What if history was different?

We Shall Fight On The Beaches...

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This story was originally written in 2011. For various reasons I stopped writing it before it had been completed. Several people have asked if I would continue the story and I’m now in the position to be able to do so.

I’ve taken the opportunity to do a rewrite and an extensive edit and I hope that you enjoy reading it. I hope to be able to put up new chapters once a week, real life permitting, of course!

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Chapter 1

By Susan Brown

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We had been in the shelter for three hours. It was cold, dark and two o'clock in the morning. The noise was deafening and every few moments the shelter shook slightly and more dust got dislodged, making us cough and covering our clothes in a fine grey dust.

We shouldn't have been there, in London I mean. Six months before, we had been sent to the country– evacuated, to get as far as possible from the bombing raids. We had been sent to live on a farm, because it was considered safer than London.

I will never forget leaving Mum on the platform. We were all crying and both my sister and I found it hard to leave her. Apart from our Nan who lived down in Cornwall and who we had not seen in ages, Mum was the only family we had and it nearly broke our hearts to be wrenched away from her. We weren’t the only ones upset and there wasn’t a dry eye anywhere. Looking out of the carriage window, we waved and waved as the train gathered speed and then suddenly, she disappeared, the smoke finally obliterating the view of her and the other frantic parents letting their children go to the safely of faraway places, away from the fear of bombs.

We were lodged with a farmer and his wife in the farmhouse. It wasn’t a happy time for us, as it was plain to see that we were only there on sufferance. From the start, we were ill-used by the spiteful farmer and his nasty shrew of a wife as little farm labourers. There wasn't much food and not much sleep to be had there and we were worked hard from before dawn to after dusk. The farm workers that had been employed on the farm had all been drafted. Farming was once a reserved occupation, but not any longer as more and more men were called up. We were expected to do the work of adults and we were only children.

Sally, who was aged 11 and me a couple of years older at 13, detested the place and the people. We were shown no love and we just wanted to be back home in London with our mum.

The farmer and his wife never showed us any signs of affection and we yearned more and more to go home to the streets of London where everyone knew us and there were plenty of friendly faces.

But home was not so safe, as back there we had been in danger on a daily basis from the bombs and the terrifying doodlebugs. London and other big cities had been targeted by the German war machine and Herr Hitler wanted to bring us to our knees. We had lost friends and relatives in the blitz, as had most other people, but there was a spirit of strength and togetherness that seemed to help us through, no matter what horrors were exacted on us. But Mum had decided that it was no longer safe for us to be in London and so we were packed off to the country where we were supposed to be safe and well looked after.

That was the idea, anyway. In truth there was there was none of the love, affection and comradeship we had both experienced in our short lives living in London.

On the farm, we did our best to be good and work hard. Even though I was now a teenager (just), I wasn’t very big or strong.

‘Weedy and useless,’ said the farmer’s wife on more than one occasion with a sneer.

Eventually though, we had had enough. We were continually hungry and constantly tired and could scarcely get out of bed most mornings through lack of sleep. I was battered and bruised through mistreatment and Sally was suffering similarly.

That final morning, the farmer belted me, not for the first time, for not working hard enough. To this day, I have a scar on my backside from the wound he left. Sally regularly got smacked too for being a ‘lazy good for nothing girl,’ as the farmer liked to put it.

Later, at the dead of night, with what little things we possessed, we stole out of the farmhouse and then made our way by moonlight along the farm track that led to the road. We were in luck, as a passing lorry was going our way; we were able to hitch a lift to the station. I don’t know why the driver, who was a nice man who smoked a pipe, didn’t ask what we were doing out at that time, I’ll never know, but we were truly grateful for his kindness.

We had no money, so when the late train stopped at the station, we sneaked on it while the guard wasn’t looking and hid in the toilet.

People tried to use the toilet on the journey, but I jammed my foot in the door and we somehow managed to get away with it. We were lucky not being caught out.

When we reached Kings Cross, there were so many people about, it was easy to get past the ticket collector and then we proceeded to walk home. It took two hours to reach home and even in the short time we had been away, we could see that the number of damaged buildings had increased and many roads and areas were now impassable. Fire engines and ambulances were everywhere but they were hindered by the impassable state of some of the roads. I tried hard to remember when things were not all shot to hell and London was a place without bombed out buildings and for a child, a fun place to live. It seemed like all this destruction, pain and heartache had gone on forever.

