On Sunday, according to Gran’s prediction although one day late, the Luftwaffe arrived in daylight. Connie was feeding Lucky and quickly put his bottle away.
‘Billy’s not home,’ her father shouted as they prepared to leave for the shelter. ‘Come with us, Connie.’
‘He’ll turn up. He knows I don’t like being on my own.’
Her mother was tearful and although Connie kissed her quickly goodbye, Olive gazed at the baby in her arms with anxious eyes. ‘The poor little mite should be evacuated somewhere safe.’
‘We’re used to the Anderson now, Mum. Don’t worry about us.’
‘Well, you’re old enough to decide for yourself, but don’t forget you’re taking responsibility for another life now.’
Connie watched her parents join the small crowd of neighbours leaving Kettle Street for the public shelters. Was her mother right about Lucky? She held him close, receiving one of his lovely smiles as he looked up at her. She would never forgive herself if anything happened to him.
Ten minutes later Billy joined her in the Anderson. ‘Sorry I left it a bit late. Kept out the way so as Mum didn’t see me face.’
‘You can’t stay out of the way for ever.’
‘No, but I’ll look better tomorrow. If she asks, I’ll say I fell off a roof.’
‘Are the bruises still painful?’ Connie asked.
‘Nah. Only my lips when I move ’em.’
‘You’d better stop talking then,’ she grinned as they laughed beside each other on the bench.
The Luftwaffe didn’t let up all night. She managed to doze but jumped awake each time the bombs dropped close. Her nerves felt frayed and the next morning even her ‘quiet time’ with Lucky at dawn failed to revive her spirits.
After leaving him with Nan, she made her way tiredly to work. A Green Goddess was blocking the end of the street. She could hear the lumps of masonry falling as the firemen hosed the smouldering building. The water spilled through the rafters on to the flames in the heart of the ruin.
‘What happened to the Parkers?’ Connie asked one of the firemen.
‘We dug ’em out from the Anderson. Took ’em down the Sally Army for breakfast.’
‘Was anyone hurt?’
‘No, but the poor sods were in shock.’
‘What will happen to them now?’
‘Well, they can’t come back here, can they?’
Connie hadn’t known the newly arrived family very well, only old Mrs Parker, who had died six months ago and had been a resident for years. Her son, his wife and three daughters from the east coast had come to live in her house. They’d had a lorry to move in all their furniture and Lofty and Dad had gone along to help them. Connie stared at the charred remains of the Parkers’ new home. Nothing to say it was once a house, just embers.
She walked on in a subdued mood. All along the roads one by one the houses were being picked off. Perhaps she should give some serious thought to what her mother had said about Lucky. What would she do if something happened to him?
‘What a terrible night!’ Ada yawned that morning as they sat on their stools and tried to concentrate on work. ‘A bomb landed just over the back of us. Our next door neighbours came home to find all their windows gone and their karzy blown right away. The top of our chimney landed in their yard. Me Dad’s fed up with bits falling off the house. So Mum says she’s going to evacuate the girls.’
‘But she didn’t want to let them go last year.’ Connie was getting worried. Everyone was talking of evacuation again.
‘Yeah, well, nothing really happened in the Phoney War, did it? But after last night, she’s changed her mind. ’Specially as Dad’s being transferred to another port. Millwall docks have been damaged so bad that it’s disrupted all the trade.’
‘But you’ll all be split up.’ Connie was shocked.
Ada nodded miserably. ‘It’s what’s happening to everyone. Some poor souls who are bombed out have nowhere to go except public buildings or churches or the Sally Army. Mum says it’s best to leave before it comes to that.’
‘But where will they go?’
‘Dunno. You just have to go where you’re sent.’
‘What about you, Ada? Would you leave the island?’
‘I wouldn’t without Wally!’ Ada cried, drawing Mr Burns’s attention.
‘All right over there, girls?’
‘Yes, Mr Burns.’
‘What are you going to do then?’ Connie whispered a little later.
‘Find digs, I suppose.’
Connie felt sad for her friend and although they managed a few laughs in the canteen, things didn’t seem the same. That night, Connie was thinking about the Freemans as she sat in the light of the candle, holding Lucky tightly. Would Mum allow Ada to come and live here? But Mum was already upset about Lucky’s presence in the house. Connie knew she couldn’t ask for yet another waif and stray to be taken in.
