by Peggy Savage
What a mess, Nora thought. What a heart-breaking mess. The children had their gas-masks slung over their shoulders, carried battered cases or bags for their little possessions, and a teddy bear, a doll. The little ones had labels with their names and home addresses; just, Nora thought, like little abandoned parcels, being posted God knows where. She had never imagined in all her life that she would see scenes like this.
Am I doing the right thing, she thought? She looked around her, really, really frightened. The bombs didn’t seem real – not yet – but these dreadful scenes, frightened children, sobbing mothers, these were real and terrible. It’s Hell, she thought, Hell come to earth, families torn apart, children leaving. But anything – anything – was better than Sara being hurt.
Sara looked up at her mother’s distraught face and knew that she would have to go. She flung her arms around her. ‘Oh Mum!’
Nora hugged her, holding her tight. ‘Fill in that post card right away and let us know where you are. And write to me. I’ll come and see you. I promise.’ Sara nodded miserably. ‘Help the little ones if you can.’ She watched Sara disappear into the maelstrom, her satchel and gas-mask over her shoulder, her little case in her hand. The satchel dragged her shoulder down – books, books. She turned away in despair.
Amy had been at the station since early morning, just waiting in case she was needed. So far she’d treated a couple of grazed knees and a mother who had fainted. She was surprised that more of them hadn’t fainted. It was unspeakably stressful. Those little five-year-olds would break your heart, whole classes together with their teachers, most of them looking around for their mothers.
She saw Nora across the heads of the children, and saw her distress. She made her way to her through the throng. ‘Mrs Lewis, isn’t it?’
Nora was startled. ‘Oh, Doctor Fielding.’ She paused, and took a deep breath. ‘I’ve just been saying goodbye to my Sara.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Amy said. ‘It must be terrible for you.’
Nora was crying, blinking, trying to hide it. ‘I expect it’s worse if you’ve got really little ones.’
‘Sara sounds like a sensible girl,’ Amy said. ‘She’ll be all right, I’m sure.’
‘She’s mad at me,’ Nora said. ‘She didn’t want to leave her school. She wants to be a doctor – I told you, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, I remember,’ Amy said. ‘Did she get the Gray’s Anatomy?’
Nora nodded. ‘She’s taken a bit of it with her.’
A train pulled out of the station, steaming and clanking, and the platform began to clear a little. Nora began to shake. Her face drained.
‘Come to the tea room with me,’ Amy said, ‘and have a cup of tea. I could do with one myself.’ She spoke to one of the green-clad ladies to tell her where she would be if she were needed.
They walked along the platform to the tea room and Nora sat down shakily at one of the small wooden tables. It was cluttered and messy with used cups and saucers. Amy ordered tea at the counter. She watched as Nora got up to clear the table, carrying the used cups to the counter, then as she borrowed a cloth to wipe the top. She obviously liked things neat and tidy.
‘We haven’t had a minute to clear,’ the woman said behind the counter. ‘It’s been pandemonium this morning. Those poor kids.’
Amy brought the tea. ‘Are you going to stay in London, Mrs Lewis?’ she asked.
Nora nodded. ‘It’s Sara – her school. She might be able to go back to it one day. She wouldn’t want me to move.’
‘Will your husband be with you? Is he in a reserved occupation?’
‘No. He’s a carpenter. He wants to volunteer for the Navy.’
‘You’ll be on your own, then?’
Nora looked down at her cooling tea. ‘Yes, I’ll be on my own. Too much time to think.’ She sipped her tea. ‘I’ll probably get a job. I’ll need the money.’
Amy was thoughtful. ‘What did you do before you were married? Did you have a job then?’
‘Yes,’ Nora said. ‘I was in service when I was fourteen. Then when I got older I was a sort of under housekeeper.’ She gave her first little smile. ‘We had a very good cook. She taught me a lot.’