Looking at the haunted, tired faces of the people still around, brought home the horrors of war that everyone there were daily encountering. It wasn’t only the armed forces that suffered. Ordinary men, who couldn’t fight, women, together with the children who had not been sent away, all lived with the nightmare of continual attacks from the sky. It was an unrelenting onslaught and sapped the strength and energy of the people as they tried to cope with all that was happening.

It was nearly dawn when we arrived, cold, hungry, dirty at our oh so familiar front door. Mum couldn’t believe it when she saw us, but after showing her the farmers’ handiwork, she was so angry that she threatened to go and do unspeakable things to him and his shrewish wife. She tried to find alternative arrangements for us, but lines of communication were breaking down and the authorities were at full stretch, trying to cope with the shortages of food in particular and the now daily and nightly bombing of the capital and many other towns and cities.

Within a few weeks, things went from bad to worse, if that was possible, as attacks on cities, towns and ports increased to such an extent that there was never a day or night when we didn't have to huddle away in the damp, dirty Anderson shelter or deep in the underground station to try to stay away from danger.

Rumours flew around that we were losing the war and that the Germans were amassing over the water in France with a huge army that would come across on a fleet of ships and overrun us. The powers that be tried to quash the wild speculation with limited success. Those soldiers, sailors and airmen that came back on leave due to injury, all said the same thing; that we were having a hard time of it and that Germany and her allies seemed to be winning on all fronts.

Mum was now desperate to get us away from London again, as the bombings, if anything, seemed to increase to an alarming degree, with vast areas of the capital laid waste from the almost constant bombardment. She was met with shakes of the head as it appeared that there were no resources available to move us, and anyway, much of the rail system and infrastructure had been badly damaged.

It was just us now at home, as our dad had died very early in the war at the disaster that was Dunkirk. Mum took our loss hard and so did we. Sally my kid sister was very quiet now. She used to be such a happy kid and me? Well I was, I supposed, the man of the house; only I didn't feel much of a man–just the opposite in fact, but more of that later.

So there I was with my mum and Sally in the damp Anderson shelter waiting for the bombs to stop and the all clear to come. Sleep was impossible, as we could hear the drones of the engines on the German bombers all around us. The bombs were dropping everywhere and I could hear the sounds of the anti-aircraft guns popping and banging in the distance.

The strange thing was that we were all beyond being overly frightened. We had lived in that hell for such a long time that we had, if anything, gotten used to the constant bombardment. It was only when the shells came very close that our hearts came into our mouths and we cowed in fear.

I scratched my scalp; my hair felt gritty and dirty. It needed cutting according to Mum, but there were no hairdressers about now. Mum had threatened me with a basin cut, but we didn't have one big enough that hadn't been broken. To be honest, I liked my hair a bit longer and would have been upset to have it cut.

I tried to read my book by the light of a guttering candle. My face was close to the rust-streaked and damp corrugated iron wall, as I lay fully clothed on the shelf that more often than not, was now my usual bed.

We had gotten used to the smell and stench of war–the burning smells, smoke, cordite and other odours that we never talked about but were ever present.

Mum tried hard to cope but what with rationing and a general lack of food generally; times were very hard for everyone.

It was 1943 and we had been at war since 1939. Germany had overtaken the whole of Europe except Britain. Only months before Russia had surrendered to Hitler and the United States of America had decided not to enter the war after Japan's abortive attempts at attacking Pearl Harbour had resulted in the Emperor's suicide and his successor’s inglorious surrender.

Italy was Germany's ally and after Mussolini's assassination by his own guards, Germany took control over Italy almost overnight and incorporated the Italian armed forces into theirs.

So it was us against them now and we were losing.

America helped somewhat by sending supplies by sea but only using our shipping. U-boats sank over half the ships used to bring the vital supplies to us and we were fast running out of ships now. Our navy had all but been eliminated by the huge German Fleet which included the awesome Bismarck and Tirpitz, and of course, the ever present U-boats.

I was brought out of my reverie by the sound of the all clear. I put down the Biggles book that I had been holding for some reason–I hadn't been able to read it by the guttering candle light and anyway, you try reading while bombs were falling all around you!

'Let’s get back in the house,' said Mum tiredly. Even I could see the rings under her eyes. She didn’t look well–not surprising really.

She went over to Sally who had amazingly been asleep despite all the noise and gently woke her up.

