by Anne Bennett
Molly straightened her shoulders and wiped her eyes, for her uncle was right and if some second terrible tragedy meant that they were left alone in the world, then it was down to her, because she was eighteen, almost an adult, and old enough now to see to her brother. As soon as she reached Birmingham, she intended to seek him out.
Tom saw with relief that Molly had recovered herself and said, ‘You will write? Even if you have no permanent address for me to write back to, let me know you are all right. Nellie will hold any letters you send me?’
‘I will be glad to write to you,’ Molly said. She stood on tiptoe and kissed her uncle on the cheek. ‘Thank you for your kindness to me over the years.’
Tom’s face was flushed crimson with embarrassment and his voice gruff as he said, ‘Everything I did for you was a pleasure, and you may as well know that I will miss you greatly, more than I ever thought possible. But now you must go, for the train will not wait.’
Tom watched Molly walk away until the darkness swallowed her up. Burned into his memory was the day many years before when Aggie had climbed out of the window to make for England and to the very city that Molly was making for. From the night he’d watched her climb into the cart at the top of the lane, he never saw or heard from her again and he knew he wouldn’t rest until he got a letter from Molly saying she was all right.
Molly knew the train she would travel to Derry on would be a goods train really, but she would be comfortable enough in the passenger coach they attached to the end. When she booked her ticket, the stationmaster warned her the journey would be slow with plenty of stops, but this was the only convenient train. The other passenger trains didn’t go out until too late for Molly to catch the mail boat when it sailed with the tide at about ten to eight.
That early winter’s morning, Molly entered the carriage with a sigh. She could hardly credit that she was here at last, on her way to Birmingham, and on this date, Tuesday, 19 November, more that five years after she had left it. Had she just been going home in the normal way she would have been in a fever of excitement, but the nagging knot of worry about the safety of her loved ones had crystallised into real alarm at the arrival of Kevin’s note and she wished the journey was over and she was safe at the other end.
She stacked her case in the rack above her and sat back in the seat. Thanks to Nellie and Cathy’s generosity she was warmly and respectably clad for the journey. She had delighted in the feel of the soft underclothes against her skin and the brassiere that cupped her breasts so comfortably as she had dressed that morning, and she had chosen to wear the tartan skirt and the red jumper that Nellie and Cathy had insisted she had. The thick black stockings were her own, but the fine boots had once been Cathy’s and she smiled at her reflection in the mirror as she unplaited her hair and coiled it into a bun, which she fastened at the nape of her neck. It was the way Nellie wore her hair, and Molly knew that immediately she looked more grown up.
It was a shame she thought that she had to cover her fine clothes with the old black coat, which was as drab and shapeless as ever, though even that looked better when teamed with the tam-o’-shanter and scarf that Tom had bought her that first Christmas.
The journey was, as she had been warned, very stop and start, and so slow that sometimes she had an urge to get out and push. One half of her was in a fever of excitement to get to Birmingham, to find Kevin and bring him some measure of comfort, and yet the other half of her recoiled from the idea of what she might find.
By the time the train had chugged its way into Derry, she felt as cold as ice and burdened down with sadness. The night was still dark as pitch on the train to the docks at Belfast, and though the sky had lightened a little by the time she was aboard the boat, it hardly affected Molly’s mood.
The pearly dawn had just begun to steal across the sky when she stood on deck and watched the boat pull away from the shores of Ireland. She remembered doing the same thing in Liverpool when she vowed to return, and she also remembered the promise she had made to her little brother, which she was now going to keep.
This time, although her stomach did churn a little, she was able to eat and keep down some of the food that Tom had packed for her, and she bought a cup of nice hot tea to wash it down, but it didn’t chase away the cold, dead feeling inside her, nor stop her imagining the tragic and devastating scenario waiting for her at the end of the journey. Many spoke to the young and very pretty girl travelling alone and looking so sorrowful, and although she was pleasant enough, she wasn’t up to a long, in-depth conversation with anyone. She wanted to keep herself focused on what she had to do once she reached Birmingham, because that helped keep the tears at bay and she had shed quite enough of those.
Although the day was grey, overcast and bitterly cold, Molly was glad it was daylight when they reached Liverpool and she followed the other passengers as they made their way to the station. The train south had passed three stations with the names blacked out before she mentioned it to a fellow passenger.
‘It’s to confuse the enemy,’ the woman said. ‘You know, in case there are spies travelling about the country.’
‘But how do people manage if they didn’t know the area?’
‘Have to manage, and that’s that,’ the woman said. ‘I mean, my dear, don’t you know there is a war on? God, if I had had a pound every time someone said that to me since this whole shebang started, I would be a rich woman by now.’
‘Yeah,’ said another. ‘As if you couldn’t know. Even if a Martian landed I would say he would be aware of it, and in short order too. And the government treat us like imbeciles. I mean, look at that poster.’
The train had drawn to a halt at another nameless station and Molly saw that on the wall was a poster showing a man and woman standing beside a train ticket office that looked closed and the poster asked, ‘Is Your Journey Really Necessary?’
