Shipyard Girls at War, page 37
‘Come on, Ma!’ Joe ushered Agnes out through the front door and slammed it shut behind her.
As they all hurried down the road, they joined other families as they rushed towards the air-raid shelter in the basement of Tavistock House.
Bel turned to Agnes, ‘Do you know where my ma is?’
‘She told me she was going into town, not long after you and Joe left,’ Agnes told her, seeing the look of worry on Bel’s face.
‘She’ll be all right,’ she tried to reassure her. ‘She’s as tough as old boots!’ Agnes tried unsuccessfully to inject some humour into her voice. She might dislike the woman intensely, but she hoped to God that she was safe. Heaven knew where she was, though; she had been acting strangely all morning – had seemed very subdued and not at all her usual loud, gobby self.
Bel looked round to see Joe, who had dropped behind ever so slightly and was clearly in a lot of pain. He had practically galloped back home, pushing himself forward with his stick, propelling himself the quarter of a mile or so back to their front door. She had seen the agony in his face – and the relief when they’d seen Lucille in Agnes’s arms. He had never had to say the words to her but, ever since his return, she had known he would lay down his life for his brother’s daughter. And, after today, she realised for her too.
Just as they neared the opening of the air-raid shelter in the basement of the grand Georgian red-brick mansion, they heard a huge explosion. Bel let out a scream. Her whole body was shaking. Joe came up behind her and grabbed Lucille from her.
‘Get in. I’ll pass Lucille in to you,’ he ordered.
Bel climbed down the stone stairs and then turned round quickly to reach up for Lucille. Joe handed the little girl down, who had her thumb jammed into her mouth and her eyes squeezed shut. Her little legs dangled for a moment in the air, like a parachutist ready to land, as Joe carefully passed her to Bel.
Joe limped backwards and barked at his mother and Arthur to get in. They knew there was no arguing with him, and they both took it in turns to take his hand as he helped them climb, one after the other, down the first few steep steps into the darkness of their underground sanctuary.
‘What about Pearl?’ he asked Bel, whose face had appeared again, looking up at him through the darkness.
‘Get in, Joe, she’ll be fine. There’s nothing you can do to help her. We don’t even know where she is.’
As if on cue there was another explosion, quickly followed by another. The earth shuddered.
‘Get in!’ Bel shouted.
Joe climbed down the stairs and into the semi-darkness of the large stone basement. It looked as if at one time it had been some kind of wine cellar, as there were wooden shelves and wine racks but no actual bottles.
‘Bloody Jerry!’ An old woman’s voice sounded out in the darkness, before it was illuminated by the strike of a match and the gentle glow of a gas lamp. Her deeply lined face crinkled as she spotted Lucille.
‘Ah, what a bonny bairn,’ she said. ‘No need to be frightened, flower. We’re all safe now.’
Lucille looked at the woman, who had a woollen black shawl wrapped around her shoulders and was wearing a loose blouse and a long black skirt, around which was wrapped a white apron. Bel knew it was the unofficial uniform of a fishwife, and that the woman’s barrow of fish, crabs and kippers would be languishing somewhere not far from the shelter’s entrance. She also knew the old woman’s apron pocket would jingle with coppers were she to stand up, and that her pound notes would be safely tucked away in her garter.
Lucille seemed fascinated by the woman, who bent down and started delving around in the depths of her large carpet bag, which she had dumped next to her on the hard concrete floor. As she pulled out a huge ball of purple wool and two long knitting needles, she eyed Lucille and asked, ‘Do you know how to knit, petal?’
Lucille shyly shook her head.
‘Well, then shall an old fishwife show you?’
Lucille nodded her head. The old woman looked to Bel, who gave her permission by way of a tense smile.
There were only a few other people in the shelter – an older couple sat close together, holding hands, quietly chatting, and a mum and her young son, who looked around ten years old. The boy was shuffling a pack of cigarette cards, occasionally taking one out and holding it up to his mum, who was being very convincing in her show of interest.
