Lost Angel (11 page)

Ellen was heartbroken by her father’s death and longed for the comfort of her mum’s arms again, but her mother seemed to be locked in a world of her own. Mabel had tried, but hadn’t been successful in rousing her, only able to shake her head sadly and say that her mum was sure to get better given time. It was Mabel whom Ellen clung to, Mabel who held her so many times when she cried.

Now Ellen was back at school, but she was really worried about her mum. She hardly moved from her chair and Ellen would come home to find the housework untouched, her mum smelling, with her body and hair unwashed. She tried to look after her, managed to cook easy things, and, though Mabel was at work she often found the time to make enough stew for them all to eat, yet her mother barely touched it.

The Luftwaffe had returned, the warning siren
wailing frequently these days, and it was the only sound that brought her mother to life. Though bombs rained down on London again, Clapham still remained hardly touched, yet her mum would rally enough at the sound of the siren to insist that they went to shelter in the underground station.

The bombing raids went on and on, into February, and at last Ellen could see that her mum was a little better, though she was still distant and remote. The air raid sounded once more and wearily Ellen got up, dressed quickly and picked up her gas mask, blinking with tiredness as she went into the hall.

‘I was about to call you,’ her mother said.

Ellen could see that her mum’s eyes were red and swollen, giving away the fact that she had been crying again. ‘Are you all right, Mum?’

‘Not really, but we…we’ve got to get to the shelter.’

‘Can’t we stay here? Can’t we give the underground station a miss for once?’

‘No, no!’ she cried. ‘You’re all I’ve got left and I’m not risking it.’

When they went outside there was no sign of Mabel or Dora and, though the blackout was in force, a full moon cast an eerie glow on the frost-covered pavements and rooftops. A bombers’ moon, Mabel’s son, Percy, called it, and Ellen shivered at
the thought of how much damage the Luftwaffe might cause that night somewhere in or on the outskirts of London.

‘I’ve forgotten me fags,’ said her mother suddenly.

‘Do you want me to run back for them?’ Ellen offered.

‘It’s too dangerous.’

‘Mum, you know this area has hardly been hit.’

‘There’s always a first time and I can always cadge a couple off Mabel,’ she said as they turned the corner, and moments later they joined other people streaming below. The Shelter Marshal was there, the ‘SM’ painted on the front of his helmet visible as he tried to keep order. Ignoring him, Hilda found them a free bunk.

As usual, Ellen climbed onto the top one, while her mother sat below, and soon Mabel turned up with her boys, followed by Dora and Lucy. Ellen barely acknowledged Lucy, but nonetheless she came running over to climb up beside her.

‘You were quick to get down here,’ Lucy said.

‘A few minutes and then I want you settled in your own bunk,’ Dora called.

‘All right, Mum,’ Lucy agreed before turning to Ellen again. ‘Why won’t you walk with me to school now?’

With her head down, Ellen just shrugged. She still liked Lucy, but now that she wasn’t going to church, she felt awkward in her company. She
didn’t want to hear about God, Jesus, or his love for his flock. Dora had tried talking to her again, saying that Jesus wasn’t there for their earthly needs; that it was man who caused war and unnecessary deaths. Jesus was there for their spiritual needs, Dora insisted, for their souls’ growth and comfort. Her words hadn’t helped. There was no comfort, there was no one there when, like her mother, Ellen cried at night.

‘Please tell me,’ Lucy urged.

‘It’s because I don’t want to hear you going on and on about Jesus.’

‘I won’t any more. I thought it might help, but my mum said that you aren’t ready to listen yet.’

‘She’s right.’

‘Can’t we still be friends?’

‘Yes, but don’t ask me to come to church with you.’

‘All right, but lots of people have asked how you are and we miss you in Bible class.’

Deep down, Ellen missed church too, the friends she had made, the congregation and the feeling of belonging. Yet she couldn’t go back, not now when she no longer believed in anything she’d been taught.

Dora’s voice rang out again.

‘Lucy, come on now.’

‘I’d best go. Can we walk to school together in the morning?’

Ellen only nodded, saying nothing as Lucy jumped down from the bunk. She lay down, closing her eyes, but soon the sound of Mabel and Dora’s voices began to drift up to her as they sat with her mother on the bunk below. ‘Another broken night’s sleep,’ Mabel complained, ‘but at least Berlin’s getting it too.’

‘Hilda, how are you?’ Dora asked.

