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...

We Shall Fight On The Beaches...

Chapter 2

By Susan Brown

---

Previously...

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 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 13, 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 here.

And now the story continues…

I stood there transfixed, like a deer caught in the headlights of an onrushing car.

Time stood still, I was only aware of the slight movement of my skirt against my bare legs caused by the gentle breeze.

The squeaking turret stopped moving and was lined up on me. I could now see down the barrel and should have run for it but I felt powerless against such a monster. Distractedly, I thought that they wouldn’t waste a shell on little me. More likely they would use the machine gun...

The lid of the tank opened with a metallic thud.

A head popped up and there was man, a man in uniform, a man that didn’t seem very happy to see me.

He said something that I couldn’t understand, but I realised, quite brightly, considering that I was nearly wetting my knickers with fear, that he was speaking in German– he sounded very guttural and I wondered if talking like that made his throat sore...

‘Little girl,’ he said, switching to a very accented form of English.

‘Yes?’ I said, my voice sounding quavery–well let’s face it; I was almost peeing in my knickers by now.

‘Vot are you doink there?’

‘Don’t know.’ I replied.

‘Don’t know–dummkopf. Why are you on the street?’

‘Erm going home?’

‘And where is that?’

‘Ashmore Road.’

‘Where is that?’

‘D...down that way.’ I pointed vaguely down the road with a shaky forefinger.

He looked at me as if I was an idiot. Then I heard a squawking sound from the tank, some sort of radio transmission I think, and then his head disappeared and then moments later popped up again.

‘Get home, do not you know that there is a curfew?’

‘No.’

‘Gott in himmel! You go home now.’

‘Y...yes sir.’

As I ran down the road, I heard a metallic thunk noise and the sound of engines as the tank roared away in, I hoped, a different direction from me!

I dodged some debris, a couple of shell holes and some water squirting out of a burst main. There was a bloated dead cat lying in the road and I wondered where little Kitties’ owners were. The smell of gas was a bit nasty and I just hoped that there were no smokers around, but. Glancing around, I saw that the place was empty. It must have been the curfew that the German mentioned, I supposed. I wondered where everyone was though. People don’t just vanish into thin air and the houses thereabouts looked empty and neglected. I didn’t think that people would be down in the Underground as I assumed that there wouldn’t be any more bombers. Maybe they had all run away from the guns, tanks and bullets–that seemed like a sensible idea to me.

Eventually, I came into an area that I knew well, Queens Park. The railway station of that name was all shuttered up. There hadn’t been any bombs to speak of here, just the odd damaged building, overturned lorry and huge craters in the road. The shops were all more or less in one piece, except for the occasional blown in window. I suddenly realised that I was very hungry and over the road, I saw a grocery store without any windows.

The place, like everywhere else, was deserted, so I went over and with some difficulty managed to climb in through the broken window and found myself in the shop. There wasn’t much in there. It looked like the owner had left in a hurry and there were only a few tins, some stale bread and a few other bits and pieces. I collected the bread, grabbed a tin or two and went out the back. I managed to find a can opener, spoon and amazingly two apples that looked more or less edible. On top of that, there were a couple of bottles of cream soda and one of lemonade. I picked up the cream soda and the rest of the food, carried into the small sitting room out the back and made myself at home in the old armchair by the fire place after putting a cloth over the seat which was a bit dusty. The last thing that I wanted was for my nice new dress to get dirtier than it had to be! After sitting down and getting myself comfortable. I looked around the room and saw, on the mantelpiece, a photo and in the photo stood a rather severe looking moustached man and woman (without an obvious moustache) sitting bolt upright in a chair. They were wearing what was probably their best clothes. I wondered why they weren’t smiling. Perhaps they had nothing to smile about.

I ate one of the apples quickly and then the softer bits of bread and after that opened one of the tins of baked beans. I preferred baked beans hot, but beggars can’t be choosers, so I quaffed down the lot in double quick time. I liked Queens Park–the actual park I mean. It wasn’t very big, but it had swings and a small playground and my mum and dad when they were alive took me and my sister there regularly, but all that seemed so long ago now and it was almost as if it had all been a dream.

Once again, I felt a dreadful sense of loss. I was by myself now and I had never had that before. I was always part of a family and even when my sister and I were at that hateful farm, we at least had the knowledge that our mum was at home longing to be with us.