I wonder, Amy thought. Getting a new housekeeper wasn’t going to be easy. She’d think it over, perhaps make some excuse to visit Mrs Lewis’s house to see what it was like. She might not want that sort of job. There would be lots of work going. Still it might be an idea worth thinking about.
They finished their tea. ‘I’d better get back,’ Amy said. ‘Will you be all right now?’
Nora nodded. ‘Yes, thank you, Doctor.’
Sara left the train with a group of other children, shepherded by a green-clad lady. This station was very small, she thought, only two lines, and a level crossing. She looked around her. Beyond the station were green fields and woods, and sheep and cows. It seemed terribly quiet.
They were led down the village street. The village seemed to be very small, after London. The fields came right down behind the houses and she could hear the sheep calling. But where’s the school, she thought? Where am I going to school?
They came to the school, a small, low building with BOYS over one door, and GIRLS over the other. Ancient, she thought. Totally ancient.
There were several women already waiting in one of the classrooms, plump, kindly-looking women. ‘Oh, the poor children,’ one of them said. Sara looked more critically at the other children. Some of them looked poor indeed, with their ill-fitting clothes and battered plimsolls. The little ones looked tired out and some of them were crying for their mothers.
‘These ladies are going to look after you, children,’ the WVS lady said. ‘Now, ladies, which one do you want?’
The little ones went first, hugged and clucked over. Sara was the oldest and the last. ‘It looks as if you’re mine,’ the woman said. ‘My name is Mrs Brooks. What’s yours?’
‘Sara Lewis.’
‘Come along then, Sara.’ She led Sara to a house on the edge of the village. It seemed to be bigger than most of the others, and had a big garden. She took Sara up to her room. It was a nice room, Sara thought, flowery paper on the walls and a rug on the wooden floor.
‘I think you’ll be comfortable here,’ Mrs Brooks said. ‘I’m glad I’ve got you. I don’t think I could have coped with little children – I’ve never had any of my own.’
‘It’s very nice,’ Sara said. ‘Thank you.’
‘Put your things away, and then come down to tea. There’s just you and me at the moment. Is there anything you want?’
‘I just want to know where I’m going to school,’ Sara said. ‘I have to go to school.’
Mrs Brooks smiled. ‘Of course you do. I expect it’ll be the village school, though I don’t know how they’ll cope with all these new children.’
Mrs Brooks went downstairs. Sara sat on the edge of her bed. Mrs Brooks seemed very nice, but not the village school! What was she going to do? She took the pound note out of her satchel and put it under the mattress.
On 3 September the family gathered round the wireless to hear the Prime Minister’s statement at 11.15. They knew what was going to happen. Everyone in the country knew now.
Mrs Parks was crying. ‘We know what he’s going to say,’ she said. Amy took her hand. The words fell, spreading and staining, like drops of blood. ‘This country is now at war with Germany.’ They played the National Anthem. The family sat for a few moments in silence.
Charlie felt emotion stir, strong enough to bring the start of tears, hurriedly controlled, emotions of patriotism, loyalty, a desire to prove himself. That’s it, he thought. I’ll probably be called up tomorrow.
‘I must ring Granddad,’ Amy said. ‘He’ll be devastated.’
Dan got up. ‘We all need a drink,’ he said. ‘Get the glasses, Tessa. We’ll have some champagne. We’ll drink to our country, to England, and the rest.’ He brought the bottle from the cellar, undid the wire and eased off the cork. He po
ured the wine. He stood up, holding his glass. ‘To us,’ he said. ‘To our country, to our fighting men, including Charlie, and to victory.’
Before they had time to taste the wine the loud wailing of the local air-raid siren began to howl, up and down, up and down, echoed by others, one after the other, chilling the blood. They gasped, looking at each other, shocked and anxious.
