The Bells of Bow (25 page)

When the final all clear came at five o’clock the next morning, the scene outside was even worse than that on the previous afternoon. There was no damage in Darnfield Street itself, apart from Rita and Bert’s broken window, but the sky was full of smoke that came belching up from the direction of the docks.

As the neighbours staggered out of the shelter, Frankie Morgan held court in the street. It was about time, he thought, that they showed a bit of regard for his official status, and he was revelling in having information – strictly secret, of course – from his ARP controller about what had happened the night before. He was only too willing to pass it on in exchange for a bit of respect.

‘Almost three hundred planes there was,’ he said, grasping his lapels and rocking back on his heels. ‘Bombing from early evening till near dawn.’ He accepted a cigarette from Ted Jenner. ‘The fires down in the docks, massive they reckon they are, and uncontrollable, started before it was even dark.’

‘Any casualties?’ Blanche asked, her face pale with tiredness and strain.

‘Already been estimated that fifteen hundred people at least have been hurt.’

‘Mary …’ Blanche gasped. She felt her legs go weak as Archie led her back to number four.

When Mary eventually put her head round the kitchen door at nearly half past seven that morning, Blanche didn’t know whether to kiss her or clip her round the ear. Instead, she slammed her cup of tea down on the table. ‘Where the hell were you? I thought you’d got bloody blown up.’

Mary sat down next to her dad, well away from her mum on the opposite side of the table. ‘We was in the Troxy when that second warning went, so we stayed there. Yer told us to shelter somewhere safe.’

Blanche sighed loudly and rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘Me and yer dad was that worried.’ She reached out to take Mary’s hand, then suddenly changed her mind. ‘You go through now, Arch, try and get a few hours’ kip. I wanna have a word with Mary.’

‘All right. I could do with getting me head down for a bit.’ Archie bent forward and kissed Mary on the forehead. ‘Good to see you home safe and sound, sweetheart.’

‘Ta, Dad,’ Mary smiled up at him. ‘I’m glad to be home and all.’

As soon as Blanche heard him close the door to the downstairs front room which she and Archie used as a bedroom, Blanche hissed across the table at Mary, ‘You
sure
you was in the Troxy all night, Mary Simpkins?’

‘Yeah.’ Mary was taken aback by her mother’s anger. ‘Course. Where d’yer think we was?’

‘Never you mind,’ Blanche said warily. ‘You just tell me about it.’

‘Well, when the warning went outside, we couldn’t hear it but they put a sign up on the screen what said there was a raid. After what had happened in the afternoon, some people started getting a bit scared.’

‘I
knew
I shouldn’t have let yer go.’

‘Calm down, Mum, nothing happened. They just panicked a bit. So the manager got up on stage and said that it was safe there in the picture house, but people was still scared, so he shouted out, “Come on, let’s all sing”.’

Blanche still looked dubious. ‘Sing?’

‘They was a bit slow getting going but when he started on “There’ll Always Be An England”, yer should have heard them then. Singing their hearts out, they were. Me and Micky and all.’ Mary grinned. ‘Right laugh it was. We all sung all night. Some of ’em even got up and did a turn. The twins should have been there, they’d have gone down right well.’

Blanche looked at Mary through narrowed eyes. ‘So long as yer sure that’s all yer got up to.’

‘When we was walking home just now, me and Micky …’ Mary had sounded completely composed up until then, but now tears filled her eyes. She sniffed, stared down at her hands and then went on, ‘There was all these people sitting along the kerb outside where their houses had been; they looked really sad, all their homes ruined. Yer should have seen ’em. I kept thinking, say that’s happened to our house, what’ll I do then if Mum and Dad and the kids are hurt.’ Mary’s tears started flowing. ‘Blimey, Mum, I didn’t think yer’d have a go. I thought yer’d be glad I was home here safe.’

‘Course I’m glad yer all right, yer great daft hap’orth.’ Blanche was crying too. ‘Come and give yer mum a cuddle.’

By the Thursday, after four days of what seemed like total madness, so much of what had been familiar lay abandoned and in smoking ruins. People tried to do the best they could, to make sense of what was going on: making their way to work through bomb-shattered streets and roads pocked with craters, shopping in places with no windows and very little stock, cleaning and sweeping, caring for children, just getting on and doing all the different things that made up the everyday existences of ordinary people. But something that had changed was that all the talk now was of one thing only: the terrible raids and their effect on friends and relatives.

