by C. G Oster
The Gentleman on Pennyfield Street
By C.G. Oster
Copyright ©2018 Camille Oster
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the work of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
September 1940
IN HER LIGHT GREEN uniform, Dory Sparks walked out of the small brick house she shared with a few of the other girls working at the Chiswell munitions factory. Lorries trundled along the street to the factory located at the edge of town. It was a sprawling complex with two tall chimneys belching black smoke.
The dust and dirt got into everything and she didn't have any nails left for the sticky TNT to hide under. The smell of it made her wash her hair every day and she was getting used to sleeping with perpetually wet hair when she came home late in the evenings. Either that or wash black dirt off her sheets every other day.
It was hard work. They worked every day of the week and got only two days off per month, but it was necessary work—if monotonously boring. It paid well, particularly in her group. She was group eight, tasked with handling the amatol which turned the mortars from innocent steel tubes into proper explosives.
Filing in through the gates with the crowd of other girls, Dory found her timesheet and shoved it into the punch. As she walked, people melted away to their workstations, she toward the far end where the filling operations were, separated by a thick concrete wall from the storage area, where workers were classified at the most dangerous level.
It was strongly encouraged that you were unmarried to work in the higher levels, in case things went wrong—and when things went wrong, they went spectacularly wrong. One munition going off was bad enough, but one exploding set off all the other ones around it and then the building was more or less pulverized. So it wasn't a place to be careless.
Reaching the filling part of the factory, Dory moved to her workspace, where ordinates were already lined up, ready to be filled. Her job was to go to the smelter, where the amatol was heated and to carry it over to the ordinates, fill and attach the detonators. Others then transferred the ordinates to the storage area, where they never waited around too long.
The factory worked at full capacity. The need for ordinates meant that no slack in production was allowed.
Through the grubby glass window, Dory saw what looked like a lovely autumn day pass by. Her hands were red and uncomfortable inside the leather gloves she wore and sweat ran down her back from the constant lifting and heaving.
Placing her bucket down, she grabbed the wooden stick and went from one mortar to the next, gently stirring the amatol inside the drilled barrel. Any air pockets made the mortar explode in the tube, probably killing some young lad in the process.
It was hard to think about what all these mortars would be used for. War was triage. It was better them than us, and at times Dory wondered how in the world they had got themselves into this situation. The world was unrecognizable, but she worked as hard as she could to produce the ordinates that would kill the enemy.
At times, she thought back longingly on the still and peaceful days in St. Tropez. They seemed a lifetime away, even if it had actually been less than a year. Here, one day was much like another. Rise at dawn, work until well into the evening and try to sleep in between—with wet hair.
On her days off, she went to the pictures. A moment of escape, but first she had to sit through the Pathé pictures which showed overly enthusiastic depictions of the national pride. Sometimes Dory wondered if there were some who were excited about the unfolding developments of this war. It sounded that way, according to how upbeat the news presenters were.
Hollywood always came through with an escape, with glamorous dresses and handsome men in some comedy of errors. A place far away where there was no war.
There were war movies as well, but Dory didn't go to those. There was enough bravery in the girls around her. She didn't need to know how brave their men were. It was too frightening.
Recently, she had written to DI Ridley, wishing him the best of luck for all the endeavors he faced, knowing he could tell her very little of what he did with Military Intelligence. It could be that he didn't even receive her letter.
More regularly, she wrote to Lady Pettifer, who was back at Wallisford Hall with her brother. Part of the estate had been given over to the Ministry of Food to raise chickens. Dory couldn't imagine the grand estate with countless chicken coops. Livinia, Lady Pettifer's niece, was apparently working as a secretary at the Ministry of War. It seemed everyone had to do their effort for the war.
"Miss Sparks," a voice said, breaking into Dory's thoughts. "Please come to the office immediately."
The woman in a tight pencil skirt and heels walked away. Judging by her dress, not one of the factory workers—instead from the administration office.
Dory had no idea what this could be about, but she finished screwing on the last of the caps and indicated to the man from storage that he could move the lot in front of her.
At the sink, she washed her hands with the large, gritty bar of soap, trying to get as much of the dirt off. Even with gloves, it got all over her hands. With a sigh, she looked at her hands and gave up.
It was a long walk back to the office, past large machining equipment. The woman hadn't even said her name and Dory wasn't sure she would recognize her face.
The office was crowded with small desks, the cackle from the typewriters filling her ears. Dory walked toward a desk where she thought she recognized a girl. "I'm Dory Sparks. Someone wished to see me."
The girl looked up and adjusted her glasses, staring incomprehensively. Wonderful, Dory thought. She had no idea where to go.
"This way, Miss Sparks," someone called and Dory turned to see the tight pencil skirt again. It was a lovely skirt. Dory wished she had one. The woman walked down a corridor and Dory followed. "In here."
