by Carol Rivers
Pat gestured to the pretty black-haired child sitting at the table. ‘This is the culprit, Doris, my daughter.’
Connie smiled at the little girl. ‘How old is she?’
‘Nearly two.’ Pat continued to bounce the baby on her knee as Connie ate her breakfast.
‘Vic says you don’t know who the dead mother was?’ Gran asked when Connie had finished and Pat had returned the baby.
‘Not her name. She looked very young though.’
‘What were you doing out in the raid?’
‘Looking for my brother,’ Connie improvised. ‘Mum was worried about him.’
‘You know, it’s almost as if that baby recognizes you,’ Pat said, changing the subject.
‘Is he really smiling or is it just wind?’
‘That’s a real smile, that is, a winner. What are you going to do with him?’
‘Take him to the authorities I suppose.’
‘Why not wait till Vic makes some enquiries,’ Pat murmured thoughtfully. ‘Seems a shame to give him to someone strange. I expect they’d put him in an orphanage.’
‘Would they?’
‘That’s where all the waifs and strays go. Why don’t you keep him for a while?’
‘But I don’t know anything about babies.’
‘It’s dead easy. They just eat and sleep.’
Connie realized her two fingers were locked in a strong little grasp. She felt that tummy-twirl again and held him closer. ‘I’ll have to ask Mum.’
‘I’ll give you some of Doris’s cast-offs. A couple of gowns and vests and another matinée jacket. I’ll wash out his old clothes and let you have them back when they’re dry. As for nappies, I’ve got three or four I could lend you for the time being.’
‘Are you sure you can spare them?’
‘Dorrie’s nearly potty trained. You can have the bottle, but look after the teat. Rubber’s almost impossible to find these days. And I’m afraid I haven’t got any rubber knickers at all. I’ll put them all in Gran’s shopping basket and you can take them with you.’
‘Won’t Doris want her bottle?’
Pat grinned. ‘As you can see, she’s eating for England now and doesn’t really need a bottle. It’s just a comforter, that’s all.’
‘I hope the baby’s appetite is as good as hers.’ Connie sighed as she remembered the way he wouldn’t feed at first.
‘Try a teaspoon of mashed up or strained food. Just a little at a time. He seems in the peak of health and whoever took care of him obviously loved him.’
For a moment the three women were silent. Then Gran spoke. ‘The Salvation Army are a good bet too,’ she said as she adjusted the wide straps of her crossover pinny. ‘They are always ready to help anyone in distress.’
They all looked at the baby. Connie stroked his little chin with her finger. He beamed the biggest smile in her direction. She felt proud, as if he were her own baby, which was daft. But Connie knew she wasn’t going to be in any hurry to hand the baby over to anyone – least of all the authorities. The relatives, of course, were a different proposition.
Connie would never forget that Sunday morning as she made her way back to Kettle Street. Instead of people walking to church in their Sunday best, the scenes of devastation were everywhere. No one had expected the intense bombing and the docks had suffered badly. Many houses like those in Haverick Street had fallen, reduced to smoking piles of rubble, whilst their next door neighbours stood intact. Women and children were queuing at standpipes for water and firemen and rescue workers were out in force.
The worst sight was those who’d lost family or friends and were staring with dazed eyes into the ruins. She saw Mr Jackson, his normal role as postman now set aside as he helped to clear the obstructing masonry. The first-aiders were gallantly struggling with the chaos and had provided shelters for the walking wounded. Ambulances negotiated the debris with care.
Connie went the long way round. She felt too upset to revisit the place where the baby’s mother had died. Instead she walked along Manchester Road and up to the Mudchute. The soldiers, dressed in their greatcoats and heavy boots, were repairing the battery’s wooden huts. She hoped no one had suffered there, and as one of them caught her eye and winked cheekily, she smiled back, admiring their bravery.
As she walked on, she wondered what she would find when she came to Kettle Street. Was the house still standing? Were Mum and Dad and safe? And Kev and his girlfriend, Sylvie? What had happened to Billy during the night?
‘You can’t go that way, love,’ a man shouted. ‘The whole block has gone, including the butcher’s and a sweet shop.’