‘Where’s Beryl?’ Bel asked Agnes, as they all sat down on an old bench that had been pushed up against the wall. Arthur and Agnes leant back against the cold brickwork.
‘In town with the girls,’ Agnes said, adding in the next breath, ‘Please God let Polly be all right.’
It was what they had all been thinking, but hadn’t wanted to say it for the sake of causing Agnes any more worry. Bel sat down next to her and took her hand, holding it tight.
‘They’ve got shelters in the yard. She would have been able to go straight there. She’ll probably be sat with the rest of the women now, worrying about all of us.’
‘It’s just,’ Agnes said, her voice wavering, ‘the explosions sounded like they were on the north side.’
Joe was standing still, near to the entrance, in case anyone else should need to get in. He had been thinking the same thing.
‘I hate that yard!’ Agnes suddenly blurted out. ‘Never wanted her to work there in the first place. They’re like sitting ducks there, waiting for that madman to drop a bomb on them all.’
Arthur was sitting quietly next to Agnes. He wanted to try and reassure her, but didn’t know what to say. If it were his daughter, he would be feeling exactly the same. Would have tried to stop her working there, just like Agnes had done. But Polly was her own woman. When she made her mind up about something, there was no stopping her. And, apart from this, if she hadn’t started working there, his grandson would never have fallen in love and found his future wife.
Agnes’s attention was caught by the click-clack of the fishwife’s knitting and she looked over to a clearly captivated Lucille.
She then glanced across to Joe, who she noticed also looked entranced – but it had nothing to do with knitting.
As she followed his slightly misty-eyed stare, she saw that it was Bel who was the focus of his rapt attention.
She had seen the look before on Joe’s face – many times. Over many years. She had always felt a little sad for Joe. She was his mother, and had been able to read every nuance of his facial expressions since he’d been a baby.
Like most mothers, she knew how to read her children, their body language, the tones of their voices – and the way they looked at others.
She had seen this look on Joe’s face a few times since his return, although she knew he had been careful not to let his feelings for Bel show through, even though she also knew that couldn’t have been easy – not when they all lived together and were such a close family.
But when Agnes turned her head to look at Bel, who was sitting next to her, she got a jolt of surprise – for Bel was returning her son’s loving gaze. There was no denying the unspoken dialogue that was occurring between the two.
Agnes was shocked. How come she hadn’t seen it before?
Bel was like one of her own, but she had always been harder to read. Bel had become part of the Elliot family from a young age, but she still wasn’t Agnes’s own blood; and although she knew her daughter-in-law well, Bel was still adept at shielding her true feelings. She had learnt to do that from a very young age – she’d been forced to with a mother like Pearl.
Joe caught his mother looking at Bel – and her startled look – and he knew in an instant that she had seen what had passed between himself and his brother’s widow.
He took a deep breath and hobbled over to sit next to Bel. He took her hand and could feel her body tense. Then he looked at his mother.
‘Ma, we’ve got something to tell you,’ he said.
‘No, Joe. This isn’t the right time.’ Bel’s voice sounded quiet and nervous.
‘Bel, there is never going to be a right time. And there’s nothing to be ashamed of,’ Joe said, looking at his mum and at Arthur, who was now watching and listening intently to what was being said. He had caught Joe taking Bel’s hand in the dim light.
Agnes sat up straight and put both her hands in her lap.
‘I love Bel,’ Joe said, looking at his sister-in-law. ‘And,’ he added, ‘I think Bel also loves me.’
Bel could feel herself going crimson red. She felt mortified. All her feelings of shame came rushing to the fore.
‘I’m so sorry, Agnes,’ she stuttered. She tried to pull her hand away from Joe’s, but he held it tightly.
‘I didn’t mean this to happen,’ she stuttered, not knowing what to say, but needing to say something. The thought of losing Agnes’s love was unbearable.
‘I loved Teddy so much,’ she said, tears starting to well behind her eyes. Now guilt was overtaking the shame and making her feel wretched.
