My Friend the Enemy

by Dan Smith

  ‘We do not expect to hit without being hit back,’ he said, ‘and we intend with every week that passes to hit harder. Prepare yourselves, then, my friends and comrades, in the battle of London, for this renewal of your exertions. We shall never turn from our purpose, however sombre the road, however grievous the cost, because we know that out of this time of trial and tribulation will be born a new freedom and glory for all mankind.’

  There was more clapping and cheering – a lot of it – but when I looked at Mam sitting on the settee and saw her expression, she didn’t look proud or excited. She didn’t look as if she wanted to clap or agree. She looked afraid.

  I stood up and went to sit beside her. I leant close so she’d put her arm around me. ‘What does it mean?’ I asked.

  ‘It means we’re goin’ to attack them and they’re goin’ to attack us back. It means it’s goin’ to get worse before it gets better,’ she said. ‘Much worse.’

  ‘But it’ll all be over soon, won’t it?’

  Mam squeezed me right against her, but she didn’t smile. ‘Sometimes, Peter, I think it’s going to last for ever.’

  AIR RAID

  I’d been in bed a while when I heard the wail of the air-raid siren starting up.

  Mr Charlton who owned the pub was one of three people in the main village who had a telephone. He was also the ARP warden, so if there were a chance of a raid, he would get a call and it was his job to go out and crank the Carter siren that stood on a tripod outside the pub. And when it started to whine, someone would rush out and crank the other sirens – one outside Mr Shaw’s butcher’s shop and one outside the baker’s at the other end of the street. People used to laugh about Mr Charlton patrolling the streets at night, wearing his tin hat and his overalls and shouting, ‘PUT THAT LIGHT OUT!’ or ‘CLOSE THOSE CURTAINS!’ but, really, he had an important job – and one of the most important things he did was sounding the siren to let us know that German planes had been spotted and a raid might be coming.

  And right now they were coming.

  Mam hurried into my room and was by my bed as I heard the unmistakeable drone and buzz of planes approaching.

  ‘Get up,’ she said. ‘Quick.’

  I threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. I was wide awake; no time for sleepiness.

  ‘Get your dressing gown and your mask. Quick.’

  I put on my dressing gown as quickly as I could and grabbed my gas mask – still in its original box, but now kept in the army bag Mr Bennett had given me.

  Somewhere out in the night came the first thump of a bomb hitting the earth.

  ‘Quick!’ Mam said again as she took my hand.

  We went downstairs together as more bombs dropped, sounding closer and closer. I could hear the whistle as they fell from the sky.

  ‘They’re close,’ I said, feeling panic rise in me.

  ‘Not that close,’ Mam said, but I was sure I felt the house shudder as we reached the bottom of the stairs and hurried across the kitchen.

  Mam yanked the door open and the air-raid siren suddenly became louder. The high-pitched whine pulsed outwards from the village centre, filling the quiet spaces between the whistles and distant explosions.

  Mam didn’t say a word as we rushed out. She just held my hand as if she would never let it go, and dragged me across the garden towards the Anderson shelter.

  It was a beautiful night. The air was clear and cool. But the sky was filled with terror as we ran across the lawn, my dressing gown catching in the breeze, my bare feet soft on the soil and the grass.

  In the distance, further up the coast, I could see the powerful beams of searchlights pointing at the sky, and I could hear the quick thud of the anti-aircraft guns firing at the planes. I could see fires, too, a strange orange glow that shimmered just on the edge of the horizon. But the planes sounded closer now, their angry buzz getting louder and louder as they approached. And the whistle and thump of their bombs followed them.

  Ahead of us, at the bottom of the garden, the Anderson shelter sat low, half buried in the ground. We ducked down inside, squeezing past the sandbags that protected the entrance. Mam made me go first, climbing backwards down the little ladder, then she followed and pulled the door shut behind us, sealing us into the cramped metal tube.

