Page 4

T hat evening Lizzie and Jack strolled hand in hand through the war-ravaged streets of London, crumbling buildings now a normal sight, on their way back to Jack’s flat after a modest meal.

Lizzie pointed to the yellow moon glowing in the darkening sky, littered with twinkling stars.

‘What is it they say about a full moon?’

Jack released a deep menacing growl near her ear, and Lizzie jumped and then dissolved into laughter. ‘Bloody hell. You scared me, you fool!’

Jack chuckled. ‘The werewolves will be on the prowl tonight. Anything could happen.’

‘Don’t say that. It’s such a beautiful evening. The sky looks magical.’

‘You’re a true romantic, darling,’ Jack said, recapturing her hand and pulling her gently along beside him. ‘Come on, let’s head home for a nightcap.’

They walked on in companionable silence, Lizzie loving the feel of her hand cocooned in his. ‘If I’m to pretend to be your wife in Toulouse, I need to know everything about you.’

‘I already think of you as my wife,’ he said, fixing his dark eyes on hers until she melted beneath the intensity.

Lizzie reached to kiss him, and they stood on the street sheltered in each other’s arms, as if there were no one else in war-torn London but them.

A near empty double-decker bus rumbled past, its headlights masked, startling them and they drew apart and resumed walking slowly, not wanting the enchanting evening to end. ‘Everyone must be at home already. I don’t remember London so quiet on a Saturday night, even since the blackout,’ Jack said.

‘Let’s hope it’s not the calm before the storm.’ Lizzie stifled a yawn. ‘The streets are almost deserted.’

‘The Blitz is getting to people. They’re worn out with the daily bombardments and I daresay they want to be at home, ready to get the family to a shelter if there’s a raid.’

‘Where have you been sheltering lately, by the way?’ Lizzie asked.

Jack shrugged. ‘There’s an Anderson shelter down the road, but I prefer the Underground. It’s not as cramped.’

‘A quiet night would be wonderful,’ Lizzie said as they entered the flat, and waves of tiredness crept over her. ‘I don’t know why I’m so weary. We spent most of the afternoon lounging in bed.’

‘I wouldn’t call that lounging,’ Jack said, his mouth curving into a devilish grin.

‘You know what I me?—’

A loud haunting sound interrupted Lizzie’s sentence, echoing through the flat. ‘Oh, my God. I tempted fate.’

Jack grabbed Lizzie’s hand and shouted over the din. ‘Come on, let’s get to the station to be on the safe side. I’m not taking any chances when you’re with me.’

‘I can’t hear you!’ shouted Lizzie over the wailing siren.

Still wearing her hat and coat, she turned and exited the door back into the street, which was already bustling with throngs of people.

They milled about, running for shelter. Frightened children clutched onto their mothers’ hands and parents scooped up toddlers into their arms so they could run faster.

Lizzie’s ears hurt with the shriek of the sirens. They ran to Baker Street station, the Underground swallowing them up like an ancient cave. Streams of people were in front and behind them. ‘I thought you said it wasn’t as cramped. It’s madness in here!’

‘Hmm,’ Jack said.

‘You don’t really come here, do you?’ Lizzie said when they paused to catch their breath after the frantic run.

‘I wouldn’t say that exactly. I’m here often to meet you. Come on, this is where I sheltered last time,’ Jack said, steering Lizzie into one of the dimly lit passages.

They huddled in a spot on the cold tiled floor, Lizzie leaning against Jack as he propped himself against the wall.

Every time they heard a bomb screech and explode in the distance, Lizzie squeezed her eyes shut.

She was praying hard that her parents had reached the shelter in the park, and Juliet and Evie were safe with them, and not out gallivanting for the evening, as her mother called it.

Wave after wave of loud blasts shook the foundations of the station until Lizzie muttered in a rare moment of reprieve. ‘When is it ever going to end?’

‘The Jerries are giving us hell tonight,’ he said, shaking his head and drawing on his cigarette. ‘Lord knows how much damage there is out there. The bombing hasn’t been this heavy in ages.’

A baby whimpered, shifting on its mother’s knee.

Lizzie could see why many families had taken government advice and evacuated their children to the countryside.

She couldn’t decide what must be worse for a parent—worrying their children would be struck by a bomb and killed in their beds or being separated from them indefinitely in an effort to keep them alive.

‘What time is it?’ Lizzie asked, when she awoke from an uncomfortable doze on Jack’s shoulder. The dust from the old station glittered on the air and tickled Lizzie’s nose, making her sneeze.

‘It’s after eleven. It’s been quiet for a while now. We can leave soon if the bombing doesn’t resume. Are you alright?’

Lizzie yawned. ‘A bit cold and crumpled, but nothing a hot bath and a few hours' proper sleep won’t fix.’

‘That’s the spirit. Can’t let the Boche get us down or they’ll have won.’

Lizzie glanced at the rows of exhausted Londoners lining the station floor.

There were people of all ages huddled together trying to keep warm, some managing to sleep, whilst others paced nearby.

A little girl with black hair, her weary head lolling on her mother’s shoulder, caught Lizzie’s eye and her heart stirred. This was no life for a small child.

She should be tucked up in bed without a care in the world.

