by Pamela Evans
‘I’ll take a couple of extra tins of peas please, just in case we’re still around,’ requested May’s customer.
‘They reckon there’ll be terrible shortages, Flo,’ said someone in the queue. ‘I hope you’ll look after your regulars.’
‘We’re not sure how it’ll work yet,’ said Flo. ‘There will be some sort of regulation, and even rationing if the worst happens. But we’ll look after our regulars if we can.’
‘Shall we wait and see if war does actually come before we start panicking?’ suggested May.
‘Nobody is panicking, dear,’ said the customer. ‘We are all very calm.’
‘You speak for yourself,’ said a woman who was known as a bit of a comic. ‘I nearly wet myself with fright every time I think of the dratted war.’
Everybody laughed and the atmosphere lightened.
When the news that the country was at war with Germany was finally delivered on the first Sunday morning in September by the Prime Minister speaking from 10 Downing Street, May amazed herself by bursting into tears. It had been an emotional broadcast. She and her parents stood up for the National Anthem, and then engaged in a communal hug, an almost unprecedented event for her father, who wasn’t a demonstrative man.
‘So what do we do now, I wonder?’ enquired May, who was feeling quite shaky with reaction but instinctively protective towards her parents.
‘What we were doing before the broadcast, I suppose,’ suggested Flo, trying to hide her anxiety. ‘You were peeling the spuds for dinner, I was getting the last of the blackout curtains up and your dad was in the garden tending to his plants.’
‘So let’s get on then,’ said May, heading for the kitchen.
But no sooner had they resumed their activities than a high-pitched wailing sound filled the house.
‘Bloody hell, it’s the siren. The Germans are here already,’ said Dick, and the three of them grabbed their gas masks from the hall stand and scuttled off to the back garden. May tried to grab Tiddles, who was lazing in the sun on top of the wooden coal store, but he shot away from her and disappeared over the back fence, so she followed her parents into the sour-smelling shelter without him.
When they emerged after the all-clear to find everything as it was before and not an enemy bomber or an invader in sight, the heavens empty except for the silver barrage balloons that now floated in large numbers in the sky over London, the trio headed into the street to find out what was going on. Neighbours were hurrying out of their houses and a warden came by on his bike with the news that it had been a false alarm.
With her gas mask slung over her shoulder and leaving her parents chatting to the people next door, May jumped on her bike and pedalled furiously towards the home of another family who were very much on her mind on this dramatic day.
Betty and George were talking to some neighbours at the front gate when May arrived, George holding Joe, who beamed at the sight of May and leaned towards her.
‘You’re all in one piece then,’ May observed with her godson now ensconced happily in her arms. ‘I thought I’d better come round to check.’
‘It’s a wonder we didn’t all die of fright,’ complained Betty. ‘The siren scared the living daylights out of me. Fancy having a false alarm so early in the war.’
‘How’s everything round your place, May?’ asked George. ‘Are your mum and dad all right?’
‘A bit bewildered like everyone else. It’s still a shock even though we’ve been expecting it for ages. But we just have to get on with it as best as we can, I suppose.’
‘His mother has gone to pieces completely,’ said Betty, making a face and glancing disapprovingly towards George. ‘She’s sobbing her heart out indoors. Sheila is in there trying to calm her down.’
‘I must go back in and see if I can comfort her in some way,’ said George. ‘She gets very upset about things these days. She never used to be like it when Dad was alive.’
‘I think she’s entitled to be upset on the day war breaks out,’ suggested May. ‘She won’t be the only one shedding tears today. It’s a huge thing that’s happened.’
‘It seems to be the idea of my going away that’s upsetting Mum so much,’ explained George. ‘But there’s nothing I can do about it. I will be one of the first to be called up, it’s obvious. I’m eighteen and fit and healthy. Just the sort of man the services want.’
