Moonlight and Ashes (21 page)

The raid went on well into the early hours of the morning as the women cowered in the shelter listening to the devastation going on all around them. Every now and again, they would hear a loud whistle as a bomb plummeted towards them, and then the walls of the shelter would shake as it found its target.

‘They sound a bit too close fer comfort,’ Mrs Massey breathed as she made the sign of the cross on her chest. The sound of shattering glass drowned out anything else she might have said, and the smell of burning grew overpowering. Only the fear of what she might see stopped Maggie from throwing open the shelter door, for she was beginning to feel claustrophobic. And so they sat on in silence, listening to the boom of the guns and the drone of the planes overhead, broken only by the clanging bells of the fire engines as they raced from fire to fire. More than once the sound of a wall crashing down reached them too and they glanced at each other fearfully in the flickering light of the candle.

‘Do yer reckon the houses are still goin’ to be standin’ if we get out of here?’ Mrs Massey whispered.

Maggie noticed that the older woman had said ‘if’ and reached across the enclosed space to gently squeeze her hand. She would have liked to offer words of reassurance, but truthfully as the night wore on she was beginning to fear that they would never leave the shelter alive.

When at last the all clear sounded, Maggie offered up a silent prayer of thanks as she pushed the shelter door open. The first thing she saw was that her home was still there. The second was Mr Massey, who had spent a long night on fire-watch, just emerging from the entry. The tiny man looked unbelievably weary and his shoulders were stooped as if they had the weight of the world on them. He was so filthy that only the whites of his eyes showed in his soot-black face, but still he asked, ‘Are yer all right then, love?’

Maggie nodded as tears sprang to her eyes. ‘Mrs Massey has been in here all night with me,’ she told him as he headed for his back door. He stopped and turned back to her.

‘Thanks, love. I’m afraid some o’ yer windows have blown in - look.’ He pointed to the glass that was strewn across the yard. Maggie hadn’t noticed it before but now fear flashed into her eyes.

‘What about the houses on the other side of the road?’

He rightly guessed that she was afraid for her mother. ‘Some o’ them were hit,’ he said, ‘but don’t worry. It was the ones farther down that took it. Yer mam’s is all right.’

Seeing that the elderly man was fit to drop, Maggie once again pulled herself together as Mrs Massey crept out of the shelter behind her. ‘Come on into my house,’ she urged as she turned back to fetch Lucy, who had slept through it all. ‘I’ll make us all a nice hot drink, eh?’

‘Now that sounds about the best thing I’ve heard all night.’

After picking their way through the glass they trooped wearily into the kitchen, but when Maggie went to light the gas on the cooker nothing happened.

‘They’ve probably hit a gas main down the street,’ Mr Massey suggested.

‘Not to worry. The fire’s still in so I can boil a pan on there. At least our houses are still standing, which is more than can be said for some of the poor souls in the street.’

Maggie turned on the tap and sighed with relief when water trickled out of it. ‘Well, we still have some water,’ she said as brightly as she could. Once she’d filled a pan and placed it onto the glowing coals to boil, she made for the front door, wishing to give her neighbours a moment alone.

The sight that met her eyes when she stepped into the Lane made her gasp. Much further down, two houses had had their entire fronts blown off. A dressing-table with a brush and a mirror still on it was teetering half on and half off the edge of what had once been someone’s bedroom. Maggie thought it was one of the saddest sights she had ever seen and went back inside with tears in her eyes.

‘Did they get out of the houses?’ she asked as she poured boiling water over the tea leaves in the pot.

Mr Massey sighed. ‘Some of ’em did. They’ve set up places for some of the homeless in the church, an’ the Salvation Army have shelters they can go to for a while an’ all. But not everybody was lucky. I don’t mind tellin’ yer, I’ve seen sights this night that will stay with me fer the rest o’ me days. Those bloody Jerries have a lot to answer for, an’ that’s a fact.’

At that moment, the kitchen door swung open and Maggie’s mother waltzed in as if it had been just another night. Maggie was getting the bottle of milk out of the cool pantry. She glared at her.

‘Have you
seen
what’s happened to the houses further down the lane?’ she snapped. ‘It could have been
your
house that took a hit, and you would have been a sitting duck, lying there in your bed being so stubborn.’

