A Wartime Christmas Read online

  A WARTIME

  CHRISTMAS

  Carol Rivers, whose family comes from the Isle of Dogs, East London, now lives in Dorset. Visit www.carolrivers.com and follow her on Facebook and Twitter @carol_rivers

  Also by Carol Rivers

  Lizzie of Langley Street

  Bella of Bow Street

  Lily of Love Lane

  Eve of the Isle

  East End Angel

  In the Bleak Midwinter

  East End Jubilee (previously Rose of Ruby Street)

  A Sister’s Shame

  Cockney Orphan (previously Connie of Kettle Street)

  First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster, 2013

  A CBS company

  Copyright © Carol Rivers, 2013

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  No reproduction without permission.

  ® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.

  The right of Carol Rivers to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

  1st Floor

  222 Gray’s Inn Road

  London WC1X 8HB

  www.simonandschuster.co.uk

  Simon & Schuster Australia Sydney

  Simon & Schuster India New Delhi

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  Hardback ISBN: 978-0-85720-832-3

  Paperback ISBN: 978-0-85720-833-0

  Ebook ISBN: 978-0-85720-834-7

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Typeset by Hewer Text UK Ltd, Edinburgh

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Group UK Ltd, Croydon CR0 4YY

  This book is dedicated to the memory of those people who were lost in the tragic Bethnal Green Tube disaster, Wednesday 3 March 1943.

  And for Mavis Eugene and The Cliff.

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks go to everyone I have interviewed for this wartime story. Some, as very young children, had uniquely terrifying memories of the Blitz of London and subsequent V1 and V2 bombings. I consider myself fortunate to have been included in their reminiscences. Thanks also to Denise for sharing her insights into out-of-body and near-death experiences. And my gratitude goes to Conway, whose insight into espionage has been invaluable throughout the writing. Last but not least, publication of my books with my editors and ‘The Team’ at Simon & Schuster, is always a delight – as is working with Dorothy Lumley, my amazing agent.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter One

  May 1941

  London’s East End

  Kay Lewis opened her sleepy grey eyes to the sights, sounds and smells of the world as she had known it for the past eight months of the London Blitz. Her immediate thought was that, unbelievably, she was still alive. After another night’s intensive bombing over the Isle of Dogs – the heart of London’s East End – the corrugated iron shelter was still in one piece over her!

  Kay inhaled the damp and stale air and tried to breathe shallowly as she watched the glistening drops of condensation slide one after another down the rust-pitted walls. With a strong sense of relief, she could hear the wail of the all-clear fading. However, the relief didn’t last long for, as always on waking, a sharp dart of longing went through her. Being parted from her two-and-a-half-year-old son throughout the bombing had been almost unbearable. Though she knew that she and her husband, Alan, had had no choice but to evacuate Alfie to her brother and sister-in-law’s home in the country, it didn’t stop the pain of separation. What she wouldn’t give to have him here and in her arms! She could almost feel his chubby body pressed against her skin and smell the silky-soft fragrance of his thick, dark hair.

  ‘Oh, Alfie, I miss you so much,’ she croaked as she shifted carefully on the narrow top bunk. ‘But I know you’re safe and that’s what counts.’

  With a huge effort, Kay drew her mind back to the present. Had Alan survived the night safely? During the Blitz, and much to her surprise, he had left his council job where he had been working in the maintenance department and joined the Heavy Rescue Squad. Kay had never quite understood why. Perhaps it had something to do with that letter he’d received. It wasn’t his call-up, which he’d been expecting, but from another section of the military. He’d dismissed it as just a lot of red tape and she hadn’t pressed the point. Alan was a man who, once he had decided on a course of action, would rarely change his mind. Nevertheless, she worried. His night shift would be ending soon, but that was no guarantee he’d be home. If there was someone trapped and in danger then it was down to Alan and his team to rescue them.

  Kay forced her arms and legs to move; every bone in her body ached. Her back creaked, her bottom was numb and her shoulders seized in a painful cramp as she ducked her head under the tunnel-shaped roof. During the night, her long, chestnut-coloured hair had escaped its pins and she pushed it back wearily from her face.

  ‘Ouch!’ Kay groaned as she landed hard on the floor. Even sleeping fully dressed in her coat together with two thick jumpers and a pair of Alan’s combinations under her utility trousers, she was chilled to the bone. It was May, but it was still winter in the Anderson.

  Kay shook the huddled form in the lower bunk. ‘Vi, wake up. The all-clear’s gone.’

  At this, the elderly lady threw off her threadbare blanket and stared up at Kay. Her careworn face, framed by scraps of thin grey hair, squeezed into a gummy smile. ‘Blimey, gel, are we still in the land of the living?’

