by Mary Gibson
But she couldn’t wait. She heaved at the fire surround. It moved an inch. ‘Hang on, Peggy, I’m coming!’ she screamed at the ruined stones of what had once been her home. ‘Stay with me, Peggy! I’m here!’
Tears were blinding her as she strained at the black lead grate, then bracing her feet against the massive beam, she inched the fireplace down the slope, pausing only to brush the stinging tears away. With the grate out of the way, she began scrabbling at the hundreds of red bricks, shoving and tossing them till she had the beginnings of a tunnel. She was aware of more crewmen surrounding her and the crane being lowered, hooked around the beam, lifted up. But as the beam rose into the air, a pile of bricks trickled down like sand in a giant hourglass and another scream tore up from beneath her feet. May darted forward.
‘No! Come away, love, you can’t do any more here and your dad needs you,’ the crewman said. ‘Let the crane do the work here, eh?’
*
A light was making its way through the blackout curtains. ‘Put that light out!’ her dad would have said. They weren’t curtains, Peggy knew that. But she had no words to describe them, hard, cold, crushing. Curtains of stone, brick and cement, they were letting in chinks of light. The dark was better. In the dark, she could cease to struggle. It was almost soothing to listen to the steady dripping of her lifeblood. There was no breaking out of this cocoon anyway; she had tried before. George had kept her bound and straitjacketed, just like this, and she’d thought to escape once, but no, it was useless. She closed her eyes and drifted back into the darkness.
‘Peggy, stay with me! I’m here!’ A voice woke her; she knew that voice.
‘Harry!’ She opened her eyes to the light and it blossomed out like a flower, petal by petal of radiance, and gazing from its luminous centre, a pair of bright eyes. Startling blue, just like Harry’s. Then he was walking towards her, looking healthy and bronzed from the African sun, smiling, laughing, as if surprised to see her. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. ‘Shouldn’t you be at home, with our Pearl and Jack?’
‘I know, I just wanted to see you before I go and fetch them. Will you be here when I get back?’ she asked, and he took her by the shoulders, kissing her tenderly. ‘I’m always here, Peggy.’
*
May stumbled to one side, her hands clasped in unconscious prayer, looking round to see the two crewmen easing her father out and lowering him on to the stretcher. She ran to him and grasped his hand. ‘You’ll be all right now, Dad.’ And she felt a feeble squeeze from him in response. His eyes fluttered open. ‘Peggy – is she all right?’
‘Yes… she’s fine, Dad.’
‘Thank God. And what about me roof, is me new roof all right?’
‘Yes, Dad, the roof’s fine.’
‘That’s all right then. So long as you’ve all got a roof over your heads.’
Speaking seemed to exhaust him and he fell back on the stretcher. But as he was being put into the ambulance, he lifted his head again.
‘I’m so proud of you, my little homing pigeon… the further you fly…’
But the driver had slammed the ambulance door and she never heard the rest.
‘We’ll take him to St Olave’s, love,’ the driver said, before speeding off.
She watched the ambulance weave its way, siren blaring, towards Jamaica Road and then she turned back to the house. She hadn’t lied. The roof was miraculously intact. It was just everything else that was ruined. The crane lifted beams and copings, the kitchen stove, as with agonizing slowness, each heavy obstacle came swinging overhead and the men formed a chain of grim efficiency, excavating, brick by brick, the tunnel to Peggy which May had begun.
‘Gas!’ a crewman shouted. ‘Get all those people out of it!’
A Pioneer brigade sergeant plucked at her arm, pulling her further away from the house. It was only then that she noticed her grandparents. Babs must have got them through as well. Her grandfather looked ancient, and shrivelled somehow. But Granny Byron stood ramrod straight, two hands clutching her outsized handbag, holding it in front of her like Britannia’s shield. Her feathered hat and black coat were dusted with ash. May went to stand between her grandparents.
‘All right, love?’ her grandmother asked.
‘I don’t know if they can reach her, Nan. She sounded so far away.’
‘They’ll get her out. She’s got no choice but come back.’ The old lady’s stare was unwavering. ‘It’s not her time.’
