by Lizzie Lane
When she came to she was choking. Covered in dust and trembling, Meg felt for the torch but it had rolled out of reach. The darkness was complete. Limpet-like, Lily had wrapped herself around Meg, all the while screaming and screaming and screaming! It was worse than the falling bomb.
Guilt surged within Meg’s heart as tears streamed down her face. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry,’ she whined, only barely holding back the sobs. It was all her fault Lily was screaming. If only she’d gone to the shelter in the back garden. Spiders and dampness were more bearable than this! And what would her home be like? Everything upside down if not totally destroyed, though she’d put up with that if Lily would only stop screaming.
Making it to the shelter might help. With that in mind she pushed at the door, first with her hands, and then with her feet, knees bent so she could give it all the force she had, kicking it again and again. It wouldn’t budge. Something was blocking it. With a sinking heart she realised that her home might be damaged a lot more than she could bear.
‘Not too badly, God,’ she murmured, her eyes closed against the darkness and the worrying thought. ‘Please don’t let it be too badly damaged. We’ll wait until the planes have gone,’ she murmured against Lily’s head, kissing the top of it. Lily took no notice.
Meg became frantic. ‘Lily! You have to stop screaming. You have to!’ Tears filled her smarting eyes as she pleaded. The cupboard was becoming airless and she was choking on plaster dust. There was another smell she recognised. Gas. They couldn’t wait for somebody to find them. They had to get out.
Lily continued to scream. Although she hated having to do it, Meg slapped her face – difficult in the darkness but she managed. Her screams reduced to a whimper before she fell into a foreboding silence.
‘There, there. Close your eyes. Are you tired? Are you cold?’
Lily didn’t answer.
Meg felt a tugging at her heart. At least the child wasn’t screaming, but the silence was almost as wearing. She’ll get over it, she told herself, holding Lily close and hoping the raid would soon be over and somebody would get them out. ‘Somebody will come soon,’ she whispered. ‘Someone will come.’
Her prayers intensified. Please God, send somebody before the gas explodes.
CHAPTER NINE
Blackness and silence. Like a tomb.
Meg was beginning to hate silence. Every so often she gave Lily a hug, afraid that the child’s silence was permanent, that she’d choked on the dust and the rising thickness of gas.
‘Lily? Can you hear me? We have to stay awake. Don’t fall asleep. Please don’t fall asleep. Would you like me to tell you a story?’ Telling a story was the only thing she could think of that might rouse Lily from her silence.
The girl remained silent.
She was reassured that the child was still breathing when she heard the odd sniff or slight deviation in breathing. They didn’t have much time. The smell of gas was getting stronger. But despite her resolve to stay awake, Meg began to drift into an odd sleep that seemed somewhere between dreaming and reality.
Something that sounded like a machine awakened Meg from her petrified silence. She was sweating profusely, though not from fear. The smell of gas seemed less but she couldn’t be sure. Trapped in the confined space, it was noticeably warm at first, but in a short space of time the warmth increased to oppressive heat and got steadily hotter.
Fire! She could even hear the crackling of flames close by. Her heart seemed to stop beating. This could mean only one thing: her house was on fire. Fear roused her to instant action. Although her throat was clogged from dust, she began to shout at the top of her voice, banging on the door with her fists.
‘Help! Help!’ she shouted.
She hadn’t wanted to shout for help in case Lily began screaming again but the girl didn’t scream. She remained oddly silent, as though she heard nothing and had retreated into her own private world. To Meg, her silence was more frightening than her screaming.
It’s my fault, she thought furiously. If only she’d gone to the shelter. If only she’d heeded Ray’s warning. He’d be furious when he found out – if they ever got out. If they survived. Tears poured down her cheeks, dripping off her chin and on to Lily’s head. The cupboard that should have protected them could now be their coffin and they were in danger of being burned alive.
