by Anna King
Just for something to do, Aggie lumbered to her feet, her heavy body shaking as she walked slowly over to the window. She peered through the net curtains, and the sight that met her temporarily blotted out her own problems.
Turning sharply she exclaimed loudly, ‘You didn’t tell me the houses over the back had been hit. When did that happen? Was anyone killed?’
Grace joined Aggie by the window and, her manner more amenable now, she answered, ‘No, thank God! That was the first thing I asked Rene this morning. It must have happened during the raid last night… Well, that’s stating the obvious, but the people from the three houses that were hit had to move out. Nobody knows where they’ve gone. The last I saw they were trundling up the road with a barrow filled up with bits and bobs they’d managed to salvage. It was pitiful to watch. Then again, it’s happening every day somewhere in the East End.’ Grace flicked her eyes towards her grandmother and added, ‘I’m surprised you didn’t hear anything. Poll and me were kept awake half the night with the racket that was going on outside. It must be nice to be able to sleep through anything—’ Grace stopped suddenly. Here her nan was trying to make an effort, and all she could do was keep making sly digs at the poor woman. Beside her, Grace felt the bulky frame stiffen in anger.
Then, in the old familiar voice, Aggie said harshly, ‘All right, Grace, you’ve made your point – loud and clear. You got stuck with the dirty end of the stick!’ The proud body seeming to swell with indignation, Aggie continued, ‘You can take a rest now, ’cos I’m taking over from now on.’ Shuffling over to the kitchen door, Aggie pulled down her black shiny coat and said gruffly over her shoulder. ‘Where was Rene heading? I might as well stretch me legs and keep her company.’
Grace remained looking out of the window, her eyes focused on the bombed-out houses opposite, knowing that if she turned to face her nan, she would crumble and apologise, and that wouldn’t do either of them any good.
‘I think she said she was going down Well Street. I wasn’t really listening to be honest; I had other things on my mind.’
Aggie, in the process of buttoning her coat, stopped and stared at the rigid figure of her granddaughter, and could find no resemblance to the once-amenable, kindly Gracie. Once again she felt the guilt rising inside her. Blinking back the tears that threatened, Aggie turned and was about to leave the room when the sound of the front door banging shut brought her to an abrupt halt.
‘Morning all.’ Vi sauntered into the kitchen and dropped on to a chair. ‘God, I’m whacked. I’ve hardly had a wink of sleep all night. Any tea going, Gracie?’ She looked up at her sister hopefully.
‘Only what’s in the pot. It’s probably stewed by now, but it’s better than nothing.’
Vi looked warily from her sister to her nan, who was busily fastening the last button of her coat, then back to Grace, suddenly aware of the tension in the room. Not wanting to become embroiled in whatever was going on, she poured herself a cup of tea, took a sip, then grimaced.
‘Phew, that’s a matter of opinion. It tastes like cat’s—’
Her words were cut off as Grace whirled on her, shouting, ‘Well, if it’s not good enough for you, then get off your backside and make a fresh pot.’
Vi’s eyes widened in amazement. She had never heard Grace talk like that before. And where was her nan going? Like Polly, she hadn’t left the house since the first night of the air raids. Something was going on, any idiot could see that, and Vi wanted no part of it. Uneasily rising to her feet she made a great pretext of yawning, then, addressing no one in particular she said, ‘I’m off upstairs for a kip while it’s quiet, see you later.’
Neither of the other women made any comment as Vi sidled from the room. The truth was both women had enough on their minds without worrying about Vi, who was a grown woman, after all, and more than capable of looking after herself. If she wanted to spend all her free time up the West End enjoying herself, well, let her.
‘Well then, I’m off,’ Aggie said, her voice loud and strident. Slapping her black felt hat down firmly over her head and clearing her throat, she made a final go at getting some kind of response from Grace. ‘When did your uncle Danny say he’d be arriving home?’
Grace, hearing the silent plea for reconciliation in her nan’s voice turned and answered quietly, ‘Oh, he said in his last letter he’d be here in the middle of next week, providing there are no hold-ups.’
