Keep the Home Fires Burning (29 page)

The raid was as ferocious as the previous one, and any minute Marion expected their house to be hit. At the forefront of her mind was the thought that her son was out in the thick of another horrendous raid.

Five hours after the raid began more bombers could be heard approaching, and more still at three o’clock. No one could sleep. Even the tired children were held in a grip of terror, and Marion fought the desire to sink down on the cellar floor and howl out her distress as an injured animal might.

When the all clear went at six o’clock the next morning, Marion looked around at everybody as if she could hardly believe that they all had survived. They lumbered, still sluggish, to their feet and found the house still intact, though covered with the usual film of dust and the night sky as bright as day from the ongoing fires.

It looked as if once more they had got away scot-free. Then Marion went to fill the kettle to find there was no water coming out of the tap.
They tried the tap in the bathroom with the same result and Marion looked to the others in perplexity.

Richard came in as they were discussing this. ‘So, it’s true then?’ he said.

‘What is?’

‘There was a rumour that three trunk water mains on the Bristol Road were fractured by bombs last night,’ Richard said. ‘Means the city, or most of it, at any rate, will be without water.’

‘Without water?’ Marion repeated. ‘For how long?’

‘Who knows?’ said Richard with a shrug. ‘I mean, they’ll probably sort something out for people like us as soon as they can. It’s just if there’s no water coming into the city they won’t be able to do owt about the fires and that if there’s a raid tonight.’

Marion gave a gasp. ‘I see what you mean,’ she said, appalled. ‘Birmingham could burn to the ground.’

‘Yes, it well might.’

Even the children had picked up the gravity of the situation and the twins’ eyes were like saucers in their heads.

‘Come on,’ Marion said decisively. ‘You’re asleep on your feet, and you can get into bed and thank your lucky stars that tomorrow is Saturday and you haven’t to get up for school.’

The fracturing of the pipes wasn’t mentioned on the eight o’clock news, but when there’s no water coming out of your taps or your neighbours’,
it’s pretty obvious that something very serious is wrong, and most Brummies guessed what had happened. Later that day, tankers of water were dispersed and members of the Labour Party went around in a van with a loudspeaker fitted on top, telling people where the tankers were.

Their immediate needs were met, yet they waited with more dread than usual for the sirens to sound that night. When they didn’t everyone was relieved, though Richard said that he imagined it could take many days for the water mains to be repaired.

It was five days before water was running through the taps again, but there hadn’t been a raid during those five days in Birmingham, and Brummies had been able to lie in their beds at night undisturbed. It took a few nights though, for Marion to relax enough to take advantage of this.

There was a lull in the bombing for the rest of that month and many homeless and dispossessed people, supported by the trade unions and the Co-operative Society, complained to the Lord Mayor about the predicament they were in.

‘I don’t blame them either, not one bit,’ Marion said with spirit to Polly as they scrutinised the
Evening Mail.
‘More should have been done for them from the start. The Government knew there would be raids – that’s what the blackout was all about ? and people who have lost everything need more than just a place to lay their heads.’

‘You’re right there,’ Polly said. ‘It’s a bloody disgrace. And did you read that people bombed out of their houses in Garrison Road didn’t even get any food for twenty-four hours, and then that Canon Guy whatshisname said a large group of people had to shelter for a week in the bloody car park at New Street Market. Right comfy, they must have been. And without the WVS they would have fared even worse.’

‘I’ll say,’ Marion agreed. ‘They’re demanding mobile canteens, clothes and blankets, and specific organisations to deal with the homeless and give them advice, and I don’t think any of them are unreasonable demands.’

‘No, nor do I see that it was down to the people to have to point it out either.’

‘Yeah,’ Marion said. ‘It’s dreadful. Still, something will probably be done for them now that it has got into the papers.’

‘Maybe,’ Polly said. ‘And let’s hope they are sorted before the bombs start falling again.’

However, the following night, 3 December, the sirens wailed out again as Marion was dishing up the evening meal. Unwilling to waste the food, she took the pans down to the cellar and continued dishing up there, while Sarah, Peggy and Violet collected the blankets and filled the flask and the hot-water bottles.

Everyone was very glad of the warm stew and tucked in hungrily before settling down to wait for the raid to ease. It did come perilously close
to them at times, yet it was not as intense or as protracted as the raids of 19 or 22 November.