  ‘It seems we are.’ Kay was as surprised as her friend to find they weren’t buried under tons of rubble from the overnight raid. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Nothing a fag won’t cure, love,’ Vi croaked as Kay helped her to her feet. Then Vi took a scarf from under the pillow and wound it expertly into a turban, tying the ends in a knot on top of her head.
‘Now me brains are safely in, where are me teeth?’

  ‘Try your pocket,’ Kay suggested with a grin.

  ‘Oh yes, course.’ Vi retrieved a pair of worn yellow dentures and snapped them into place. She gave a wide smile. ‘How’s that look?’

  ‘Like you’ve got your teeth in,’ Kay returned lightly as she handed Vi her battered old handbag. It was never far from Vi’s reach and had stayed with her throughout the bombing.

  ‘Ta, love, mustn’t forget me life’s savings. Not that there’s much, but enough for a rainy day.’

  Kay leaned her shoulder against the battered door of the shelter and pushed. The bright shaft of daylight momentarily blinded her and she took a crumpled hanky from her pocket to wipe her face. The corners of her mouth were filled with grit. Her skin felt as stiff as a washboard. If she hadn’t been so exhausted, she would have laughed – or cried, she didn’t know which. Throughout the Blitz she had felt she was living in a surreal world, constantly fighting her way through an endless stream of chaos and destruction. The basics of life had become luxuries: a comfortable bed to sleep in, fresh air to breathe and clear running water that was not restricted by damaged sewers.

  ‘Is yer house still standing?’ Vi demanded as they stepped out into the foggy, sulphur-smelling air that made Kay’s eyes smart all over again.

  Her heart thumped as an indistinct shape loomed out of the swirling mist. Her two-up two-down end-of-terrace house still seemed to be attached to the Tripps’. She thought briefly of the couple who had once lived there; Stan and Elsie Tripp had evacuated to Wales and the safety of their son’s home. Kay missed them and often wondered if she’d ever see them again. They weren’t the only ones who had evacuated either. Two thirds of the street’s houses were either standing empty or too bomb-damaged to be occupied. Only a handful of neighbours were left. The long, winding street following the curves of the River Thames had been so vibrant before the war. Now the road was just a shadow of its former lively self.

  ‘Our roofs still on and so is the chimney,’ Kay answered Vi. ‘But the back door’s blown open. Goodness only knows what mess we’ll find inside.’

  ‘And yer windows?’

  Kay smiled ruefully. ‘Alan’s idea to strengthen them with strips of wood over the tape seems to have paid off. I’ll bet you’re glad he did the same for your place too.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Vi agreed quickly. ‘I didn’t want him to bother as he’s never got a minute to spare, but there he was one morning, standing on his ladder and ’ammering away.’

  ‘There’s not much he wouldn’t do for you, Vi,’ Kay told her friend as they made their way towards the back door. Her husband had a soft spot for Vi and had done all her odd jobs during the Blitz. Vi returned his affection and had told them that Alan reminded her of her only son, Pete Junior, who had died from diphtheria at eighteen.

  The two women were smiling as they entered Kay’s kitchen but their smiles disappeared when they saw inside. Every surface was covered in a thick blanket of dust and dirt. ‘Strike a light,’ Vi breathed. ‘What a mess!’

  ‘Just look at this,’ gasped Kay, pointing to the dresser. ‘My best set of china’s come off the shelves!’ She stared in disbelief at the floor where the teapot and her best cups and saucers were all in pieces. ‘Oh, Vi, that was a tea set from Mum an’ all.’

  ‘Bloody Hitler,’ grumbled Vi when she saw the extent of the damage. ‘He’s got no respect for other people’s property.’

  At this, Kay found herself laughing – laughing so much her face seemed to crack under the layers of dirt.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Vi asked in a bewildered tone.

  ‘You. Course Hitler’s got no respect for our property. He’s bombing it, ain’t he?’

  Vi patted her arm. ‘It’s as well you can see the funny side, gel.’

  But Kay realized the laughter was more like hysteria and she was dangerously close to tears. When she looked inside the larder, she clapped her hands to her face. All the bottles, packets and even vegetables were covered in the same thick, grey grime. ‘How did this happen?’ she wailed. ‘The larder door was shut.’

  Vi bustled past her and lifted the wire gauze that protected the square wedge of Spam. ‘Don’t worry, ducks,’ she said, shrugging. ‘A quick wipe and Bob’s your uncle.’

  ‘I don’t want to wipe me Spam, Vi. I want to eat it,’ Kay moaned.

  ‘Spam’s got no taste anyway. You might as well be eating rubber.’ Vi clattered the gauze back into place unsympathetically.

  ‘It comes to something when you can’t preserve even the little food you have,’ Kay heard herself complaining. ‘Anything tasty is on ration and there are queues as long as your arm for the decent bits.’

  ‘I must admit,’ Vi said with a sigh, ‘I’ve not seen a nice chop since before the war or even a bit of pork cracklin’.’

  ‘At least the tea is safe.’ Kay nodded to the tin caddy beside the gas stove. ‘Do you reckon the gas is on?’