We never bothered wearing night clothes in the Anderson shelter, it was considered better to stay dressed rather than wear thin pyjamas or night-dresses. Wellington boots were the usual footwear as, more often than not, the floors and the path outside were wet and muddy.

Sally looked really tired as Mum woke her up. How she was able to sleep through that racket I never knew. I wasn't feeling much better myself as, unlike my sister, I never slept through all the noise outside.

I followed Mum and Sally out of the shelter up the steps along the path to the house. As I reached the top I realised that I had left my Biggles book back at the shelter.

‘Mum I won't be long I'm just going to get my book.’

Mum looked back to me and smiled.

‘You and your books–never mind; be quick and then I'll make us something to eat. Come on Sally.’

Mum walked on with a still sleepy Sally, holding her hand as they proceeded up to the house. I took one last look at them and then turned back and went to the shelter. It was quite noisy, what with fire engines and ambulances in the street and the sound of anti-aircraft guns in the distance.

There were red glows in the sky from almost all directions. The sky was pierced by the searchlights and I coughed as the smoke was getting into my chest and making me a bit wheezy.

I walked down the steps of the Anderson Shelter and went inside. A guttering candle was still lit and I quickly went over to my book and picked it up.

Then all hell broke loose.

I heard nothing, but suddenly felt a tremendous heated pressure on the whole of my body and I was knocked over as if I had been struck by a train. I hit my head hard and must have blacked out.

I awoke some time later. It was fairly dark and my head hurt so badly that I wanted to scream. Feeling the back of my head, I felt a warm stickiness and a huge painful lump. I was sick then and must have got some of the stuff on my clothes as they felt wet and sticky and the smell wasn’t that great either.

I felt my way out, but couldn’t see a thing, as the candle had obviously been blown out. Feeling my way across the curved, corrugated iron wall, I reached the end and then felt for the door; it was still there and seemed jammed. I think that the door had taken a lot of the shock wave or whatever it was and that may have saved my life. My head was throbbing so hard, I wanted to lie down, but something kept me going and I pushed at the door with all my might. It was funny I couldn’t hear much. Everything sounded muffled and my ears hurt.

I shook my head to clear it and then carried on pushing at the door. Eventually, it gave way and crashed out, but all I could hear was a muffled bump.

It was cold outside and the sky was clear. Thousands of stars were in the sky and I could see the searchlights in the distance searching the skies. Flashes of light were over to my left where it was obvious that somewhere else was getting a pounding. I shivered and then looked up the garden at the house.

Only the house wasn’t there.

Well it was there, but it was just a tangled heap of rubble. One wall was still standing and I could see that it was my bedroom wall with the chimney still attached. It looked strange, my wallpaper was on the wall and even the picture of a Spitfire was still hanging drunkenly on the wall where I had put it last week...

Mum and Sally!

I cried out and then went forward over lumps of masonry, timber, slates and broken furniture. As I got nearer I wondered about Mum and Sally. Surely they weren’t...

Suddenly, nn ARP warden caught my sleeve and said something that I couldn’t quite hear.

I pointed at my ears and shook my head–that hurt.

‘What?’ I said struggling to hear him. It was like someone had stuffed my ears with cotton wool.

I think that he understood and brought his face up close to me and then said, ‘’ere lad; don’t you be goin’ in there.’

‘My mum and sister?’ I choked.

He shook his head.

‘No signs of life, kid. It might be days before we dig this lot out. It was a bloody doodlebug. Got any relatives?’

‘What?’ I said distractedly, still trying to take in the fact that my only family were dead under the rubble.

‘Have you got anyone that can look after you?’

‘No, only my Gran, and she lives miles away’ I replied.

‘Right, go along to the church hall, they’ll sort you out. I can’t leave ‘ere, too much to do. Sorry about your loss.’ he added, looking sad.

I just nodded and after one final look at my home–or what was left of it, I left.

I was in shock. I felt numb and unable to take in what had happened. I felt sick still and my head ached terribly. I should have gone to the hospital or something, if there was still one left standing. I should have at least gone to the church hall, but I was confused and didn’t really know what I was doing.

I wandered down the street, noting that several houses had been knocked flat. I knew people that lived there. I hoped that they weren’t in any of the houses when it happened.

There were several craters in the street that I somehow managed to walk around. There was a smell of gas and a water pipe had burst, making the road treacherous and slippery under foot. Lots of people were milling about, but they were members of the rescue services and I don’t even think that they noticed me or wondered why a dazed boy was drunkenly walking past.

