Always in My Heart (30 page)

‘Where is the platform?’ asked Jane nervously.

‘Strike a light, you ain’t gotta bleedin’ clue, ’ave yer, darlin’?’ he said as he scratched his balding head and adjusted his warden’s cap. He took Jane’s arm rather roughly and dragged her towards one of the tunnels. ‘Over ’ere. Find a space and stay put until the bleedin’ all-clear sounds.’

Jane glared at him as she wrenched her arm from his grip. ‘I do
not
appreciate being manhandled,’ she said imperiously.

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Bleedin’ ’ell, love, you’ll get more’n man’andling if Gerry drops ’is bombs on yer head.’ He wandered off, still chuckling.

‘What a horrid man,’ muttered Jane as she brushed his dirty handprint from her coat sleeve. ‘No porter in Malaya would
dare
touch me like that.’

‘This isn’t Malaya, and he’s not a porter.’ The cultured tones came from an elegantly dressed woman who was sitting on her suitcase by the tunnel entrance. She smiled up at them, her ageing face still bearing a faded reminder of her youthful beauty. ‘Welcome to
the London Underground,’ she continued. ‘If I squeeze up a bit, there’s plenty of room to sit here.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sarah. She and Jane introduced themselves and perched on their cases, aware of the filthy floor which would damage their lovely new coats.

‘Lucinda Sutton-Smythe,’ said their companion. ‘This might not be the most salubrious of surroundings, but it is considered one of the safest.’ She smiled and patted Jane’s hand. ‘The ARP warden was only doing his job, dear. He meant no harm.’

She fitted a cigarette into an ivory holder, lit it and blew a stream of smoke towards the tunnel roof. ‘My husband and I were in India for many years,’ she continued, ‘so I do understand why you objected to his mauling, but in times like these one has to forgive a certain lack of finesse.’

‘He startled me, that’s all,’ said Jane as she gazed in wide-eyed wonder at the great crush of people sprawled from one end of the platform to the other.

Sarah could see chairs and beds set up at the far end, as though people were permanently camping down here, and everyone looked quite happy and settled as the siren continued to shriek above ground. She didn’t like being buried so deeply – hated the sooty smell that was interlaced with the stink of sweat and much worse.

‘How long will we have to stay down here?’ she asked fearfully.

‘For as long as it takes the Luftwaffe to shed their
bombs on poor old London,’ said Lucinda. She regarded them with interest. ‘You both seem far too tanned to have lived through an English winter,’ she said dryly. ‘I’m guessing you’ve just arrived on one of the convoys from the Far East. Why don’t you tell me what it was like? It might take your mind off the raid.’

As Jane began to talk about their home in Malaya and their dash to Singapore, Sarah was astonished by how calm Lucinda and everyone else in the tunnel was, for she could now hear the rumbling of enemy planes overhead, and felt the vibrations of the exploding bombs tremble through the walls of the tunnel. Dust sifted down from the arched ceiling, and loosened tiles fell off the walls, but no one seemed to notice and simply carried on reading their newspapers or chatting as if this was just another ordinary day.

Realising how tense she was, Sarah eased her neck and loosened her grip on her handbag and gas-mask box. There was a certain sense of fatalism about sitting down here while the enemy dropped bombs – and she could hear it in the defiant song that had been started further down the track, and the happy laughter of several children who were playing hopscotch on the platform. If they were going to die, then they’d go out singing. It seemed one had to be stoic in England, to deal with the inconveniences and fears that haunted each day, and put on a brave face. But it was going to be an awfully hard lesson to learn.

The all-clear sounded over an hour later and they
slowly climbed back up the endless stairs to the station. The smell of burning was strong and there was a heavy layer of smoke blotting out the weak sun as fire engines and ambulances roared down the road, their bells ringing frantically to clear the way.

They said goodbye to Lucinda, who was on her way to Bournemouth to live with her sister, and headed back to their platform. Their train was delayed by at least another hour until repairs could be done to the lines.

‘I’m hungry,’ said Jane as they wandered back onto the concourse and she eyed the refreshment room longingly. ‘Do you think we could have some breakfast?’