‘It’s because they want trains left to move the troops, my old man said,’ the first woman told Molly. ‘But I ask you, with this stop-start nature they have at the moment and the way trains never run on time, because “there is a war on”, you understand, if your journey wasn’t necessary, then I’m sure you would stop at home.’
‘This is all new to me,’ Molly said. ‘I was born in Birmingham but was taken to my grandmother’s in Ireland when my parents died five years ago.’
‘Ah,’ the first woman said, ‘how lucky to have one of your own willing to take you in, in such awful circumstances.’
If only you knew, Molly thought, but didn’t give voice to it.
‘Why come back now?’ asked the second woman.
Molly told them about her young brother staying with his grandfather and the absence of letters that prompted her to come and see for herself what had happened to them.
‘Well, I hope you find them both safe and sound,’ the first woman said. ‘But you will see Birmingham is very changed from the place you remember, and the two women regaled Molly with tales about the raids on Birmingham and the great swathes of the city laid waste, until the train drew up at a station they said was Crewe, where they had to change trains. Molly remembered it well, but for all that, was worried about missing Birmingham when she eventually got there. She was glad the two women were travelling on with her as they said they would make sure she got off at the right place.
They were true to their word, and when Molly alighted from the train, despite herself, she scanned the platform. She would have given anything to see her grandfather waiting for her, to see his eyes light up when he saw her, feel his arms go around her tight. She would smell the smoke from the pipe he always left in his jacket pocket, and she would kiss his dear, weathered cheek and tell him how glad she was to be back.
Tears stood out in her eyes at the realisation that she might never see him again, and she suddenly felt very lost and more than a little scared. She had no plan of action. She had money and knew she had to find lodgings, but she had no idea where to start. The almost sleepless night and th
e long and wearing day had begun to take their toll.
Two men had been watching Molly. They saw she was young and noted that there was no one to greet her. She was just the sort of girl they were interested in. Their eyes met, but they didn’t speak; there was no need. They waited until the platform virtually cleared of passengers and the girl still stood there in an agony of indecision, trying to batten down her rising panic and decide what to do first.
‘Can we be of any assistance to you, miss?’
Molly had no sense of alarm or unease, rather relief that someone had actually spoken to her, especially when the two men looked so respectable, dressed in suits and shirts and ties. The man who had spoken had actually doffed his hat, which had been a novel experience. Who better to ask advice of than these two men?
She had actually opened her mouth to say this, but she was prevented by the wails of the air-raid sirens and she looked at them, her eyes standing out in her head and intense fear displayed in every line of her body. Ray Morris, the man who had spoken to her, knew that he was on to a winner, for the girl was stunning, absolutely stunning, and he knew Vera would pay a good price for one who looked like this – when he had broken her in a bit, that was. She liked them broken in, did Vera.
But that was for later. Now there was the air raid to deal with, a raid that the girl was obviously scared rigid of. He took her arm, saying firmly, ‘Come, we must seek shelter. My name is Ray Morris and my friend here Charlie Johnson. Don’t worry, we will look after you.’
Molly was only too glad to let the two men take charge, and they led her from the station. Outside was a hive of ordered activity, for everyone seemed to know where they were going. Molly and her escorts followed the stream of people. The strains of the siren died away and the dull thumping sounds of the first explosions, as yet some way away, could be heard.
Powerful searchlights lit up the sky and men with tin hats on their heads and armbands circling their upper arms urged people to hurry. Molly was never so pleased with anything as she was at the feel of Ray’s arm through hers, while his friend Charlie came behind carrying the case. They went into a brick building, which seemed surrounded by sandbags. It was cold and dank, and very dim as the only light came from a couple of swinging paraffin lamps. The place looked very uncomfortable, the only seats bare wooden benches fastened to the walls. Yet Molly was glad that Ray sat her down on one of those, with him and Charlie beside her, because there wasn’t enough seating for all the people crowding into the place and some had to make themselves as comfortable as possible on the floor.
Molly had inadvertently arrived in Birmingham at the start of the worst raid that the city had suffered so far, though none was aware of that yet, of course. Inside the shelter, people talked and smoked and played cards, and some sang while others prayed. However, as the raid went on hour after hour, the crashes, bangs and booms becoming relentless, accompanied by the ringing of the bells of the emergency services, Molly wasn’t the only one giving small yelps of terror or shaking like a leaf. The heart-rending screams and cries from the frightened babies and small children rose above everything.
The air grew muggy and stale, and Molly wasn’t sure how long they had been entombed when just above them there was one terrific explosion. Even the seasoned Brummies, well used to raids, began to wail and whimper in fear. The wardens played their torches around the roof and walls and Molly saw that the walls were bulging in an alarming way, while the roof was creaking ominously. She suddenly felt her eyes gritty and tasted brick dust in her mouth, and by the light of the warden’s torch she saw the mortar seeding from between the bricks holding up the roof trickling down on those below.
Suddenly the shelter door was opened and a warden popped his head through. ‘Get everyone out,’ he cried, ‘and quick. This place is in danger of collapse.’