The sweet shop on the corner was ablaze. I used to get my gob-stoppers there and a half ounce of Old Holborn tobacco and a packet of Rizlas for my dad when he was around. The people that ran the shop were a nice family and I wondered vaguely whether they survived–they had baby twins...

I walked for what seemed ages. It was still night time, but dawn was approaching in the eastern sky. It was September now and quite cold in the mornings. Usually I had my balaclava on, but that was in the Anderson and I wasn’t going back there for it.

Eventually I found myself in the High Street. It had been bombed a few nights back and many of the shops were in ruin. It was quieter here with only a few people about. A policeman came up and looked down at me and said something.

I shook my head.

‘I said, what you are doing here?’ he appeared to be shouting and I just about heard him.

‘Don’t know.’

‘Get off home then,’

‘All right,’ I said and turned away.

I think that the policeman was going to say something else, but was distracted, and I just walked on.

It was quite dark there, even though the sky was gradually getting lighter. I was tired, sore and didn’t want to walk any further. I sat down against the remains of a brick wall and leaned back. Suddenly and without warning, the wall gave way and I fell backwards. I seemed to fly through the air and then drop down somehow. The breath was knocked out of me as I landed on hard ground and I hit my head yet again...

I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but when I woke up it was light outside. I could tell that, as I could see around me, all be it a bit dimly. I was still confused but not quite as bad. It was if I had woken up from a deep sleep. The light, such as it was, came through cracks in the ceiling above me. It took a few moments to realise that I was in some sort of a shop. I stood up and swayed a bit, feeling quite weak. Next to me was a heap of rubble. Looking up, I saw where I had somehow dropped from, it was a big drop and I was amazed that I hadn’t broken my neck. It was funny, the shop floor was almost untouched and I realised that I must be in the basement and then I remembered this shop. It was Hepworth's, the department store. I had been here several times with Mum and Sally...

Then I remembered everything and it all came back with a rush. I sat down on a wooden chair by one of the counters. Mum and Sally were dead; the nightmare was real.

I put my hands up to my face and cried. I wanted to see them again. I wanted to tell them that I loved them. It was awful realising that I would never be with them again. It had been a hard life since Dad died and we had been so close.

And now they were gone and I was all alone. Sitting there for a few minutes, I became more aware of the state of me. Feeling the back of my head, I could still feel the lump through my hair together with dried blood and another smaller bump a few inches to the left, probably the result of the second bang on my noggin. My ears kept popping as I swallowed but I could hear more now–not that there was much to hear except the dripping of water from somewhere and a few bird noises from outside.

I remembered having a look at the devastation of the High Street a few days before. There had been rubble everywhere. Luckily, the two doodlebugs that hit the area did so at night and as far as I knew, no one had been hurt, or not seriously anyway, just a few broken bones. The whole area had been cordoned off as the firemen said that everything was unstable and what was left standing could fall down with a puff of wind. Well I had fallen down, so that was true enough!

I took stock of my situation. Looking down, I could see that my clothes were in a complete mess. My shorts were ripped at the back, my shirt was filthy and covered in blood and my cardigan was tatty to say the least, with traces of blood and smelly sick on the front where I had heaved up my stomach. In the dim light, I saw a full length mirror in the corner and went over to it. I was in the women and girls clothes section. The men and boys department, I knew was upstairs, or had been when there was an upstairs to speak of.

Looking at myself in the mirror sort of confirmed what I knew–I wasn’t a pretty sight!

Over in the corner was a door marked ‘Toilets’ and I went over and walked in–there were two doors, one the Ladies and the other, the Gents. I went into the Gents and used the toilet. The water in the tap didn’t work–no surprise there, so I cleaned myself as best I could using a shallow puddle on the floor, spit, elbow grease and the roller towel. It wasn’t perfect but in the end I looked a bit cleaner.

I couldn’t say the same for my clothes, they were a complete mess.

I left the toilets and went to have a look around. I was hungry and thirsty and I knew that over the other side of the shop was a tea shop cum restaurant. It amazed me that there was so little damage down there. Yes there was dust everywhere and the china department didn’t have an un-cracked plate. Also, some of the high windows had blown in and that was why I could hear noises outside, but other than that, in the main, the whole basement had gotten off lightly.

