Eve and Charlie spent the remainder of Friday mooching around the neighbourhood and mulling over the case. Charlie went to see his mother in the evening, so Eve spent a quiet evening at home listening to the wireless and looking forward to the weekend.
Saturday September 7th dawned fine and sunny. London went about its business as normal. The good weather raised spirits and people could almost forget the ever-present threat of invasion and the brutal battles in the skies. How peaceful and serene everything seemed. No-one detected how close they were to their world being blown apart.
Pete was off duty in the afternoon and, as planned, the couple visited the Silver Cinema in Uxbridge Road to see the latest movie Night Train to Munich, with Margaret Lockwood and Rex Harrison, a gripping adventure with spies and a couple falling in love as they escape the Nazis into neutral Switzerland. Both Eve and Pete enjoyed the film, though from different perspectives. The end was nearly spoiled as, about ten minutes from the denouement, the shriek of the air raid siren shrilled through the auditorium, amplified by the public address system.
Many of the audience leapt, terrified, to their feet and prepared to run for the exit. The cinema management, through the same microphones, advised everyone to stay and enjoy the rest of the film.
‘They’re just testing the siren,’ the disembodied voice said. ‘There’s only ten minutes of the film to go. Then please leave the theatre in an orderly fashion.’
In spite of murmurings of rebellion, the audience watched the film to the end and were shortly emerging into the Uxbridge Road, bright daylight blinding them after the darkness of the theatre.
It became clear that the air raid siren’s sounding was, for the first time, not merely a test. Over to the East they could hear the thump and rumble of high explosive bombs. On Shepherd’s Bush Green someone climbed to the top of the angel War Memorial and reported thick clouds of smoke in the distance over the East End. And they could hear the rattle of anti-aircraft fire. But, more terrifying was the grinding note of heavy aircraft engines approaching; every second bringing death within range of the western suburbs.
‘God!’ said Pete, grabbing Eve’s hand, ‘I think this may be the real thing.’
People dispersed in every direction; to their homes and to the air raid shelters. Pete and Eve ran into the nearby railway arches where they were joined by a hundred others. They huddled together anxiously until the all clear sounded about an hour later. They left, breathing a sigh of relief for escaping harm. Perhaps the Luftwaffe was not going to bomb Shepherd’s Bush today.
Pete and Eve went home and ate; each wrapped in thought. The war was finally becoming a personal reality. When the sirens wailed again later in the evening, they gathered blankets and provisions and walked to the concrete public shelter at the corner of the Green. Pete carried Jake under his arm. As they passed the Underground station they saw that a crowd had gathered and were demanding to be let in. Several air raid wardens were barring their way.
‘They want to shelter in the station,’ said Pete. ‘I don’t think they’ll let them. It’ll cause chaos.’
‘Why ever won’t they let them in?’ asked Eve, ‘It seems an ideal place to shelter.’
‘We’ve been told it won’t be permitted,’ said Pete. ‘Think how insanitary it would get with hundreds of people down there.’
For most of the night the couple, in the company of many other frightened, sleepless people, listened to the sound of mayhem above their heads. The whistling of bombs falling through the air, the thumping roar as they landed and the rattle of anti-aircraft fire punctuated the night. After the All Clear sounded at about 4 am they staggered, stiff and chilled into the street and shuffled home for a few hours sleep.
When Eve woke on Sunday morning Pete had already left for work. She snuggled under the blankets, still dusty from the concrete shelter. Jake snored gently at the foot of the bed. He wasn’t begging to be walked so Pete must have taken him out, bless him. Eve turned over for a good lie in. Perhaps she could blot out the murder and the air raid for a few more hours.
Yesterday’s onslaught hadn’t come as a surprise. Everyone had been aware for weeks that it was inevitable. At the end of August a squadron of German bombers returning from a raid on RAF airfields dropped their surplus armament on the East End of London. Hitler must have thought that bombing civilians was a good idea to bring England quickly to its knees.