There was pandemonium and panic. People were shouting and shrieking as they fought to get out first, elbowing others out of the way. Ray, however, took hold of Molly’s arms and pushed his way through the fear-driven crowd until they were out on the street, where the air smelled of smoke and gas, and scarlet flames licked the night sky. It was no safer, of course, and the warden was trying to direct the distressed people to the nearest alternative shelter. Molly stood a little way from the sinking, collapsing shelter and saw nearby buildings that seemed to crumple to the ground in a mass of rubble and masonry. The tramlines were lifted and buckled, and there were great craters in the road.
Above, the planes were all around her like menacing black beetles, flying in formation, droning like thunder, and the barking of guns, which she presumed were trying to bring them down, was incessant. She actually saw the bomb doors of the first planes open, saw the black harbingers of death toppling from them before Ray took one arm and Charlie the other as they hurried her through the streets after the warden trying to lead them to a place of safety.
Molly noted with some surprise the devastation around her as they leaped over masonry that had spilled onto the pavements, and avoided potholes, dribbling hosepipes and bleeding sandbags. By the time they reached the nearest shelter, which was in a cellar, Molly felt rigid with fear and quite surprised that she was alive and in one piece. She felt she would always be grateful to Ray and Charlie because she knew she wouldn’t have managed half so well without them.
Throughout the rest of that raid, Molly trembled and shivered in abject fear, jumping with any louder than usual bangs, and she bit her bottom lip until she tasted blood. In the end Ray put his arms around her. In fact she snuggled in further, seeking comfort, and Ray held her shaking form and encouraged her to tell him what she was doing in Birmingham.
‘It might help,’ he said. ‘Take your mind off things.’
Ray had another reason for asking. Molly had all the hallmarks of a runaway – there had certainly been no one waiting for her with arms outstretched at the station – and yet there was something about that theory that didn’t quite gel. He had to be sure there would be no marauding father after him, no policeman feeling his collar.
‘I doubt there is anything that I can say or do that would take my mind off what is going on,’ Molly said, flinching at the noise of an eruption too close for comfort, ‘but I will tell you if you like.’ She intended to tell him a diluted version of what had happened to her, but Ray was too skilful at asking questions for her to do that unless she had been downright rude, and how could she be to someone who had been so kind to her? When she began it just spilled out of her, particularly the concern she had for her little brother and how important it was to find him as quickly as possible.
‘Don’t worry,’ Ray said. ‘I will help you do that, if you like. Though you were born and bred in Birmingham you were a child when you left it five years ago and the place is so different now.’
‘I think you are one of the kindest men I have ever met,’ Molly said sincerely. ‘And I thank God I met up with you this night. And I would be grateful for any help you can give me.’
Ray smiled to himself, but he had noticed the slur in Molly’s voice and how her eyes were glazed with fatigue. He said, ‘You look all in, if you don’t mind me saying so. Why don’t you lie against me and try to sleep?’
Molly didn’t argue. She was very tired, though she doubted she would sleep, but it was a relief just to lean against Ray and close her heavy eyes, and quite soon afterwards the exhausting events of that very long day overcame her and she fell into a deep sleep, despite the noise of the continued bombardment.
Ray, watching her sleep, told himself he was on to a winner this time. This Molly had no mother, nor father either, in fact no one but a young boy to miss her at all. It was just perfect, especially when he found out where the boy was and ensured that he wouldn’t pose any sort of problem to them.
Molly was woken with a jerk by another ear-splitting siren and, seeing her alarm, Ray gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘That’s the all clear, sweetheart,’ he told her. ‘It’s all over, at least till the next time.’
Molly hadn’t been the only one who had fallen asleep. Around her, others were waking stiff and cold, and began making their way to the door. Molly felt sorry for the mothers trying to rouse still drowsy children, or soothing fractious ones while they gathered their belongings around them.
And then, she suddenly realised, apart from the bag that she had hung from her shoulder, she had nothing with her at all. After a cursory look around she said, ‘Where’s my case?’
Though it had always been part of the plan to dispose of the case, like they always did, Charlie looked contrite. ‘I’m sorry, Molly. When they told us to get out of that shelter and fast, the case just went out of my head.’
Molly could quite see how that would be. She had been frightened witless herself, but everything she owned was in that case. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Really, I do understand, it’s just …’
‘We’ll go back that way,’ Ray promised, ‘and see if we can salvage anything, if you like, but just now I could murder a bacon sandwich.’
‘So could I,’ Molly said. ‘But where will you get one of those?’
‘WVS van,’ Ray said. ‘Course, they don’t always have bacon, but toast and tea would fill a corner, I bet.’
‘You bet right. Lead me to it,’ Molly said.
She found it just as Ray said. Only a street away was a van where two motherly, smiling women dispensed sympathy and humour with the tea. They were doing quite a trade, both with the weary homeless and the rescue workers. The orange sky lit up the early morning like daylight and Molly could see that almost all were covered with a film of dust, on their faces and in their hair. She guessed she was the same, and that her hat was probably ingrained with the stuff. They did have bacon butties, quite the nicest Molly had ever tasted, and these were washed down with hot, sweet tea. After, Molly, who had been feeling quite frightened and tearful, was more in control.