by Annie Murray
‘Morning, Mrs B,’ Em called. ‘You and Mr B all right?’
‘Right as rain,’ Jenny Button called. ‘No need to worry about us.’
Em crossed the street. ‘I had a letter from Molly. She’s going along well. They want her to be a cook.’
‘A cook!’ Mrs Button laughed until all her body wobbled. ‘That’s a good ’un. I ’ope she don’t poison the whole lot of ’em! Still, I s’pect she’ll do all right. Molly’s a good girl if you treat her right.’
‘Yes,’ Em agreed. ‘I s’pect she’ll be OK.’
Full of admiration for Mrs Button, she walked on. It did worry her that they didn’t go down into a shelter of any kind, but they were far from being the only ones, and it would have seemed cruel to move poor Stanley Button from his big bed and make him squat all night in some stinking, chilly cellar. A lot of older people didn’t bother. The Foxes didn’t either, she knew, but then it was hard to dredge up any protective feelings towards Iris Fox. But she always wondered if she could do more, find a place for the Buttons.
‘Fancy seeing you, Emmy-Wems,’ a voice said behind her. Em had been lost in thought, and she jumped, her heart pounding. The low voice held mockery, and threat, and the breath stank of alcohol.
‘Hello, Bert,’ she said coldly. Molly’s brother was walking beside her, too close, his thin face turned to her with his usual horrible smirk. Close up she could see the stubble on his cheeks, like hundreds of tiny fleas. He had his hands in his pockets, walked with a sag, his clothes too loose on him.
‘You’re looking very nice,’ he said. ‘Where’re you off to then?’
‘Work – where d’yer think?’ She loathed him and his slimy ways.
‘No need to be sour with me, Emmy-Wems.’
‘Well I don’t s’pose you’re off to work, are yer?’ she said sarcastically. ‘I hope they catch up with yer one day.’
Bert grinned, showing his unpleasant teeth. ‘Not if I can ’elp it. My ’ealth’s not good,’ he whined, patting his chest and coughing theatrically. ‘I can’t be expected to do a full day’s work.’
‘Leave me alone, Bert.’ He made her flesh creep, always had. A vile, sadistic little boy had grown into a man the same.
‘What if I don’t – you going to set rozzer Norm on me? Ooooh!’ He pretended to be terrified. ‘I’m off anyroad’ He peeled away abruptly at the corner, taking a different turning. ‘See yer, Emmy-Wems.’
‘Just get bloody lost,’ Em murmured. ‘And don’t call me that stupid name.’ The last glance she had of Bert, shambling along, made her shudder.
Sixteen
It was Sunday afternoon and everyone was at home in the Brown household except Sid, who was out and about with a girl called Connie he’d met at Midland Radiator and seemed unable to be parted from. The back room was crowded, but it was the warmest place, and they were all sitting round after dinner.
Em sat next to Norm, and Dot was there, their old neighbour who had come over to visit with her daughter Nancy. Joyce and Nancy were upstairs giggling. Violet sat looking bored while the grown-ups, except for Bob, who was lying back drowsily in the easy chair, talked and drank tea round the table. Cynthia was at her brightest, seeing her old friend again, and Bob looked relaxed. When Mom was all right, he was all right, Em knew.
Dot, a lean, energetic woman with dark eyes and hair which was now fading to grey, had lived next door until she married Lou Alberello. She had seen them through all sorts of times, both good and bad, and Em was very fond of her. It was good to see Dot looking so happy.
‘Lou’s gone with his girls to see his sister – their auntie Margarita. She’d talk yer hind leg off given the chance. Makes me feel weary, she does. So I thought I’d pop over ’ere – give the girls a chance to see each other for a change.’
‘She must be summat if she tires you out, Dot,’ Bob observed sleepily. He prodded Violet. ‘Give the fire a poke, Vi.’
‘Eh, enough of your cheek!’ Dot said good-naturedly. Em had seen her cast her eye over Mom when she came in. Dot knew all the signs – she’d seen Cynthia through thick and thin, and today she seemed reassured, but she didn’t say anything.
‘You got them Skelton babbies to look after still?’ she asked Cynthia.
