Churchill's Angels Part 7

Daisy's world was turning upside down. 'But why? Who took him away? Were they policemen?'

Mr Tiverton patted her hand. 'I don't know, my dear. They were plainly dressed and Mr Fischer did not seem frightened or concerned. You must know that all aliens have been rounded up, especially Germans. Frankly, I'm surprised that he was here so long.'

'Where have they sent him?'

'I have no idea where he is, Daisy. Many aliens have been put into camps, some have been sent away, even as far as Australia. But many have been questioned and allowed to return home to their home here, that is, not the country from which they originally came.'

'Or fled.'

'Indeed. Or fled.'

'When will we know?'

'Oh, Daisy, I know so little. Perhaps someone will inform his landlady; perhaps she has already been told.'

But a very angry Mrs Porter had heard nothing and was extremely annoyed. 'Best lodger I ever had. Near fifteen years he's been with me, causes no trouble, reads 'is books, ever such fat ones, listens to 'is music, bit 'ighbrow for me but nice, and pays his rent on time. They just knocked on the door, came in and went up to 'is room I 'eard them talking, quiet, like, and then they came down, without a by-your-leave and was gone.'

'He wasn't ... they weren't holding him, Mrs Porter?'

'No, pet. He 'ad his old leather suitcase ever such good quality and 'is spare clothes is gone, some photographs, I think, but none of 'is books, but then I wouldn't really know, would I?'

'If you hear anything, Mrs Porter, would you let us know? We have his ration book and he's bound to need that.'

In tears Daisy returned home.

'Alien is not a nice word,' she added after she had told her parents the news. There had to be a nicer word that meant someone from a different country.

'He'll be fine, Daisy, love. He'll write to us to ask for his ration book and then we'll be able to keep in touch.'

But he did not write and for a while the little book remained in the drawer of Fred's splendid till. Eventually Fred took it round to Mrs Porter, to keep with the rest of Mr Fischer's things, and the Petries stopped talking about Mr Fischer's disappearance; it was just one more tragedy of this ghastly war.

Daisy, however, thought of him often.

The family had grown so accustomed to false alarms that they were taken completely by surprise when the first attack actually came.

The siren sounded.

'C'mon, Daisy, run,' Fred shouted, but she went on counting cash and nodded to him, which was her way of saying, 'I'll be there in a jiff.'

But then the coppers fell from her hands and rolled in every direction across the floor as they heard an ominous droning sound, a sound that they had never heard before.

'G.o.d Almighty, Daisy Petrie, leave that b.l.o.o.d.y money and move, girl.'

Possibly more stunned by her father's language than by the sound of the planes overhead, Daisy seemed rooted until they heard another sound, a splattering sound as if the biggest hailstones the world had ever seen were being thrown ferociously at the taped windows.

'Guns, Daddy,' screamed Daisy as she vaulted over a barrel of barley, which she had been repackaging, and fled after him through the shop door. She stopped dead in the hallway, turned and ran to the stairs. 'Mum,' she screamed. 'Come down quickly.' She was leaping upstairs as she called.

Flora was on her hands and knees crawling under the kitchen table. 'I were just peeling potatoes, Daisy, and the table was right here.'

Daisy got down and held out her hand. 'We've got to go to the refuge room, Mum; it's safer. C'mon, before Dad comes to fetch us.'

Still clutching her potato peeler, Flora allowed herself to be led downstairs. They waited for a breathless moment just inside the shop, listening to the planes, and there was Fred, obviously about to look for them. Unceremoniously, Fred grabbed them both, pulled them through the back door and shoved them into the old storeroom. They slumped to the floor and then Fred, red in the face from exertion and sweating with fear for his family, said very quietly. 'I panicked there, us not being in the same place.' He turned on Flora, in anger. 'What was you doing, not running down? You know the drill. First sound, wherever you are you head for this place.'

'I were under the table.'

'Gimme the knife, Mum,' said Daisy, but her speaking brought her father's wrath down on her.

'And you, Daisy. You move when that d.a.m.ned thing goes. My G.o.d, I haven't smacked you since you was about five but you do that again, my girl ...' He could not continue but reached over and awkwardly patted her foot, the only part of her he could reach.

Daisy stayed where she was on the floor waiting for her heart to stop beating so quickly. She could not believe how terrified she had been. Was it fear for herself or for her mother? As if she could read her daughter's mind Flora reached out and took one of her hands. 'Is this the real war then, Fred?'

She was answered by the sound of an explosion, and she burst into tears. Fred stopped glaring at his daughter and turned to comforting his wife. 'There, love, don't hear no more planes. Blighters have gone over. Be battering London by now.'

'But it's broad daylight, Dad. There's people out shopping, children playing in the parks. It's inhuman, that's what it is.'

'It's war, Daisy.' He was quiet for a moment and then voiced all their thoughts. 'Rose'll be all right; they have a big shelter at Vickers.'

No one spoke until the all clear sounded. They sat, each alone with his or her worries, but their hopes and prayers were for the same family members.

'I never locked the door, Dad, but I don't think it would have made much difference.'

