Sunshine Spirit

by Barbara Willis

  Mrs Cavendish was certain Jane was in the house or what was left of it; and she was sure she was alive. She immediately raised the alarm with the rescuers, assuring them Jane was trapped beneath the almost unrecognisable remains of her home.

  Now Jane and her landlady held each other tightly as they cried in relief and despair and Jane thanked heaven again for Mrs Cavendish's intuition and the brave men who rushed to the aid of anyone who needed it.

  The two ladies were ushered towards the mobile WVS canteen. There, spirited ladies poured welcome cups of tea for the rescued and rescuers alike; people converged from the surrounding streets like animals emerging from hibernation, bewildered and blinking, some dusty and dazed. Old and young surveyed their neighbourhoods and the work ahead. Some cried with loss and disbelief, others with gratitude and relief; a number of people gathered their scattered belongings as they moved, shocked, amongst the rubble.

  Jane and her companion were told to head to the rest centre in the local school just a few streets away, where the 'bombed out' and the lost were uniting for information, first aid and help. It was there that they hoped to locate their housemates and their neighbours, fear clutching at their hearts with icy fingers as they hurried along.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. Their home was gone, but they were all safe. The other girls had found refuge at Charing Cross, Piccadilly and, strangely, an Anderson shelter in the grounds of the Savoy Hotel. Knowing where bombs had fallen they'd all made their way home, only to find it missing, and they too had been directed towards the school. There, after frantic searching, they'd eventually found Jane and Mrs Cavendish and each other. Florence, Aggie and Dorothy were all beside themselves with delight and relief at finding their co-residents of number 20 safe and well. They were pleased to report to Jane and Mrs Cavendish that they'd hugged a very much alive Betty Millbank, finding her a little disoriented but otherwise well. All were thankful that she hadn't been at home that lunchtime and neither had her heavily pregnant daughter-in-law; both were now making plans to leave the city for Wales. The daughter-in-law's parents' hospitality would house them for the duration of the war.

  The quintet from number 20 parted company in the school hall to locate food, clothing, beds and other friends. Jane found herself being offered food and clean clothes; she forced herself to eat a little despite having left her appetite in the under stairs cupboard, but gladly accepted the clothes. She made her way, with her donated dress and cardigan, a flannel, a tiny nub of soap and a comb, to the pupils' cloakroom where she saw herself for the first time since leaving home for work that morning.

  Work. She'd forgotten her lunch and rushed home at lunchtime to get it. Mrs Cavendish had spotted Jane's sandwiches in the kitchen that morning and thankfully so, as these had poked her intuition into action. She said she 'just knew' Jane would have returned for them. The siren, unusually now, had sounded during the day.

  The hall.

  The screaming whistle of the bomb.

  The cupboard.

  Work. She'd have to get word to the Grandchester, to tell them what had happened. Although since the minor bomb damage to the hotel just a matter of days before, and indeed the launch of the city bombings at the start of September, upheaval, disruption and change were accepted facets of daily life in London.

  Her fingers moved to her cheeks as she surveyed the streaks of dust, blackened and caked into ribbons by her tears. Her eyes roamed to her hair; lord, what a mess. It was now grey, not chestnut brown, being completely covered in dust; a few splinters had been thrown in for good measure and were sticking out of her hair like wooden hairpins. The real pins, holding her hair neatly at the nape of her neck this morning, dripped from her hair like pine needles and long knotty fronds of hair hung down while others still clung desperately in place despite their ordeal.

  She held out her hands, turning them over to scrutinize; dirty broken fingernails from her initial scraping at her prison's exit and grimy grey skin. Her clothes next - a ripped sleeve and skirt; the shredded nylons had already gone, removed out of necessity whilst the Red Cross lady cleaned and dressed the nasty cut on her ankle. She'd been barefoot since emerging from the rubble that had once been a home. Well, in truth, she'd had one shoe on but had discarded it knowing that one wasn't much use without the other. It now stood neatly by the front door to number 20 Alderney Street; the front door which now served as a ramp to the rubble. Jane pictured the house that had lain on top of her and was thankful for the selfless men who worked so tirelessly and usually at night searching, helping, finding, and who still had their own day's work ahead of them when every morning came.

