Rosie Goes to War Read online

  Once I’ve calmed down, I go back across the garden, stumbling a bit in the dark. I can’t wait to get these bloody shoes off. There’s no light at all coming from the house. I suppose it’s those blackout curtains.

  I hope I’ll walk back into Gran’s modern kitchen. I always thought it was pretty old-fashioned till I saw the one that May and Nelly are living in. That’s like really old. Everything seems so real, but it doesn’t make sense. I can’t be in 1940, can I? It’s just not possible. Not in real life. I’m starting to think my theory about being unconscious and dreaming is the most likely explanation. I wiggle my nose a bit, sniffing in the cold air, hoping to make myself sneeze. I feel like a right idiot, but hey if it works …

  I’m halfway up the path when a horrible droning sound starts up. I stop and listen. It gets louder, rising in tone. Oh. My. God. A real life air-raid siren. In the dark sky columns of light appear, searching, criss-crossing, like they’re dancing.

  The back door opens and the girls run out.

  ‘Don’t just stand there, get in the shelter,’ says Nelly.

  But I can’t move. The lights are almost hypnotic. I could watch them for hours.

  ‘Come on, get under cover,’ Nelly pushes me along the path. ‘This ain’t a game, you know. Every night we get this. Every bloody night.’

  I stumble into the shelter, nearly ending up on my knees as I didn’t realise there were a couple of steps down. They follow me in, pull the door shut and drag a curtain across it before May lights a lamp.

  It’s not very big in here, and it smells like Dad’s potting shed. There are benches along the longer walls, and shelves at the back with books and boxed games and various ‘odds and sods’ as Gran would say, including some blankets. May picks one up and gives it to me.

  ‘Here, put that round you, Queenie. It gets bloody cold down here.’ She sits down, wrapping herself up. ‘This your first air raid?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, sitting down next to her and snuggling into the blanket. It feels a bit damp, but I expect it’s just the cold. I hope so. ‘How long will it last?’

  May shrugged. ‘God knows. Some nights we’re here until first light. But if our boys do their job, they’ll send Jerry packing before too long. Either way, we have to wait for the all-clear.’

  Nelly sits opposite and pulls a book off the shelf and starts to read, ignoring us. I don’t know how she can see in this light. The lamp gives the shelter a hazy glow, but it’s not exactly bright. May just lays down and curls up. She looks like she’s going to doze off. Neither of them seems that bothered. I suppose they’re used to it. I pull the blanket round me and sit here, listening.

  In the distance I can hear a low rumbling, then it starts – the rat-a-tat-tat of the guns; the howling of the bombs as they fall. Explosions shake the ground, making dirt and dust fall on us from the roof of the shelter.

  I won’t lie, I’m shit scared. I’ve never experienced anything like this. I could actually die – right here in this crappy, smelly, rotten shelter – and no one would know what happened to me.

  The planes are right overhead now, and even May and Nelly are looking tense. I can feel the vibrations of their engines right through my chest. My mum took me to a Olly Murs gig once at Westonbirt Arboretum and we got right up the front, by the giant speakers. When the music started the sound was so big it flowed right through my chest, just like this is doing now. Only it’s nothing like this. Me and Mum were having a great time, and I wasn’t in danger of getting blown to bits then.

  Thinking of my mum is quite upsetting, you know? I mean, what if I get killed here? We had an awful row before they left. I can’t get my head round the idea that I might never see her or Dad again. Didn’t Gran and Great-aunt Eleanor say Queenie disappeared? They thought she was dead. Jeez, now I’m totally freaked. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!

  ‘You all right, Queenie?’ asks May, peeking over the edge of her blanket.

  Crash! A bomb explodes somewhere close. I cover my head with my hands, waiting for the world to fall in on my head. ‘I don’t want to die!’

  ‘Aw, don’t fret, love,’ says May, sitting up and putting an arm around me. ‘None of us do, do we Nell?’

  Nelly shakes her head. ‘’Course we don’t. But if it’s our turn, there ain’t much we can do about it.’

