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A trio of men, now in full view, immediately began crunching forward over the debris to ease clothes through the jagged hole. They appeared careful not to damage the merchandise as they began bundling goods onto a handcart. The smallest fellow then leapt agilely through the aperture and disappeared. Soon he was back to start lobbing his haul onto the cart.
Dawn squinted at him through the darkness; his stature was remarkably short and slim, putting her in mind of somebody, but she couldn’t recall who it was.
‘They’re stealing that stuff on purpose!’ Rosie gasped, turning to face Dawn. ‘They put in that window!’ Her astonishment transformed to glee. ‘Let’s go and help ourselves too. Me dad could do with a new overcoat.’
‘Fancy a spell in prison, do you?’ Dawn whispered, dragging on her companion’s arm to make her again sit down. ‘’Cos that’s what you’ll get if you end up mixed up in that lot.’
The courts were treating more and more harshly the ‘bomb-chasers’ who turned up undercover of raids to rob premises. While the police were otherwise occupied with saving lives, seasoned criminals exploited the mayhem, seizing the opportunity to go unhindered about their business. But there were grave repercussions facing the thieves if caught: prison terms and even a death sentence had been handed down. Dawn was shrewd enough to realise that she and Rosie could be in peril if these men felt they had nothing to lose by adding battery – perhaps murder – to their charge sheets.
The looters seemed well-organised; the barrow was already stacked high. Seething with rage though Dawn was at their vile behaviour, she’d no intention of interfering, or of advertising her presence. She hoped they’d soon be on their way so she and Rosie could also get going. They’d trouble enough negotiating the rubble and infernos, and finding some transport running to get them home, without these men adding to their problems. The gang would not want witnesses to their night’s work. Dawn realised she’d come to feel responsible for Rosie Gardiner’s safety yet she knew nothing about the girl other than her name. And Rosie had been quite rude to her when Dawn had tried to make conversation about what she’d been out delivering for her father.
The laden cart had been pushed about fifty yards along the street when Rosie’s impatience got the better of her. Shaking off Dawn’s hand she ran to the damaged shop front and scrabbled amongst discarded coat hangers and broken glass for something to take.
‘Greedy sods have taken the whole lot,’ she complained loudly. ‘Not even a bleedin’ scarf left for me dad.’
The slightly built man had heard her and swung about. He had hung back to light a cigarette while his cohorts – one tall and one stout – pushed the cart. At any other time Dawn would have thought them a comical-looking bunch: short, fat and thin. As it was she simply broke cover and yanked on Rosie’s arm to drag her away. Finally Rosie seemed to understand the peril in the situation. Hand in hand they hared in the opposite direction with the sound of flying footsteps behind them.
Dawn darted into an alley tugging Rosie after her. She kept going, her lungs burning with exertion, making sure to dodge around overflowing dustbins that smelled of cooking fat and rancid food, yanking Rosie clear of the obstacles too. Having tried a few back doors she finally found one unlocked. She shoved Rosie inside and quickly followed her.
Dawn raised a finger to her lips, miming that Rosie should keep quiet in case their pursuer was sniffing around close by.
They settled back against opposite walls, their chests heaving with every painful breath, straining to listen for a sign that they’d been followed.
Five minutes passed in the dim corridor without a sound other than their suppressed pants, but the young women’s eyes remained wide open and locked together. Suddenly Dawn took a tentative step towards the door and eased it open an inch. There was a sound of frantic industry in the area as the rescue crews raced from place to place. But there had been no more blasts close by. Further afield could be heard the rattling retorts of anti-aircraft guns and the crump of exploding bombs. Immediately Dawn was thinking of her mother and brother in the East End that was surely now bearing the brunt of an attack.
‘Cor … the smell of that Chinese grub’s making me feel hungry.’ Rosie sniffed the stale aromatic air in the building, her voice high and cheery as though she’d never been snivelling earlier. ‘I bet the kitchen’s through there. If they’ve all gone off down the shelter we could see if they’ve left any noodles in the pot and help ourselves.’
