Chapter Fourteen

MARY HAD BEEN playing for most of the evening, with only a couple of stops to drink her lemonade and catch her breath, so she hadn’t had time to go to Mrs Reilly’s table, or even get to know Ivy’s friends. And yet she was enjoying herself, for this was a night of new experiences, and it was very flattering to be guarded by the large Australian who’d remained at her side all evening and become quite proprietorial as he’d kept the other men from crowding her.

She finished her third glass of lemonade, wishing she could have had water or even tea, for it was very sweet and didn’t really quench her thirst. The shouts for another tune made her smile, and because the loudest request had come from an American, she began to play ‘Deep in the Heart of Texas’.

This had them stamping their feet and clapping to the chorus, and she could feel the old piano shudder from the vibrations, which made her grin. It was lovely to be an intrinsic part of a happy evening – even though she’d probably get it in the neck from Mrs Williams when she returned to the billet.

The wail of a siren penetrated the noise and there was an instant hush, and a frozen pause before everyone began to gather their things and make an orderly escape through the front door.

Mary quickly grabbed her belongings and looked for Ivy, as one of the dogs she’d seen earlier began to howl piteously.

‘No worries, love,’ said the Australian. ‘Rosie’s got a shelter in the cellar. Your mates are regulars so they’ll be down there.’ Before she could protest, he’d taken her arm and was determinedly steering her across the room against the flow of people who were hurrying outside.

Mary saw that Mrs Reilly was running up the wooden stairs as the press of people slowly made their way through the entrance to the cellar and down the stone steps. But where was Ivy? She looked round frantically as the whine of the sirens reached screaming pitch, the dog howled even louder, and everyone moved that bit quicker as a sturdy older man took charge of the two dogs and chivvied the mass along.

Mary saw the dogs cowering in a corner as she was led across the cellar towards a collection of couches and chairs. The poor things were obviously terrified, but at least they hadn’t been left alone upstairs. Ivy’s friends were chattering away to their pilots, but there was still no sign of Ivy.

‘The name’s Bob Ashton,’ said the Australian soldier as he plumped down on to a sagging couch next to her. ‘But me mates call me Smoky.’

Mary smiled at him distractedly as she continued her search for Ivy. ‘Why’s that then?’

‘Ashton – ash – no smoke without fire,’ he drawled. ‘You’re Mary, aren’t you?’

She nodded, and then felt a huge surge of relief as she saw Ivy running down the steps, swiftly followed by the dashing Charlie. ‘Ivy,’ she called. ‘I’m over here.’

Ivy came over and threw herself down next to Mary. ‘Whew, I thought we’d never make it in time.’ She grinned. ‘Me and Charlie decided to go for a bit of a walk on the seafront for some fresh air, if yer get me drift,’ she said with a nudge and a wink. ‘And we ’ad to run like the blazes when the warden yelled at us.’ Her impish brown eyes regarded the Australian. ‘Who’s this then?’

Mary introduced them, and Ivy was soon chattering away to him as if she’d known him for years. Mary admired her confidence, for she’d felt awkward and rather tongue-tied in his company. He seemed to be very nice, but he wasn’t Jack, and she didn’t want him getting any ideas.

She sat and tried to ignore the piteous howls that came from the large shaggy dog that was now trying to get under one of the low tables. She watched as the final trickle of people came down the steps to settle in the chairs or stand about talking in the dim light from two naked bulbs.

The cellar was huge, with a low, beamed ceiling and dark doorways that no doubt led to smugglers’ tunnels, but with so many people crammed down here it would get hot and stuffy once the door was closed. Yet the old, sagging furniture made it welcoming, and with a makeshift bar, a gramophone, and even a small primus stove and kettle, it was quite cosy. The thought of a cup of tea was enticing, for she was very thirsty after drinking all that sweet lemonade, and she wondered if she dared go and ask for one. The barmaids seemed to be very busy serving bottles of beer from the stacks of crates piled in the corner.

‘Well, this is a rotten ending to a lovely evening, I must say.’

