Mattie waved at her daughter as the little girl ran across the school playground to join her classmates. Gillian had taken to school as naturally as breathing and never hesitated at the gates. Mattie was thankful. That was at least one thing she didn’t have to worry about. Gillian was taking off her coat already, prior to hanging it inside on the special peg with her name beneath it. The spring sunshine was warm and Mattie loosened her scarf as she watched the crocodile of six-year-olds wend its way into the school building, Janet Phipps guiding them, reassuring the shyer ones.
Mattie had worked the night shift at the factory but had been determined to stay awake long enough to bring Gillian to school, which she didn’t manage often enough. Frequently her mother Flo did it, or Edith. Indeed, there was never a shortage of willing adults, and Mattie knew that this was good for Gillian, helping her to move beyond her mother and see a wide range of adults as safe and reliable. All the same, sometimes she liked the routine, the feeling that she was being a good parent to her beloved daughter. She gave a long sigh.
In her coat pocket was an envelope, tattered from its delayed journey from France to Jeeves Street. Perhaps she should have waited to open it until she’d dropped off Gillian, but she hadn’t been able to resist it. She’d read it while the little girl did up her shoelaces after breakfast, a new skill that she was very proud of. Mattie had just about held herself together to say ‘well done’ but it had been a close-run thing. She’d kept the mask of calmness all the way from home to the school, but now she could drop the pretence.
It had been a very short letter from Lennie, forwarded by the Red Cross. Admittedly, all his letters were short – even the ones from before he had been taken prisoner, back in 1940. He wasn’t a great writer, never had been. Even by his standards, this had been brief, though, and his handwriting had been shaky, some words barely legible. It basically said he was alive, he loved her and to give his love to the children. Then to her it seemed as if he’d stopped in exhaustion.
Mattie stepped into a deep doorway and dashed her hand across her eyes. She didn’t want to be seen crying in public. Somehow, in all that time since his capture, she’d kept going, telling herself that he would be all right. She was no fool. She could guess what the conditions were like in prisoner-of-war camps, knew he would have been moved around, with less and less to eat as the months went by. It was almost as if she could sense him fading, and these few sentences were all he could summon from the last of his energy. He would be weak and therefore prone to all manner of infections, and she reckoned that there would be plenty to choose from in the POW camps.
Come on, she told herself, you’re tired, you’ve been up all night. She had to carry on, no matter what. Gillian and Alan needed her, but how she longed for their father to come home. It was a bitter irony that while everyone was quietly hopeful now that the end of the fighting was in sight, she knew that time might be running out for Lennie.
Kenny was pleased to find himself partnered with Olive on the midweek, mid-evening shift. He’d said as much to Ruby when they’d grabbed a few minutes at the café near Ridley Road after work. He’d had enough of babysitting the stroppy teenager, which was how he now thought of Cliff. A cup of tea with Ruby had been just what he needed, as she bolstered his confidence and made him feel that he had someone warm to come back to. She’d looked especially lovely today, for some reason. Perhaps she had washed her hair. It had been gorgeous and wavy and she’d put on a little necklace he’d given her, with a shiny metal bird on a chain. It wasn’t silver or anything, but it had caught his eye and he knew she appreciated it, because her hand kept going to her throat as they’d talked.
The evenings were growing longer. Now that Easter was over, they could almost think of summer being on the way. Weeds poked from the bomb sites as they walked along the pavements, but there had not been any bombing raids in the area for weeks. Kenny didn’t want to tempt fate but that background tension of always wondering when the next V2 missile would fall was slowly lessening. He could feel that his shoulders weren’t as hunched, his neck not as stiff. All the same, he didn’t want to get too over-confident. You still had to be ready for anything, every time you put on the blue serge uniform of a warden.
Even so, he couldn’t help but wish that tonight would be a straightforward, uneventful shift. He’d had more than his share of excitement since becoming a warden. He wasn’t like some of them he knew, who actively enjoyed the thrill of a dangerous incident. There were a few colleagues who were at their happiest in burning buildings or at crashes, their eyes bright with excitement, revelling in the knowledge that they were heroes. That wasn’t his way at all.
Nor was it Olive’s, as he had come to realise over the months that they had worked together. She was far too down to earth. She wanted nothing more than to survive the night and get home to her children. She sometimes commented that they were enough excitement for anybody, and she came on shift for a nice rest.
With the longer evenings, there was a far smaller risk of people putting lights on and not drawing their curtains or blinds. There just weren’t the hours of darkness in which it was a problem. Kenny liked that. Everyone thought that ARP wardens spent most of their time rushing around shouting ‘put that light out’, but that was another thing he could do without. Later on, some families might become sloppy and argue that it didn’t matter any more, now the raids had stopped, but he knew he couldn’t allow that; yet it was only a tiny minority who behaved that way. By and large, everyone had simply got into the habit of pulling the curtains before switching on the light.