The siren shrilled out the following night as well, and this raid caused extensive damage to small factories standing cheek by jowl with terraces of houses. A week later the sirens went off at six o’clock, when everyone had just got in from work and the dinner was barely started. Marion hurriedly threw any food she had into the shelter bag and followed the others down to the cellar. A few bombs were heard and then the all clear sounded, but they had been in the house barely half an hour when the siren shrilled out once more. Again, there was the sound of a few exploding bombs, and then the all clear again.

When the sirens went a scant fifteen minutes later, Marion said, ‘That’s it! He’s playing cat and mouse with us and I ain’t playing his game and so we’re all going to stay in this cellar until we know it’s finally over.’

Everyone was in agreement with this, but they had no idea that when the raid began in earnest it would be similar to the heavy raids of the month before, nor that it would go on until seven o’clock the next morning. When they eventually returned to the house they did so tentatively, not sure whether the raid was over or not.

‘I don’t give a jot whether it is or it isn’t,’ Violet declared. ‘Because if I don’t get something to eat and drink soon, I will die anyway.’

Marion laughed. ‘I’m not surprised. Never fear,
I’ll soon have a big bowl of porridge on the table for all of you. I’m passing out with hunger myself, and everyone will feel the same I’m sure.’

‘I am, anyroad,’ Tony said. ‘That raid went on for thirteen hours, you know.’

‘Yes,’ Marion said, ‘and your brother has been out in it all that time. I do hope he’s all right.’

‘He don’t half pong when he comes in as well,’ Tony went on.

Richard was often covered with white brick dust, and the stink of that and cordite clung to his clothes and sometimes mixed with the acrid smell of blood. Marion never asked questions, knowing that while he would tell her about buildings and houses bombed to bits, he would usually only speak about the people in the most general terms, and she never pressured him to say any more.

‘Talking about stinking,’ Peggy said, breaking in on Marion’s thoughts, ‘Vi and me never got chance for a wash last night and I feel real grimy this morning. Can we have some of the water out the kettle and have at least a bit of a lick and promise before we go in to work this morning?’

‘Help yourself,’ Marion said. ‘And by the time you’re done I’ll have the porridge ready to eat.’

It was as they were finishing that they heard Richard come in the door and Marion knew just how tired he was by his dragging heavy tread as he approached. She didn’t have to see his grey
haggard face and his black smudged eyes. She was on her feet immediately.

‘Richard, we’ve finished the porridge, but I’ll soon make some fresh.’

‘No need,’ Richard said in a voice dry and husky from the fires he had attended that night. ‘I could murder a cup of tea, but the WVS cooked me up a right royal breakfast.’

‘Huh, all right for some then,’ Sarah said in mock annoyance. ‘We just got porridge like usual.’

‘And grateful for it,’ Peggy said. ‘That was some raid last night, and I bet many without a home this morning would give their eyeteeth for a comforting bowl of porridge. But I’ve had mine and it’s time me and Violet got ready for work.’ She nodded across at Richard. ‘Glad to see you back safe and sound, though.’

Richard gave a wave to the girls as they left the room and then took a large gulp of the tea his mother pushed across the table to him, for all it was scalding. ‘Thanks,’ he said as he set the cup down again. ‘God, I needed that.’

‘Bad night?’

‘Bad enough,’ Richard said. ‘I was sent into town sometime during the night because St Thomas’s Church in Bath Row took a direct hit. You should have seen the mess: great slabs of masonry all over the churchyard, giant oak trees snapped like they was matchsticks, and tombstones torn up and spread about the place like pebbles. There was this organ as well, just mixed up in the
rubble, like, and I saw the pipes twisted into all sort of weird shapes. All that was left of that church was the bell tower over the main entrance in Granville Street. Course, the church wasn’t the only thing they damaged and destroyed.’

‘I know,’ Marion said. ‘But it upsets me when I hear of old buildings destroyed because it’s like getting rid of our history, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah, I suppose it is. It upsets me too. And now,’ Richard said as he drained his cup and got to his feet, ‘if there’s any water in that kettle I’ll give myself a quick wash before I make for my bed.’

‘You’re not going in today?’ Marion said, delighted but surprised.