‘I still can’t believe that Doug’s gone. In Somerset I yearned to come back to London, but now I feel this place is cursed. First I lost my parents, then my baby, and now…now Doug.’

There was a pause before Mabel spoke. ‘Hilda, this has been burning a hole in my pocket. I’ve been holding on to it until I thought the time was right and now I wonder if either you or Ellen would like it back.’

‘Oh, Mabel! It’s my mother’s necklace.’

‘Yes, love.’

‘I…I think I’d like to wear it again.’

‘I’m sure Ellen won’t mind,’ Mabel said, then raising her voice, she called: ‘Ain’t that right, Ellen?’

‘Put a sock in it,’ someone yelled. ‘I’ve got work in the morning.’

‘Yeah, so have I, and my boy, but we ain’t complaining,’ Mabel shouted back.

Mabel’s loud voice echoed in the tunnel and it was followed by a few titters of laughter.

‘Yeah, well, I suppose I should get some sleep, too. Are you going to be all right, Hilda?’

Ellen didn’t hear her mother’s reply, and soon, other than the occasional cough from nearby bunks, all became quiet. She tried to sleep, turning this way and that, but, as her mother began to cry softly, Ellen found it impossible. She was about to climb down when someone, a woman, walked over to crouch down in front of her mother. Ellen strained her ears to hear the woman’s quiet words.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ she said, ‘but I heard you crying and felt compelled to come and talk to you.’

‘I…I’m all right.’

‘No, you’re not, and though this is going to sound strange, when I heard you crying, I had a sort of vision.’

There were a few sniffs, and then Ellen thought her mother’s voice sounded stronger as she said, ‘Leave me alone. Go away.’

‘But I have to tell you about my vision. You see, I saw a man, a sailor. He was on some sort of raft, holding his back. I…I feel that it’s your husband.’

There was a pause, but then sounding forceful, more like her old self, Hilda snapped, ‘Look, lady, I don’t know what your game is, or who’s been gossiping about me, but if it’s money you’re after, you can forget it. I’m not mug enough to fall for this sort of mumbo jumbo.’

‘I don’t want money. It’s as I said – I felt compelled to talk to you.’

‘Well, feel compelled to bugger off again!’

‘I’ll go, but you see I usually see spirits, souls that have passed over. But this time it was different. I feel that your husband is still alive, that he survived and is coming home to you,’ said the woman, before turning to walk away.

Ellen sat up. Alive! The woman had said her dad was alive!

‘Mum, who was that?’ she hissed eagerly.

‘She was nobody. A nutter.’

‘But she said Dad’s coming home.’

‘She was talking a load of rubbish. Your dad’s dead. You know that, I know that. Now please, go to sleep.’

Ellen felt the sting of tears and closed her eyes against her mother’s words. If only that woman hadn’t been a nutter. If only it was true and her dad really was coming home.

After a restless night in the underground station, it was six o’clock before people began to stir. Ellen woke, surprised to find that at some point she must have fallen asleep, and stretched, about to climb off the bunk, when Mabel bustled over.

‘Hilda, who was that woman I saw talking to you last night?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen her before, but she was nobody, a daft cow who talked a load of rubbish.’

‘She said that my dad’s coming home,’ Ellen said.

‘What?’ Mabel exclaimed. ‘But how can she possibly know that?’

‘She said she had a vision,’ answered Ellen.

‘Ellen, I told you, the woman was off her head.’

‘Hilda, you shouldn’t just dismiss it,’ Mabel said. ‘There are people around who can do strange things. Take old Mrs Porter. She can read the tea leaves and I’m told she’s ever so good.’

‘It’s a load of tosh and probably a scam to make money, that’s all.’

‘She only charges sixpence,’ Mabel protested, but then, seeing Billy strolling towards her, she shouted: ‘You little bugger. Where have you been? You’re supposed to be in your bunk.’

‘I went to the lav,’ he said, wide-eyed with innocence.

‘Yeah, that’s what you always say, but I don’t believe you. Wait till I get you home, and you, Percy, get our stuff and let’s go.’

‘Come on, Ellen, let’s get home too,’ Hilda urged.

They were all walking home together when Mabel brought up the subject again, but Dora huffed, her voice strident as she said, ‘It’s wrong to consult people like that, tarot readers, mediums, and even those who do something that seems as harmless as reading tea leaves.’

‘I don’t see why,’ Mabel protested.

‘It warns against it in the Bible.’

‘Well, Dora, you’re entitled to your opinions, but as for me, I enjoy a bit of fortune telling.’

