Churchill's Angels Part 5

'It's important war work,' Sally told her friends. 'We're going to be entertaining the troops, in hospitals and at their camps; boosting morale, it's called. Who knows, maybe even go overseas. Won't that be amazing?'

Daisy smiled and congratulated her friend. She did not say, 'I've boosted morale and helped the war effort,' but reconditioning a plane that would one day be used in the air battles that must soon take place, surely that was war work?

Like so many people in Britain, the Petries loved listening to the wireless. Fred and Daisy had been captivated by the new Prime Minister, Winston Churchill. Not only did he write superb speeches but, according to Daisy, 'He speaks them as good as an actor.' When his speeches were not broadcast they were covered in the local press and Daisy would read the paper, trying to hear the Prime Minister's voice in her head. In June, Churchill warned the nation of the battle that was about to happen and Daisy read the report of the stirring speech so often that, had she wanted to, she could have quoted it.

Greatly moved by Churchill's eloquence, Daisy was persuaded that counting rations was not anyone's finest hour. There must be something better.

She broached the subject with her father when they were together in the shop at closing time one day.

'Dad, I want to join the Women's Auxiliary Air Force. You have to make Mum listen to me. Ensuring that everyone in the area gets their proper rations is not enough for me. I'm a good mechanic. Adair even said he could teach me to fly.' She stopped; she had not expected that most precious secret to spill out.

Fred looked at her, both love and concern in his eyes. 'Fly, pet, fly, like a pilot in a plane?'

'Of course, Dad. Adair says I'm just as clever as some of the men he teaches. He says I'm a great mechanic.'

'Well, me and the lads taught you that, love, but a pilot in the WAAF, a la.s.s from a shop in Dartford? He's having you on, Daisy, and so I'll tell him to his face.'

'He meant I could be a pilot, Dad; no one's saying anything about being a pilot in the WAAF. It's the RAF has pilots.'

'Happen he did mean it, you being a pilot, but he hasn't been here in weeks, and you've not heard from him, else your mum would've told me. Forget him, Daisy. His kind aren't for the likes of you. Not that you're not as good as he is, every bit, but putting water and wine together spoils both.' He looked at his daughter compa.s.sionately. 'Don't you go getting in over your head with this lad, Daisy. I know it's exciting; it's like what happens in pictures when the rich hero takes the poor girl off on his white horse to live happy. Pictures and stories isn't real, Daisy. Don't ... no, you wouldn't run after a lad, would you?'

Daisy looked at her father, kind, caring, conscientious Fred Petrie, and knew that in many ways she was very lucky. 'Dad, me and Adair, it's not like that. We're friends is all. We worked together on the engine. Smooth as honey, it'll fly.'

His look now was shrewd. 'Then why do you want to try for the WAAF now, pet? You've no idea where he is or even if he's alive.'

The words struck Daisy like a slap and she almost reeled back. 'What a dreadful thing to say. 'Course he's alive but ... but he's busy and ...' Daisy stopped. In a moment she would be crying and if she started she felt that she might never stop. No word from Adair, but there had been no word from Sam or Ron or Phil either.

'We have to face facts, pet. We're all worried. Your friend is a pilot. They flew over Dunkirk helping to keep the stranded lads safe. Planes ditched, Daisy, and some got shot down.'

'You have to tell Mum. I'm going to try. None of them's dead and when Adair if Adair needs me or wants to teach me, he'll find me easy enough.'

Fred shook his head sadly but turned and left the shop. Daisy sat down and listened to his steps on the stairs.

That night Rose persuaded Daisy to go dancing with her and some friends from the munitions factory. It was a chance for Daisy to wear an emerald-green rayon dress that Flora had altered for summer wear but which would not be out of place on the dance floor Apart from its attractive heart-shaped neckline with the yellow edging, it was spangled with white flowers, which Flora had crocheted on winter evenings. Daisy did try to enter into the spirit of the evening but she was aware that, apart from herself, everyone on the floor was actively involved in war work. She dismissed her time spent fire-watching and the hours she spent in the first-aid cla.s.ses it was not real work. Her father could talk as much as he liked about the necessity for honest shopkeepers in this time of trouble.

It's too easy, she said to herself. Apart from the few deliveries you make and those will come to a halt if the rumours about petrol rationing are true you don't even have to go out in the rain. Time to come to a decision.

Seeing her sister and her friends a happy part of the throng on the dance floor, Daisy slipped out. No doubt Rose would think she had found a partner in another part of the hall. The lads from Vickers were good lads and would see all the girls home safely and so she need not worry about her sister. Stan, who often partnered Rose at dances, was a favourite with all the Petries.

Daisy hurried home through streets strangelyunfamiliar, the lights dimmed or non-existent. Here and there, people scurried about their business as un.o.btrusively as possible, and no cheery greetings rang out on the still summer air. She was relieved to see the front of the shop loom up before her and slowed her pace in case her parents were still awake. They would be sure to ask why she had had to hurry and why she was alone. She stopped at the shop window to make sure she had her key to the side door. Her little change purse with the key inside was deep down in her coat pocket and, as she stood fishing it out, she heard a strange sound coming from the alley that ran along the side of the shop.