"Right," Dory said and took off the handkerchief that held back her hair. The room was small with a table in the middle, two women in dark green uniforms sitting by the table, their heads down in a file. "Miss Sparks?" the older woman said as she looked up.
"Yes."
"Please sit," she said, indicating to the chair on the other side of the table. "Now, you're a group eight I understand."
"Yes."
"I am Marjorie Dam from the ATS," she said with a smile. The ATS was the Auxiliary Territorial Services. Their posters were intermittently plastered up around town, along with the WRENs and the WAAF. "We are looking for girls with strong nerves and you obviously have to have doing the job you do." The woman twisted her head to the side as she considered Dory. The other woman was watching her intently too. "I think you might be exactly what we are looking for."
"Oh, yes?" Dory said, not having enough information to really understand what these people wanted. In truth, she had little understanding of what the ATS did, or the others.
"Are you interested in performing a more active role in the war?"
Dory wasn't sure if she could give any more than she already was, working every hour of the day as she was. "You mean go to France?"
"No, nothing like that."
"We're looking for women to help with our home defenses."
The other woman started speaking. "As you know, the Germans have their bombing raids across the southern parts, particularly London. We need to bolster our defenses."
"We need someone with a bit of nerve."
Which meant there was some risk involved. "I'm listening."
"Excel
lent. We are specifically talking about anti-aircraft defenses."
"The guns that fire at the enemy planes," Dory said.
"Not the guns exactly. We represent more the detection."
"Specifically in London," the other woman filled in.
Dory blinked. London was where the raids were, so it made sense that was where the detection was. But they had also come all the way up here to search for people as opposed to selecting from the numerous women in London.
"You are unmarried," one of the women said, consulting the file, which meant there was definitely risk involved.
"Yes."
"Training is provided. You will perform a very vital function for your country and would do your bit to stop the bombings that are devastating London."
Obviously, she could say no, but could she live with herself? If not the guns, then Dory guessed they were looking for women to man the searchlights, which meant being active and vulnerable when the enemy aircrafts were over London—when the bombs were dropping.
Perhaps it as understandable that they recruited from factories where women were already performing dangerous roles.
"The hours are unsociable," the woman continued. "The Germans have changed their tactics and come more at night now than they did before."
"I see," Dory said.
"It would be awfully good if you could join us, Miss Sparks. Our boys could use all the support they can get, but our populace need defending too. You can play a real and vital role in that."
With a sigh, Dory stroked her hands down her cheeks toward her mouth. "Of course," she said.
"Excellent. Now you need to travel to Preston in Lancashire, where you can enlist and receive the King's shilling."
The notion sounded outlandish—positively medieval—but she was being pressed into service.
"Obviously, there will be a physical exam, but I don't expect you will have any problems. Here is a voucher for travel. Simply present it to the stationmaster and he should put you on the next train heading in the right direction. So pleased you are considering joining us. With women like yourself, this war can be won." She tore a yellow piece of paper from a booklet and handed it over to Dory.
Dory looked down on it, where in black print it said the holder could travel to Preston, Lancashire from anywhere in the country. "Thank you," she said, not feeling the certainty that these two women projected.
Already, though, Dory knew she couldn't say no. The army had come all the way up here to ask her to join. It would prey on her until the end of her days if she declined. So, no more working in the factory. Instead, she would have to face the bombs dropping on London.
Chapter 2
"TRY TEN DEGREES EAST," Vera called, training her binoculars eastwards. The drone of coming aircrafts was unmistakable.
Tight dread gripped Dory's heart as she quickly turned the wheel that shifted the massive arc light. Heat steamed off the light and burned into one side of her body as she turned the heavy wheel. One wheel made it go up and down and another side to side.
The aircrafts were coming closer and Dory moved the wheels to find one. They were difficult to find, but when she did, they lit up like silver coins in the dark sky. Catching something, she had to go back and the bofor gun across the river started firing, then another, the steady percussions of the high caliber bullets echoing toward them. The hot bullets flew up in the sky, by illusions sometimes looking like swooping starlings.
From the sounds of the droning engines, a whole squadron of German—Heinkels if she were to guess. Closer and closer they came, then the sickening whistle of the bombs. Constantly they were listening for the ones that seemed to grow endlessly louder. The explosions started, lighting the sky like fireworks. They always fell in twos, mere seconds apart. It was a terrible beauty these nights.
Dory swung the heavy arc light as she heard them coming above them, their deathly payload dropping across the city. Finding one, she stuck to it as long as she could, the guns finding it. Smoke suggested it was hit and she hoped she'd downed it.
They were moving away, but they were coming back for another round. Dory tried to find them, but the sound was retreating.