May felt a dull thud of reality as the truth of his words hit home. Up until now it had been might be and possibly. Now war was here and it was definite that the young men would be sent away to fight for their country.
‘Is there anything I can do to make your mum feel better?’ she offered. ‘I could remind her that I live close by if she wants a bit more moral support while you’re away.’
‘It’s kind of you to offer but I don’t think it will help much at the moment. She’s too upset,’ he explained. ‘Sheila is with her and I’ll go back indoors in a minute.’
‘It’s downright ridiculous the way she’s carrying on. She’s saying that George can’t go away because he’s got us lot to look after,’ announced Betty with utter disdain. ‘I mean, have you ever heard anything so stupid? Who is going to care about something like that? All the young healthy men will have to go.’
‘Don’t be nasty about my mother please, Betty,’ requested George in a firm tone, giving his wife a cold look. ‘You know how much it upsets me.’
‘Well, as long as you’re all right, I’d better get back home,’ intervened May quickly, not wishing to stay to witness a private argument. She handed Joe to George and got back on her bike. ‘Give my best to your mum and let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. See you soon.’
Smacking a farewell kiss on Joe’s cheek, she headed for home. Was it her imagination or had Betty not seemed particularly bothered about the prospect of George going away to war? She’d almost seemed to relish the idea.
Being an avid follower of the news and having taken a keen interest in events in Europe this past year or so, Doug wasn’t in the least surprised by what the Prime Minister had had to say on the wireless. It was a historical event even so, and a shock to actually hear the words, the occasion made even more dramatic by the air-raid siren a few minutes after.
His first thought had been to get on his bike and go to May’s, but when the warning sounded he hurried to the public shelter and didn’t get on his way to Ealing until after the all-clear.
A sense of urgency to see May consumed him; as though death and destruction was about to strike and he had to reach her before it started. But much to his surprise, all seemed the same as ever on the streets, though there were groups of people chatting outside, which was unusual for the residents of this neighbourhood where privacy was of the essence. Naturally he was a little afraid, though having cheated death once, when he’d had TB, he was something of a fatalist. But this was something beyond himself; it was a threat to people the world over.
Seeing a telephone box, he slowed down. May hadn’t been the only woman in his thoughts when Mr Chamberlain had declared that ‘this country is now at war with Germany’. Someone else had immediately come into his mind. He stopped and propped his bike on the kerb. A man came along and went into the box. Doug got back on his bike and started to pedal away. But the compulsion was too strong, and he came back. A woman was waiting to make a call now. He stood behind her, forming a queue. His legs were shaking and he could feel sweat on his brow which had nothing to do with the declaration of war.
It was warm and clammy inside the kiosk when his turn finally came, and it smelled of sweat and stale cigarette smoke. He got through to the operator and asked to place a long-distance call, whereupon he was instructed to put his money into the slot. After much hissing and crackling he was finally told that the number was ringing.
When he heard the familiar voice, Doug found he couldn’t utter a word. It had been four years since he had last spoken to her and the emotion was overpowering.
‘Hello,’
she said.
He went to replace the receiver but couldn’t do it.
‘Hello,’ the woman was saying, sounding anxious now. ‘Who is it? Who’s there?’
‘Hello, Mum,’ he said at last, his voice thick and distorted by tears. ‘It’s me, Doug.’
There was an empty, echoing silence as the person at the other end recovered from the shock.
Doug was trembling with emotion as he got on his bike after the phone call. The sound of joy and relief in his mother’s voice brought tears to his eyes and compounded his feeling of guilt. He shouldn’t have stayed out of touch for so long. It was unforgiveable. The sad fact was that because of his moodiness he often hurt his mother when they were in contact so he’d thought it best to stay away; he knew now that he was wrong, and in future he would ring his parents regularly and go to see them as much as he could.
His dear Mum, they’d been so close when he was a child. On the phone she’d made a pointed remark about his lack of communication. That wasn’t usually her way, bless her. She deserved more from her son. He headed for the Stubbses’ thinking of his happy childhood and resolving to take proper care of his filial duties from now on.