Dawn shook her head. ‘Time to go,’ she said quietly, realising the young woman might be on the verge of having hysterics, she was talking such rot.
‘I suppose I’ll have to settle for a bit of toast and dripping for me supper.’ Rosie pushed past Dawn into the street. ‘Hope a bloody bus is running my way. I’ve got blisters all over me feet from me new shoes …’ She swung the leather courts she’d been carrying in her hand.
‘Well … if yer a good gel, maybe I’ll give you a ride home on me cart and save yer tootsies.’
A man plunged out of the shadows, clamping his fingers over Rosie’s mouth, stifling her shriek of fright.
‘’Course, if you upset me I’ll feed you a bunch of fives and you won’t get home tonight … nor any night …’ he threatened close to her ear.
Dawn had been on the point of defending her companion when she felt as though her arms might be ripped from their sockets. Another one of the looters had sneaked from the gloom to drag her backwards.
Dawn stamped her heel down hard on her captor’s foot making him howl and loosen his grip. She spun to confront him. ‘Brave lot, aren’t you?’ She glared at the short fellow who’d had hold of her, then turned her attention to his stocky accomplice. ‘So where’s your lanky pal? Hiding the stuff you nicked?’ She guessed the third man had scooted with the night’s haul.
‘You’ve got a big mouth for a little gel,’ the big man snarled. ‘Now … you two are gonna keep your gobs shut if you know what’s good for you. You ain’t seen us do nuthin’ … ain’t that right?’
Rosie quivered her head in agreement, blinking in fright.
‘That’s good … very sensible, ’cos pretty gels like you two wouldn’t want yer faces rearranged, would yer?’ He pinched Rosie’s chin in hard fingers.
‘You leave her alone!’ Dawn shouted, pleased to see that Rosie had elbowed her tormentor in the ribs. ‘As you’re not off fighting the Germans the least you two brave souls can do is go and give a hand clearing up the mess they’ve made.’ She pointed at the orange glow in the sky, visible above the rooftops. The smell of charred timber was heavy in the air. Suddenly she was bubbling with fury. Her mother and brother might be digging themselves out of rubble … if they were lucky. She might not have a home or a family to return to, yet these vile men were out to make a profit from the raid.
Without a clue as to what had jarred her memory Dawn realised why the small fellow seemed familiar. Yet, according to his sister, Michael Williams had shipped out and was on his way to Malta with his crewmates. Gertie’s brother shouldn’t be in London at all.
‘What you staring at?’ Michael snapped. He’d got a brief glimpse of Dawn by the outfitters and thought he recognised her. Stupidly he’d mentioned that to his associates and they’d been furious at the idea they might be arrested before the goods were concealed in the warehouse. ‘What you staring at, I said?’ he snarled.
Dawn’s intuition was telling her to play dumb as though she didn’t know him. Inwardly she prayed that the horrible little man was for the high jump – from his sister and the authorities when they found out he’d deserted.
‘Never seen such a short-arse before, has she?’ the stout fellow taunted his cohort. He’d taken Dawn’s blank response at face value and was reassured that she didn’t recognise Midge, as Michael was nicknamed by those who knew him.
‘Shut yer mouth, Roof.’ Midge Williams was sensitive to such comments, especially when women were around.
‘That’s fuckin’ clever, ain’t it, blabbermouth?’ Roof roared. ‘Want to tell ’em me address ’n’ all, do you?’ He loosened his grip on Rosie to swing a fist at his sidekick.
While Michael nimbly ducked away from the punch Dawn saw her chance. She grabbed Rosie’s elbow and they bolted to the end of the turning, out into an empty lane then kept going. Finally Rosie’s whimpering penetrated the deafening thud of blood in Dawn’s ears. She let go of the hand that was straining in hers.
Rosie folded over at the waist gasping in breath, hugging her shoes to her waist. ‘Me feet are cut to ribbons!’ She hopped from foot to foot. She was in pain and still scared. ‘We lost ’em, d’you reckon?’ she moaned.