The exact figures weren’t being released to the newspapers or on the wireless, but with people like Frankie Morgan living in the midst of close-knit East London communities and the strong family ties which linked so many streets, it soon became widespread if unofficial knowledge that in the first three days of the Blitz nearly a thousand people had been killed. The estimates for injuries hadn’t even been guessed at yet.

Many people took the decision to stop going to the street shelters; after the terrifying couple of nights they had had to spend in them, they believed them to be useless. Instead, they took their chances under dripping railway arches, in dusty, rat-infested warehouse basements, bleak, uncomfortable Tube station platforms, and even the pews of neighbourhood churches.

Maudie was on her way to her local church on that Thursday morning when Georgie bumped into her on the corner of Darnfield Street as he was going into the pub.

‘How are you, Mr Bell?’ Maudie asked. ‘I haven’t seen you for a few days and I was wondering.’

‘I’m all right, thank you, Miss Peters,’ Georgie answered shyly. ‘And yerself?’

‘I’m fine. I’ve been sheltering at the church. You know, St Dorothea’s.’

Georgie nodded.

‘Ever since the surface shelter …’ She paused and pointed back down the road to the deserted brick building. Then she flashed the smile that lit up her face. ‘Ever since it proved so useless.’

Georgie looked concerned. ‘Is there a crypt or something there in the church?’

Maudie shook her head. ‘Nothing so grand. We spend the night in the pews.’ She smiled again. ‘Praying and hoping.’

‘But is that safe?’

Maudie shrugged. ‘Is anywhere?’

Georgie jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the door of the Drum. ‘Everyone else from the street, except you and the Jenners that is, are going in here. There’s a big cellar and it keeps nice and cool. Not like that bloody …’ he hesitated. ‘Excuse me, not like that rotten shelter. And Rita and Bert have said we can go down into the basement of the baker’s if there’s still raids on when the weather gets colder.’

‘That’s very kind of them all.’

‘That’s why I’m going in there now, in the pub I mean.’ Georgie blushed, he was getting himself all tongue-tied. ‘Me, old Nobby and Jim have been knocking some bunks together to make it a bit more comfortable.’ He held up the claw hammer and screwdriver he was carrying as proof.

She flashed her smile at him again.

‘The Drum’s a lot closer than the church or the Tube station, Miss Peters.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘I can understand if yer ain’t very keen. At first, my girls said they wouldn’t come in the Drum. They said they liked their bit of privacy, so they made a bed under the table instead. Right uncomfortable that must have been.’ Georgie had started to babble, he could feel himself talking quicker and quicker but for some reason he just couldn’t stop himself. ‘I think they was really worried, yer see, worried that …’ Georgie stared down at his boots ‘… worried that their old dad was gonna have a few too many and show ’em up. But after all these things have been happening I’ve been trying to pull meself together. We’ve all gotta try and do something.’ He raised his eyes, a horrified expression on his face. ‘I dunno why I said all that, Miss Peters. You have that effect on me somehow. Yer make me come out with things.’

Maudie smiled. ‘I don’t mean to.’

‘They prefer the Drum now anyway,’ he said hurriedly.

Maudie put her head on one side and Georgie felt his cheeks burning.

‘They’re a nice couple, Jim and Nellie,’ she said. ‘Seem to be very interested in the girls.’

‘Yeah, when Violet run off they come along and told me that if ever the girls needed anything, just to let them know.’

‘That was really kind of them.’

‘They never had kiddies of their own. Shame.’

‘Yes, it is. It’s a blessing to have children.’

There was a brief pause; Georgie racked his brains for something, anything not too stupid, to say. ‘I reckon they should have cleared off down hopping with that lot from Grove Road, yer know,’ he finally blurted out.

‘Who?’ Maudie looked confused.

‘The girls, but yer know how wilful girls can be. Specially my Evie. Not that I see much of her now, although she does try to be home at a reasonable hour what with the warnings and knowing how me and Babs worry about her. Then there’s that dog of hers …’

Another pause fell between them.

‘I’ve never been hop picking.’ This time it was Maudie who filled the silence. ‘Is it good?’

‘More of a women’s thing really,’ George said. Suddenly he grinned. ‘Yer a funny one, you, Miss Peters.’ His eyes opened wide. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude or nothing.’

‘I know.’

