Rosie Goes to War

by Alison Knight

  The Women’s Royal Voluntary Service run a fleet of vans which station themselves in bombed areas as soon as the all-clear sounds. They provide food and drink and moral support from street corners. People say the WRVS is a life-saver, and I have to say they were the best thing about coming out of that cellar the other night. That mug of tea they gave me was like nectar – strong and sweet.

  ‘I’m glad they were there for you,’ I say. ‘Was it awful?’

  For a moment, all he can do is shake his head. He looks so tired and miserable. ‘It was like I imagine hell is,’ he says quietly. I feel my heart squeeze. Poor Bill. ‘There’s not much of the docks left, that’s for sure. Bloody Jerry. They dropped a load of incendiaries on houses, too. God knows how many civilians have been killed. A few of my mates copped it n’all. One of the gun emplacements took a direct hit. Poor sods.’

  ‘Oh, Bill. I’m so sorry,’ I say, trying not to cry.

  ‘It ain’t your fault. Mine neither. Can’t help feeling bad, though.’ He takes a deep breath and looks at us. ‘Anyway, I’ll rest easy knowing you girls are all right.’

  ‘We’re fine, Bill,’ says May. ‘Thanks for thinking of us.’

  He hesitates, looking pleased that she remembered to use his name. ‘Um, would you mind if I have a quick word with Queenie?’

  I glance at the sisters. May looks surprised. Nell looks annoyed.

  ‘Uh, yeah. Of course,’ says May. ‘Come on, Nell.’ She grabs her sister’s sleeve and pulls her down the passage to the kitchen. ‘See you later, Bill. Don’t forget, if you need anything, give us a shout.’

  We stand looking at each other, unwilling to talk until the girls shut the kitchen door behind them. The sound of it closing makes Bill flinch.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m a bit shell-shocked this morning. Me ears are still ringing from all the noise.’

  ‘That’s understandable. You look ready to drop. Why don’t you go and get some rest, Bill?’

  ‘I will. I just wanted … no, needed, to talk to you first.’ He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. His face, under the soot, looks grey with fatigue. ‘I meant to tell you yesterday, I tried to talk to Nan about you again. I wanted to get her to tell us how you manage to get home, but I don’t reckon she knows anyway. She just said you’ll finish what you came here for, then it will all be all right.’

  ‘But what am I supposed to finish? I don’t have a clue. God, this is so frustrating!’

  ‘I know. Try not to fret. Here, maybe you’re supposed to get May to go out with me,’ he grins, but I can see he’s dead on his feet, so I doubt if he means it.

  ‘Did you ask her what I’m supposed to do?’

  ‘Yeah, but she keeps muttering on about spoilers. I’ll bet that’s what you told her before.’

  ‘Well that was particularly stupid of me, wasn’t it?’ I sigh, resting my head against the door jamb.

  ‘Don’t fret. You’re a clever girl. You’ll work it out. You must do if you’ve already met Nan before.’ He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head as though trying to get his brain working again. ‘Jesus, I never imagined I’d ever be having a conversation like this. Is this really happening, Rosie? Are you really from the future?’

  ‘Yes and you’re really my grandpa, so you’ve got to make sure you marry May. Don’t blow it, Bill. Promise me.’

  He sighs. ‘Believe me, I’d like nothing better. May’s a fine girl. I’ve always had a soft spot for her. But I can’t see how I can make her fancy me. I ain’t exactly Clark Gable.’

  ‘I have no idea who Clark Gable is, but that’s irrelevant. Just make sure you don’t let Harry ruin things, OK?’

  Bill scowls. ‘That bloody spiv. I’ve been asking around about him. He’s a right sh– shocking piece of work. Seems to me he’s only bothered about that bloody dance competition prize money. May’s his best bet for winning, so he’ll pile on the charm to keep her sweet. But I reckon she won’t see none of that money if they win.’

  ‘Well, trust me, she won’t thank you for telling her that. No, we’ve got to think of something else.’

  Bill is swaying on his feet. I doubt if he’s taken a word I said on board.

  ‘You’d better get some rest,’ I say. ‘Go on home, Bill.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry love, I can barely keep me eyes open.’

  ‘Why don’t you stay at your nan’s?’

