скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Do you consider yourself to be strong and healthy?’
‘Oh, yes, I’m fit as a fiddle,’ Rosie immediately returned.
‘You’ll need to be,’ Stella Phipps emphasised. ‘It’s surprising what a severed limb weighs. Then there are the stretchers to lug about. Lifting those to the upper position in an ambulance can put a person’s back out.’ Stella cocked her head, examining Rosie’s figure dubiously. She looked soft and petite, whereas most of the female recruits were strapping individuals.
‘Oh, I’m used to lifting …’ Rosie’s voice tailed off. She’d been on the point of adding that she’d got a chubby two-year-old who liked to be carried about but stopped herself in time. She was Rosemary Gardiner, spinster, no dependants. ‘My dad’s got a bad leg injury so I’ve lugged him up and down the cellar steps in the past, amongst other things.’
‘That’s the sort of stuff that comes in useful, but you do seem a bit weedy, dear, if you don’t mind me saying so.’ Stella took off her glasses to polish them. ‘Of course, you’re very attractive so no offence meant.’
‘I’m very capable,’ Rosie returned stoutly. ‘And I’ll prove it.’
‘I’m sure you’ll do your best, Miss Gardiner. It’s just that I feel obliged to impress on you that the work is arduous … and gruelling.’ Stella sighed. ‘Apart from physical sturdiness you need to be prepared for some harrowing sights. Have you had any medical training?’
‘No, but I’d quickly learn,’ Rosie said eagerly. ‘And the sight of a bit of blood doesn’t bother me. I tended to my dad when he got badly injured.’
‘The sight of “a bit of blood” is what you might encounter here when the sanitary bin in the ladies’ convenience overflows.’ Stella replaced her spectacles and gazed grimly at her interviewee, ignoring the girl’s blushing. If Miss Gardiner were serious about getting a job with the London Auxiliary Ambulance Service she’d better be prepared for some plain speaking. ‘If you’re accepted and your experience follows mine you’ll encounter rat-eaten bodies and scraps of terry towelling nappies containing burned flesh … all that remains of what was once a human baby.’ In the silence that followed Stella stabbed her pen nib repeatedly on the blotter, eyes lowered. ‘I’d been in the job just a fortnight when I observed a parachute descending and in the dark I thought it might be a German who’d bailed out. It was something far deadlier … a landmine. It exploded in Brick Lane about a hundred yards from where we’d just been called to another incident. That was during the winter of 1940 at the height of the Blitz.’ Stella paused. ‘We lost two of our ambulance crew that night.’
Rosie swallowed, hoping she didn’t look too green about the gills. She knew the deputy station officer wasn’t being deliberately cruel. In fact, she was being very kind. ‘I understand … I’m prepared for the worst,’ Rosie vowed in a quavering yet resolute tone.
‘You’re a better person than I then, Miss Gardiner,’ Stella replied. ‘I wasn’t up to it at all; I brought my heart up the first time I had to deliver a man’s leg to the fridge at Billingsgate Market.’ She saw Rosie shoot her a horrified glance from beneath her thick lashes. ‘Oh, that’s sometimes the first stop for odds and ends before they make it to the mortuary, you see. We’re not cannibals in England … not yet, anyhow, despite the paltry rations.’
Rosie smothered a giggle. Stella Phipps might be a fierce-looking dragon but she had a sense of humour. Rosie realised that it was probably an essential requirement for working in the LAAS, the London Auxiliary Ambulance Service. Having heard those stomach-churning anecdotes, she relaxed and decided she liked the woman who might soon be her boss.
‘I can book you on a first-aid course with the St John Ambulance if you pass the interview.’ Stella closed the manila folder in front of her. ‘Any driving experience? We could do with drivers.’ She sighed. ‘Most of the men we had in the service have gone off on active duty, you see.’
‘I used to drive my dad’s car,’ Rosie burst out. She was determined to be taken on; and if that meant embellishing the truth a little, she’d do it. The only driving she’d ever done had been at the age of fifteen when her father had taken her for a day trip to Clacton and after much badgering had allowed her to get behind the wheel in a country lane. It was the first and last time, though; Rosie had scraped the paintwork of John’s pride and joy after swerving into a hawthorn hedge while fighting with the stiff gears.
‘Do you still drive a car?’ Stella asked optimistically.
