Keep the Home Fires Burning

by Anne Bennett

  It was after Easter before he replied. She had seen the postman on her way to work and he had passed the letter to her, but it was her dinner break before she had time to open it. When the weather became warmer she had found the heat of the furnaces completely draining, and on fine days Marion would sometimes pack her sandwiches and she would eat them outside, where it was cooler. Her cousins preferred to eat in the canteen and have a laugh with their workmates, but Sarah had never gained that same camaraderie with the other girls. So she went out, sat on the wall and eagerly ripped the envelope open.

  Pat spotted her and felt sorry for her being by herself, and he decided to go and keep her company. He was very fond of Sarah and he seldom saw her to speak to since she had been working on the trench mortars.

  She raised her head as he approached and he noted the frown between her eyes and the unopened parcel of sandwiches lying on her lap.

  ‘What’s up, young Sarah?’ he said. ‘You look as if you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.’

  ‘Not really, Uncle Pat,’ Sarah said with a rueful smile. ‘It was my own fault I suppose. I tried to get an inkling of where Sam is after Aunt Polly came around and told us, you know …?’ and she looked around carefully to see that she was not overheard, ‘… about the troops massing in the south. I wrote a letter to Sam to try and find out if he was there too.’

  ‘He wouldn’t be able to tell you if he was, you know that.’

  ‘Course I know,’ Sarah said. ‘It was really stupid of me, but I was worried about him.’

  ‘I think you think more of that man that you’re letting on,’ Pat said, and added with a twinkle, ‘and I know I’m right because you are blushing and, do you know, young Sarah, it makes you even more attractive when you do that.’

  ‘Oh, Uncle Pat,’ Sarah cried, going redder than ever.

  Pat put his arm around her. ‘Come on, lass, I was only codding you.’

  Sarah looked at the uncle she had always loved, even when he was in the bad books with her mother, and she said, ‘Don’t tell, will you, but I think you’re right about Sam.’

  ‘Well, that ain’t nothing to be ashamed about,’ Pat said. ‘So you love this Sam Wagstaffe, do you?’

  Sarah bit her lip. ‘I don’t know about loving him,’ she said at last. ‘I mean, how do you know? It’s the thing most songs and poems are about, and people say you just know when it happens to you, but how? ‘Tisn’t as if you have a check list you can cross off.’

  Pat gave a roar of laughter. ‘Oh, Sarah,’ he said, ‘you are better than any tonic. Now what did this man that you’re not sure you love write in response to your letter? I see the tattered pages on your knee.’

  ‘Yeah, I think he was trying to tell me,’ Sarah held the shredded letter aloft, ‘but the censor got to it first.’

  ‘Be glad it went no further than that,’ Pat said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, your Sam could be in trouble for even attempting to write a letter like that. Think about it, Sarah. You could be an enemy agent or anything, and the letter could be a front, a way of a serviceman passing on classified information that might help the enemy.’

  Sarah gave a gasp. ‘Oh gosh! I never thought of that. How could I have been so stupid? I do hope I haven’t got Sam into trouble.’

  ‘I would say that it’s all right this time.’ Pat added with a smile, ‘Reckon you would have heard about it by now if they were going to throw you into prison, so no harm’s done.’

  ‘Yes, thank goodness, and you needn’t worry because I’ll never do anything like that again.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ Pat said. ‘Now come on. If I were you I’d eat those sandwiches before the bell goes.’

  But neither heard the bell, for at that moment there was a terrific, ear-splitting explosion and the blast from it lifted both Sarah and her uncle from the wall into the yard beyond. Sarah had given one shriek before a flying wooden beam smacked her on the side of the head and rendered her unconscious and she fell to the ground. Immediately she was buried by molten metal, sharp shards of glass, bricks and charred and fractured wooden beams.