They discovered that the front door of the shop had been blown off its hinges and several windows were smashed. The barrel of barley lay on its side and what was left of the barley was scattered, with everything that had been on the shelves, all over the floor.

'Hope you got a lot of that barley packaged, our Daisy,' said Fred with an attempt at a smile. 'No, never mind the brush now, pet, George'll do it. He likes things tidy. How about making a pot of tea? In fact, if the Christmas sherry bottle is whole, we'll all have a snifter. Your mum's shaking like a blancmange.'

He handed her an unopened bottle of brandy that he unearthed from under the counter.

'First-aid manual, Daisy, love. Brandy for emergencies and this is one stinker of an emergency. You go on up with your mum. Make her sip some of that, even if it makes her cough, and just talk to her while I have a look outside. The joiner'll be busy so I'd best get to him quick as.'

Daisy was only too happy to return to the family flat. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was look outside. Bullets had rained down on the street. What if someone had been walking there?

But Dartford was not too badly damaged on that first raid. Chimney pots, doors windows, garden walls, bicycles had all suffered, but there were no major casualties.

Fred, for the moment unsure whether or not he should have sought shelter or gone out into the fray after all, he was an ARP warden left his daughter to begin the clean-up once he was sure that Flora was fine. He picked up his respirator, although for the life of him he could not smell gas. The unpleasant smell of burning accompanied him as he headed off through the smoke-filled streets to the ARP station. What could he say? He had acted on instinct and he hoped that his instincts were right.

'You're only expected to patrol when you're on duty, Fred, and this afternoon wasn't your hours. We got off light but this shows the way it's going. We're right between Herr blooming Hitler in Germany and Mr Churchill in London, and the German Air Force'll fly over us every time they want to take a poke at him.'

'Then likely we'll be 'it on their way back too.'

'Afraid so, Fred. Lots to look forward to, I don't think. How's the missus? Any word on your lads?'

'There's a war on, Harold. They got more to do than write letters. Flora's fine, a real brick, and Daisy and Rose is a great support.'

'Daisy not left the nest yet?'

'No, she knows what she wants; biding her time, I'd say. I'd best get off home. Got next week's pulses all over the place. Where I'm going to get more at such short notice, I do not know. At least the weather's fine and the ladies isn't making thick soups.'

The men said goodbye and Fred, his uneasiness at rest, hurried off home, via the home of the nearest joiner, and was delighted to meet Rose on the way. She looked rather shaken but made no complaint.

'Going in for an extra shift, Dad. We are really increasing production.' She stopped suddenly right in the middle of the High Street, and drew his attention to a large sign on the King's Head Inn. 'Look there, the very thing. You should take Mum out for lunch one day soon. That'll cheer her up. You two's done nothing for months.'

Fred's gaze followed her pointing finger. They had just experienced the first raid of the war but a sign showed that life had to try to go on.

'Luncheons for one shilling and sixpence, and they're advertising Loman Ales. We could all go on Sunday after church. Do us good. Six shillings for four and then a few shillings for drinks and a tip. Your mum couldn't do that at home. I'd have walked right past that, Rose. May I take you to luncheon on Sunday, madame?'

'You're ever so kind, sir,' she teased, fluttering her eyes at him, 'but I can't. I'm going to teach physical jerks at the factory. Big posters all over the walls. "Fitness in Defence", they're calling it, and besides, we're probably doing an extra shift, Sunday. You should do some cla.s.ses with the wardens; some of them look like they need exercise. It's direct from the Government, Dad, and I bet you can still shin up a tree faster than any of us.'

'I think I've enough to do, Rose Petrie. I'm needed in the shop and will be even more when Daisy goes, and now that the raids have started I'll spend hours patrolling my area and helping when I can, and a.s.sessing damages and reporting it when I can't.'

They had reached the back door of the shop. Just inside was the staircase to the flat. Fred moved to put his key in the lock.

'What do you mean, Dad, Daisy going? She hasn't said nothing to me. Has she had a letter?'

'Not yet. She was excused with the boys away and me needing another driver, but your mum can manage the shop and, I hates to say it, but them Preston lads is good workers. We've even had a couple of Mum's beetle drive ladies saying they could use a few hours' work. Daisy wants to join the WAAF and we can't hold her back.'

FIVE.

The film was everything they had hoped it would be. It was called Storm in a Teacup and was touted as being very amusing. It was. Daisy thought it hilariously funny and Vivien Leigh the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Sally, though, was still very faithful to her first favourite, Margaret Lockwood.

Daisy would not be so juvenile as to tell Sally, but it had also been really lovely to spend an entire evening with her. Their old school friend, Sally, a rising actress, was more glamorous and elegant than ever. She might be well on her way to becoming a real star, but inside, Sally seemed little changed since the days when they had played together in the playground or on the floor of the projectionist's room at the cinema.

'I don't think we've had an evening all four of us since that party you gave for me, Daisy, just before war was declared.'

'Feels as if that was a long time ago. Do you think we all seem much older because of the war? Don't know about you, Sally, but I feel a hundred years old sometimes.'