May prayed her grandmother was right and silently followed every move of the repair crew, trying to interpret each shout or command.
‘D’ye get away from camp all right? Did they give you compassionate?’ Her grandfather’s voice broke her focus.
‘No, Granddad, they wouldn’t give me leave.’
‘You done a runner?’
She gave a brief nod and her grandfather gave a low whistle. ‘Chip off the old block,’ he said, putting his arm round her shoulders.
Just then a shout came from one of the rescue crew. ‘Got her!’
The others gathered round, bending low, some on their knees, hands reaching out to support Peggy as she emerged, soft and vulnerable, from her chrysalis of stone.
*
Babs got them transport to St Olave’s Hospital, where May tried to find news of her father, and after an hour’s wait they were able to get the attention of a harassed-looking nurse. ‘I’ll take you to see him,’ she said, after checking their names. The injured had been brought to a makeshift basement ward, where beds were packed together in rows of three. The nurse led them to a screened-off bed at the end of the ward, and as she pulled aside the curtain, May saw her father, lying quite still.
‘I’m terribly sorry, my dear,’ the nurse said.
‘Oh no! Has he gone?’
‘His injuries were too great, I’m afraid. He died on the way here. I’ll leave you with him.’
May could feel Granny Byron holding her tightly, keeping her upright, leading her towards the bed.
‘I’m sorry, Dad, I should’ve stayed home with you. You never wanted me to go away, did you?’ She fell on to his chest, longing for one last word from him, wishing she had been at home with him and finding no comfort in her grandmother’s words.
‘You couldn’t have done nothing if you’d been here, love. You’d have just been under the rubble with the two of them. He’s at peace now,’ Granny Byron said, and May wanted to shout that there was no peace for either the dead or the living, not while this war dragged on year after year, robbing them of all that was dear, all that made life worth living.
Eventually her grandparents took her arms and between the two of them half-dragged her from the ward.
Peggy had not woken up, they said. The doctor wouldn’t let them see her; they would have to give it time.
As they were returning to her grandparents’ flat, it struck May that her mother didn’t know.
‘What about Mum?’ she asked her grandmother.
‘Grandad’ll telephone the major. You’re not to worry.’
They turned the corner into Dix’s Place and May saw the backs of two MPs disappearing towards the end of the buildings. May was so tired she could barely walk, let alone even think about running.
But her grandfather seemed unfazed. ‘Ne’ mind about them, gel. Your grandmother can deal with the police.’
‘I’ve certainly done it often enough for you, you old villain.’ She kissed May on the cheek. ‘I’m sorry you can’t stay with me tonight, darlin’. But you be brave and I’ll see you tomorrow. He’ll look after you.’
Her grandfather seemed suddenly energized. ‘I might not be much of a grandad, but one thing I’m good at is keeping ten steps ahead of the Old Bill.’
‘You’ve always been good at running and I’ve always been good at hiding, so we should do all right between us, eh, Grandad?’
He rubbed his thin-skinned hands together and said, ‘We’ll have them chasing after their arses for a few days at least. Come
on.’
He steered her towards the Harris’s flat. Emmy’s mother took one look at them and swung the door wide open. Once inside, May let her grandfather explain.
‘’Course you can stay here, sweetheart. I’m so sorry to hear about your dad and Peggy. The bloody army, run you ragged and can’t even give you a day off compassionate. I told you and my Emmy not to join up, didn’t I?’
May didn’t have the energy to argue. Her father’s pale, statue-like face was all that she could see, her only consolation his last words, that he had been proud of her.
Before her grandfather left, she asked him to make sure Mrs Gilbie knew what had happened. ‘And ask her if she wouldn’t mind keeping Pearl, just till we know about Peggy. And do you think Mum will come home?’
‘Don’t you get yourself in a two and eight, me and your nan’ll sort all that out. You just get yerself some kip.’
