by Jane Healey
GI drivers started jumping out of their vehicles, whistling and yelling. The groups of soldiers ahead of us turned around, running back toward the station. The rumble was louder still as more people around us started sprinting.
“Helmets on, ladies! Buzz bomb coming in!” A sweaty, pasty-faced American soldier hollered at us as he ran by.
Miss Chambers, her face pale, nodded at all of us. “Listen to what he says, ladies. Back into the station. Helmets on, hurry now, do not stop. We’ll head to the great hall to take shelter.”
“What the heck is a buzz bomb?” Viv breathlessly asked another soldier as we ran. He ran alongside us and was kind enough to grab some of Dottie’s gear when he saw she was struggling.
“You’ll learn soon enough; just get to safety now,” he said in a sharp tone.
As we were about to enter the archway of Euston Station once more, the soldier handed Dottie back her gear and said, “Welcome to London!” as he rushed back out to usher more people into the building to take shelter.
Dottie tightened her helmet as she struggled to hold on to the rest of her gear again. Martha Slattery, a round-cheeked farm girl from Iowa we had just met on the crossing, hurried behind us with Blanche Dumond.
The train station was in utter chaos as civilians, soldiers, and Red Cross workers ran inside for cover, many of them hastily throwing on helmets as they tried to find a place to shelter from whatever was coming. Many soldiers were handing their helmets to civilian women and children, as a few officers yelled instructions, telling people where to go. The roar of the buzz bomb was so loud now it echoed in the cavernous train station.
We jostled our way into the station’s magnificent great hall with hundreds of people heading in the same direction. But where to go? If the bomb hit the station, was anywhere inside truly safe? How big would the blast be? My stomach lurched, and I felt like I might throw up.
“Over there, ladies; head toward any of the alcoves—hurry!” Miss Chambers said, frantic, when she spotted us.
Our group scattered and ran to crowd into the various alcoves. I felt even sicker and more than a little naïve. Viv, Dottie, and I, along with Blanche and Martha, huddled in an alcove near the ladies’ bathroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted an impossibly petite person in a Red Cross uniform running toward us at top speed, helmet on, gear in hand. She squeezed in next to us.
“Hi, Martha; hey, Blanche.” A girl I recognized from the boat plopped herself down next to Martha, who moved over to give her more room.
“I’m Frankie Cullen,” she said, nodding at me, Dottie, and Viv. She was barely five feet, with wide-set light-brown eyes and shiny dark-brown curls peeking out from under her helmet, but there was a toughness about her despite her childlike size. She looked around, observing the scene without a trace of fear.
The roar continued to get louder, and more soldiers and civilians kept streaming inside the station to take cover. The British citizens looked fairly calm, but many of the young American soldiers who had just arrived with us looked horror-struck, as did many of the Clubmobile girls. More than one girl had started to cry.
“Jesus, it’s so loud,” Dottie said, tears in her eyes as she chewed on a strand of her hair out of what I suspected was a combination of nervousness and hunger. We were all listening and looking up at the gorgeous coffered ceiling high above us.
“But we’re going to be fine, right? It can’t be that close,” I said, more to calm myself than anyone else. And right after I said it, the deafening roar stopped. The skies above the train station went completely silent. Now even some of the British men and women looked terrified. A few of the young American soldiers were blinking back tears. A baby’s cries echoed off the walls.
“Brace yourselves! Brace yourselves and stay calm! Stay calm, stay low!” an army officer yelled to anyone who might listen.
I grabbed one of Viv’s hands and one of Dottie’s as we crouched even lower in the alcove.
An elderly woman sat near us in a tattered gray overcoat, wearing a helmet a soldier had just given her. She closed her eyes, put her hands together, and started to pray.
Welcome to London. The GI’s words to us minutes ago echoed in my head.
And then the buzz bomb exploded right outside of Euston Station.