Shrugging off the negative thoughts that would take over if I had let them, I drank some more cream soda. My throat still had the dust in it from the bombings and I needed to wash it all down. I wished that I had an aspirin or something as the back of my head still hurt and throbbed a bit; but I just had to grin and bear it. After all, there were a lot of people worse off than me, well some were, anyway.

Of course, after that drinking I had to use the toilet. I went into the kitchen at the back, unbolted the door and saw the outside toilet attached to a storeroom a few yards away.

I quickly looked around, all seemed clear so I went over to the toilet and went in. I dropped my knickers and sat down. I shivered a bit as the cold wooden seat hit my bare bottom–dressed like this, it didn’t seem right to stand and go. Not that I was much good at that anyway as my wee-willy-winky tended to spray everywhere. Anyway, I did my stuff and wiped myself dry with the torn newspaper left handily on a hook on the door and then I was done.

Then I just sat there for a bit and thought about my predicament. Although I was trying to make light of things and doing my best to keep my pecker up, my thoughts were never far away from my mum and sister. It took a lot of effort not to dwell on it and I did try to stay positive. I tried to focus my attention on the present rather than the past and in particular the thorny problem as to how I was going to get to my Gran’s. For all I knew she could have moved after the invasion or, God forbid, she might not be alive. However, I just had to do something and I realised that London wouldn’t be a safe place for anyone now that the Germans had taken over.

One of the bits of torn newspaper was a front page of The Daily Sketch. The headline said:

We Are Winning The War!

I laughed bitterly, wondering whether it was just an old edition or just wishful thinking on the part of the newspaper.

Well, I couldn’t sit there all day and anyway, I was a growing girl–nice thought that–and I fancied another apple.

I went back in and carried on eating. Mind you, I didn’t have a huge tummy, so it didn’t really take much to fill me up. I was having a final swig from the bottle of cream soda, remembering fondly how nice it used to be with a dollop of ice cream in a glass, when I heard the sound of boots–lots of them, in the distance growing louder by the second.

I hid behind the counter and waited as I heard the boots come nearer and nearer. It sounded like marching, lots of boots marching in time. It wasn’t our lads, that was for sure, so it could only have been the hated Germans.

The marching came ever nearer and it seemed to me, hiding like the brave person that I was– behind the counter, that there were thousands of them out there. The teacups on the Welsh dresser started to rattle as the rhythmic boots came ever nearer and then started passing outside.

Being ever so brave, I poked my head above the counter for a second and I could see wave upon wave of soldiers marching by. Well, I was right they weren’t British. They had banners and swastikas on poles. There was a band that struck up as they went by and I must admit, it wasn’t my kind of music.

Wave upon wave passed by and then there were vehicles of all types and description including trucks, armoured cars, tanks and motor bikes with and without side cars. In the end, I stopped looking up from behind the counter. I couldn’t take the chance of someone looking in and seeing me.

I was worried that someone might come into the shop; it was possible, after all. I had noticed when I first came in to the shop, that over in the corner behind the counter was what looked suspiciously like a trap door leading, I assumed and hoped, down to the cellar. I lifted the heavy wooden lid or door and peered down into the cellar. Not surprisingly, it was dark down there, but I could see steps leading down and on a small shelf, just below ground level, was a candle and holder and a box of matches.

I took another quick peek outside and saw that there were still a lot of soldiers going by. I wasn’t going to take any more chances, so I picked up the few scraps of food that I hadn’t eaten, popped them in a paper bag and as an afterthought, I grabbed a bottle of lemonade and my case and then quickly went down the steps. I paused for a moment, put the things that I had been carrying on a step and with a shaky hand, I lit the candle. I had a bit of a thing about spiders and other creepy crawlies, not forgetting mice and rats. But there was no time for me to be a wimp...

By the flickering candlelight, I carried on down the steps. There were thirteen steps and I hoped that that wasn’t bad luck. Anyway, at the bottom was a large space the seemed to be of a similar size to the shop above. It was a bit dusty and full of boxes and what looked like some of the stock. I put my things down on an upturned tea crate and then went up the steps again. Strangely, there was a bolt on the underside of the cellar door and after closing the door carefully, I slipped the bolt across and then went back down again.

