by Annie Murray
They almost ran the ARP Warden over. He loomed, alarmingly close to the windscreen, ghoulish under his tin hat in front of the flaming night, and the driver jammed the brakes on.
‘Christ—’ Martin’s driver jumped out indignantly. ‘We’re supposed to be picking up casualties, not running them over with the bloody ambulance! What the hell’re you playing at?’
‘Take ’er will you?’ He had a small child in his arms. ‘We found her in one of the front gardens, cradle and all. Direct hit on the house. God alone knows how she got out there. I’ve got to go back . . .’ And he was gone.
‘Here, take her.’ Martin suddenly found himself with a small, plump child in his lap and they drove on. In the dim light he could just make out traces of tears, like slug-trails, down her cheeks, and a bit of a snotty nose, but she was not crying now. Two dark eyes stared unwaveringly into Martin’s face.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Well, that’s very odd. I wonder what happened.’
‘Blast, I expect.’ The driver stared grimly out through the windscreen, trying to see his way. ‘Does the oddest damn things. She’s very lucky.’
Not that lucky, Martin thought. Not if there’s no one else left for her.
As if reading his thoughts, the driver said, ‘I wouldn’t fancy the chances of anyone else in the house. Look.’ He glanced round for a second. ‘We can’t keep her with us. There’s a rest centre up here, in that church, St Matthew’s. They’ll look after her in there.’ Grimly, he added, ‘If it’s still standing.’
Edie noticed the tall man come hurrying into the church. The first person he saw was Miss Hansome.
‘Can you take her?’ he held the child out. ‘If anyone comes looking, she was found in the road, just a few streets away. Seems fine though. I don’t think we need to take her to hospital. But we need to get going.’
‘Oh!’ Miss Hansome dithered, holding her arms out uncertainly.
‘Course we can,’ Edie said. ‘Shall I take her, Miss Hansome?’ The man bundled the child’s chubby form into her arms, called, ‘Many thanks!’ and ran out again.
‘Isn’t she pretty?’ Edie said. ‘Hello, little one. Oh aren’t you lovely? He did say it’s a girl, didn’t he?’
‘I think so.’ Miss Hansome’s face softened. ‘She is really very bonny.’
Edie pressed her cheek against the baby’s rounded one for a second. Oh, how lovely she felt! ‘Aren’t you filthy though!’ She realized the child was coated in dust, her hair thick with it. ‘You’ve had a lucky escape, beautiful, where’s your mom then? Shall we have a little peep and see if you’re a lad or a lass, eh?’ She found a space at the end of a pew and pulled back the little one’s nightclothes. They were of good quality, and seemed dry, though the dust seemed to have made its way into every fold. The child was obviously well cared for. Edie peeped inside until she’d seen all she needed to know.
‘Aha, so you’re a little lad then, are you?’ As she picked him up, the dark brows drew together in anxiety for a second, then he let out a loud chortle. ‘Oh, listen to that!’ Edie laughed. ‘Not much wrong with you, is there?’
The other women were all very taken with him as well and he got passed round and loved and they fed him milk from a spoon.
‘He must be about a year, wouldn’t you say?’ Mrs Duke asked as she held him, jiggling him up and down.
‘About that,’ Mrs Carruthers agreed. ‘Certainly not less. I wonder what’s become of his family.’
‘And what his name is,’ Miss Hansome said.
‘What’s your name?’ Edie went up and stroked her finger down his warm, plump cheek. He lurched in Mrs Duke’s embrace and held out his arms.
‘Oh!’ Miss Hansome tittered. ‘He’s taken a liking to you, Edie!’
‘Here, you’d better take him or we’ll never get anything done. How about you looking after him for a bit and the rest of us getting back to work?’
Edie couldn’t have agreed more eagerly. For the next few hours she found herself in charge of the little boy. She was so taken up with him that she became oblivious to the danger outside. She walked up and down in the fetid atmosphere of the church, stepping over legs and belongings. The feel of the warm, plump baby was so reassuring to her.
