by Mary Wood
‘It does, to nice people like you, Flo, but I’ve been the brunt of Kitty Hamlin’s spite all week and it’s beginning to get me down.’
For all the world, Flo thought Simon was about to cry. She could see that Roland was longing to hold him but dared not, so she took Simon in her arms.
‘Is this your floozy then, queer-boy?’
Simon let Flo go and jumped up. ‘Kitty? What are you doing here?’
Flo stared at the young woman and had the impression she was looking at a cat, even down to the green eyes. She was small for someone who could spit venom, very fashionable and held a cigarette in a long holder. She blew a lungful of smoke towards Flo. ‘What are you staring at?’
‘I’ve not got words to describe it. We don’t have things like you up north.’
‘Cheeky bitch, I’ll have your eyes out.’
‘I don’t think so. If you make a move to hurt my friend, I will report you to the MPs for unseemly behaviour.’ Simon’s voice shook as he said this, but recovered and sounded authoritative as he nodded, adding, ‘Now, what are you doing here – have you followed me?’
‘Think a lot of yourself, don’t you? Why should I follow you? Unless you’re up to something you shouldn’t be. I just happen to be here with my friend.’
Flo was shocked to realize this woman probably had followed Simon. But why?
‘Well, if you’ll excuse us, we’re moving on. Goodbye, Miss Hamlin.’ Simon took hold of Flo’s arm and steered her away. Roland followed them out.
Once outside, Simon released a telling sigh. Flo could tell that all the worry in the world was weighing on him and felt glad she’d agreed to come to London with Roland. She dreaded to think what would have happened if the woman had seen Simon greet Roland on his own. As it was, Flo had seen them touch hands under the table. She prayed Kitty hadn’t seen that, too.
For a moment Flo thought Roland was going to put his arm around Simon as he raised his arm, but he lowered it again without touching him. Flo felt pity at this. They were afraid even to express their concern for each other in public, but she could hear the feeling in Roland’s voice when he spoke. ‘Don’t worry, Simon, she saw nothing that she could use against you. Come on, don’t let her spoil our couple of days. Let’s go to your apartment. Is Lucinda in?’
‘No, not yet, Roland, she’ll be home later. She’s had to work.’
Roland looked disappointed. Flo realized that he wanted time on his own with Simon and had hoped Lucinda would take her to her apartment, out of the way. He obviously hadn’t expected Lucinda to be working. Though, as a journalist, she did work long and unsettled hours. Thinking to ease the situation, Flo offered to make herself scarce.
‘Look, take me back to the apartment with you, so that I can leave me case and know where it is, then I’ll explore a little. Eeh, I’d love to see a bit of London. Didn’t you say as there were a bridge over the Thames that’s not far from Simon’s, Roland? By, it’d be grand to see that.’
Flo saw them both visibly relax for a moment, though Simon constantly looked over his shoulder as they walked towards his apartment. She wondered how they lived like this. Always afraid. To her mind, it wasn’t fair. They were who they were and, to her, what they did in private was their own business.
Flo stood in wonderment looking over the bridge, gazing down at the water. When she looked up, she could see boats of all shapes and sizes, and cranes that looked like giraffes lining the banks of the Thames. But her enjoyment was tinged with sadness. The destruction she saw all around tore at her. And she wondered, what must it feel like to have your house bombed out and all your possessions destroyed?
A woman came towards her pushing a pram loaded with what looked like household goods. Flo could see a battered saucepan hanging from the side and towels balancing on top. Two young, scruffy-looking boys trailed behind her, each lugging two heavy bags. They looked a picture of dejection, and Flo’s heart went out to them. ‘Hello, Missus. Can I help you with sommat?’
‘Where you from? You don’t sound like a Londoner, lav.’
‘I’m visiting from up north. Me name’s Flo. You look worn out. I were thinking you could do with a bit of an ’and.’
‘Ta, but unless yer can bring me man back from France and build up me bombed-out house, I don’t see what you can do, lav.’
‘Where are you heading for? Eeh, that’s a load and half. If it’s not far, I could perhaps take a bag off each lad and carry it for them.’
