About a month after his dad’s visit, Billy was playing a game of pontoon with Robin when Brother Dorian made an entrance into the garage. An immediate hush fell over the room, reminiscent of a scene in a cowboy film when the stranger walks through the swing doors and up to the saloon bar.
‘William,’ he said. ‘I should like to see you in the drawing room; it’s a personal matter.’
‘Trouble,’ whispered Titch.
Billy wondered what the matter could possibly be. When Brother Dorian summons you, he said to himself, it usually means something’s wrong.
‘You have a brother serving on HMS Fiji , do you not?’ asked the brother. ‘Only the ship has been in action at Crete and it, along with a number of other ships, has been sunk. Let us listen to the news bulletin.’
He switched on the wireless.
‘ This is the BBC Home Service ,’ said the announcer. ‘Here is the news and this is Wilfred Pickles reading it. Crete has been evacuated and more than fifteen thousand troops have been withdrawn to Egypt. The losses inflicted on the enemy’s troops and aircraft have been enormous but we regret
to announce the loss of the two cruisers HMS Gloucester and HMS Fiji and also four destroyers including HMS Kelly, commanded by Lord Louis Mountbatten , who is reported to be among the survivors now in Alexandria .’
Brother Dorian switched off the wireless.
‘I am sorry you have received such bad news, William. We can hope and pray that your brother is amongst the survivors now in Alexandria. I shall get everyone here to say a special prayer for him.’
‘Yes, thank you, sir,’ said Billy, bewildered and overcome at the thought that Jim might be dead.
He returned to the garage and told his friends of his news.
‘I’m sure he has been saved, Billy,’ said Robin. ‘From what you’ve told us about him, he sounds as if he’s a lucky type.’
‘You’ll see,’ saidTitch, untypically hopeful. ‘He’ll be at Alexandria with all his mates.’
All that week, Billy could think of nothing else. His mind went back to the ‘skenny-eyed kid’ days, to the ‘daft and potty’ letter to Sam, to the boxing lessons in the back yard, to the games of pitch-and-toss and the rides in the big tyre, to the send-offs at the end of Jim’s furloughs, to the way he waved goodbye from the train at London Road. And as he reflected on all the good times in the past, he wept for the brother who might be lying at the bottom of the Mediterranean.
‘Cheer up,’ said Pablo. ‘Remember - no news is good news.’
Then the letter from home arrived. With shaking fingers, Billy tore open the envelope. He scanned the first page of his mam’s writing - hungrily, desperately.
Everything was all right! Jim had been saved and was amongst the survivors at Alexandria. Furthermore, he
was being sent home on compassionate leave and would be in Manchester within a fortnight.
A fortnight is only two weeks, or fourteen days, but that particular fortnight in 1941 seemed like forever.
‘Do you think time can stand still?’ Billy asked Titch.
‘Depends,’ said Titch. ‘If you’re watching a good film it flashes past, but if you’re in a lousy Latin lesson it doesn’t move.’
Billy went about his daily routines - working in lessons, eating Brother Brendan’s thick soups, doing homework, playing on the beach and on the golf course, cheating at cards in the evenings; still the days went by at a snail’s pace.
But time runs through the longest day, and one Friday afternoon the endless period of waiting came to an end.
He came cycling up to the gate - on a Raleigh bike. Jim! He hadn’t changed - same stupid grin and in the same immaculate uniform, except now it was decorated with all kinds of service stripes, gunnery emblems and war ribbons. His brother! They shook hands and then grabbed each other in a powerful bear-hug.
‘How’ve you been?’ asked Jim.
‘OK,’ said Billy, his eyes glistening. ‘And what about you?’
‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘I should be OK. After all, I’ve just come back from a sea cruise - with a tour of the Greek islands thrown in.’
‘Whose is the bike?’
‘It’s yours,’ he said. ‘I brought it on the train and cycled up from the station. Dad bought it for you from Mr Sykes for a couple o’ quid.’
By this time a number of the boys had appeared and were looking curiously at this brotherly scene.
Pablo came forward deferentially and asked:
‘Are you the brother who served on the Fiji?’
‘That’s right. That’s me.’