Dawn shrugged and grasping Rosie’s hand again she began tugging her towards the crossroads ahead.
‘This is me only pair of nylons,’ Rosie wailed. ‘They only had one ladder ’n’ all – now they’re like lace!’ She lifted a torn and bloodied foot for inspection. ‘Look at the state of me!’
‘You’ll live …’ Dawn returned shortly, aware of mingling shouts up ahead. Turning the corner she was relieved to see that people were milling about a few yards away. Mounds of debris had fallen to block the road and flames were dancing from a gaping hole that once had been a window of a house. She and Rosie merged into the crowd. There were cries from people desperate for help for an injured companion, while others could be seen wandering dazedly to and fro.
Despite the chaotic scene Dawn was still conscious of pursuit, and glanced over her shoulder to see if there was any sign of the men. They had followed! And they hadn’t been far behind even if they had taken a different route, no doubt in the hope of intercepting them.
Roof and Michael were standing at the mouth of a junction, watching them. Roof slowly raised a finger and jabbed it in their direction. Dawn swung her face away, understanding the threat in the looter’s gesture. But she knew they’d not hound them further with so many witnesses about.
CHAPTER TWO (#uc64c4289-e7d3-561b-b450-7ba6caccba8f)
‘Mum says she’s gone up to bed with a headache and to tell you to get me supper ready.’
Dawn had barely put a foot over the threshold when she received that greeting from her brother. Weary she might be, following her run-in with the crooks, but she was relieved to have arrived back and found that her family was safe. A house on the corner of their street had lost its side, showing how close to home the bombardment had been. Curbing her exasperation with her surly brother she managed to give him a smile.
‘You’re old enough to get your own supper ready, y’know.’ Dawn hung her coat over the back of a chair then rolled up her sleeves and went to the pantry to see what it contained. She didn’t hold out much hope of an appetising selection: if her mother were under the influence again the grocery shopping would have borne the brunt of the cost of her ‘medicine’.
‘Don’t want no tea anyhow,’ George muttered. ‘Lost me appetite cramped up in that Anderson shelter for hours. ’Nuf to make you want to puke, it is.’
‘Stop whining and thank your lucky stars you got out of it in one piece. I’ve only had a shop doorway for protection on my way home from work.’
Some neighbours had helped dig out their shelter and fractured a sewage pipe while doing so. Now the garden, and especially the Anderson, stank to high heaven because the repair hadn’t been done well.
‘Ain’t eating anything so you’re wasting yer time poking around in that cupboard.’ George slumped into a chair.
‘That’ll be the day, you turn down a plate of grub.’ Dawn didn’t want to fall out with her brother. He could be selfish and lazy when it came to lending a hand about the house but then a lot of teenage boys were like that.
It seemed daft to get tetchy over something trivial when she lived with a constant fear of rounding the corner of their street to find her home blown to smithereens. ‘There’s half a loaf and some plum jam left … d’you want a jam sandwich?’ Dawn moved a packet of custard powder and pounced. ‘Or …’ She turned with a large potato rotating in her fingers. ‘D’you fancy waiting while this bakes in the oven? There’s no cheese but you could put a bit of marge in it …’
‘Ain’t waiting that long!’ George whined. ‘I’m hungry now.’
‘Thought you said you didn’t want anything,’ Dawn reminded him wryly.
With a scowl, George slunk out of the kitchen, leaving his sister to spread jam on chunks of bread.
A few minutes later Dawn gave George his tea plate. She left him in the parlour with it balanced on his lap, listening to the wireless and tucking into his jam sandwich, and went upstairs to her mother’s room.
‘Want a cup of tea, Mum?’ Dawn whispered into the gloom. The stale air hit her, making her wrinkle her nose. But she didn’t retreat; she approached the bed and looked down at her mother’s drawn profile. ‘It’s − not yet ten o’clock, why don’t you come downstairs and I’ll make you a snack? We can listen to the news on the wireless.’