She hadn’t been aware till now of her own injuries, but Mrs Harris insisted on cleaning up her ripped hands. She must have kneeled in glass, for her khaki stockings were caked with blood. Once her wounds were cleaned and bandaged, the woman put her in Emmy’s bed, which she shared with Emmy’s sister. In the night May woke briefly to the comfort of another body close by, though the girl snored worse than her father, making the thin walls tremble, with a noise like a coughing motorcycle – the sound of a doodlebug. As May drifted back to sleep, she heard the four-finned bomb tearing past the bed, a flash of flame spurting from its rear, and she wasn’t sure if she were dreaming or if she’d simply woken to the nightmare of another day of Vengeance weapons.
This was only the first of her hiding places. In the following days her grandfather’s string of bolt-holes was put to good use, as each night he moved her to what he called a ‘fresh crib’. The first two MPs had indeed been dealt with by Granny Byron, who’d kept them talking for half an hour and then sent them off to May’s Uncle Jim in Blackheath. The family saw very little of him, so May could only imagine his surprise when two MPs knocked on his door. But her grandfather assured her they would be back, so he moved her to a place she never thought to see again. Her second night was spent in the little palace on the Purbrook.
It seemed Grandad Byron had persuaded George Flint that the needs of his estranged wife’s family came before his own, and though May did wonder where her brother-in-law was spending the night, she was glad to have the flat to herself. She could do without George’s wheezy presence reminding her of Peggy’s doomed bid for a new life.
But the little palace was looking the worse for wear since Peggy’s eviction and, from the sparse, untended look of the place, George’s fortunes must have taken a turn for the worse too. Next morning May realized why, when, hunting around for a clean cup in the kitchen, she came across a quantity of empty whiskey bottles. George was obviously drinking away his contraband instead of selling it on.
When a knock came on the front door, she froze. It could be George, or it could be the MPs, and she didn’t want to see either. She squatted down under the sink, so that she couldn’t be seen through the kitchen windows. She heard a tapping on the window. ‘It’s me, open up!’
She breathed a sigh of relief. It was Granny Byron and she had Mrs Lloyd with her. May put her arms round her mother, who smelled of train smoke and lavender; the hankie she was clutching must have been laid on a bag of it. As she pulled back, May saw that she had powdered her face to hide the bruised rings beneath her eyes.
‘I’m so sorry, Mum.’ She didn’t feel she had strength to carry her mother through another swamp of grief. Her mother shook her head and said, ‘He wanted to protect our home, that’s why he stuck it out here. He died in the place he loved.’
Now May understood that her mother had discovered her own comfort and strength. She wouldn’t fade away again.
‘Oh my gawd, this is a shithole!’ Granny Byron was pulling her finger across the greasy tabletop. ‘And it stinks to high heaven of booze. George’s gone to pieces since Peggy left him. I never could see why you liked him, Carrie,’ she said to May’s mother. ‘He’s a cold bastard. Anyway, I’ve brought you some civvies, May. Mrs Harris give me some of her daughter’s. I think you’ll be all right to come to the hospital today. I give them MPs so many addresses they don’t know if they’re coming or going.’
Her mother looked surprised. ‘MPs?’
May took the clothes. ‘Thanks, Nan. I’ll get changed.’
She heard her grandmother’s whispered explanation as she dressed and wondered how long she’d be able to evade capture. Long enough to bury her father? Long enough to see her sister come back to life? But her ability to predict the future seemed to have deserted her.
May had expected her mother to berate her for absconding, but there was an imperturbability about her that was quite new, as though she had surrendered to all the tides of life and now was floating wherever it took her. She had accepted everything.
‘Your family comes first, May. What you fighting for if not that?’ Was her mother’s response when May emerged from the bedroom.
It was a shock to hear her meek mother say such a thing, and now she wondered if some of her grandparents’ rebellious spirits had made their way into her conventional mother’s blood after all.
But at the hospital, as the women kept vigil for hours at Peggy’s bedside, Mrs Lloyd’s strength finally gave way and, nearly fainting from weariness and hunger, she let Granny Byron whisk her off to a nearby café, leaving May to watch. She drew closer to the bed and took her sister’s hand, willing her back into the world. And it was as if Peggy had waited to be alone with her sister, for at that moment her eyelids fluttered. She woke and smiled. ‘I saw Harry, and he’s all right.’