‘Um … no,’ Rosie owned up. ‘Since Dad got injured he’s sold the Austin. And I never actually passed a test.’
‘At least you’ve a head start, dear. An RAC course might be all that’s required to bring you up to scratch.’
Rosie nodded, feeling a fraud. None the less she added stoutly, ‘I’m sure I’ll do fine so long as I can remember where the brake is.’
Stella chuckled, then looked thoughtfully at the new recruit. The volunteers were usually keen, eager to be of service. Some lasted just a few weeks before they took fright. Others, like herself and her friend Thora Norris, had been serving since the start of the Blitz. In those days they’d turned up for work dressed in their civilian clothes without even a pair of sensible shoes between them. As the war dragged on the service had become a lot more organised and efficient.
‘Following the landings in Normandy it seemed as though we might wind down when victory seemed finally within reach,’ Stella said. ‘The routine here had become quite mundane. Oh, we still got called out, but on the whole we were dealing with domestic incidents or road accidents.’ She shook her head in despair. ‘You’d be surprised at how many dreadful injuries have been caused by the blackout. It’s as lethal as any Jerry bomb.’
‘But if the damage done by that bloody rocket coming over and causing havoc is anything to go by, you might need more volunteers …’ Rosie had anticipated what Stella Phipps was about to say and blurted it out, rather bluntly. She blushed, mumbled, ‘Sorry … language …’
Stella smiled. ‘You’ll hear worse … say worse … than that, dear, if you join our little team at Station 97. Letting off steam is essential in this line of work. So no apology required.’
Rosie smiled sheepishly.
The recent explosion in Bethnal Green had everybody talking fearfully about a fiendish new weapon, although Whitehall was doing its best to keep the details under wraps to avoid a panic. But rumours were already spreading that the blazing plane Rosie and her father had watched speeding across the sky was a bomb shaped like a rocket and there had been whispers of others falling across London.
‘I saw that first one come over; the noise it made was deafening and very eerie,’ Rosie said. When she noted Stella’s interest she rushed on, ‘Dad and I watched it from the garden. Dad thought it was a miniature Messerschmitt and wondered whether the pilot might bale out and land on our roof because it seemed to be on fire.’
‘Let’s hope the rumours are just that,’ Stella said. ‘We don’t want a return to the Blitz.’
Stella’s concern reminded Rosie of her stepmother fretting about London being heavily bombarded again. Doris had moaned constantly whilst they’d waited for the all clear to sound that night.
‘I’ll get one of my colleagues to show you around our station, though you might be posted to another one. Have you any preference where you’d like to be sent?’
‘As close to home as possible,’ Rosie answered quickly, following the older woman out into the corridor. ‘Here at Station 97 would be just fine.’
‘Righto …’ Stella said, striding along at quite a pace. ‘Of course when we get called out it’s not always to local incidents. If a Deptford crew for example are engaged on a major incident we might be required to cover for them on their patch.’
‘I understand,’ Rosie said, trotting to keep up with the older woman.
‘Have you seen Thora Norris?’
Stella’s question was directed at a brunette who was propped on an elbow against the wall, smoking. She turned about, flicking her dog end out through an open door into the courtyard. ‘I think she’s gone shopping with the new mess manager, ma’am. We’re low in the cupboards, by all accounts.’
‘I’m hoping there are no petrol cans stored out there, Scott.’ Stella Phipps angrily eyed the stub smouldering on concrete.
‘Sorry … didn’t think.’ The young woman trotted outside to grind the butt out with a toe, looking apologetic.
‘Mmm … and not the first time, is it?’
The young auxiliary was dressed in a uniform of navy-blue safari-style jacket and matching trousers. The letters ‘LAAS’ were picked out in gold embroidery at the top of a sleeve. She turned to look Rosie up and down. ‘How do? You mad enough to want to join us, then?’ She stuck out a hand and gave Rosie’s small fingers a thorough pump.
‘Nice to meet you, and yes, hope I’ve got the job.’ Rosie sent a peeking glance at the deputy station manager.
‘I think you’ll fit in,’ Stella said with a severe smile. ‘I’ll leave you in Hazel Scott’s capable hands.’ Her eyebrows hiked dubiously. ‘She’ll show you round the place and even if you’re not posted here, you’ll get a feel for things, Miss Gardiner. The auxiliary ambulance stations are all much of a muchness.’