Mary realised that Mrs Reilly had plumped down into a nearby chair and was now holding a sleeping baby while she tried to soothe the poor howling dog. She smiled in welcome. ‘It’s not too bad at all,’ she replied. ‘In fact it’s far nicer than an Anderson shelter.’

‘You’re right there. Ron’s done a good job of fixing the place up, and the party usually carries on until the all-clear sounds.’ Mrs Reilly pointed to the older man who was now closing the door on the shrieking sirens. ‘That’s my father-in-law, Ron, and that’s the Anchor’s landlady, Rosie Braithwaite.’ She leant a bit closer. ‘They’re walking out together, but it’s supposed to be a secret,’ she said in a stage whisper.

Mary regarded them and thought it was rather sweet that people of that age were courting. Yet Ron looked sturdy and fit, and Mrs Braithwaite was certainly no shrinking violet. She looked down at the shivering dog which mercifully had stopped howling now the sirens had fallen silent, and was trying to climb into Mrs Reilly’s lap. ‘Is he yours?’

‘This is Harvey,’ Peggy said as she eased his great paws from her lap and ordered him to lie down. ‘He’s Ron’s, and that other one is his pup, Monty, who now lives here with Rosie.’ She smiled and looked down at her sleeping baby. ‘And this is Daisy, my youngest,’ she said proudly.

Mary admired the baby who had long dark lashes, plump cheeks, and a mass of curly hair. ‘She’s lovely, Mrs Reilly, and very good not to be worried by all the noise.’

‘You must call me Peggy, dear,’ she replied firmly. ‘Everybody does, and I prefer not to be too formal.’ She tucked the blanket more firmly round Daisy and smiled. ‘I don’t usually bring her out at night, but I’ve got fed up with being stuck indoors now Jim’s away with the army.’

She turned to introduce an elderly lady called Cordelia, who was sitting on another couch squashed between Stan and Ethel. Ruby and a young Canadian officer with an eyepatch were standing talking nearby.

As the muted sound of several squadrons of Spitfires and other fighter planes roared overhead on their way to tackle the incoming enemy, Peggy told Mary all about Beach View Boarding House, her family and the history of her lodgers. She related the story behind Ruby’s arrival in Cliffehaven, and how her young Canadian fellow had been injured. Barely pausing for breath, she went on to explain that Ethel and Stan had seemed to come to some sort of understanding, and then embarked on the stories of the girls who lodged with her, introducing them as they came over to see if she and Daisy were comfortable.

Mary warmed to Peggy and was delighted to learn so much in such a short time. It was clear that Fran, Sarah and Jane adored her, and that she was a warm-hearted, sweet woman, who tackled even the darkest trials with stoic determination never to be beaten. She was very different to her sister.

As if Peggy had read her thoughts, she smiled. ‘Me and my sister Doris are chalk and cheese,’ she said lightly. ‘But as long as you take her airs and graces with a pinch of salt, you’ll be fine. It’s a comfortable house – much grander than mine, but I’d be careful not to let her know about your piano-playing, or she’ll be on your back to do concerts and things for her charities.’

Mary smiled ruefully. ‘It’s too late for that,’ she admitted, before going on to explain about the forthcoming recital.

‘Oh dear,’ sighed Peggy. ‘Well don’t let her force you into anything you don’t want to do. And try to get Ivy out of the habit of being used as a skivvy. Give my sister an inch and she’ll take a mile, no mistake.’ She licked her lips. ‘I don’t suppose you’d fetch me a cup of tea, would you dear? Only I’m parched, and I can see that Rosie’s finally put the kettle on.’

Mary struggled out of the sagging couch, rather amused that she seemed to have been forgotten by Smoky now he had the lively Ivy to chat to. She noted that Charlie didn’t seem at all bothered by this, for he had his arm draped round Gladys while they flirted.