The gravity of his words brought back the moment last night when she had looked into the girl’s eyes. She had witnessed a human life extinguishing without being able to prevent it. War was a terrible thing. Why did it have to happen to innocent people?
Then, as the baby murmured softly and she gazed into the beautiful dark eyes that she thought, in daylight, might be turning blue, her spirits lifted. A moment later, she was hurrying home. As her footsteps quickened, she vowed she would never take her family for granted. And Billy was no exception. She couldn’t wait to see them all again.
Chapter Three
Nan Barnes spread out her long arms and hugged Connie tight. She only realized there was a baby between them when she heard a gurgle at her breast. A big boned woman, tall and loud, her gasp was audible. ‘Blimey, look at this! Is it real?’
Connie nodded, trying to glance over her neighbour’s broad shoulder down the length of the street.
‘What is it, boy or girl?’
‘A boy.’
‘What’s his name?’
Connie hesitated. She hadn’t thought about his name, which posed somewhat of a problem. She couldn’t just refer to him as the baby all the time. ‘I don’t know, Nan. His home was bombed and he survived, but he was the only one in the house that did.’
‘Poor little beggar.’ Nan cooed at the baby, her big lips pursed together under her paisley headscarf. ‘Number fifty-six along the road copped a direct hit,’ she told Connie rapidly. ‘Luckily the Coles weren’t there, but staying with their relatives in Wales. Now, I saw yer Dad mending your door this morning, or at least attempting to. Tell him to give Lofty a shout if he wants any help. Ebbie ain’t exactly nimble with his fingers, is he?’
Connie was so relieved to hear her parents were safe that she ignored Nan’s tactless comments and hurried on. The Coles’ house was a terrible sight with its blackened rafters still smouldering and the debris spilling on to the pavement. But Mrs Spinks from next door waved from the upstairs window and seemed none the worse for wear.
‘Connie!’ yelled her dad, dropping his hammer on the floor with a clatter when he saw her. ‘Thank God you’re safe, love!’
She melted into his open arms. He hugged her, squashing the baby between them.
They were both tearful and Connie swallowed. ‘Oh, Dad, what a night! I’m so pleased to see you.’
‘Where have you been? You wasn’t in the Anderson when your mother got back from the shelter this morning. She thought you and Billy would be waiting for her.’
‘It’s a long story, Dad.’ She hoped that Billy would turn up quickly this morning and put everyone’s mind at rest.
Her dad lowered his bright blue eyes to the bundle she was carrying. ‘What, or rather who, is this?’
Connie placed the baby gently in her father’s arms. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when we go inside.’
Ebbie Marsh gazed down at the child in his arms. Connie watched in silence as her father bent his head, displaying a thick cluster of straw-coloured hair identical in colouring to her own. ‘My, my, there’s a big smile to brighten my day.’ He looked up at his daughter. ‘Your mother is going to be relieved to see you walk in that door, Con.’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘Well, walk over it anyway.’
As Connie went in Olive Marsh raced out of the kitchen. ‘Constance! Where on earth have you been
? I was so worried!’ As usual, her appearance was immaculate, Connie noted as she embraced her mother, hugging the slim, slightly stiff shoulders covered in a smart green blouse. Not a hair was out of place, the glossy brown pleat at the back of her head secured by an army of pins. ‘I would never have asked you to look for your brother if I’d known what was ahead of us.’
‘He’ll be home soon,’ Connie replied and, before her mother could ask more, she nodded to the bundle in her father’s arms. ‘Look what I found.’
‘A baby? You found a baby?’
‘Yes, a little boy.’
‘When? Where?’
‘Last night, as I was . . . er . . . looking for Billy,’ she fibbed. ‘Some houses had been hit in Haverick Street. I found this poor girl in the ruins, but she was trapped and before I could help her, she died.’
Olive gasped. Her father frowned. ‘And this baby survived?’
Connie nodded. ‘Goodness knows how. He was shut in a coal scuttle under a table. A warden came along and helped to dig him out. Well, he’s only a temporary warden, a boy I knew at school called Vic Champion. Luckily his gran lives just round the corner and we had to run with the baby and take shelter there. This morning Vic’s gran and his sister Pat gave me breakfast,’ she ended breathlessly.