  The smell of burning wood floats under the door. I can hear sirens, guns, and the droning of the airplanes going on and on and on.

  ‘How can you be so calm about it?’ I shout. ‘This is really serious.’

  ‘All right, keep your hair on. Getting in a state won’t make no difference.’

  ‘Are you telling me you’re not scared?’ I ask her. More bangs, more bombs landing. I try not to flinch.

  ‘Oh, I’m scared all right,’ she said. ‘Don’t let no one tell you they ain’t scared, ’cause they’d be lying. But you can’t give in to it, can you? If we do that, we might as well just put our hands up and surrender.’

  ‘She’s right,’ says May. ‘I don’t know about you, Queenie, but I don’t fancy talking German, do you?’

  ‘You can hardly talk proper English,’ says Nelly.

  ‘Cheeky mare,’ says May, grinning at her sister.

  I shake my head. They don’t understand. I know they’re going to be all right. But what about me?

  ‘Come on, Queenie, don’t fuss. You stick with us and we’ll see you all right. Your first air raid is always the worst. I don’t mind admitting I nearly wet meself the first time. I’m still scared – like Nelly says, everyone is. But you get the hang of it.’

  I seriously doubt it. But I’m not going to go on about it. I don’t want them thinking I’m a wimp.

  ‘I don’t suppose you brought any food with you from the country, did you? It’s all farms in Wiltshire, ain’t it?’ says Nelly.

  For a few seconds I don’t know what she’s on about. We’re being bombed here, in case you hadn’t noticed! Then I realise she’s trying to distract me. I try to concentrate.

  ‘Er, no. Sorry. I live in a village, not on a farm.’

  ‘I’ll bet you’ve got a big house though, eh, Queenie?’ says May.

  ‘Not really. I’m not as posh as you think.’ They look like they don’t believe me. ‘Honestly, I’m not. Our house isn’t any bigger than this one.’

  ‘What does your dad do, then?’ Nelly wants to know.

  ‘Ours is at sea,’ says May.

  I know that already, but I try to look like I don’t. But what can I say about my dad? He works with computers, but I can’t tell them that – were they even invented in 1940? Wasn’t the first computer used to break the German’s secret codes? I remember seeing it on the telly on one of those history channel programmes Dad likes to watch. Enigma – that’s it! I don’t think that was until later in the war, though.

  I’d better keep as close to the truth as possible. ‘Um … he works on machines,’ I say. Woomph! Another explosion rocks the shelter.

  ‘What sort of machines?’ asks May, ignoring it. I try to concentrate on her instead of all the chaos going on outside.

  ‘I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about it.’ Or rather, I realise, I never bother to listen. I feel guilty about that now. I might never get the chance to find out.

  ‘And he works on these machines in Wiltshire, does he?’ Nelly asks. She doesn’t look convinced.

  ‘Most of the time, yes.’ I say. ‘He works for a big company in Swindon. But he’s in France at the moment.’

  Nelly and May looked gobsmacked. What’s the matter with them?

  ‘But France is in German hands,’ says Nelly. ‘How can he be there?’

  Oh, great! How was I supposed to know? I’ve never been much interested in history. Hang on, what did we learn about the war at school? I think it started in 1939. So it’s being going on for about a year now. The Germans took over most of Europe. They didn’t get to us because of the English Channel, so they sent their planes and bombs. Yeah, and I’ve landed in the mid
dle of it! Just to emphasise the fact there’s another almighty bang and the door blows open. In the distance I can see flames and smoke and searchlights. Nelly jumps up and pushes the door shut again.

  I know we won the war eventually, of course, but not for years and I can’t remember the details. Something to do with beaches in France and atom bombs in Japan. This is getting sooo complicated!

  ‘I shouldn’t have said that,’ I say. ‘Forget I said it.’ I feel like Hagrid from the Harry Potter films. He always seemed to be saying that when he put his foot in it. And it always led to trouble for someone.

  ‘Ah,’ says May, tapping the side of her nose. ‘Secret work.’

  ‘You’d better not make a mistake like that at the factory, or someone’ll report you,’ says Nelly. ‘You should know better. “Walls have ears”, remember.’

