‘Bloody hell,’ exclaimed one of the volunteers. ‘If that hits the wood, the whole thing will go up.’
They all watched with bated breath as one of the other ministers, dressed in his tin hat, shimmied across one of the support beams trying to reach the fizzy green flare that was causing the wood to smoke and blacken around it. Diana prayed he would be safe and reach it in time, it was such a plucky and precarious thing to do as she watched him hang from the beam, creeping towards it. All at once, like a miracle, it moved, rolled down the side of the building, and was able to be put out on one of the roofs.
They continued all night, as the Germans were relentless. It was apparent they wanted to tear down the morale of the British people by destroying one of London’s most famous landmarks. But no one in her line was going to let that happen. They worked through the night until the bombing stopped, and then even afterwards. Diana didn’t make it to Julia’s; instead she went back to her barracks, not reaching her bed until four in the morning. She was exhausted and blackened with the soot and the dirt, but was jubilant. They’d saved St Paul’s, but the whole area had been absolutely razed to the ground.
After first washing off the grime, she got into bed for a few hours’ sleep, knowing that she’d done the best that she could and grateful for the many firefighters and the brave people at St Paul’s Cathedral, many of whom were simply clergy, all of them working to save one of the most famous cathedrals in London. Hitler was trying to wear them down, destroy their resolve, but as she went to sleep that night Diana felt the opposite. Now she was even more determined to defeat this horrific enemy.
35
One frosty morning in February, Julia dropped down into the chair in the kitchen and reread the words over and over again. Surely it wasn’t true. She’d just been on the way out to work when she heard the letter box rattle and the post fall onto the mat. Picking it up, she was excited to see there was a letter from John and also one from her aunt Rosalyn in the Cotswolds. She’d been writing to Julia a couple of times a week to inform her how the children were doing. Apart from Tom feeling a little bit sad, all the reports were that they were growing and were healthy and well during their time in the countryside. She opened that letter first, to read about this week’s adventures, and instead, there were just a few lines scribbled onto the paper. Abigail sat quietly, eating her breakfast at the table, watching Julia as she read and reread the lines.
Dear Julia,
I have sent a telegram but just in case it hasn’t reached you I thought I would also write a quick letter. I’ll come straight to the point. I’m sorry to tell you that last night Tom disappeared. We think he’s run away, as he’s taken a bag, his teddy bear and the postal bonds you’d sent to him. Unfortunately, we didn’t find out until this morning. He must’ve crept out of one of the bedroom windows overnight. We got the local constabulary out straight away. Julia, I don’t want you to worry. Maggie is safe and we are doing everything to try and find him. Please call me as soon as you get this note though. Hopefully, by then, we might have already found him. But I wanted you to know, not least in case he is trying to make his way back to London. I didn’t want you to be shocked if he suddenly turned up on your doorstep.
Lots of love, darling. Call soonest.
Aunt Rosalyn
Julia scanned for the date on the letter: two days before. She looked at Abigail’s little face. It reflected the worry that was obviously in Julia’s own. She touched her tiny hand. ‘Everything’s all right, Abigail. Finish your breakfast. Lizzie will be down in a minute, and Agnes will be around to take you to school.’
Julia had managed to enrol Abigail in the local school. Though there were very few children left in London, the authorities had informed her that it was best to keep her in the immediate area until her relatives were located, and they were doing everything they could to find them. Julia quickly put