She was suddenly struck by the awful thought that Jack could very well be doing the same sort of thing in some pub down in the West Country, and she had to stifle a pang of anxiety. Boys in uniform attracted girls, it was a fact of life, and if Jack could have seen her earlier, he too might have jumped to the wrong conclusion. She had to keep faith in him, and not let her imagination run riot.

The deep thunder of many heavy bombers made the old walls shudder and brought a sprinkling of plaster dust and ancient cobwebs sifting down. No one else seemed to notice, so Mary swallowed her momentary fear, eased her way through the crush and went over to get the tea. She couldn’t allow herself to think about that terrible night when she’d lost everything, for if she did, every raid would be torture.

‘It’s all right, dear.’ Rosie greeted her with a cheerful smile. ‘This old place has been standing for a couple of centuries and it’s not about to fall down now. I expect you’d like a cup of tea after all your hard work tonight – and one for Peggy and the others, if I’m not much mistaken. I know how Peg, Ethel and Cordelia like their cuppas.’

Mary nodded and waited while the kettle boiled, the bombers continued to thunder overhead and the dust silently sifted down. ‘I hope you didn’t mind me playing, Mrs Braithwaite, but I didn’t really have much choice,’ she said.

‘Goodness me, of course I didn’t mind,’ she replied. ‘And please, call me Rosie. It’s a bit daft to be so formal under the circumstances.’ She smiled as she casually brushed the dust from her blouse and stirred the tea in the pot.

Mary felt rather awkward about calling women of that age by their Christian names, for she’d always been taught to respect her elders. Yet Rosie and Peggy seemed very relaxed about things, so she supposed it didn’t really matter.

‘You did very well tonight, Mary, and I’m rather hoping you’ll come and play every Friday and Saturday evening. I’ll pay you, of course,’ Rosie added hurriedly, ‘and the boys are very generous, so there’ll be lots more of this.’ She reached under the table and held out a jar of coins.

Mary stared at the jar. ‘Goodness,’ she breathed. ‘Where did all that come from?’

‘The boys wanted to buy you a drink, so I took their money and put it aside. Take it, love. You’ve earned it.’

Mary felt the weight of the jar and guessed there had to be almost a week’s wages in there. ‘Gosh,’ she breathed. ‘I didn’t expect this.’

‘So, will you come and play tomorrow night?’ Rosie placed the thick china cups on a tray.

‘I’d love to,’ she replied. ‘But it will depend on my shifts at the factory, so I can’t promise I’ll do it every weekend.’

Rosie grinned. ‘Then come when you can. You’re good for business, Mary, and while you’re enjoying it and earning a bit of pin money, I’ll be pleased to see you any night.’

Their conversation was brought to an abrupt halt by an enormous explosion that shook the very foundations of the old pub. Everyone stilled as they looked up, and after a moment of stunned silence, carried on talking as someone put a record on the gramophone. ‘That sounded as if it’s hit the promenade,’ said Rosie with a sigh. ‘Those poor old hotels have taken a terrible battering. I do hope no one was hurt.’

Mary balanced the money jar alongside the cups on the tray and weaved her way through the couples who were now dancing to ‘Begin the Beguine’. She set the tray on the floor and handed out the tea which was gratefully received by Peggy and her friends, and having stowed the jar in her large handbag, sat down to enjoy her own.

It was wonderfully refreshing, and she sighed with pleasure. If she was to play here again tomorrow, she’d ask Rosie to give her water or tea. She couldn’t be doing with all that sickly-sweet lemonade.

Harvey inched towards her and put his muzzle on her lap, his great hazel eyes looking at her beseechingly. She patted his head and stroked his ears, apologising for not having a biscuit to give him. It felt quite homely down in the pub cellar, with a dog at her knee and friendly people surrounding her. Perhaps life in Cliffehaven would prove to be rather pleasant, for it was clear that few, if any, of its inhabitants were as fearsome as Mrs Williams.

The all-clear sounded just before midnight, and everyone seemed most reluctant to leave, for the party was in full swing.

‘Come on you lot,’ shouted Rosie as she turned off the gramophone. ‘It’s way past drinking-up time. Haven’t you got homes to go to?’