  When she opened her eyes a little later, she wasn’t sure that she had, for the blackness was so intense it didn’t make any difference. She was used to blackness, as all British people were then, but this was like a curtain of blackness, and the air was cloying and acrid. Worst of all was the throbbing burning pain she became more aware of as she struggled to full consciousness. It seemed to course through her whole body. It was so acute and agonising that it almost took her breath away and she groaned against it, but when she tried to change position to ease it, she found she couldn’t move: she was stuck fast.

  She fought the panic that threatened to overwhelm her, though her limbs began to tremble and her teeth to chatter, and she had never felt so cold, or so afraid. She had thought that she had been scared of things before, but that was nothing like this deep primeval fear that she could smell and even taste on her tongue. She thought she might die in that pitch-black stony grave, and she wanted to cry out against that, but the pain was draining her of energy and she hoped it wouldn’t take her long to die.

  Marion was surprised to see her sister come through the back gate because they had just been shopping together and she hadn’t even had time to put the stuff away. Polly’s face was chalk white, her eyes red-rimmed, and tears were cascading down her cheeks. Marion immediately thought Polly had heard bad news about one or both of her sons and so she was totally unprepared for what she gasped out.

  ‘There’s been an explosion at the munitions works.’

  ‘Oh, dear God!’ Marion cried. ‘When was this?’ She tore off her apron as she spoke.

  ‘Just now, seemingly,’ Polly said. ‘Pat was in the yard, so though he was injured himself he was able to tell the rescuers where I live and a lad was sent round to tell me.’

  ‘What of the others?’

  Polly shrugged. ‘The boy knew nothing of anyone injured but he said the whole place is like one gigantic heap of rubble.’

  Pat could have told them of the niece buried beside him, who had uttered no sound but that one terrifying shriek, and his two older daughters, who had been in the factory at the time of the explosion. However, by the time the two distraught women had arrived at the scene Pat had been removed to hospital.

  Marion and Polly stared at the sea of devastation before them, mesmerised. They looked at the mangled debris of the main building, bricks, fractured beams, and buckled girders mixed with the mangled mess of sandbags the outside of the factory had been faced with. The force of the explosion had been so great that the yard outside was filled with distorted detritus, and they faced the realisation that their daughters had been in that collapsed building. They didn’t see how any of them could have escaped death or serious injury.

  Rescuers began arriving to move the bricks one by one, and Marion and Polly went forward to help. They had been working at this for half an hour or so when the ambulance delivering Pat to hospital returned ready to tend any survivors.

  The ambulance driver approached the group toiling to release any trapped. ‘Is there a Marion Whittaker here?’

  Marion felt as if a piece of lead was wrapped around her heart as she straightened up and faced the man, aware that Polly was standing beside her. ‘I am Marion Whittaker.’

  ‘The first victim taken to the hospital, Pat Reilly, says he’s a relative of yours.’

  Marion nodded. ‘My brother-in-law.’

  ‘And my husband,’ Polly added.

  ‘Well, he said that his niece Sarah Whittaker wasn’t in the main building.’

  Not in the main building! The words filtered through Marion’s brain and her face became alight with joy. ‘So she wasn’t involved in the explosion? She’s safe?’

  ‘No, not exactly,’ the ambulance driver corrected her. ‘She was with her uncle in the yard and she took the full blast of the explosion while he caught the tail end of it.
We know where he was brought out and he said he thinks she’s buried under a mound of stuff to the side of him. He heard her give one cry and that was all.’ He watched the blood drain from Marion’s face and steadied her when she would have fallen. Polly’s arms went around her as the man said, ‘I’m very sorry to bring you such bad news. Will you be all right?’

  Marion shook her head helplessly. She didn’t think she would be all right ever again and it was Polly who said, ‘Show us the place.’

  Two of the rescuers were there already, detached from the main party, and as Marion approached one of the men surveyed the stack of wrecked masonry and scorched roof beams, and said, ‘I’d take a bet that all we’ll find in there will be a corpse.’

  ‘Shurrup,’ the ambulance driver said through gritted teeth. ‘That’s the mother there.’

  ‘Oh God,’ the man said. ‘Sorry, missus.’