  We were half underground. The bottom of the door was about level with my head. There was a bunk bed on one side of the shelter, pushed right up against the corrugated metal, and a rickety table against the far wall. There were garden tools there, too, propped against the table and lying on the floor. We didn’t use the shelter often, but Mam made sure there were always a couple of blankets and a few damp board games. There were one or two books, as well, and a candle that she now lit, scraping matches in the dark until it was alight. On the concrete floor, insects scuttled to find the dark corners.

  It was a warm night, which made it more comfortable in the shelter. In the winter Mam would light the paraffin heater, and the steel walls would drip with condensation.

  Mam sat on the bottom bunk beside me and put her arms around me and we stayed like that, in near-darkness, staring at the opposite wall.

  Outside the explosions continued to thump and boom, coming closer, like the footsteps of a giant stomping towards us, determined to kill us. I could hear the high-pitched whistle as the bombs dropped from the planes, falling to the ground with deadly effect. My whole body tensed in preparation, waiting for a direct hit as the whistle shrieked towards earth. I squeezed my eyes shut, and every time one landed, I flinched, and prayed that it was the last.

  I wanted to put my hands over my ears to block out those sounds. The sounds of real nightmares, not imaginary monsters in the dark. But I kept my hands in the pockets of my dressing gown and I stared ahead at the damp metal wall of the shelter, where the reflection from the candle glimmered a dull orange.

  ‘Prob’ly on their way home,’ Mam said. ‘That’s what it is.’ She squeezed me and looked down. ‘They’re not after us, you know.’

  I nodded and tried to be strong, but I was scared. The bombs had never been so close before.

  ‘They’re droppin’ whatever they’ve got left,’ Mam said. ‘That’s all. It means the planes aren’t so heavy when they go back.’

  Or maybe, I thought, they were bombing away the barbed wire and the pillboxes and the mines on the beach, getting ready for an invasion. I swallowed hard and squeezed my eyes shut as another explosion shook the ground, raining dirt and dust from the ceiling.

  I thought about my new friend Erik, curled up inside my hiding place, with the heavy pink blanket I’d taken from the cupboard. I wondered if he was afraid when he heard the planes; if it made him think about the men who’d died when he’d crashed. And I thought about Kim, wondering if she was safe down there in the village. I was reminded of the story she told me about the house in her road in Newcastle – the one that was hit by a bomb.

  Mam held me tight and looked down at me. ‘It’s not so close as it sounds.’

  But even as she said it, there was a loud whistling that seemed to be right above us, and Mam wrapped her arms around me. After just a few seconds there was a tremendous boom and the whole shelter rattled and shook. Muck fell from the ceiling again, and the candle snuffed out, leaving us in darkness.

  ‘Did they hit us?’ I said into the silence that followed. ‘Did they—’

  ‘No,’ Mam said, and she took her arms away. ‘No. We’re all right.’

  For a moment I was left alone in the damp darkness, then I heard her moving about, the rattle of matches in a box, then the flare of flame. When the candle was re-lit, Mam came back and held me as the planes passed over, and their noise faded to a calm drone, and then nothing as the planes turned out to sea and headed back to wherever they had come from.

  And even then, we didn’t move.

  Outside, the air-raid had stopped wailing and the only sound was that of the shelter’s iron casing settling into place.

  ‘I think that’s it,
’ Mam said.

  I didn’t reply. We sat in silence for a long time, waiting for the all-clear, and when the continuous note screamed from the sirens to tell us it was safe, it made me jump. I shook myself.

  ‘Can we go back inside?’ I asked.

  ‘I think so.’

  When we yanked the door open and stepped back out into the night, it was as if nothing had happened. The sky was clear, the air was cool and the darkness was as quiet as it was supposed to be.

  Back inside the house, there was a large crack running the length of the kitchen ceiling, and a big section of plaster had fallen away. It had landed right on top of the table and broken into pieces. There was pale dust everywhere.

  Mam didn’t say much. We were both too numb to say much of anything at all. She just tutted and went to get the broom and the dustpan. Together we cleaned up the mess, throwing the pieces out into the garden, and when it was done, Mam warmed some milk and we sat at the kitchen table to drink it.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘That was an adventure.’

  ‘I hope Kim’s all right.’