‘Good God,’ Dan said. ‘Already? They don’t lose any time, do they? They must have been just waiting for this. Into the cellar everyone.’ They trooped down the cellar steps. Dan switched on the light. ‘What a mess down here,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to clear it out, Charlie, make it fit to live in. We might be spending a lot of time down here by the sound of it.’ They perched on bags and boxes, silent, listening. Amy wondered whether anyone could actually hear her heart beating. Her body was tense, waiting for the next sound, sounds she remembered from the war in France: the drone of aircraft, the crashing roar of antiaircraft guns, the scream of a falling bomb.
Ten minutes later the siren started again, the long continuous note of the All-Clear. There was a sigh that seemed to come from all of them, from the house itself. They trooped up the steps again.
‘False alarm,’ Dan said. He handed round the champagne again. ‘Can you believe it? I wonder what bloody idiot decided to go for a little pleasure flight today, of all days. Set the whole country off. Lucky if he didn’t get himself shot down.’
So it’s begun, Amy thought. All over again. Blackout – fortunately they’d got the curtains made – rationing, danger, air raids, crouching in the cellar, and awful, painful goodbyes. Oh Charlie!
Chapter Nine
1939
Amy opened her eyes on to a new world, one that she had hoped she would never see again. Dan was already awake.
‘Mrs Parks will be going,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to find someone else, very soon.’
‘Tessa’s home for a few weeks yet,’ Dan said. ‘She can help.’
Amy sighed. ‘She can help with the housework, but I don’t know about cooking. There’s a woman – a patient – that I was wondering about. She used to be a housekeeper before she married. I might pop in and see her – see what she’s like at home.’
‘Good idea,’ Dan said.
‘Her husband will be called up, so she might be thinking about a job. Her little girl has been evacuated. She’s the little girl I told you about – the one who wants to be a doctor.’
‘Oh,’ Dan said. ‘That might be interesting.’
‘I don’t know,’ Amy said. ‘All the children. It’s unbelievable. God knows what’s going to happen now.’
He put his arm around her. ‘Don’t, darling. You were so strong last time. Don’t give up now.’
‘I didn’t have children last time,’ she said.
He held her close. ‘We’ll get through,’ he said. ‘We’ll all get through. Have faith, Amy.’
Amy drove to the Harrow Road. It was strangely quiet without the children, without the laughter and the shouts and the running about. All the life seemed to have gone out of the world and the streets were silent and empty. The morning surgery was packed. Most of the women wanted contraceptive advice. ‘I don’t want to get pregnant now,’ they said, one after the other. ‘I don’t know how I’ll manage as it is with my husband away, and I don’t want to bring another child into all this.’
The mothers were anxious and strained and some of them were openly crying, desperately missing their children, afraid for the future. She found that it needed all her control not to cry herself. Which is worse, she thought, to say goodbye to your little children who need you so much, or to say goodbye to Charlie and all the other boys, knowing the danger they were facing, wondering if she would ever see him again?
After the surgery she did her home visits. There were very few children to see; very few of the mothers had chosen to keep them at home and the false alarm siren on the day war was declared had frightened everyone to death. She saw three of her old ladies, living in the tenements, all anxious and alone. ‘What am I going to do, Doctor?’ they said, one after the other. ‘How am I going to manage?’ It was going to be one of her jobs, keeping a regular eye on them. The lady with the pigeons was unperturbed. She looked at the photograph on her chest of drawers. ‘Perhaps I’ll see my boy again sooner than I thought,’ she said. The pigeons looked down on her, silent and broody as ever. Lucky pigeons, Amy thought. They can just fly away, find a nice safe place and forget it all.
She drove to Mrs Lewis’s house. She felt guilty, coming to Mrs Lewis’s home like this to check up on her housekeeping, but there was really no other way to find out. And anyway, Mrs Lewis might not want the job.
Perhaps, she thought, she would be better advised to go to an agency, but things were in such confusion. She would prefer someone she knew, even slightly, and someone who lived close by and knew the area. Mrs Lewis could even live at home if she wanted to. She seemed so devoted to her daughter, so determined to give her a better life. She was obviously a woman who was thoughtful and caring.
She arrived at the house and parked outside. The knocker was polished, she noticed, the windows shining and the doorstep scrubbed clean.