‘Yes – in the week,’ Cynthia said, squeezing more tea out of the pot. ‘Brenda’ll be ready for school soon. They’re not too bad really, considering.’
‘Poor little buggers’re lucky to be alive I should think,’ Dot said forcefully. ‘That Irene wants ’er head examining. Lucky they’ve got you looking after ’em, Cynth – I’m surprised she ain’t finished off the lot of ’em by now.’
Irene Skelton had insisted – against all advice – on putting condensed milk into her infants’ baby bottles. Since this had given them chronic and agonizing constipation, any visit to the Skelton house had been against a background of the sounds of children straining on pots, their faces screwed up in misery. Her youngest had died of an impacted bowel and Mr Skelton left before they could have any more children on which to inflict this agony.
‘They’re not too bad,’ Cynthia said. ‘They just need a kind word or two.’
Dot started regaling them with tales of some of her Italian in-laws, then Bob complained he couldn’t get any smokes because there was no tobacco to be had, and as the talk moved, as it always did these days, back to raids and bomb damage and shortages, Norm leaned over and whispered in Em’s ear, ‘Let’s go out for a bit of a walk, shall we?’
Em gave a slight frown. ‘It’s chilly out, Norm!’
‘But I want to be on my own with yer. I’ve got summat to tell yer.’
‘We’re just popping out for a bit, Mom,’ Em said, getting up a bit reluctantly. She liked seeing Dot, who’d been like a second mother to her.
It was a cool, clear April afternoon, the sun already sinking low, a yellow glow in the distance. The barrage balloons sat tethered and still in a quiet sky. Norm pulled Em’s arm through his.
‘Peaceful, isn’t it?’ Em said.
‘Thought I’d never get a minute with yer by ourselves,’ Norm burst out. Then, as if worried he’d been ungrateful, he added, ‘That was a nice dinner yer mom did.’
‘Mr Perry slipped me some extra spuds,’ Em said. They’d padded out the tiny amount of meat. ‘He’s nice like that.’
‘Well she’s a good cook – you are an’ all.’
‘Oh I don’t know about that!’ Em laughed, flattered. ‘Anyway – what was it you wanted to tell me?’
‘Ah, well . . . that’s a hard one . . .’ They passed along the edge of the gasworks, in silence for a few moments. Norm chewed on his lip in an agonized sort of way, then stopped suddenly and turned to her, gazing anxiously into her eyes. Em looked back, loving him, knowing how true he was.
‘What’s up, love?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know how to say it,’ Norm said. He looked quite tearful for a moment and glanced away to one side, trying to find the words. Then he turned to her again, more decisively. He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her closer.
‘Go on – give ’er a kiss!’ some lad shouted, whizzing past on a bike, but they took no notice.
‘Thing is, Em – I love yer. I don’t ever want yer to think I don’t. . .’
‘Norm?’ Her voice rose anxiously. ‘What’s the matter? What’re you trying to say?’
‘I’m a young man—’
Oh no, Em thought, not this again! Him going on about her giving herself to him and all that! Molly was right – men really did only have one thing on their minds! The pressure made her feel immediately resentful.
‘But, Norm . . .’
No, listen – I’ve got to do it. I’ve thought and thought. I know they need police, but now they’re bringing in the older fellas for the Reserve, and some of the young ’uns are going off and joining up. And, Em, I’ve got to go. Thing is, I’m trying to tell yer, I’m going to leave the police force. I’ve decided, I’m going to volunteer in the RAF.’
Em stared at him, almost unable to take this in. It was like an earthquake, things as she had expected them to be all overturning.
‘The RAF?’ she said stupidly, pulling away from him at this betrayal. ‘But, you’ve never said a word to me about it. And, that’d mean you going away.’ She stared at him in complete bewilderment. Shocks and changes were always an ordeal for her.
‘Yes – it would love. Em, come ’ere . . .’ He came to her again and tried to hold her but she couldn’t stand it, not yet. ‘I ain’t done anything about it. I’ve been thinking and thinking, round and round, and I wanted to talk to you first, not just go and do it. But it feels right to me. I don’t want to be one of them blokes who sits in the pub, once it’s all over, and listens to all the others canting about it. I want to do my bit.’
