Kay Brellend - Rosie’s War

‘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.

‘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?’