‘I’m going ter me mother’s – that’s if you can call her a bleedin’ mother. Swilling the drink back from morning to night, she is. Gawd lav us. How we’re going to manage in her one-up and one-down, I don’t know, but it’s all I have. And beggars can’t be choosers.’
This shocked Flo, but touched her at the same time. ‘I’m sorry for your plight, lass. We’ve had no bombing where I’m from. But we’re sending down what we can, to help you all. They collect stuff at the church on a Saturday afternoon. Then it’s sent to the Sally Army down here.’
‘That’s kind of yer. I’ve ’ad stuff from the Sallies. Well, nice to have met yer, but I have to get on. And you should get back to where you’re staying. They say it’s going to be a clear night, so they’ll be over with a few more bombs for us. I’m only a couple of streets away now.’
‘I’m staying in that direction. Let me give you a hand. Eeh, I’ve never seen the likes of what I’ve seen around here. I’m reet sorry for you all.’
‘Ta, lav. Me name’s Pauline. And if you’re going in the same direction, I’d be grateful if you would take a bag off each of me boys; poor mites are done in.’
‘I’m Flo, pleased to meet you.’
To Flo, Pauline looked around forty years old, but judging by the age of her boys, one probably about six and the other seven or eight, she thought Pauline was more likely to be in her early thirties. Small and with untidy, greasy hair, which Flo assumed was not as dark as it looked, she wore a long brown coat that was several sizes too big and was held together by a piece of string.
The bags Flo took from the boys held clothes. A smell of smoke came from them and she could see those on the top were charred.
They walked a little way in silence, passing bombed-out homes with folk rummaging amongst the ruins looking for whatever they could salvage. A couple of times they had to walk in the road, as rubble blocked the pavement. Pauline told Flo that they’d hardly had any respite from the bombing for weeks. ‘It’s hell when it starts, so make sure you get to a shelter, lav.’
Flo’s throat constricted. She’d been daft to come. But then this woman and her lads had no choice – they were here, and that was that. She had to show as much courage as they did. Besides, Roland had said Simon had a good shelter, so she’d be safe.
These thoughts went through her mind as they passed by the end of Simon’s street. Not many yards further on, Pauline turned left into a road that could have been a million miles away, as the contrast between Simon’s house and this little house, which stood on the end of a long row of similar cottage-type houses, was stark.
Flo looked at the torn nets, dirty windows, overgrown path and paint-peeling front door and her heart filled with pity. She turned to Pauline and asked, ‘Would you let me give you some money, Pauline? I haven’t got much, but I don’t need it. Me ticket home’s paid for. It might help you a bit.’
‘I couldn’t, I—’
‘Eeh, don’t say that. I want you to have it. Here.’ Taking from her purse the five bob she’d brought with her, Flo pressed it into Pauline’s hand. Pauline closed her fingers around it, before looking up at Flo. Silent tears ran down her face. Flo hugged her impulsively. ‘I have to go now, lass. Will you be all right?’
‘I will, and ta. You don’t know what you’ve done for me, lav, cos me mum won’t have anything in, and this’ll feed me kids, till I get sorted.’
‘Can I come and see you if I visit me friend again? I’d like to see how you’re getting on, and I could bring som
mat from the church collection of clothes and stuff for the boys.’
Pauline just nodded. Her hand reached out to take Flo’s. Flo held the cold, small hand in hers and looked down into Pauline’s tired dark-brown eyes for a moment, before saying goodbye. When she got to the end of the street, Flo turned. Pauline was still looking towards her and raised her hand to wave. Flo had to swallow her tears as she waved back. Pauline looked so forlorn. Flo wanted to run back to her, but she knew there was no more she could do, so she made herself turn the corner and walk towards Simon’s street.
She’d been gone a good hour, so Simon and Roland should be expecting her back now. The warmth she’d felt from helping Pauline stayed with her, and she vowed that she would try to find a way of helping more of these Londoners. If she got the job at Bletchley, Roland had said she could easily get a train here. Well, that’s what she’d do in her spare time – she’d volunteer to help the victims of the bombing. Feeling better, she quickened her step. It was beginning to get dark. Her heart pounded at the thought of being in a bombing raid herself. But, as she’d thought before, if Londoners could do it, then so could she.
