Chocolate Girls (13 page)

‘Been doing this long?’ Martin Ferris asked, loudly over the engine, and she jumped, her thoughts disturbed.

‘Yes,’ she shouted back. ‘Well, since the spring. That’s when I trained in first aid.’

‘Brave of you!’

Perhaps she didn’t catch his tone perfectly, but his words seemed to contain mockery. Was he another of these who didn’t believe women should be doing anything, or could do anything?

‘Not really,’ she replied stiffly. ‘Someone’s got to do it.’

She saw him nod. After a pause he said, ‘What do you do in the daytime?’

‘I’m at Cadbury’s. Secretarial.’

‘Ah, very nice. Marvellous place to work, I gather.’

Carrying on a conversation at the top of your voice was a discouragement to being too expansive. She tried to think of a brief reply to shout back. ‘Yes. Kind people. Very good employers.’

No doubt, she thought, he’s saying to himself. ‘Ah yes, a little clerk,’ in that condescending way Alec had about people in the bank. Quite a number of men of her age seemed to have this superior attitude. For a second she thought about John Steven, her friend from the Meeting House, now on a farm somewhere. He was never superior like that. Why had she and John never grown closer, more than friends? The thought startled her. She realized it had never occurred to her to think of John in that way.

‘Cadbury’s haven’t been bombed?’ Martin Ferris was asking.

‘No, thank goodness. Course, there’s a lot of green space round it, and it’s mostly covered over now. You know, camouflage.’

Again, the nod. They were quite close to the middle of town now and the atmosphere of chaos increased. A fire engine overtook them, its bell clanging, and there were fires ahead. She felt coiled like a spring, ready to leap into action, and the tension distracted her from the conversation. Perhaps she should ask him about himself, his work. Let me guess, she thought. Bank as well? Engineer, something in an office?

She was just about to ask when he cut in, ‘Here, this must be it.’

‘Yes, looks like it!’ she replied hoarsely, pulling up.

A warehouse was on fire and further along the middle of a row of houses had been hit and were also burning. There were men moving about like shadows in front of the flames, and the hoses snaked like intestines along the street. When they climbed out, the smoke and dust in the air set both of them coughing. Janet felt her eyes begin to smart. From further to the east they could hear explosions.

‘Over here!’

The ARP warden beckoned frantically. A man and woman who had been rescued from the least damaged of the houses were sitting hunched in the road and Janet and Martin were soon bandaging their injuries and trying to reassure them. Another man was brought to them and they loaded them in the van to take them out to the hospital.

‘We’ll be back,’ Janet said. It was clear they were going to be needed again. She stayed in the back with the injured while Martin Ferris drove back to the hospital, then rejoined him in the cab as they returned to Highgate. This time the sound of planes was close overhead. In the street one of the wardens seemed to be arguing with a policeman about who was in charge.

‘Well, that’s a lot of help,’ Janet snorted at the sight of them.

‘I’m not bloody standing here talking to you, yer blithering idiot,’ the warden was shouting, ‘when there’s people injured in there still . . .’ He turned away, then stopped, suddenly became aware of the growling engines above them all.

‘Get under cover!’ he roared.

‘Quick!’ Janet felt Martin tug her arm. ‘Under the van!’

They moved so fast that afterwards she couldn’t remember it, just finding herself squeezed face down under the van amid the ash and rubble of the street, in the stink of brickdust and drains. Her tin hat had slid over one ear, so she turned her head away from it and found that, in a position of strange intimacy, she was lying with her face up close to Martin Ferris’s back.

They left a dim light on in the school corridor and huddled together under the staircase with the nurses and auxiliaries. Miss Hansome began muttering to herself, very quietly, and Edie realized she was reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Snatches of ‘. . . daily bread . . . not into temptation . . .’ came to her. Edie reached out for a second and touched her hand. Miss Hansome jumped, then looked back at her with nervous gratitude.

The explosions began. Some of them were very close. Edie had never been so near the heart of the bombing before and her mouth went dry. One landed so close that the whole school shook and rattled and they heard the sound of breaking glass.

