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She had wanted to experience what the Blitz was really like.

She knew that most people would say she had already experienced it, being in the Tube when a bomb came firing down into it, and there, by luck, she survived.

But she wanted to witness the spectacle of an air raid, what people did while it was happening.

Was there panic? Fatalism, anger? So instead of going back to the guest house, she stayed out, knowing Margery would be horrified if she went out again later, and insist she went down to the cellar with her.

There had been three brief daylight raids during the day, two in the east, but one bomber broke away from the group and flew towards North London, where presumably he dropped his stick of bombs.

There was something compelling about watching the planes flying in formation.

It reminded her of a flock of geese flying off to a warmer place.

Down on the ground the ack-ack guns fired at the German planes, but she didn’t see any of the planes shot down, and the barrage balloons hanging all over London didn’t seem to be much of a deterrent.

It was about eight in the evening when she walked leisurely up Oxford Street towards Hyde Park.

It was surprisingly crowded and there was an air of jollity which she hadn’t expected.

British soldiers, airmen and sailors, and then Free French and Polish airmen jostled with civilians window shopping or making their way home.

Some of the men whistled at girls, Beth included, which made her blush and walk with her head down.

But it was exciting to be part of the jollity even if she was surrounded by strangers.

As dusk began to fall, she picked up speed, anxious to reach the park before it became really dark.

Until tonight she had never gone out after dark as she felt afraid in the blackout.

With no streetlamps, car headlights showing only a glimmer of low light, and with not a chink of light coming from homes or offices, it was intimidating.

But Beth didn’t feel afraid now, she had a torch to get home with and this time tomorrow she’d be in Ireland beginning a new life. She was just going to cross Park Lane to the park when the air-raid siren went off.

While all had been calm ten minutes earlier, suddenly people began to rush in all different directions, reminding Beth of how as a child she’d poured water on an ants’ nest to see them all run.

She hesitated, torn between running to the shelter she’d been in before, and sticking to her plan to stay out and watch.

She chose to run across the road to the park.

‘Hey, Miss, you’re going the wrong way for the shelter,’ a male voice called out.

Turning, she saw a soldier. ‘I know,’ she said.

‘You’ve got a death wish then, have you?’ he replied, but his tone was light, as if amused.

‘No, but it’s my last night in London and I’d like to watch an air raid. I doubt they’ll bomb the park.’

‘There’s other dangers in the park,’ he said, coming right up to her and taking her hand. ‘So I’m appointing myself your guardian.’

She didn’t protest. It would be good to have a guardian, and he was slender, handsome, had a nice voice, and tawny eyes that reminded her of a cat they’d had when she was a child. Better to live dangerously than die of boredom.

He introduced himself as Jack Ramsey, then got her to run with him into the park.

They took up a position close to the trenches dug as shelters.

‘At least we can jump in if worse comes to worst,’ he joked.

Beth peered into the one closest, though it was almost too dark to see the bottom. ‘It looks quite dry,’ she said and laughed. She’d been told that even when they were being dug, before war was declared, people said they wouldn’t go in them. They didn’t trust the surface shelters either.

Jack shuddered and grimaced. ‘They make me think of the tales my dad used to tell me about trench life in France in the Great War. The rats and stuff. It sounded horrible.’

Beth told him she’d lost her father in the last war, and added perhaps they should talk about something more cheerful.

At that point the bombing raid started, but like almost all nights since the Blitz began it seemed the East End was on the receiving end again as the planes were over that way.

Searchlights scanned the dark sky, now and then illuminating a bomber.

Their ears were assaulted by the crump, crump of bombs, flashes of vivid flames, and the staccato sound of gunfire coming from anti-aircraft guns mounted on roofs and from the ground.

In this deafening barrage of noise, they could also hear ambulance bells and fire engines racing into that wall of sound, and suddenly the horizon was orange and red from buildings on fire.

Tears sprang into Beth’s eyes, imagining those trapped in buildings or seeing their homes destroyed.

‘Those poor people in the East End,’ Jack said in her ear, his voice breaking slightly as if feeling the same as she did.

‘I’ve been working there searching for survivors and clearing rubble.

I couldn’t believe what I’ve seen, whole streets gone.

Beds hanging out of an upper floor where the side wall has gone.

Curtains flapping where once were windows.

I’ve seen women crying as they retrieved toys, kitchen utensils and other stuff from the ruins of their homes. I almost cried myself.’

There was enough light in the sky to see his eyes were glistening with tears, and she took his hand and squeezed it. It was too noisy to talk, and anyway there were no words necessary.

He put his arm around her, and kissed her cheek, and they stayed that way, silently watching the terrible yet magnificent show above them for some time.