It was strange being there all by myself when previously the place had been packed. We had come to get Sally some clothes and I had to wait outside the changing room while Mum helped Sally try some clothes on. Whilst waiting for them, I had felt a bit uncomfortable.

I would have done anything to do the same thing again, knowing that they were alive, but they were dead. But they were gone now and I had to look after myself and mourn when I had the time.

This is my journal and it’s for my eyes only, so I suppose that it’s all right to put it all in here including my secrets.

Since I was very young I hadn’t been happy. It wasn’t that I was very unhappy, but I always knew I was different. You see I am a girl. Not on the outside, but inside. I had a willy and evidently that made me a boy. I tried to explain to my parents, but it always came back to that–boys had willies and girls didn’t–end of argument. As I grew up, I longed to play with the girls in the street but was told in no uncertain terms by one and all that boys played with boys and girls played with girls.

Then there were the clothes. Girls wore soft pretty dresses–well they did if they had enough ration points and didn’t have to rely on hand-me-downs; boys wore scratchy shorts and shirts with collars which rubbed the neck, especially when you had to wear ties.

I longed to wear dresses, look pretty and be a girl. I yearned to play with the other girls with their prams, dolls and dolls houses. Instead I had to play rough boys games which I wasn’t any good at anyway.

Eventually, I never went out to play and just preferred to read books. I loved adventure and school type stories though, especially ones with girls in them. The only boy type books that I ever liked were Biggles ones, I just wished that there were more girls in them!

All this wasn’t getting me anywhere. I looked over at the girl's clothes department and wanted to go there and change into something pretty but I had had it drummed into me time and again that I wasn’t a girl and it was wrong, bad and somehow evil to try to be one.

Sighing a bit about the unfairness of everything and feeling hungry and thirsty, I went over to the tea shop and after looking around behind a counter I found several bottles of lemonade and cream soda. Also there were a few tins of food like bully beef and baked beans in the kitchen and after finding a can opener, I was soon scooping out the food and washing it down with cream soda–my favourite.

I was lucky that the sickness had gone and that I was able to eat something without bringing it up. Soon I was full and taking a bottle of lemonade, I went back out into the shop. My ears popped again as I took a swig of lemonade and my ears cleared even more, so that was good a good sign.

There were several departments down here. Apart from the ladies and girls department, there was the china and kitchen department, the luggage and the toy department and finally the electrical goods department, which had things like irons and other household things. Also it had a section devoted to entertainment with record players with lots of records stacked on shelves and several radios. None of the things would work as there was no electricity–that was until I noticed one radio on a pedestal with a notice saying that it ran on batteries. It was called a Vidor CN351 Riviera. It cost  £13 7s 9d–very expensive.

I had nothing better to do, so I switched it on, not really thinking that it would work, but after a few moments, it lit up and then there was a hiss coming from the speaker. I twiddled about with the large central knob which moved the needle across the dial and then, suddenly, quite clearly I could hear someone speaking in English.

“This is the BBC Home Service with a special bulletin, Richard Dimbleby reporting. The date is the 13th of August and the time 3.00pm.”

The thirteenth, I had been out of it for three days!

“It is with a heavy heart that I have to inform you that due to the terrible bombings and the complete destruction of Aberdeen and Newcastle Upon Tyne two days ago by the Germans using a new terrible device called an atom bomb, the unconditional surrender of the British Forces took place at twelve, mid-day yesterday,

“Threats had been made by Herr Hitler that London, Birmingham and Manchester would be bombed in a similar manner unless we surrendered. Due to the horrendous loss of life caused by these horrific bombs and the prospect of even greater losses, it was decided that we would have no alternative but to lay down our arms.

“The Germans had been massing on the other side of the channel for days before the bombings of Aberdeen and Newcastle and we could do little to stop them due to the fact that our air force had been all but destroyed over the last six weeks and much of what remained of our fleet was either out of place or unable to assist due to shortages of fuel and ammunition.

“The German Forces have now control of much of the country. The BBC has this emergency service operating at a secret location and I and my colleagues will try to keep you up to date with developments while we can. We may not be able to broadcast on a regular basis, because we will not be staying in one place for any length of time and we fear that some of our broadcasts may be jammed.

“On a positive note, there are pockets of resistance in many places and we believe that we can overcome the tyranny of Hitler and his thugs if we persevere and trust in God. The Royal Family are safe and believed to be in either in Canada or en route. They wanted to stay, but realised that if they were captured, it would be tremendous propaganda for the Germans. Many members of the Cabinet including Mr Churchill perished in the V2 rocket attacks on Downing Street three days ago and an interim resistance committee is, as I speak, being set up in another part of the country.