  ‘Can’t. I’ll have to sort out some plywood and bring it round and do her windows. Then I’m back on tonight. Me spare uniform’s at home. It’s not far, just a couple of streets away. You’ll have to come round some time.’

  ‘I’d like that. Now go.’ I give him a gentle shove. He salutes me and heads home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  OK, so it’s all very well telling Bill he’s got to marry May, but seriously have no idea how to get her to see him as a potential boyfriend. And what are we going to do about Harry? I can’t just sit around and wait for May to get her heart broken. No, I’ve got to take drastic action. The trouble is, I have no idea what that might be.

  May knows we all hate Harry, but that just seems to make him more attractive, so I can’t just keep on dissing him. If I tell her what Bill says about the prize money, she won’t believe us and she’ll probably blame Bill when it does all go wrong.

  I also need to think carefully about how May sees me and Bill. I mean, I really want her to get jealous, to see him as boyfriend material. But if she thinks I’m going out with him, she might just let us get on with it. I need to talk to Bill and make sure everyone knows we’re just friends. He needs to be free of romantic entanglements when May finally comes to her senses, otherwise it could all go spectacularly wrong.

  ‘You all right, Queenie?’ says May when I go into the kitchen.

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘It sounded like you and Bill was getting mighty serious out there.’

  I hope they weren’t listening at the door. No, they couldn’t have been or they’d be asking me what I was playing at. ‘Not really,’ I say. ‘I just told him he needed to get some sleep, that’s all.’

  May shakes a finger at me. ‘Chaps don’t like being told what to do, you know. You’ll put him off if you’re not careful.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ I ask. ‘All the boys I know need telling, or they’d sit on their backsides all day.’

  ‘Well, I don’t reckon Bill’ll take kindly to being ordered about. You be careful or he’ll find himself another girlfriend.’

  ‘I wasn’t– I’m not! Look Bill and I are just friends, OK?’

  ‘Friends what hug,’ says Nelly.

  ‘If you like. I hug all my friends.’

  ‘You ain’t hugging me,’ she says crossing her arms.

  I laugh. ‘Why not, Nelly? You might like it. How about you, May?’ I open my arms.

  May laughs with me. ‘Get on with you, you daft bat.’

  I shrug. ‘Your loss. Bill doesn’t mind.’

  ‘I’ll bet he’ll be wanting a kiss with all that hugging.’

  ‘No he doesn’t. He’s a friend. That’s all.’

  It looks like May wants to ask more, but Nelly changes the subject.

  ‘The washing’s dry. I don’t suppose your mum showed you how to use an iron, did she?’

  ‘I can use an iron. I’m not stupid.’

  ‘Good, ’cause I ain’t got time to do yours n’all.’

  She lays a thick blanket over the table, then a folded sheet. May brings out the iron, which was much smaller than the one at home. I’m about to look at it when Nell stands on a chair and reaches up to pull out the bulb from its fitting. Then she connects the iron’s plug into the light socket.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I shout. ‘You’ll electrocute yourself.’

  Nell raises her eyebrows. ‘Ooh, hark at you. I’ll electrocute myself, will I? I thought you said you knew how an iron works.’

  ‘I do. But you plug it into the wall, not the light socket.’

  ‘We ain’t got
many wall sockets,’ says May as Nelly climbs down. ‘Dad said he’ll get some more sorted once the war’s over.’

  ‘There’s a couple in the parlour, for the radio and the standard lamp,’ says Nelly. ‘And we can manage in here like this,’ she points up to the light fitting, with the wire for the iron hanging down from it. ‘We’ve been using this for years, and no one ain’t got “electrocuted” yet.’

  For a moment I’m distracted, wondering what Great-aunt Eleanor would think if she remembered the way she talked as a girl. No one meeting her in the future would have any idea that her grammar is so terrible now. I’d love to be around to see how she changes between this time and when I meet her in the future. Hey, hang on. No I wouldn’t. I don’t want to wait that long to get home!

  Whatever happens to Nelly’s language skills, there’s no denying she’s a hard worker. She makes the ironing look easy. I sit at the table watching Nelly ironing while May gets on with her washing. It’s pretty obvious this iron isn’t the same as Mum’s posh steam one. This one’s a solid lump, with no steam holes. It’s much smaller than a modern iron as well. There doesn’t seem to be any temperature control – it’s either hot, or it isn’t. Nelly is obviously used to it, and uses a damp tea towel between the iron and the cloth when she’s dealing with more delicate fabrics.