‘Quiet one tonight, Olive,’ he said amiably as they wandered along, the streets emptying as most workers were already home unless they were on late shifts. A few older children were hanging around their front doors, a couple of lads playing football in a half-hearted way. It was still warm and flies buzzed about in the evening sunshine. The ball rolled in their direction and Kenny neatly kicked it back, causing Olive to raise her eyebrows at him.
‘Look at you, they’ll sign you up for the Arsenal if you keep on like that.’
Kenny grinned back. It was a source of amusement or annoyance that Arsenal’s ground had been taken over as an ARP centre, depending on if you supported the team or not. ‘Not likely. My family would kill me. We all support West Ham ’cos me uncle had a trial for them once.’ He waved at the boys. ‘We have a bit of a game down the docks now and again. I’m not as good as others, to be honest, what with having to wear glasses. You should see Ron, he’s like lightning – you wouldn’t think it to meet him, but it’s true.’
Olive laughed. ‘I’ll make sure to mention it next time I see him. Does Gladys know?’
‘Oh yes, you can’t hide a talent like Ron’s.’ Kenny made a silly face and Olive laughed, making the boys turn around to see what the joke was.
They carried on walking towards the sun hanging low in the sky, the edges of the clouds beginning to turn pink. It would be a fine day tomorrow by the looks of it.
Before they could reach the small grocer’s shop, now shuttered up on the corner of the road, a young man in police uniform caught up with them. ‘Need your help, if you’d be so good.’ He was slightly breathless from running. ‘A spot of bother in a house a couple of streets away. We could do with an extra pair of hands. Probably just a domestic accident. We think a chip pan’s gone up.’
Kenny and Olive looked at one another. ‘Well, lead the way.’ Olive nodded at the young man, even younger than Cliff. ‘That’s what we’re here for.’
Gladys finished writing her list and tore the sheet of paper from her notebook. ‘Here you are. Now don’t forget to use the hoe on the new weeds,’ she instructed as she passed the list to Ruby. ‘They’re much easier to get rid of before they’re established.’
Ruby nodded meekly. She’d volunteered to spend tomorrow, her day off, at the victory garden, and was now receiving her orders. ‘Lily can help me,’ she said. ‘Well, as long as she has time to get smartened up afterwards. I think she’s going to the cinema with one of her admirers.’
‘I can’t keep up,’ Gladys confessed. ‘I suppose she’ll tell us if one of them is serious. Good luck to her, it makes me feel tired just thinking about it.’ She hung up her apron on the door between the kitchen and the service room. ‘Have a nice evening, Ruby.’
‘I will. I’m going to take it easy,’ said Ruby, helping herself to a cup of cocoa as her friend left for the night.
She wandered back in to the common room and turned on the wireless. Wilfred Pickles was reading the news, with details of more Allied successes on the continent. Mary came through the big double doors from the hall and set down her sheet music beside the piano. ‘Are you listening to that? I’ve got a few new tunes I’d like to try. Would you like that?’
Ruby nodded. ‘I wasn’t really paying much attention, not once I’d heard the headlines. You go right ahead.’
‘I know it’s mean but I can’t take anything he says seriously, not with that Yorkshire accent,’ Mary replied breezily, opening the lid to the old upright which was pushed against the long wall. ‘Doesn’t he sound dreadful? You must admit it.’
Ruby shrugged. ‘I don’t mind. You’d better not say that in front of Lily – she’ll think you don’t like anyone from the north. Or Alice, come to think of it.’
‘Oh, nonsense.’ Mary backtracked hurriedly. ‘I wasn’t thinking. Of course I don’t mean them. Anyway, the Liverpool accent is nicer; it’s completely different to that Pickles man.’ She spread out the music, picked a song and attempted the opening chord. ‘Ugh, that’s not right. Let me try again.’ She had another go and this time was happier with the result. ‘Recognise it?’
Ruby huffed. ‘What, with just those notes? Don’t be daft. Let’s hear some more.’
‘All right.’ Mary played the opening line all the way through. ‘Now do you know it?’
Ruby turned as Iris arrived from upstairs, knitting in her hands. ‘I think I’ve got it now. Iris, did you recognise that song?’
Iris shrugged apologetically. ‘I’m afraid not. I don’t really keep up with these things.’
‘Carmen Miranda!’ Ruby proclaimed. ‘I’m right, aren’t I, Mary?’
‘You are. It’s “Chica Chica Boom Chic”, straight out of That Night in Rio.’ Mary played some more, got a few bars wrong, tried them again. ‘This is trickier than I thought. You’ll have to forgive me, Iris, it isn’t meant to come out like that. I got carried away. Imagine wearing those big hats made out of fruit! Like in The Gang’s All Here! That would make you the centre of attention all right.’
Ruby sighed. ‘Imagine having all that fruit, full stop. I wouldn’t waste it on a hat. I’d eat the lot.’
