Anne Bennett - A Strong Hand to Hold

‘With our Linda in charge?’ Patty said. ‘You must be joking.’

‘You gave her a right bloody turn, I’ll tell you,’ Beattie said. ‘Bloody great fool you were to go out with that cold on you.’

Patty shrugged. ‘Least it gives you a chance to say, “I told you so”,’ she said with a smile, and went on, ‘Don’t fuss, Beat, I can’t bear fuss and I was bored stupid upstairs. I’ll go to bed early tonight and be as right as rain in the morning.’

‘Don’t think of coming into work this week,’ Beattie lectured. ‘And don’t forget, I won’t be able to take the babbies to nursery tomorrow, being as I’ll be living it up in Sutton-bloody-Coldfield. My Bert will have to see to himself tomorrow morning.’

‘He can come here for his breakfast if he wants,’ Linda said, coming in with the cups of tea on a tray.

Beattie accepted a cup from Linda and said, ‘No ducks, you got enough on your plate as it is looking after the nippers and all. For Gawd’s sake, Bert can make himself a few slices of toast and a cup of tea. Won’t kill him, will it? Might even make him appreciate me a bit more, eh?’

‘Aye, and pigs might fly,’ Patty chuckled and to Linda she said, ‘Pull the curtains, bab. We need a light on in here – it’s as black as pitch.’

Linda did as she was bid, glad to shut out the cold night. The rain hammered on the panes like hailstones and she shivered. ‘Hate to be out in this,’ she said.

‘Yeah, pity them Londoners trekking down the Underground night after night,’ Beattie said. ‘God, it doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘Yeah, and the papers going on as if it’s some great party, as if they choose to do it,’ Patty said. ‘Bleeding fools. I’m glad my sister Lily’s out of it, any road. She was right down by the London docks, you know? How she was supposed to look after all those kids down the Underground, or somewhere just as bad, I don’t know. Any road, she was all for going back home when no bombs fell. It was only her hubby Sid who made her stay; he’d got himself a good job and the kids were settled into schools. I told her to stick it out. I bet she’s bloody glad now.’

‘Basingstoke she was sent to, weren’t she?’ Beattie said. ‘Where’s that then?’

‘Down south somewhere,’ Patty said vaguely. ‘Don’t rightly know for sure, just know it ain’t in London.’

‘Point is,’ Beattie said, ‘my Bert said it shows you now, after the raid on Coventry, that being so very far from the coast is nothing – and you got to admit, Birmingham makes a lot of stuff – armaments, tyres, planes and lots of military vehicles. If Jerry gets wind of it, he’ll come for us, I reckon.’

Both Linda and Patty shivered and Patty scooped the toddling Harry into her arms and hugged him as she cried, ‘For Gawd’s sake, Beat, put a sock in it! Proper Job’s comforter you are. If Hitler’s got something special up his sleeve for us, I hope he waits for the warmer weather, that’s all.’

Beattie drained her cup of tea and getting to her feet she remarked with a laugh, ‘Well, now I’ve cheered you up right and proper, I’ll go and do the same to me old man. Bye, all.’

Linda saw Beattie out, and as she came back in Patty remarked, ‘Right little ray of sunshine, ain’t she, our Beat?’

Linda laughed and took the tray of cups back into the kitchen, but it was really no laughing matter. She didn’t know what Beattie was on about anyway because Hitler had already gone for them. Maybe not as bad as Coventry, but bad enough all the same. The raids in August, the start of the bombs in Birmingham had been quite frightening enough she’d thought at the time, but they had got much worse through September and those in October and the early part of November had been really scary. They had all hid away in the Anderson shelter and she had joined in with her mother singing songs to the children to calm them down. Eventually they both would become drowsy enough to be laid in the bunks made ready for them, but Linda had no such release for she would be so anxious for them all. she would feel as if she had lead in her stomach and her throat would become as dry as dust.

She gave herself a mental shake. What was she doing, worrying about things before they had happened, getting nervous because of something Beattie had said. Her mother was right, she was a prophet of doom all right was Beattie. She saw George looking at her frowning face and wondered how much he had understood of Beattie’s words. No need for him to be worried anyway and she smiled at him and said, ‘D’you want a drink of milk, George?’

The lad nodded his head. ‘Can I have summat to eat and all?’

‘In a bit,’ Linda told him. She knew both boys had a cooked meal at the nursery. ‘Tell you what, I’ll do you some toast on the fire later and I’m sure we’ve got a bit of jam left in the jar.’

‘I’m hungry now though,’ he complained.

Linda poured some milk into a cup and handed him one of the apples they’d got from the market on Saturday. ‘Have this for now,’ she said. ‘I’ll get your tea later.’

Mollified, George sat up at the table cuddling Tolly in his arms and swinging his legs as he watched Linda bustling around, preparing a nourishing meal for her mother. ‘D’you think we’ll be bombed, Linda?’ he asked. ‘Beattie does.’

‘She’s Mrs Latimer to you,’ Linda said sharply. ‘And I don’t know, George. But we’ll be all right – we’ve got the shelter, haven’t we?’

Her brother wrinkled his nose. ‘I don’t like that shelter, it’s smelly and cold and dark,’ he whined.

‘It ain’t dark, George,’ Linda said. ‘I’ve put a hurricane lamp in there and that will soon light the place up. We can take blankets to wrap ourselves in if we have to go down there. ’Fraid I can’t do much about the smell.’

She ruffled his dark hair and said, ‘But why are you worrying, eh? It might never happen. Hitler’s probably finished with us now. Maybe it’s someone else’s turn.’

She didn’t believe it, but George did. In a way Linda wished she was still small and could be reassured so easily. But at least she’d taken the worry away from her little brother’s eyes and she bent and planted a kiss on the top of his head.

Jenny realised almost as soon as the door clicked behind her that night, that she’d forgotten her torch. No wonder – she’d been in such a state of agitation after the row, when she’d insisted on reporting for duty that night. The point was, it was a disaster not to have any light at all on those blacked-out nights, for you couldn’t see a hand in front of your face. Instead of going back indoors and facing her family again, she began to pick her way cautiously over the ground.

So many people had been killed on the roads during the first months of the war because of the blackout that Stan Walker, who worked with her at the warden post, said he reckoned it was Hitler’s secret weapon. ‘He ain’t gonna fight us at all,’ he said with his wheezy laugh. ‘He’s just going to let us kill ourselves in the bleeding ’orse road.’

White lines were painted along the kerbs and on the running boards of cars and, though they were now allowed shielded headlights, it had made little difference. There were few cars on the Pype Hayes Estate anyway and the white lines were barely visible on a dark moonless night.

Everyone hated the blackout. Norah never stopped going on about it and made no effort to comply with regulations. She would have sat by uncurtained windows, the light shining like a beacon outside, and eaten the entire butter ration in one meal if Jenny hadn’t watched her. Ignoring the blackout carried a fine of £200 and Jenny couldn’t afford to indulge her mother.