The blast was deafening, a sharper sound than I had expected. My ears were still ringing minutes after we realized it was over, which made the aftermath seem that much more surreal as I looked around at the expressions of terror on the faces of the people around me, hearing but not quite understanding what was happening. The sound of shattering glass came from somewhere on the other side of the station, where the blast had originated. And the baby that had been crying was now screeching. Hers wasn’t the only scream I heard.
It took a few seconds for me to absorb that it was over and I could finally stop squeezing Dottie’s and Viv’s hands.
The old lady in the tattered coat was the first one near us to stand up. She handed back the helmet that had been loaned to her, brushed herself off, and walked away.
Other British civilians in the station followed suit. With looks on their faces like they were mildly embarrassed about the trouble, they dusted off their knees, said calming words to their children, and left the station to go about the rest of their day in their battered city.
Most of us who had just arrived from the US weren’t holding up quite so well. The complexions of many of the young soldiers nearby had turned ashen in the aftermath of the bombing. One soldier crouched with his knees to his chest, his helmet covering his entire face as he stifled a sob.
Blanche had pulled out a cigarette and was trying to light it, but her hand was shaking so much she couldn’t quite get the flame near enough to catch. Martha leaned over and tried cupping her hands around the lighter to help, but hers were shaking too, so it was hopeless. My heart was racing, and for the first time I considered taking up smoking. Anything to calm the jumpiness. I was sure I was wearing the same shocked expression as Viv and Dottie.
Only Frankie Cullen seemed completely composed, studying the scene around us like she was taking mental notes. She jumped up and started gathering her gear with an efficiency and earnestness I found annoying.
“Those buzz bomb jitters you’re feeling?” Judith Chambers said, projecting her voice for all the Red Cross girls that were remotely within earshot. “It’s normal—happens to everyone the first couple of times. I promise that will stop after a while.”
She stood up and took off her helmet. “You won’t even think about them after a few days. Come on now, make sure you have all of your things. It’s time to head over to Park Street and get you all settled.”
We all came out of our hiding spots, picking up our gear and once again heading out of the station. Weighed down by our gas masks, helmets, and everything else we were carrying, we looked like a bunch of droopy chicks, shocked and exhausted, as we followed Miss Chambers, our mother hen. I couldn’t even speak for several minutes; the rest of the girls were silent too. It was our first up-close encounter with a war that we’d previously only known from the newspapers and radio.
“I need a drink,” Viv said, breaking the silence as she chewed on her thumbnail. It was something she did only when she was nervous, a rarity for her.
Blanche laughed, put her arm around Viv’s shoulder, and said, “Oh, sweetheart, we’re all getting a drink after this baloney.”
As we walked, I kept looking back toward the other side of the station, where the glass had shattered from the bomb’s impact beyond it. Our train had arrived on one of the tracks on that side just an hour before. It was sheer luck that we hadn’t been pulling into the station when the bomb struck. I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and realized my hands were shaking too.
“Well, that would have been a hell of a way to go,” Viv said, as if reading my thoughts. “Get all the way over here and then bite the dust on the first day?”
“No kidding,” I said. “I still can’t bel
ieve that just happened. You okay over there, Dots?” She was walking next to us with her head down.
“Yes, I was just thinking about what my parents would say,” she said, her voice a whisper. “You remember how furious they were. They were so against me doing this with my brother already in the Pacific. This is not something I’m going to write home about.”
This time, when we walked outside under the enormous arches of Euston Station, the London air smelled acrid, and an ominous-looking tower of dark smoke billowed from the other side of the building. We all looked up at the sky as we walked, listening for the siren to start up again.
Seeing that most of us were still traumatized, Miss Chambers kept talking as we went, raising her voice so that most of the group could hear her.
“Buzz bombs are V-1s. Pilotless bombs with motors,” she said, in a matter-of-fact way that was unnerving. “The Germans launch them from the coast of France. They resemble small airplanes, and the tail end burns a steady bright light. When the motor cuts off, the bomb either falls straight down and explodes or drifts on awhile before falling and blowing up. One thing you learn quickly is that you’re safe as long as you can hear the motor. The good news is, a buzz bomb destroys the object it hits, but not much around it.”
