Molly looked back on that day with great fondness. It seemed to her that many bridges had been crossed. Not just for Cissy, but for herself and Jean, who, as they rode back on the bus with the children, talked of what they, too, would want in the future. But for Molly, the school incident had worried her; there wasn’t a day that went by without her thinking about the raids. They seemed more ominous and threatening than they had done before and Jean gave her opinion as to why.
‘Mark and Evie have become as important to you as Emily, ducks. And why not?’
‘Trouble is, I worry more now.’
‘That’s motherhood, I’m afraid.’
‘Do you think it’s wise to send the kids to school?’
‘They’ve got to be taught, ain’t they?’ posed Jean. ‘And the only other option is what you and me don’t want. Evacuation.’
Molly nodded. ‘No, I wouldn’t want that.’ But there was a niggle in her mind all the same. The war wasn’t over by a long shot. There would be more raids, and who knew what the enemy would do next? Lyn’s offer to her had not included Mark and Evie. But what if she was to accept on the provision that the children went with her to Sidcup? This was not a happy thought for Molly, but she felt that, with a little persuasion, Lyn would agree. They could rent a house or rooms for the time being. With the savings she had accrued and Andy’s money coming through, there would be enough to survive on.
But could she bring herself to leave the East End? It was a radical decision. And she didn’t want to make it. Yet she knew that one day, in an uncertain future, she might have to.
It was a rainy Wednesday morning in early March when the letter fell onto the shop floor and Molly, recognizing the writing, tore it open immediately.
There were no customers in sight, so she sat down on the stool behind the counter. Reading Andy’s words, she felt a rush of pride as he told her that, due to his satisfactory examination results, he had been accepted for the rest of his Signals training. And that, if he were to pass his finals, he would be given the opportunity of – after a year’s service – being promoted to a commissioned rank.
‘What’s commissions?’ Mark asked when he came home from school and Molly read the letter out loud.
‘Your dad will have the chance to become an officer.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Evie as she climbed on the kitchen chair to eat her supper.
‘It’s something special in the navy.’
‘Can I go in the navy when I’m old enough?’ asked Mark, joining his sister.
‘If you like.’
‘Can I?’ asked Evie, squeezing a hefty slice of bread and dripping into her mouth.
‘Yes, but it’s mostly for boys. There’s other things for girls.’
‘I’m as big as ’im,’ said Evie with a full mouth and glaring at her brother.
‘You ain’t,’ replied Mark. ‘And anyway, you’re a gel.’
Molly was about to interrupt this familiar argument when suddenly the warning went. They’d had two false alarms recently and though the noise sent a shiver of fear down her spine, she remained seated at the table. The siren continued to wail and from the street she could hear shouting. She told the children to stay where they were and turned off the light. When she peeped out of the window from behind the blackout blind, she could see the shapes of people running below in the gloomy evening dusk.
To Evie’s dismay Molly swept the dishes from the table. Then, bending to snatch open the door of the Morrison shelter, which was disguised as the table, she bundled them inside.
Five minutes later they were all huddled together, listening again to the siren that heralded the return of the Luftwaffe.
It was early next morning when Molly woke, surprised to find that she had fallen soundly asleep during the night. Her arm was numb, wound over the children as they lay curled together.
Slowly stretching and easing herself out of the Morrison, she made her way to the passage, unhooked her coat and drew it round her shoulders.
The morning light crept under the blinds in the front room and she hurried down the stairs, anxious to discover if there was any damage to the shop.
All was secure; the jars, bottles, packets and tins were still on the shelves and she peeked under the blind to the window which was now letting in the dawn light.
It was a damp morning outside. The roofs of the houses were glazed with dew and there were dirty puddles in the road. An hour or so later, after the children were up, they all rushed downstairs to see who was banging at the back door.
‘Are you all right?’ Jean asked in concern as she stood with Simon and Susie.
‘We slept through it all in the Morrison. What happened in the night?’
‘Dunno. I’ve asked everyone in Roper Street and other than the racket of the siren, like us they didn’t see or hear anything. Dennis is still out with the fire brigade, so somewhere must have bought it.’
‘The kids are ready for school, but I wasn’t sure about sending them.’
Jean shrugged. ‘Might as well. No sense in keeping them home if the coast’s clear.’
Molly called to Mark and Evie and after Liz arrived to open the shop, she and Jean and the children set off for school.
Once again Molly gave thanks it wasn’t their part of London that had been attacked. But how long would that last?