She knocked at the door. Nora opened it, obviously surprised to see the doctor there. Amy watched her face tighten suddenly in panic. ‘What’s happened?’ she said. ‘What is it? Is it Sara?’
Amy was momentarily shocked that she could have upset Mrs Lewis so easily and so much. She should have realized that her immediate response would be to assume that something had happened to her daughter. ‘No, no,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry if I frightened you, Mrs Lewis. I’ve just come to see if you are all right. You seemed so upset at the station. I was just passing, so I thought I’d pop in.’
’Oh.’ Nora smiled, a relieved, a worried smile, and opened the door wide. ‘Come in, Doctor.’
I should have realized that it would upset her, Amy thought. The whole atmosphere, everywhere, was of fear, expecting bad news, expecting the worst. The country had changed at a stroke, peace and safety gone in an instant. Any bizarre, imagined catastrophe could turn out to be true.
Nora led Amy into the kitchen. It was tidy and spotless, the lino shining with shellac polish. ‘I’m all right,’ Nora said. ‘It was just saying goodbye to Sara, and seeing all those children – all those little ones. It’s so cruel. It’s so wicked.’
‘You’re right,’ Amy said. ‘It is cruel and wicked.’
‘Sit down, Doctor.’ Nora said. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘I’d love one,’ Amy said, quite truthfully. That morning had been very stressful, very emotional, very cruel. She watched as Nora warmed the teapot, measured in the tea, poured on the boiling water, and got out two fine china teacups and a milk jug and sugar basin. ‘Don’t go to any trouble, Mrs Lewis,’ she said.
‘It’s no trouble.’ Nora poured milk into the jug.
‘I don’t take sugar,’ Amy said.
‘Neither do I.’ Nora sat down at the table. ‘I told you about Sara, didn’t I? She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to leave her school. But I couldn’t risk …’
‘Of course you couldn’t,’ Amy said. ‘You did the right thing, at least until we know what’s happening.’
Nora was close to tears. ‘You’ve got children, haven’t you, Doctor?’
‘Yes,’ Amy said. ‘My girl is a medical student.’ She paused. ‘And my boy is joining the Air Force. He’s a pilot.’ Nora’s silence was more expressive than words could ever be. ‘What will you do?’ Amy said. ‘Are you still planning to stay here?’
‘Yes,’ Nora said. ‘My husband’s already volunteered for the Navy. I want to be here for Sara – when she comes back.’
‘I feel just the same,’ Amy said. ‘I’m not leaving my home either.’
‘I don’t know what to do about her now,’ Nora said wearily. ‘Maybe I should tell her to forget it all – all this being a doctor. My husband’s against it. How could we
ever manage it? And we don’t know how long this war is going to last. He says I’m just fooling myself, and her. But she’s so set on it. I don’t know what to do. What would you do?’
‘Let her try,’ Amy said. ‘Maybe it won’t work out, but at least she should try. We don’t know what’s going to happen. We’ll all have to cling to our hopes for the future. Things might be different after the war.’
‘And when will that be?’ Nora said. ‘It’s only just begun.’
Amy drank her tea and got up to go. ‘Don’t make her give up her dream,’ she said. God knows, she thought, it might be all we have. ‘I’ll look out some more books for her. At least she can feel she’s learning something.’
‘I don’t know what kind of school they’ll put her in,’ Nora said. ‘She’ll go mad if it’s no good.’
Amy got into her car and drove past the rows of houses. She could see people at the windows, taping up strips of brown sticky paper to stop flying glass, and making sure the blackout curtains met in the middle. A man in a steel helmet with ARP on the front rode past her on a bicycle, his gas-mask over his shoulder. Air Raid Precautions. Gas precautions. Everyone had a gas-mask now. Everyone was obliged to take it everywhere. The streetlights had already been shut off, making this great blacked-out city a strange, fearful place to be at night. She drove home through the silent, childless streets.