The trickle became a flood as people gathered up their things and traipsed up the concrete steps to where Ron was chivvying them out of the side door. Mary, Ivy and the other girls followed the general exodus, shivering as they stepped out into Camden Road and were met by a bitterly cold wind and the stench of burning.

‘Someone’s copped it,’ said Ivy after they’d cheerfully said goodbye to Smoky, Charlie and the other boys, who had to return to their various barracks. ‘And it looks as if it was on the seafront, going by that glow.’

Mary and the others looked to where a haze of orange and black smoke eddied in the wind above the rooftops. They could already hear the clanging fire-engine and ambulance bells, and knew they’d only get in the way if they went to see what had been hit. Besides, they’d all seen enough damage caused by the Luftwaffe to understand all too well the tragedy that could be unfolding down on the seafront. It wasn’t something to stand and gawp at.

‘That were a bit too close for comfort,’ muttered Gladys with a shiver. ‘Come on, girls, let’s get home. I’m freezing.’

They walked quickly down Camden Road and had to wait while a fire engine raced off the fire-station forecourt. The girl driving it didn’t look old enough to be in charge of such a beast, but they all gave her a cheer of encouragement before they hurried on.

When they reached the High Street, Mabel, Gladys, Dot and Freda said goodnight and hurried up the hill to their billet in what had once been a youth hostel. They were all on night shift tomorrow and Sunday, but would meet again at the factory estate on Monday to show Mary around and help her settle in.

Ivy put her arm through Mary’s. ‘That were fun, weren’t it?’ she said as they tucked their chins into their coat collars against the cold night air. ‘You played a blinder there, Mary. I ’ope you didn’t mind me dropping you in it like that, but we was all getting fed up with no one to play the thing properly.’

‘Yes, well don’t volunteer me for anything else until you ask me first,’ Mary replied. ‘It’s not that I didn’t enjoy it,’ she said hurriedly, ‘but I could have done with some sort of warning.’

‘Yeah, sorry about that, but I knew that if I said anything you’d refuse to do it.’ They reached the house and paused for a moment to steel themselves against any sudden appearance of Mrs Williams. ‘You didn’t really mind, did you?’ Ivy asked with a frown of concern.

Mary chuckled. ‘Not once I’d got going. And, actually, I’ll be playing there again tomorrow night.’ She dug the jar out of her handbag and shook it. ‘I even managed to earn a few bob as well, so all in all you’ve done me a favour.’

‘Cor.’ Ivy’s eyes widened as she felt the weight of the jar. ‘How much d’ya reckon you got in there?’

‘I don’t know.’ Mary shoved it back in her bag. ‘Let’s get in before we freeze to death, and we can count it.’

They tiptoed across the gravel drive so as not to wake Mrs Williams who slept in the front bedroom, and Ivy slotted the key in the door. Entering the warm, silent house, they began to creep up the stairs.

‘And what time do you call this?’

They looked up to find Mrs Williams at the top of the stairs, resplendent in a silken negligee and thick, shining white face cream, her head prickling with curlers covered in a bilious green hairnet.

Mary stifled the urge to giggle and continued up the stairs. ‘I know it’s very late, but there was a raid and we couldn’t get here any earlier,’ she said, her voice not quite as steady as she would have liked. ‘I’m sorry if we’ve disturbed you.’

‘I have been at my wits’ end wondering where you’d got to,’ Mrs Williams replied crossly. ‘You told me you were going to spend the evening in your room, but when I went up to see if you’d changed your mind about listening to the recital, you weren’t there.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry about that.’ Mary edged towards their bedroom door. ‘We had a sudden change of plan.’

‘I suppose this is your doing?’ The beady gaze settled on Ivy, who was fighting a losing battle against her giggles.

‘Not at all,’ said Mary hastily. ‘I simply decided to go to the Anchor with Ivy, and it turned out to be great fun.’

‘The Anchor?’

