In Molly’s household 1943 arrived quietly and the children went back to school in the first week. A light sprinkling of snow fell later in the month, the very same day that Andy’s letter arrived. She was so excited at the prospect of opening it, she kept it in her overall pocket until after the first flurry of customers had left.
Unlike all his letters at sea, this one gave her more information. She guessed he was stationed near Plymouth still as he said nothing to the contrary. ‘The course is divided into three parts,’ he wrote. ‘Eleven weeks to begin with and then our first exam. If I pass, I’ll go on to the next part. In all, I’ll have made twenty weeks and should be guaranteed a long leave, once I’ve done my finals in May.’
Molly was both delighted and anxious. How hard were these exams to pass? Andy went on to talk about the men he shared his hut with. He liked them all and had made friends. He asked about the children and home, and this time, he ended the letter with ‘Love from Andy. XX’.
It was an improvement, she decided, on those impersonal letters he’d written last year. But she knew she had to accept that he wasn’t a man to wear his heart on his sleeve. Perhaps he was worried about the censors, or still unsure of her feelings? Or maybe he’d written to Stella over the years and never received a response.
Molly decided to write back immediately. She told him she couldn’t wait to see him as soon as his training was over. He would be home in May, which seemed an awfully long time to wait. But at least she had a date. May was a beautiful month: springtime.
She folded the letter and put it in her pocket. Tomorrow, when Liz came in, she would go to see Cissy and tell her the good news.
The following day, as the feathery coating of snowy flakes turned a mucky brown in the gutters, she walked to school with Jean and the children.
‘So he’ll be home in May?’ Jean asked as Molly explained. ‘Have you told the kids?’
‘No. I’ll leave it until I know he’s passed his exams.’
‘What’s he going to do then?’
Molly shrugged as they stood at the gates of the school, a flat-roofed building with a tiny annexe for the teachers. ‘That’s the bit I don’t like.’
‘But he won’t be on the guns.’
‘No. I just hope these signals ain’t more dangerous.’ She couldn’t help but remember that evasive look in his eye when she’d first enquired about it.
‘At least you’ll have him home for a bit.’
After leaving the children at school and saying goodbye to Jean, Molly made her way back to the shop and Liz. Since there were not too many customers in the cold and slushy weather, Molly decided to go straight to the hospital.
She caught the bus in West Ferry Road but it hadn’t gone very far before the bus conductor opened the doors and looked into the sky.
‘Everyone take cover,’ he shouted. ‘There’s a shelter across the road.’
‘The warning ain’t gorn,’ an annoyed passenger shouted.
‘No, but me ears ain’t gone deaf either.’
Molly’s heart leaped. Was this a false alarm? There had been so many over the last few months. Would the children be safe? There was no time to go back to the school now. Reluctantly, she went with all the others, crammed into the small brick-built shelter, where everyone listened to the noise and chaos outside.
‘Can you hear the Luftwaffe?’ someone asked.
‘They ain’t over us yet.’
The low drone was distant. Molly prayed it would stay that way. She knew it was selfish to think that, for other poor souls would be suffering.
Soon there were loud reports from the ack-ack guns and the clear drone of the approaching planes.
Molly sat squeezed on a bench and tried not to listen to the pandemonium outside in the streets. The teachers always took the children to safety. But why hadn’t the sirens gone off?
Some time later, an ARP warden came in through the reinforced door. He looked very shocked and, removing his helmet, he sank down on the edge of a bench.
‘What’s up, cocker?’ a man asked. ‘What’s going on? Who’s bought it this time?’
The warden took out a dirty rag, wiped his forehead and blew his nose. For a few minutes he was silent. Then, when he was more composed, he spoke very quietly.
‘We was telephoned at the post. It was a tip-and-run raid. Retaliation for our boys bombing Berlin three days ago.’
Everyone spoke at once, wanting to know where exactly the bombs had been dropped. They all had families and loved ones. Panic began to set in.
Finally the harassed warden put up his hand. ‘Can’t tell you much. Think the other side of the river got it worst.’
‘Oh, Christ! I’m from Deptford.’ A young woman jumped to her feet. And another. Until there was so much chaos in the small shelter that when the all-clear sounded, everyone pushed to get out.