Sarah’s stomach reminded her that they’d had nothing but biscuits since their last lunch on board the
Monarch
. She thought about the sandwiches which were still in her pocket, decided she couldn’t face them no matter how hungry she was, and quickly dropped them into a nearby rubbish bin. Luckily, the grease hadn’t ruined her coat.

‘Pops managed to change some of our Malay dollars into British pounds, so as long as it isn’t too expensive, we can find something to eat.’ They smiled at each other, and feeling rather more cheerful, headed across the concourse in search of the traditional English breakfast of sausage, bacon and eggs that they’d heard so much about.

The refreshment room was painted an unappetising brown and cream; the floor had been covered in some
sort of shiny, rubbery material that had worn right through in places; and the wooden tables and chairs bore the scars of years of wear. The overall smell was of old pipe and cigarette smoke laced with cheap perfume, stewed tea and burnt toast.

The woman who stood behind the high wooden counter had her hair covered with a knotted scarf, and her broad frame and large bosom were wrapped in some sort of flowery overall. She seemed to be deep in conversation with the lady at the end of the counter, and didn’t look at all pleased to have her gossip interrupted.

‘I can do you tea and toast, or a coupl’a sandwiches,’ she replied to Sarah’s query about breakfast. ‘Eggs is orf, and of course bacon and sausage ain’t been seen since Hitler mucked things up.’

‘What’s in the sandwiches?’ asked Sarah warily.

‘I can do you a round of spam with tomato sauce, or a round of corned beef with mustard.’

‘I think we’ll just have toast and tea.’ She passed over a precious pound note.

The woman looked at it askance. ‘Ain’t you got nothing smaller?’ At Sarah’s apologetic shake of the head, she heaved a great sigh and scrabbled in her till, muttering about people having no idea how hard it was to get change – and didn’t they realise there was a war on.

The tea was as weak as dishwater, and the toast had the merest hint of the infamous margarine smeared over it. There was no jam, and no sugar to put into
the tea, and by the time they’d finished this meagre breakfast, they were still hungry.

They went back onto the concourse and Sarah bought a newspaper and a packet of Park Drive cigarettes. Then they settled down amid the ebb and flow of people while they waited for their train to be announced. Jane read the newspaper from cover to cover while Sarah lit a cigarette and tried not to think about how late it was getting. If the train didn’t arrive soon they would get to Cliffehaven in the dark, and the great-aunts might already be in bed.

‘Which aunt should we try first?’ she asked Jane some time later.

‘Cordelia,’ said Jane. ‘She’s the younger of the two, and will probably be more likely to take us in.’

Once again, Sarah was surprised by Jane’s mature good sense. She nodded and was about to reply when the announcement came over the loudspeaker. Their train had arrived. She stubbed out her cigarette, helped Jane gather her things and headed for the platform.

Their second-class carriage was very different to the one they’d had on the Glasgow train, and far more comfortable. There were two rows of four padded seats facing one another in the compartment, with luggage racks overhead and antimacassars on the headrests. The windows had blackout blinds but hadn’t been boarded over, and could be opened by pulling on a leather strap, and there was a sliding door to shut out the draught that whistled along the corridor.

Settled on either side of the window, they
looked forward to actually seeing something of the countryside they would be passing through. And as other passengers joined them in the carriage they were relieved to see they weren’t once again surrounded by squalling babies and fractious toddlers.

Then the guard blew his whistle and the train began to pull away from the station. They were on their way.

Soon the chugging train was crossing the Thames, and they both leaned forward eagerly to try and catch sight of the famous bridges and the Houses of Parliament. Then they were plunged into endless suburbs, where row upon row of terraced houses backed onto the railway embankments. Everything was unrelentingly gloomy, with soot-stained bricks, dreary backyards, untended gardens and abandoned bomb sites over which great palls of grey smoke swirled from the many chimneys.

They sat back in their seats, disappointed by the view, and while Jane dozed, Sarah smoked another cigarette and read the newspaper. That was all doom and gloom too, and she gave up on it with a sigh of frustration.

But as the train travelled further south the carriage emptied and the scenery changed. Now there were rolling fields, rivers and streams and tiny leafy hamlets. Little villages with ancient stone churches and thatched-roof cottages followed small, neat towns where the gardens had been turned to vegetable plots and bomb damage had been minor. Then there were
great sweeps of forest and patchwork fields around isolated farms where huge, plodding Shires pulled ploughs and heavily laden wagons as flocks of birds trailed them.