Beth’s experience with both boys and men was extremely limited and none of it good, and she found it strange that she wanted to keep his arm protectively round her.

‘Have you seen enough now?’ Jack said in her ear. ‘We could go to a pub and then we could talk?’

She nodded. The bombing seemed to have decreased, and the planes were concealed by smoke, only illuminated briefly as one was shot down.

Taking her hand, he led her towards Marble Arch, across to Edgware Road, and then to a small public house just off the main road.

After the noise outside it was quiet. No more than twenty people, mostly men who had chosen to ignore the air raid and have a beer instead before going home.

‘What’ll you have?’ Jack asked.

‘Just lemonade, please,’ she said, feeling a bit foolish because she had no idea what women drank in pubs. She’d only been in three or four in her life. Her mother had been a gin drinker and the remembered smell of that on her breath turned her stomach.

They took a table in a corner.

‘I’m going to Ireland tomorrow,’ she blurted out. ‘But thank you for being with me tonight, I think I would’ve been very scared on my own.’

‘Do you have family there?’

‘No family. But I’ve been left a cottage near Waterford by my godmother.’

She smiled at the way he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

His tawny cat-like eyes were the first thing she’d noticed about him.

Now she saw his sharp cheekbones and a wide, smiley mouth.

It was a good face, a man who had been well brought up, and loved by his parents.

She guessed him to be a bit older than her, perhaps twenty-eight.

‘I don’t think it will be anything more than a little croft,’ she said. ‘I might want to turn tail and run back here to the guest house I’m staying in.’

She explained that she had been in Trafalgar Square Tube station when it was bombed. ‘My friend who was going with me was killed, but I was lucky getting away with just a small head wound. I only got the stitches taken out of my head yesterday,’ she added. ‘But where are you stationed?’

‘Woolwich. Most of my company have been sent to France, but some of us were kept here to help with rescue and clearing work when the Blitz began.’

‘So shouldn’t you be with them now?’

‘I got twenty-four hours’ leave. I was with a few of the lads earlier, but they wanted to go to Soho, so I was just wandering around exploring when I saw you.’

‘So where are you from then?’ She assumed by what he’d said he wasn’t a Londoner.

‘I’m Cornish,’ he said. ‘Me and some of the other lads have mining experience, which is useful in rescue work. I’d never been to London before.’

‘And?’ she said with a smile.

‘I’d sooner be in Cornwall,’ he grinned. ‘I miss the sea, the big skies, and the tranquillity. But then I know rescuing people is worthwhile work, so I’m not complaining.’

‘It’s far better too than being shot at in France,’ she said.

‘They’ll soon whisk me over there when the Blitz ends. But for now I’m glad to be here, to kind of see what we are fighting for. And I’m glad I was at Marble Arch tonight or I wouldn’t have met you. But I’m sorry you are off to Ireland. Just my luck.’

‘Mine too.’ Beth blushed but forced herself to look into his eyes to respond. ‘I’m glad I met you too and hope you stay safe.’

She couldn’t believe she was forward enough to say that.

‘So have you got a boyfriend in the Forces?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘Have you got a girl back in Cornwall?’

‘No, I haven’t, or here either. It’s a shame you are going away. I would’ve liked to take you out. Will you write to me?’

‘If you’d like that,’ she said in a small voice. She liked him, but she was wary because she didn’t know what was expected of her, or even if she was behaving normally.

‘I’d like it very much,’ he said, and got a small notepad and pencil out of his breast pocket. ‘So the address?’

‘I haven’t actually been told that. But as soon as I know the correct one, I’ll write to you.’

‘You’d better,’ he said with a smile, then wrote down both his army details and his home address in Falmouth and handed them to her. ‘Who knows, you might come back to London, and I might get leave at the same time. A man can dream!’

He walked her back to the guest house a little later and kissed her goodbye at the door.

It was without doubt the best kiss she’d ever experienced.

All the others had been boys who grabbed at her, like she was for sale.

She had thought she never wanted to be kissed ever again, but she didn’t want this one to end, she felt something fizzing inside her, and suddenly she wished she wasn’t leaving London.

‘That kiss will make it hard to forget you,’ he said, and cupping her face in both hands he kissed her nose, eyes and forehead before a second one on the mouth.

‘Just my luck that I’d meet the girl who might very well be “the One” in an air raid, and she’s off to another country,’ he said, nuzzling into her neck.

Was he speaking the truth, or was this a practised line? She didn’t know.

‘If I am the One, we won’t forget,’ she said and laughed lightly. ‘Ireland is only across the water. You just make sure you don’t get injured.’

One last kiss and she had to hurry in because she was afraid she’d cry. Nothing had ever touched her like that before.