‘Peggy! You saw Harry?’
Her sister nodded. ‘He sent me back for the kids.’ She winced and tried to sit up. ‘I saw Dad too.’
May patted her hand, glad to feel its warmth and aliveness and not wanting to talk about her father.
‘He told me to tell you… ow!’ Her face creased with pain and she sank back.
‘Don’t try and speak, love, just rest.’
‘No, he wants you to know something. He said, tell May the further you fly, the nearer you get to home.’
‘Did he say that, love?’ She let her tears fall on to the warm hands that she clasped in her own. ‘That’s so lovely, Peggy, but Dad…’
‘I know,’ Peggy said, before closing her eyes and falling into a calm sleep.
Once May had assured herself that Peggy was finally out of danger she set her mind to her own future. That night her grandfather found her another hiding place, a room above a pub in the Blue. But when he began discussing plans to get her out of London the next day, she stopped him. ‘I’m going back tomorrow, Grandad.’
He stared at her incredulously. ‘What d’ye want to do that for, you dozy mare?’
‘Because I can’t spend my life hiding away.
*
She walked back into the camp in Barkingside four days after leaving it and found her sergeant.
‘Where the fuck have you been, Lloyd?’ he said when she presented herself to him. He was in the NAAFI, enjoying a well-earned sausage sandwich and a jar of tea, the mugs having all run out.
‘Home, Sarge.’
‘Home, Sarge! I know you’ve been home – I mean where the fuck have you been?’
May realized she needed to put it another way. ‘A V-1 buried my dad and sister. Dad died.’
‘I’m sorry about your dad, Lloyd.’ His broad flat face softened. ‘Sit down.’ His fat fingers pushed the jar of tea towards her. ‘And drink that.’
She did as she was told. She felt calm, knowing that she had done what she needed to.
‘Now listen to me, Lloyd. When I take you to the CO, you let me do the talking. You keep shtum. I need them fucking cat’s eyes and that nose of yours sniffing out these bastard buzz bombs. And whatever you’ve got to say, the CO don’t want to hear, right? Anything to do with my gunner girls, h
e hears from me!’
He led her first to the barrack hut to smarten herself up, then quick-marched her into the CO’s office. After a minute’s interview with the CO he came out, roaring at her, ‘Quick march!’ And as she stood before the CO, he announced: ‘W271932. Acting Sergeant Lloyd. Absent without leave, sir!’
The CO turned his long face towards her. ‘These charges are very serious, Lloyd. Very serious indeed. What have you to say for yourself?’
May saw the sergeant raise an eyebrow. ‘Nothing, sir.’
‘Exactly so, Lloyd. Nothing you can say to alleviate the gravity of the offence. I think I explained when you requested compassionate leave there were to be no exceptions and you directly disobeyed my order.’
He gave a swift look in the direction of the sergeant, who was staring over May’s head.
‘Your sergeant is of the opinion that you are needed in the defence against these latest weapons and so you are to be stripped of your stripes. You will forfeit two weeks’ pay and in addition to your usual duties, you will be on ablution fatigues for one month. Needless to say, you will not be granted leave for the foreseeable future. Dismissed.’
‘Quick march!’ The sergeant hustled her out of the room before the words were out of the captain’s mouth, and he didn’t come to a halt until they were back at the barrack hut.
‘Thanks, Sarge,’ she said, wanting to hug his pigeon-chested frame, but standing to attention lest he change his mind and march her back to the CO.
‘Don’t thank me, Lloyd, not till after you’ve cleaned out the carseys. On the double!’ he roared.
‘Yes, Sarge!’ she said, turning on her heel.
‘And get yourself on post tonight, two hundred hours!’
When the girls found her she was on her knees, scrubbing the toilet-block floor, with tears streaming down her face. Emmy kneeled down and held her. She more than anyone knew that all the words in the world would make no difference to May now. But they each came and sat beside her, on the cold damp floor smelling of disinfectant and bleach, gradually coaxing the story from her, so that it was her own words that gave her the most comfort.