He was playful at first, pulling at strands of her hair. Then he became fractious and she walked and rocked until her arms ached with the weight of him. At last he fell asleep and she was able to sit down wearily at the end of a pew with him cuddled on her lap. She looked down at his long dark lashes, leaned down and kissed his cheek. How lovely it was to cradle this sweet child in her arms! She felt so happy and complete having someone to hold and love. She wouldn’t think about what was going to happen in the morning. A great wave of tiredness came over her and, with the boy held close to her, she dozed, waking when there was a loud noise or the little boy squirmed, but soon falling asleep again. The first thing she heard which really roused her was the ‘All Clear’, its sombre, unbroken sound wailing through the destruction outside. It was four thirty in the morning.
‘Well, sweetheart,’ she whispered, stroking the sleeping infant’s head. ‘It’s over for another night. And we’re still here.’
As the dawn broke, smoke from still-smouldering fires mingled with an early morning mist.
Some of the occupants of St Matthew’s took to the streets, shivering in the freezing morning, to revisit the ruins of their houses.
‘We’ll have to find somewhere for that little one to go,’ Mrs Duke said to Edie as she got up, still holding the sleeping boy. ‘You’ve done a good job looking after him, I’ll say that. He’ll be hungry again when he wakes, though, and he’s had a shock. He needs a safe place to go. I can’t manage to have him myself, I’m afraid.’
Edie needed to go home. She had to be at work in a couple of hours. The raid had gone on so long! The little boy was weighing down her arms, his body a warm, slightly damp bundle against her. She must hand him over and get on her way. But hand him over to who? Part of their job was to find refuge for children after the bombing. And the thought of him being taken away from her now filled her with dismay.
‘I could. I mean, my family could look after him for a while, I’m sure,’ she heard herself saying.
‘Could they really? That’d be marvellous,’ Mrs Duke replied eagerly. Another problem solved. ‘Well, good for you. I’m sure a place can be found for him in a few days if no one comes to ask for him. In the meantime, it’d be a godsend if you could.’
‘I can give you a run home,’ Mrs Carruthers said. ‘Goodness knows what buses will be running today – and you can’t walk all that way with him.’
So Edie found herself stepping out into the cold November morning with the boy wrapped in an extra blanket. ‘Heavens,’ Mrs Carruthers breathed, horrified at the destruction and ruin all round them. ‘What a mess! Dear Lord, look what they’ve done. It’s terrible!’
For a moment they just stood and stared at the devastation all round them. A warehouse along the road, whose bulky outline had dominated the skyline, was now a smoking shell and many other buildings were scarred and smashed. A bus lay on its side, slewed across the road. Many scattered fires were still burning. Firemen were still trying to put out the flames and dampen down smouldering buildings. The street was awash with water.
Edie was to be driven in Mr and Mrs Carruthers’ motor car, which was mercifully still in one piece by the kerb. She felt guiltily grateful towards poor Ronald Carruthers after all. They set off on a slow, careful drive along the pot-holed road, seeing families moving, stunned, along the streets, pushing prams, carts loaded with salvaged possessions. Mrs Carruthers swerved to avoid chunks of debris. The further they got away from town the easier it was to make progress.
‘You say you live off Oak Tree Lane?’ Mrs Carruthers said.
Edie nodded. The child, who was rather damp by now, was starting to stir in her arms and she was relieved at the thought of being able to put him down.
As they turned out of
Oak Tree Lane, Edie gasped in horror.
‘Oh my!’ Mrs Carruthers exclaimed.
In front of them was a terrible sight. Kitty Road, off which ran Charlotte and the other roads had been hit. There was a huge gash through the middle of the houses, jutting timbers, piles of rubble, bricks strewn everywhere. Parked in the road was a Cadbury’s Cocoa van, round which stood a stunned gathering of people drinking cups of warm chocolate. Edie felt tears of shock come to her eyes. It had hit so close to home! So many familiar things were being smashed and destroyed.
‘I’m so sorry, dear,’ Mrs Carruthers said. ‘Thank goodness your street looks all right.’
‘Yes,’ Edie looked anxiously round. Charlotte Road was intact.
She thanked Mrs Carruthers for the lift, and, hoisting the boy better into her arms, went to number twenty-seven. She tapped the back door and Nellie Marshall answered, face taut and grey with exhaustion, her coat still on.