‘No appetite, dear,’ Eliza mumbled. ‘Don’t want to listen to the wireless. Just bad news all the time, ain’t it.’
‘There’s a big old moon out tonight, have you seen it? Shall I open the curtains a bit?’
‘No … the light makes my headache worse …’
‘The gin gives you a headache, Mum,’ Dawn snapped. The fug in the room was overpowering her, making her tetchy. Suddenly she reached beneath her mother’s pillow, feeling for glass. With a mutter she pulled out the half-empty bottle and tossed it onto the coverlet.
Eliza burrowed further into the bed. ‘It’s alright for you. You ain’t been stuck out in that shelter with the bombs banging down all around,’ she moaned. ‘Bitter cold it was; enough to give a body pneumonia let alone a migraine. Anyhow … what have you been up to today?’
‘I did a couple of matinees and finished early. I told you about it yesterday.’ Dawn knew it was pointless trying to reason with Eliza, so gave up. ‘Have the Gladwins got their national assistance sorted out?’
A family in the next street had been made homeless last week following a direct hit on their house. Thankfully they’d all been in a shelter so only the property had been lost.
‘Those Gladwin kids should have been evacuated long ago, in my opinion.’
‘George should have been evacuated as well.’ Dawn’s blunt comment drew a snort from her mother.
‘George is old enough to stay where he is. He’s nearly thirteen and getting a job soon.’
‘Yeah … but he wasn’t when war broke out, was he, Mum?’ Dawn reminded dryly.
‘I will have a cup of tea, dear.’ Eliza meekly changed the subject as she invariably did when stuck for an answer. She liked having George’s company and was determined to keep it.
On the point of leaving the room, Dawn returned to her mother’s bedside. By the time she got back with a cup of tea Eliza would have emptied the bottle if she left it where it was.
‘I’ll put this in the kitchen cupboard.’ Dawn ignored Eliza’s peevish mumble and went downstairs feeling tempted to empty what remained of the booze down the sink. But she didn’t because it would make matters worse. Her mother would only buy more with their housekeeping money.
‘Can’t get a bit of extra sugar for love nor money up at Royce’s.’ Eliza’s complaint about the corner shop preceded her shuffling into the kitchen.
Dawn had hoped that her mother might drag herself out of bed and come downstairs for her tea. Although Eliza’s wispy hair looked matted and in need of a brush the simple act of putting on her dressing gown and slippers seemed to have bucked the woman up. Dawn set a steaming brew in front of her mother as she settled down at the kitchen table. Planting her elbows on its wooden top Eliza sunk her chin into her dry palms.
‘Don’t like me tea without two sugars in it. It looks weak as well. Have you used fresh leaves, Dawn?’
‘There isn’t any tea … only the grouts in the pot.’
‘I’m fed up with this rationing lark; the war should’ve been over by now. It started off like a damp squib …’
‘But it’s gone off like a rocket now,’ Dawn returned bluntly, setting two pieces of bread on the grill ready to be toasted. She shoved the pan into position beneath the gas flame. She found her mind returning to the looters and whether she’d been right in thinking her colleague Gertie was related to one of them.
Gertie Grimes was mum to a brood of young kids as well as being a cleaner. The woman worked very hard, not only at the Windmill Theatre but doing odd charring jobs in the evening. Dawn hadn’t known Gertie long as the woman had only recently started at the Windmill. But Dawn liked Gertie and wondered how the woman would feel knowing that her own brother was looting while she was working her fingers to the bone. Of course, Dawn couldn’t be sure it had been Michael …
‘There was a letter for you today. Reckon it’s from Bill.’ George had appeared in the kitchen to give his sister that news and to slide his empty plate onto the table. ‘Wouldn’t mind a bit of toast if there’s any going.’ He patted his belly.
‘Don’t be so greedy, George!’ his mother scolded. ‘Me and your sister’s not had a bite of supper yet.’