Billy stepped back and simply basked in the reflected glory. Brother Dorian and a couple of the other brothers came out and enquired if he was The brother. When it was confirmed that indeed he was, Brother Dorian said:
‘We are honoured to have you here. Let there be no misunderstanding that we citizens at home fully appreciate the suffering, the conflict and the sacrifices which you and your shipmates have so recently undergone.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Jim politely.
‘Won’t you come into the drawing room and tell us exactly what happened at Crete?’
‘Certainly, sir,’ said Jim. ‘But it would be nice if all these young boys here could come too, as I’m certain that they would be interested to hear.’
‘Of course they may,’ said the brother. ‘Come along, boys. Everyone into the drawing room. It’s not every day we get the news straight from the horse’s mouth.’
All the residents crowded into the drawing room and all eyes were on Jim as he told his story.
‘The destroyer Greyhound was sunk first. The Gloucester and the Fiji were ordered to pick up the survivors. But the Gloucester was hit, set on fire and started to sink fast. We had to leave her or we would have lost contact with the rest of Admiral Cunningham’s fleet. We managed to survive nearly twenty bomber attacks before we ran out of ammunition.’
‘What kind of plane attacked you?’ asked Pablo.
‘We were hit by bombs from Messerschmidt 109s, but there were also many, many Stuka dive-bombers coming at us.’
‘What kind of gun do you operate?’ asked Brother Brendan.
‘I was operating a Pom-Pom, with my mates, of course. I tell you, when the Stukas came screaming down at us, we could almost see the eyes of the Jerry pilots.’
‘What did they look like?’ asked Titch, shivering.
‘They looked as if they had been drugged.’
‘And tell me, James,’ said Brother Dorian, ‘what happened next?’
‘I spent over twelve hours in the sea, clinging to wreckage, until me and my mates were picked up by the destroyer Kipling and taken to Alexandria.’
As Jim related his experiences to the admiring group, Billy looked on, his heart filled with pride - as much pride as he had felt when Jim had given the skenny-eyed kid his come-uppance. Now he could see from the glances he was receiving from his fellows that his own status at Martindale Bungalow had taken off into the ether.
When Jim had finished relating his adventures, Brother Dorian said:
‘On behalf of us all, I must express our deepest appreciation and gratitude for a truly fascinating account of the action off Crete. The glorious defence which our forces put up can only command admiration in every land. If we in this island can keep up the same spirited defiance, it can only result in the annihilation of the savage Hun.’
After this ringing, stirring speech from the headmaster, the group broke up.
‘I have a favour to ask you, sir,’ said Jim.
‘Ask away,’ said the brother.
‘If you could agree, sir, I should like to take my young brother back to Manchester with me, as we shall be having a family gathering to celebrate my homecoming.’
‘Why, certainly,’ he said. ‘By all means. We shall expect to see him back here after the Whitsun holiday.’
When he heard this, Billy’s cup overflowed. Had he been able to look into a crystal ball, however, he might not have been so happy.
The party for Jim’s home-coming was a grand affair. All the uncles and aunts, plus the beautiful Jean Priestley and the Sykes family, gathered together for the customary booze-up in Capper’s and the sing-song and sandwiches back at Honeypot Street. Dad even made a speech.
‘I’d just like to thank y’all for coming tonight to celebrate our Jim’s safe return. A lot o’ sailors was killed at Crete and he’s very lucky to be here with us tonight, and I thank God for sparing him.’
‘You mean his time hasn’t come,’ said Auntie Cissie.
‘His name wasn’t on the bomb,’ said Mam.
‘P’raps that bugger Hitler didn’t know how to spell it,’ said Uncle Eddy.
‘Anyroad, Jim’s here with us tonight and I raise me glass to him and say: good luck to you, son, and God bless you and I’m proud of you.’
Overcome with emotion, Tommy had to sit down.
‘Come on, our Kate, give us a song,’ called Uncle Eddy.
After much protesting, Mam was persuaded to sing her favourite song, ‘Keep Right on to the End of the Road.’
‘Go higher! Go higher!’ Dad kept calling proudly as she sang.
‘What about a song from you, Dad?’ said Billy. ‘Give us “Dolly Gray”.’
‘Y’can have her,’ he said. ‘Bloody hell! How old d’you think I am? That song’s from the Boer War. I won’t sing that, but I will sing this.’
