Saturday, 3 May 1941
‘Ruth! Ruth? Where are you?’
Anthony rushed into the house, fearing the worst. The city was ablaze and he had left Ruth and Anna alone. They had been all right the previous night, but he couldn’t leave them again. He should have known better. They were all he could think about. In the kitchen he found Harriet sipping a cup of tea while Anna played with a toy on the surface of the dining table. Ruth was nowhere to be seen.
‘Where is she?’
‘I couldn’t stop her.’ The teacup shook in her grasp as she drifted into silence.
‘Harriet.’ He seldom raised his voice, but all he could think about was Ruth.
‘Lewis’s. She’s gone to Lewis’s. To find him.’
He felt sick in a way that he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t in the pit of his stomach, but higher up as if he had trapped wind, but as he hadn’t eaten in a few hours it couldn’t be that. Nor was it hunger. Typically he could go for hours without a bite to eat and not even feel the slightest pang. No, this was another kind of sickness. What was she thinking? There was no way he would be there. Her lack of sleep and desperation must have taken over.
He turned away from Harriet. He couldn’t stay in the house any longer, he had to get to Ruth. He had to find her. Sweat broke out on his brow in spite of the cool evening air. The windows of the house rattled in their frames as a bomb landed somewhere to the south of the city. It wasn’t close enough yet to see, but it was close enough to feel. The glassware and photo frames left out in the house shook as the bombardment drifted closer. He stepped out into it, pulling the door shut behind him.
To the south of the city the Wirral burned. It was as he imaged an active volcano might look. Bright orange flames licked at the sky, buildings burning, shells of lives and livelihoods. He felt for the people of the Wirral, they had all suffered so much. Still the shrill air raid siren wailed through the night sky. The Germans were on their way, and he should be on his.
He felt like he was always running of late, only these days he was running towards something rather than away. He followed the stream of people. They didn’t acknowledge him either, all wrapped up in their own private anxiety.
The city centre had become a mess of red and blackened-grey masonry, thrown around as if by some giant child, unhappy with their toys. Once proud buildings were now nothing but ruins, a stark reminder of what the city had suffered. How many people had lost their homes due to the bombing, he wondered as he passed former shops and houses. How many had lost everything?
He couldn’t bear to think about it all. Even though he knew it wasn’t his responsibility he couldn’t think about losing his family, not again, he had to do something to save them. Anthony wondered whether he was going to find her in time. He would follow her anyway, even if that meant putting himself in danger. He would do anything. Anthony didn’t have much in this world, but would fight every step of the way for what he did. He couldn’t lose his family, not again.
He didn’t think he had seen so many aircraft before. The sky was filled with the silhouettes of German bombers, backlit by the waxing moon. He was transfixed by the image, before the whistle of dropping bombs brought him back to the present. The Germans had decided they were going to wipe out his city, pummel Liverpool from existence, and he was caught in the middle of it.
He dropped his eyes from the sky, he didn’t want to see his own death coming for him, and ran. If the Germans were dropping that many bombs, then even the shelters wouldn’t be safe, he thought. None of them were safe. Still, he had to find her, somehow get her away before she made a mistake. The kidnapper wasn’t even in the building. He couldn’t be. Not in this. He had to stop her, before she got hurt, find George and then get them all out of the city. Maybe he could steal a car and drive them out. Somehow he had to get them all out. They couldn’t stay here amongst the bombs and the ruins of their lives.
It wasn’t just the Germans that were killing them, the city was too. It was like a prison, its terraced houses the walls, the River Mersey a deadly wet barrier at its heart. During the last year, he had felt as if it was closing in on him, threatening to crush him, and it was only getting worse. He had felt trapped, under constant pressure that their time was short, that the next raid could be their end. They needed to escape the city. The sickness rose up in his stomach again, almost doubling him over.
The crump of bombs exploding drifted through the night, somewhere off in the distance across the river. Far enough away, for now. His ears were sore from the cacophony, and he knew it wouldn’t let up any time soon. He ran down Myrtle Street, noticing how different it had become. A shop from which he used to buy sweets for Marc when he was a child was an empty shell, its owners gone. There was a single abandoned car pulled up outside as if its driver had stopped for something, but the street itself was empty. He didn’t see another soul, not even a volunteer. He was utterly alone, with only the flames and smoke to keep him company. He turned another corner and all of a sudden the sky was as bright as daylight.
There was a crash and he was flung to the ground. It took a few seconds before his hearing came back with a piercing ring. The bomb had landed on the roof of a nearby shop, levelling its upper floor. He pressed a finger to his temple to push away a headache. It came back damp, but he didn’t have time to think about that now. With a groan he hauled himself back up from the rubble and was running again. He was lucky to still be breathing, he realised. He was covered in brick dust and his last good clothes were tattered and torn. His body ached, but he wouldn’t give up now.
Anthony turned left onto Renshaw Street. As he ran further into the centre of town, the sky grew brighter with flames. He followed the light like some kind of moth, knowing that it would bring him closer to what he sought. Finally he spotted a group of people at the other end of the road outside the Adelphi Hotel. Some of them came and went in a hurry, but others simply stood and stared, illuminated by the fire at the opposite side of the square. As Anthony ran closer he could see the terrible inferno, but it wasn’t coming from the hotel. There was a chain of people passing water between them.
Across the road Lewis’s department store was on fire. Flames licked at broken glass windows as the pressure of the heat broke its way out of the building. It must have taken a direct hit as the building was already engulfed. The volunteers worked to fight the flames, but they were already losing the battle. He marvelled at the damage, feeling an unexpected sense of sorrow as something so familiar, a building no less, literally went up in flames. Its Portland stone facade might survive the flames, but the business was gone. They all knew several people who worked within the building, either serving its many customers, or helping with stock and cleaning. The building itself was a bustling landmark on the way into the city. You knew you were in Liverpool when you saw it.
He thought he heard cries from inside the building, like people in great pain, but he couldn’t be sure over the roar of the flames. He pushed through the other volunteers. Their eyes didn’t follow him, too intent on the burning edifice in front of them. He wanted to avoid awkward questions, but he couldn’t stop now. It wouldn’t make sense to them, even though they risked their lives nightly to protect others. It wasn’t the city he was trying to protect now – it was too late for that – but those who were close to him, those who meant the world to him.
A shape caught his eye. At first there was nothing that separated them from everyone else, but somehow he recognised them. There was something familiar even in the dark night filled with flickering light. He couldn’t say whether it was the outline that was familiar or the way that they moved, but it was unmistakable. Instinct drove him after that shape as they disappeared into the building. He followed, stepping into a run again. But he only got a few feet before strong hands held him, almost pinning his arms behind his back as if he had been arrested.
‘No,’ said a voice near his ear. Not loud, but commanding all the same. ‘No, lad, it’s too late. You don’t want to go in there.’
Anthony realised then that a moan had escaped his lips, the sound of longing, pure animal fear at the sense of abandonment the world had dealt him. He didn’t know if he could control himself, if not for the man holding him back. He didn’t know what he was going to do, his entire life had disappeared within that burning building. With a struggle, he pulled himself out of the arms that held him and ran into the flames after the woman he loved.