  Mam forced a smile. ‘She’ll be fine. The bombs were close, but not that close. No one really wants to bomb us.’

  I hoped she was right.

  *

  The following morning, Mr Bennett came round just after nine o’clock. Mam opened the door with the usual worried expression she wore when someone came so early.

  ‘Just wanted to check everyone was all right,’ he said, looking at Mam and then smiling at me. ‘Quite a raid, wasn’t it?’

  ‘We survived,’ Mam said, inviting him in and looking up. ‘A bit of damage to the ceiling but that’s all.’

  ‘I saw the plaster outside,’ he replied, stopping just inside the door and following Mam’s gaze. He sucked his teeth as he looked at the place where the plaster had come away, and at the long, deep crack that ran almost the whole length of the kitchen. ‘Anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Not really. Thank you.’

  ‘That crack looks bad. Maybe I could get someone to look at it.’

  ‘I’m sure everyone’s got better things to do,’ Mam said.

  ‘I’ll see if someone can help. There’s a little bit of clearing up to do in the village, but after that, maybe someone can have a good look at it.’

  ‘Is everyone all right?’ Mam asked.

  ‘Well, a few bombs came close,’ he said. ‘One or two on the beach, but no one was hurt. A few windows broken, that’s all.’

  ‘Thank goodness.’

  ‘Is there anything you need? Anything at all?’

  ‘No. thank you,’ Mam said. ‘That’s very kind of you to come and check on us.’

  Mr Bennett hesitated on the step, pursing his lips and nodding. ‘Well, you will let me know if there’s anything, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Of course. Thank you.’

  When he was gone I asked Mam, ‘D’you think Mr Bennett’s lookin’ for a new wife?’

  ‘What made you say that?’ Mam knelt in front of me and put her hands on my shoulders.

  ‘I was wonderin’ if that’s why he comes here all the time.’

  Mam smiled and brushed her finger across my cheek. ‘You know I love your da’, don’t you?’

  I nodded.

  ‘And that I’ll wait for ’im?’

  ‘For ever?’ I asked.

  ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘For ever and ever.’

  SLEDGEHAMMER

  Kim didn’t come that morning like usual. I’d been thinking about her all night, and when she didn’t come round, I started to worry. I couldn’t get that house on her street in Newcastle out of my mind.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Mam said. ‘Mr Bennett already told us no one was hurt.’

  ‘Can I go and check?’

  ‘Of course you can. But stay out of trouble. And don’t get in anyone’s way . . .’

  I was out the door before she finished what she was saying, running past the gate and heading down the track. I’d never been to her aunt’s house before, but I knew where it was. The way it turned out, though, I didn’t need to know, because when I came to the high street, I saw Kim standing near the corner, watching the adults clearing up the mess.

  ‘What about all that last night?’ she asked as soon as I was beside her. ‘Fancy those bombs coming so close. The village is in a right state.’

  ‘You should see our kitchen; the roof nearly fell in,’ I exaggerated. The fear from last night was all gone. Now, in daylight and under a clear sky, everything was exciting again.

  ‘I’ll bet it’s nothing like this.’

  ‘Mr Bennett said it was just a few broken windows,’ I said, feeling both annoyed and relieved about missing what had happened here.

  ‘Well, it’s a bit more than that. All the shop windows are smashed and the street’s covered in glass. There’s a few houses have lost all the slates from the roofs, like they just slipped off. And there’s places all along the beach where bombs have exploded. You should see it.’

  ‘You think Erik’s all right?’ I asked.

  Kim’s expression became serious. ‘The bombs didn’t go over there,’ she said.

  ‘I bet he’s scared, though. Can you imagine? We should go and check on him.’

  ‘We will,’ Kim agreed. ‘Come and have a look here first, though. We’re right here, and you don’t want to miss out.’

  So we went onto the high street and witnessed the destruction caused by bombs falling so close to the village. Kim had been right about the windows. The front of Mr Shaw’s shop was a jagged mess, and there was a large pile of glass lying on the pavement right in front of it where someone had started to tidy up. The green-grocer’s, the baker’s, the post office, all the shopfronts were smashed, even though brown paper strips had been gummed across them to stop them from shattering. A lot of the chunks were still stuck together in strings, almost like Christmas decorations, broken pieces hanging loose, but that was all the strips had done. In fact, there was hardly a window on the high street that wasn’t at least cracked. And there were pieces of roof tiles everywhere.