In his high, cracked voice, he gave his rendering of
‘Don’t Dilly-Dally on the Way’, with the crowd joining him in the chorus. This seemed to encourage other would- be soloists, for after that followed versions of ‘Miner’s Dream of Home’, ‘Nellie Dean’ and ‘Goodbye!’.
Whilst all this was going on, Billy managed to exchange a few words with Henry, his old pal.
‘How’s it goin’, Henery?’
‘Not so bad, Billy. I leave school next year.’
‘Great. What are you gonna do?’
‘I’m gonna work with me dad on the rag-and-bone cart. Me dad says I can earn nearly two quid a week.’
‘Lucky you, Henery. Me - I’ve got to go on studying at school till I’m sixteen.’
‘How’re you getting on there?’
‘Not so bad now. I didn’t like it at first but I’m getting used to it. Right at the very beginning, I was nearly last in class.’
‘You last!’
‘Yeah - well the work was so different. But at the last exam I came twelfth out of twenty-five, so I’m getting better.’
‘If I know you, Billy, you’ll be near the top before long.’
‘And if I know you, Henery, you’ll be a millionaire before you’re thirty.’
‘I should live so long!’ he said, imitating their Jewish neighbours.
The next day was Sunday, and in the evening Billy and his mam and dad took Jim to London Road station for a quiet send-off.
‘Not like the old days, Jim,’ said Dad, ‘when we poured you on to the train in the middle of the night.’
‘Thank God for that,’ said Jim. ‘We used to have terrible
hangovers when we got back to the ship. Hardly a fit state to fight a war.’
‘Anyroad, you’re not going back to fighting for a bit,’ said Mam.
‘Will you get another ship, Jim?’ asked Billy.
‘No, I don’t think so. After Crete and all that time I spent in the water, it won’t be long before I get my ticket.’
‘You mean - leave the navy?’ said Billy.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘I’ll get an honourable discharge.’
‘What’ll you do then?’ Billy asked.
‘I could join the Merchant Navy or something like that, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.’
‘Ta-ra, son,’ said Mam. ‘Now you look after yourself, d’you hear?’
As the train pulled away from the platform, Mam said:
‘I’m not kidding. I’ve said ta-ra that many times to that many people, I’m beginning to sound like a record with its needle stuck.’
At ten o’clock that night, Billy went up to bed, leaving his mam and dad downstairs listening to Sandy Macpherson at the organ; Les was out as usual on ARP messenger service. As he lay there in the darkness, he heard way off in the distance first the gentle hum-hum of aircraft engines, then the very faint whistle of bombs, followed by muffled explosions. There had been no airraid warning and so Billy wondered if he were hearing things. Hardly daring to breathe, he listened again. There was no mistake - the sounds were still there.
‘Mam,’ he called, ‘I think you’d better come up here and listen to this.’
She did so cupping a hand to her ear and straining to listen.
‘By gum, you’re right,’ she said. ‘I can hear ’em. It’s a raid.’
She called downstairs.
‘Tommy, they’re here. The Germans. A raid. Come up here and listen. It’s the bombers.’
Billy got up quickly, dressed and went into the cellar. Soon afterwards, Mam joined him.
‘Best to get under the stairs,’ she said. ‘It’s the part of a house that’s always still standing after it’s been bombed.’
They sat together in the dark on the cold stone steps. Thirty minutes later the sirens sounded and Dad joined them.
‘They’re a bit bloody slow in sounding the warning tonight,’ he said.
‘I must have a word with her-next-door,’ said Mam.
Billy knocked on the wall in the customary manner.
‘Are y’all right, Jessie?’ called Mam.
‘Aye, we’re all right, Kate,’ she answered. ‘I think they’re after the railway tonight, the bombs are that close.’
‘Look after yourself, Jessie.’
‘Aye, you and all.’
‘Are y’all right, Henery?’ Billy yelled.
‘I’m OK,’ replied Henry. ‘You remember that fortuneteller in Blackpool?’
‘Yeah, so what?’
‘I think I can see them clouds she was talking about.’
Billy and his mam went back to their place on the steps.
The bombers came closer and closer, louder and louder, and the guns all around the district opened up with their distinctive 'Crump! Crump r
‘I wonder where our Les is,’ was all Mam could say.