‘No I’m not,’ Richard replied. ‘The commander is going to clear it with my boss. Point is,’ he lowered his voice, though he and his mother were the only ones in the room, ‘I don’t know how they get to know these things – it’s supposed to be hush hush – but the King is visiting Birmingham today.’

‘The King visiting here?’ Marion exclaimed in surprise, and Sarah, coming into the room at that moment, said, ‘Crikey! When’s this happening?’

Richard smiled ruefully. ‘I suppose that’s how the news was spread. It’s supposed to be top secret.’

‘Well, it isn’t now, is it?’ said Tony, coming in after Sarah. ‘So you might as well tell us the rest.’

‘I don’t know much,’ Richard said. ‘Just that he’s probably visiting Aston in the afternoon and will quite likely want to see the Home Guard and ARP
wardens and that, and so our commander told a few of us to take the morning off and that he would square it with our employers and we’re to report to HQ at one o’clock.’

‘Oh, how exciting,’ Sarah said. ‘But I bet I won’t get to see hide nor hair of him.’

‘Nor me,’ Tony said and, glancing at his mother, he added, ‘we could, though, if you gave us the day off.’

‘Ah, but I’m not likely to do that, am I?’

‘Don’t see why not,’ Magda said. ‘I think it would be a very patriotic thing to do.’

Richard laughed. ‘Well, you must fight it out amongst yourselves because I’m going to have a wash and a kip while I have the chance.’

In the end only Marion and Polly waited on Lichfield Road to see if they could catch a glimpse of the King as he passed. It seemed that news of the royal visit had seeped through the neighbourhood, though, because the streets were thronged with people. Marion and Polly thought of going round to tell their mother but, as Polly said, they would get no thanks if they did.

‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘Mammy has little time for royalty. And it might disturb Mammy greatly to learn that Pat feels the same way. He said this morning that King George’s visit won’t make any bloody difference to us.’

‘Bill would probably say the same,’ Marion said. ‘But I would like to see our King in real life and I think it’s nice of him to be bothered to come and see how battered we have been.’

‘Even more battered today,’ Polly said. ‘Did you read in the
Mail
last night that two hundred and
sixty-three people were killed in the raid last night, and nearly as many seriously injured?’

‘I did,’ Marion said. ‘News like that knocks me sick. And maybe it’s nice for the King to come and see for himself and sort of sympathise, like Winnie’s wife did in October.’

‘Yeah,’ Polly said. ‘But give me the King any day over bloody Winston Churchill, though his wife seemed quite nice.’

‘Well, Bill never had any time for Churchill,’ Marion said. ‘Said he turned the guns on the miners, his own people.’

‘All he’s good for is delivering a stirring speech,’ Polly said.

‘Yes,’ said Marion. ‘The King at least is a man of honour. Look how he stepped up to do his duty to when Edward abdicated.’

‘Well, we couldn’t have Wallis Simpson, a divorced Yank, Queen of England, could we?’ Polly said.

‘I’ll say not,’ Marion agreed heartily. ‘Bill always maintained that she was too friendly with the Germans, anyroad.’

‘And he was, and all,’ Polly said. ‘Fancy the King even being on shaking hands terms with the leader of a country that is killing our men and trying to bomb the rest of us to kingdom come? I’d take Geroge over his brother any time.’

Marion was about to answer when a rustle ran through the crowd: the King’s car had been spotted. Then, to everyone’s delight and a spontaneous
cheer, the car stopped by Atkinson’s Brewery and the King emerged. He was bare-headed, despite the biting wind, and he turned up the collar of his grey woollen coat, and began to walk alongside the waiting crowds.

They surged forward but the police held them back though the King seemed unconcerned by it all. As he walked along he pulled off his leather gloves to gently touch the cheeks of infants held up for him to see, and shake people’s hands while he expressed his sadness that they had suffered so much, and commended the bravery and endurance they had shown.

Suddenly, obviously overcome by it all, one old woman from the crowd dodged the police and planted a kiss on the King’s cheeks, and a cheer went up. But the King only smiled and turned to ask the women if she lived in the area. She said she did, had always lived there, but she’d been bombed out and was camping in a church hall. Then she went on to say sadly that she had just had word that she had lost one of her three sons. Marion saw the King’s eyes darken in sympathy as he placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder and she felt herself warm to him. Later, when she shook his hand, she was able to see just how kindly those deep brown eyes were.