  Jane washed as well as was possible in the circumstances, changed clothes and combed the worst of the sooty dust from her hair - it still had an immovable film of grey powder which clung to her fingers every time she touched it, but it would stay until she could have a bath and wash her hair properly. She looked at herself in the mirror again. That'll do. I'm still here. That'll do. And she pinched her cheeks to force a little colour to them and returned to the hall.

  Mrs Cavendish, the gentle soul, was deep in conversation with a woman behind a desk who had been doing her best to bring order and reassurance to a queue of people, newly homeless and needing the answers to many questions. There was no anger or pushing, no discord or argument. The crowds in the hall, although sometimes animated and emotional, were accepting, positive and pleased to be alive. In their temporary roost they wanted news of loved ones, milk for a baby, clothes for children, blankets, somewhere to stay, the first aid station, some food, fresh water, medicine. The lady answered each question and request with sympathy and a gentle smile; she pointed out which of her colleagues in the hall they should seek assistance from, which queue to join and sometimes jotted down a note for them. She had now turned her attention to Mrs Cavendish.

  Jane sat on the floor by the door to the school yard, lay her head back against the wall and closed her tired eyes. She still held her old clothes and donated wash kit in her lap.

  The 'phoney war' of just a few months back was over, replaced now by a very real one. The weeks of preparation and propaganda, leaflets and lists, were done. Anderson shelters built in back gardens as instructed, with the recommended earth covering of 15 to 30 inches of course, were no longer used by boys and girls as a setting for their innocent games of war; they were now employed on an almost nightly basis as a true arena for fear and wide-eyed alert. The cold shelters, sometimes flooded and always damp were cheered by their inhabitants with makeshift beds, blankets and lamps. The eerie shadows cast by a flickering candle or lamplight against the corrugated walls either brought alarm or excitement for children, and the noises outside invariably visited trepidation on the adults with the now routine question of what sights would greet them when they emerged blinking the next morning, God willing. God willing. The phrase was tagged on to many a farewell or wish.

  'Hello Sunshine. It is you, isn't it?' It took Jane a few moments before she realised the voice spoke to her, then recognition came like the opening of a book and she quickly opened her gritty, resting eyes in response. A man crouched opposite her smiling. 'Nearly didn't recognise you.'

  'Oh, sorry, hello,' Jane replied. 'You were helping at Alderney Street earlier?' He'd said Hello Sunshine to her once already today, as she'd emerged from her temporary tomb and he'd taken her hands to help her take those final steps down to the street.

  'That's right.' The stranger smiled. 'Heard you singing.' Jane blushed. Of course, that's where the sunshine bit came from - the last tune she'd been singing before being pulled free from her dusty vault. Jane turned briefly to look for Mrs Cavendish but she couldn't see her. 'How are you?'

  Jane's attention returned to the man in front of her. 'I'm alright, thank you. A little grubby but that's about it, surprisingly.'

  'Jolly pleased to hear it.' He smiled again then nodded towards her ankle.

  'Oh, just a scratch.'

  He smiled, looking more fami
liar than he should, and the feeling annoyed Jane. It was the same feeling as trying to recall the name of something you should know but which eludes you; when the answer's almost close enough to taste, but still too far to call to your mind or tongue.

  'Thank you for helping.' He shrugged at her thanks, looking a little self-conscious. Dressed in everyday clothes, grubbied by his helping at the bomb site of her home and possibly elsewhere, he clearly wasn't working in any official capacity earlier that day. Jane wondered if he'd been caught off duty and waded in. 'Are you with the auxiliary fire service?' she asked. He shook his head. 'ARP?'

  'No, just doing my bit. I was in the wrong place at the right time, or something like that. I don't know. I was heading off to look for some friends, to check they were alright. But then your house needed me first, so that's as far as I got.'

  'Well thank you again anyway.'