‘Will you have to go into the services, Doug?’ enquired Flo chattily later on when he was having tea at the Stubbses’ house.
‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ he replied. ‘All young men will be called up, won’t they?’
‘Most will, but you’ve had TB,’ she replied as though it was a blessing. ‘I should think you’d be excused because of that.’
‘I’ve had TB, Mrs Stubbs,’ he said with more than a hint of irritation. ‘I don’t have it now.’
‘Even so . . .’
‘Flat feet is a valid reason for exclusion from the military,’ put in Dick. ‘So I’m damned sure TB is.’
‘I’m sure it would be if I had it,’ said Doug. ‘But I don’t.’
‘You’ve had it, though, that’s the important thing,’ declared Dick. He didn’t seem to have noticed Doug’s edginess. ‘You’ll get out of the services with no trouble. You’ll be the envy of all your mates.’
‘I don’t want to get out of it,’ explained Doug tartly. ‘I am quite prepared to go and fight for my country.’
‘Oh,’ said Dick in surprise. ‘That’s very patriotic of you, mate.’ He pondered for a moment. ‘There was a lot of that sort of feeling around when the last war broke out. I’m not sure if they’ll be queuing up to enlist this time after what happened to the poor devils on the front line back then.’
‘Dick will be too old to be called up, thank God,’ Flo mentioned. ‘It isn’t often we welcome the passing of the years, but it’s a blessing when it comes to going away to war.’
‘I’m in a reserved occupation, the same as I was last time,’ Dick pointed out. ‘So I wouldn’t have to go to war anyway, which is a bit of luck.’
Doug flushed and May could tell that he was angered by her father’s attitude. He had been in a strange mood ever since he arrived, which she assumed must be because of the events of the day.
‘More seed cake, Doug?’ offered Flo.
‘Not for me thanks,’ he said, then, catching a look from May, forced a smile and added, ‘I’d love another piece of your delicious apple tart, though, Mrs Stubbs.’
The tension seemed to ease slightly, but May didn’t feel comfortable. So much so that she was rather relieved when Doug suggested that he leave early.
‘Just until we’re used to the blackout I’d like to get home before it’s dark,’ he said.
‘Good idea,’ Flo approved. ‘You get off home and watch what you’re doing on the way.’
After kissing May at the front door and telling her he would be over on Wednesday as usual, he pedalled off down the street and May went back indoors.
That evening May and her mother amused themselves by listening to the author J.B. Priestley reading an instalment from his book Let the People Sing on the wireless. Her father went in search of male company at the pub, only to return with the news that it was closed until further notice because of the current emergency and he had grazed his knee having missed the kerb in the blackout and fallen over into the road.
‘If this is what the war is going to be like, Gawd help us all,’ he cursed.
‘If the blackout and the pub being closed is the worst that happens, you won’t hear me complaining,’ said Flo. ‘And neither should you.’
‘All right, all right,’ he sighed. ‘Don’t go on about it.’
It was a night for being at home, but May found herself longing for young company so went to bed early to escape the tedium of adult conversation. Before she got into bed she turned off the light and went over to the window. She pulled back the corner of the blackout curtains to see nothing but darkness apart from the searchlights criss-crossing the navy blue sky and looking oddly beautiful.
What a strange day it had been. It was no wonder Doug had been in such a peculiar mood. Although she had been going out with him for more than four months and usually enjoyed his company, sometimes it seemed as though she didn’t know him at all, and today she had felt distanced from him completely; it was as though chemistry had deserted them and all connection was lost. He had obviously had other things on his mind apart from her and the war, though being Doug, she didn’t enquire so had no idea what they might be. Something she did know for sure was that he had a giant chip on his shoulder about having had TB.
Oh well, everything would probably settle down once they all got used to this strange new world they found themselves in, she thought, as she replaced the curtain and got into bed.