'You don't look it. I miss us all getting together. Don't know what's happening to Grace. I don't think she's forgiven me for laughing at Sam, and now he's gone too.'

'Missing, not gone, Sal. We'll soon find out where he is. I think Grace has what our lovely vicar calls issues, things, probably from her early childhood, which she has to come to terms with. Maybe she'll tell us, maybe she won't. She knows we're here.'

'Hope you're right. Gosh, I forgot to tell you. Dad says he's getting Wings of the Morning back for reshowing. Did you see it? It was the very first colour film made in England. You'll love it, lots of horses and Henry Fonda.' Sally said his name as if it were written in huge lights before her. 'His eyes are incredible, look right into you. He is just so ... so ...'

Such intensity made Daisy slightly uncomfortable. She decided to tease Sally. 'Sally Brewer, you haven't, you know ...?'

'Wash your mouth out with soap, Miss Petrie. I'm saving myself for Clark Gable.'

'Now you're talking,' said Daisy, who had sat, motionless and almost breathless, through Gone with the Wind three times, and would probably have seen it more often but for the fact that it had to be sent to the next cinema on a long list of waiting customers.

They were laughing the way they had laughed together as schoolgirls. It felt good.

'd.a.m.n.' Sally had tripped over a rough part of the pavement.

Daisy grabbed her. 'Are you all right?'

'Fine, frightened the life out of me, that's all. I really hate being in the dark. Feeling your way around, not knowing who is near you, is one of the worst parts of blackouts. Creepy.'

Daisy could think of nothing to say.

They had reached the Brewers' little house. 'Come in and have some hot chocolate.'

'Can't, Sally. Dad's in the markets tomorrow and customers'll be at the door before eight.'

They hugged, promised to see each other before too long, and Sally let herself into her house. Daisy hurried on towards home, being as careful as she could, still moving with the many other people who had been at the cinema. In less than five minutes she would be climbing the stairs to her comfy bed.

The air-raid sirens seemed to blare from every factory in Dartford. The frightening noise filled the air and sent people stumbling and running towards the nearest shelters. Dartford had prepared well, and there were excellent shelters on the streets and in the bas.e.m.e.nts of department stores.

Daisy found a seat beside a rather large but very pleasant woman, who smelled, unfortunately, of disinfectant, and prepared to wait it out with as much fort.i.tude as possible. There was a light, limited but still a light, and seats. So many people had packed into the shelter that it was warm. Even inside this concrete box, however, they could hear the droning of enemy planes and the ack-ack and rat-tat, rat-a-tat of guns, both friend and enemy. Low booming sounds were heard and then the floor of the shelter seemed to shake as something heavy thudded down near to it.

'That's a bomb,' came a frightened man's voice. 'Right beside us. G.o.d 'elp us. It goes off and we're all done for. I'm getting out.'

He tried to force his way to the entrance but was stopped by several men. 'You're safer in here, lad. Sit yourself down and think of something else. Anyone know a good song?'

Immediately a rousing chorus of 'Pack Up Your Troubles in Your Old Kit Bag' began. The air was soon full of singing voices, the smells of unwashed bodies and of too much cheap perfume. Not a nice mix, thought Daisy, as she tried to think calm thoughts. She was beginning to relax when there was a piercing scream.

'Help her, help her, my sister's having a baby.'

The singing grew quieter and quieter and above it rose the distressed sounds of someone young trying hard not to scream.

'Quiet, everyone,' came a voice of obvious authority. 'Anyone here with any medical knowledge?'

The woman beside Daisy sighed, said, 'No rest for the wicked,' and stood up. 'I'm a hospital nurse,' she said. 'Anyone else know anything, even how to hold someone's hand?'

Feeling as cold as ice, Daisy forced herself to follow the nurse. Holding hands I can do, holding hands I can do, she repeated to herself as she found herself, the nurse, and a thin woman kneeling on the cold cement floor beside two very frightened young girls, one of whom was possibly about to have a baby.

The thin woman looked at the girl and then at the nurse and whispered, 'I've 'ad three as lived; should remember something.'

'Very encouraging,' said the nurse. 'How far on?' she asked the young woman and when she said nothing she asked, 'Come on, pet, seven months, eight?'

'She doesn't know.' The sister was stroking the whimpering girl's forehead.

'Is her husband here?'

'Missing since Dunkirk.'

Daisy was holding the pregnant girl's cold and very small hand. She's younger than I am; she has a missing husband and she's worried sick and terrified of having a baby. 'There, there,' she soothed. 'It's going to be all right. This lady is the best nurse in the whole of Kent, you know, and she'll take super care of you.'

'Good girl,' whispered the nurse. 'Carry on talking to her while I have a look. Shine that light here, please, Warden, and would you hold your coat up to give us some privacy.'

The girl had stopped sobbing and although she moved in embarra.s.sment and discomfort, she seemed to be calmer. Her sister kneeled on the floor beside her, holding her other hand, and Daisy chattered about the film she had just seen.

'We was there,' said the sister. 'Rex Harrison's ever so 'andsome, isn't he?'