Noting the softer tone in Grace’s voice, Aggie’s spirits lifted. Not wanting to push her luck too far, she asked hesitantly, ‘And what about Stan, any news?’
Grace shook her head tiredly.
‘No, nothing, well, apart from his letters saying how sorry he was to hear about… about Mum and Dad, and how he had tried his best to get some leave on compassionate grounds.’ Swallowing hard, Grace attempted a watery smile, eager now to make peace with her nan. ‘I’m hoping he’ll get some leave over Christmas… Not that we’ll be doing much celebrating this year,’ she added, a lump settling in her throat as she lowered her head to avoid eye contact with her nan.
Aggie was experiencing similar feelings, and was strongly tempted to risk another rebuff by taking Grace in her arms. But she quickly squashed the notion: what Grace needed now was some time to herself, as did she.
Pulling herself together she said, a bit too loudly, ‘Well, I’m off out now, love. Why don’t yer try and get your head down ter a few hours, it’ll do you the world of good.’
Huffing and puffing, Aggie made to leave the room when Grace’s voice stopped her departure.
‘You won’t need your hat and coat, Nan. It’s quite warm outside.’
‘It might be for you youngsters, but us old ’uns feel the cold. Anyway…’ She fell quiet, her layer of chins wobbling slightly. ‘I wouldn’t feel right going out without me black hat and coat on.’
Tears sprang to Grace’s eyes as she swallowed once again over the painful lump that seemed to be permanently lodged in her throat these days.
‘All right, Nan. I understand. I’ll… I’ll see you later.’
Left alone once more, Grace wondered what to do with herself. She should really go down and check on Polly, but like Vi she, too, was tired, desperately tired, both in mind and body. Even though the basement afforded them good shelter, she hadn’t been able to sleep for worrying about her nan lying upstairs.
Then there was the horrendous journey to and from work each day. There was no longer such a thing as a regular route to the City. Instead people were shunted from one bus to another, squashed amidst a crowd of like-minded commuters who had also been bombed off their usual route. Often they arrived at their workplace feeling like they’d already done a day’s toil. Sometimes they arrived to find their premises bombed and to be ordered by the ARP wardens to return home until further notice. The cockney bus drivers had soon discovered alternative routes, and it wasn’t unknown for travellers to be whisked down an unfamiliar side street, while the cheerful driver dodged craters and bomb sites, all the time keeping up a steady line of patter with the conductor designed to keep the passengers happy. And, surprisingly, people in the main were happy.
Thinking of work brought to mind young Jimmy, the office boy. Now seventeen, he was all talk of joining up, despite Gracie’s earnest entreaties. She wouldn’t be surprised to arrive at work one day to find him already gone. For, like Stanley, and countless others before him, the young lad couldn’t wait to take up arms for King and Country.
Her eyes felt so heavy, and there was an alarming churning in her stomach and chest, as if something inside her was about to explode. Maybe if she was to rest her head on the table for five minutes she would feel better. Yes! That’s what she’d do. Just rest for five minutes…!
* * *
Up above, Vi had slowly kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the feather quilt covering her bed, her eyes solemn. She hadn’t expected to see her nan up and about looking more like her old self. Nor had she expected the awful atmosphere that had gr
eeted her arrival. Well! Whatever that had been about, no doubt the pair of them would patch things up between them. Vi had been banking on finding Grace on her own, hoping her sister might break the news of her impending move to her nan.
Stifling another yawn, Vi looked up at the ceiling and sighed. She had long outgrown the small department store, and had been thinking of changing jobs before all hell had been let loose. With Polly losing her job, Vi felt easier about giving in her notice, which she couldn’t have done if she still had to look after Polly. Now that problem was solved she still had to face her nan. Not that she intended to tell the whole truth. She uttered a short laugh of derision at her own expense. God! She could just imagine everyone’s reaction if she announced she was thinking of becoming a hostess up West. Her nan would class that the same as going on the streets.
