, and no bombs, either.”<
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  No bangs and bitz. Nice. “No be-litz? And no Roy?”

  “Lots of peace and quiet. How old is Roy?”

  “He’s nineteen, and Gran says he’s no good, just like his mum.” Jamie felt his cheeks go hot. He shouldn’t say things like that about his cousin. What if someone told? He wanted to rock. Mustn’t rock. Sit on hands. That would help. But no Gran? Couldn’t be right. His tummy felt heavy.

  “Then Roy must take care of himself. Why isn’t he in the army? All healthy young men should be in the army.” She looked fierce now.

  “Don’t know. I think he mostly takes stuff from empty houses.”

  “No, Jamie, there’ll be no Roy in the country. It’ll be an adventure.”

  “Is it tomorrow now? If it is, it’s my birthday. I’m fifteen.” Fifteen sounded grownup.

  “Well, you stayed overnight here, so, yes, I suppose you can say it’s tomorrow. Many happy returns of the day, Jamie. Fifteen. My word, you are getting grown up.” The funny not-really-a-smile was back.

  “Thank you. Gran was going to make me a cake, she got all the stuff, but I suppose it was be-litzed.”

  “Yes, Jamie, it was. I’ll see what I can do.”

  She didn’t say goodbye, just stood up, turned around, and walked out. She was a funny one. She said sad things but didn’t seem very sad, and she smiled that hurting smile in between. She was unhappy, but that was different from sad. Wasn’t it? Some people probably found it hard to say sad things and just pretended not to mind. Jamie was beginning to feel sad, but he’d save it till later.

  Peace and quiet and adventures sounded nice. He couldn’t have Gran and Biffy and birthday cake, but at least he didn’t have to have Roy. Sad and glad, that’s how things always seemed to turn out.

  Joyce came in with a cup of tea and some biscuits.

  “You’ll never guess what, Jamie.”

  “What?”

  “One of those men who found you yesterday just brought in your green dog. He went all the way to the station near your house and got it for you. His day off, too. It’s really messy, so I’ve got to wash him off and trim some of his fur that got singed, but he’ll be almost good as new.”