The bombing began and Billy didn’t show up. The vibration seemed to jar all her bones even though Dad had placed more sandbags over the roof. Lucky began to cry and she rolled little balls of cotton wool into his ears, covering his head with two bonnets and then a blanket. She cuddled him tight.
By ten o’clock, they were still alone. Where was Billy? Had he got into trouble with this new brainwave of his? She was very frightened. The candle flickered and a judder went through the ground. The next second an explosion knocked them off the bench. They fell on the hard floor. Dust tumbled from the ceiling and the shelf crashed down. With her eyes tightly closed, she covered Lucky with her body. Was this it? Was this the end? Noise roared all around them.
‘Keep us safe, please,’ she prayed between little sobs. She was too scared to move.
‘Connie!’ A voice was calling. She cried to call back but nothing came out. She could hear someone banging at the shelter door.
‘It’s me, Vic. I’m digging you out. The door’s blocked with sandbags.’
‘Vic?’ She scrambled to her knees. The door finally swung open. ‘Oh, Vic!’
He rushed in and grabbed them. ‘Oh thank God you’re safe!’
‘There was a terrible bang.’
‘It was in the next road. But when I saw the smoke I thought it was Kettle Street.’
‘Oh, Vic,’ she sobbed as he held her tight.
‘Are you both okay?’
‘Yes, but I fell on top of him.’ They both looked into the shawl. A dirty little face gazed up at them. She pressed him against her chest as he began to cry. Automatically she rocked him. ‘It’s a wonder he isn’t squashed and deaf.’
‘That was very close.’
‘I know. But why are you here?’
‘I bumped into Billy today on my way home from work. He said he had to go across the water with this new boss of his and didn’t know if he’d get back before nightfall. I intended to be here earlier but I had to report in first and it was bedlam. I just couldn’t get away.’ He held her face in his hands. ‘Connie, I was so worried about you being on your own.’
‘You’re here now, that’s all that matters.’
Gently he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you, sweetheart – to either of you.’
He had called her sweetheart! Her heart fluttered as he hugged her. ‘Come on, sit on the bench.’ He righted the seat and helped her to get comfortable.
‘Have the planes gone?’
‘For the moment. But they’ll be back again.’
‘I don’t want to be on my own.’
He put his arm around her. ‘You won’t have to. I’ll stay until morning.’
‘Oh, I wish I was braver.’ She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘I get so scared.’
‘Just like everyone else,’ he soothed, stoking her head. ‘And you are brave. Very brave indeed. Now, Lucky seems to have gone off. Why don’t you close your eyes.’
‘I don’t want to let go of him.’
‘All right. I’ll put my arms round you both.’
And they were the last words she remembered before sleep claimed her.
When she woke, she was lying on the bench where Billy usually slept. A blanket was draped across her. The Tilley lamp was on and Vic was slumped in the corner, snoring softly. His arms were folded across his chest, his long legs stretched out in front. Lucky was asleep in his cart. He was getting used to the bombs. And so, it seemed, was she.
Connie’s heart tightened with joy. Vic had called her sweetheart!
The following week the BBC broadcast that already over one hundred and eighty-five enemy planes had been shot down and the raids were expected to continue. Connie saw pictures in the newspaper of a changed Oxford Street. Peter Robinson’s department store and John Lewis’s both had their ornate facades ripped away, almost every window shattered. It was reported that Londoners now enjoyed less than four hours sleep at night, a fact to which Connie herself could testify. She was only half awake at work and sometimes found herself dozing on her stool. Not that she hadn’t noticed Mr Burns stifling a yawn, as he removed his spectacles and cleaned the lenses methodically. Ada, once a self-confessed night bird, now replenished her make-up so frequently that her eyes resembled a panda’s. Even Len’s jokes about his mother were fewer. But life continued in a haphazard way and Connie was relieved to discover that Lucky was none the worse for his nocturnal trials.
Nan’s joy was the pram in which she wheeled Lucky out, either to the shops or the park. Connie couldn’t wait for the weekends, when it was her turn. Vic had taken to meeting her after work on Saturdays. They would dare to stroll out, rarely using the car. Petrol was scarce. Few private vehicles used the roads.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Vic mused one late September Saturday as they pushed the pram to Island Gardens and sat down on the bench by the big domed entrance to the foot tunnel. ‘It’s odd that no one has claimed him. Do you think his mother took lodgings in Haverick Street quite recently?’
‘It would explain why the neighbours didn’t know her.’