‘Well, as luck would have it, it wasn’t my house,’ Ellen told her smartly. ‘The way I see it, when yer card’s marked you’ll go wherever you are, an’ as I’ve told yer before, I intend to be in me own bed when that day comes, God willin’.’

Maggie was so light-headed with relief that she slopped the tea all over the tablecloth as she poured it into the mugs. Not that it really mattered. Everything seemed to be covered in a fine layer of soot anyway. The biscuit barrel was too, but the ginger nuts went down a treat with the tea.

Once Mr Massey had gratefully drained his mug he rose, yawning. ‘I’ll just go an’ get me head down for an hour, love, then I’ll come round an’ board yer windows up for yer.’

‘Thanks, Mr Massey, I’d appreciate that. But are you sure you wouldn’t like another drink before you go?’

He limped towards the door, closely followed by his wife. ‘No, thanks all the same, love. I’m about dead on me feet. It’s been the longest bloody night o’ me life an’ I’ll be good fer nothin’ now till I’ve had a bit o’ shut-eye.’

Minutes later, Ellen rose too. ‘I’ll be getting back across the road now, if yer sure you’re all right, love.’

‘I’m fine, Mam,’ her daughter assured her. ‘I’ll see you later, eh?’

Once the door had closed behind her, Maggie looked across at Lucy, who was sucking at the bottle of warm milk she had given her. They’d survived yet another night of bombing, but how much longer would their luck hold?

After she had washed and dressed Lucy, and coaxed her to eat her breakfast of toast made with a toasting-fork on the fire and a scraping of Bovril, Maggie set about trying to clean the soot-covered room. Lucy was happily settled at the table looking at the pictures in a storybook when the back door suddenly flew open and Jo walked in unannounced.

‘Why, Jo, whatever’s the matter?’ One glance at her friend told Maggie that something was seriously amiss.

Jo swayed, and if Maggie hadn’t hurried across and caught her, she would have fallen in a heap. Leading her to the table she sat her down and fetched a damp cloth to wipe the smoke from her face.

‘There now, that’s better, isn’t it? Now - can you tell me what’s wrong?’

For a moment Jo’s mouth worked but no words came out so Maggie stood patiently waiting.

‘They’ve all gone,’ she said eventually.

Maggie frowned in confusion. ‘What do you mean? Who’s gone?’

‘All of ’em. Every last one. Me mam, all the little’uns . . . an’ me dad. The house took a direct hit, an’ by the time I got home the fire engine was there trying to put the flames out. There ain’t nothin’ left but a pile o’ burnin’ rubble. An’ my family’s all under it somewhere.’

‘Oh, my dear God.’
Maggie’s hand flew to her mouth in horror as Jo stared off into space, dry-eyed. She was obviously deeply in shock. Maggie wrapped her arms tightly around her. ‘Where were you when all this happened?’ she gasped, thankful that her friend had escaped.

‘Where do yer think?’ Jo’s voice held a wealth of shame and regret. ‘I’d gone to stand on a street corner to earn the old man an extra few bob.’ She laughed bitterly and the sound made the hairs on the back of Maggie’s neck stand to attention.

‘But then the air-raid siren went off an’ this bloke grabbed hold of me arm an’ dragged me into the nearest shelter wi’ him an’ his missus. By the time we come out this mornin’, the house were gone. Nothin’ but a heap o’ steamin’ rubble, an’ the whole o’ me family buried somewhere beneath it. It’s funny when yer come to think of it, ain’t it? I won’t have to stand on any more corners. I
prayed
fer somethin’ to happen so that I wouldn’t have to go out toutin’ fer business any more, so in a way
I’ve
caused it haven’t I? Me prayers were answered. Trouble is, I’ve lost me mam an’ the kids an’ all.’ And finally Jo’s tears exploded from her as if a dam had broken.

‘Oh Maggie. What am I goin’ to do?’ she sobbed breathlessly.

Maggie rocked her to and fro. ‘I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to stay here with me and we’re going to get through this together.’

Fearful of being late for his dinner, Danny sprinted the last few yards up the hill to Mr Sinclair’s house. He needn’t have worried, for as he rounded the corner he saw the man just emerging from the long outhouse that ran below his bedroom window.

The man stared at him coldly for a moment before locking the door and dropping the key into his pocket.