“We recommend that you do nothing that can cause you or your family harm and agree to the wishes of the new German led Military Administration unless, and I stress, unless it means that you or your loved ones are likely to be targeted in any way. Already, we have had announcements from the newly appointed administration that all boys and men between the ages of 12 and 60 are to report to the nearest police station for work assignments and possible call up to the German armed forces under the control of General Walther Model. Girls and women are not being asked to do anything as yet and we hope that they will not be involved in this, but sources close to the administration have stated that inevitably, females will be put to work for the good of The Third Reich and will be expected to do whatever is required of them."

I found this all hard to believe. It was all too much to take in and my head began to throb painfully again.

“We advise that it would be best if you can find a place of hiding if you can, but if the authorities come for you, do not resist, as there have been reports of beatings and summary executions already. These are dark times and we hope and pray that we can win through. We will try to keep you informed of developments as and when we can. God speed–we will not be beaten.”

There was a click and then a hiss. I switched the radio off and sat down on the polished wood floor.

My mind was numb and it took a long time for what I had heard to sink in. We had lost the war and the Prime Minister and most of the cabinet were dead. The Royal Family had fled the country. The Germans were victorious. It was all too much. Everyone had said that Britain would never fall. We won the war in the air early on, but then Germany bounced back and had a series of victories, but even though we had so many setbacks, I think we all believed that somehow we would be victorious in the end.

And what about me–what would become of me? I was just 13 and would be taken away and used for who knows what by the filthy Germans. They had killed my family and now they had a stranglehold on my country. What did Richard Dimbleby say–something about pockets of resistance? I wanted to do my bit. I had to for the sake of my dead family. I would fight them–what did Churchill say about fighting?

We shall fight on the beaches,
we shall fight on the landing grounds,
we shall fight in the fields and in the streets,
we shall fight in the hills;
we shall never surrender,

Well we had surrendered, but while there were those that would still fight on, then we may have lost the battle, but not the war.

My positive thoughts buoyed me up for a while, but recalling all that had happened in such a short space of time brought me back down to Earth again.

I had to think about what I should do. I went and had another bottle of cream soda and found a rather hard loaf of bread. Cutting it in two with a bread knife, I found that the middle bit wasn’t too hard, so I ate it. I had no idea when my next meal would come so I had to eat what I could, when I could.

I was quite weepy and in my mind’s eye I could see the smiling faces of my dear mum and Sally. Sally had always looked up to me and I did all I could to protect her and now both Mum and she were dead. I hoped that they were both with Dad in Heaven.

What could I do– what should I do?

In the back of my mind, I think I knew what I was going to do. But putting it in practice was hard, very hard. I was going to dress as a girl. If I went out looking like a boy, I would be picked up by the authorities and sent somewhere unpleasant. I had heard of the concentration camps in Europe. I was a weedy specimen for a boy and it wouldn't surprise me if kids like me and also the old and infirm would be put in one of those awful camps, never to come out alive.

Being a girl would at least give me some chance of getting out of this mess in one piece.

I reasoned that I would have to dress as a girl. The fact that I was already one inside me and always had been, was a bonus and just about the only one of those in this mad situation. My only hope was that I would pass as a girl and not just a boy in a dress.

At least I was in a place where I could choose the right clothes. But first, before I changed, I would have to find a way out. I tried all the doors and exits, but they were all blocked by bricks and other rubble. Eventually I found a fire exit that seemed to be clear and after a push and a shove, I managed to open the door enough for me to squeeze through.

There was a lot of debris on the stairs and I pushed it all out of the way; luckily nothing was too heavy. At the top, I could see daylight and when I reached there, I could see outside. The door had partially fallen in and I was lucky that I was so thin, as I was pretty sure that I could get through to the street outside. I left it at that and then made my way back down to the basement. I needed to clean myself up again before dressing in clean clothes.

This time I went to the Ladies Department, and was lucky, as there was actually a vase with wilting flowers in there that had miraculously escaped being smashed in the bombings. More importantly, the vase had some water in it and I could use that to make myself clean again.

How I wished to be able to use the tin bath kept on the outside wall at home... but that wasn’t there any more, it was in the pile of rubble that used to be my home. I wondered if they had been able to dig out Mum and Sally’s bodies yet?