She felt Lily move against her and felt relief. ‘We’ll get out soon,’ she said, giving her a tight hug. Lily’s soft little body stiffened like a china doll. Perhaps I’m hugging her too tightly, thought Meg. She loosened her grip but to her surprise her action had an adverse effect. Lily began to scream, this time more hysterically than she had before. ‘We’ll get out, darling,’ said Meg, trying to sound confident. ‘They’re coming to get us out.’
The heat increased. Feeling as though she were melting, Meg undid her dressing gown, fumbling in the blackness to do the same for Lily. As though sensing her fear, Lily began thrashing about, her hands catching Meg’s face, fighting to keep her from removing the dressing gown. ‘It’ll be all right, Lily. It’ll be all right!’ Even to her own ears she was beginning to sound hysterical.
Meg clenched the hand she’d used to slap Lily, thinking it might help to do it again but she was too hot, too exhausted and too frightened to think straight. She began to cry, though softly, not wanting to frighten the dear child who so depended on her. She had to be brave and believe they would be rescued. But time was moving on and the interior of the cupboard was getting hotter and hotter – like hell must be, she thought to herself, or like the inside of an oven.
Terror and the will to survive filled her with fresh resolve. They needed to make themselves heard. Her own screaming joined that of Lily, shouting intermittently and hammering incessantly on the thin wooden door. ‘We’re here, damn you! We’re here!’ she screeched, her voice now openly hysterical.
For a while nothing changed, then suddenly there was an odd crunching and crashing sound, nothing like the sounds she had heard before. At first she thought it was the crackling of flames, timbers being devoured by fire not too far beyond the cupboard door. Wiping the wetness from her face, she listened carefully, her heart beating like a drum against her ribs, her lips cracked, her throat sore and her ears painful from Lily’s continuous screaming.
Suddenly there were voices. ‘Over here!’ she heard somebody shout. ‘There’s someone alive in here.’
‘Scream louder,’ she urged Lily. ‘Scream louder!’
She resumed banging on the door with both fists and, even though she considered her efforts feeble, she felt the blood rush to her hands and burst through the skin, damaged by the rough surface. Her shouts mixed with the screams of Lily, whose voice was breaking up into shorter staccato shrieks thanks to the dryness of her throat until she eventually went silent.
Voices from beyond the door were raised in unison, shouting for assistance, for crowbars, for strong arms to shift debris from against the door. One clear voice sounded above the others. ‘Quickly now! Before that fire gets here. And mind we don’t cause a draught or whoever’s in there will be burnt to a crisp! And make sure that gas main’s capped!’
Lots of shouting and thudding of heavy boots ensued, plus a rushing, crackling sound and crashing as though something heavy had landed on something hard.
‘Wet blankets! We need wet blankets!’ The same voice bellowed again, stern with intent, barking continuous orders like the rat-a-tat-tat of a machine gun.
She heard rumbling noises, booted feet, but mostly shouting against a background of jangling ambulance and fire engine bells. A few minutes passed and suddenly the cupboard door was wrenched open and a face besmirched with soot appeared against a background of flames. The fire was reaching upwards, scarring the sky with a burning glow and flying sparks.
Feeling absolutely drained, Meg bent over Lily until she heard a low rumbling sound and realised it was the flames getting closer. The scene unfolding in her imagination was red and black, full of f
ire and hell. Her head felt as though her brain was on fire. She touched her hair and gasped. On one side of her head, hair that had once been soft was frizzled and scorched. Alarmed, she touched Lily’s. Thankfully her hair was still silky.
Her rescuer’s voice was reassuring. ‘Come on, love. Don’t be afraid.’
Wet blankets were flung over their heads to protect them from the inferno that had once been their house, the house next door and the one beyond that.
‘An incendiary bomb done for all these three,’ somebody shouted. Meg couldn’t believe what they were saying. Three houses!
‘No,’ she whispered, but even as she said it she knew they were referring to her house and two of her neighbours. Number 7 Andover Avenue was gone.