I sat on a crate watching the guttering candle and felt quite cold. Wearing a dress in a dark cold cellar wasn’t very clever, but for all that, it was the only real positive in a sea of negatives. I was dressed outside how I felt inside. It gave me some comfort as, for what seemed like hours, I could hear the noises of people and vehicles coming and going outside in the street.

At one time, my heart was in my mouth as I heard the scrape of boots above me. I could hear a lot of laughing, some breaking of bottles and crockery together with smashing and the scraping of furniture. I nearly had a heart attack when the cellar door was banged suddenly.

Then I could hear some shouting by someone who seemed to be in charge–he seemed angry. A few seconds later, after much boot scraping and footfalls, everything above me went quiet again.

I did so wished that I had a watch. I had no idea what the time was. I was feeling tired, but I dared not go to sleep with all that was happening just feet away from me.

I put my coat on the ground and sat down on the floor with my back to a crate, as it was more comfortable. I did my cardigan up to the neck and just waited, my mind just a jumble of conflicting thoughts.

I must have fallen asleep after all as I was jolted awake by the sound of a cat wailing outside somewhere. The candle had gone out and I looked up. The coal hole over the far side where the street was had a grill above it that I hadn’t noticed before. I could see a dim light coming from outside. I wondered if it was getting late. I stopped breathing for a moment as I strained my ears listening for the dreaded jackboots. All was quiet except for that flaming cat.

Well I couldn’t stay there, I had to get going and I sensed that the best time to travel would be at night where I could fade into the shadows should anyone nasty be about.

I was freezing cold and I shivered. Feeling around for my belongings, I put my coat on and then after banging my shin and saying a few choice things learnt from the farm hands, I made my way up the steps, slid the bolt back and carefully left the cellar.

Through the broken window, I could see that it was twilight outside and fast growing dark. There were no street lights and apart from the sound of aircraft above, all was quiet. Then I heard the sound of gunfire in the distance and wondered if it was our resistance, fighting on. Poking my head carefully out of the window, avoid the shards of glass, I saw a couple of flashes light up the sky over to the east and could hear the sound of explosions a few moments later. Searchlights then came on and pierced the sky, no doubt now under the control of the enemy. There were still many sausage shaped barrage balloons dotted about the sky and I now knew why they had not been taken down yet. I thought that it would be tragic if our anti-aircraft and barrage balloons brought down our boys.

I took heart because, unless I was mistaken, there still was some resistance going on. How many of our people were fighting, I didn’t know, but the sound of the gunfire buoyed me up a bit. We hadn’t all given in, it seemed.

In the shop, I tripped over something in the gloom–an upturned chair. Peering around, I could see that the place had been wrecked. Why I didn’t know, maybe the soldiers were letting off steam or searching for valuables. I hoped that this wasn’t the shape of things to come.

We had all heard stories about Nazi atrocities against the Jews and people who didn’t fit into their notion of society. We heard about how the populations of those countries they conquered were treated. Previously, being a child, they seemed to be just stories to me and my friends and not anything to do with real life. It was kind of exciting, cowboys and Indians stuff–although I always felt sorry for the Indians, they had a raw deal–good over evil and the goodies always won, didn’t they? Then, the reality of the situation sunk in, even to our young minds as the Luftwaffe started bombing the heart out of our cities and some fathers just didn’t come home from the warfront. That made it all real. Now some mindless bomb had killed my mum and sister and my dad had died trying to stop Germany from taking us over and was still over there, somewhere.

The door had been smashed open, so I didn’t have to clamber over the broken window. I peeked my head out and looked up and down the street, all was quiet. I took one last look at the shop and then let myself out.

And so I began my journey to Cornwall. I had no idea how long it would take or what means of transport I would use, but I was determined to try to make it, by hook or by crook.

I went down Harvest Road and then Mortimer Road. I saw a couple of trucks in the distance coming towards me and I hid behind a privet hedge as they thundered by.

It was getting quite dark now. Usually at this time of night I would see people coming to and from work or soldiers, sailors and airmen on leave. ARP wardens would stalk the streets telling people off and shouting, ‘get that light out. Often there were members of the rescue services milling about trying to help those in need and making the damaged areas safe. I wondered when things would ever be “normal” again...