The girl reminded her of the Jewish children she and Hannah had sheltered in the farmhouse in Paris.

She wondered briefly whether the family had made it to America, and her mind raced with thoughts of all the people she had encountered during her missions and the tragic stories they had shared about their missing family members.

The all-clear siren sounded like a bugle from heaven. ‘Let’s go home,’ Jack said, glancing at his watch and interrupting her reflections.

They unfurled their aching bodies, stood and stretched. It was cold at that time of night, sitting on the floor in the underground station so Lizzie hadn’t removed her coat. Jack positioned her hat back on her head, his eyes tender. ‘Ready?’

Their movement triggered others to follow and soon they were leading a chain of tired, but not beaten Londoners in a mass exodus from the station. Further along, others made their way outside. As they emerged onto Baker Street, Lizzie and Jack studied their surroundings cautiously.

‘We haven’t been bombed here, at least. Let’s walk to the SOE and check everything’s alright,’ Jack said.

They walked for about five minutes until they arrived outside HQ. Jack looked at Lizzie. ‘It’s fine. Do you want to go in and hear the latest?’

Lizzie shook her head. ‘Better not risk it. Us turning up together at this time of night would be a dead giveaway.’

Just as they turned to walk back in the direction of Jack’s flat, two ambulances raced up the street, their sirens blaring.

‘I wonder what’s been hit,’ Lizzie said, pointing. ‘There’s smoke over there.’

As if in a trance, Jack followed Lizzie as she started running after the ambulances and they soon reached a back street, the air thick with smoke.

They stared at the sight before them, and for a few seconds they just stood there, mesmerised by the blazing buildings.

Then the smoke made Lizzie splutter and cough.

‘It’s like entering the gates of hell,’ she said, the horror reflected in her eyes.

A row of houses had been badly hit, the fire still licking fiercely through the bombed out upper storeys despite vigorous attempts to douse the flames. Fire engines were on site, and a group of grimy faced firemen blasted the burning buildings with water.

A fireman shouted to the gathering crowd, ‘Stand back! Stand back. These buildings may collapse at any moment.’

Jack pulled Lizzie away from where she stood transfixed by the terrible scenes of death and destruction unfolding before their eyes.

Auxiliary fire service volunteers were also on site, and one of them approached Lizzie and Jack. ‘If you want to help, grab a pump and blast this.’ He pointed to the side of a house that was burning fiercely.

‘Are people still inside?’ Lizzie asked.

‘Hard to say. There was a siren, so hopefully they got out and made it to a shelter before the bombs hit.’

Lizzie and Jack stood side by side with their respective pumps, blasting water at the burning house.

The area was in chaos as people stumbled onto the scene searching for loved ones after the all-clear.

A woman fell to the ground on her knees, screeching like an injured creature.

Lizzie passed her pump to someone else and crossed to her swiftly.

‘What can I do?’ she asked.

‘It’s my Joey. He’s trapped in the back bedroom. They can’t get him out,’ she gasped, struggling to speak between choking sobs.

Lizzie tried to console the desperate mother as she gazed at the house she pointed to. It had already partially collapsed, and the thought of the woman’s son trapped by the fire upstairs was too much to bear. Lizzie estimated that the density of the smoke alone would be enough to suffocate him.

A few minutes later, a soot covered fireman emerged from the smoke-filled entrance, a small body slung over his burly shoulder.

The woman leapt towards him, making little sounds like a mewling kitten.

‘Let’s rest him here,’ the fireman wheezed, doing his best to keep her at arm's length.

‘My Joey,’ the mother sobbed, reaching to clutch at her son, but the fireman stopped her again.

‘We need a doctor here,’ he shouted over the crackling and hissing of the fire, his voice croaky but loud enough to be heard by the medical team.

Lizzie stared at the small unmoving body of the boy on the small patch of grass. His body didn’t look injured, but he lay there in his pyjamas as if in a heavy slumber. She desperately hoped she was wrong, but she feared he wasn’t breathing. His sooty face bore a peaceful expression.

‘Joey, wake up,’ sobbed his mother uncontrollably, fighting to reach him. ‘Wake up, please.’

They were shuffled out of the way, and a nurse leaned over the boy and worked on him frantically, checking for signs of life. By now, the mother was crying hysterically in Lizzie’s arms and all she could do was keep her upright as she sobbed on her shoulder.

The nurse caught Lizzie’s eye and shook her head slowly, her eyes full of heartbreak. The boy was dead.

Jack appeared at Lizzie’s shoulder and looked at her questioningly over the woman’s head. Lizzie moved her chin towards the small inert body on the ground. Jack’s eyes met hers in silent understanding just as the woman called out, ‘I want to see Joey. Let me see my Joey.’

Lizzie felt a tap on her shoulder, and she turned to see a dishevelled looking giant of a man, his shirt torn, and his clothes covered in soot. Tears trickled onto his dirty cheeks.

‘I’m Joey’s father.’

Lizzie disentangled herself from the distraught woman and gently transferred her weight to her husband’s arms. Then she stood there helplessly, tears streaming down her face, watching them as they clung to each other, rocking back and forth in a desperate lament for the young son they had lost to this devastating night of the Blitz.