Far From Home (7 page)

‘Safer than up there,’ the porter replied cheerfully. He put down her case, tipped his hat and strolled along the platform to a group of railway workers who were playing a game of cards on the top of an upturned beer crate.

Polly found a space close to the exit, placed her case against the tiled wall and sat on it. She was exhausted and fearful, and having never been in the London Underground before, was finding it hard to believe they wouldn’t suffocate down here. As the sirens continued to wail she heard the distant boom of several big guns and clutched the gas-mask box, huddling into her coat.

No one else seemed to notice the terrible thuds of exploding bombs nearby, or the sharp retort of gunfire and the throaty roar of heavy bombers. They continued to read and chat, or play board games and cards, and someone at the far end even began to sing ‘Goodnight Irene’. Which, in the circumstances, Polly didn’t think at all appropriate.

Polly remained perched on her suitcase, stiff with anxiety as she gripped the gas-mask box and listened fearfully to the terrible noise coming from above ground. Everything seemed muted, but that didn’t lessen her terror as the force of exploding bombs shook the earth beneath and around her.

Just how deep could those enemy missiles go? Would they all be killed in here, trapped like the rabbits she and her father used to hunt from their burrows? She hugged her waist as particles of loose tiling and cement clattered down and a wave of dust spewed along the track. She needed to get out, to escape, regardless of the mayhem above ground.

She was about to gather her things and run for the stairs when a strong hand on her arm stilled her. ‘Don’t you go worrying about all the whizz-bangs,’ said the man sitting next to her. ‘You get used to it after a while, and they can’t touch us down here.’

Polly realised he’d been drinking, and wondered if that was his way of coping. ‘I just hate being so far underground,’ she said nervously.

‘Better than being up there,’ he slurred. He proffered her a sip from his whisky bottle, and when she politely declined, shrugged and finished it off. Within minutes he was snoring.

Polly envied him. She was longing to sleep, longing to lie down in a proper bed away from the stench of railways and the sounds of war. Determined to quell her fear and accept the situation, she rested her head back against the rather violent-green tiles and closed her eyes. If she could just shut out the noise from above and the sight of those looming ceilings, she just might be able to relax.

MRS FINCH’S PARTRIDGE
stew had been a triumph. The three birds had been plucked and marinated in the pint of beer Ron had fetched from the pub, before being slowly stewed with the vegetables until the meat fell from the bones. The thick, delicious gravy had been very satisfying, each precious drop mopped up with bread and potato until the plates were clean.

‘I thought I’d do a fish pie tomorrow,’ she trilled, as she and Peggy sat over their teacups much later on. ‘Ron’s promised to take me to the fishing station tomorrow morning.’

‘It’s quite a walk,’ murmured Peggy. ‘Why don’t I nip down there for you?’

Mrs Finch’s faded blue eyes became steely. ‘That’s not the point of the exercise,’ she said firmly. ‘You’ve far too much to do already, and I’m quite enjoying having the kitchen to myself. I’d forgotten how much I liked cooking – of course there was little point once the boys left for Canada and I was alone. But with such a houseful to feed, I’m feeling quite excited about digging out my old recipe books.’

Peggy lit a cigarette and leant back in her favourite kitchen chair. The washing-up was done and the house was quiet. Ron was at the pub, Jim at work, and the nurses were having an early night to prepare for their morning shift at the hospital. Cissy was performing with her dance troupe at the Apollo Theatre, and poor little Danuta had scurried back to her room, no doubt finding the other nurses’ hospital gossip too hard to take after the crushing rejection by the matron.

Peggy’s soft heart went out to her, and she wished she could do something about her predicament. But rules were rules, and although she didn’t like the way the woman had treated Danuta, she could understand why she’d had to refuse to employ her as a nurse. Laundry work was tough, though, and she wondered if the frail-looking girl would be able to manage without doing herself an injury.

‘Oh,’ exclaimed Mrs Finch, ‘I almost forgot. Nurse Brown telephoned this afternoon.’

‘Is she still coming?’

Mrs Finch frowned. ‘I’m not at all sure,’ she replied. ‘She wasn’t making much sense and the line was very crackly.’

Peggy suspected it was the hearing aid that was at fault, but let it pass. ‘What did she say exactly?’ she coaxed.