  When she’s finished, it’s my turn. I take my time. I start with my work overall, which is fairly straightforward, but the blouses are a pain as I have to use the damp cloth and there are so many fiddly bits. Just when I think I’ve got it sussed I lose my grip on the heavy iron and drop it. I instinctively make a grab for it and catch the side of my thumb on the hot surface.

  ‘Argh! Shit, shit, shit! Ow, that hurts.’

  I dance around the room, waving my hand in the air, trying to make the pain go away. Nelly picks up the iron from where it fell on the table and stands it upright. May grabs my arm with damp fingers and drags me to the sink. She turns on the tap and shoves my hand under the cold stream.

  ‘What the bloody hell are you doing, Queenie? Stop fidgeting. Here, Nell, get some butter.’

  ‘What do you want butter for?’ I ask, hissing with pain. Even the water hurts.

  ‘For the burn.’

  I try to pull my hand out of her grip. ‘Are you mad? You can’t put butter on it. I’ll bloody fry!’

  ‘Stop fussing.’

  ‘Sod off. No way are you putting butter on there.’

  ‘Too right we ain’t,’ says Nelly. ‘We ain’t got enough to waste. You’ll have to take your chances. And while you’re at it, watch your mouth. It ain’t our fault you dropped the thing. We’re lucky it ain’t broke. I thought you said you knew how to use an iron.’

  ‘I do,’ I shout, the pain bringing tears to my eyes so I barely know what I’m saying. ‘But you didn’t tell me it was some old-fashioned, uncontrollable lump. Why the bloody hell can’t you have a decent iron that doesn’t weigh a ton and plugs into a proper socket like normal people?’

  ‘We are normal people,’ she shouts back ‘It’s you what ain’t!’

  I stand in stunned silence, my mouth open, my face wet with tears, as she reaches past me to turn off the tap before the sink overflows.

  May gives a nervous giggle as she lets go of my hand and starts fishing her wet underwear out of the water. ‘Oh my God, it all happened so quick I forgot me smalls was in there. Thanks Nell.’

  ‘You’re welcome, May.’ She looks at me. I get the message. I look at my hand. There’s a great big welt along the back of my thumb, red and throbbing.

  ‘I’m sorry, OK?’ I say. I can’t stop my voice from trembling. I think I’m in shock or something. ‘This is soooo painful.’

  Nelly fills an enamel bowl with cold water. ‘Here, keep it in there for a bit.’

  I take a deep breath and let it out as I put my hand in. I feel dizzy with the pain. My other hand is shaking. Nelly holds the bowl and urges me towards the table. I sit down, trying not to look at that bloody iron, standing there like a monument to my pain. There’s an iron-shaped scorch mark on the sheet. Another thing to annoy Nelly, no doubt. I wait for her to give me another lecture.

  Instead she picks up the iron and finishes my blouse, folding it far more neatly than I ever could and adding it to my pathetic pile of clothes. Then she climbs up and unplugs it, then puts it away and clears the table. I feel like a right muppet.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  ‘What’s done is done. Be more careful in future.’

  I will. Oh, I will. I nod, too miserable to say anything.

  ‘Aw, don’t fret, Queenie,’ says May. ‘You’ll get the hang of it. You just ain’t used to what we are.’

  Nelly doesn’t say anything, but makes a pot of tea while May puts her washing through the mangle and hangs it up. Their quick efficiency as they work around each other in the confined space reminds me of Gran and Great-aunt Eleanor and I’m almost tempted to tell them everything. But as Nelly plonks a cup of tea down in front of me I lose my nerve.

  ‘Here, there’s some sugar in it. Good for shock. Let’s have a look,’ says Nelly, taking my hand with surprisingly gentle fingers. ‘Blimey, you don’t do nothing by half, do you? That’s going to scar, that is.’

  I remember Lil examining my hand the other day. She’d said something about a scar. I feel a shiver run down my spine. Up till now I think I’ve tried to dismiss her story about knowing me in another time as crazy. But suddenly it all seems far more plausible.