‘Vic Champion?’ her father repeated. ‘I remember him! He stood out, that lad did. Smashing little footballer. Faster than all the rest of the lads put together. He could dribble a ball like no one’s business.’
‘Yes, yes,’ nodded his wife impatiently, ‘but what happened to your brother, Constance?’
‘You know our Billy, Mum.’ Connie shrugged lightly. ‘He was off with some pal when the warning went.’
‘I’ll bet it was with that Joey Donelly!’ her mother exclaimed. ‘Messing about on the river again. One day he’ll fall in, I know he will. I’ve forbidden him to go near those barges yet he still does exactly as he likes. Ebbie, you’re going to have to put your foot down with your son, and that’s a fact.’
‘Calm down now, love,’ her husband soothed. ‘It was pandemonium yesterday. None of us knew what we was doing, especially as you insisted on going to the public shelter when I’d set up the Anderson especially.’
‘That contraption is a death trap,’ Olive Marsh pronounced shortly. ‘How you can stand there and advise your family to use it, I really don’t know.’
‘Is there a cup of tea going?’ Connie broke in as she took the baby from her father. He gave her a wink.
‘Of course.’ Her mother nodded. ‘Go in the front room and sit yourself down. Dad’s made a fire and lit the paraffin stove. There’s a kettle on top of it, heating slowly, but it should be boiled soon. We’ve no gas and the water’s turned off, but I remembered to fill the kettle and two saucepans before I left yesterday.’ She frowned at the baby. ‘Does that poor child need feeding?’
Connie nodded. ‘I expect so. Vic’s sister, Pat, has a little girl called Doris and Pat gave me her bottle to use and some clothes to borrow. They’re all in this shopping basket.’
‘In that case, we’d better get cracking,’ Olive decided, taking Gran’s basket and hurrying off to the kitchen.
‘What are you going to do with the boy?’ Ebbie asked as he accompanied his daughter into the front room.
‘I don’t really know, Dad.’ Connie sank into the big fireside chair and was immediately enveloped by warmth. As one who was used to her full eight hours sleep, she was feeling the lack of it now. ‘I’ll have to ask Mum.’
‘Did you see what happened to the Coles’ house?’ her father asked as he sat on the couch and rolled a cigarette. ‘Lucky they were away.’
Connie nodded sadly. ‘There was a whole street sealed off as I walked home.’
‘Saint Cuthbert’s took one, you know.’
‘Oh dear. Whatever will the congregation do now?’
‘It’s anyone’s guess.’ He paused. ‘Nan Barnes told your mother the Islanders was bombed too. I shan’t be going down there for a quick one at the weekend, will I? And Surrey Docks was alight from end to end. The coast and the city took the brunt of the bombing this summer, but nothing like the inferno of the docks tonight.’ He inhaled deeply, lifting his head to blow out a slow stream of smoke. ‘Looks like we’re in for a repeat performance tonight.’
‘P’raps it won’t be as bad,’ Connie said optimistically.
Her father shook his head woefully. ‘You’d have thought the devils would have caught their breath after nabbing Poland, then invading France and her neighbours. But oh no, they annihilated us at Dunkirk, then gave our RAF lads hell in the air over Britain. Now we’re told to expect them on the beaches, or sailing up the river!’
‘We’d never let them land, Dad!’ Connie stared at her father, who looked very tired. Even his sprinkling of chocolate freckles did little to lift his fair, slightly grey skin.
‘No, we’d give them a run for their money, all right.’
Connie felt a shiver of dismay. Was there really a chance that Britain would be invaded? There were always threats and rumours abounding, but so many had been circulating since the beginning of war twelve months ago that the fear of invasion had receded. Now last night’s activity had changed the picture again.
‘Did you have a bad night, Dad?’
He nodded. ‘Couldn’t keep up with the fires. Those incendiaries were everywhere. The Luftwaffe just followed their path, dropping bombs all over the place, and the balloons never seemed to make a difference.’
Olive walked in and lowered a tray on to the table. ‘Drink up whilst it’s hot, you two, we can’t afford to waste tea, no matter how weak it is.’