Eventually Eve emerged from the bed and, after a hasty breakfast she took Jake for a walk. There was more activity than was usual on a Sunday morning, but she could see no sign of damage to any buildings nearby. What struck her most was that people were talking to each other, stopping strangers to ask if they were all right, offering help to anyone who might need support. A new spirit of communal cooperation was in the air.
Eve was meeting Charlie for lunch in the pub. Just a pie and a beer, but she needed company. The new turn of events had unsettled her and she no longer felt confident that her life was secure. Charlie already had a pint in front of him when she arrived with Jake. A couple of friends that Charlie played football with were also at the table.
‘There you are, me old china,’ he called.
‘Do shut up, Charlie, trying to be a Cockney,’ retorted Eve.
‘Whatcha mean? I’m Charlie Spalding, cockney sparrer.’
‘I know as well as you do that you were born in Watford, so give over,’ she said after she’d greeted the others. ‘Half pint for me please, Charlie.’
Conversation naturally concentrated on the air raid. Locally there had been little damage, even though the aircraft had passed overhead. The bombers had returned to their bases in France after dropping incendiaries on the docks and targets along the eastern stretches of the Thames. They had heard the reports on the wireless of huge fires in the east and damage to homes in the suburbs, but so far Shepherd’s Bush was unscathed.
Much later that day, when it was getting dark, with stomachs full of alcohol and little else, Eve and her companions were leaving the Bush in cheerful mood, when they heard the sound of the sirens winding up to a crescendo of banshee wailing.
The air above them began to thrum with the rumble of heavy aircraft. The barrage balloon sailing over Shepherd’s Bush Green shivered and swung wildly, disturbed by turbulent air overhead as the aircraft tried to fly closer to the ground to aim. The sky was criss-crossed with shafts of light from the searchlights scouring the sky for enemy aircraft, to give the anti-aircraft gunners on the highest buildings a chance to shoot them down or at least disable them so that they were forced to limp home to France.
Eve stood dumbfounded on the pavement, gazing skywards in fascinated horror at the drama being played out overhead.
‘Come on, Evie! We’ve got to get into a shelter.’ Charlie pulled her by the hand, his other arm holding Jake close to his chest. ‘Come on! You can’t stand their gawping at them. We’ve got to take cover or we’ll be killed.’
An air raid warden ran towards them waving his arms and reiterated Charlie’s words ‘Take cover! Take cover!’ The man’s voice and body shook with fear; panicked at this first proper raid on his patch.
Eve came to life at last and they dashed the length of the street, with their gas masks knocking against their ribs, to the concrete shelter at the corner, but not before Eve had witnessed the sight of a house succumbing to the blast of high explosives.
It appeared as if the four storey building took a deep breath in and oxygen was sucked from the air. The walls and windows bulged outwards and splayed grotesquely like a broken jigsaw puzzle before imploding in a great roar of falling masonry, glass and timber until the dust obliterated it all from view. After one almighty bellow it seemed as if all further sound was blown away.
Charlie grabbed Eve’s hand again. ‘Eve, for Christ’s sake, get a move on!’ he yelled over the roar, ‘or you’ll get yourself killed, you daft cow.’
He dragged her into the shelter and looking back she saw a great lump of masonry land just where she had been standing. Charlie clasped her in his arms, seemingly even more terrified than Eve. He was saying something, but she could only see his lips moving as the blast had rendered her temporarily deaf.
The next day, when the dusty, smoky morning came, everyone carried on as normal. They travelled, exhausted, to work; to shops and offices, schools and factories as if nothing was happening. The Luftwaffe had left before first light, leaving a trail of destruction behind them. St Dunstan’s Road, Fulham, had taken a beating and one block of Fulham Hospital had taken a direct hit. Luckily, as the hospital was empty of patients, waiting for an influx of bombing victims, there were no casualties. Eve heard that at almost four in the morning a bomb had fallen on Fulham Power Station Turbine House. The ARP warden warned them that they could expect little electricity when darkness fell.