Ellen listened to them, her head still full of the woman who had spoken to her mum. She wanted to talk to Mabel, to ask her about the people she had said could do strange things, but daren’t in front of her mother. Tea leaves. How could anyone read
tea leaves
?

Unlike Ellen, Hilda was fuming. Someone had been gossiping, had told that woman that Doug was dead, and if she got her hands on them she’d wring their bloody neck. It was nasty, cruel to feed her and God knows who else, false hope. Hilda wasn’t a fool and could see what was coming. The woman had spouted her rubbish, and if she’d been daft enough to believe her, the bitch would have offered more information, but this time she’d have asked for money, to cross her hand with silver or something like that.

It annoyed her that Mabel had brought it up again in front of Ellen. She had seen the light of hope in her daughter’s eyes after that daft woman had talked about her vision, and then had watched it die again. For the first time, Hilda felt her heart stirring for her daughter and along with that came guilt – guilt that since the news that Doug’s ship had gone down, she’d hardly spared Ellen a thought.

They were soon home, Lucy calling to Ellen, ‘Give me a knock when you’re ready for school.’

‘Yes, all right.’

‘Hilda, I’ll see you when I finish work,’ Mabel said.

Hilda nodded, finding that her mind was working again, coming to life. Until now she’d been inside a cocoon of grief, unable to think of anything but Doug’s death and feeling that she
had died with him. She had to somehow pull herself together and to start with she’d have to go back to work. A war widow’s pension wasn’t enough to live on and the two quid a week she could earn at the factory would make all the difference.

‘Ellen, come here,’ Hilda said as soon as they walked into the living room, her arms held out. Ellen looked a bit puzzled, but she walked into them and Hilda held her tightly as she said, ‘I’m sorry, love, sorry that I haven’t been here for you.’

‘It’s all right, Mum,’ Ellen cried, but clung to her like a limpet.

‘There’s just the two of us now, but don’t worry, we’ll be all right. We’ve got each other and to start with, I’m going back to the factory. That’s if you don’t mind going to Dora’s again after school.’

‘I…I suppose it’ll be all right,’ Ellen said, ‘but…but are you sure you’re up to going back to work?’

Hilda felt another surge of guilt. She’d left Ellen to do everything, the housework when she came home from school, the shopping and even the cooking, while she had hardly moved off her chair.

‘I’m fine, and from now on things are going to be different. To start with, go and wash the stink of the underground off while I see to our breakfast.’

Ellen looked up at her face, and Hilda managed 190
a reassuring smile that dropped as soon as her daughter left the room. She would have to bring Ellen up alone now and it wouldn’t be easy, but she’d do it, somehow she’d do it. Her daughter was the only thing she had to live for now.

Ellen didn’t really want to go to Dora’s again after school, but thankfully so far neither she nor Lucy had mentioned church. Despite her mum saying that the woman’s vision had been nonsense, Mabel had disagreed, and now Ellen was living in hope. As soon as she had got the chance, she’d spoken to Mabel and asked her about fortune tellers, but had been fobbed off, told that she was too young to worry about such things.

She had then tried some of the older girls at school, but they didn’t know anything, just talking about ghosts and scaring her so much that for a while she had burrowed under the blankets at night.

With nobody else to ask, Ellen had been forced to give up and, as the weeks passed, she wrestled with her feelings. She still missed going to church, meeting the friends she’d made, and the joyful singing that somehow made you feel, well, sort of happy inside. Yet how could she go back when they’d deny the only thing that gave her any hope? That woman had said her dad was alive, that he was on a raft and coming home. Ellen clung to
those words, the only thing that eased the awful lump of pain she had felt inside since the day the telegram had arrived. The vision had to be real, it just had to. He wasn’t dead. Her dad wasn’t dead.

The air raids had stopped at the end of April, and trips to the underground station became a thing of the past as spring turned to early summer. It had been over five months since the dreadful telegram arrived, but Ellen couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard her mum’s tinkling laugh. She still tried to cling on to hope that her dad was still alive, but that hope was becoming forlorn and Ellen didn’t laugh much either any more.

She often sought solace in the garden, the June evening sun warm as she worked outside, but without proper fertiliser the few vegetables she’d managed to grow looked spindly and sad, as if echoing her feelings.

There was the sound of ringing steps on the iron stairs behind her and, standing up, Ellen brushed her hands on her skirt.