She sounded like Lady Bracknell at her most imperious, and Mary had to bite her lip as Ivy spluttered behind her hand.

‘I am terribly disappointed in you, Mary. I thought that as the respectable daughter of a vicar, you would have had higher aspirations than a night in a common public house.’ She looked down her nose at them. ‘I don’t know what my friend Lady Chumley would say if she heard about your questionable behaviour. It’s really most upsetting.’

Mary didn’t reply, for she couldn’t have cared less what she thought.

‘Go to bed, the pair of you. We will discuss this further in the morning.’

They didn’t need to be told twice and moments later they were collapsed on their beds in fits of giggles – which they had to smother in their pillows in case she heard them, and came in to berate them further.

‘Lawks almighty, Mary,’ spluttered Ivy some time later, ‘I ain’t seen nothing like that since The Monster from the Deep, at the pictures.’

Mary buried her face in her pillow as a fresh bout of giggling overtook her. She was so glad she had Ivy to share with.

Ron had stayed at the Anchor to help Rosie and the two barmaids clear the wreckage of the party in the basement and tidy up the bar. It had been a very busy night and he was feeling his age suddenly, for he was an early riser and it had been a long day.

‘I do like little Mary,’ said Rosie after she’d locked the front door and they finally had the place to themselves. ‘She did very well tonight, considering how young she is, and it hasn’t done my takings any harm either.’

‘To be sure it was great to hear them all singing,’ Ron replied. ‘’Tis a good thing to forget your troubles in these difficult times, if only for an hour or two.’ He eyed her quizzically. ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting her to come again?’

‘She’s already agreed to that,’ she said as she slipped off her high heels and wriggled her toes. ‘So I might need you to help behind the bar again tomorrow.’

‘Aye, well, I’ll be glad to lend a hand, Rosie, but for now I must take meself off to bed.’ He put his arms round her and held her close, then softly kissed her. ‘Sleep well, Acushla, and try to dream of me and not all that money dropping into your till,’ he teased gently.

‘Get away with you, Ron Reilly,’ she giggled. She kissed his lips and led him out towards the side door. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

He went out with Harvey at his heels, waited to hear her shoot the bolt in place on the other side of the door, and then sauntered down the street. It was a cold night, the stench of burning polluting the air, the accompanying smoke veiling the bright stars. The silence was disrupted by the urgent clang of bells, and he realised the emergency services must still be dealing with whatever had been hit down on the seafront.

Harvey seemed to have made it his aim to water every lamp post and downpipe along the way, and as he’d been cooped up all night, Ron thought his dog might appreciate a bit of a stroll down to the seafront before they went home. If they were still fighting the fire, they might need some help – although he doubted he could do much tonight after being on his feet all day.

After the smoky fug of the crowded bar he found that the cold night air had revived him somewhat, so he dug out his pipe from his pocket and paused for a moment to light it before heading down the hill. The sea rolled like molten lava beneath the glow of the moon, the surf splashing on the shingle as regularly as a heartbeat. The sound soothed him, for he’d spent his younger years at sea, and he felt at one with it.

But as he reached the bottom of the road he came to an abrupt halt. His contented mood fled, to be replaced by one of horror.

The four-storey Grand Hotel and the two boarding houses beside it had been reduced to nothing more than an obscene pile of smoking, blackened rubble. It was like a scene from Dante’s Inferno, for dark figures were moving about within the swirling grey and ebony smoke and orange flames, their shapes distorted by their protective clothing, giving them the look of twisted demons.

Five fire engines had arrived, as well as the usual rescue wardens and the engineers from the electricity and gas boards. Even the doughty ladies from the WVS were there in their new motorised wagon to hand out tea, biscuits and sandwiches.

As Ron stood frozen in shock, an ambulance pulled away with a screech of tyres and a stridently clanging bell. He knew that the boarding houses had been closed down for the duration, but had recently been requisitioned to house some of the homeless who had been camping out at the Town Hall.