Then the air attack really began. Deafening explosion after explosion. The bombs whistled with the shriek of death as they hurtled across the rooftops, detonating on the nearby Red Bank sidings.
‘It’s the railway they’re after all right,’ said Dad. ‘The bastards know it’s the main line between Manchester and Sheffield.’
‘Tommy! Tommy!’ cried Mam hysterically. ‘We’d better get out to the big shelter afore we all get killed here.’
Dad was on the step above him, and Billy could hear his slippered foot trembling near his head. The thunderclaps and the bangs now bursting around them became louder than a dozen storms rolled into one. The three of them passed beyond fear and resigned themselves to death.
‘By God,’ Dad shouted. ‘We’d better get out or we’re dead. I’ll put me shoes on!’
He got up and went upstairs into the living room. At that moment, there was a hellish, terrifying screeching across the house and there followed the mother of all explosions. The whole world shuddered - the house seemed to lift up and sway over to one side. Then came the overpowering, nauseating smell of cordite, filling their mouths, throats, nostrils with choking, suffocating soot and dirt.
‘God help us, Tommy, we’ve been hit! Are you all right? Are you still there?’
‘I’m all right, Kate,’ he yelled. ‘I was saved by the kitchen door. Never mind me bloody shoes! Let’s get out afore the whole bloody place falls on us!’
During the short lull they got out of the ruined, devastated house and hurried towards the public shelter. They were not prepared for the horror outside.
‘It’s a bloody nightmare!’ Dad shouted.
It was a fitting description of the ruins which were now all around them. It was still dark, but in the moonlight they could see that the shape, the landscape, the very geography of the district had been transformed in a few
short hours. They struggled through the debris, clambered over crumbled walls and the remains of buildings until they reached the comfort, if not the security, of the large shelter under a raincoat factory.
There they found mayhem - a scene like that of the trenches in the First World War - with corpses and wounded lying higgledy-piggledy about the place. One man sat on the floor moaning and holding his face, which had been gashed and torn by flying debris; another lay with his face bleeding from the glass of his spectacle lenses which had been blown into his eyes. Others sat staring, bewildered - in a state of shock.
At dawn the all-clear sounded. The survivors emerged from the basement like moles blinking in the light. There was a pall of smoke hanging over the area, and some of the houses were still burning. Everywhere they looked, there was destruction and desolation.
The family walked back to the place where their house had been and found only a heap of rubble and charred timbers. Sitting nearby on a low wall was Mr Sykes.
‘They’re both gone, Mrs Hopkins,’ he said flatly.
‘Good God! What’s happened?’ she asked.
‘During the night, I heard screams of women and children and I went out to see if I could help. It was then that that bomb - the one which has wiped out your house and mine - hit us. A direct hit, as you can see. Jessie, Henery. Both gone. They were in the cellar. They couldn’t have known a thing. Blew them to smithereens. The ambulances have taken what was left of their bodies away.’
He continued to stare off vacantly into space. No tears. No emotion. He was mesmerised and unable to take in the enormity of the disaster which had befallen him.
Heartbroken at the loss of his old pal, Billy took off his woollen scarf and wrapped it around Mr Sykes’s neck.
but the man didn’t seem to notice.
Dear old Henry - dead! Henry, who’d shared so many games, so many exploits, so many dreams!
‘No career in the rag-and-bone trade for Henry,’ Billy said tearfully to Mam.
‘And Jessie’s had her asthma cured good and proper,’ replied Kate sorrowfully.
‘We’ve lost our home and our good friends all in a few short hours,’ said Dad. ‘If that bomb had fallen just a couple of yards shorter, it would’ve been us taken away in them ambulances.’
‘Somebody up there must like us,’ said Mam. ‘Either that or our name wasn’t on that bomb.’
As they left Honeypot Street, Billy glanced back. The last view he had of the place where he had spent such a happy boyhood was Mr Sykes sitting expressionless and alone on that low wall.
The family moved to an Emergency Rest Centre to await re-housing. Back safely from his ARP duties, Les found them two hours later and gave an account of the hair- raising time he had had during the night, cycling around the district which had been disintegrating and falling about his ears.
‘You’d best get back to Blackpool,’ said Dad to Billy. ‘You’ll be safer out of this lot. You never know, Jerry might be back tonight.’
It was a very sad farewell when Mam went with him to Victoria Station.