“My neighbor told me about the buzz bombs in one of his last letters to me; he called them doodlebugs,” Martha said. “People have been leaving the city in droves because of them. Be happy that we’re only going to be in London for eight days.”
“That feels like an awful long time if there are going to be bombs constantly dropping,” Dottie said, looking like she was on the verge of tears again.
“Miss Chambers?” I said, raising my voice as we were walking several feet behind her. “How frequently do the buzz bombs strike?”
“They’ve been coming in increasing numbers this summer for sure, which is why so many women and children have been evacuated to the countryside,” she said in a no-nonsense tone. “They usually come at night, though. Starting tomorrow night, after you’ve unpacked and settled in, you’ll work in shifts of two girls at a time, watching for V-1s from the rooftop so you can warn everyone else to take cover if one is incoming.”
“Seriously?” Blanche piped up. She and Viv were both on their second, shaky cigarette. “That’s how we’re going to know they’re coming? A couple of us staring at the sky?”
“Seriously,” said Miss Chambers, looking Blanche in the eye to make sure she knew she meant it. “As I said, all this will become routine to you soon. Ah, good, the trucks are all here. Climb in, ladies; let’s get you registered at the club so you can get some sleep. I know you’re all exhausted and hungry.”
“Miss Chambers, I’ll take the first shift,” Frankie Cullen said, sitting next to me as we settled in for the ride. “I don’t need that much sleep anyway. Hey, Fiona, why don’t you join me tomorrow night?” She elbowed me.
“Um, sure,” I said, my voice flat and on the edge of sarcasm. That was the last thing I wanted to do. I bit my tongue.
“Perfect, that settles it,” Miss Chambers said with a nod. “Thank you, Frankie, Fiona.”
Aside from Frankie, the rest of our crew was sullen and famished now that our long journey had concluded with a bomb scare. I felt physically ill from all of it, but perhaps still mostly because we weren’t going to the Continent after all. I needed sleep so that I could think clearly again. And I needed a new plan now that we were going to be stuck in the UK.
I looked out the window at the streets of London, haunted by a war it had endured for four long years. As we drove, we saw gray buildings with boarded-up windows and piles of bricks stacked beside dusty bomb sites. Due to years of rationing, vegetable gardens were growing all around the Tower of London and St. James’s Square. Most of the people on the streets, if they weren’t in some kind of military uniform, were wearing mismatched, shabby clothes and shoes long worn through. The Londoners looked just as beaten down as the city itself.
A couple of the girls gasped as the driver took us by St. Paul’s Cathedral, still standing majestically, though the buildings around it had been completely destroyed. Something about that cathedral among the ruins made me blink back tears.
“Imagine,” I said to Viv and Dottie as we all gaped out the windows, “living under war conditions like this in Boston? For years? I don’t know how they’ve managed it.”
“You’d be amazed what the human spirit can endure, can adapt to. I know you’re still in shock from the bombing, but I meant what I said: you’ll all adjust to this new world in time,” Miss Chambers said, looking around at us, her tone curt, calm, and professional. “And the English are as tough as they come . . .”
I thought of the Londoners at the station right after the bombing, going about their business as if a bomb dropping were just a huge inconvenience like a thunderstorm or a late train. How long had it taken them to get used to the air raid sirens and bombings as their new normal? How long would it take us?
Chapter Four
Dear Danny,
I should be writing to my parents and sisters right now. I promised them I would as soon as I arrived, but instead I’m writing to you, though of course I have no address. I have arrived in London for eight days of Red Cross training, and I’ve been wondering about what you would think if you knew I was here. You would no doubt think I was crazy for volunteering to go to the war. You would be worried about my safety and try to convince me to go home. But when you went missing, it turned my world upside down. What is my life without our future plans?