  ‘Shouldn’t chance it yet,’ Vi warned. ‘Wait till the warden or the gas blokes come round. There was an explosion in Westferry Road last week, remember? The old girl turned on the gas tap and the mains was ruptured. The bang was so ferocious it sent her flying out the back door. Lucky she was deaf already and only had a few bruises to show for the fright.’

  Kay felt exasperated as she looked round, gauging the work ahead of her. The clearing up after the nightly raids was not unexpected. But she had never encountered anything on this scale.

  Vi inhaled a wheezy breath and gave Kay a quick glance. ‘Good job your boy is safely away, love. Imagine him here in all this.’

  Kay nodded dejectedly. ‘Yes, but I miss him, Vi.’

  ‘Course you do, flower.’

  ‘I worry about how he’s taken to being away from us,’ Kay admitted as she thought of her brother Len and his wife Doris in Hertfordshire. The couple were well-meaning enough but had no children of their own. ‘Doris doesn’t have a clue about babies. Alfie was into everything and very mischievous when Len and Doris drove down to collect him last September. I hope they’ve been able to cope.’

  ‘What does she say in her letters?’

  ‘Not much.’ Kay shrugged. ‘Only that he’s filling out, whatever that means.’

  ‘Your sister-in-law seemed nice enough when I met her,’ Vi recalled. ‘And it was good of ’em to drive here to save you the bother of going on the bus.’

  ‘Len likes to show off his car,’ Kay pointed out. ‘He’s lucky enough to have a petrol allowance as he works in a specialized engineering department for the government.’

  Vi moved towards the empty coal cupboard and yanked the door open. She unhooked a broom hanging from a nail on the back of it and began to sweep up the broken china. ‘You go and check upstairs,’ she called over her shoulder, ‘whilst I chuck this lot in the dustbin.’

  ‘I won’t be a minute. Then we’ll go over to your place.’

  ‘Gawd knows what state me house is in, as I didn’t have time to cover anything up,’ Vi was saying as Kay left for the front room.

  Kay was relieved to find that the fireguard and boarding that Alan had wedged into the fireplace had prevented the worst of the muck from spilling down the chimney. As she had covered the couch and dining table with old sheets, the room was a big improvement on the kitchen.

  But upstairs was a different matter. A chunk of plaster had fallen from the ceiling to the landing, spreading a white coating over the banisters, stairs and the floor below. Carefully picking her way over the mess, she poked her head into her and Alan’s bedroom where a layer of dust had covered the wardrobe and three-mirrored dressing table. Luckily she’d had time to cover their bed and Alfie’s cot with sheets and the window remained intact thanks again to Alan’s ingenious boarding. The only other bedroom was very small and so full of clutter she could hardly open the door. Alan had put newspaper over everything in here. Somewhere underneath were the bits and pieces they had collected
together from the markets or had been given by their friends and neighbours, yet with the onset of war had been forced to lump into one room until such time as they could restore order to their home.

  Kay came back to the present with a jolt. Someone was yelling in the street. She rushed downstairs, kicking up clouds of dust in her wake. The front door was open and she ran outside. In the distance was Vi’s small figure just visible through the mist.

  ‘Look at me house, Kay!’ Vi screamed as Kay ran to her side. ‘The devils have done it in!’

  It was a moment or two before Kay took in the huge black crater on the wasteland next to Vi’s house. It was strewn with debris, a mixture of tiles and rafters from Vi’s roof. Despite all of Alan’s careful precautions, every window had been blown out and the front door lay in the road. Glass and rubble were everywhere. A flicker of orange flame came from inside the dark passage.

  ‘I’ve got to save me stuff!’ cried Vi, lurching forward.

  ‘You can’t, Vi.’ Kay grabbed her tightly. ‘The rest of the roof could collapse.’

  ‘It won’t do that, will it?’

  ‘I don’t know. But you can’t take the chance.’

  As Vi choked back her sobs, Kay looked around for help. Where was everyone? The Home Guard, the fire-men or the police and Rescue Squad were usually first on the scene. Suddenly she saw a lone figure appear out of the smoke. It was Harry Sway, the warden, pedalling his bike as fast he could go, his tin helmet askew on his head.

  Chapter Two

  Harry was panting as he dropped his bike on the ground and hurried over. ‘Are you two all right?’ He coughed, swivelling his helmet round to display the large letter W printed on its top. ‘Sorry I couldn’t get to you before, but half the city is on fire.’ He glanced across at Vi’s house and gave a groan. ‘Oh, Christ, what a mess! Is anyone in there?’

  ‘No, I ain’t had a lodger since the Blitz started,’ Vi informed him.

  ‘Lucky you was with Kay,’ Harry said with a sigh. ‘Luckier even that the council didn’t have room to put an Anderson in yer yard, Vi. You’d have not stood a chance with that blast.’