I wondered if there was anyone behind the closed doors of the houses I passed that night. I dare not knock anyone up. For all I know, there may be Germans billeted in the area and it would just be my luck if I knocked on the wrong door.

I passed Kensal Green Station. This had been bombed early in the war and ten people had lost their lives. It was just a shell now, but the track had been fixed some time ago. To emphasise the point a train rushed through what was left on the station, smoke billowing and wheels clattering loudly on the racks. There were loads of carriages some open and some closed. They seemed packed with German soldiers. I wondered where the train was going–I hoped sincerely that it wasn’t Cornwall!

Up ahead was Harrow Road. I intended to go down that road, as I knew that it eventually led to the main road leading out of London. I needed to get out of the city as soon as possible; I just didn’t feel safe and believed that I was very exposed. I just hoped that I wouldn’t meet anyone that I didn’t want to.

As I got nearer to Harrow Road, I found that there were more people about and more traffic. It was disconcerting to find that all the people were in uniform, German uniform, of course. I wondered how it was that so many soldiers could arrive on our shores so quickly. Were our armed forces in such a bad shape that there was no resistance to speak of? Mind you, I had heard that gunfire and the explosions–I wished more than anything, to know what was going on. The lack of any concrete news was driving me nuts!

Had our politicians done some sort of deal to save lives? Was the surrender unconditional? Maybe individuals ignored any sort of surrender and were at that moment fighting the invaders. I had so many questions and no answers. What I did know was that if there had been a surrender a few days before, perhaps my mum and sister may not have died.

I stepped into a garden and hid behind a wall. A couple of soldiers had turned the corner and were walking my way. As they passed, speaking German, they laughed. I could smell the smoke from their cigarettes and it made my nose itch. I wanted to sneeze and rubbed my nose vigorously until the urge went away with the receding sounds of their boots on the pavement.

When all was clear again, I continued on into Harrow Road, with its once busy shops and pavements. The last time I was here was with Mum and Sally. We had had to go to Woolworths, Mac Fisheries and few other places. Times had been hard with the rationing and Mum was great at eking out the points and although times had been hard, we never actually starved. Woolworth’s had been bombed just the previous week whilst the place was full of Saturday shoppers; it was carnage.

Harrow Road looked very different now, deserted in the main. The night was my friend, as I could flit from shadow to shadow without being seen. After a while, I passed a large building; it was the town hall. There were floodlights everywhere and the place was a hive of activity with cars, trucks and lorries coming and going all the time. A huge swastika flag hung from the upstairs balcony, fluttering slightly in the breeze and looking very out of place here in the capital of what was once Great Britain. Well, in my opinion, Britain would be great again if I had anything to do with it!

I carried on as I wanted to get as far as possible that night and then just before dawn, find somewhere to hide out until the next night. Travelling during the daylight hours would not be a good idea.

The road had a bend in front of me. All had gone quiet again and I speeded up my walk as I was getting cold. I had my coat on and it was done up to my neck, but my bare legs were freezing and my feet felt little better.

As I arrived at the bend, I was suddenly pushed over and I landed on my hands and knees in the entrance to someone’s garden.

‘Ouch.’ I said looking up in the gloom. A figure stood there, above me.

‘Are you mad?’ said a girl’s voice.

‘What?’ I said, confused.

‘There’s a check-point around the corner by Scrubs Lane.’

‘Is there–erm what’s a check-point?’

I got to my feet and brushed myself down. I could see a bit better now. I had been shoved over by a girl, who looked about the same age as me. She was wearing a rather grubby mac and underneath, from what I could see below the hem of her coat, a dress with small flowers on it–rather pretty, I thought distractedly. She had a rather dirty ribbon in her hair which was long and a bit untidy. She had a button nose and a smudge of dirt on her cheek. She looked less than pleased.

‘Are you thick or something? Where have you been living, in a cave? Can’t you see what’s going on around us? Look, we can’t talk here, the Fritz are everywhere. Come on, let’s get out of here.’

I was going to say something about girls who pushed people about, but I didn’t. I just got up and brushed myself down...

‘Come on!’

She said no more but grabbed my hand and went off in a hurry down a side street. I followed in her wake wondering who she was and what I was getting into.