While I’ve had my moments of doubt, coming here is better than doing nothing. My life stalled after you left. At least now I feel like I’m in forward motion after months of just waiting. Waiting for news about you. Waiting for life to happen to me. Too much waiting.
I realize now how naïve I was to think that of all the men going to war, you were going to be one of the ones that would be okay. When I wake up in the morning, it sometimes takes me a few seconds to remember that you’re missing . . . and my heart hurts all over again.
If you are anywhere, I’m much closer to you now geographically—but are you anywhere? I’m not on the Continent yet, but I’ll get there.
Viv, Dottie, and I are currently rooming together in a spartan, college-dormitory-style room in a building the Red Cross has taken over. After our journey, and a close encounter with a buzz bomb, we had to wait in line for hours to register. When they finally assigned us rooms, I was so dead tired I don’t even remember falling asleep. Dottie is still sleeping soundly next to me, curled up small like a cat. We decided to let Princess Viv have the other bed to herself because, believe it or not, she snores like a fat old grandpa, and she would have finagled it somehow anyway. Her snoring just woke me up, even though I’m still exhausted from the journey. It’s about five p.m. London time, and I . . .
I jumped at the sound of a loud rapping on the door, and someone said hello in a sing-song voice from the other side.
“Hey, Boston! You gals awake in there?” I cracked open the door to see Blanche on the other side, blonde curls pinned and shiny, candy-apple-red lipstick perfectly applied. She looked fresh as a daisy compared to my groggy state.
“I’m barely awake; Viv and Dottie are still out cold,” I whispered.
“Well, get them up, sweetheart,” Blanche said with a smile. “We’ve got to see London while we can. Martha and Frankie are getting ready now. Meet us downstairs in an hour.”
I rubbed my eyes. The thought of going anywhere besides back to bed wasn’t appealing, but I had already learned that Blanche was not one to take no for an answer. “Where are we going?”
“Rainbow Corner,” said Blanche.
“Rainbow what?” I asked, stifling a yawn.
“It’s the Red Cross club in the West End, near Piccadilly. It is the place to go. Get the girls up.” She looked me up and down, and added, “And you should definitely shower.” As she was walking away, she said over her shoulder, “Also,
we’ve got to wear our uniforms, or Chambers will flip her wig. But we can wear high heels.”
At dusk, the six of us hit the streets of London in our summer uniforms and heels. I was still tired but felt much better after a lukewarm shower and a change into fresh clothes.
“Blanche, you’re sure we have to wear our uniforms when we go out for a night on the town?” Viv asked. “I brought a great new dress for nights like this.”
“That’s what the rest of the girls on our floor were saying,” Blanche said. “We are going to a Red Cross Club after all. And do you really want to get on Miss Chambers’s bad side on the first day?”
Viv sighed. “I guess not.”
“Just so I understand, those buzz bombs could happen anytime, day or night?” Dottie asked no one in particular. “It could happen right this minute? I mean, a buzz bomb could land right in front of us?” She was scanning the sky with trepidation.
“We’d hear it coming and find somewhere to take cover,” Frankie said in a matter-of-fact tone. “No use fretting constantly about it. God, I wish I could be up there, helping to shoot some of them down.”
“Wish you could be up there? What are you talking about?” I asked her. Blanche and Martha had become friendly with Frankie on the Queen Elizabeth. I didn’t know her very well yet, only that she took being a Clubmobile girl very seriously and was definitely a bit of an eager beaver for that reason. It got on my nerves.
“Didn’t you know?” Blanche said, snapping her gum. “Frankie here learned to fly planes. She was gunning to be a pilot.”
“That was the original plan—even got my pilot’s license. I had applied to be one of those WASPs, the Women Airforce Service Pilots. But I was too damn short, so they rejected my application,” Frankie said, bitterness in her voice. “They don’t take anyone that’s only five feet tall.” She paused for a second before adding, “Of course, if I’d been accepted, it’s not like they would have let me see any combat action. I’d be at a base in Texas or something. I’d rather be here.”