‘Ta-ra again,’ she said. ‘One o’ these days, all this lot’ll be over and I might find myself saying hello just for a change. And here’s a photo of the Sykes family I found in me handbag. You might like to keep it to remind you of happier days.’
As he sat on the train, Billy looked at the photograph and his eyes filled with tears. It was a picture of the two families posing together in the cut-outs on Blackpool promenade - oh, so long ago, before the horror of war had rained death from the sky. He recalled how he and Henry had run away to join Mad Jack’s army on Barney’s, how Jim had pushed them home in the big tyre, their boat-sailing adventures on Queen’s Park lake, how they had sat the scholarship together and the look of bitter disappointment on Henry’s face when he found he hadn’t made it, and how he had defended Henry against Stan White’s bullying in the schoolyard. Well, Henry wouldn’t have to worry any more. This time, though, there had been nothing Billy could do to save Henry from being blown to bits by a German bomb. But for a quirk of fortune, a slight deflection of the wind, it would have been him, and not Henry, lying on that mortuary slab in Monsall Hospital. How cruel was fate, which seemed to pick its victims so mercilessly and so haphazardly. As the thoughts went through his mind, the tears ran down his cheeks.
A WAAF sitting opposite him in the compartment regarded him with concern.
‘Are you all right, son?’ she asked.
‘Yes, thank you,’ he replied. ‘Just sad at having to leave home.’
‘I know the feeling,’ she said. ‘Only too well.’
When he got back to Cleveleys, Billy reported to Brother Dorian all that had happened.
‘Oh, you poor boy,’ said the brother, embracing him. ‘And your poor family. Tomorrow at morning prayers, I shall tell the school about your tragedy.’
He was as good as his word.
The whole school was assembled in the large hall of the domestic science college.
‘Out of the depths I have cried unto you, O Lord,’ intoned Brother Dorian.
‘Lord, hear my voice,’ responded the school. ‘And let Thine ears be attentive to the voice of my supplication.’
‘Eternal rest give unto them, O Lord,’ said the brother.
‘And let perpetual light shine upon them,’ replied the school.
‘May they rest in peace.’
‘Amen,’ chorused the school.
‘And now I have to give you solemn news concerning one of our boys. William, would you please come up here on the stage where we can see you?’
Billy walked slowly and reluctantly on to the stage.
‘Let this boy be an example to us all. He returned to the bosom of his family, believing it was safe to do so, but behold the disaster which has befallen him. Last week. Hitler’s Luftwaffe flew over Manchester like vultures looking for carrion and rained down havoc and annihilation on the houses beneath - destroying this unfortunate boy’s home and killing the family of his neighbours. Be under no delusions. Death can strike at any time. Consider Snake Hips Johnson in the Cafe de Paris, which is deep under a cinema - so deep that the noise of an air raid above does not even reach the revellers below. There he was, Snake Hips . . .’
Here the brother did a hula-hula dance.
‘. . . swaying his hips from side to side in lecherous gyrations, thinking he was safe and immune from the conflagration which raged above. But the bomb searched him out all right. Snake Hips was killed along with thirty- two others and with over sixty injured.
‘Stay here in Blackpool, boys, where you are safe from harm and under our care. Very well, William. You may return to your place.’
Shortly after the bombing, Billy wrote a poem for the school magazine.
SIRENTIME
The sirens burst out on a sleeping town And people withdraw to shelters deep down.
The buzz of a plane is heard in the sky And innocent people get ready to die.
Thud! Thud! Thud! drop the bombs with a quiver And children in cellars start to tremble and shiver.
Soon the city’s aglow with buildings on fire And for some folk out there, it’s their funeral pyre. Crump! Crump! Crump! goes the sound of a gun And so it goes on till the rise of the sun.
But we must pray hard for a glorious end,
Therefore to God, all our prayers do we send.
O please, please God, grant us a boon,
Let the end of this havoc come very soon.
Life ticked over peacefully and uneventfully at Martindale Bungalow until a certain day in August 1941.
One evening when all the boys were occupied with their various games, Johnny Bassett burst into the garage with astounding news.
‘The old bugger’s started giving us baths. I’ve just had one and he spent an awful long time washing my balls. There’s a roster on the bathroom door, so you lot can check when it’s your turn!’