She turned left into Valliere Road after checking that all was clear. I followed her like a sheep and a few moments later, a big building loomed into view. There was a hole in the fence and she slipped through, gesturing me to follow. I noticed a sign on a board that said it was Kenmont School. It reminded me of my old school–Wilberforce, in Beethoven Street before it was shut down shortly after all or most of the children were sent away.

She went across the playground with me following on her heels. I really should have carried on that night as I wanted to get as far as possible, but to be honest, with all that had happened today, I was tired and if this girl knew somewhere where I could lay low until the next night then I was willing to see where she went.

She went to a side door and knocked three times then twice and then once. A few seconds later the door opened and another girl peered out. Where were the adults? I thought.

‘Alison, let us in, it’s freezing out here!’

The door opened and we slipped past the girl who locked and bolted the door behind her. Inside there were several candles dotted about the corridor and I was led down it and into another room. Alison motioned to me to go in and with some reservations I did as I was asked. The girl who had knocked me over followed and I found myself in the school kitchen. A large room with lots of pots and pans, cookers and other kitchen type things. But that didn’t grab my attention as much as the scene before me.

On a large kitchen table were several candles in saucers sat around it was a boy and two girls who were playing cards, snap, I think. They all looked up as I came over.

‘Hello,’ said one of the girls, ‘who are you?’

I was obviously aware that my boys’ name, John would not be good. I used my mum’s second name instead.

‘Carol.’

‘Hello Carol, I’m Ethel and this is my twin Glad, short for Gladys and that’s Albert.’

I nodded and then the girl who led me there after pushing me over, chipped in.

‘I’m Claire, sorry I pushed you, but I didn’t know what else to do. Want a cup of tea or Bovril?’

‘Ooh, yes, tea please,’ I said as I sat down next to the others.

Claire went over to a huge looking metal object with a chimney.

‘It’s an Aga,’ said Glad with a grin. ‘Lucky they had one here. We’ve been using it at night so the smoke isn’t seen. We‘ve broken some chairs and desks to feed the flames and it keeps us toasty warm at night. That’s why we all sleep here.’

I looked over at Albert, he wasn’t saying much. I suppose that we were all of a similar age, twelve to fourteen. The girls looked like they could all do with a wash and the boy was in a worse state. I wondered why his clothes looked more tattered than the rest, but said nothing.

I scratched my head at the back and winced, it still hurt a lot where I banged my head and I had a constant, slight nagging headache.

Ethel was looking at me.

‘Hurt yourself?’

‘Yes, I got knocked on the head.’

‘Let’s have a look.’

She got up and came over. She felt the back of my head.

'Ouch!'

‘Sorry; ooh, lots of blood here, but it’s gone dry and you have a lump the size of an egg. Best not wash it for a few days or it might bleed again.’

A mug of hot steamy tea was put in front of me. There was no sugar, that didn’t surprise me but there was milk–the dried variety; we hadn’t seen the wet stuff for ages.

‘We found some things left in the store cupboard and we’re using them. Getting a bit low now, but we’ll think of something.’

The others then were served up some tea and I found it nice to sit there, getting warmed up on the outside by the warmth of the Aga and the inside with the help of the tea and some dry biscuits that miraculously appeared in front of me.

I wondered, fleetingly if the others knew that I was physically a boy and whether I would have to explain myself, but everyone seemed to take me at face value and I wasn’t about to throw my dress off and declare my supposed manhood!

I giggled at that thought.

‘What?’ asked Glad.

‘Nothing, it’s just...’

‘What?’

‘Oh nothing, so how come you are all here?’

They all looked at each other and Ethel spoke up.

‘Albert, we pulled out of his Anderson shelter when it collapsed after a near miss. His mum was killed when Paddington General Hospital got a direct hit a few days before and he was sort of not with it for a few days, but he’s all right now, aren’t you Albert? We know him because Glad and I lived two doors down from him. We’re here because mum’s a WAAF and there was no way were we going to move out of London. Mum doesn’t know we’re here. We sort of missed our train out for evac. If mum knew, she’d go mad, but last thing we heard was that she was up in Scotland.’

I looked over at Albert.

Albert didn’t say anything, but just smiled shyly and then looked down at the mug in his hand.

‘Alison, we found wondering the streets. She came home to find her house boarded up and her mum gone. She doesn’t know where her mum is. She came back from a visit to her aunt in the country, who she doesn’t like much and anyway, she missed her mum too much.’