‘She said something about falling at the hospital, and then went on to tell me she was waiting in the rain.’ She shook her grey head, her frown deepening. ‘Why she felt it necessary to talk about the weather, I don’t know.’

Peggy smiled. ‘I think you’ll find she was waiting for a train,’ she said, ‘and no doubt wanted me to call the hospital to let them know she was on her way.’ She smiled fondly at the old woman’s confused expression and decided it was definitely time to persuade her to get a new hearing aid. ‘I’ll phone the hospital in the morning to let them know. Poor girl, she’s awfully late in getting down here. I hope that matron doesn’t treat her too harshly.’

‘Let’s hope not,’ muttered Mrs Finch. ‘That woman sounds a fright, and I’m glad
I
don’t have to face her.’

‘I’ll have to warn Danuta, too,’ murmured Peggy. ‘I know she doesn’t really want to share her room, but it’s better to have the two latest arrivals together. The other three are very settled, and Suzy’s room’s a bit small for two beds.’

‘Another shed? Why do we need two? Ron has enough clutter as it is.’

‘No, dear,’ said Peggy patiently. She paused and smiled. ‘Perhaps we should go to the doctor and get you a better hearing aid tomorrow?’

‘It would be a complete waste of time,’ Mrs Finch retorted. ‘This one is perfectly all right once I get the volume correctly balanced.’

The sound of a key turning in the latch made Peggy look up, and her worries over everyone fled as her eldest daughter Anne walked into the kitchen. ‘Darling,’ she breathed as she gave her a hug and kiss. ‘What a lovely surprise. Are you staying the night?’

Anne kissed Mrs Finch’s cheek and gave her a gentle hug. ‘If that’s all right,’ she replied.

‘Of course it is. Your old bed is still in Cissy’s room, all it needs is clean linen.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’ Anne poured a cup of tea and pulled a chair out from the kitchen table. ‘It’s lovely to be out of those barracks and back in this kitchen again. Not that I don’t have huge fun with the other girls,’ she added hastily, ‘and of course the work we do is exciting and challenging. But home is always best.’

‘How are you getting on up there in your cliff caves? The thought of all that chalk over my head would have me screaming mad within minutes.’

‘You forget where you are,’ Anne replied. ‘The plotting of enemy aircraft and shipping takes every ounce of concentration, and when the shift is over, or we’re stood down in a lull, we’re so tired, we sleep most of the time.’

‘Have you managed to see Martin very much?’

Anne sighed as she twirled the rings on her finger. ‘We’ve only been married a matter of months, and I could count the days we’ve had together on one hand.’ A smile teased at the tiny dimple in her cheek. ‘But he’s thinking about buying us a little house we’ve seen that’s only a few miles from the airbase, so that could soon change everything.’

‘But you’ll be working day and night with the Observer Corps, and he’ll be flying endless missions now the Germans are attacking our cities and ports. How will buying a house make any difference?’

The dimple deepened, and Anne’s brown eyes were alight with excitement as she looked at Peggy. ‘In a few months’ time I’ll be a lady of leisure,’ she said. ‘No more barracks, no more night shifts and endless map plotting for me, just the ordinary, everyday chores of a housewife.’

‘But …?’ Peggy suddenly understood and she was flooded with warm happiness. ‘You’re pregnant.’ She leapt from her chair and hugged her daughter, the joy spilling over. ‘How far gone are you? When is it due?’

‘We think it must be a honeymoon baby, because the doctor has given us a delivery date in February.’

‘Oh, Anne,’ said Peggy through her happy tears. ‘How lovely.’

‘Congratulations, my dear,’ chirped Mrs Finch. ‘Come and give me a kiss and then pass me that knitting bag. I’m sure I have some white wool in there and I’ve the perfect pattern for a matinee jacket.’

Peggy and Anne exchanged delighted smiles as Mrs Finch fussed and twittered and rummaged through her vast knitting bag, muttering to herself.

‘Oh, Mum,’ Anne breathed, ‘I’m so happy, and Martin’s over the moon. Once we have that little house, everything will be just perfect. I do so hope nothing spoils it all.’