‘I’m just popping in to see your mum,’ Mabel said.

Ellen followed her inside and Mabel flopped onto a chair, sighing as she said, ‘I’m glad I moved away from Battersea, Hilda. They’re calling those bombing raids we had earlier in the year the Little Blitz, and loads more houses in Battersea were flattened. Still, with D-day and all that, the war must be ending soon.’

Ellen heard an odd sound, coming closer – a loud droning noise – and ran to the window. ‘Mum, what’s that?’ she cried, pointing at a strange rocket-shaped object with two stubby wings that was shooting low across the sky. It was already going out of sight by the time her mother and Mabel reached the window and all they were in time to see were flames shooting from the tail.

‘I don’t know what it was, but I don’t like the look of it,’ said Hilda.

‘Nor me,’ Mabel agreed.

They remained at the window but, hearing or seeing nothing else, Hilda and Mabel soon returned to their chairs, only to jump up again at the sound of an air raid warning.

‘Come on, Ellen! Let’s go.’

‘I’ll get my boys,’ Mabel said, hastily leaving to run upstairs.

Fearful of the strange rocket, they all hurried to the underground station where it soon became obvious that many people had seen it. The talk was of nothing else until Ellen’s mum turned to
her, saying, ‘You might as well settle down, Ellen. We could be down here all night.’

Ellen climbed onto a bunk, but her mum was proved wrong when the all-clear sounded two hours later and they made their way home again.

‘Maybe it was just a one-off,’ Mabel said, ‘something being tested by our lot and nothing to do with Hitler.’

‘If that’s the case, why did the warning siren go off?’

‘I dunno, mate, but whatever it was, it didn’t do us any harm.’

Mabel proved to be wrong and that night was the beginning of what Hilda could only describe as hell. It wasn’t long before they found out about the strange object that had appeared in the sky because, only two weeks later, the pilotless V1 rockets were coming over in their hundreds, soon earning the nickname of doodlebugs. They were terrifying, leaving everyone on constant alert and jumpy. First there was a droning noise and then you held your breath, terrified of hearing the engine cutting out overhead, because when it did, the monstrous thing would drop out of the sky to explode on impact.

The idea of Clapham as a safe haven soon became a thing of the past when a V1 dropped near a pond on the Common. Fortunately no one
was hurt and little damage done, but, soon after, one fell closer to them on the South side, this time damaging property. Things grew steadily worse after that, with fifty houses being damaged in Ellerslie Street near Acre Lane, forty in Studley Road, and deaths mounting when seven people died in Kepler Road, and twelve in Station Road.

None of these places were close by, but Hilda’s nerves were now at breaking point and she was terrified of letting Ellen out of her sight. Dora and Lucy had already gone, Dora’s husband moving them out of London, and, fearful of her daughter being alone after school, Hilda had cut down her hours, doing only part-time work now. She felt the drop in her wages, but there was no way she was going to let Ellen fend for herself if there was a rocket attack.

It was Saturday morning, and Mabel had popped down to see Hilda, no sooner sitting down before she started complaining, ‘I can’t stand much more of this. A doodlebug fell on Paradise Road yesterday and hit the gasometer. It’s a bloody miracle that no one was killed. I wrote to Jack yesterday, but I didn’t tell him how bad it is. He’d only worry himself sick. He’s in Burma and Gawd knows when he’ll be home again.’

Hilda was about to speak when the doorbell rang and when she went to open it her face stretched with surprise. ‘Gertie!’

‘Sorry, I can’t stay long, but I’ve been worried about you.’

‘Come on in.’

When they walked into the living room, Mabel was already on her feet and said, ‘I’ll be off, Hilda.’

‘You don’t have to leave on my account,’ said Gertie. ‘I’m only able to spare half an hour. I drove one of our officers to London, but I’ve got to pick him up again soon and drive him back to base.’

Mabel had a disapproving look on her face as she looked at Gertie, but despite this Hilda said, ‘You don’t need to go, Mabel.’

Mabel sat down again, her lips set in a tight line, while Gertie said, ‘I was so sorry to hear about Doug. How are you coping?’

‘Gertie, how do you think?’

‘Yes, sorry, daft question.’

Hilda quickly changed the subject and, noticing Gertie’s uniform, she said, ‘I see you’ve gained stripes. What are you, a sergeant?’

‘Yes, but I’ve only just been promoted.’

Just then the siren howled and Mabel jumped to her feet. ‘I’ll get my boys. See you at the underground station.’