The trio rushed into the house to consult the list and to find out when they were due for the treatment.
‘Bloody hell/ said Robin. ‘You and I, Hoppy, are down for tomorrow.’
‘My name isn’t down,’ said Titch.
‘Perhaps he doesn’t fancy you,’ said Billy.
They listened at the bathroom door, and over the sound of splashing water they could hear - if somewhat muffled - Dorian’s deep, sonorous voice.
‘How’s that, my boy? Do you like that, boy? Let me wash under there, boy.’
‘My God!’ Billy said. ‘What are we going to do?’
That evening, dressed only in pyjamas, Robin went down to see the brother to tell him that he had a touch of the flu and wished to be excused baths for the time being. It seemed to work, for five minutes later he was back.
‘I’ve been excused for a week,’ he said, ‘but if you’re going down to see him, Hoppy, for God’s sake watch your step. He’s gone off his head.’
Also dressed only in pyjamas, Billy went down to see the head.
‘I have a very bad cold, sir. I think I must’ve caught it from Gabrielson, sir,’ he said.
‘And I suppose you want to be excused baths too. Is that it? That will be no problem, William. You just get off to bed.’
Brother Dorian stood up and caught him in an embrace, hugging him close and at the same time cupping his hand under Billy’s genitals.
‘Good night, my boy. What beautifully shaped testicles you have. Would you like to take hold of me there?’
‘No thank you, sir.’
‘Very well, my boy. Perhaps tomorrow, then.’
Billy escaped to his room, where Robin was waiting for a report.
‘Did he try it on?’
‘Yes, he did. And with you, I suppose.’
‘Yes. What are we going to do?’
‘I don’t know what you and Titch are going to do, but I’m off.’
‘How do you mean, “off”?’ asked Titch.
‘I’m going back to Manchester now - tonight!’
‘But how. . . ?’
‘I’ve got my bicycle with a dynamo and I reckon I can ride it to Manchester in about four or five hours. I’ll get my dad to write to Brother Dorian and tell him I’m not coming back to Blackpool. That I’m needed at home. Anything.’
‘Why not go tomorrow and I’ll come with you,’ said Robin.
‘No fear,’ said Billy. ‘Dorian wants to see me tomorrow. I’m going before he puts sex education on the timetable and makes the practical part compulsory.’
‘Right, I’m coming with you,’ said Robin. ‘I’ve got lights on my bike too.’
‘What about me?’ said Titch.
‘He’s not asked to see you - yet,’ said Billy.
‘It’s only a matter of time,’ said Titch. ‘I’m so small, he hasn’t seen me. But wait till he notices me and I’ve had it.’
‘You haven’t,’ replied Robin. ‘But you’ll get it.’
‘Then I’m coming too. The three musketeers!’
At midnight, when the house was quiet, the three boys sneaked downstairs. As they passed the head’s bedroom, they could hear him snoring loudly. He turned over and snorted. The boys froze. Billy put his finger to his lips and pointed downstairs. Hardly daring to breathe, they tiptoed down to the hallway and into the kitchen, where they helped themselves to a few provisions for their journey.
‘I reckon the old bugger owes us this food,’ said Billy,
‘for all those eggs we didn’t see.’
They crept out to the garage and retrieved their bikes from the small shed at the back, then very, very quietly wheeled them out on to Briarwood Drive.
‘Let’s go!’ whispered Billy.
Through the night they pedalled. Kirkham - Preston - Leyland - Chorley - Horwich - Bolton - Salford - Manchester.
They rode and rode through the darkness until their legs seemed to belong to other people. The journey took not four hours but eight, and they finally cycled into the centre of their beloved Manchester at eight thirty the next morning.
‘God knows what my dad’ll say,’ observed Titch.
‘Same here,’ the other two said.
‘Are we all agreed,’ said Robin, ‘that we say nothing about Brother Dorian to our parents?’
‘Agreed,’ said Billy. ‘There’s no point. They probably wouldn’t believe us anyway.’
‘Agreed,’ said Titch. ‘There’d have to be a big inquiry and it would land him and us in big trouble.’
‘Anyway,’ said Billy, ‘I’m going home to a new address somewhere in Crumpsall, and first I have to find it. It sounds really posh - forty, Gardenia Court! I can hardly wait to see it.’