‘Oh, how lovely,’ breathed Jane. ‘I wish I could ride one of those. They look so gentle, so patient.’ She turned to Sarah, her eyes glistening with tears. ‘I do miss my poor Trixie. It wasn’t her fault she fell over that fence and caught me with her hoof – I shouldn’t have forced her to jump it when I knew she was so nervous.’

Sarah was startled by this declaration, for it was the first time Jane had ever mentioned the awful fall she’d taken when out riding four years before – and her parents had decreed that it must never be mentioned. ‘I didn’t realise you remembered what happened,’ she said carefully.

‘It’s come back bit by bit – and of course I realise poor Trixie hadn’t been sold like Pops told me. She must have broken her leg and been put down.’ She was silent for a long moment as she continued to gaze out of the window, and the labourers stopped what they were doing and waved to the train. ‘Those are girls,’ she said breathlessly as she waved back. ‘I wonder if they’d let me do that sort of work so I could be with the horses again?’

‘I don’t know,’ Sarah replied hesitantly. ‘Mother and Pops certainly wouldn’t want you anywhere near horses. You’d have to be very strong and fit to take care of such big animals, and it looks like extremely hard
work. Those girls are probably farmers’ daughters and used to the life.’

‘Maybe,’ murmured Jane, ‘but I saw a poster at the station, asking for women to join the Land Army. It didn’t say anything about having to be a farmer’s daughter – and Pops did look after trees, so that must count, surely?’

‘We’ll see,’ Sarah replied non-committally. Her parents had laid down strict rules about Jane being kept away from horses, and although Sarah understood their well-meaning concern, she thought the ruling was harsh. Jane had always loved horses, was a competent rider and knew how to look after them – from what she’d just said it was clear she’d really missed not being around them.

An hour later and the scenery changed again, with huge stretches of marsh which were alive with birds, and fields where great flocks of sheep roamed. Farmhouses huddled close to where the hills were scarred with chalk and gulls hovered in the darkening sky above a glittering sea. They must be getting close to Cliffehaven.

The train chuffed into the station, where it was clear the enemy bombers had done their best to destroy every last bit of the station buildings. Clambering down to the platform, they hurried away from the clouds of steam and smoke and stood by the strange-looking hut that had ‘Ticket Office’ painted on the corrugated iron roof.

Breathing deeply of the refreshing salty air, they
looked to the bottom of the long hill and saw the sheen of the sea and felt revived. Cliffehaven might look very different to Singapore and Kuala Lumpur, but it wasn’t dowdy at all despite the bomb damage, for there were trees bursting with blossom, white-painted houses and red roofs.

‘Evening, girls,’ said the elderly stationmaster. ‘You look like you don’t come from these parts. How can I help you?’

‘We’re looking for Havelock Road,’ said Sarah, checking on the address.

‘Nice for some,’ he said enigmatically. He pointed down the hill. ‘Go almost to the bottom of the High Street, and then take the last road on your right. You can’t miss it. Havelock Gardens is on the corner, with a park on the other side, and if you go any further you’ll be in the English Channel.’

Sarah thanked him and tucked the precious bit of paper back into her handbag before they began to walk down the steep hill. There were several bomb sites along the way, but there were also shops and a couple of places that looked like the pubs she’d heard about from her friends who’d visited England. A rather imposing Town Hall was protected by a wall of sandbags, as was a bank and a block of offices. It all felt very strange and rather daunting, for it was so different to anything she’d ever known, and she just hoped that they could find their feet quickly and be able to settle until it was time to go home again.

They continued down the hill, past another huge
bomb site, and the almost empty window of a large department store called Plummers. There was a shop called the Home and Colonial, which appeared to sell tinned food as well as other things, and a recruiting office for the RAF. The smell of the sea was very strong now, and they could hear the seagulls crying on the light wind which ruffled the waves, and see the barbed-wire barricades that had been erected all along the promenade.

‘There’s the park,’ said Jane. ‘Come on, we must nearly be there. I do hope Aunt Cordelia’s in. I’m absolutely starving.’