They were silent for a moment as they gazed out across the Thames. They could see Greenwich clearly, the shape of the Wren buildings and, on top of the hill, the Royal Observatory. The scene was majestic and peaceful.
‘Have you given any more thought as to what you’re going to do if no one comes forward?’ Vic asked after a while.
Connie felt a flutter of fear. Was he hinting, like Mum, that Lucky was too much for her? ‘I don’t like the thought of him being sent to an orphanage.’
‘A baby is a big tie for a young girl.’
‘I know.’
‘You’re very fond of him, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I am.’ Panic filled her. Was he going to make her choose between them, she wondered? She looked into his eyes. ‘But I can’t expect you to feel the same.’
Her heart stood still. She knew if she lost Vic, she would be devastated. Could she give up Lucky if he asked her to?
He took her hands and held them, a small frown pleating the inch between his eyebrows. ‘At school, Connie, I was always bashing a ball around, showing off, trying to make you notice me. Looking back I cringe to think of how I behaved. Well, now I’ve got a second chance and, believe me, I’m not going to throw it away. The way you’ve taken Lucky under your wing only makes me respect you more. You’re a beautiful girl and I haven’t a clue what you see in me, but I hope to God you go on seeing it.’
Connie felt as if a bright, warm light had filled her. So this was what it was like to feel as though you were the luckiest, happiest person to walk the planet!
‘Oh, Vic, you’ve said some lovely things.’
‘I mean them.’
‘Do you think the authorities would make me give him up?’
He paused for a moment before he spoke. ‘Why should they? You’re providing him with a good home, something a lot of kids haven’t got in wartime.’
‘I’d like to register him properly, you see. There’s lots of things he’ll need, such as orange juice and cod liver oil, and something will have to be done about getting an identity.’
‘Sounds like a visit to Poplar and the town hall. I’ll drive you up, if you like. And whilst we’re on the subject of kids, Pat has been on at me to ask you over. You can meet Doris again and Laurie, Pat’s husband.’
Connie felt very flattered. ‘I’d like that.’
‘Good. Well now, it’s almost teatime.’
‘Are you on duty tonight?’
‘Yes and I’ll try to call by. Make sure Billy’s put in an appearance.’
Connie wasn’t certain if he used Billy as an excuse or if he took the opportunity whenever he could to see her. But she didn’t care why he called, only that he did.
‘Mum told me to ask you if you’d like some tea. She queued for some nice sausages yesterday.’
‘I don’t need asking twice.’ Vic grinned.
It was heaven just being by his side, with his arm around her, Connie thought as they strolled home. And now Lucky was sitting up in the pram he looked a real little boy. Under his bonnet there was a soft and downy patch of fair hair poking through. She thought with pride how this ugly little duckling was turning into a beautiful swan. She felt so proud of him.
How lucky could a girl get?
Billy sat in Taffy Jones’s house in Poplar High Road, staring at a big shaggy dog that had just cocked its leg on the fender and ambled lazily off. The puddle it left was quickly splashed by the foot of one of a dozen children filling Taffy’s front room.
Over the mantel, under which lay the neglected ashes of a fire, hung a large, crumpled poster. The illustration was of a young fighter, mildly representative of Taffy, with one front tooth missing as he posed, smiling, at the photographer. The muscular arms and proud naked chest were definitely no longer evident on Taffy’s present-day physique. Billy cast his eyes to Taffy, sprawled in an armchair, lost under a corpulent belly and sagging breasts. Round circles of sweat formed in his armpits and discoloured his shirt. The face, though, was definitely that of Taffy – at least two decades ago.
‘See, son, I was the pride of the valleys,’ Taffy hastened to explain as he looked reverently up at the display. ‘Put all the bastards down in under four, never an exception. Got meself a real reputation, boyo.’
Taffy, who normally spoke as cockney as the next East Ender, now lapsed into a strange concoction of accents. Billy tried to decipher it as endless streams of children ran wildly in and out of the room. They were filthy, shoeless and noisy, tripping over the assortment of winged fowl that strutted across the bare lino. A large black fluffy cat appeared, swiped a paw at the birds, and seated itself on Taffy’s knees.
‘I was just sixteen then, with the world at me feet,’ Taffy continued. ‘And if it hadn’t been for the leg, I’d have gone on to great things.’
‘What happened to your leg?’ Billy looked down at his employer’s stained brown trousers. Other than never having seen Taffy in any others, they seemed unremarkable.
