As she expected, Cissy was not pleased when she heard the news. But Molly held her tongue, quickly washed her face and brushed her hair and put on her best coat. With Cissie’s protests ringing in her ears, she met Detective Constable Longman in the street and walked with him to where he had parked the car.
He politely opened the door for her and as she made herself comfortable in the front seat, she wondered if he was about to fulfil Cissy’s prophecy and begin to interrogate her once more on the break-in at the shop. If so, she would be trapped in the car, unable to escape.
But her concerns came to nothing, as his concentration was focused on the widespread damage to the East End. The roads were chaotic, with many diversions through the blast-damaged landscape. Roofs, walls and pavements were covered in a smoky grey veil through which they could see skeletons of buildings, random piles of rubble and mountains of masonry. The auxiliary firemen were working frenziedly to put out small fires still burning amidst pools of water from the hoses. Molly could see there would have been very few buses today. At least, not from this part of the East End.
After they gained access to the Commercial Road, the way seemed a little clearer and Molly began to relax. ‘Is Queen Victoria Street close to your headquarters?’ she asked.
He took his gaze from the road briefly. ‘Not far away. I drive in each day, as my digs are over at Walthamstow.’
‘That’s a long way to come.’
‘You have to make the effort if you want to be part of the team.’
‘Do policemen get special allowances for petrol?’
‘It depends what squad you’re in.’
Molly thought that remark sounded very much like a policeman.
They resumed their silence again as he navigated the armies of road workers, Civil Defence, firemen and Home Guard.
Molly stared out at the battered and bruised streets of London. Would the capital ever recover? So many towns and cities of Britain had suffered in the same way, but then she had also heard disturbing reports of the bombing raids by the British air force on Germany in retaliation. It was, she felt, tit for tat, with ordinary people like herself involved in warfare over which they had no control.
She blinked hard as the nose of the car turned the corner of Poplar High Street and Cotton Street. This was where she would have caught the bus to Aldgate. Houses and shops had been flattened, while others had buckled or had no doors or windows, with wallpaper stripped away as if torn by a giant hand.
And yet, Molly thought in admiration, people were out and about, scurrying like ants in order to put together the broken city.
Even before they got to Aldgate, Molly was on the edge of her seat, gripping the dashboard of the vehicle he told her was a Wolseley. She had never been in a police car before. Although this one, she was given to understand, had been requisitioned for service, and was not in the best of conditions.
The ride had been bumpy and several times the engine had stalled as the policeman tried to pursue a route over the hole-riddled streets. The air was filled with a thick yellow mist and made their journey even more perilous. The signs they were forced to follow often took them in circles. But it was when they arrived at the foot of Ludgate Hill and the car came to a stop that Molly saw the true extent of the bombing.
Many of the ancient and historic buildings on either side of the road were still on fire. A putrid-smelling fog swirled around the famous dome of St Paul’s and its pinnacle. For a while they sat and stared in silence at the scene before them.
Workmen were crawling through the ruins and attempting to clear the roads for traffic. People were evacuating the area, pushing carts, prams, barrows, all loaded with what they could salvage. Their children were tagging along, black-faced and tattered, trailing wearily over the rubble and stones. Noisy sirens and whistles joined with the clunk and rattle of machinery, and barring their way was a sign that warned, DANGER. ROAD CLOSED.
Molly put her hands over her mouth. ‘I just can’t believe it.’
‘Up till now I thought there was a chance we might get through,’ said the detective, narrowing his eyes. ‘But it’s clear we shan’t. Wait here while I try to get some information from the road workers over there.’
She watched him climb out and make his way over the rubble to a group of men working near a crane. Molly looked back to the outline of St Paul’s and marvelled that it was still standing. It was a miracle!
Detective Constable Longman opened the car door and slid in beside her. ‘I have some rather bad news. There are diversions everywhere from Lombard and Fenchurch Street to Mincing Lane. And perhaps the worst news for you is that Queen Victoria Street was hit pretty badly.’
Molly took a breath. ‘Did you ask about the Salvation Army headquarters?’
‘It seems that the building was one of the casualties.’
Molly sat back, her body draining of energy. The Salvation Army was her very last hope. Now she would never find Betty and Len.
‘Mrs Swift, are you feeling well?’
‘It’s just a shock, that’s all.’
‘I think I had better find us somewhere to eat and drink.’
‘I’d rather you took me home.’
The detective nodded, and starting the engine of the car, he began to reverse the Wolseley. Very soon they were heading in the other direction and back towards the East End.
Molly’s head was spinning. Such a cruel twist of fate! And she had come so close! Tears brimmed on her lashes. She took a shaky breath, trying to force them away.
The policeman glanced at her, then slowly brought the car to a halt once again.
‘Why have we stopped?’
‘Because I really do think you need a drink. A brandy would be best, but there’s a coffee stall over there. Come on, let’s get some fresh air.’
Before Molly knew it, he was opening her door and helping her out.
They sat on rough wooden benches with mugs of hot coffee, in the gassy-smelling air. Around them, the evidence of the bombing repeated itself: buildings still burning and sand and water pails stacked every few yards. People were trying to get back to some kind of normality, as they pushed, pulled or drove their belongings away from the flames.