‘So your social life has taken a battering then?’ said Betty the following Wednesday afternoon when the two of them were in the playground adjacent to the Pavilion with Joe.
‘For the moment, yeah,’ May said, sitting with Joe on her lap on the roundabout. When May was around Betty took a break from her parental duties because May loved to look after Joe, who adored her. ‘The government have closed all public places of entertainment by law.’
‘How long for, I wonder.’
‘There’s a notice outside the Odeon saying to look out for reopening, so they can’t be expecting to stay closed for the rest of the war.’
‘There would be a rebellion if they did that,’ Betty opined. ‘Though most people reckon the war will be over by Christmas anyway, don’t they?’
May nodded. ‘I have heard that,’ she said.
‘So what will you and lover boy do with nowhere to go?’ asked Betty.
‘Go for walks and stay at home, I suppose,’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen him since Sunday, but he’s coming over tonight.’
‘Twice a week, weekends and Wednesdays, is that when you see him?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You’d be better off spending your time together at his place,’ suggested Betty. ‘At least you’d get some privacy there.’
‘I shall have to let things settle first,’ explained May. ‘At the moment Mum and Dad are terrified every time I leave the house in case there’s an air raid while I’m out. It’s still very early days.’
‘Mm. It said on the wireless that petrol, coal, electricity and gas are all rationed, so it’s going to be a bleak winter.’
‘People will need the cinemas to escape to even more,’ said May, slowing the roundabout as Joe had had enough and wanted to get off. ‘Shall I get Joe some lemonade from the Pavilion?’ she suggested. ‘We might as well make the most of it if everything is going to be short.’
‘Let’s all have a glass,’ said Betty.
‘Good idea,’ agreed May. ‘Don’t let anyone see us in there or they’ll think the place is open and will want to be served.’
Holding Joe’s hand and with her gas mask slung over her shoulder, May led them into the wooden building that smelled of liquorice, aniseed balls and fresh tobacco. She got the large jar of lemonade powder off the shelf and began to spoon it into a jug while Joe looked on excitedly.
By
the end of the month – when there had been no sign of the much-feared air raids – many of the cinemas and dance halls had reopened. But the cinema queues were very long and slow moving. Some picture houses even started to open on Sundays to meet the demand. May and Doug queued for two hours one Saturday night to see The Wizard of Oz.
The waiting time was a much jollier experience than before the war, though, with everyone chatting and the cinema manager coming out at regular intervals to talk to the crowds. No one really minded which film was showing; it was enough to be inside the dimly lit auditorium where everything outside was forgotten for a couple of hours.
The return to a kind of normality gave May confidence – a sense that life would go on regardless – and she found the queuing rather fun. She had noticed a new friendliness everywhere; in the street, on the bus, in shops and especially in the Pavilion. It was a pleasure to go to work, though food rationing was expected any time soon, which would mean a lot more paperwork for her and her mother. Still, they were prepared for the extra work, which seemed a minor inconvenience compared to the men who were losing their liberty to the military.
Even the blackout didn’t seem so bad once you got used to it, though May did find it frightening at times. She was reduced to tears one night on her way back from seeing Betty when she lost her bearings in the dark and had no idea where she was. An air-raid warden on his way home had finally come to her rescue.
Doug had something unexpected to tell her one night as they walked home from a local dance.
‘I’ve got a job in an ordnance depot,’ he said. ‘I start work next week.’
‘Well done, but what about your art?’
‘Shelved until after the war,’ he explained. ‘All the paintings that haven’t been sold I’m having sent to my parents’ place to be stored for safety.’
‘But being an artist is your line of work,’ she pointed out.
‘Not in wartime.’ He paused and she could feel the tension in him even though she couldn’t see his face clearly in the dark. ‘We are needed for more important things. Just because we haven’t had any air raids doesn’t mean there isn’t a war on, you know.’