‘Only ours is best.’ Hazel said sweetly, earning a smile from her superior.
‘Don’t mind her,’ Hazel hissed as Stella’s rigid back disappeared round a corner. ‘Bark’s worse than her bite and all that. I’ve worked in three different stations now and some of the DSOs – that’s deputy station officers to the uninitiated – well, they’re worse than the top dog.’ Hazel stuck her hands in her jacket pockets and chuckled. ‘Got something to prove, I suppose.’
‘She seemed very nice, I thought.’ Rosie managed to get a word in edgeways. She was glad to have any information about ambulance station life. She realised that there had been no need to turn up looking so demure: Hazel’s eyelashes were laden with mascara and crimson lipstick outlined her wide mouth.
‘Nice? Really?’ Hazel rolled her eyes in a show of surprise. She drew out her pack of Players and offered it to Rosie. ‘Don’t smoke?’ she snorted when Rosie declined with a shake of the head.
‘Used to … gave it up.’
‘Not for long in this place, you won’t. Couldn’t get by without a fag an hour, me.’ Hazel’s cockney accent seemed to have become more pronounced. She took a long drag on the cigarette then pointed with it. ‘Fancy a cuppa? Canteen’s just down this way.’
‘I’m Rosemary Gardiner, by the way. Rosie, friends call me.’
Hazel slanted a smile over a shoulder. ‘I’ll call you Rosie then, and I’m Hazel to my friends. Most of the others here address us by our surnames. But I don’t go for being formal with people I like.’
It was a typical canteen set with uncomfortable-looking chairs pushed under Spartan rectangular tables. Hazel led the way into the kitchen at the back and filled the kettle at a deep china sink. Having rummaged in a cupboard for some cups and saucers she turned to give Rosie a searching stare.
‘Got a man in your life?’
Rosie shook her head, having noticed that Hazel was glancing at her fingers, probably searching for a ring of some sort. Her mother’s wedding ring was wrapped in tissue in her handbag. ‘You got a boyfriend?’ Rosie always turned a leading question on its head. Her home life wasn’t up for discussion.
‘Mmm … he’s a sailor. Chuck’s due back on leave soon.’
‘Lucky you,’ Rosie said with a friendly smile.
‘Lucky him … if you know what I mean,’ Hazel winked a weighty eyelid, lewdly puckering up her scarlet lips. She cocked her head. ‘Can’t believe you’ve not got a feller.’ She tutted. ‘Sorry, that was a bloody stupid thing to say, all things considered. There’ve been so many casualties in this damned war.’
‘No, it’s all right; I’ve not lost anybody over there or here. Just not got anybody special in my life … a man that is …’
Rosie’s private smile as she thought of Hope went unnoticed by Hazel.
Hazel spooned tea into a small enamel pot. ‘Best get this down us before the hordes descend. Teatime at four thirty.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Oh, got half an hour to spare.’ She poured boiling water onto the leaves and stirred. ‘Come on, while that brews I’ll show you a bit more of the set-up.’
Hazel was tall and solidly built. From the young woman’s forthrightness Rosie reckoned Hazel was no shrinking violet when it came to cleaning up the human wreckage left behind after Hitler had dropped his calling cards.
‘This is the common room.’ Hazel waved at a young fellow who was filling some hurricane lamps ranged in front of him on a table. In response he called out a cheery hello.
‘New recruit, Tom,’ Hazel informed. ‘Tell Miss Rosie Gardiner she’s barmy; go on, she won’t believe me.’
‘Listen to Hazel,’ Tom called with a rather effeminate wave. ‘Scarper while you still can.’ He then turned his attention to the funnel he was using to drip oil into the lamps.
‘Tom Anderson is a conchie,’ Hazel said quietly. On seeing Rosie’s bemusement she explained, ‘Conscientious objector. We’ve had a few of those sent here. He might not want to fight but he’s a bloody godsend with the ambulances. He’s a driver and knows a thing or two about mechanics. He used to drive a tractor on his dad’s farm.’
Rosie hoped Tom was unaware that Hazel had been gossiping about him. His boiler-suit-style uniform made him look more like a plumber than an ambulance driver.
‘Table tennis …’ Rosie had spotted the net shoved into a corner, bats and balls scattered on the top. ‘I used to be pretty good at table tennis.’