Fire lit up the skyline against the luminous orange and red glows. The searchlight traveling across the sky, searching for the direction they would come from.
"Southwest," Vera said, training her binoculars again. Directives were fed through her headphones from the listening posts outside the city. Dory quickly wound the light around, accidentally brushing her elbow against the burning barrel of the light. She didn't know exactly how hot it was, but she could fry an egg on it.
The drone started in the distance and the guns started firing. That awful sound of the engines coming closer was the fiercest dread Dory had ever known, except perhaps when an awful man had tried to throw her over the side of a ship. That had been pretty awful too, but justice had eventually found that villain.
It didn't feel like justice was coming to these horrid Germans who were coming to devastate the city night after night. Dory had lost count how many nights, but they were relentless. If only there would be a clear night tomorrow so they could have a reprieve.
Bombs were dropping again, cutting sways across the city with glittering explosions. East London was where they focused, hoping to hit the docks. They followed the River Thames until they reached London.
"More coming from the east," Vera called, and Dory used all her strength to quickly wind the light around, the light traveling along the clouds. This second squadron was coming in just as the first was retreating. Dory knew it was going to be a heavy night.
Fire dotted across the city, creating a red glow on the clouds above, interspersed by curtains of glowing smoke. One trace of whistling didn't seem to end, it just grew louder and louder. A painful twist in her heart told Dory that this one was going to be close. Thunder shook the building under their feet and Dory bumped her elbow into the side of the lamp again. The second fell, perhaps a street further away. The impact of it reverberated through her body.
"That was close," Vera said. "I hope the people in the India Docks shelter are okay."
Feeling shaken, Dory returned her hands to the wheel that turned the light. Now was not the time to think about how close that had been. She had a job to do. Still, it was a thought she couldn't entirely push away. Night after night up on this roof, they wondered if this was the night they would be struck. They were seen after all. The searchlights were the most visible part and some of the planes seemed to aim for them.
Down the street, fire had broken out and they could see the outlines of the windows of the façade—hear the rumble of a building collapsing. "That was more than an incendiary," Dory said.
The peppering of the bofor guns continued, relentlessly searching for a target, and the drone returned. Dory found another plane and stayed with it until the guns found it. They were hard to take down. The Germans built their planes well and it usually took a period of sustained firing to bring one down. Sometimes they did crash into the city, turning into bombs themselves.
The yell of the firemen could be heard as they raced up the street to quell the nearby fire. A new wave of planes was approaching, and Dory forgot about the firemen and turned her attention to finding a new target, but they were flying further away and the sounds of the bombs hitting were more muffled.
"Do you think they're targeting more westwards?" Betsy asked from the door.
It did seem that way. "Maybe they're trying to hit Parliament," Dory replied.
"Sounds awful, but it would be good if it wasn't us all the time."
Betsy was a local girl, having grown up just a few streets back from the dock, in a neighborhood that seemed to get the bulk of the Germans' attention as they were trying to destroy the industrial heart of the country. Around here was where all the factories were, where the docks and storehouses were. Hitting Parliament and St Paul’s would be symbolic victories and would serve little to slow down the British war effor
t. No doubt the German spies would know exactly where the Ministry of War was located, but from what Dory gathered, it was a ministry that was very good at contingency planning. Livinia worked there, of course, but wouldn't be there at night—instead safe somewhere in the West End.
"I think they're retreating," Betsy said. "The radar says they are moving away."
"They did enough damage," Dory said, continuing to search until the all-clear sounded.
This was the moment when it felt as though the entire city was listening, and all that could be heard were the fires, sometimes screams.
They seem to have gone. Dory searched, her light traveling across the sky. It took a good ten minutes before the all-clear sounded and the blaring tone of the sirens broke out across the city.
"I hope that is it for tonight," Vera said.
"I hope so too. I think the carbon needs to be changed." Dory knew her light well enough to tell when the carbon was weakening. She would have to change it in the morning when it had cooled down.
Light rain sizzled on the lamp and was turning into steam. Rain would help quell the fires, but it was only light drizzle at this point.
The yell of the fire and rescue men continued down the road. People would be emerging from their shelters all over the city, walking home by the light of numerous fires.
It could well be that the Germans came back. They had before and the sirens would fire up, calling everyone back into the shelter.
Her light was weakening further. "I might turn it off. The carbon is going."
Turning the switch, Dory turned off the light, plunging them into darkness. For a moment, not even the fires of the city were visible to them until their eyes adjusted.
Walking over the edge of the roof, Dory sat down. Half of her body was burning hot, the rain soothing on her red cheek. Taking off her helmet, she let the rain cool her head as she brought out a sandwich. She was starving hungry. They would wait here until dawn in case the enemy returned for another go.