  ‘Did anything actually get hit?’ I asked, looking around at all the people who were helping to tidy up. ‘Houses, I mean?’

  There were at least half a dozen men from the Home Guard, in uniform, sweeping the road and collecting debris in coal shovels. Mr Charlton, the pub landlord, was there, decked out in his blue overalls and black tin hat with a white W on the front of it. Mrs Charlton was standing beside him, wearing similar overalls, but her helmet had ARP painted on it. It looked like they were arguing about something, which wasn’t a big surprise because they were always arguing, and most people said she should be the warden, she was so bossy.

  There were proper soldiers there, too, come from their billet at Bennett Hall to help clear away the mess while Sergeant Wilkes strutted around making sure they were following orders. A large brown horse stood in the middle of the street, harnessed to an open cart, and the men were throwing the rubbish into that. The horse didn’t seem at all bothered by what was happening.

  ‘I don’t think there were any direct hits.’ Kim surveyed the activity as if she hadn’t already seen it. ‘But there’s a right old mess. Pretty scary though, eh? Last night.’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘We were all squashed into the shelter like sardines,’ she said. ‘The Higginses next door haven’t got one, so they all came in too.’

  We walked along the high street, heading towards the beach, and when we came past the green and over the path, I could see the mess of tangled barbed wire and the giant holes in the sand where the bombs had struck.

  ‘They really were close,’ I said.

  ‘As if they were trying to hit us,’ Kim agreed.

  And for a while we stood in silence looking at the damage. The grey sea continued to break on the beach as if nothing had happened. Just off shore, a gull moved in the wind, its wings held out.

  Kim sat on the grass and I looked down at her. ‘We
should go and see Erik now,’ I said.

  ‘This might be a good time to get supplies.’

  I sat down beside her. ‘What kind of supplies?’

  ‘I saw your Doctor Jacobs helping to clear up. He had his bag with him.’ Kim turned to me, the breeze rustling her hair. ‘Maybe we could get some bandages or something.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We could pretend we got hurt. He’d have to look at us and, while his back’s turned, we could take something from his bag.’

  ‘You mean steal it?’

  ‘Erik needs it,’ Kim argued. ‘He’s our friend and we have to look after him.’

  ‘Aye, but—’

  ‘If we don’t change the bandage it could get infected.’

  ‘Hmm . . .’

  ‘Listen.’ Kim turned to face me. Her legs were crossed and her knees just touched my thigh. ‘We could go and help for a little bit – clearing up – and then I could pretend I hurt myself. When the doctor’s looking at me, you can take something from his bag. It’ll be easy.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘What if we get caught, like? Me mam would kill us if she found out. And Doctor Jacobs is so nice, and—’

  ‘Please, Peter.’ Kim put her hand on mine. ‘We have to do it for Erik. He needs us.’

  I looked down at her hand and sighed. ‘Hurt how, though? It would have to be good.’

  Kim screwed up her face, thinking about it. ‘A cut, maybe.’

  ‘There’d have to be blood for that.’

  Her shoulders sagged. ‘Maybe just a sprain or something, then.’

  ‘A sprain?’ I shook my head. ‘That wouldn’t work.’ And then I had an idea. I took my penknife from my pocket and opened the blade. ‘I could cut meself with this. It’s sharp, so it wouldn’t hurt.’

  Kim looked a little unsure.

  ‘I’ll do it now.’ I put the blade against my palm. ‘I’ll say I cut it on a spelk of glass.’

  ‘I’m not sure, Peter.’

  And I wasn’t sure either. I didn’t know how much it would hurt or how much blood there would be. But something made me do it. Perhaps it was the look on Kim’s face. There was something like fear in her eyes, but there was a twinkle there, too. A kind of awe that I would do it, and I knew she’d be impressed if I did.