  Marion shook her head. She didn’t blame the man; she’d had the same thought herself. Inside she was already grieving for her dead daughter, and with tears streaming from her eyes she moved forward to remove the first brick. Polly joined her.

  ‘This is going to take bloody hours to shift on our own,’ one of the rescuers said as they began to help the two women.

  ‘We won’t be on our own when word gets round,’ the other said confidently. ‘But we can make a start, at least.’

  The man was right. First Peggy and Violet came, bringing Jack, Orla and the twins with them, and then Polly was directed to help the people search for survivors in the main body of the factory and she went with a heavy heart.

  So Polly was there when her daughters were among the first few rescued, and she was amazed and so very thankful when they were pulled out of the rubble virtually unscathed except for cuts and bruises. Marion was so happy for her sister and the nieces she loved so much, and she hugged them all in delight. The girls were going to hospital to be checked over and Polly said that she would go with them, both to be with the girls and check how Pat was. Jack said he would stay and help until Sarah was found.

  Marion was grateful to him, and grateful to the others who came in droves ? neighbours and, as the time went by, men finishing their shifts who only stopped at their own houses long enough to leave their bags before coming to join the rescuers.

  It was dusk before Sarah’s face was exposed. Her eyes were shut and she was incredibly still. Marion was convinced she was dead, and the sight of her beloved daughter’s face shocked her to the core. It was covered with a film of grey brick dust, but that had done little to hide the blood matted in her hair or the gashes crisscrossed all over her bloated, burned and blackened face.

  Marion gave a gasp of dismay and when a rescuer shone his pencil of light into the hollow where Sarah lay, it brought her face into sharper focus and made her look worse than ever. Behind her, Marion was aware of the twins crying and Jack sniffing a lot. Then suddenly Sarah blinked in the light from the torch.

  ‘Good God,’ one of the rescuers cried, ‘the girl’s alive.’ He put her hand on Marion’s shaking shoulders. ‘Soon have her out of there, me ducks. She is alive, and you hold on to that.’

  Marion took a step back, so stunned was she by what she had seen. Jack put his arm around his aunt and led her away to the distressed twins, who Peggy and Violet were valiantly trying to comfort.

  Marion bent down and gathered both girls into her arms. ‘Don’t cry now. Sarah is alive.’

  ‘Is she really?’ Magda asked, scrutinising her mother’s face.

  ‘Yes,’ Marion said. ‘I promise, but she’s still covered with rubble and they’re trying to move that off her. It may take some time and it would be best if you went home now.’

  ‘No,’ the girls protested. ‘We want to help.’

  ‘Surely the more you have helping the better?’

  Marion shrugged. She was in no state to argue with them, and they all bent to the task again as the darkness settled around them.

  An hour passed since that blink of Sarah’s eyelids, and there had been no further movement. Marion began to wonder if it had been some sort of involuntary movement, or even if she had imagined it. Obviously, many thought the same, because when Sarah gave a sudden gasp a little cheer went up.

  ‘Maybe we should ask the doctor if he wants to check her over before we go any further,’ someone said.

  ‘Good idea,’ another said, and work was stopped while one of the doctors working with the injured from the main factory was brought. He climbed into the hole beside Sarah and examined her as gently as he could in the light from a shielded headlight someone had brought.

  A few minutes later he climbed out and one of the rescuers directed him to Marion. ‘You are the young lady’s mother?’

  Marion nodded.

  He went on, ‘I’m going to give her a shot of morphine. She’s stuck firmly at the moment, and it might take some time to release her. She might be in further pain when she’s free, and I think she’s gone through more than enough already.’

  Hours later Marion sat on a hard hospital bench in a corridor. The twins had eventually agreed to go home with Peggy and Violet, but Jack had insisted on going with his aunt in the ambulance, though she was hardly aware of him. Her thoughts were with the still figure lifted gently from the rubble and put in the ambulance. There Marion had sat beside her, held her hand and spoken to her, but there had been no response. Once in the hospital they had wheeled her away. It was some time before a young woman in a white coat with a stethoscope swinging round her neck approached them.