Iris nodded amiably, not really knowing what they were talking about but not wanting to seem rude. ‘I’ve almost forgotten what some of it tastes like,’ she said wistfully.
Mary gave the whole song another go, putting her heart and soul into it, and it was hard to feel low-spirited in the face of such a tune. Even Iris was tapping her foot to it when Gwen came in, looking serious. She did not seem in the mood for film music.
‘Lovely to hear you playing again, Mary,’ she said, with a nod, ‘and sorry to interrupt. We have an incident requiring our services. Nothing too terrible but swift treatment is needed, nonetheless. Apparently the only free ambulance has just been called out to Clapton and that’s in the other direction. Can I ask one of you to attend? You’ll need to cycle there, it’ll take too long to walk.’
Mary looked a little crestfallen, having had to stop just when she was getting the hang of it. Still, she began to gather her music into a pile, ready to set off.
‘No, no,’ Iris said at once. ‘You carry on playing. You’ve only just started. I’ll go. After all, it’s not fair to ask Ruby as I know full well it’s your day off tomorrow and you don’t want to have a late night tonight and miss half of it.’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t think you’ll be out very late,’ Gwen assured her. ‘It’s a domestic fire, by the sounds of it. You’re perfect, Iris, as you discussed the latest burns treatments with the sister at the Homerton hospital, didn’t you? Thank you, my dear. I’ll pass you the address. You’ll probably be back before Mary reaches her grand finale.’
Iris approached the row of small houses, knowing that the message Gwen had received might be entirely accurate, or merely the tip of the iceberg. With her restocked Gladstone bag, she felt as ready as she could be for whatever lay in wait. When she reached number 35, although there was a smell of acrid smoke, there seemed to be little other damage, and she could see two familiar people sitting on the outside wall with a third, who was cradling her arm. The ARP had got there first and she was pleased to see it was two of the most trusted wardens.
Olive looked up. ‘Here comes the cavalry!’ she laughed. ‘Over here. It’s Nurse Hawke, isn’t it? You can prop your bike against the gatepost. Just one patient for you, and we’ve done what we could.’
The patient was a woman of about sixty, who appeared more embarrassed than hurt. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking of,’ she said crossly. ‘I know you mustn’t turn your back on a chip pan but then I started to do the crossword and lost track of time. All me own fault. I’m sorry to put you to the trouble.’
‘Not at all,’ Iris said briskly. ‘Now let me see where the damage is. Ah, you’ve had some first aid already from my colleagues here.’
The woman nodded. ‘They covered the pan with a wet towel then made me put me arm under cold running water – we got a tap out the back.’
‘Excellent.’ Iris could tell she would have little problem here. The burn was not a bad one and she couldn’t have done much more herself to begin with. She might have guessed that Olive would have known what to do; Ruby had told her that she had a young family and women with young children usually had first-hand first-aid experience. Iris set about treating the injury as carefully as she could, having disinfected her own hands first; it seemed unlikely that they could go back inside the building until it was confirmed as safe.
‘Will you have anywhere to go, to sit quietly and get over the shock?’ she asked.
The woman nodded, her greying hair bobbing as she did so. ‘Me daughter lives round the corner. Give me a right earful, she will, but no more than I deserve.’
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, it’s easily done.’ Olive tried to comfort their patient but she was having none of it.
‘No, I’m the one as is to blame. I shall just have to grin and bear it. She’s a good girl, though, she’ll look after me.’ The woman sighed and shrugged her shoulders in her thin cardigan. ‘Good job you got my handbag, sir; I don’t like to leave my ration books around for any Tom, Dick or Harry.’
Kenny reddened a little at being called ‘sir’. ‘All part of the service,’ he said. ‘Shall we see you to your daughter’s?’
‘No, no, it’s not far.’ The woman clearly didn’t want any more fuss.
‘Well, you give us her address and we can make sure someone checks your dressing,’ Iris said kindly but firmly. ‘It doesn’t look as if it will cause permanent damage but we don’t want any complications.’
The woman gave in to her authoritative tone and Iris wrote the information on the back of her piece of paper, putting it carefully in her pocket. The woman thanked them and headed off, carefully protecting her arm as she did so.
‘Looks as if there’s not much more for us to do,’ Olive observed.
Kenny agreed. ‘Better resume our patrol, then. We’re all behind. We’d better set off towards the canal and do the streets down there.’
Iris went to her bike and secured her bag in the front basket. ‘Would you mind if I came along with you?’ she asked. ‘I could do with a stroll and it’s one of the first proper warm evenings. I do like the canal.’
Suddenly the idea of sitting knitting back in the common room wasn’t as appealing. Besides, she felt like a wet blanket when Mary played her tunes. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy them, but if you hadn’t seen the film then it didn’t mean as much. She didn’t want Ruby to have to keep explaining everything. Much better that she stayed out of the way for a while. The knitting could wait.
‘Yes, why not?’ said Kenny easily. ‘The more the merrier.’