As for the hotel – it would have been packed on a Friday night, with people having dinner or drinks and dancing in the magnificent ballroom. And although they had a shelter in the basement, it would have offered no security at all against a direct hit – and there was very little doubt that this was what had happened.

He peered through the choking, acrid smoke still coming from the remains, and spotted young Rita, who was working furiously alongside her colleagues to put out the last of the flames so that the emergency heavy-lifting crews and rescue services could go in to try and find any survivors.

‘Holy Mother of God,’ he breathed as he quickly put out his pipe. ‘Come on, Harvey. They’ll need all the help they can get.’

But Harvey was nowhere in sight, and as Ron hurried towards the fire chief, John Hicks, he finally spotted him nosing about in the rubble of the second boarding house. Knowing he would bark if he found anything, Ron left him to it. ‘What can I do, John?’

‘It’s a bad one, Ron,’ he replied, his handsome young face drawn with anxiety and streaked with soot and sweat. ‘We’ve managed to get everyone out of the boarding houses, and accounted for those that were missing, but we have no idea how many are trapped down there in the hotel basement.’

Ron eyed the smoking devastation, certain that no one could possibly have survived. ‘Has anyone got out?’

‘More than we could have hoped for, but we still had twenty casualties and ten fatalities.’ John gave a deep sigh. ‘God alone knows what we’ll find in there.’ He looked round at his hard-working colleagues and watched them for a moment. ‘I shall need you and Harvey’s nose to help the rescue crew once the heavy-lifting team have made that cellar ceiling safe.’

Ron nodded and looked around for the dog. He was still rummaging in the rubble of the boarding houses. ‘Harvey,’ he shouted. ‘Stop messing about and come here.’

Harvey ignored him, his nose to the ground as he anxiously circled a particular spot. His ears were pricked and his hackles were high. He was on the trail of something.

‘Blasted dog,’ muttered Ron. ‘Leave it, I said,’ he roared. ‘Come here.’

Harvey whined and started to scrabble into the heart of the rubble, and before Ron could stop him, managed to wriggle beneath a precarious pile of charred timber and shattered bricks and then disappeared.

Ron was furious, for John had said everyone from the boarding houses had been accounted for, and if Harvey was busy chasing vermin instead of concentrating on his job properly, he’d stop his biscuits for a week.

He stomped over the debris, his boots sliding over sharp-edged bricks and broken masonry as he approached the place where Harvey had disappeared. There was a narrow tunnel burrowing beneath the wreckage. ‘Harvey, get your hairy arse out of there this minute,’ he yelled down it.

There was a muffled bark from deep beneath the shifting, treacherous rubble, and Ron became really afraid that his dog might get buried. ‘Ach, you heathen beast,’ he muttered. ‘Will you come outta there before this lot falls on top of you?’ he shouted down.

There was no answering bark this time, but as Ron lay carefully on the debris and put his ear to the tunnel entrance, he could hear the dog whining and the scrabble of paws. It sounded as if Harvey was stuck and couldn’t get out.

Ron began to dig furiously, praying that the whole mess didn’t cave in and bury them both, for it was slippery with water and sliding and collapsing beneath him every time he moved. Careless for his own safety, he began chucking bricks, mortar, window frames, lead piping and masonry aside. Scrabbling with his bare hands, he tried desperately to make the hole bigger so that Harvey could climb out. He could still hear the dog whining piteously, and he was almost blinded by tears of frustration as the tunnel never seemed to get any bigger and the debris shifted and swayed beneath him.

‘I need help over here,’ he shouted. ‘Harvey’s stuck and this lot is about to collapse.’

Rita and three others came rushing over. But before they could even reach him, Harvey’s head appeared and after a momentary scramble, he emerged with something firmly clasped in his mouth. He gently placed the bundle in Ron’s open arms, stood and wagged his tail, gave a bark and shot straight back down the hole again before anyone could stop him.

Ron looked in stunned disbelief from the bundle in his arms to the hole where his beloved dog had disappeared.

‘Oh my God,’ breathed Rita. ‘It’s a baby. Is it alive?’