Suddenly angry with herself, Vi swung her legs over the side of the bed and lit a cigarette, yet another change in her altered world. Directing a cloud of smoke across the room, she thought back to three nights ago. An airforce officer had taken her to a posh nightclub, and Vi had been interested to see the hostesses at work. And when the officer had laughingly commented, ‘You should have a go at that, Vi. You’d make a packet with your looks,’ she had laughed at the suggestion, but the idea had stuck. She had gone back the following night and had been welcomed with open arms by the manager of the club, and by the time she had left, she had been offered a job to start whenever she wanted.
Plumping up her pillows, Violet turned over in her mind all the details the manager had explained to her with a view to becoming a hostess in his club.
There wasn’t a salary as such. In fact she had to pay the club two pounds a week for the privilege of being employed in such a top-class establishment. It was all done above board, with the management presenting their hostesses with a bill for the said amount supposedly representing coffee and sandwiches consumed on the premises. The hostess could then charge each man she danced with at least a pound a time. She would also expect the man to keep her company for the rest of the evening, while spending freely the whole time she was with him at his designated table. A hostess who is offered a drink always asks for champagne. When she is offered a cigarette she announces she smokes only a special brand that can be bought from the cigarette girl at the club. Of course, the particular brand in question costs six shillings for a box of twenty-five. The cigarette girl also carries a wide variety of flowers, chocolates and dolls. And, of course, if the gentlemen at the table wants to impress his companion, then he is only too eager to buy whatever it is his new-found friend desires. A typical velvet doll for sale is worth about sixteen shillings. The customer pays three guineas and the hostess sells it back to the cigarette girl for a pound. This practice, so the manager had informed Violet, was the most popular among his hostesses. They all love the cute velvet dolls, and so they should, the smartly dressed manager had laughed, seeing as how the same doll is bought for them three or four times a week.
A sound from the street brought Violet out of her reverie. Stubbing out her cigarette, she debated whether to go downstairs then decided against it. And in that moment she decided against taking the job at the club for the present, even though she could earn up to twelve pounds a week, a small fortune compared to what she was earning now.
Not that anyone from around here would ever know the exact nature of her new profession, but still. It didn’t feel right just now. Not with her mum and dad dead for less than a month. Memories of Sam and Hetty swam in front of her eyes, eyes that immediately filled with tears.
Laying her head back on the feather pillow, she tried to sleep, but images of her parents kept intruding on her thoughts. With a muffled moan she turned over, burying her face in the soft pillow.
Like her grandmother and sisters, every time Vi imagined herself over the tragedy, something set her off again. Oh God! How long was the hurt going to last? Would it ever go away? Would it ever lessen…?
Chapter Eleven
The arrival of Danny in the middle of October was a much-welcomed distraction in the bereaved Donnelly household – for a while.
Grace, like the rest of the family, had secretly hoped that the time spent in the army would have toughened up the mild-mannered man, but within hours of his arrival, it had been painfully obvious that Danny Donnelly was still the same shy, timid, dithering man he had always been, and so the much-needed strength the women had been hoping for was again denied them. Instead they found themselves comforting Danny, and he, as was his character, allowed himself to be cosseted. To be fair, he was devastated by the loss of his brother and sister-in-law, and no one would have denied his right to mourn, but now, over a week into his fortnight leave, Grace and Aggie were having to look after him as if he were a ten-year-old boy instead of a grown man – and a uniformed man to boot. It was as Aggie commented to Grace late one night after Danny had gone to bed, ‘Gawd knows how he gets by in the army, ’cos them buggers ain’t known for soft-soaping anyone. He can’t even make up his mind if he wants a cuppa or not without one of us telling him.’
Grace had replied, ‘He’s probably completely different away from home, Nan. Like you said, the army wouldn’t put up with any wishy-washy behaviour. Uncle Danny just needs someone to lean on right now, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, well, we could all do with someone to lean on, love. Only some of us have got to lean on ourselves,’ Aggie had snorted back tersely.