‘Of course it won’t,’ Peggy said briskly, deliberately misunderstanding her daughter’s worries over Martin’s safety. ‘All new mothers panic a bit at first, thinking the worst could happen. But it rarely does, and just think, Anne, in a few months you’ll be holding your baby and wondering what all the fuss was about.’ She took Anne’s hand. ‘Has Martin told his parents yet?’

The happy glow remained, but Anne’s eyes dulled. ‘We decided to wait until the baby’s born,’ she replied. ‘His family have all but ignored us since the wedding and they’ve made it plain they’re not interested in anything we do. Martin and I have decided not to let them spoil our happy news.’

‘Quite right too,’ agreed Mrs Finch. ‘They don’t deserve any consideration from you after the way they carried on.’ She looked up from the tangle of wool she was trying to unravel and smiled. ‘Well done, Anne.’

Peggy made a fresh pot of tea to celebrate and, as she waited for the kettle to boil, she thought of Martin’s snooty family – his mother in particular. What a fool the woman was, she thought, to shun her son’s wife, and thereby risk losing all the pleasure and excitement of her first grandchild – and all because she regarded Anne as unworthy of her son and the family name.

She filled the pot and forcibly rammed the knitted cosy over it and placed it rather too firmly on the table. If that woman ever showed her nasty, self-righteous face here, she’d let her have a few home truths, and no mistake.

She was about to question Anne more closely over what the doctor had said when the siren began to wail.

Like a well-oiled machine the occupants of Beach View Boarding House swung into action and, armed with pillows, blankets and the box of necessities Peggy kept well stocked, they helped Mrs Finch down the stone steps to the basement and out into the garden.

The searchlights were already piercing the night sky, the siren’s banshee wails echoing all along the seafront, reverberating off the chalk cliffs and through the dark streets as the ARP warden shouted orders to turn off lights and get in the shelters. Despite the precautions, no one could black out the moon which gilded the rooftops and cast deep shadows. The conditions were perfect for an enemy raid.

Peggy settled Mrs Finch in her deckchair in the corner and placed the full teapot on the unlit primus stove. Having checked the level of kerosene in the hurricane lamp, she lit the wick with a match from the box of Swan Vestas she always kept to hand, and then made sure everyone was comfortable.

June, Fran and Suzy were in their nightclothes and slippers, but Danuta was still dressed in her drab skirt and cardigan. The contrast between the girls was startling, even in this flickering light, Peggy realised sadly. The three young nurses were rosy with health, their skins glowing, eyes bright, figures trim and radiating boundless energy. June and Fran were natural blondes, and Suzy had a head of flaming hair that no amount of pins could tame, whereas poor little Danuta looked washed out and dowdy, and several years older than she really was.

‘This is my eldest daughter, Anne,’ she said by way of introduction. ‘She’s about to make me a grandmother,’ she added proudly.

‘Not right this minute, I’m hoping,’ said Suzy, her soft southern Irish voice rising through the cacophony outside. ‘It’s been a while since I did midwifery.’

Anne laughed. ‘There’s a few months to go yet,’ she assured her, ‘and I’m determined to have this baby in a nice safe hospital bed, not this dark, cold dungeon with enemy planes screaming overhead.’

‘To be sure that’s what every mother wants,’ said Suzy, with a twinkle in her eye, ‘but babies have a way of coming at the wrong time and in the wrong place.’ She grinned impishly. ‘And I should know, sure me mam’s had eight, and not one of us was born in a bed. I came in the middle of the matinee at the Majestic cinema – caused a proper old fuss, I can tell you.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me one bit,’ laughed Peggy, ‘but I think we need to change the subject. Anne doesn’t want to hear all the horror stories, and this tea is getting cold.’

Danuta sat in silence, the warm cup cradled in her cold fingers, her gaze drifting repeatedly over the other girls as they chattered and laughed and settled down for the duration of the raid. They looked so fresh and innocent; untouched by the horrors she’d had to witness, still eager for life even in these dangerous times. She had little in common with them, their youthful vitality and cheery outlook making her feel dull and dowdy by comparison, but she really should make an effort to get to know them better. After all, she acknowledged, this wasn’t the first time she’d been the stranger among close-knit groups, and she’d learnt very quickly that it was important to fit in.