The East End Girl in Blue

by Fenella J Miller

  The lady sitting next to him smiled apologetically. ‘Me pa ain’t himself. All the banging and such reminds him of the last lot. He were down the trenches in Flanders; never been the same since then.’

  ‘No need to apologise, missus. He’s done his bit. He can say what he likes; he won’t cause no offence to me.’ Ruby’s shouted reply was heard by a couple of others sitting on the opposite bench who nodded and agreed.

  Several times the shelter shook but the explosions weren’t that close. By the time the all clear sounded Nancy was desperate for a pee and wasn’t going to use the communal bucket, not for anyone.

  ‘I’m going to make a dash for home, Ruby, before I wet me knickers.’

  8

  Nancy was the first out of the shelter and her need was so great she didn’t stop to see if any of the houses close by had been hit. The smell of burning, of smoke and cordite, caught the back of her throat as she ran. The front door was never locked and she hurtled through it and out the back where the bog used by the three families in the terrace was situated.

  Even though more than a dozen people shared this one WC, it was always clean and neatly cut squares of newspaper threaded onto string were always hanging on the hook inside the door. Having spent the past year using the immaculate ablutions in the WAAF she realised this primitive arrangement wasn’t as fresh as she’d remembered. Her standards had improved since she’d last been home.

  As she emerged three others burst through their back doors into the yard with the same look of desperation on their faces. She nodded and smiled but didn’t stop to talk and was inside in the scullery washing her hands when her mother rushed in.

  ‘Nancy, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you. Why are you home, lovey?’

  She had rehearsed what she was going to say but instead she flung herself into her mother’s comfortable arms and sobbed. There was no need for her to explain. Ma understood immediately.

  ‘Here, don’t take on so, Nancy. Sit yourself down and I’ll make a nice cuppa. Your Tommy’s bought it? You can tell me how when you feel more the ticket.’

  Sometime later the untrue version of events had been shared. Now Ma was in tears. ‘Married only three days before he died? Would have been better if you hadn’t been married at all.’

  Nancy had decided not to say that she was pretty sure she was pregnant because if she did it would only cause complications. Better to wait until she’d missed another monthly and be sure.

  ‘When do you have to go back, Nancy?’

  She was about to say that she’d left but then decided to keep that news for later. ‘I’m thinking of leaving. I’m a volunteer, Ma, I never signed on for any length of time so they’ll let me go.’

  ‘Leave? What do you want to do that for? You’ve your meals and clothes supplied, get paid every week. Why would you want to come back here and have bombs dropped on you?’

  ‘You’re right. I’ll get me head together and then go back. I’ve got to report later tonight. I just wanted to tell you in person.’

  ‘Course you did, lovey. I’m your ma. Who else would you come to? Have you got a couple of quid I could lend, lovey? I’m a bit short in the housekeeping this week what with the bombing and all. It’s going to be hard to find anything to put on the table.’ Her mother nodded. ‘I reckon you don’t have much to spend your money on, do you?’

  Nancy had a wad of notes and a purse full of coins. She wished she’d stopped to pay them into her post office savings account because if anyone in the family knew she had it they’d take it from her, by force if necessary. Coming home had been the wrong thing to do. There was no life here for her and the baby, especially now that the Germans had begun to drop bombs on the East End.

  ‘I don’t have much, Ma, but I can give you something. You don’t have to pay it back. What time are the boys and Pa off work? I could go and get us all some nice fish and chips for tea – if the chippy’s still standing.’

  ‘They’ll be home in half an hour if they ain’t been blown up. I reckon there’ll be a big queue so you’d better get off.’

  Outside the air was acrid. She could smell houses burning not that far away. This was no place to bring a baby into the world. Her plan to find a job as a seamstress again, to live at home, were abandoned. She hurried to the end of the street and out into East India Dock Road. Although there was smoke billowing into the sky there was no apparent damage to any houses, shops or businesses close by.

