“STRAIGHT TO BED!” announced Grandma as she loomed over Eric at the kitchen table of her little terraced house. “Do you hear me? STRAIGHT TO BED!”
There was no chance of the boy not hearing her. She spoke so very loudly. “Straight to bed with no tea!”
“But—!”
“NO BUTS! YOU HAVE BEEN A VERY BAD BOY!”
Eric rose from the rickety chair and stomped up the stairs.
STOMP!
STOMP!
STOMP!
The first door was that of the tiny, dark, damp box room. It was full of Grandma’s old junk, but was now Eric’s bedroom. Feeling sorry for himself, he lay down on the bed, not even bothering to take off his school uniform. He closed his eyes. Holding on to the pillows, he imagined he was in the middle of a lovely family cuddle.
A muddle.
His dad had been killed six months before, during that summer at Dunkirk. Dad was one of thousands of British soldiers retreating from the Nazis across France. Dunkirk is the town on the northern coast of France from which the troops were being evacuated. However, many were killed as they tried to escape.
Including Private George Grout.
Dad had been a plumber – that’s how he’d met his wife. He’d called round when her outside toilet was blocked. When war was declared in 1939, Dad proudly signed up to join the army. He was determined to do his bit to keep Britain safe from a Nazi invasion. However, his war would not be a long one. After surviving a number of fierce battles in France, tragedy struck at Dunkirk. The ship on which he was being evacuated, HMS Grafton, was torpedoed by a Nazi U-boat (or submarine).
Eric’s mum was devastated when she received the telegram. Her darling husband was gone. She wept and wept and wept. Eric feared she might drown in her own tears, just as so many soldiers had drowned at Dunkirk. It was scary seeing his mum so sad. Would life ever feel normal again? Strangely there were still normal things to do, like eat your breakfast, brush your teeth or do your homework. After her husband’s death, Mum was more determined than ever to help with Britain’s war effort. She worked at a factory sewing parachutes for Spitfire pilots. However, tragedy was to strike Eric’s short life again when a Nazi bomb destroyed the factory during a night shift.
No one got out alive.
One moment Mum was there, and the next she was gone. Just like with his dad, Eric didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye. Nothing felt real to the boy any more. It was as if he were in a dream or, rather, a nightmare, where he was trapped underwater, and if he cried out nobody could hear him.
Now the boy was an orphan, it was hastily decided that Eric should go to live with his grandmother. The problem was that Grandma wasn’t good with children.
Up there in the tiny box room of her house, Eric nestled himself between the two pillows on his bed. He dreamed they were his mum and dad. The pillows were cold and damp. Still, he shut his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, if he concentrated hard enough, he would find himself back in a perfect family muddle.
His daydream ended as the door swung open.
SWONK!
“I brought you some bread and dripping,” announced Grandma.
Eric hadn’t been expecting her, and hastily sat up on the bed, pushing the pillows to one side. He felt silly that the old lady might see him like this.
“Oh, thank you, Grandma,” he chirped. He liked bread and dripping. Dripping was the fat from cooked meat, and it was tasty if you spread it on bread. He wolfed it down as the old lady perched next to him.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you, Eric,” she said. “This war is hard. I lost a son; you lost a father. And, of course, you lost your mother too. I just couldn’t bear it if any harm came to you.”
“I understand, Grandma,” he spluttered, his mouth full of food. As Eric spoke, he sprayed breadcrumbs all over the floor. This made them both chuckle.
“Ha! Ha!”
Chuckling was not something they did much of together.
“You can have those crumbs in the morning for your breakfast!” said the old lady.
Eric wasn’t sure if she was joking or not.
“Now, as soon as you finish your tea, I want you to go straight to sleep. We barely got a wink last night down in the underground.”
The boy yawned. Grandma was right.
“And you need to be bright and breezy for school in the morning!”
Eric nodded weakly. Bright and breezy was never something he ever felt at school.
“Goodnight, Grandma.”
“Porridge.”
“NO, I SAID ‘GOODNIGHT’!”
“NO NEED TO SHOUT, DEAR!”
“Goodnight, Grandma.”
“Goodnight, boy.”
The old lady wasn’t one for hugs and kisses so she tapped the boy on the head as you might a pet instead.
TAP! TAP!
With that, she stood up and left the room, closing the door behind her.
SWONK!
Eric walked over to the grimy little window and looked up at the sky. It was dark and quiet right now. Eerily so.
Would the Nazi bombers return tonight?
There had been night after night of raids on London. So much so that it even had a name. The newspapers called it “the Blitz”, after the German word for “lightning”. Adolf Hitler’s plan was to force Britain to surrender to the Nazis.
As Eric gazed across the frosted rooftops of London, his thoughts turned to Gertrude. The Nazi bombers were sure to strike again this evening. The gorilla had been left deeply distressed by last night’s bombing raid. In his heart, Eric felt a deep longing to be with her. If he was by her side tonight, he was sure he could make things all right.
So the boy took a deep breath and summoned up all his courage. Then he slid open the window.
SHUNT!
Next, remembering exactly how Gertrude slid down her rope, he shimmied down the drainpipe. Then Eric ran off through the dark and empty streets of London.