‘I’ll give you a game if we end up on the same shifts,’ Hazel offered. ‘What did you do before this damned war buggered us all up?’
‘Worked in a theatre a few years back.’
‘Me, too!’ Hazel burst out, delighted. ‘Which theatre?’
‘The Windmill …’ Rosie started examining the table tennis bats. She never volunteered the information that she’d worked as one of the theatre’s famous nudes. But neither did she deny what she’d done, if asked directly.
The Windmill Theatre had stayed open throughout the war. But Rosie had never felt any inclination to go back for old times’ sake and see a show, or look for the few old colleagues who might remain working there.
‘I worked as a magician’s assistant,’ Hazel informed her. ‘He was always trying to have a fiddle down the front of me costume so I dropped him and went out on my own. I could do a bit of singing and dancing but never made much of a name for myself.’ Hazel click-clacked a few steps with toes and heels, hands jigging up and down at her sides. ‘I was in the chorus at the Palladium once when one of the girls went sick at the last minute.’ She sniffed. ‘Never got asked back, though. They said I was too tall for the chorus line.’ She gazed at Rosie admiringly. ‘The Windmill! Now why didn’t I try there!’ She grinned. ‘What’s the place like? Bit racy, ain’t it, by all accounts? All the servicemen flocked there. Chuck and his navy pals used to race to get a seat at the front. Bet you had a few followers, being as you’re so pretty.’
‘Take a look at an ambulance, can I?’ Rosie asked brightly. ‘I’d better see what it’s all about just in case I’m lucky enough to get to drive one.’
‘You think that’s lucky? Oh, come on, the tea’ll be stewed.’ Hazel led the way back towards the canteen. ‘Getting behind the wheel of a meat wagon is no picnic, I can tell you. Gilly Crump had held a motor licence for years yet she drove an ambulance straight into a wall in the blackout. Knocked herself sparko and ended up in the back of the blighter on a stretcher.’ Hazel chuckled. ‘Gave in her notice shortly after when she got out of hospital. You’ll need to do a few practice runs under instruction before they’ll let you loose on your tod with an assistant.’
‘You won’t put me off, you know.’
Hazel poured the tea then held out a cup, grinning. ‘You look like the sort of girl that does all right whatever she turns her hand to. Some people just have that sort of luck. Whereas me … I bugger up everything.’
‘I bet you don’t!’ Rosie returned, thinking ruefully that if Hazel knew her better she’d be revising her opinion.
Rosie rather liked her new colleague’s droll manner. She knew already that she’d chosen well in applying to the service; it didn’t feel like home yet, but it did feel right being here with Stella Phipps and Tom Anderson and Hazel Scott. In fact, she was itching to get started.
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_84106ad8-deae-5d6c-8b7b-fa39210b5984)
‘Didn’t know if you’d still come over for a picnic after what’s gone on,’ Gertie called out as soon as she saw Rosie rounding the corner.
‘’Course I’d come for a picnic. Been looking forward to it. Take more than a load of flying bombs to keep me away from our day out.’ Rosie grinned although she wasn’t feeling quite as chipper as she sounded. While heading to their rendezvous spot Rosie had also wondered if she was making a fruitless journey. She wouldn’t blame Gertie for wanting to stay day and night right by an underground shelter after losing three children in the Blitz.
‘Head off towards the park, shall we?’
Gertie nodded. ‘We had a couple of close shaves in our street. Get any blasts your way from those damned rockets?’
‘Where I live they’re always coming too close for comfort,’ Rosie replied with feeling. ‘Thankfully, no hits in the street. I saw the first one come over, though.’ She shook her head as she recalled that night. ‘Couldn’t believe my ears … or eyes.’
That first doodlebug had come down in Bethnal Green, blowing to smithereens the railway line and several houses. Unfortunately, Stella Phipps’ hopes that the rumours weren’t true had been dashed. Hundreds more of the missiles had whizzed overhead since in a relentless German onslaught. The sight of a fiery tail approaching, coupled with a sinister roaring, was dreadful enough, yet when the rocket’s engine died and it carried on silently for several seconds, the uncertainty of where it might drop was even more terrifying.
They turned in through the iron gates of a small square recreation area. A couple of urchins in plimsolls and short trousers raced past, almost colliding with them. Having mumbled an apology they hared off again. The local school had turned out and the park was crowded with mothers and children making the most of the afternoon sun. But Rosie noticed that a lot of women looked anxious and were keeping an eye on the open skies. The missiles hadn’t only been arriving after dark and there was a tension in the air despite the children’s joyful voices.