  'I just lifted a few bricks that's all, when they said someone was inside. It must have been horrific, underneath all that.' Now it was Jane's turn to shrug.

  'Well, now it's over it doesn't seem that bad. But before I heard the men calling to me I had some awful thoughts.'

  'I bet.'

  'Did you find the friends you were searching for?'

  'Not yet. I was directed here to look for them, or news of them, so fingers crossed.'

  'I hope you find them.'

  'Me too.' He looked bashful then reached out a hand. 'William Batten, call me Will. Only get called William as my stage name. Or when I'm in trouble.' He winked and Jane took his hand for the second time that day.

  'Ah, right.' Too bad Florence and Aggie weren't here to meet the actor. 'Jane Fraser; Sunshine. But I only get called Sunshine when I've just been trapped under a building.' It was Jane's turn to offer a smile.

  'Pleased to meet you. Properly.' He hesitated for a moment. 'Look, a bit cheeky I know, but I'm working at the Majesty in The Smile Patrol. If you feel up to it some time, would you like to come along?' With no response from a surprised Jane, he continued. 'I'll speak to Frank at the stage door; go round to see him and he'll let you in and find you a good spot. We're matinees only for a bit, just Tuesday to Thursday until these raids stop. We came off altogether on the 9th last month, after it all royally kicked off, but we were up and running again the next week. Got to keep the spirits up and carry on. By all accounts, the theatre still stands, so it'll carry on for a bit longer too I should think.' He paused to look around as his face turned sad. 'An awful lot of people made homeless today; again. I guess a theatre's the least of anyone's worries.' He seemed embarrassed to be talking of light entertainment amidst the aftermath of yet another air attack.

  'Yes, I suppose it is,' Jane said, and then added quickly, 'but we all need something to cheer us and make things feel more normal.' Jane also glanced at the displaced souls around them. She looked upon them as a separate group; all sheltering under the title of homeless although that really meant everything-less. Homes weren't the only thing lost; they'd lost their clothes, papers, family heirlooms, sentimental gifts, photographs. Somehow people smiled through, knowing that life was more important.

  Jane didn't recognise that she was now one of the everything-less group, part of the crowd, until Will very gently spoke again.

  'Do you have anywhere to go?'

  'Uh, no, not yet.' The realisation of her similarity to these people slapped her in the face. Will nodded to the desks along the walls, manned by efficient and organised women.

  'Don't worry, I'm sure they'll soon sort you out. I would think there are lots of empty places, now that so many people have left for the countryside and whatnot. Where do you work, is that alright do you know?' He seemed genuine and kind, talking quietly.

  'Work's alright; for now anyway. I work on reception at the Grandchester. I hear it's also still standing.' Jane smiled affectionately at the thought of the imposing hotel.

  Will raised his eyebrows and smiled. As he did so, a little light of recognition switched on for Jane. She knew why he looked so familiar. He looked like someone she'd seen at work almost every week for two years.

  'You could always stay there eh?' Jane laughed at his suggestion, despite the real subject actually being her homelessness.

  'That would be rather nice,' she admitted, delighting at the ridiculous thought of taking a room at the prestigious and expensive hotel.

  Will stood up but reached back down to shake Jane's hand again, this time in farewell.

  A voice cut through the busy mumble of activity calling Hugh. Hey Hugh! Will and Jane turned benignly towards the voice that begged attention, then back to each other as Will smiled down at Jane.

  'Afraid I've got to make tracks Jane. I need to find the fellas, check all's well. It was nice to see you again - and to see you a bloody sight cleaner too!' Jane blushed and his joking ceased, replaced by an earnest and kind smile. 'Please come along to the show. It would be really nice to see you again.' Then, the moment complete, he winked and called over his shoulder 'The show must go on, Sunshine,' as he walked away.

  Onwards

  A short while later Mrs Cavendish reappeared, a welcome bustling of maternal activity in Jane's vision, helping to draw her thoughts from those still trapped, injured or worse among the fallen shops, offices and homes. She stirred Jane from the floor and led her to the desk of the lady she'd watched for some time as the lady helped the homeless and the frightened. Jane looked around but could see no sign of Will Batten, who'd clearly been sent somewhere else in his search for his friends.