Danny’s injury, a flesh wound to the thigh, had healed completely and with only six days left of his leave remaining, the shy, rotund man sat at the kitchen table he had eaten at all of his life and looked apprehensively at his niece. He had cleared his throat three times before Grace, who was staring dismally into a stew comprising mainly vegetables and lamb bones, finally realised her uncle was trying to catch her attention and asked guiltily, ‘Oh, sorry, Uncle Danny. Did you want something?’
Now that he had her attention, Danny jumped nervously on the wooden chair before stuttering, ‘No, Gracie, love… Well, that is…’ Agitatedly he rubbed the back of his neck, making it redder than usual before continuing awkwardly, ‘I was wondering if you’d think it wrong of me if I went out for a drink, only I…’
Grace put down the ladle she had been stirring the broth with and smiled tenderly.
‘Oh, don’t be daft, Uncle Danny. Of course I won’t think wrong of you. In fact I’m surprised you haven’t gone out sooner. After all, you won’t get much chance once you go back, will you?’
Getting to his feet, Danny paced the floor worriedly.
‘I know, love, but it doesn’t seem right me going out for a good time when Sam and Hetty—’
Swiftly Grace interrupted. She couldn’t face another torrent of tears and self-recrimination. ‘Now, stop that, Uncle Danny,’ she said fervently, seizing his large, flabby hands. ‘You know Dad wouldn’t have wanted you to go on mourning, nor would Mum for that matter.’
Danny still blamed himself for not being here when the bombing had started, a guilt compounded by his lateness in getting home. He had had no control over either incident, but grief is never rational.
Gently bundling him from the kitchen, Grace walked him to the door, her voice soothing. ‘You go and have a drink… And, Uncle Danny… Have one for Dad. He’d have liked that.’
Danny swallowed, a film of tears forming over his eyes, and for one horrible moment Grace thought he was going to break down again. Then he squared his shoulders and in a voice gruff with emotion said, ‘All right, Gracie, I’ll do that. I’ll have one for your mum too.’
Grace laughed shakily. ‘Well don’t have a drink on too many people, or you won’t be able to walk back from the pub.’
Passing by the door to the basement, Danny nodded towards it, saying, ‘You’ll have to do something about young Poll, Gracie. It’s not right her spending all her time down there. I’m worried about her, love. I mean I know she has to grieve, but it’s not natural her barricading herself in the basement from
morning till night. Have you thought of getting the doctor in to see her?’
The question, although mildly put, brought Grace’s hackles up. Of course it wasn’t natural the way Polly was behaving, but then things hadn’t been exactly normal lately. As for getting the doctor in… Good God! Every doctor in London was run ragged with Blitz victims, and here was Danny suggesting she get one to pay a home-visit in order to coax a frightened and bereaved young woman from the safety of her own basement.
Urging herself to remain calm, Grace pasted a smile on her lips, saying firmly, ‘I’ll see to Polly, Uncle Danny. She’ll be fine, don’t you worry. It’s early days yet and I don’t want to put any pressure on her; it might make things worse. She’s safe where she is, and me and Vi and Nan are down there every night with her, so she’s not completely on her own.’
After another five minutes of dithering, Danny finally left the house, much to Grace’s relief. Waving him off, she retraced her steps to the kitchen and turned down the heat under the stew. Then, remembering her sister, went down to the basement with a cup of tea and biscuits, intending to keep Polly company for a while.
* * *
As Danny turned the corner at the top of the street he collided with a a khaki figure.
‘Oh, sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was – bloody hell! Stanley. Where did you spring from?’
Eagerly grabbing the soldier’s hand, Danny pumped it furiously, his face wreathed in smiles.
Stanley dropped his kit-bag on to the ground, his body breathing a sigh of relief at the unexpected welcome. In the split second of recognising Danny, he had pondered what to say in the face of what had happened. Assuming a solemn air, Stanley looked into the pudgy face and muttered slowly, ‘I was sorry to hear about Sam and Hetty, Danny. I got home as soon as I could. I wish it could’ve been sooner, but you know what the red tape is like in the army.’