Ron pulled back the filthy blanket, stroked the tiny cold, dirty face and felt a pulse in the delicate neck. ‘Yes,’ he said softly as he hastily wrapped the infant back in the blanket and handed it over to her. ‘Get her to the ambulance, quickly,’ he ordered. ‘She’s very cold and her pulse is weak.’

He watched Rita stumbling over the rubble with the bundle clasped tightly to her chest, and once she’d handed it over to the ambulance crew he turned his attention back to Harvey, who was barking determinedly deep underground. ‘There must be someone else down there,’ he said anxiously. ‘Quick, get more help to shift this lot.’

As more willing hands came to remove the piles of broken masonry, bricks, mortar and wood, Harvey continued to bark. ‘We’re coming,’ shouted Ron as he threw aside a length of lead drainpipe.

The sad remnants of clothes and toys lay charred and twisted amid the chaos. As they dug and cleared, they found ruined photographs and letters, a delicate dancing shoe – and a baby’s rattle.

‘Dear God,’ breathed Rita, who was working frantically beside Ron. ‘I hope she’s still alive down there.’

‘I thought you’d accounted for everyone?’ he rasped as the dust and smoke filled his mouth and nose and made his lungs ache.

‘We thought we had, but a chap’s just turned up from the billeting office to verify things, and it seems a young woman and her baby were due to move into the basement room tonight. She must have gone in without anyone seeing her. But why, why didn’t she get out when the sirens went?’

Ron didn’t reply, for he could barely breathe, let alone talk – and people had grown careless over the past months once the raids had tailed off. He continued to clear the tunnel, urged on by Harvey’s anxious barking. Once it was big enough to get a man through it, Ron took off his coat and grabbed the rope. ‘He’s my dog. I’ll do it,’ he said in tones that brooked no argument.

The rope was tied in a noose round his waist, the slack taken up by two burly firemen who would bear the strain should the debris collapse beneath him. After several deep breaths, he took a torch from John Hicks, knelt down and began to crawl along the steeply sloping tunnel that was as black as sin and claustrophobically narrow.

It reminded him of the tunnels they’d dug in the first war so they could lay mines beneath enemy territory, and those nightmare memories made him stop for a moment. His pulse was racing, and all the old terrors had returned, for he’d once been buried in a tunnel like this, and it had taken many hours before they’d managed to dig him out. Now, he had no idea of how deep he would have to go, or what he might find there. But Harvey needed him. He had to overcome his fears and get on with it.

His hand was slippery with sweat and shaking as he switched on the torch. The powerful beam swept unsteadily over the unstable surface of the surrounding tunnel that sloped alarmingly down towards what looked like the remains of a cellar. And there was Harvey, his eyes shining in the reflected light as he stood protectively over the prone figure of a woman.

‘Good boy,’ Ron soothed as the dog whined and nudged the woman with his paw. ‘I can see them,’ he shouted back to the others. ‘Another few feet and I’m there.’

More torches shone down the tunnel as Ron scrambled towards the pair, but the wavering beams simply made the scene even more macabre. He pulled off the rope and ruffled Harvey’s head. ‘Good lad,’ he praised, before kneeling next to the young girl whose clothes had been ripped from her in the blast.

She was lying too still beneath the shattered concrete and brick, and her face was ghostly white in the torchlight. Covered in blood, her leg was clearly broken and there was a deep gash on her forehead.

Harvey sat and panted as Ron touched her neck to see if he could find a pulse. It was there, but very faint and irregular. ‘Send the stretcher down,’ he yelled. ‘She’s alive, but only just.’

The stretcher slithered down the tunnel, hauled by Rita, who’d shed her heavy protective clothing and wore little more than trousers and a vest.

‘Why have they sent you?’ asked a horrified Ron.

‘I’m the only one left that’s small enough to fit through that, and someone had to bring the stretcher,’ she said calmly. She knelt by the girl, felt the thready pulse and nodded. ‘We’d better move quickly before we lose her,’ she muttered.

