familiar, brightly dressed, energetic figure cutting a swathe through the kitbags and suitcases that littered the platform was all she asked for.
‘She ain’t coming, is she?’
Ernie’s pinched little face revealed his disappointment, and it twisted Sally’s heart. She sat down and clasped his hand. ‘No, luv,’ she said softly beneath the hubbub of a hundred children’s voices and the shouts of the porters. ‘She’s probably too busy at the factory and forgot the time.’
Ernie looked at her solemnly through the tears. ‘I wish you was me mum,’ he sniffed, burying his head into her side.
She put her arm round him and silently cursed Florrie for being so thoughtless. If her Dad had been here things would have been different. And as she sat consoling Ernie, she felt tears welling, and hurriedly blinked them away. She missed her father terribly – was as lost and frightened as her little brother, but it would do no good to let Ernie know that.
The train jolted alarmingly as a great shriek of steam and smoke billowed along the platform. The clank of the huge iron wheels slowly gathered pace and they left the gloom of the station and began to roll with a clickety-clack past the rows of red-brick terraces, the rooftops, spires, bridges and factories of London.
Sally’s fear fluttered in her stomach. For, as the wheels picked up speed and settled into a rhythm, they were taking her away from home and everything she had ever known.
Peggy Reilly was glad Bob and Charlie were at school, and that her husband, Jim, was at the Odeon, where he worked as a projectionist. Her father-in-law, Ron, was making enough fuss as it was, and his lurcher wasn’t helping by getting in the way and trying to cock his leg on everything.
The two men from the council had arrived at Beach View Boarding House an hour ago with the Anderson shelter – a large, ugly sheet of curved corrugated iron which they proceeded to erect over the four-foot-deep hole they’d dug at the bottom of the long back garden.
‘We might have had to pay seven quid for that,’ muttered Ron, ‘but you’ll not be getting me in it. The damp will have me shrapnel on the move again, and I’m a martyr to it already, so I am.’
Ron’s shrapnel was a regular topic of conversation, along with his war stories. Anyone who didn’t know him would have thought Ronan Reilly had won the First World War single-handedly. ‘You’ll be pleased enough of a bit of shelter when the bombs start dropping,’ Peggy replied, her smile soft with affection for the cantankerous old man. His bark was always sharper than his bite, and she was used to hearing his complaints.
Ron pulled a face, grabbed the shaggy-coated Bedlington cross by the scruff and ordered him to sit. ‘They didn’t get me in the last war, and if they manage it in this, then it’ll be in me own bed, so it will. I’ll not be sleeping in that.’
He tied a length of string to the dog’s collar, patted the pockets of his voluminous poacher’s coat and stuck his unlit pipe in his mouth. ‘Harvey and me are goin’ off to find a bit of peace and quiet,’ he announced. ‘We’ll be back for our tea.’
Peggy took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. Ron was a widower and, at sixty-two, a law unto himself, with strong opinions and set ways. It wasn’t that he was impossible to live with – just difficult. And yet he had a lot of good points, for he was masterful at telling stories, a knowledgeable countryman, skilled hunter and forager, who loved nothing more than taking his grandsons with him when he roamed the nearby hills that he knew so intimately. She just wished he wouldn’t keep his ferrets in the scullery and let Harvey sleep on his bed. It was most unhygienic.
‘That’s it, missus. Thanks for the tea.’ The foreman broke into her thoughts and handed her back the mugs. The men tipped their caps and hurried through the back gate. They had another eight shelters to erect before it got dark.
Peggy eyed the Anderson shelter with deep suspicion, and realised she agreed with Ron. It didn’t look a terribly welcoming place to spend the night, and she rather hoped they would never have to. She took a few hesitant steps towards it, noting the rough wooden door they’d put on the front, and the sods of grass they’d