‘Here’ll do.’ Gertie swiped away a crust of bird droppings on a bench’s slats. Having sat down she delved into her shopping bag, pegged on the pram handle. ‘Brought a flask.’ Gertie held out the Thermos. ‘Not much in the way of a picnic, though. Sorry, me rations are low.’
‘I’ve got some Spam sandwiches.’ Rosie dug into her bag and found a small packet. She unwrapped it and offered the sandwiches to Gertie. ‘Would have been corned beef but Dad wanted to keep that to fry up for our teas tonight.’
‘Blimey! They’re fit for a queen!’ Gertie looked admiringly at the tiny neatly cut triangles, unlike the doorsteps of bread and jam encased in greaseproof paper that she’d brought along. ‘Thanks.’ She took a bite before unscrewing the Thermos and pouring two weak brews into plastic cups.
‘Bread’s a bit dry; only had a scraping of Stork left in the pack,’ Rosie apologised.
‘Tastes fine to me,’ Gertie said truthfully, taking another hungry bite. At home she never had sandwiches with butter or marge. Those rations were saved for her husband and kids.
‘Your little ’un’s good.’ Gertie nodded at Hope, sitting quietly in her pram. Victoria, on the other hand, was rocking herself on her bottom and banging her heels against the thin mattress to get her mother’s attention.
‘She’s too big for the pram now,’ Gertie said, giving her daughter’s nose a wipe. ‘Like to get out and walk, don’t you, Vicky?’ Gertie lifted her daughter out of the pram and let her sit beside her on the seat. ‘Behave yourself,’ she warned. ‘Be a good girl like Hope.’
‘You wouldn’t have said that if you’d heard the little madam last night,’ Rosie responded ruefully. ‘Thought Doris was going to have a fit …’
‘Doris?’ Gertie asked, holding out Rosie’s tea to her. She noticed Rosie’s expression change. ‘’S’all right … not prying, honest.’ Gertie rummaged for a jam sandwich. She broke off a piece for her daughter and Victoria stopped fidgeting and tucked in. ‘Can Hope have a bit?’
‘Yeah … I’ve got her bib somewhere.’ As Rosie fastened the terry towelling about her daughter’s neck she said, ‘Doris is my stepmother. Dad got married again recently.’
‘Take it things ain’t always easy between you two.’ Gertie followed up with a knowing laugh. ‘I had some of that with me mother-in-law. Mustn’t speak ill of the dead, though, so enough said.’ She handed a morsel of bread oozing thick dark jam to Hope who promptly took a bite then threw the remainder overboard.
‘She’s not very hungry,’ Rosie apologised. ‘Dad gave her a few biscuits about an hour ago. He spoils her.’ She glanced at Gertie. ‘You’ve probably guessed that I’ve not got a home of my own and live with Dad.’
‘Me ’n’ Rufus started off married life at my mum’s,’ Gertie replied flatly. ‘Couldn’t wait to get out and into me own place.’
‘Drive you mad, did they?’ Rosie asked.
‘Wasn’t them; they did what they could for us. But couldn’t take living with me younger brother.’ Gertie clammed up. She never spoke about Michael. She didn’t want to see or hear from him ever again. In fact she hoped that the nasty bastard was six feet under. He’d been a thorn in her side for decades; even as kids they’d not got on. Then he’d plunged a dagger in her heart when her little boys died; she blamed him for the children having been left alone in the house that night.
In Gertie’s experience most of life’s troubles revolved around the men in her life. And she reckoned that Rosie was reluctant to talk about Hope’s father because she held the same opinion.
‘Army, is he, your husband?’ Gertie asked sympathetically. ‘Rufus ain’t the easiest man to live with yet when he was in France I fretted no end about him. Almost came as a relief when he got invalided home; I know that’s a wicked thing to say.’ She wiped her jammy fingers on a hanky. ‘Sometimes I’d not have the wireless on in case of any bad news about the Middlesex Regiment. Didn’t want Joey to hear it; it didn’t seem fair landing that on him as well after he’d lost his brothers. ’Course, now his dad’s back we don’t have that bother.’ Gertie gave a bashful smile. ‘Sorry, going on a bit, ain’t I?’