Molly caught the warden’s sleeve as he went to follow. ‘Was it just south of the river? Why wouldn’t they come over the docks?’ she asked.
He couldn’t look in her eyes. ‘There’s talk of Greenwich getting it, and a school—’
This was enough for Molly. The only thing separating Greenwich from the island was a strip of water. She didn’t wait to hear any more and ran after the crowd.
Molly ran all the way back to the island. The word ‘school’ blazed in her mind as if she could see the flames and black smoke rising up right before her. Though she couldn’t see any sign of burning or bombed buildings there were policemen, firemen, ambulances and ARP out on the streets.
The panic seemed to be catching and people were running in different directions. Her heart was racing and her mouth was dry, as the cold winter air rushed in icily to the back of her throat.
She stopped one of the policemen, who seemed as bewildered as she was. No one knew what had happened.
By the time she got to the school she had imagined so many terrible things that when she actually saw the flat roof intact, with parents and children milling around in the playground, she found it impossible to believe her eyes.
The teachers had assembled the pupils in neat lines and she could see Mark and Evie standing together. Jean was already there with Simon and Susie. As Molly stopped to regain her breath, she realized tears of relief were sliding down her cheeks. A huge sob was lodged in her chest and she fought for enough breath to let it out. Eventually the eruption came, while her body shook and her legs, previously fuelled with fearful energy, now gave way to weakness.
‘Molly, gel, are you all right?’ She looked up into Dennis’s concerned face.
She managed to nod, but when he slipped his arm around her shoulders she gave way to her feelings.
‘Hey, your two are as good as gold, love,’ Dennis soothed her. ‘You’ve no need to worry.’
Molly took out her handkerchief and quickly wiped her eyes. ‘I-I was on the bus going to the hospital,’ she stammered, ‘but we didn’t know if it was a raid or not. And the conductor told us to go to the shelter and—’
‘Hey, they’re safe,’ Dennis assured her once more, taking her shoulders and giving her a little shake. ‘Watch me lips. Everything’s fine.’
Staring into his eyes, Molly nodded. ‘I must pull meself together.’
Dennis gave her a wink. Then taking her arm he marched her across the playground. Evie and Mark saw her, and threw themselves into her arms.
It was then she realized how much she cared. Mark and Evie were not her blood, but she had begun to love them as her own.
The following day, the local schools were closed. This was as a mark of respect to the many children and staff who had perished in a Catford school, south of the river.
‘Why didn’t the warning go?’ Molly asked Dennis, who had spoken to Mr Stokes earlier that morning.
‘It did, but too late. Some bloody hiccup in the works.’
‘So what was the death toll?’ asked Jean as they stood in her kitchen, watching the four children playing in the back yard.
‘They reckon over thirty kids and any number of staff. Still digging them out of the rubble.’
Both Jean and Molly put their hands to their mouths. ‘Oh, Dennis, them poor parents.’
‘There was a lady in the shelter from Deptford,’ Molly said, her mind returning to the moment the warden had told them about the raid.
‘The bombers also destroyed Lewisham’s barrage balloon sites and the Deptford power station took three direct hits,’ Dennis continued. ‘The President’s House over at the Royal Naval College got clobbered too.’
‘But bricks and mortar are nothing, compared to those little lives,’ Molly sighed, her eyes lingering on Evie’s tiny figure, her blonde curls hanging over her scarf as she played with Susie. ‘How will people ever recover from such a loss?’
‘Here and in Germany,’ Jean added as she looked at Dennis. ‘After all, we’ve flattened their towns and cities. There must be mothers and fathers in Berlin just like us.’
Molly knew Jean was right and her heart ached for all those in the world who had loved and lost children. It was bad enough when an adult was a casualty, but children should play no part in the conflict of war.
‘I’d better get back to the shop,’ Molly said then. ‘I’ll come for Mark and Evie at dinner time.’
‘I won’t let ’em in the street today,’ Jean nodded.
Molly knew they were both very anxious about the children being out of their sight now – even though Dennis warned them the kids wouldn’t thank them for restricting their freedom.
It was a week before Molly found the courage to take the children to school again. And Jean was of the same mind. Neither of them could wait until they met them from school. It was only when all four children noisily complained that they preferred coming home on their own that finally the old routine was reinstated.