Ebbie held out his arms. ‘Give him to me, Connie. I’ll hold whilst you pour, love.’
‘Don’t you go getting broody now,’ his wife warned him sternly. ‘You’re a pushover when it comes to kids. You’d have another one tomorrow if it was humanly possible.’
‘Yeah, well thank the Lord it’s not,’ he muttered as the baby brought up a loud burp, his bald head wobbling on his shoulders. ‘That’s it, kiddo, better up than down. Wish I could do the same, but I’d get a right chewing off if I did.’
‘Manners maketh man,’ Olive agreed swiftly. ‘Start as you mean to go on, that’s what my moth—’ Her mouth fell open as she stared at the door. ‘Billy! Oh my God, look at the state of you!’
Connie turned to see her brother framed in the doorway. His jacket and trousers were unrecognizable under the stains of what looked like oil and grease. His boots and socks were caked in mud, but he had a smile on his face that was dazzling.
‘Mrs Spinks said I could borrow this.’ Billy lifted a bucket, talking as if he was carrying on a conversation from five minutes ago. ‘She was up by the standpipe and said she thought I needed a wash more than she did.’
‘Too right you do, son.’ Ebbie nodded, wrinkling his nose at the smell drifting into the room.
‘You’re filthy,’ Olive wailed. ‘Oh, Billy, you’ve been on them barges, I knew it!’
Connie leaped up from her comfortable seat. ‘Don’t say a word,’ she whispered as she grabbed the bucket from his hand. ‘I’ll get him scrubbed up, Mum,’ she called brightly. ‘Keep the tea warm for us.’
Pulling Billy with her, Connie hurried to the downstairs bathroom. She blessed the day three years ago, when the council had seen fit to install one in the house. It was nothing fancy, but the large white bath and basin were accompanied by a real flushing system, not like the smelly old toilet they’d used for years in the backyard. The rabbit-sized rats that it attracted had overwhelmed the district and after an outbreak of several unpleasant diseases all the property maintained by the council had been converted. The bathroom was unheated, freezing in winter, and the iron window frames were already rusting. But it was the one room in the house that afforded a degree of privacy. Connie slid the bolt on the door as Billy began to peel off his clothes.
‘You gonna scrub me back, then?’ Billy laughed as she tipp
ed the cold water in the basin
‘I just wanted to tell you what I said to Mum about last night,’ Connie replied crossly as she gathered the filthy garments.
‘What was that then?’ Billy sank his head into the water, splashing it noisily over himself.
‘I said you went off with a mate. She thinks you’ve been down the river on the barges with Joey Donelly. So I should keep to that story if I were you.’
‘Thanks, sis.’ Billy rubbed the bar of Puritan soap vigorously over his stick-like arms and skinny chest.
‘So what happened, then?’ Connie demanded, annoyed at his apparent indifference.
‘When?’
‘When do you think? When you ran off and left me.’
‘Con, I had to get rid of that motor.’
‘For your information I found a girl under all that rubble.’
He stopped drying himself on the thin towel and stared at her. ‘You mean there was someone there?’
‘She was . . .’ Connie felt tears rush to her eyes. ‘I couldn’t help her. It was too late . . .’
‘Oh, Con,’ Billy murmured, putting his wet arm around her. ‘I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have buggered off if I’d known that.’
Connie shook him off. She sniffed back the tears. ‘Well, excuse me, Billy Marsh, but I find that hard to believe. Thanks to you, her baby could have been overlooked. If it hadn’t been for a friend of mine helping me to search, he’d probably be dead by now too.’
‘You mean little Baldy sitting on Dad’s lap? I wondered where it turned up from.’ Billy stood shivering in his underpants. ‘So who’s this friend of yours then?’
‘Just a friend, that’s all. Now, what happened to the car?’
‘I ditched it.’
‘But you can’t drive.’
‘That was the least of me worries. There was no one around so I let off the hand brake and pushed it to the first bit of high water I found. What happened next was the iffy part. Jerry suddenly appeared and the wharf went up like a powder keg. I was blown in the water, right on top of the car. Honest, Con, it was like a bog, all oil and burning wood, and it stank of petrol. That’s what you can smell on me clothes. Somehow I got myself out.’