‘Jesus Christ Almighty,’ one of the auxiliaries said, with too much sincerity to be accused of blasphemy.

The ack-ack guns started up, blasting out from their emplacements round the city. They let out a small cheer.

‘Go on, get ’em. Get the buggers!’

Every time there was a bang everyone flinched, instinctively. The noises went on and on. Some time later the front door burst open and for a second the two people who came through it were silhouetted against the glowing world outside. Edie made out an ARP warden, supporting an elderly man on her arm. Both looked pale and strange, coated in dust, except for the deep red gash on the man’s head.

‘He was out in it,’ the warden said. ‘He’s had a blow on the head – doesn’t know what he’s doing.’ And she was off again, out through the door.

The nurses jumped into action. Edie followed the warden to the door, impressed by her bravery, and stepped outside for a moment. The air was acrid with smoke and she could see that there was a fire burning not far away, behind the houses opposite. The night was coppery-red and alive with the sound of shouts and fire-engine bells and the stern rattle of ack-ack fire. The sound of the first lot of planes was receding. Edie heard voices moving closer and saw two women supporting each other along the street.

‘That the first-aid post, bab?’ one of them asked shakily.

‘Yes – d’you need some help?’

Both of them looked dazed and were covered in cuts. Edie helped them inside.

‘Mrs Weale?’ Mrs Lordly’s voice rang out. ‘Would you please come and help me with this urn? I think we shall soon be needed in the church.’

Between them they lifted the heavy urn on to the trolley and wheeled it into position. Edie tried to concentrate on what she was doing and block from her mind the unmistakable drone of planes moving closer outside. The nurses were doing their best to make the growing queue of injured comfortable in the first classroom. Edie had been sent back to the kitchen for the sugar and was on her way back when once more the door was flung open and a girl of about nine years old ran in, wide-eyed, lank hair hanging either side of her cheeks. The first person she saw was Edie and she ran to her, panting so hard she could barely speak.

‘Help, help me!’ she gasped. ‘It’s our mom. ’Er’s come over poorly and Mrs ’Iggins ain’t at ’ome and I dunno where to find ’er . . .’

‘What’s the matter with the child?’ Mrs Lordly demanded.

‘She says her mother’s poorly,’ Edie told her. ‘What’s your name, love, and where’ve you come from?’

‘My name’s Lizzie: I’m from down the road. I think it’s the babby coming ’cos Mom’s shouting out and there’s only me and me brother in the ’ouse with ’er.’

‘Could one of the nurses go?’ Miss Hansome wondered over Edie’s shoulder.

‘No need for that.’ Mrs Lordly untied her apron. ‘We can’t spare them from here. Too much going on. I shall need some help.’ She eyed Edie doubtfully. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve any experience of childbirth?’

‘Well – yes. I have,’ Edie admitted. ‘I mean . . .’

‘Right. Needs must. You’d better come along.’ Mrs Lordly jerked her head at Miss Hansome. ‘
You’d
be no use at all. I hope you can at least manage to man the urn without creating chaos? Come along.’

Edie trotted obediently after her. ‘But aren’t we s’posed to stay here?’ she asked as they both plunged out into the mayhem of the streets.

‘Our role is to go wherever we’re needed.’

Outside was almost as bright as day. As they marched along the street of mean, closely packed terraces behind Lizzie’s frantic figure, Edie began to feel a reluctant admiration for Mrs Lordly. She might be bossy and rude but she was certainly brave. How on earth was she going to know what to do, though? Edie felt terrified at the thought of dealing with this unknown woman, labouring alone in her house. But this anxiety was blocked out by fear for her own life as the planes drew closer and roared overhead. She prayed with every fibre of her being for them to pass over. A moment later she and Mrs Lordly plunged after Lizzie along a dark entry and in at the back of a house. As they did so, there were muffled explosions in the distance.