  She joined the queue waiting outside the fish and chip shop but avoided conversation. She knew most of the people in front of her and they probably thought her stuck-up in her posh uniform, but she didn’t care.

  She carefully extracted two pound notes from her store and pushed the rest inside her brassiere. It should be safe enough in there. If she’d got it out in front of her mother then she’d have lost the lot.

  With her arms full of hot, vinegary fish and chips wrapped in newspaper, she hurried back. Her brothers rarely spoke and they didn’t even acknowledge her. Her father nodded and smiled but continued to smoke his fag and stare into space.

  They ate their food from the paper and washed it down with more tea. They’d just finished when the siren went off again.

  ‘I won’t come down the shelter with you; if I don’t go now then I’ll be late back and get into trouble.’ She slipped her ma the money and then dashed off in the opposite direction to her family who were running, along with everyone else in Cottage Street, towards the shelter nearest to their home.

  She raced to the one in Poplar High Street that she and Ruby had used a few hours ago. The door was shut. There was nowhere to hide from the bombs apart from in a shop doorway. If one had her name on it then so be it. There was nothing she could do about it now.

  The German planes were almost overhead and she saw bombs falling like black sticks towards the unprotected houses. It was the docks that were getting the worst of it. Not surprising as there was a lot of freshly cut timber stored down there as well as other things – ideal for the incendiary bombs.

  This time nothing fell in Poplar as far as she could see and when the all clear sounded she was already halfway to the underground station at Stepney Green. The one at Mile End would have been closest but it was closed, no trains running along that track, and she’d heard that people were already going down there to hide from the air raids.

  She’d no idea where to go. Without civilian clothes, and with only her precious savings book and the money stuffed down her bra between her and poverty, she began to regret her hasty decision. Her head spun and her legs were a bit wobbly so to be on the safe side she leaned against a shop window. It was crisscrossed with brown tape and this was supposed to stop the glass blowing out and killing someone passing by. No – she had more money than her ma had ever had in her life. Whatever happened she’d be fine; she might not be like Jane or Charlotte but she was just as strong as they were and just as independent. She couldn’t hang about here as it would be dark soon.

  She passed a telephone box and decided to call Mrs Stanton, the vicar’s wife, as she might have a helpful suggestion. She didn’t regret her decision not to stay in Poplar – she might be an East End girl but she no longer felt comfortable here.

  She lifted the receiver from the handset, sorted out a pile of coppers to push through the slots, and then dialled the operator. There were clicks and whirrs. She was asked to put in the money and then the phone was answered and she pressed button A. The money fell into the box and she was connected.

  ‘Mrs Stanton, it’s Nancy Smith. I’m ever so sorry to bother you but I don’t know what to do. There’s bombs dropping everywhere and I can’t stay with my family. I’ve left the WAAF. I was hoping you might know where I could stay – a church hostel or something.’

  ‘My dear girl, you must come back at once to Chalfont Major. Jane was horrified when she heard that you’d gone back to Poplar and insisted that if you contacted me I should persuade you to return at once where you can be s
afe.’

  ‘I’m expecting, Mrs Stanton, and although I’m calling myself Mrs Smith, we both know that ain’t… that isn’t true.’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned it’s a small technicality, Nancy. If your Tommy hadn’t been killed you would now be married. Nobody knows apart from Doctor Denny, my husband and I. It’s not safe for you and the baby in London.’

  ‘I can’t stay with the doctor as people are already gossiping.’

  ‘Of course you can’t. You can stay here as originally planned. We have more than enough room for both you, and the baby when it comes. Did you know that Charlotte is now based near Felixstowe? She gets thirty-six hours free every now and again and she’s coming to stay the night here next time.’

  ‘I never knew that. Last time I heard from Charlotte she was in the north somewhere. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get the train and that. I’m going to find a B&B and come in the morning. Ta ever so. I should never have left.’