Dawn got up and felt on the shelf where the post was put every day. She usually checked it morning and night but George’s demand to be fed as soon as she walked in the door had broken her routine. The kettle started to steam but she ignored it for a moment and smiled at the envelope she’d found, recognising her boyfriend’s handwriting.
‘Go on then; open it,’ Eliza nodded at the letter. ‘And take the toast out of the grill or it’ll be charcoal. And that kettle’s hissing fit to put me teeth on edge.’
Dawn pulled out the grill pan and turned off the gas under the kettle. She was ready to pop Bill’s letter in her pocket to savour reading it in private but knew it would be mean to deprive her family of a bit of interesting news. She inserted a thumbnail under the envelope flap.
‘Oh no! Not again!’ An air-raid siren had made all three of them stand stock still, grimacing up at the ceiling.
‘Turn off the lights!’ Dawn ordered her brother and he obediently hurried round turning off the gas lamps on the walls.
‘Blackout curtains are all in place; I checked earlier,’ Eliza said. She’d suddenly bucked herself up no end.
‘Get that bit of toast spread,’ George called to Dawn, still thinking of his belly despite the imminent danger. He was hovering close to the last lamp still alight, before plunging them all into darkness.
‘I’d better get something warm to put on,’ Eliza wailed. ‘I’ll catch me death in that ice box in just me dressing gown.’
Dawn whipped her coat off the chair back. ‘Here, you can put this on. Now hurry up …’ She settled the warm tweed about her mother’s shoulders then opened the back door and looked up, straining her ears and eyes. In the distance she could see anti-aircraft ammunition tracing fiery lines in the sky.
Together, Dawn and George helped their mother down the back step into the garden then they hurried arm in arm towards the bottom end where the corrugated roof of the Anderson shelter was just visible.
CHAPTER THREE (#uc64c4289-e7d3-561b-b450-7ba6caccba8f)
‘Had a letter from my Fred.’
‘Ooh, ain’t you the lucky one …’ Gertie Grimes’s acid muttering was intentionally audible.
Olive Roberts turned to give her colleague a withering stare. ‘My Fred always keeps in touch. Doesn’t matter how busy he is with all his duties, he’s always found time for his wife.’
‘Way you go on about him you’d think he was a brigadier general instead of a bleedin’ corporal.’
‘He’s got the responsibility of having men under him …’
‘That wouldn’t surprise me,’ Gertie snickered.
‘What you implying, you dirty-minded cow?’
Olive was a skinny, big-boned woman of above average height but she didn’t frighten Gertie who was tubby, a good six inches shorter and, at twenty-six, nearly ten years younger. Gertie stuck her hands on her hips, staring defiantly at Olive.
‘We all know you’re like a bitch on heat but there’s no need to think we’re all at it,’ Olive spat. ‘Four kids and only in your mid-twenties?’ she scoffed. ‘You need to get that husband of yours down the recruiting office. A bit of active service’ll take the lead out of his pencil.’
‘My husband knows his duty to his family comes first, so you can piss off trying to tell us what to do. Just ’cos you ain’t got five minutes for those boys of yours, don’t think we’re the same. My kids are my life.’ Gertie began poking her broom beneath a chair to drag fluff and hair out from beneath it. ‘You’re just jealous of us because we’re a happy family.’ If Gertie was annoyed that her colleague had hinted she was a scrubber she didn’t let on. Gertie preferred talking dirty to actually doing the deed. The other, as she called it, robbed her of sleep and always seemed to bring her another mouth to feed.
‘Jealous of you, Gertie Grimes? You’re jealous of me, more like, ’cos your husband might get you up the spout regular as clockwork but he ain’t man enough to join up, is he.’
‘You leave my husband out of this!’ Gertie threw down her broom in temper. ‘Don’t you dare say nothing bad about him. He’s a father with little ’uns to consider before he considers himself.’
‘Reckon he is considering himself … that’s why he’s sweeping roads instead of carrying a rifle,’ Olive scoffed, turning away to bring the row to an end.