  I’ve nearly filled the notebook. In bed I write down everything that’s happened today. I wish I’d had the chance to read all this before I ended up here. My hand’s throbbing, which makes it hard to hold the pencil. But at least the cold air in here is taking the edge off the pain.

  I close the book and leave it on my bedside table, turning off the lamp. It is pitch black, but I can’t close my eyes. It’s only about nine o’clock, but I was so tired. There hasn’t been a raid yet tonight. Nelly says it’s because it’s raining. The bombers don’t like it when there’s too much cloud cover. I hope it rains for weeks and weeks.

  Downstairs I can hear the faint sound of music from the radio. When I came upstairs May and Nelly were dancing round the kitchen. I remember times when me and Jess would use her Wii Fit dance programmes. We had a right laugh, strutting and posing and pretending we were in Little Mix, or dancing on-stage with Taylor Swift. I bet May would love doing that, once she got used to the music. If ever I get home I’ll have try Gran with it. I have to confess though, I’m getting quite fond of the big band sound.

  It’s weird to think I’ve gone a whole week without being able to text or watch telly or use a computer. It’s only when I’m writing in the notebook or lying here like this that I miss those things. I suppose I’ve been too busy or too tired to think about them. I wish I had my phone now. I’d give anything to be able to ring someone or take pictures of all this and send them to my mates. Hey, I wonder if you could take a phone through time? I mean, I doubt if anyone will take my word for it that all this really happened to me. If I could show people pictures, they’d have to believe me.

  Oh well, it’s pointless wondering. I haven’t got it, end of.

  The music stops, I hear the girls coming upstairs. Only, I’m sure that’s Gran talking, and Great-aunt Eleanor answers in her posh voice. I lift my head off the pillow, but it feels so heavy I flop back down again. It’s so dark in here, the blackness feels heavy around me. My thumb is still throbbing. My arm is resting on the outside of the blankets, to let the cool air get to it. The rest of me is getting toasty warm under the covers and I just can’t summon the energy to move. The voices are on the landing now, calling goodnight to each other. In my mind I can see the old women kissing each other on the cheek then going into their rooms. Will Great-aunt Eleanor come in here? I want to put the lamp on so I don’t give her a nasty shock, but my body won’t take any notice of what my brain’s telling it to do.

  I should be
doing something. I open my mouth to shout, but no sound comes out. The door opens and there’s Great-aunt Eleanor, her outline surrounded by light from Gran’s hallway. My eyes fill up when I see the magnolia walls and the cactus in the pot on the landing windowsill behind her. Even old Eleanor looks beautiful to me right now.

  I blink away my tears and everything disappears, plunging me into darkness. My body suddenly comes alive and I sit up gasping for breath.

  So close. I was so close. My heart is beating hard. I can feel my whole body pulsing. I want to scream and throw things. Why is this happening to me? It felt like something was pinning me to the bed, stopping me from doing anything. I couldn’t even speak.

  I scrub at my eyes, not even fighting the sobs that burst out of me. I hate crying, and I seem to be doing it all the time in this bloody place. I get up and go to the door and open it. Everything is dark and still. It’s cold. The damp, faint smell of washing soap lingers in the air. I’m still firmly stuck in 1940.

  To rub it in, the air-raid siren starts its long slow wail, building in volume like a scream. I hear Nelly and May moving in their bedrooms, and they both burst out onto the landing within seconds of each other.

  ‘What you doing, standing there like a lemon?’ asks Nelly. ‘Get some clothes on, you don’t want to go down the shelter like that on a night like this.’

  ‘Come on, Queenie. We ain’t got time to mess about,’ says May, taking me by the shoulders and turning me round. She gives me a little shove into the room. ‘Dress up warm, love. It’s bleeding brass monkey weather out there. God knows how long this’ll last.’

  ‘Don’t wait for me,’ I say. ‘I’ll see you down there.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yeah. No worries.’

  ‘Come on, May,’ says Nelly. ‘She’ll be all right. She knows what to do.’

  They clatter down the stairs and I hear them in the hall dragging the big coats off the hall stand.

  I put on the lamp and get changed, swearing when knock my thumb. I leave the buttons on my cardigan undone and run down to join the others.