Hilda rushed to the back door too and called Ellen in from the garden, barely aware of her daughter’s excitement at seeing Gertie as she dashed around to grab their things. Moments later they were running outside, Gertie shouting, ‘Jump in the car.’

‘No, no, the underground station is only just round the corner,’ Hilda protested.

They legged it, Hilda’s heart thumping in her chest. The V1 rockets were terrifying. If you heard the engine cut out, you knew the rocket was going to fall, and the last thing you wanted was to be out in the open. They reached the station, Hilda’s panic only easing when they were deep underground.

‘We made it,’ she said, hugging Ellen to her.

They found somewhere to sit, Gertie looking at her watch and frowning. ‘I’ve got to pick up my officer.’

‘You can’t drive around London with a rocket attack overhead,’ Hilda warned.

‘I haven’t got any choice; but you have, Hilda. It’s madness to stay here. You should get out of London again, or at least arrange for Ellen to be evacuated.’

‘No, Mum!’ Ellen cried. ‘I won’t go unless you come too.’

‘Hilda, protests or not, you must get her out of here.’

‘I won’t go! I won’t.’

Hilda felt as if Gertie had opened her eyes. Ellen had been like this since she had first suggested sending her away and, not wanting to part with her daughter, she had given in too easily.

‘You’re right, Gertie. I wish I could go with her,
but I only get a war widow’s pension and have to work.’

‘I’ve just had a thought. One of the girls on base has a cottage in Hampshire. I’m sure she’d let you use it for a while, and maybe rent-free, too.’

Hilda’s mind began to race. If she didn’t have to pay rent for the cottage, she might just be able to manage on her pension. ‘If she’ll let me have it rent-free, I’d love it.’

‘Leave it with me and I’ll have a word with Veronica when I get back to base. Now though, V1s or not, I’ve got to go. If Veronica agrees, I’ll get the keys to you as soon as I can.’

‘Thanks, Gertie – but I still think you should wait for the all-clear.’

‘I can’t,’ Gertie insisted, then gave Ellen a quick hug before saying goodbye and dashing off.

‘I…I hope we can go to that cottage, Mum.’

‘Yes, me too,’ Hilda agreed. In Hampshire they’d be living in the country, something she had vowed never to do again – but London was no longer safe and she welcomed the thought of moving away.

Gertie ran back to the staff car, gunning the engine to life. She wasn’t looking forward to driving across London, but her officer would be waiting and there was no way she was going to let the man down.

The noise outside was deafening, the sky glowing
red from fires as she sped away from Clapham. She had hated that Hilda and Ellen were in so much danger, and annoyed too that Ellen hadn’t been evacuated. Yes, Hilda had lost Doug and no doubt she’d been in a dreadful state, but even so it was wrong to keep Ellen in London.

‘Good, you’re back,’ the officer said as he climbed into the car. ‘Hellish trip, no doubt, but did you manage to see your friend?’

‘Yes, sir, but she and her daughter were in a dreadful state, both bundles of nerves,’ Gertie told him. She liked this officer – the man was happy to chat – and, taking a deep breath, she decided to ask the favour.

‘They need to get out of London and I know of a cottage in Hampshire. The only thing is, if I can get it for them, I’ll need to give them the keys. Is there any chance of a day pass tomorrow?’

‘I don’t see why not, but make sure I’ve got a decent driver on hand in case I need the car.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Gertie said, relief flooding through her. Knowing that Hilda and Ellen were safe, she’d sleep easier, both of them constantly on her mind since the V1 attacks had begun.

‘How old is the daughter?’

‘She’s thirteen, sir.’

‘She should have been evacuated before this.’

‘I know, sir.’

‘Marvellous men, those RAF pilots,’ he said,
looking up at the sky. ‘I was overseas in 1940, but heard how they fought like demons over London against the Luftwaffe. Churchill was right when he called it the Battle of Britain and, if you ask me, one day it’ll be seen as the turning point in this war.’

‘Do you think there’s an end in sight, sir?’

‘I think the D-day landings marked the beginning of the end, but we’re not there yet.’

They were quiet then, each lost in their own thoughts, as Gertie drove past scenes of devastation that she feared would live with her for ever. So many buildings destroyed, dust, dirt, fires – so many dead, broken bodies – but as they reached the outskirts of London the skies cleared; the V1 attack was now over. Yes, for now, Gertie thought: but unless their troops could find and destroy the launch sites, more were sure to follow.