Arthur felt his own eyes prick. He had always thought that Bel and Joe made a lovely couple; knew without doubt that Lucille would be as pleased as punch should Joe become her stepfather, but of course he had never said anything. It was not his place.
Joe looked at Agnes for a response and her face changed and softened; she turned and took her daughter-in-law’s face in her hands and said, ‘I know you did, Bel. You loved my son with all your heart. I know that.’
Agnes’s softly spoken words unleashed Bel’s tears, which started cascading silently down her face.
‘But he’s gone now,’ Agnes continued. The deeply felt sorrow could be heard in her voice. ‘And all of our lives must go on.’ Agnes wiped Bel’s tears away from her face, just like she used to as a child.
‘If there is a love there between you and Joe, you can’t fight it. Our lives are too short and too unpredictable.’
Bel looked into her mother-in-law’s eyes and knew her words were spoken from her heart.
Before she had the chance to say anything else, the all-clear siren sounded out, and Joe got up and hurried over to open up the large wooden doors to the entrance of the basement.
Lucille went bounding back to her mum, as everyone stood up, eager to leave the darkness and get back into the light.
Joe helped the old fishwife up the stairs, as well as the old couple, and then the mum and her son.
Agnes gathered her skirts up and took Lucille’s hand; Arthur followed behind as they climbed the steps one by one.
As they waited for Arthur to make it to the top, Joe turned to Bel and took her quickly in his arms and kissed her. Bel kissed him back.
‘I do love you, Joe,’ she whispered in his ear.
Joe looked at Bel and felt his whole body fill with the most wondrous feeling. An incredible lightness of being.
As they both emerged out of the darkened chamber of the basement, they were temporarily blinded by the midday sunlight. Bel brushed some dust and dirt off her clothes as Joe stood and looked about him. He saw the old couple, and the mother and son, but the old fishwife was nowhere to be seen. It was as if she had just vanished into thin air, even though her wooden barrow with all her wares was still there, positioned just a few feet away from the entrance to the air-raid shelter.
‘Mummy and Doey!’ Lucille exclaimed aloud, positioning herself between Joe and Bel and taking hold of their hands and pulling them forward.
Bel smiled across at Joe at Lucille’s undisguised joy at finally succeeding in getting what she wanted. Her beloved Doey was going to be her father. And it couldn’t happen soon enough. She was beaming from ear to ear like the cat that had got the cream.
As the happy trio started to walk away, something caught the corner of Bel’s eye. She automatically jerked her head to the side just as a little robin redbreast fluttered down on to the wooden handle of the fishwife’s wheelbarrow. Bel stared as its little head twitched round, its black eyes blinking.
No one noticed Bel’s sudden sharp intake of breath. Nor the little bird itself.
Robins had always been Teddy’s favourite birds – had been for as long as Bel could remember. Whenever they were out and he spotted one, he would always point it out to Bel and tell her it was lucky and that she had to make a wish.
Bel fought back the tears as the little bird suddenly flapped its tiny wings and flew away.
This time she didn’t need to make a wish, for it had already been granted.
She had been given the sign she had so desperately wanted.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Since hearing the news about Jack’s ship going down, Gloria had barely slept a wink. Rosie was checking on her at least twice a day at work, and was passing on any scrap of news she heard from the powers that be. Rosie had told her that there had been fatalities, but that there had also been some survivors. Gloria had never been one to go to church, but over the past week she had been bombarding the Good Lord with a constant stream of pleas and prayers.
Gloria knew the women were concerned about her. She had tried to reassure them that she was fine and that she was just glad she was working as it helped to take her mind off her worries. But, more than anything, she knew she had to keep it together for the sake of the baby. She had started to suffer from heart palpitations and was glad she was now close to her due date.