‘Do you, er, do yer listen to the wireless much, Miss Peters?’ She’d think he was a right idiot, why had he asked her that? Of course she did. Everyone did.

‘No,’ she answered with a small shake of her head. ‘My wireless doesn’t seem to be working. I miss hearing the news.’

Georgie cheered up immediately. ‘Is it the accumulator wants changing? I could do it for yer.’

‘No. I don’t think it’s that.’

‘You’ll have to come indoors and have a listen to ours.’

Now it was Maudie who looked shy. ‘I’d like that. Thank you, Mr Bell.’

‘Or I could have a look at your set for you.’

‘Oh, if you’d rather I didn’t come in …’

‘No. No. No, I didn’t mean that.’ Georgie could have bitten off his tongue. Why didn’t he think before he opened his mouth? ‘Tell you what, I could look at it now. Jim and Nobby can manage for a bit without me. It’ll only take me a minute.’ He waved the hammer and screwdriver. ‘I’m quite good with me hands.’ He hesitated. ‘Aw, I didn’t think, yer was on yer way out.’

‘I was just going to see if there was anything I could volunteer to do round at the church. You know, anything to help. It makes me feel a bit less like an unwanted spare part.’ Maudie let out a little sigh. ‘But I suspect that the vicar only finds me jobs to keep me occupied. And I’m sure that can wait.’

‘I’ll come now then, shall I?’

As Georgie stepped timidly into the kitchen of number seven, he took off his cap and looked round at the bright little room dotted with colourful pictures and jugs full of branches and twigs and, yes, he was right, dandelions. ‘Nice place yer’ve got here, Miss Peters,’ he said, staring at one of the packed vases.

‘I see you’ve noticed my “wartime roses”,’ she said with a surprisingly girlish laugh. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not mad, I know they’re twigs and weeds, it’s just that I like to have flowers around me to liven the place up. Make it a little less …’ She didn’t finish the sentence. ‘I used to grow my own flowers, you know, out the back, but now I grow vegetables. And even I wouldn’t put a potato in a vase.’ She turned and looked out of the kitchen window. ‘There’s not much space out there, but it’s just trying to do my bit again.’

‘Time I did my bit, I think,’ Georgie said, pointing to the set in the corner. ‘This the wireless?’

Maudie turned back to face him and nodded. ‘Yes. I’ll put the kettle on.’

She took off her coat and busied herself with making the tea while Georgie poked around in the back of the wireless. After only a few minutes he had the dial lit up and the set tuned in to the painful strains of a strangulated tenor warbling about his mother.

‘That’s wonderful.’ Maudie’s smile radiated warmth. ‘And just in time.’ She held out a cup of steaming tea to Georgie and then pointed to the wireless. ‘I meant it was wonderful that you’d mended it, not that I liked that terrible noise.’

Georgie grinned back and turned the knob to off. ‘He was a bit strong.’

‘Sit down, please.’

Georgie settled himself awkwardly at the lace-cloth covered table.

‘I’m very grateful to you, Mr Bell. I do like to hear the news.’

Georgie was about to sip his tea, but he halted the cup inches from his lips so that he could answer her. ‘Me too.’

‘Not that there’s much good news lately.’

This time Georgie already had the tea in his mouth, so he shook his head in reply.

Maudie also shook her head, but more in despair than anything else. ‘I heard some terrible news round at the church yesterday. About the families who were bombed out in that first big raid last Saturday.’

‘What was that then?’ asked Georgie.

‘They were using a school in Canning Town as a temporary rest centre. They were all staying there the night and were told that evacuation transport was coming to pick them up on the Sunday afternoon. But by Monday night, still no one had come for them.’ Maudie stopped speaking for a moment. She fiddled with her cup, turning it round and round in its saucer. Then she took a sharp intake of breath and continued. ‘And on early Tuesday morning the school was bombed. They were all killed. Every one of them. The officials said that seventy-three had died in there.’ She looked across the table at Georgie. ‘I don’t believe them. I think it was many more. One of the women from the church told me that her niece’s little family were in there and they certainly weren’t on any official list, they’d just gone there on Monday night when their house lost its roof after an incendiary attack. She says she’ll never forgive herself, that
she
should have taken them in. But it wasn’t her fault. She’d already taken a young woman and her baby in and she didn’t have any more room.’ Maudie drained her cup. ‘But it’s no good arguing with her. And I do know how she feels. When people are suffering and you’re not, it’s all too easy to feel guilty.’