  ‘No, my dear, you shouldn’t have. You must consider this your home for the foreseeable future. I can assure you that you’ll have plenty of useful war work to occupy your time. An extra pair of hands is always appreciated when it comes to knitting balaclavas and gloves for the sailors, rolling bandages and so on.’

  The beeps went. ‘No more coppers, Mrs Stanton. I’ll see you tomorrow. TTFN.’

  *

  The closer she got to the vicarage the more worried Nancy was about her lack of possessions. She shouldn’t be wearing this uniform but had nothing else to put on. Having enough coupons in your ration book didn’t mean you could actually buy what you wanted. Though to be fair, clothes weren’t rationed at the moment. But there was not even a pair of drawers to be had in Woolworths. God knows how she was going to manage. It was right embarrassing to arrive with nothing as the vicar’s wife would then feel obliged to provide what she didn’t have.

  At least she’d managed to buy a few yards of fire-damaged cotton – more than enough to make herself a frock once it had been washed. Good thing she was a trained seamstress and could make her own clothes. It was underwear she needed. She’d been wearing the same knickers for days and soon they’d begin to pong.

  Maybe when they were clean she could turn them into two pairs. They came down to her knees and she reckoned if she made them French knicker length there’d be ample material for at least two. In a few months she’d be needing a maternity smock and then there was the layette for the baby.

  She wasn’t going to cry. Tommy would want her to be strong and not give up because he’d gone. There’d be thousands of people die before this lot was over and giving in would be like giving that bastard Hitler something to crow about.

  The bus stopped a hundred yards from the vicarage. It felt nice, like coming home. Although she’d grown up in the East End she thought she might become a country girl given half the chance. She paused in front of the gate and took several deep breaths. The air smelt better, cleaner, fresher down here. There were birds singing in the trees above her head, the sun was out and she felt safe. Then the drone of incoming German bombers ruined the moment.

  Should she go round the back or knock on the front door? There was someone in the garden so she decided to head in that direction. The old black dog shuffled up to her, wagging his tail. ‘Hello, back again like a bad penny.’

  Mrs Stanton called to her from the bottom of the garden where the vegetables and chickens were. ‘Nancy, why don’t you put your bag on the bench and come and help me collect the eggs.’

  She removed her jacket and hat and put them with the bag. ‘I need to use the bathroom first, if you don’t mind?’

  The vicar shouted through an upstairs window making her jump. ‘It’s the third door on the left, Nancy.’

  She smiled and waved and rushed in just in time. There’d been no need for him to call out as she knew exactly where everything was – she’d stayed there for ten days. Must be something to do with her condition because she’d never had to go for a pee so often before.

  Collecting the eggs was a novel experience but not one she enjoyed. It wasn’t the smell – she didn’t mind that – it was the chickens themselves. They fussed and clucked round her ankles and made her nervous. She was right glad to get out of the run.

  ‘You’ll get used to them, my dear. I’m going to make omelettes for lunch so needed some extra eggs.’

  ‘I could do that for you. I’m a dab hand in the kitchen, remember. I’m trained and everything. The officers liked an omelette when we had fresh eggs but they weren’t so keen when it was made with that dried stuff.’

  ‘No need to help me with the cooking today, Nancy. We can discuss how things will work over lunch. Tomorrow is soon enough for you to start doing chores.’

  ‘I’m not supposed to be wearing this uniform any more, Mrs Stanton, but I don’t have any civilian clothes.’

  ‘I thought that might be the case so have made provisions for you. I’ve put a selection of things in your wardrobe. There’s underwear in the chest of drawers. Why don’t you have a quick bath and get out of that.’

  Nancy was a bit worried she might smell worse than she thought and once she was in the privacy of her bedroom she sniffed under her arms. Not too bad considering. It was going to be strange having her own room as, apart from the nights she’d been in the village before, she’d always had to share. Back at home, Pa had nailed an old blanket across a corner of the second bedroom and she’d had one side and her brothers the other.