Daisy, suddenly reminded of her father's constant warnings to her and to her sister about 'wandering home alone late at night', froze to the spot and listened more intensely.

Scuffling and rustling and occasional hushed voices.

Someone, obviously up to no good, was at the side door to the family flat. What was she to do? Her parents, if they were awake, were on the other side of the building. Even if she were to break the shop window and how she could manage that she had no idea it was probable that Fred would not hear it. And what if she smashed an expensive window only to discover that a courting couple were sheltering in a doorway?

Come on, Daisy Petrie, there's a war on, and you keep moaning about wanting to do something meaningful and the first chance you get you do nothing. Holding her breath, she listened again. Was that a crackling noise? What made crackling noises? Fire.

Daisy raced round the corner.

A tea crate was on fire. Two shapes boys, she thought were manoeuvring the crate against the wooden door, not of the flat but of the lockup across the alleyway.

'Hey, stop!' she shouted.

The boys stopped for a split second.

'Give 'er one, Jake,' yelled the bigger one. 'The door's catching perfect.'

Jake was obviously afraid to hit Daisy, who shook her head in mixed sorrow and anger. She knew these lads. Were they not always in the group who needed anything that was being sold at a discount? A quick glance told her that they had tried and failed to force the door open. Silly boys. Inside the lockup stood the shop van. Did they want to steal it?

She tried to scare them off. 'ARP warden'll be round here in a jiff, you two with a policeman, I shouldn't wonder and you two'll be in Borstal afore you-'

She had no time to tell them what they would have no time to do as the older and larger of the boys, furious both with Daisy for interfering and Jake for not 'giving her one' threw himself at Daisy, knocking her to the ground. The last thing she heard was, 'Oh Gawd, our George, you've killed her.'

Daisy woke several hours later with a splitting headache and an immediate irresistible urge to be very, very sick. The next fifteen minutes were too hideously uncomfortable for her to worry about modesty, which was just as well as she found urgent unknown hands stripping her of her nightgown and the same hands, surprisingly competent, washing her.

'Well, and won't you be after feeling a lot better now,' a soft Irish voice said. 'And such a pretty frock you were wearing too, Irish green; must say, I'm surprised to see a frock like that in a brawl.'

A brawl. Daisy tried to sit up but fell back again as the pain exploded once more in her head.

'Am I dead?' she heard her voice say.

'Sure, you are not, but with a b.u.mp the size of the egg on the back of your skull, I don't doubt you wish you were. There now, that's the second time I've cleaned you up in less than an hour so will you be a good girl and keep your head and your stomach quiet while I take care of someone else.'

Daisy stayed quite still; she could not have moved had she wanted to, for the nurse, if the Irish woman was a nurse, had tucked starched white sheets tightly around her.

'Good, macushla, now I'll be letting your mammy in for five minutes and then I want you asleep.'

Daisy lay, aware of nothing but enveloping pain, and then a voice she knew and a touch she welcomed.

'Daisy, Daisy, my dearest girl, you could have been killed by those boys. Lucky for you that Rose and Stan was there.'

Rose and Stan; boys, what boys? Daisy closed her eyes and, her hand tightly clasped by her mother, drifted off to sleep.

She woke much later in a narrow hospital bed in what she later discovered was a women's ward in the County Hospital. 'You sustained a nasty crack on your skull, Miss Petrie.' A doctor was taking her pulse and looking down at her with clear, sympathetic eyes. 'Seemingly you're quite a little heroine, preventing those young vandals from setting fire to a garage door. Could have been quite nasty. A policeman was here earlier to speak to you but we'll let you get over your unpleasant experience before we allow that.'

'My parents?'

'Will be here at the regular visiting time. Now, tell the nurse if you feel like eating. The porridge isn't bad.' And he was off.

Daisy lay there remembering what had happened. The police had been informed. Who had done that? Surely not her dad? The last thing he would want would be more trouble for that particular family, who always seemed down on their luck, and Jake and George forever dodging the law.

'And if I don't really remember what happened ...' Daisy was shocked by the way her mind, usually so aware of the difference between wrong and right, was working.

FOUR.

Daisy had expected no family visits in the afternoon as the shop was always open and busy between four o'clock and closing time, and so she was very pleased to see Miss Partridge, complete with gloves and Sunday hat, walking smartly down the ward between the long rows of identical iron bedsteads.

She won't be coming to see me, though, Daisy thought, and closed her eyes so that Miss Partridge might not feel obliged to speak to her.

'Daisy, dear, if you're tired I'll drop this off ...'

Daisy tried to sit up, a bad move as pain shot through her head. She did open her eyes, though.

'Oh, you poor girl, I do hope there is no serious injury.'