For a few minutes, I gave in and cried my eyes out. Somehow, it helped, as the pressure of the grief that had been building up in me seemed to leave me a bit.

I pulled myself together and decided to stop being such a ninny and get on with things. So I stripped myself naked, leaving my filthy boys clothes on the floor, and shivering slightly, I had a wash.

When I was satisfied with my cleanliness, I left the Ladies and walked over to the girl's department. I shivered some more, as it was none too warm there, but ‘needs must,’ as mum used to say. Looking at my bruised, battered and still slightly grubby body, I wondered when I would ever feel really clean again.

I took a deep breath and went over to the units where the underclothes were and pulled a couple of drawers open.

I paused for a moment, wondering, with the clothes ration, how many points would I have to use up to get myself fully kitted out. Then I smiled ruefully, realising that all that ration nonsense was out of the window now.

I was used to wearing cast offs. The whole of our street used to regularly have clothes swaps to save on points. The clothes that I had been wearing today had been worn by other boys before they grew too tall for them.

Now I had the chance of wearing new clothes, and girls’ ones at that!

All right, the choice wasn’t great–the war caused that, but at least I would be able to wear something reasonably pretty.

I found a pair of white cotton knickers that fitted me and then a vest slip and a blue dress with a Peter Pan collar with buttons up the back that were a bit of a struggle to do up, but I managed somehow. I pulled on a dark blue cardigan and did up the buttons. White socks and black patent leather shoes were found in another section and finally I was dressed. I found a coat, brown and calf length and I put it aside to take with me.

There was a small set of brushes in a leather zip up case in the ladies section and I used one of the smaller brushes to tidy up my hair. I winced as I brushed over the tender bits on the back of my head, but managed to part my hair in the middle and put it in some sort of feminine shape. Looking in the mirror, I could see that my hair was a bit short, but lots of girls had their hair short now, so I didn’t think that it looked too bad. It was a sort of a bob style. My hair needed a wash, but, for now it would have to do.

Then I stepped back a bit and had a good look at my reflection. I was looking at a girl, not a boy. Not an outstandingly pretty girl, but one that looked normal. I thought that I would pass muster, and that was the main thing. I wondered what my mum and dad would think with me looking like this. I think that Sally wouldn’t mind, she always said that she wanted a sister.

I was getting a bit tearful again, so I abruptly turned away, my skirt and slip swishing around my legs in a way that distracted me for a moment and then went to the luggage department and picked out a small case. After picking out a suitable one, I went back to the girls department and picked out a few dresses, blouses and skirts, another cardigan, some underwear, stockings and socks and a few girls nightdresses and a pair of slippers. I jammed them all into the case and added the hair brushes, before sitting on it and closing the catches.

Then I found a bag and put a few bottles of drink and cans of bully beef and baked beans in it, not forgetting the all important can opener. I was all set now. I realised that I couldn’t stay there. I would try to get away in the confusion and make my way to Gran’s. She hadn’t been very well, according to her infrequent letters, which was why we had been evacuated rather than go to her. She lived a fair distance away in Cornwall. I decided there and then that I would somehow get to her and then see what I could do to help her and get my own back on the hateful Germans.

After a final look around and one more glance at the mirror and picking up the coat, case and bag, I made my way over to the far side and with some difficulty as I didn’t want to dirty my new clothes, I made my way out of Hepworth’s.

I blinked as I went outside. The sun was strong and it was relatively warm. There was a slight breeze and my dress flapped a bit–it was a strange but not unpleasant sensation. It was as if I was in a ghost town. No-one was about and I had the wrecked, torn and battered High Street to myself. Well, I couldn’t stand there all day, so avoiding the puddles, craters, and remains of the building I purposefully walked along the High Street and away from the damaged area.

I could hear the drone of aircraft engines and looking up, I could see quite clearly some German fighters and bombers crossing the skies. I wasn’t afraid of being bombed. What was the point, they had the country beaten now, or so they thought. Only time would tell if we could defeat them against great odds. I would do my best to help the cause and show them that Britain would not lie down and give in. I was only thirteen, but I don’t think that I lacked gumption.

I turned the corner and stopped abruptly.

In front of me, in the middle of the road was a large tank. Its turret slowly turned towards me and I was staring down the barrel of a huge gun and wishing that I was anywhere but there.

To be continued...

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Painting: The Spirit of London During the Blitz by Nettie Moon, 1979

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