Molly sipped the hot coffee and sighed. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘That’s helped.’
‘I think this last raid by the Luftwaffe might have been the enemy’s last push over the city for a while.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Keep it under your hat, but our intelligence tells us that Britain has turned out to be a much tougher target than the German High Command supposed. We’ve calculated they’ve lost a lot of bombers and there may be a respite for us until the Axis regroups again.’
‘Should you be telling me this?’
‘No, perhaps not. But you seem very upset.’
Molly looked down at her coffee. ‘I am. It was vital I got to Queen Victoria Street. I’ve been searching for two people, members of the Salvation Army, who would take care of Mark and Evie, the children I’m looking after.’
‘Where are their parents?’
‘Their mother died in the bombing last year and their father is in the merchant navy.’
The detective nodded thoughtfully. ‘So you knew the parents well?’
‘No, not at all. I met Andy Miller in the hospital on the night Dad was hurt. He was there to identify his dead wife.’
‘And you offered to take care of his children?’ he asked in surprise.
‘Wouldn’t you?’ Molly asked, turning her questioning gaze on him. ‘This is war, Detective Constable. Look around us. People have no homes now, they’re desperate, frightened and confused. I have both my home and my livelihood. So it’s up to me to do the very best I can for others.’
He stared at her for some while before raising an eyebrow. ‘Very commendable. Is that why you took Cissy Brown in too?’
Molly put down her mug. ‘I’d like to leave now.’
He looked startled. ‘Please finish your drink. I was just interested.’
‘Policemen are always interested,’ Molly said bluntly. ‘But not always for the right motives.’
‘We aren’t the enemy, you know. And, if you’ll let me, I can demonstrate the fact.’
Molly was suspicious. Had he planned to bring her here and get round to asking questions about Cissy? She said nothing, turning the possibility over in her mind. But she was very surprised when he next spoke.
‘If you’d like to give me what information you have on these Salvation Army people, I’ll check our records for you. I can’t promise anything and it might not be particularly quick, but I might be able to turn something up.’
Once again, Molly found herself torn. What should she do? On the one hand her hopes of finding Betty and Len had vanished today, and on the other, there was this new offer of help. Should she take it?
‘I can give you their names: Betty and Len Denham, once of the East India Dock Road. I was to meet a Mr Grey this morning, a clerk who would give me their new address.’
‘The name is something to go on. I’ll check with our records office and see what I can find.’ He smiled. ‘I’d like to restore this copper’s reputation.’
Molly stood up. ‘It’s getting late. I must get back.’ She didn’t want to get too friendly. But she did want to grasp the one last chance she might have of finding the Denhams.
In the coming weeks, Molly often thought about that day at the coffee stall. Had she been too quick to judge the policeman? Perhaps he really could help? Or was he just inquisitive? It was very strange, however, that he always dropped Cissy’s name into the conversation.
As the days passed, her doubts were confirmed when he failed to show up. She knew she had been naive to tell him what she had. Though there was one thing he had told her that had turned out to be right. The nightly invaders had not returned in force, and London was licking its wounds – at least for the time being.
One morning at the end of the month Molly received a short letter from her father. She’d written to him several times but this was his first reply. ‘I’m not doing so badly,’ she read aloud to Cissy as they stood in the shop:
A woman comes in to make me exercise. Supposed to do me good, they say. I’ve got my own room and can see out to the garden. There’s doors I can get the wheelchair through. But how I miss home! The newspapers say the blitz is over. But the Hood went down with many lives lost. What next? Write again soon and tell me all your news.
Love, Dad
‘Poor sod,’ remarked Cissy as they waited for the first customer of the morning. ‘Stuck out in the back of beyond.’
‘Sidcup’s very pretty.’
‘Yeah, but it ain’t the East End.’
‘I’d like to go out and visit him.’
Cissy shrugged. ‘You know I’ll look after the shop. Jean can bring the kids back after school and I’ll give them tea. You could even stay a night with your sister.’
‘I don’t know about that.’
Cissy shrugged as the bell over the door tinkled. ‘Well, it’s up to you.’
Molly smiled at Liz Howells who plonked her shopping bag on the counter. ‘Have you heard the news?’
‘No, what?’ Molly and Cissy said together.
‘Our navy’s sunk the unsinkable Bismarck and took revenge for the Hood. Didn’t stand a chance. Over a thousand crew gone to the bottom.’
‘War is a dreadful thing,’ Molly said, thinking of Andy. Was he, too, at the bottom of the ocean? Her stomach tightened as she considered the children’s fate. What was to become of them?
‘You look a bit peaky, Molly,’ Liz said as Cissy served her.
‘I’m all right.’
‘How are those two kids? Is there any news of their dad?’
Molly shook her head.
‘What you gonna do if he don’t turn up?’ asked Liz as she gave her ration book to Cissy.
‘I don’t know.’ Molly was glad when another customer came in. She hoped the store would be busy today – and then her imagination wouldn’t run riot.