Lily’s frightening silence suddenly erupted into hysterical screams, her eyes widening with terror on seeing the pillars of flames, the black smoke and the equally black, sooty smelling figures moving through the darkness. Though she herself was shaking all over, Meg did her best to reassure the little girl. ‘We’ll be fine, Lily. We’re safe now. It’s all over.’
That’s what she truly believed, what she wanted to believe. Everything would be all right. It was all a nightmare and very soon she would wake up and everything would be the same as it was yesterday. She shut her eyes, opened them again but everything was still the same. The shock suddenly hit her and her legs buckled.
‘Steady on, love. We’ve got you.’
Summoning all her strength, she forced herself and those helping her to stop. ‘Wait!’
Her rescuers looked at each other in mutual understanding. They’d seen so much of this already. Some people just couldn’t take things in right away. They knew what she had to do.
Meg took one last look at what was left of the home she and Ray had bought together, the one she’d so lovingly cared for. There was nothing left of it now but a smouldering ruin, the top floor totally destroyed, smoke still rising in thick clouds from burning floorboards, doors and furniture. Three walls of the ground floor remained, the front door blackened and hanging lopsided on its hinges, the casement windows no more than bits of rubbish scattered over the ground.
She let out a little cry of anguish. Her whole world had revolved around that house.
‘It’s gone. My beautiful home is gone.’
One of her rescuers patted her shoulder. ‘Now, now, love. It was only bricks and mortar. You’re still alive and so is the little ’un. That’s all that matters at the end of the day.’
Meg rounded on him. ‘Only bricks and mortar? To me it was my home. My home!’
The man flinched at first but quickly rallied; after all, he’d seen it all before. ‘Let’s get you and your daughter to the hospital to get those burns looked at,’ he said gently, as he made an effort to ease her towards the waiting ambulance.
Burns? Meg touched her singed hair, then her face. It stung. Suddenly she became aware that Lily’s hand was no longer in hers.
‘Lily?’ She was hysterical.
‘She’s fine. Just fine,’ the man reassured her, indicating one of his colleagues.
At first Meg’s stinging eyes couldn’t quite make out the thing that looked like a rolled-up mat slumped over the shoulder of another rescuer. Threads of blonde hair shifted in the hot air and she recognised Lily.
‘She’s only sleeping,’ somebody said.
The faces around her were a blur, the scene a mass of red flames and black smoke behind carcasses of brick and stone that had once been peoples’ homes.
‘Come on, love. There’s no point you hanging around here. There’s nothing left. But look on the bright side. You and your little girl are still alive. Got to be grateful for that, ain’t ya?’
Meg wanted to shout at him that there was no bright side for her and that he probably still had a home to go to. Her tongue failed her. Her throat felt as though it were full of ashes. She was dazed and not quite with it, but determined they’d get through this.
Not until she and Lily were finally offloaded at the hospital did things seem clearer. She rubbed at her eyes, still stinging like hell. At first she thought the reflection in a glass door was not her but a shabby creature, face blackened by smoke, hair sticking up from her head like the wire wool she used to scrub pots and pans. Slowly, very slowly, she raised her fingertips to her hair. She was definitely seeing herself as she was now. No more glossy hair, perfectly applied make-up and smart day dress.
‘I look a fright!’
The kind hand of a nurse touched her shoulder. ‘Are you in pain?
Meg hugged herself. ‘No. No. I don’t think so.’
‘We’ll get you checked just in case.’ Lily was placed on a trolley and covered with a blanket. ‘This way.’
Her eyes fixed on where Lily was going, Meg was guided elsewhere and told to sit down. Her heart felt as though it was beating in her throat when her face was washed with antiseptic, her eyes cleaned and her throat checked.
The doctor, dark lines etched crescent-fashion beneath his eyes, was reassuring. ‘You’re lucky. Your lungs seem to have coped with the smoke. Breathe deeply.’ She did everything asked of her and was pronounced free to go.