  The kind lady advised Jane on the process for obtaining new ration books; items safely guarded since they were issued at the beginning of the year but now lost forever under tons of masonry. She told Jane where she could get a few more 'bits and pieces' to tide her over – additional wash things, donated clothes and shoes. And where she should go to find somewhere to live.

  'We'll get you sorted love, and the other girls; don't worry.' Mrs Cavendish was reassuring and buoyant, despite her great loss.

  'Mrs Cavendish, I'm so sorry. Everything's gone.' Jane tucked her arm into her landlady's who patted it and managed not to look sad.

  'Well, every cloud love. At least that awful vase of my aunt's is gone. I've been trying to accidentally knock it off the mantel shelf for years.' Mrs Cavendish giggled like a little girl and Jane joined in, both women delighting in the ridiculous amidst the destruction.

  Together Mrs Cavendish and Jane went to get Jane's new ration book. Jane signed the declaration confirming its loss and Mrs Cavendish paid the replacement fee, waving aside any suggestion of repayment from Jane. Mrs Cavendish, thankfully, had her own book safely stowed in her handbag along with her meagrely stocked purse, a handkerchief, pen, shopping list, nail file, lucky silver horseshoe from last year's Christmas pudding and the front door key to number 20 Alderney Street, a door that no longer existed.

  The two ladies spent the night in the school hall, sandwiched between other displaced individuals and families, all trying to find cheer amongst the sadness and devastation. The next day, after a cup of tea and some toast, they set themselves the task of arranging new lodgings. Mrs Cavendish was keen to see all the girls rehomed in 'nice places' but Jane was the only one who had yet to find an alternative to the flattened house, so the ex-landlady turned her attention to her.

  Mrs Cavendish, thankfully, had a small circle of friends who also rented rooms. Without too much difficulty, they were able to find a room for Jane not too far from Alderney Street. When Mrs Cavendish's friend turned to her with an offer of a second room, the former landlady quietly revealed that she would actually be leaving the city and heading for Somerset as soon as she could; although she was loathe to leave the place of her birth and her fellow Londoners, the time had come to retreat to her daughter's house in the countryside.

  Mrs Cavendish's daughter had been pleading her mother to come for some months, citing help with the children in the absence of their enlisted father as the main reason. It was, however, just
an extra string with which to draw her mother to safety. Mrs Cavendish would now oblige with a large paper bag in one hand (encasing a spare dress, cardigan and underwear) and her handbag in the other, still bearing the front door key to number 20.

  After a further night in the school hall, Jane escorted Mrs Cavendish through the bustling crowds of people at Paddington station, some waving from train windows and some holding uniform clad loved ones close on the platform for as long as possible before releasing them. Mrs Cavendish's train was heading west to safety and the two ladies silently waited on platform three for its arrival.

  As the train pulled into the station and waiting passengers were stirred into action towards its doors, Jane and Mrs Cavendish hugged.

  'Look after yourself Jane love. And keep an eye on the others, especially Florence and Aggie, won't you? Keep my address safe and let me know how you all are from time to time if you get the chance. I've given my address to the other girls, and Betty, and Mary Foster, but I doubt that Florence will write although she'll intend to.' She smiled affectionately at the thought of the whirlwind that was Florence. 'Make sure you keep that ration book with you and…' Jane interrupted to reassure with a hand on Mrs Cavendish's arm.

  'Don't worry, we'll all be fine. I'll write, I promise.'

  'Thank you. Take care of yourself won't you, and the girls.' Mrs Cavendish squeezed Jane's arm.

  'Thank you for everything. We'll see each other when it's all over.'

  'We will, love, we most certainly will.' The young woman and the former landlady hugged again and the older woman stepped onto the train. She turned, squeezed Jane's hand, and moved along into carriage B where she found a seat and settled into it for the journey, gently slipping her hand into her bag to check for the front door key to number 20; her fingers wrapped around the cold metal and she closed her eyes and wept silently as the train pulled away.