DECEMBER 1940
I suppose I knew that she’d be dead before I got there. It didn’t seem possible that others should have died, but not her. I saw the house, or what was left of it. A gap in the street, like a broken tooth. There were no windows, the front door hung off its hinges, and I could see that the ceiling plaster was down and that soot and dirt were everywhere. Nothing looked burned, so I knew that it wasn’t an incendiary. These could be put out with earth and water. That much I’d managed to understand from the papers, not that she would have bothered to do anything about it. It looked like the blast had come from a nearby bomb. And then I saw that the houses across the road had been hit. The ARPs were still cordoning off the road. I saw old Mr Miles. On his back he had a leather coat so mangled it looked like someone had thrown a dead cow over him. When he saw me, he handed his roll of string to another warden. I ducked under the barrier. He put his hand on my shoulder. I’m sorry, love. He took off his tin helmet. You know what she was like. She wouldn’t go in the shelter. She made us laugh, though. She said, I’ve never had a front seat in a war, and I’m not missing my chance now. Where is she? I asked. They’ve taken her off in a corporation bus with the others. It were not good around here as a lot of folk took their chances. They weren’t banking on a direct hit. If you’re a bit squirmish, you’d best make yourself scarce. We’re not finished yet, and there’s more trapped under that lot. I looked behind him as his fellow men, cigarettes dangling from their lower lips, feet stamping to keep themselves warm, shovels in hand, prepared to dig again in the rubble. You’ll get a chance to see her later, love. They’ll not be burying anyone for a while. Can’t do nothing for them. I expect they’ll want you to give identification. And don’t worry about your household salvage. There’ll be no looting while we’re about. So don’t worry. You can come back later today, or tomorrow. Sort out your stuff. I looked into Mr Miles’s tired and crease-lined face, and I knew that this kind old man was near the end of his tether. I wondered how many others he’d had to talk to like this.
DECEMBER 1940
By mid-afternoon it had started to snow. I was sitting in the park watching the endless flow of people filling tin baths from the lake. There was no water. After Mr Miles had sent me on my way, I spent a couple of hours wandering around the town in a daze. I’d noticed the long queues at standpipes. In some lucky streets, the water cart arrived with its large round cylinders. People with buckets and jugs and saucepans, whatever they had, pushed and shoved. The water, flecked with charcoal and lime, spluttered out of large taps, but at least you could drink it. And then the water-cart man shut off the taps and there was no more. That’s it until tomorrow, loves. And off he went to another lucky street. Some went back to the standpipes. I continued to walk and saw folk rummaging like paupers among the rubble of their houses. I spied on people’s lives. The fronts of their houses were often blown clean off, leaving the furniture still arranged, books and crockery in place. In one house, a hole in the back of a cabinet, that must have been previously hidden against a wall, was now revealed for all to see. Nearly everybody’s roofing slates had slid down and into the street, exposing sad, gaping lattice work. Some had been really unlucky. The insides of their houses had collapsed, mixing brick, wood and glass with papers, curtains and clothes. Ladders were up against what walk remained, and broken furniture was stacked neatly on the pavement. I couldn’t stand it any more. The Church Army Mobile Canteens, the WVS Mobile Canteens, the Salvation Army Mobile Canteens, all bringing food and drink to the workers and the homeless. In one street, Jerry had dropped a thousand-pounder bang in the middle of the tram track. The overhead wires were all down. A little girl was bawling as she looked at the burned-out shell of the tram. And outside a barber’s shop, a sign: ‘We’ve had a close shave. Come and get one yourself.’ I walked on in my dazed state, trying not to think of her lying wherever she was. And then I went into the park where I must have fallen asleep. The snow woke me up, cold flakes slapping against my cheeks. I opened my eyes and peered through the pale, watery light of afternoon. It was then that I saw people filling tin baths from the lake. I decided to go back to the village. There was no point in going back to the house and sorting through her things. They’d be wet and useless. And no point in going to find her. She didn’t need me at this moment. I decided to get back to Len. To get back to the village.
DECEMBER 1940
The corporation buried them today. Christmas Eve. Some had private services, but most went at the same time. They were all there, the dignitaries. The Lord Mayor, representatives of the Civil Defence Services, clergy from all denominations. I stood in the snow. It had snowed for nearly two weeks now. I thought of her standing looking up at the skies as Jerry dropped his bombs. The best cinema show in the world. I imagined that’s how it must have looked to her. Standing out there in the cold night air, with all that noise, and the red glow of the fires lighting up her neighbourhood. I could picture the child-like pleasure on her face. And then the service was over and we began to leave the cemetery. I remember thinking that it didn’t feel like Christmas. And that it was so cold that I would have to ask the fuel controller for extra coal.