Not two hours had passed before Flo thought she would eat her words. They were enjoying the lovely meal that she and Lucinda had cooked and had brought down to Simon’s apartment. Lucinda had got hold of some scrag-ends. They’d scraped the meat from the bones and minced it, before cooking the meat in a saucepan. Lucinda had added all manner of spices and herbs, some of which Flo had never seen or heard of before. They’d topped the mixture with fluffy potato and had managed to make a delicious gravy, by making stock from the bones and adding a cornflour paste and gravy salts. But what gave it a special touch was how, when Lucinda carefully portioned it into the white bone-china bowls, she put a sprig of parsley from the garden on top of each portion. Flo had never seen anyone do anything like that to food, and it looked lovely.
Simon’s apartment was bigger than Lucinda’s, as the ground floor of the original house extended further out into the garden than the upstairs. Simon had two bedrooms and what he called a sitting room, but Flo would have called a parlour, plus a dining room. Lucinda also had two bedrooms, but her sitting room and dining room were all in one. Both apartments were decorated and furnished with a lot more taste than Roland’s house, with cream being the main background colour, and nothing garish – just soft blues and golds, with beautiful carved furniture in highly polished mahogany. But, to Flo, nothing could beat the luxury of taking a bath without the hassle of fetching in the tin tub from outside, filling it with kettles of boiling water and pails of cold, then erecting the partition by slinging a huge sheet over the clothes horse to give her some privacy. Eeh, how the other half live! She was loving it all.
But her enjoyment deserted her with the wail of the siren.
‘Bugger! Oh well, here we go – nothing to worry about, Flo. Go with Lucinda and get yourself some blankets. Did you put some flasks up, just in case, Lucinda?’
‘Yes. Now come on, Flo. Hitler waits for no one.’
Fear had rooted Flo to the spot. Roland lifted her physically, before she could move. Oh God, it’s really going to happen. The Germans are coming! She wanted to scream her terror, but the practical way the others just got on with it prevented her and reassured her.
It was cold in the Anderson shelter in the garden, but they huddled together and Flo soon began to feel warm. The chatter was lively, and Simon had brought a bottle of whisky with him. Flo took a big gulp, when offered, even though it made her choke. She needed some Dutch courage.
‘Don’t be afraid, Flo. It will get very noisy, but we’re safe in here. Even if the house takes a direct hit, the roof of the shelter has been reinforced, so the rubble will only bury us and not flatten us, and the air-raid wardens will soon have us out.’
None of what Lucinda said comforted her. How could they all take this in their stride? But expecting the raid was nothing like experiencing it. Flo had never known such noise. Her ears hurt with it. Every wind-whistling bomb took an age to land, and she thought each one would hit them. But worse than that were the screams of agony. Every fibre of her wanted to run to help those stricken, and yet she knew she wouldn’t be able to move a limb. On and on it went, till she wanted to beg them to stop.
Lucinda’s arm came through hers. Somehow there was more comfort in Lucinda showing fear than there had been in her stoic courage. Disengaging her arm, Flo took Lucinda’s hand with her left one and put her other arm around Lucinda’s shoulders. They huddled like this with their heads down for the rest of the raid. Flo had never felt more bonded with anyone in her life than she did going through this hell on earth with Lucinda.
When all had been quiet for half an hour, Simon lit his torch and put his head out. ‘Well, the jolly old house is still standing. Come on, let’s get inside.’
‘Eeh, Simon, shouldn’t we try to help those as have been hit?’
‘Not a good idea, Flo. We would only hinder things. The volunteers are well trained and organized.’
‘But surely we can offer hot drinks or sommat?’
‘I’ve never thought of that. I suppose we can. Wait here, while Roland and I go along to the nearest bomb damage and ask the wardens.’