It was just before midday when Liz left the shop, much earlier than usual as she had to help her housebound aunt in West Ham. Molly was told this was a temporary measure, but she missed the easy-going hours they had once enjoyed.
So Molly was alone when Dennis and Jean walked into the shop looking pale and sombre. At once Molly’s mind went to the children.
Guessing her thoughts, Jean said quickly, ‘It’s nothing to do with the kids.’
‘Thank God for that.’ Molly relaxed, until Dennis spoke.
‘You ain’t listened to the wireless, then?’
‘No. Why?’
‘They’ve just put out a bulletin. Last night there weren’t no raid.’
‘But there was! I heard the warning. We all did.’
‘Our ARP batteries heard the sound of gunfire too. That set off the alert. They dunno quite what happened, but everyone made for the Bethnal Green tube, as it was the nearest shelter to the sound of the ack-ack.’
‘So the bombers did fly over?’
‘Not a bleeding sign of them.’ Dennis swallowed and wiped his dirty face with even dirtier hands. ‘According to the official government statement put out this morning, someone tripped on the tube stairs and fell. There ain’t no handrail and there’s about nineteen steps what lead down from the street. It was dark and wet and no one could see where they were going. They fell one on top of each other, piling up like bloody dominoes.’
Molly took a horrified breath. ‘Were there many casualties?’ Expecting Dennis to say there were a few, she felt sick when he answered.
‘By the time we arrived with the fire engines and ambulances, they was laying them out in the street. Over a hundred at the first count, and by the time we left in the early hours, we’d counted another fifty.’
Molly and Jean stared at each other. It was too terrible to think of, and they looked at Dennis who had witnessed the tragedy at first hand. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. Molly realized he must have shed many tears throughout the night.
‘Dennis, I don’t know what to say,’ she whispered hoarsely.
‘I never seen nothing like it.’
‘Do you know what the gunfire was about?’
‘Someone said a new kind of bomb was being dropped.’
‘Was it?’ asked Jean, searching her husband’s face.
‘Dunno. There’s rumours flying everywhere. People say foreign agents infiltrated and planned it all. Whatever it was, I’ll never forget them bodies and dragging ’em out from the stairwell.’
Molly saw that Dennis was in no state to talk. His hands were shaking and Jean took his arm and said softly, ‘Come on, Den, let’s go home.’
He didn’t seem to hear her and gazed into space; Molly knew he couldn’t forget what he’d witnessed.
Accompanying her friends to the door, she watched them leave the shop and walk slowly down the street.
Once again, the thought in her mind was: this was what war did to people. There were no rules or regulations to prevent tragedy happening and in cases like this, when there hadn’t been one German bomber seen overhead, people were saying it must be spies.
What could possibly come next?
For days after, the East End buried their dead once again. Molly listened in sympathy to her frightened customers. Some had relatives or friends who had been in Bethnal Green on that rainy night when mysterious gunfire had set off the stampede in the tube stairwell.
No one had an answer. It was all suggestion and suspicion. There was an endless array of propaganda posters, pamphlets, booklets and leaflets issued to the general public. Molly refused to put up any in the shop and was immediately reproached by Mr Stokes.
‘Come along, Molly,’ he told her, waving the poster in the air. ‘You’ve got a space in your window. It’s only fair to give people warning.’
‘I’ve got enough trouble,’ she argued, ‘with Evie and Mark listening what the kids say at school. Like “Careless Talk Costs Lives” and “War Spies – Keep it Under Your Hat”. It frightens the kids.’
‘This poster’s not bad,’ cajoled Mr Stokes. ‘“Loose Lips Sink Ships”.’ He waved it in front of Molly.
‘Yes, and immediately Mark would think of his dad at sea. I’m sorry, but the answer’s no.’
Molly was relieved when the prime minister finally decided to soothe the nation’s unrest. His long-awaited statement to the general public was, at last, positive:
‘We have reached the conclusion that existing orders can now be relaxed and the church bells can be rung on Sundays and other special days to summon worshippers to church.’
It wasn’t much, Molly thought to herself, but it had the desired effect.
Church bells rang all over London at the weekend, and when Andy’s letter plopped on the mat the following week, it was hard for Molly to contain her delight at his news. Passing his finals with flying colours had earned him an unbelievable ten days’ leave!
The date they could expect him home was set for Sunday, 23 May. He would catch the early train to London and arrive in time for dinner.
Molly was over the moon!