‘So,’ I asked Alison, ‘you don’t know where your mum is?’

‘No, but knowing her she could be anywhere. She’s a WVS* but I thought that she worked locally, but they must have moved her when the army moved out of London.’

‘Right,’ said Ethel, ‘what’s your story, Carol?’

I looked at them. They had all gone through it and had seen things that kids our age shouldn’t ever see. Well my story was nothing special, except to me. I told them all that had happened except for the fact that I was previously known as John rather than Carol. It wasn’t something I wanted to talk about yet. The last thing I wanted was be rejected as someone weird and strange.

After I finished, I was a bit of a wreck and cried a bit. As a boy, I would have felt bad about crying in front of all these kids, but as a girl, it was a natural reaction to all I had been through and it was nice to have succession of hugs from the girls. Albert didn’t hug me, but at least I got a sympathetic smile. I think that he was a bit intimidated, being amongst all these girls and him being the only boy; well, technically, if you wanted to be fussy. I was physically a boy, but I didn’t want to even think about that.

When we finished, we all sat about on the floor with blankets and pillows around us. I had no idea where they had come from but to be honest, at that moment, I couldn’t care less. I was dry, warm and with others like me. That was enough for the moment. But I knew that I couldn’t stay there for long, I had to get out of London and on to my Gran’s.

In the distance, we could hear sporadic gunfire and explosions. At other times the sound of heavy vehicles’ passed somewhere outside.

‘So,’ I asked no one in particular, ‘it looks like I wasn’t awake when everything went bad. Do any of you know what happened?’

Glad looked up and smiled grimly.

‘You were lucky not to see it. One minute everywhere was full of our soldiers and the next minute, they were gone–orders to go back to the barracks from the generals we heard. Then the sky was full of planes, German ones. Out of the planes came lots of parachutes. It was nuts, the air was full of them and no one was doing anything. An ARP warden heard on the radio that the parachutists were aiming for open spaces like Hampstead Heath, and that we shouldn’t resist. But the wind was strong and I think a lot of them landed amongst the buildings. There’s still a parachute in a tree in Harrow Rd, the soldiers still there, dangling, broke his neck, I think.’

‘Nasty,’ I said.

‘One less German to worry about,’ shrugged Glad. ‘It didn’t matter though, they had thousands and knowing the Nazis they couldn’t care less about a few soldiers getting killed. Then we heard that the enemy had landed in huge numbers on our beaches and we didn’t put up a fight. We had given in. Churchill and most of the government were dead by then and we were like headless chickens, with no one to guide us. I think that the generals gave in to save lives; I don’t know if that’s true but I hate think that there would be any other reason.’

Claire took up the story.

‘In no time, the area was full of Germans. Leaflets were put up, telling all men and boys over thirteen to report immediately to the local police station for orders. Girls were to stay at home and await instructions. Lots of people just fled out of London, but we do know that road blocks were put up when a few returned with terrible stories. We were told that some men and boys were shot. Then, yesterday I think it was, more leaflets and notices sprung up saying that everyone remaining was to go to the local police station to be registered within the next two days. Many people are just hiding like we are; anywhere they can, or finding different ways of escaping. Yesterday, the tanks and armoured vehicles arrived and it’s getting harder and harder to move around without getting caught.’

‘So you don’t have any plans?’ I said.

‘Not really,’ said Claire, ‘we are taking one step at a time.’

I looked around at the tired, worn out and worried faces. They had survived so far by luck. I had no illusions that things would get a lot worse before they got better in London. I was still determined to find my Gran in Cornwall. Down there I could find somewhere to hide even if it was on Dartmoor.

I wondered...

‘Look, I know that I’ve only just turned up and everything, but we can’t stay here. We will be caught eventually. Why don’t you all come with me to Cornwall...?’

‘Cornwall, that’s miles away and we would get caught,’ said Ethel.

‘Well we will definitely get caught here. We have a better chance now, when everything is upside down and no one has papers, than later on when everything is more secure.’

They looked at each other and that coincided with more sounds of gunfire and explosions followed by heavy engine noises from somewhere in the distance.