To Flo, the next hour was the best and the worst she’d ever spent in her life. She loved giving help and comfort, distributing drinks that she and Lucinda made with the many kettles of boiling water Simon and Roland ferried from the house. Everyone who could help did so, supplying cups, teaspoons and some even a packet of tea, a precious possession. Most of the tea was served black with little sugar in it, but it didn’t matter. It was as welcome as it could be.
But though all of this warmed Flo’s heart and made her feel needed, the extent of the damage, loss and injury cut her in two. She hoped the job Simon had lined up for her really would help the war effort. But more than that, she hoped it would help to bring the war to an end.
9
Molly
A Worse Fate
Molly never thought she’d be so glad of the many air raids happening night after night as she had been these last couple of weeks. The man she was being saved for hadn’t been able to get away. From what she could glean from the conversations held in front of her, he was a doctor in his middle years. The thought of him repulsed her, and each day she prayed that somehow David would find her and rescue her.
She was in a flat above a tailor’s shop in Soho. But she knew, from what the other girls told her, that the shop was just a cover for the real business that went on here, and enabled gentlemen to look as if they were buying clothes or having a fitting, when instead they slipped through the curtains at the back of the shop and up the stairs to the flat.
There were five girls in residence. They slept in one room they called ‘the dormitory’, with two double beds in it. Being the new girl, Molly found that she had to sleep at the bottom of the bed, with the feet of the two at the top digging into her and kicking her throughout the night. Not that she would sleep anyway. That came in the daytime when the others were active, having been sent out to tout for business or entertaining clients in one of the other four rooms she’d been shown. These were called ‘boudoirs’ and were decorated and furnished in rich creams and purples and hung with mirrors. Each housed a huge bed and had a washroom of its own.
She dreaded the day she would have to go to one of the boudoirs.
At first she’d spent her days and nights weeping and begging to be released, as well as hoping that her dad or David, or even Foggy, would come. But there was only so much crying a body could do and only so much the others would tolerate, before they showed they’d had enough by telling her to ‘shut the fuck up’.
This had been a turning point for Molly. She realized that her companions were all she had, and she didn’t want to alienate them. Making her mind up on this made her stronger.
Hope lived in finding out which girl was Phyllis’s mate. The last two days had felt special, as she became clos
e to Ruby. As Phyllis had said, Ruby was in a poor state – thin, so that you could see her ribs and her shoulder bones sticking out. She was often dirty and unkempt, with blackened teeth. Ruby was sent out into the streets on a daily basis. She never entertained in the house, as the other more wholesome girls did, and when she returned she incurred Eva’s wrath if she didn’t have anything to cough up.
Molly felt overwhelming pity for her, but also saw in Ruby a possible way of getting a message out. They sat together on the bed, the only two left in the dormitory now. ‘Ruby, would you help me?’
‘I can’t. I’d get me bleedin’ neck wrung. I’m sorry for yer, but don’t ask me to be a party to getting yer out of here.’
‘Please. Me boyfriend has money. His name’s David. He’ll pay you. He’ll pay you enough so that you can get away from here. He’ll help you. We’re unofficially engaged, and he must be desperate to find me.’
‘I’m sorry. If you knew what them lot were capable of, yer wouldn’t ask me.’
‘Well, do you ever see Phyllis while you’re out and about?’
Ruby cringed away from her. ‘Are yer a spy for them, eh? How come you ain’t working yet? What’re yer doing here, anyway?’
‘No. I told you, I used to work with Phyllis, and she told me about you. She’s desperate to help you – you could go to her. She knows David; she’d take him a message. Please, Ruby, I beg of you.’
Ruby was quiet for a minute.
‘Wouldn’t you like to get out of here, Ruby? I promise you, if you help me, I’ll help you.’
Still Ruby didn’t speak.
The sound of someone coming had them both looking towards the door. Caught as if in a trap with no escape, they remained still. As the door knob turned, Ruby said, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Relief mingled with Molly’s fear. Eva stood in the doorway, and her face showed her pleasure. ‘Well, Missy, yer time has finally bleedin’ come. Get that nylon gown on that I hung in the cupboard for yer, and be quick. The doctor is about to make you into a woman, and I’m about to have a big payday.’