‘I’ve an inch off the right one, so I have.’
‘You’d never notice.’
‘Birth defect,’ Taffy said in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Gives you a disadvantage as you grow. And I was still growing then. Lovely lad I was too. Potential was there. But swinging an inch off target, you begins to make mistakes. By the time I was twenty it was all over. See that there, the Cardiff Cup? The big one to the left? That was my best trophy. A beauty, ain’t she?’
Billy nodded vigorously, although he couldn’t quite distinguish the model Taffy was referring to. There were at least a dozen battered and misshapen cups, surrounded by a plethora of beribboned badges, war medals and a large three-legged horse tipped on its side, all arranged on the shelves of a glass case the panes of which were broken or splintered. Billy didn’t know if its contents were silver or gold, or even precious, but like the children there were many.
‘Now, listen to me, son,’ said Taffy, dispatching the cat. ‘You’re young and you’ve got ambition and I reckon we can make something of you. But the thing is, you can’t win all your fights by biting off your opponent’s ear.’
‘I never won the fight,’ Billy reminded him as he tried not to inhale the smell of cat pee on his chair. ‘I got thrashed.’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘I had to do something.’
‘If you play your cards right next time, you’ll keep out of the way, wear your opponent out, as most of them round here are all show. Three rounds in and they couldn’t walk up a hill without a crutch.’
‘So there’s gonna be a next time?’ Billy asked eagerly.
Taffy wrinkled his brow. ‘You got to learn, lad. You got to use your noddle, think. Keep that trap of yours shut, not waste your breath on insults.’
‘I was angry.’
‘Make your anger work for you. Be crafty, sly like. Look out for your opportunity. Come under their punches and catch them off guard. Now come with me.’
Taffy led him through a dark corridor and out into daylight. The rear yard contained a shed. Taffy slid the bolt, beckoning Billy after him. ‘Now, this, laddo, is me sanctum of sanctums,’ he announced as they stepped in.
Billy stared round in surprise. Hanging from the roof was a leather punch bag. Pictures of muscular young fighters, all with their fists raised, were pinned on the wooden walls.
‘Top left is Teddy Baldock, Bantamweight Champion of the World, 1927,’ Taffy explained. ‘Defeated Archie Bell, bottom right, at the Albert Hall.’
‘Was he from round here?’
‘Local lad from Poplar no less.’
‘Champion of the world . . .’ Billy breathed incredulously.
‘His fight went down in the history books,’ Taffy continued. ‘Took more than fifty buses to carry his supporters to Kensington Gore for the event. See that bag there?’ Taffy puffed out his chest. ‘It was strung up in the yard of the Dock House pub. There was just enough room for a boxing ring and a row of chairs either side. Wag Bennett, Ernie Jarvis, the Softleys, Tom Cherry and young Baldock, they all gave it a right bashing in their time.’
Billy reached out to touch the hallowed leather. He looked up at the big photograph in front of him. ‘That’s Joe Louis! I seen his picture in the paper.’
‘Aye, the Brown Bomber,’ Taffy sighed. ‘Did you know his right cross is as lethal as his left hook? That one of his punches only has to travel six inches to rearrange an opponent’s features?’
Billy was flabbergasted. ‘He ain’t from the island is he?’
‘Course he’s not. But I had the photograph signed, see – had it sent over from America special like. To Taffy, mitts up! What an honour! Do you know, he risked his crown against Schmeling the Hun in ’38? Louis scored a KO in the first round. Schmeling didn’t even see it coming.’ He nudged Billy’s arm softly. ‘Now, if you can pull one out of the bag like that, then we’ll all be happy.’
‘Yeah, but I got pulverized, didn’t I?’ Billy digressed on a wave of serious doubt.
‘That’s experience for you, son. They all started at the bottom of the ladder. Take Tammy Jarvis, another local boy. He was your weight and just as green. Then one day he upped and went to America. Won his fight and came home with a Stetson on his bonce. Bought a greengrocer’s in Westferry with his earnings. Now, what do you think of that?’
Billy was awestruck. He was looking at seriously famous fighters, who had amounted to something in their lives. America! That’s where he wanted to go too. He’d make amends for what he’d done in the past. One day he would amount to something.
Once more he looked up at the photograph of the Brown Bomber. Joe Louis had come up the hard way, just like him. Billy smiled to himself. Lady Luck was with him now.
He could feel it in his bones.