Alison coughed and then said, ‘I think that Carol is right, we have to go and soon too. Things are going to get harder around here, much harder. Let’s get out into the country and see how things are. We could try and find Carol’s Gran, but if it gets too hot for us, we can change our plans. What do you all think?’

Claire was the first to speak up.

‘I’m getting fed up with skulking around here. I want to do something, anything that might help us, but we have a problem.’

‘Problem?’ said Alison and Glad in unison.

‘Yes, Albert.’

‘Albert?’

‘Albert is a boy and he will be the first one in big trouble if we are caught.’

Albert looked at all of us, he had gone even paler than he had been before, if that was possible.

‘We are not leaving Albert,’ said Claire firmly and the others including me, nodded in agreement.

‘I’m not saying leave him; I wouldn’t even think it. No, Albert will have to become erm...Alberta?’

‘Isn’t that in Canada?’ I said.

‘Right, okay Albert, what girls name do you want?’

‘I’m not a girl!’

‘Of course not, it’s just that you have to pretend.’

‘I don’t want to be a girl.’

‘Why not?’ asked Ethel indignantly, ‘much better being a girl than a stupid boy!’

‘Dresses are silly.’

‘No sillier than those stupid shorts you’re wearing!’

‘STOP IT!’ cried Claire, stamping her foot on the wooden floor and making us jump.

She turned to Albert whose face had gone from white to red.

‘Albert, we know that you are a boy and a brave one too. But boys your age are not around now. God knows where they are. If you stay dressed as a boy, you will stick out like a sore thumb. Carol is right, everything is in turmoil now but soon it will be very difficult to move around. If you stay as a boy, you will get caught, as sure as eggs are eggs. At least dressed as a girl, you have a chance. None of us will laugh at you, I promise. It’s just like play acting.’

He looked around. I swear that he was almost as frightened as if a doodle bug was about to arrive.

I knew a wee bit about what he was going through. Even though I knew that I was a girl, I had had my doubts early on and my fears about being caught and laughed at.

I put my hand over his. It was cold, despite the warmth of the room.

‘Albert, you need to do this. You are so brave and strong and we need you to help us. Will you do it for us?’

He looked into my eyes and an expression fleetingly went across his face. For a moment, I wondered if he realised my secret but he shook his head slightly and then looked around at the others.

‘Y...you won’t laugh?’

‘NO!’ we all said at once.

Before going to sleep, Ethel had popped up to the school library and found a map book of Great Britain. We poured over it and decided the best way out of town. It had a section at the back that included London, so that was very useful. We thought that it would be probable that most of the road blocks would be on main roads, so we would steer clear of these and stick to smaller ones.

We spent the next day preparing for our travels by getting everything together, each taking turns to be look out, just in case we had some unwelcome visitors. The girls all had some clothes and we spent some time sorting out what we could take and what would have to be left behind as we wanted to travel as light as possible. I had just about enough to keep me going in my case but the others had some difficulty in deciding what they just couldn’t do without. We decided just a small case and a bag for food and other essentials each. Albert’s case was filled for him. The poor lamb still looked as if all this hadn’t sunk in.

Mind you, Albert looked fine in a dress. He was young enough not to look out of place. He was slim (we all were) and smallish for a boy and had no hair on his face or body yet. The only thing was he had short hair on his head. Unlike me, his mum insisted on short hair. The story would be was that he had head lice or nits and had to have his hair cut off, if ever he was asked. In the mean time, he wore a purple woolly hat to hide his lack of locks. The name he chose, with some reluctance I might add, was Helen, his mum’s name.

I was proud of the girls. As promised, no one laughed at our new girl–Helen.

It was dark outside when we were finally ready to go. We all had a small case and a bag each to carry. We had our coats on as it was chilly. It was with a bit of regret that we left the kitchen, still warm from the heat of the Aga and made our way out of the school and out onto the street.

We didn’t know how long it would take us to get where we hoped to go, or even if we did find our destination–Cornwall was a long way away and even I had my doubts about if we could get there, but we were determined to do our best to get ourselves out of London and start doing something more than just hiding away and doing nothing.

Looking up, the sky was clear and there was no moon. I could see the millions of pin pricks that were the stars. I wondered if my parents and sister were looking down on me and looking out for us. I hoped so as we were going to need all the help we could get!

To be continued...

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

Please leave comments and do the kudo-thingie...thanks! ~Sue