‘What about Lily?’ She looked around for her, but couldn’t see her and began to panic. ‘Where is she? Where’s Lily?’
The doctor pressed a hand on her shoulder. ‘She’s behind that curtain over there.’ He pointed to curtained screen that had only just been pulled into position.
She didn’t wait for permission but swept across the ward, feeling sick and giddy but determined to know how the little girl was faring. Meg’s breath caught in her throat. Lily was lying very still, her eyes closed. Two nurses accompanied another doctor, who was just as tired-looking. They murmured to each other as they examined her.
One of the nurses attempted to prevent her from staying. ‘I’m sorry, you shouldn’t be in here …’
‘I was told I could see her. She’s my daughter,’ Meg blurted.
The doctor intervened. ‘It’s all right, Sister.’ The nurse retreated.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ demanded Meg. ‘Is she all right?’
‘I can see no physical injury, but I think she’s in shock.’
She was just about to say that Lily would be better once she took her home when she remembered that she had no home. Number 7 Andover Avenue no longer existed.
The doctor took in her perplexed expression and surmised she was still in shock too. ‘I think the child should stay here. Do you have relatives in London?’
Meg nodded slowly. ‘Yes. My mother. She has a flat on the other side of London. My husband is in the services, the RAF, and his father lives in Wales.’
‘You’d better see the almoner. I’m sure she can organise some temporary digs until you can sort something out. Something closer to the hospital.’
‘My husband! I must contact my husband.’
‘There’s a public phone in reception.’
Still stunned by what had happened, Meg nodded and whispered thanks. She hurried to reception but had to wait in a queue. So many people were trying to phone their relatives. Eventually it was her turn.
A member of the Women’s Royal Air Force answered. ‘Can I help you?’
‘My name’s Meg Malin. I’m Ray Malin’s wife. Is he there?’
There was a pause. ‘I’m afraid not. He’s out on ops. Can I take a message?’
‘Could you please tell him our house has been bombed – totally destroyed in fact.’
The woman promised that she would. There was something about her tone that Meg didn’t like. She told herself the woman was one of those female officer hoity-toity types who looked down on civilian women as not doing their bit.
By rights she really should phone her mother and let her know what had happened. She could even ask her if she could stay with her, but she didn’t want to do that. Her mother hated her routine being disturbed, even by a situation such as this. Anyway, she really didn’t want to stray far from
Lily’s side.
‘Can I stay with her for now?’ she asked a nurse.
‘You can, but only until we get her into a ward. Then it might be preferable if you leave her to have a night’s sleep. She might be fine in the morning.’
Meg did as ordered, staying with Lily in the curtained cubicle until a bed was found for her.
The almoner, the woman who took care of patients’ social care once they left the hospital, was very kind and helpful. She also looked tired out but took the time to explain the situation. ‘There are so many injured tonight and just for once it wasn’t the East End. We are doing what we can.’
She was also rather overweight and rushed off her feet, her face pink with effort. Members of the Women’s Voluntary Services had been allotted to help her out with people who had become homeless thanks to the bombing. ‘We’re even putting families in surplus army barracks – not that there’s many of those.’
‘Good God,’ murmured Meg, shaking her head and running her hand over her eyes.
The almoner assured her they could do something a bit better for her. ‘So you can be close to your little girl.’ True to her word, she found Meg a bed in a Methodist church hall that had been turned into a temporary dormitory. There was a notice outside: ‘Please show your docket.’ Meg did as ordered. Her legs were threatening to give way; the events of the day were swiftly catching up with her. She staggered a little. Somebody asked her if she was all right. She nodded.
Ahead of her was a sea of mattresses set out in rows, three or four deep to either side. Children were crying, women were speaking loudly about the dire experiences that had brought them here.
‘We was lucky. My old man was on shift at the docks, the kids was round me mother’s and I was doing a turn at the Duck and Feather. I used to pull pints before I was married, so don’t mind keeping me hand in. Just as well I did …’