  There were three frocks, a couple of skirts and three blouses hanging up alongside a cardigan and a twin set. She rejected two of the dresses as a bit fancy and took the plainest one, navy blue with polka dots and a matching belt, and clean underwear and headed for the bathroom.

  The bra was a bit loose but beggars couldn’t be choosers and her front would get bigger later on. The drawers were fine. The dress was several inches too long but she had it the correct length in no time. She stepped into it, did the buttons up at the front and pulled in the belt.

  There wasn’t a mirror in the room but she knew she looked very smart – not at all like an East End girl. Jane had told her that her Oscar had two older sisters and these clothes must have belonged to them. She didn’t have any stockings apart from the dirty ones she’d taken off but her sturdy shoes were comfortable enough with bare feet.

  The vicar called out from the kitchen. ‘In here, Nancy – as you know we don’t use the dining room unless there are guests.’

  She would have to get used to his unconventional behaviour. She didn’t know much about clergymen but she was pretty sure yelling out of windows and so on wasn’t usual.

  *

  David now had a more suitable housekeeper, Sally Arbuckle, and he was glad that the brief visit of the WAAF girl had precipitated this much-needed change. The house was more settled, comfortable again – not something he’d felt since Julia had died.

  Giving away her clothes had probably helped as well – he no longer had the urge to wander into the back bedroom as it was now just another empty room. The house was too big for one person. It had been built as a family home and he decided to contact the organiser from the WVS – the Women’s Voluntary Service – and offer to house evacuees. Now he came to think about it he was surprised he hadn’t been sent some regardless of his wishes. Possibly because he didn’t have a wife to take charge of them.

  The East End was being bombed every day and already there were hundreds of casualties. Those children who had returned from the countryside after the phoney war would now be looking for somewhere else to stay. He didn’t want children on their own – it wouldn’t be suitable with no woman in the house.

  His conversation with the efficient lady in charge of such matters was highly satisfactory. ‘I’m getting several requests for housing for expectant mothers and those with young families. Would you be prepared to take someone like that?’

  ‘Preferably not someone who is pregnant but certainly a young mother with small
children would be acceptable.’

  ‘Your house is perfect for a family. You have a large garden and plenty of space for them to run around. I’m certain I’ll be sending you a family in the next few days. I’ll ring and tell you who to expect as soon as I know myself.’

  Sally was banging about in the kitchen and he could hear her two youngest, George, nine years of age, and Stan, a year older, playing football in the garden.

  ‘There you are, Doctor Denny. There’s a lovely slice of rabbit pie and mash for your lunch. My Bertie brings us back a rabbit most days.’

  Bertie wasn’t her husband but her lurcher – her husband was somewhere in Africa with the army.

  ‘Delicious. I volunteered to take in an evacuee family. A young mother with small children will be coming later this week…’

  Her face fell and for a moment he was puzzled. ‘Good God, I don’t expect whoever comes to replace you. I’m hoping you’ll do a few extra hours and be prepared to cook for all of us.’

  ‘I’d be happy to, Doctor. I read somewhere that the mum can only come if the children are under five. You’ll need rubber sheets for the beds – there’ll be a lot of wet ones. Will you know the age of the little ones before they come?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be notified the day before.’

  ‘You might need a cot as well. If you put them in the back bedroom, the big one overlooking the garden, there’s room for a cot in there. They’ve probably come from overcrowded housing and might well prefer to sleep together in the same bed.’

  ‘There’s a small, single bed in the attic. I’ll bring that down and perhaps you’d be good enough to make it up with these rubber sheets you mentioned. If the children are small then they can go top to tail.’

  ‘I’d be happy to. Poor little mites. But wherever they come from it’ll be a lot nicer for them here.’

  ‘That’s the idea. I assume they’ll be bringing their ration books with them and will give them to you. I’m not quite sure how this works. Presumably the mother will take care of the children herself, keep her own room tidy and do her own laundry.’