‘Mom – are you all all right?’
‘All right as we’ll ever be,’ she complained. ‘Frozen to the marrow. We’ve only just crawled out of the bleedin’ Anderson. What a night . . .’ Edie heard Florrie in the background, dealing with the boys. ‘That shelter wasn’t built to hold this many. Florrie – get that kettle on. What did yer want, anyway?’
She took in suddenly what it was Edie had on her arms.
‘Whose is that babby?’
‘I don’t know.’ Edie’s heart sank. Why on earth had she brought him here? She’d fallen into some delusion that she’d be welcome! But she explained how she came to be in charge of the child.
‘There was nowhere for him to go and so I said – I mean he’s only little and I thought maybe he could stay here – just for today – until they find somewhere else.’
‘Stay ’ere?’ Nellie’s face hardened. ‘What, with me, while you go swanning off to work? You’ve got another think coming if you imagine I’m going to take in some brat I’ve never seen before! I’ve already got more on my plate than I deserve with Florrie and her two with their muck and mess. Oh no, I’m not having this. You can stay for a cuppa tea and then you get it out of here. You must think I’m running a cowing charity home, that you must!’
Sixteen
For a moment Edie stared at her mother, unable to believe what she had heard. Hurt and exhausted, she felt tears welling in her eyes.
‘I don’t want your cup of tea. I don’t want anything from you ever again!’
She marched furiously back up the road, almost oblivious to the numb crowds in Kitty Road, trying to comfort each other in front of bombed-out houses.
The evil, wicked, heartless bitch, she’d even turn away a helpless little babby! She doesn’t know how to love anyone. Why did I have to end up with a mom like that? Tears ran down her face as she turned into Oak Tree Lane and towards the factory. The baby, who was awake now, hungry and cold and seeing her crying, began to wail as well.
‘Oh, don’t,’ Edie sobbed, cuddling him. ‘Don’t you cry as well. It’ll be all right, littl’un – I’ll look after you even if my cowing mother won’t help. I will. Sssh, my lovely . . .’
Her feet slowed as the reality of her situation sunk in. She stopped to think, jiggling the little boy up and down to try and calm him, but passers-by glanced curiously at her, so she walked slowly on again.
Where do I think I’m going? she asked herself frantically. What the hell am I going to do? It’s only an hour ’til I have be at work and I can’t take him with me!
She’d banked on leaving him at her mom’s, at least for today. She’d have to go and hand him in at another of the rest centres for him to be looked after. But she held him tight to her, kissing his dark curls. She couldn’t bear the thought of parting from him. It was as if their hours clinging to one another while the bombs fell outside had bonded them too closely together to be separated. She’d skip a day’s work if necessary if she could stay longer with him. The feel of him in her arms was the dearest thing she had known in all these long, lonely months. Surely there was someone else she could turn to?
She thought of Ethel Bonner, Ruby’s mom. But she wasn’t sure Ethel would be able to manage. Then it came to her. Who was the person who had shown her the most kindness lately? She saw Frances Hatton’s dark, sympathetic eyes in her mind. She was already close to the Hattons’ house. Could she ask her, just for today – on behalf of the WVS?
Janet opened the door in Linden Road in her nightdress, squinting without her glasses on. She looked exhausted, but her face broke into a surprised smile.
‘Edie! Come in, come in. Are you all right? What on earth . . .?’ In the hall she peered more closely at the tearful little boy.
‘Oh, Janet,’ Edie gabbled out an explanation over the child’s howls. ‘I know it’s stupid of me, but no one’s come to claim him yet and I know we’ll have to take him back. Only he needs looking after and I had him with me all night and I couldn’t bear to leave him. I said I’d take him and find him somewhere!’
‘Gracious, someone’s not very happy—’
Edie heard Frances’s calm voice on the stairs. She came down wearing a soft crimson wool dressing-gown, hair woven into a loose braid. Edie looked desperately at her.
‘I’m ever so sorry,’ she began.
‘Who’s this little one then?’
‘Warden handed him in last night,’ Janet said. ‘Family were bombed out somewhere off the Bristol Road. He needs looking after for the day.’