Em started walking again, head down.
‘Em?’ He hurried beside her on his big, ploddy feet. ‘Are you angry, love?’
‘No.’ She was shaking, but not with anger. ‘I dunno.’
‘What, then?’
In her whirling thoughts she knew she needed Norm to be her security. She knew Molly thought he was boring, that others found him staid, comical even, but with him she felt safe. Yet also, knowing he was having these thoughts, there was a welling sense of relief – the pressure off her to be married and with him, to do those other things he wanted – and of admiration for him for feeling this way.
‘Scared,’ she said. ‘And proud of yer.’
‘Oh love!’ Norm was moved. ‘Are yer really?’
She reached up and kissed his cheek, tearful now. ‘I don’t want you to go – course I don’t . . .’
‘Em—’ In the gloaming his expression was very serious. ‘Before I go – if they’ll ’ave me – I want us to get wed. I want to make you mine.’
Something in her baulked. I’m not ready! her thoughts protested. Don’t make me – not yet.
‘Course we’ll get wed,’ she said lightly. ‘But there’s no mad rush, is there? You know what they say: “Marry in haste, repent at leisure.”’
‘Don’t be daft, there won’t be any repenting,’ Norm said, sounding a bit hurt. ‘I just want you to be my wife, Em. It’s all I really want in the world.’
It was the week before Easter and Norm promised he wouldn’t do anything until it was over, giving her a few days to think. Em was grateful for his usual kindness. Norm could be a bit hapless but he certainly had a good heart. She felt ashamed of her hesitation but couldn’t help her terror about all that marriage and motherhood might mean.
But before many days had passed, something else happened. She came home from work on the Wednesday, tired from standing all day, anxious to have a sit-down before her warden duty later that night. All day, working side by side with Mr Perry, she had been thinking, and she felt she had been mean and ungrateful towards Norm. It all kept going round and round in her head and the family chatter – Mom rejoicing because she’d managed to get hold of a tin of golden syrup, Joyce going on about getting a job and how much she might earn – all grated on her nerves.
‘Huh – you’re in a mood,’ Joyce said grumpily, when Em had replied snappily to everything she said.
Em stood up, putting down her teacup. ‘Gotta go.’ Stepping out into the darkness in her ARP uniform, she thought of Norm, also on duty across the city. ‘You keep safe,’ she whispered. Suddenly she felt a powerful longing to see him, almost a superstitious feeling that something bad might happen. She worried that because he was so conscientious he might do something too heroic and get himself into danger.
She joined Mr Radcliff and they began their patrol of the street, checking for any lights showing in breach of blackout regulations, or any other sort of trouble. It was quiet, eerie almost, hardly anyone about, the pencil-thin beam of their torches the only light. Mr Radcliff often talked about the last war, telling her stories about France, the trenches, about having to burn lice out of the seams of his shirt. He liked to have someone young to talk to, instead of the others who could remember too and didn’t necessarily want to hear it.
The clocks had already struck nine when the sirens went off.
‘Oh-oh, here we go,’ Mr Radcliff said. The beams of the searchlights began to criss-cross the sky, looking for the incoming bombers. Soon Em could hear their droning engines, and the ack-ack guns started up, hammering reassuringly. It always made you feel better hearing them. Em’s stomach clenched, her breath catching with fright as she and Mr Radcliff tried to keep calm. Already she had a sense of foreboding that this was going to be a bad one. She wondered if he was as frightened as she was.
‘Where’re those buggers going?’ Mr Radcliff muttered, face tilted to the sky. Em caught a glimpse of his moustache in silhouette.
It wasn’t long before the first one fell, and the next, and the next. They stood pressed against a wall, eyes and ears straining, trying to calculate where the bombs were coming down.
‘Bordesley?’ Mr Radcliff said hoarsely, then, ‘That sounds like over Aston way . . .’ It was close enough to feel a faint tremor. Moments later, he said, ‘That was further south . . .’
‘I’ve got a bad feeling about tonight,’ Em said.
Mr Radcliff sighed heavily. ‘You and me both, wench.’