They lifted away the debris that had almost buried her and put her gently on the stretcher. Placing a blanket over the girl’s almost naked body, Rita buckled the straps firmly and then tied the end of the rope that had been round her waist to the end of the stretcher. ‘Pull her up,’ she shouted. ‘But carefully. The whole tunnel is deteriorating.’

Ron stroked Harvey’s head as they watched Rita slowly crawl up the tunnel behind the stretcher, her guiding hand keeping it from hitting the crumbling sides. Once they’d got to the many willing hands who reached out to help, Ron gave a deep sigh of relief.

‘Come on, auld feller,’ he said affectionately. ‘It’s our turn now.’

Harvey whined and flinched as slates and dust and debris came sliding down to shatter on the stone floor. The tunnel was slowly but surely beginning to disintegrate.

Ron took Harvey’s head in his hands and looked into his eyes. ‘You got down here twice, so you can go back up. And to be sure there’ll be a biscuit in it for you if you’d just do as I say for once.’

Harvey’s eyebrows twitched, and at Ron’s nudge, he gave him a lick on the nose and started to scramble up the tunnel.

Ron dodged the bits of brick and mortar that came flying down from beneath the dog’s paws. If he stayed here any longer he’d never get out, and his old terrors of small dark places deep underground would have won.

He began to crawl, feeling each handhold sink and shift, and every scrape of his ruined shoes dislodge something. He could hear the crash of heavy debris hitting the concrete floor behind him. Could hear the sigh of things moving all around him. And then hands were reaching down – pulling him out into the cold, smoke-filled night where Harvey joyously welcomed him. Ron’s legs felt weak and trembling, but he hugged him hard and led him back off the rubble to the firm pavement.

Harvey shook himself, spraying everyone with filthy water and sooty dog hair before he sat grinning like a fool as he was patted and praised by one and all. There was a bowl of water put down for him and one of the ladies from the WVS even brought him a couple of biscuits.

John Hicks ordered his crew to get back to the hotel bomb site now that Ron and Harvey were safe, and Ron had just taken a mug of tea from the WVS woman when the tunnel collapsed. It went with a mighty crash that sent a great plume of dust and soot into the air, and Ron’s legs finally gave out.

He sank on to the kerb, his arms around his beloved dog as he fought off the waves of giddiness that made him feel as if he was caught in a storm at sea. ‘You’re a brave, brave boy,’ he managed gruffly as the tears ran down his face. ‘Thank God you turned your usual deaf ear and ignored me shouting at you, or those two would have died down there.’ Harvey whined and licked away Ron’s tears before turning and rushing off to see what everyone else was up to.

Ron suspected Harvey was thoroughly enjoying himself, for he was now nosing about in search of something else. He scrubbed at his face and struggled to his feet. His body might be aching from weariness, and his head spinning from shock, but his spirits had been reinforced by Harvey’s bravery, and the miracle of finding the mother and baby alive. There would be no rest until everyone had been accounted for, and now the heavy-lifting crew had finished securing the cellar ceiling, all hands would be needed on deck.

Ron and Harvey worked tirelessly alongside the others throughout the night. It seemed that God, or whoever was in charge of such things, had been keeping watch, for there was only one fatality amongst fifty people trapped in the hotel cellar, and that had been an elderly woman who’d suffered a heart attack.

The sky had lightened by the time the last ambulance left. The walking wounded had long since gone, and the fire crews and rescue workers were now on their weary way back to their headquarters where they would attempt to wash off the dirt, sweat and horror of a harrowing night’s work.

And yet there was a lightness in their hearts, for the baby was unharmed and thriving in her hospital crib. Her young mother’s injuries had been treated, and now she was slowly recovering from her ordeal in a nearby ward. It had indeed been a night of miracles.

Ron stood for a moment and said a silent prayer for the souls of those who’d been lost tonight, and then stroked Harvey’s head. ‘Come on, you auld heathen,’ he said through a vast yawn. ‘Let’s go and raid Peggy’s larder for a slap-up breakfast.’