‘I’ll come as soon as I’ve finished work, I promise!’ Edie babbled, overwrought. ‘I feel terrible coming to you like this. I can look after him, and tonight I’ll go and see if his family’s come for him, only I didn’t know where to go and I know it’s an awful bother for you.’
‘Oh, I don’t suppose he’ll be too much bother,’ Frances said. ‘I’d have thought it’s the least I can do. You brave girls have been up all night, in the thick of it. It might make me feel a bit more useful. Let’s have a look at you, shall we?’
She took the child in her arms and he stopped crying for a moment, taking in the change of circumstances, then began roaring all over again. Frances laughed.
‘I think a good breakfast and a clean-up would help make this fellow a bit happier. D’you know, I’ve even still got a couple of ancient napkins of Janet’s somewhere – I use them as cloths. And we’ll go and make him some porridge.’
‘Are you sure?’ Edie said. But already she was reassured by the confident way Frances took the boy in her arms. She even seemed to be enjoying it.
‘Of course I’m sure. It’s no trouble. And what about you, Edie? You look as if you could do with a warm cup of tea and some breakfast. Come along and have some with Janet.’
In her tiredness, and in the face of this kindness after her treatment from her own mother, Edie burst into tears.
‘Oh, poor old you!’ Janet’s comforting arms wrapped round her. ‘It’s been the most wretched night, hasn’t it? Let’s go and get the kettle on.’
The day seemed such a long one. Everyone was full of talk as to how bad the night had been: ten hours of fear, misery and destruction. From her workmates, Edie learned some of the companies that had been hit, and the Great Western Arcade in town, the main signal-box at New Street, putting the station out of action. And houses, businesses, workshops all round Birmingham.
At dinnertime she sat with Ruby in the dining-room. They talked about the damage to Kitty Road. A Mrs Malone who they’d known most of their lives had been bombed out.
‘Our mom’s joined that stage show,’ Ruby said, rolling her eyes comically. But Edie could see she was actually pleased and proud. ‘It’s cheered her up no end. Only trouble now is she’s never flaming at home! And when she is she spends half her time putting greasepaint on her face. Says she’s got to practise!’
‘You ought to go as well,’ Edie said. ‘You’ve got a nice voice.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ Ruby blushed. ‘You know what, though – that fella, Wilf, in the Mach
ines Construction department – he’s asked me to go out dancing with him!’
‘Wilf? He’s old enough to be your father!’
‘I know, but he’s all right. And at least I’ll get a night out sometime,’ Ruby said petulantly.
‘But you’re a married woman! What would Frank say?’
‘Oh, don’t be such a prude, Edie.’ She was looking quite sulky now. ‘Why does Frank need to know? They have all sorts laid on for them on that base. It’s only a bit of fun, and God knows we could do with some.’
Edie saw there was no point arguing. She told Ruby about the baby.
Ruby stopped with her spoonful of leek and potato soup half-way to her mouth.
‘What, you took him home? To number twenty-seven?’
‘To begin with.’ Edie’s face tightened. ‘Got short shrift from her of course. No, Janet’s mom’s got him. For now, anyroad.’
‘Ahh, has she? She’s a lovely lady, ain’t she? But where’s his mom? Dead?’
‘I don’t know,’ Edie said. ‘Don’t even know where he came from.’
By the late afternoon she felt dizzy with lack of sleep. As soon as the shift ended she tore back to Linden Road without waiting for Ruby, or Janet.
Frances opened the door, finger to her lips.
‘Come and see,’ she whispered.
She led Edie into the back room, where Marie Falla was knitting by the fire. She was a slender girl, her black hair cut in a bob. She smiled as they came in, nodding towards the fireplace.
‘He’s been ever so good,’ she said.
In the large bottom drawer of a chest, comfortably bedded down, the little boy was sleeping, clean and happily fed, his dark lashes curling above the angelic apple cheeks, mouth gently sucking on his thumb as he slept.
‘A thumb-sucker,’ Frances smiled.
‘He’s beautiful, isn’t he?’ Edie couldn’t stop staring at him. She so badly wanted to pick him up and love him, but she knew she mustn’t disturb him. ‘I’ll have to go back and enquire about him tonight, tell the WVS helpers where he is.’