‘I’m not late, sir, am I?’ Danny asked breathlessly.

‘No, you’re not,’ Eric replied curtly before briskly striding across the yard. Danny cast a curious glance at the building he’d just emerged from as he followed him. He wondered what Mr Sinclair had been doing in there, but there was no way to find out, for the windows were covered in heavy blinds so that no one could peep through them.

‘Is that a shed?’ he blurted out as his curiosity got the better of him.

‘No, it is
not
a shed, and
no one
goes in there except me. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Suitably chastened, Danny stayed silent for the rest of the short walk to the house. Samson’s greeting was far more amicable as he waddled over to him with his tail wagging furiously. Danny fondled his silky ears as his host crossed to the cooker to check on the meal that was cooking. A delicious smell of roast beef was issuing from it, and Danny’s stomach rumbled in anticipation. He knew that if the dinner was as good as the breakfast he had eaten earlier that day, he wouldn’t be disappointed. He was soon proved to be right when Mr Sinclair carried a loaded plate to the table and slapped it down in front of him. There were crispy roast potatoes and slices of thick roast beef on a bed of cabbage, all covered with thick juicy gravy. After the huge breakfast Danny had eaten he was sure that he wouldn’t be hungry for the rest of the day but now he fell on his food as if he were ravenous, and in double-quick time had cleared his plate. Forgetting his fear of the man for a moment, he flashed him a smile.

‘That was one o’ the best dinners I’ve ever had,’ he told him appreciatively. ‘Do you always do the cookin’?’ he went on. ‘Or does Mrs Sinclair do it when she’s here?’

The man’s face might have been set in stone as he snapped back, ‘There
is
no Mrs Sinclair.’

Danny flushed. He felt as if he was walking on eggshells, for he just couldn’t seem to say the right thing. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, but the man merely gathered up the dirty plates and carried them to the sink as if Danny wasn’t there.

Hoping to make amends, the boy asked, ‘Would you like me to wash them up for you? I used to wash up fer me mam sometimes back at home. An’ I used to get the coal in for her after me dad went.’

Curious despite himself, the man asked, ‘Went where?’

‘To war.’ Danny’s small face creased into a worried frown as the man dried his hands on a tea-towel and watched him from the corner of his good eye.

Eric Sinclair had made no secret of the fact that he didn’t want an evacuee staying with him, and he and Miss Williams had had a right old battle, until eventually he was forced to agree to take one. Even now, he was still smarting from the way she had manipulated him into agreeing. And yet, already he felt himself warming towards the child. He was a polite lad and obviously eager to please, despite the cold welcome Eric had extended to him. He determined to try a little harder. After all, the child hadn’t asked to be here.

He forced himself to enquire, ‘What did you get up to this morning then?’

Danny’s face immediately lit up with a smile. ‘I started off fer the village to look fer me sister, an’ on the way I made a new friend. He lives in the house just down the way. He’s an evacuee too an’ his name is Soho Gus - he lives in London. He took me into the village an’ showed me where Lizzie is stayin’, then we all went down to the beach. It was really grand. Lizzie an’ I ain’t never been to the seaside before,’ he finished breathlessly.

Eric was amazed but politely refrained from saying so. Instead, he walked to the window and stared out beyond the huge outbuilding to the sea. He was standing with the unscarred side of his face to Danny and the child found himself feeling sorry for the man. When he stood like that he was actually quite handsome - until he turned around, that was. It was no wonder that there was no Mrs Sinclair when he came to think of it, for who would want to marry a man who was so horribly disfigured?

When Eric turned back to him, Danny flushed, hoping that he hadn’t read his thoughts.

‘I have to go out now. Do you think you’ll be able to keep yourself entertained for a few hours?’

Danny nodded numbly as the man headed towards the door. Once there he paused to look back. ‘If you should need me I’ll be in the big outbuilding. Knock on the door, but don’t try to come in because you’ll find it locked.’

As soon as the door had closed behind him, Danny slid off his seat and scuttled across the room to watch his progress across the yard. He was consumed with curiosity. What could the man be doing in there that warranted him keeping the door locked, he wondered.

Bored now, he began to wander around the room with Samson close at his heels. Eventually he went into the large entrance hall and, after plucking up his courage, he began to open the various doors that led off it to peek into the rooms beyond.