They kept coming and coming. Em and Mr Radcliff continued their frightening patrol up and down the street. Mr Radcliff bawled at a couple of young lads to get under cover and knocked on someone’s door to get them to let in their dog, which was whimpering on the step. The bombs thundered down, sometimes close enough for the ground to shake. Fires burned across the city and the night took on a coppery glow.
‘Come into my house, just for a tick,’ Mr Radcliff shouted, breaking into a run. ‘We’ll have a look out from the attic. Get our bearings.’
They scrambled up the dark, musty-smelling stairs. Mrs Radcliff was safe in a shelter at Maskell’s Foundry Supplies. The attic window was high up, so to see out they each perched with one leg on a chair. There was not much of a view, beyond the other attics of houses across the street, but from this height, the ominous glow coming from the southwest was all the more obvious, and from all round: from Aston and Saltley, Bordesley and Deritend.
‘Christ!’ Mr Radcliff breathed, his language uncharacteristically colourful for a slightly religious man. ‘Those Kraut bastards’
Em held a hand up. ‘Listen!’
Their eyes met at the sound of the planes moving closer. They each jumped from the chair and rushed downstairs, on the brink of stepping outside when a massive impact very close by knocked them off their feet. Something smashed to the floor in the darkness, the ground shook and the house rattled around them. Em’s nose and mouth were clotted with dust and she was coughing and spitting it out as the shaking died away. A cloud of soot had been knocked down the chimney.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Mr Radcliff exclaimed between coughs, his voice high-pitched as he babbled with shock. ‘That was us! That was bloody Cromwell Street, that was! It bloody was! Come on, Em – we’ve got to get out there!’
They moved to the door. Em was aware of her face coated with soot, and her mouth felt gritty and sour. The light seemed brighter outside. In seconds it was obvious why – there were fires burning further along the street, which was blocked with rubble. They could hear shouts, the crackle of flames, and further away, the guns, and the jangle of bells from fire engines and ambulances. There’d been a direct hit.
Em turned, looking wildly back towards Kenilworth Street. Hadn’t she heard something near that sounded as if it came from there? The house – Mom! She longed to go and see if they were all right, but she steeled herself to stay in control. She must stay for now and do her duty. A fire engine turned into the street behind her and edged along as far as it could go. The driver climbed out, grim-faced.
‘This is a bad ’un.’ He shook his head, looking at the ruins of one of the houses that had taken the hit. ‘I’ve ’ad a job getting here. You should see the middle of
town. It’s a hell hole over there.’ He called orders to the crew. In seconds everyone was taken up with the sorry business of damping down the flames, seeing to the bombed wreckage and trying to establish if anyone had been inside the house. Em tried to put her own family out of her mind. If anything was wrong, someone would be helping, wouldn’t they? She had to do her job here. She mustn’t dwell on Norm either, and whether he was safe.
Not long had passed before everyone realized there were not enough people for the job – not anywhere near enough. Em and Mr Radcliff got stuck in with the firemen and some neighbours who appeared, all digging and pulling at the rubble. As time passed it seemed that one of the houses had been empty. As they dug into the other they could hear a voice calling out, ‘I’m under ’ere! Under the stairs!’
A toothless old lady was soon released from her cubbyhole, in great agitation.
‘They’re down in the coal cellar!’ she cried in a cracked voice. ‘My granddaughter and the babbies!’
Em gave the old lady a blanket. ‘I’ll go and give ’em a hand looking. You wait there a bit – I’m sure we’ll get them out for you, missus.’
It wasn’t long before the young woman, with a toddler and a baby in her arms, was released from below, black with coal dust. Em realized she must look much the same.
‘Oh Nana!’ the young woman cried, seeing the old lady waiting for them. ‘You’re safe – oh my God! Oh!’ She took in the sight before her. ‘Look at our house – what are we going to do?’
‘For now,’ Em said, ‘get yourselves over to Thimble-mill Lane, to Johnny Wright’s. They’ll look after you.’
The family disappeared, stunned, into the gloom.
‘Hope they’ll be all right,’ someone said. ‘God knows where they’ll go in the morning.’
There were still planes coming over, but now the houses seemed to have been cleared, Em was desperate to see if her own family were all right. ‘Mr Radcliff, can I just run round the road a minute?’