Today was going to be her last day at work, before she finally put her feet up and waited for her and Jack’s baby to enter the world. Her doctor had suggested she go into the town’s Royal Hospital to give birth, especially because of her age, but Gloria had decided to have the baby at home – like she had done with her two boys. If she changed her mind, she was only a short bus journey away from the maternity ward.
When the midday klaxon sounded out, Gloria joined the rest of the women welders, and settled down with them at their spot in the partial shade by the quayside. Having unwrapped her jam sandwiches, she was using her huge, firm bump as a make-do-and-mend table.
Hannah had, as usual, also joined them. She was now two weeks into her training to become a draughtsman, or rather draughtswoman, and had taken to it like a duck to water.
Today the women were all unusually quiet – even Dorothy and Angie – and instead of chatting were simply enjoying the relative quietness, which, like clockwork, descended on the yard for exactly an hour from midday until one. The seven women were sitting in a semi-circle, looking as though they were in the stalls at the Palladium, but instead of watching a film on the big screen, they were enjoying the real-life drama of the River Wear.
The magic of the midday sun had created the illusion that the river’s surface had been sprinkled with diamonds, which were now dancing on the tips of the wash, and an eclectic mix of colliers, trawlers and paddle steamers were either doing what they had been built to do, or else resting and gently bobbing about on the grey-blue waters.
The women’s faces were all lifted up to the skies, enjoying both the feel of the heat of the summer sun and the cooling sea breeze. As they did so, the coast’s long-billed birds dive-bombed the river, resurfacing seconds after their disappearance with what looked like a sliver of silver in their beaks.
The peace of the women’s joint reverie did not last long, however.
Just a few minutes into their communal meditation, they all froze as they heard the distant murmur of what they had learnt over the past year was the approach of the Luftwaffe’s deadly bombers.
For a moment the women remained stock-still – not quite believing what they were hearing.
‘Oh my God! I don’t believe it! Look!’ Dorothy broke the silence.
As the deep mechanical murmuring became louder and louder, a huge metal Heinkel bomber appeared in the distance, bulldozing its way through the air and over the barbed-wired beaches of Roker and Seaburn. All other sounds were obliterated by the dull, relentless thumping acoustics of this airborne metal beast which was stomping its way across the skies.
The vision from above was curiously captivating, and the women welders couldn’t stop themselves staring as the lone bomber released a huge bullet-shaped bomb from its underbelly.
Then another.
And another.
The muffled, thunderous explosions caused the ground to vibrate.
Seconds later a massive cloud of smoke filled the air just half a mile or so from where they stood.
‘Come on, let’s get to the shelter – and quick!’ Rosie shouted out. The growing sound of confusion and dismay in the voices of their fellow workers started to buffet the air and could be heard alongside the thudding of hobnailed boots stamping across to the yard’s shelter.
‘Oh my God, I don’t believe it!’ Dorothy exclaimed again.
‘Dor, you’ve already said that once!’ Angie said, her voice warbling a little with nerves as she grabbed her bag and gas mask.
‘No! Look!’ She pointed at Gloria.
Gloria was standing, her sandwich still in her hand, a look of complete and utter shock on her face. The women’s eyes all travelled down to her waist and then to the trousers of her overalls.
There was a huge wet mark.
It meant only one thing.
‘My waters broke,’ Gloria said in a shocked, quiet voice.
‘Bloody hell, Glor, you don’t half pick your timing!’ Dorothy laughed more than a little hysterically, just as the ack-ack guns started drilling the air.
Rosie, Polly, Hannah and Martha all looked at each other with slightly desperate faces. None of them had a clue about being in labour – never mind the actual ‘giving birth’ part.
Never mind delivering a baby during an air raid.
‘Ange, your mum’s practically given birth to a whole football team,’ Dorothy shouted above the chaos, ‘you must have some idea what to do,’ she added hopefully as she hurried over to hold Gloria up; she had gone as white as a ghost and looked as though she was about to sink into the ground.
‘Yeh, but I wasn’t there when she had them all, was I?’ Angie shouted back, rushing over to Gloria and grabbing her other arm.