'No, they want to keep me until tomorrow, just to be sure, but apart from a lump and a headache, I'm fine.'

Miss Partridge pulled a chair up to the bedside. 'I was in hospital once, a long time ago, Daisy dear, and my papa brought me a magnificent basket of fruit. I'm afraid there was no fresh fruit today.'

'There's a war on,' they said together and laughed.

Daisy had been mulling over her problem all morning. Was Miss Partridge an ideal confidante?

'I did bring a box of embroidered handkerchiefs, Daisy, dear, unused, of course, and so useful in a situation like this and Mr Fischer sent you this.' Miss Partridge opened her large, much-used leather handbag and took out a book with a beautiful Moroccan cover. 'Rather fine, isn't it. It's a copy of Palgrave's Golden Treasury. He says it was his first poetry book in English and so he hopes you will enjoy it. He has inscribed it to you.'

Daisy opened the book and saw thin spidery writing on the very fine inside page.

For Daisy, my very first English friend, in the hope that within its pages she will find some words to make her feel better.

Siegfried Fischer Her stomach churning with happiness and excitement at the amazing kindness. Daisy said, 'I don't know how to thank you both.'

'By enjoying our little gifts, my dear. Now I must be off.'

Daisy held out a hand to keep Miss Partridge near. 'You haven't asked what happened?'

'Flora told me who Rose saw. You could have been seriously injured, Daisy. George and Jake Preston are becoming quite wild and, I'm sorry, my dear, but if something isn't done about them, they'll both end up in prison.'

Daisy said nothing. She had known the boys and their mother since their arrival in Dartford six years before. There was a rumour that, somewhere, there was a Mr Preston, but no one knew with any certainty. A second rumour had it that Mr Preston was in prison. All that the Petries knew for sure was the boys were badly cared for, and that the bigger fourteen-year-old George grew, the more impossible he was to control.

'Jake will be as wild as George if something isn't done, Daisy. He follows George like a puppy and does everything his brother tells him.'

'No, Miss Partridge. He wouldn't hit me when George told him to.'

To Daisy's surprise, Miss Partridge laughed. 'You're more than a match for Jake.'

'Not with the crowbar he was holding.'

Miss Partridge almost fell back into the chair. 'That settles it. You must report them to the police; breaking and entering, fire raising, causing serious injury or worse.'

Daisy moved her head as if to shake it and winced as pain shot through her skull. 'No, please, Miss Partridge, those boys have nothing, and I could have handled George easily if he hadn't taken me by surprise. What would the police do with him?'

'Send him to a correctional inst.i.tution, which will do him a power of good, my dear. You are much too soft-hearted.'

'And if his father is in prison? What might the police say: like father like son? Please, Miss Partridge.'

'It's you they're going to question, dear. I will say nothing to anyone. If you are absolutely sure ...'

'Yes.' The kindness she was receiving strengthened Daisy in her purpose even more. The boy must be given a chance.

When the policeman spoke to her much later that afternoon, perfectly aware of what she was doing, Daisy Petrie did not lie but she seemed confused.

'Medication,' said the Irish nurse, 'plus quite a knock on the head. Give her a few days.'

The might of the law withdrew.

The next day, when Daisy was allowed to return home, she found that her father did not agree with her. 'Daisy, that lad almost set fire to the lockup. There is petrol in the van it would have gone up like a firework, and what about the houses either side?'

'He only wanted to burn the door down to get inside.'

'"Only wanted"? Are you out of your mind?'

'Dad, maybe he wanted to steal the van, maybe he thought you kept food in the lockup. They're always looking for marked-down sc.r.a.ps, and they're skinny as ...' she could think of nothing thin enough, '... too thin,' she finished.

'Daisy, love, you're always ready for the halt, the lame and the lazy. What that lad did was criminal. He coulda killed you.'

'Never. He took me by surprise is all. I should have handled it better, Dad, chased them away. That policeman wants to put him in an approved school. There was a lad in Sam's cla.s.s came out worse.'

Realising that they would never agree, Daisy was glad to go to her room for an afternoon's rest.

She was surprised to be disturbed by her mother.

'Daisy, a policeman was here. Did you tell him you couldn't remember what happened?'

'I told him that it was pitch-black out there and that I saw two shapes, possibly boy size.'

'They'll be watching them close.'

'That's good, Mum. I'll warn George and he'll stay out of trouble.'

Flora shook her head and returned to the shop.

When she could no longer hear footsteps on the stairs, Daisy carefully sat up. No explosion of pain, not even a dull ache. She manoeuvred herself out of bed.

I am, she decided, perfectly well and able to return to work. She dressed and followed her mother down to the shop. Flora was anxious but Daisy's mind was made up. Every day after that, she added another hour to her workload until she was full time again. George and Jake were nowhere to be seen. A neighbour did their mother's shopping.

'A bit busy,' she excused Mrs Preston.

'I think I'd like some fresh air, Mum. Can you manage for half an hour?'