At the back they found a neat, homely room with an oil lamp burning on the table amid the remains of a meal. The woman of the house, in her mid-thirties with bobbed, dark hair, was kneeling over one of the chairs, gasping with pain. Beside her was a little boy of about seven, watching her with frightened eyes. He had one hand on her shoulder.

‘It’s all right, Mom,’ Edie heard him say, with surprising composure. ‘They’ve come to ’elp yer.’

The woman looked up in the midst of her pain, saw the two women in their uniforms and started sobbing with relief.

It was pitch dark under the ambulance. Janet lay tensed beside Martin Ferris, eyes clenched shut as the planes passed over them.

‘Thank God.’ The words escaped her without her even willing them. Only then did she become aware of a sharp piece of masonry digging into her ribs.

‘Are you all right?’ Martin shouted.

‘Yes. You?’

‘Perfectly. I think it’s safe to move now.’

Occupants of the street resumed their search amid the rubble. Someone had heard cries from under the ruins of one of the houses. A woman, by the sound of it. The warden was shining a torch over the wreckage. Janet and Martin pushed through the knot of people who were watching.

‘Anything we can do?’ Martin asked.

‘Stay here and keep her talking for a few minutes, will you? We’ll need reinforcements for this. Christ knows when they’ll turn up.’

‘Can you see anything?’

‘No – not a thing.’ And the man was gone.

‘Is anyone there?’ the voice wailed from under the rubble. It was a petrified, sobbing voice, neither very old nor very young. ‘Don’t leave me!’

‘It’s all right,’ Janet called out. ‘There’s someone here – you’re not on your own.’

‘It’s Mrs Rossi,’ a woman said behind them. ‘Poor soul. Her legs ain’t so good.’

‘Oh, help me! Please help me! Am I going to die . . .?’

Martin glanced sombrely at Janet and squatted down as near as he could get to the voice.

‘Hello?’ He said hello a number of times, trying to calm the woman, to make her listen. ‘Can you tell me your name?’

‘Mrs . . . Mrs . . . I can’t remember. Oh, Mrs . . .? I don’t know my name.’

‘Don’t worry. You’re not alone here, and we shan’t leave you. They’ve gone to get help to lift some of this off you and then we’ll get you out. Are you in much pain?’

The woman said that her back was hurting and her legs and please, please would someone get her out of here, it was horrible, and she started to cry again. Janet squatted down beside Martin.

‘Will you fetch something from the kit that I can give her?’ Martin said. ‘A sedative.’

‘D’you want me to . . .?’ Janet asked. After all, it was his first time out!

‘I’m a doctor.’ He said it quietly, patiently. ‘Almost, anyway. Good practice for me.’

‘A
doctor
?’

‘Medical student. Final year.’

‘Oh, I see.’ She heard herself sounding abrupt. Why hadn’t he
said
? ‘I’m sorry. I’ll bring it over.’

When she came back she heard his voice talking on and on to the woman, and found its low, assured tone comforting herself. She felt a new, reluctant respect for him.

‘The main challenge is going to be getting close enough to give it to her,’ he said. ‘A little phenobarbitone should calm her down for a while.

‘I’m going to try to reach you to give you something to help the pain,’ he called into the darkness. ‘Tell me if you feel me touch you, all right?’ To Janet he said, ‘Give me a hand, will you? We’ll have to be damn careful not to shift anything and make it worse.’

Janet didn’t really think they would be able to reach her. Her voice sounded clear, but too far away. Even with her arms stretched to the fullest extent, all Janet’s hands met were rough surfaces and pockets of air.

‘It’s no good,’ she gasped. ‘I can’t feel anything.’

Martin let out a grunt with the effort of stretching. ‘Is that . . .? I can feel something . . .’ After a moment he seemed more sure. ‘Can you feel that, ma’am?’

‘Mrs Rossi! I’m Mrs Rossi!’

‘Well done,’ Martin said. ‘That’s good. Now, Mrs Rossi – is that you I can feel down there? Can you feel my hand?’

‘No – where? I can’t feel anything. Oh, Lord God.’ She set up a rhythmic muttering. Janet realized she was saying the rosary.