It was the first week of February when Cissy and Harry were discharged from hospital and Spot took them home to Narrow Street. Molly asked Spot if they could call during half term as all the children wanted to see the baby.
And so it was on the last day of half term when Molly and Jean and the children went to visit the Fryers. Molly was not surprised to see Cissy and Spot’s neighbours in the street as they got off the bus. Somehow the word had got round, and once again a welcoming committee had formed. Hands were shaken and the children admired as they stood waiting for Spot to open the door.
When at last Spot came to the rescue, a small black-and-white terrier came rushing out, nipping at people’s heels, barking loudly.
Spot laughed as he watched Nibbles attack and retreat, then disappear as quickly inside again.
‘He’s on guard for the baby, see?’ Spot explained as he herded them up the stairs. ‘Just in case he catches a bloody big rat.’
The children ran ahead. Molly felt very excited. She could hardly contain herself and when she saw the difference Spot had made to the dull and dowdy rooms that she had visited, her mouth dropped open in surprise. This flat was a palace, compared to what it had been before.
The walls of Spot and Cissy’s vast flat were distempered in a soft creamy colour, shedding light into all the dark corners. Spot prided himself on the job lot of paint from the council, despite Cissy’s request for wallpaper.
After greeting them all, Cissy led the way. ‘Me lace curtains are from Mrs Wong upstairs,’ she explained. ‘And Li from the restaurant below gave us the china and chopsticks.’
‘Do you use them?’ asked Molly in surprise.
‘They look nice on the dresser,’ Cissy said with a grin.
Molly had to smile, as Cissy showed off an oriental silk cover across the settee: a dragon breathing gold, green and red flames. The pattern was very beautiful, but not what she’d expected Cissy to like. There was a large black china cat standing on the mantelpiece.
‘It’s lucky,’ said Cissy, tapping its bouncing head. ‘Couldn’t refuse that from the Chengs.’
‘You’re speaking Chinese already, Auntie Cissy,’ said Simon.
‘Yes, my love. And a right caper it is too.’
Molly grinned as Cissy displayed more treasures: two little figurines with jet-black hair, pinned with a slim needle-like stick. The girls were dressed in traditional oriental robes, their faces white with red-spotted cheeks and their hands hidden in their wide sleeves.
‘These were Spot’s mum’s,’ Cissy announced as she showed them a pair of Victorian vases decorated with gilded roses. ‘And this is them, Mr and Mrs Fryer. Note the family resemblance.’
Molly and Jean stared at the oak-framed picture. Mr Fryer had a decidedly pronounced widow’s peak with a slash of grey in his hair, while Mrs Fryer was not looking quite straight at the lens of the photographer.
Molly resisted a smile as Cissy conducted the grand tour. The floorboards, she noted, had been painted a shiny chocolate brown, and rugs of every description scattered over them: a combination of traditional Chinese patterns and English country gardens.
When Cissy displayed their bedroom, there was a united ‘Ahhh!’ Beside the monstrous iron bedstead with its brass furnishings stood the baby’s cot.
Everyone tiptoed around it.
‘Crikey, he’s adorable,’ said Jean as they all stared in wonder at the sleeping pink face, surrounded by a white bonnet.
‘Can’t see,’ complained Evie, the smallest of the four children, and Molly lifted her into her arms.
‘Don’t wake him,’ Jean whispered to Simon and Susie. ‘Just look.’
All were silent as they studied the baby, until Cissy led the way from the room.
‘Can I ’old him?’ asked Evie.
‘When he’s a bit older,’ said Molly.
‘We don’t want him to get our germs,’ said her brother in a grown-up fashion.
‘I ain’t got any,’ disagreed Evie and there was laughter all round.
As the children scooted off with Nibbles, Jean turned to Cissy with admiring eyes. ‘You’ve a lovely family, gel. And a lovely home. And you deserve them both.’
‘I second that,’ said Molly.
Cissy bit back her tears. ‘Do I? Dunno about that.’
‘Now, now,’ said Jean sliding an arm around Cissy’s shoulders. ‘What’s all the tears for?’
‘Dunno,’ spluttered Cissy. ‘Thank you for being me mates.’
At which there wasn’t a dry eye left between them as, standing together in the long passage with the smell of fresh distemper and the food drifting up from the restaurant, they hugged each other tightly.