  ‘Mrs Whittaker?’

  ‘Yes,’ Marion said, leaping to her feet.

  ‘My name is Dr Lancaster,’ the young woman said.

  Despite the fact that so many women had taken over roles typically taken by men during the war years, Marion was more than surprised that this young woman was a fully-fledged doctor.

  ‘I examined your daughter when she was admitted,’

  ‘Her name is Sarah,’ Marion said. ‘How is she, please?’

  ‘She is badly injured,’ the doctor said. ‘We have had to shave a large area of her head to stitch the large cut there and she also has extensive cuts and burns to her face, broken ribs and a fractured pelvis. There is tenderness in the area of her liver so there could well be damage there too.’

  Marion, almost reeling from the news, said in a whisper, ‘Can I see her?’

  ‘Certainly,’ the doctor said, ‘though there is little of her visible at the moment and she is of course heavily sedated.’

  Marion followed the doctor tentatively. Heavily bandaged, with slits left for eyes, nose and mouth, Sarah lay as still as stone in the bed that had the sides raised on either side so that it looked like a cot. Even Jack was quite unnerved, seeing his cousin in that state.

  ‘I will be transferring her to the burns unit here in the morning,’ the doctor said, when they were back out in the corridor. ‘Because of the risk of infection, especially once we start the skin grafts, she will be in a private room.’

  ‘But she will recover?’

  ‘In time.’ We must be thankful that her eyes have escaped injury.’

  ‘What about her face?’ Marion persisted. ‘She’s only a young girl.’

  The doctor nodded. ‘I know, and the lacerations will heal. As for the burns, all I can say is that we’ve learned a lot about dealing with burns from treating servicemen in this war. We will endeavour to do our best for your daughter.’

  They could do no more. Marion made for home and Jack took off for his own house to tell them what had happened. Peggy and Violet had prepared a meal for Marion, which she tried to eat, though it tasted like sawdust in her mouth. They were anxious for news of Sarah and plied Marion with questions, which she answered as honestly as she could, though what she said upset them a great deal.

  They were all eventually calmer and had agreed to go to bed when Polly called round, terribly shaken by the news Jack had brought about Sarah’s injuries. Marion told her about the terrible s
carring on Sarah’s face.

  ‘That’s awful!’ Polly said. ‘Poor girl, and yet if she had been in the canteen she might have been killed outright because they say the explosion came from the centre of the factory.’

  ‘Thank the Lord that she wasn’t then,’ Marion said. ‘So how come your girls got away so lightly?’

  ‘They were queuing at the hatch,’ Polly said, and gave a ghost of a smile. ‘Siobhan blames it all on the apple pie.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Because they had some on the menu for a change and the girls decided to go for a slice. You know how few and far between puddings are these days. Had they stayed at the table a minute longer they would have been killed.’ Then all signs of humour left her face. ‘Nineteen women and girls lost their lives today and countless more were injured.’

  ‘Nineteen!’ Marion repeated in horror. Yet she remembered the crushed mess of the burning building and thought it surprising there had been so few killed.

  Polly, seeing the lines of fatigue etched into Marion’s face, kissed her sister and got to her feet. ‘Well, I only came to know what’s what,’ she said. ‘And now I’d best be off home. We can go up the hospital together tomorrow, if you like?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Marion said, ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘See you tomorrow then, bab.’

  Marion hardly slept that night, but tossed and turned restlessly on the bed. In the end she was glad to get up, though she felt like a bit of frayed string.

  ‘Are you writing to Bill today to tell him what’s happened?’ Peggy said the next morning.

  ‘Not yet,’ Marion said. ‘I’ll have to have a long, hard think about any letter I write to Bill because I know he’ll blame himself.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he could have claimed exemption and stayed here,’ Marion said. ‘If Bill had been here he might well have forbidden Sarah to even think about working with explosives. He couldn’t do that when it was him left us high and dry.’

  ‘Do you blame him?’