Eve was relieved not to be going to Mount Pleasant at the moment; only having to walk as far as Shepherd’s Bush nick. So far the building was undamaged. Like windows everywhere these were criss-crossed with a lattice of white tape to prevent blast blowing the glass inwards and injuring those inside. Even if a building was not directly hit, blast from neighbours could cause windows to implode and shards of glass to spin like flying daggers across the rooms inside.
Eve was still on extended leave of absence from the Censor Department. Poor Zoya lay in the mortuary. No-one quite knew what to do with her as she had no relatives in England and no-one in occupied Poland could be reached. Major Parkes seemed anxious to get her buried and forgotten.
‘After all,’ he’d said to Inspector Reed, ‘her parents are probably dead by now, or can’t come to London in any case. We need to have a funeral to put an end to the matter. This has affected morale at the Centre very badly. I want to get the affair cleared up and out of the way so we can go back to normal.’
‘I rather feel we should find out what happened to her before we bury her. I can’t help thinking that something further may be revealed. In any case, there has to be an inquest, however cut and dried it may be,’ Inspector Reed said.
‘Just as you wish, old man,’ said the Major in rather more familiar terms than Inspector Reed might have wished. ‘I just thought we ought to get the whole matter over and done with.’
Eve witnessed this exchange and was not happy with Simon’s attitude. Minor inconvenience at the PRC could not matter in the face of the murder enquiry.
Simon left the police station ahead of her and later she headed towards the pawn shop hoping to visit Mr Weissmann to see if he had any information for her. She noticed the looming presence of Borys in the street outside the nick. The big man scared her and she waited until his back was momentarily turned, to slip away unnoticed. She would leave her visit to the pawnbroker until later. She had almost reached Goldhawk Road when she heard a yell behind her.
‘Miss! Miss!’ Borys’s deep bellow sounded across the space between them.
Eve increased her pace and she was soon running; terrified that the huge man would catch up. She had become convinced that the Polish man had murdered Zoya. Who else could have done it? There was no-one else with the strength and with such a sound motive.
She hardly noticed where she was going and was soon pounding down Goldhawk Road through a crowd of shoppers. She turned into Coningham Road. The street was littered with rubble and debris. A house about half way along had been hit by a bomb and a great crater gaped between two other buildings that appeared intact. The front door of the one on the left hung open on damaged hinges and she slipped inside. As she looked around she was shocked to see that, although from outside the house appeared unscathed, the entire rear wall was missing. Torn wallpaper, ruined furniture and shattered timber hung in the air.
Eve’s straining ears could hear Borys thundering up behind her. She had to stop him catching her or she would be like Zoya, dead of a broken neck. Somehow she had to avoid the man. She stumbled through the rubble in the hallway and made for the staircase. Perhaps she would find somewhere upstairs to hide.
As she started upwards the front door crashed back and Borys stood outlined in the doorway.
‘No!’ he cried, ‘I must speak with you. Do not go up...’
Eve ignored him and ran headlong up the stairs. There must be a way that she could escape the brute. He was coming to kill her. Faster and faster she climbed until she reached as far as possible and discovered, to her horror, that the stairs disappeared. She almost fell into the abyss as she extended her foot to find nothing beneath it. The stairs ended in empty air.
She grabbed at the shattered banisters to stop herself falling, but her touch dislodged the fragile wood and it came away in her hand. Then she was falling, tumbling through the air towards the jumble of broken bricks, glass and jagged timber lying haphazardly twenty feet below.
Just as she felt that nothing could save her, a giant hand reached out and caught her arm. In extreme terror her senses left her and the next thing she knew was coming round in Borys’s arms as he laid her gently on the floor of the hallway. He gazed down at her, an almost tender expression in his eyes.
‘Why you run away from me, Miss Duncan? You almost be killed.’
‘You were frightening me,’ she said, realising how pathetic that sounded for such a tough cookie. She shook her head and struggled to get up, out of Borys’s supporting arm. Her feet almost slipped from under her; her legs felt like jelly. She had never had such a close encounter with death. It had been a near thing.