  ‘Yes, sorry,’ I say, feeling stupid. I’ll never get away with this. I just seem to keep getting things wrong. I wish I was a bit cleverer, like the companions in Dr Who. They always seem to know what to do and say. But then again, they’ve got a bloody script to follow, haven’t they!

  ‘What about your mum?’ says May while Nelly glares at me, just like Great-aunt Eleanor does. ‘She doing war work ’n’all?’

  ‘Er … yes.’ I’d better play it safe. I tap my nose and wink at May. ‘I can’t talk about it.’

  She nods, not even a bit suspicious, bless her. But her sister is.

  ‘How come you’ve been sent here?’ asks Nelly. ‘Seems a bit daft to me, you getting a job in London when it’s a lot safer in the country.’

  God will she ever give up?

  ‘I really don’t know,’ I say. ‘I didn’t have any choice.’ And that’s definitely the truth.

  ‘Done any sewing before?’ asked May.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What did you do back home, then?’ Nelly frowned.

  ‘I’m still at school. I’m doing GCSEs.’

  ‘G what?’ she says.

  ‘Er, you know. Exams.’

  ‘Now, hang on a minute,’ Nelly is getting right worked up now. ‘You’ve been sent here to work at Cohen’s, but you reckon you’re still at school? How old are you?’

  I want to slap myself on the head. Why can’t I keep my stupid mouth shut?

  ‘I’m fifteen, nearly sixteen.’

  ‘Blimey!’ says May. ‘I said she was posh, Nell. Still at school and taking exams.’

  ‘’Course she ain’t,’ Nelly snaps at her sister. ‘She’s one of us workers now. Mr Cohen said she’s here for the duration, not just the bleeding school holidays. And I ain’t never heard of no GC whatever exams. English people take the School Certificate. So where are you really from, eh?’

  I feel sick. Doesn’t ‘the duration’ mean until the war is over? I can’t stay here until 1945! ‘Look,’ I say, raising my voice to drown out the noise of the explosions and crashes and gunfire outside. ‘I’m only here because my mum said I had to come. As soon as Dad’s job is finished in France, I’m going home to Wiltshire, OK? And I’m going back to school to take my exams because my mum and dad said I have to, and I don’t care if you’ve never heard of them, OK?’

  ‘All right, don’t get your knickers in a twist,’ says Nelly, backing off a bit. ‘We didn’t have any choice in this either, you know. You sort it out with Mr Cohen and the Ministry. It’s no skin off my nose if you go back where you came from. But I wouldn’t count on it, Miss Posh. We’ve all got to do our bit.’

  Another bang. More ack-ack-ack of gun-fire. She really has no idea. Not a clue. I can’t count on anything right now. I wonder what she’d think if I told her the truth? Not that I’m going to – seeing as how I don’t know what the truth is right now.

  ‘Nell didn’t want to leave school, neither,’ says May, ignoring the tension between me and Nelly. ‘Me, I couldn’t wait. I’d rather be working and earning a few bob. It’s a good laugh at Cohen’s. You’ll like it.’

  Before I can reply there’s an almighty crash. The whole shelter shakes and May squeals and dives under the blanket. Even Nelly ducks, holding her book over her head. I’m so shocked I just sit here with my mouth open. My ears are ringing. I shake my head, trying to clear them. Dust is floating through the gaps around the door curtain, and I have to shut my mouth as it’s making me cough.

  ‘Blimey, that was close,’ May peeps out from her blanket again.

  ‘Too bloody close,’ says Nelly. ‘I hope it ain’t blown out our windows.’

  I can hear bells and whistles outside. ‘Should we go and see? They might need some help.’ I hope not. It sounds way too scary out there.

  ‘No,’ says Nelly. ‘The wardens and the firemen will do what they can. They’ll shout if they need help. If we go out there gawping we’ll only get in the way.’

  ‘Our Dad said we should stay together and keep safe,’ says May. ‘It’s too dangerous to go out before the all-clear. Better stay here. Worrying don’t make it no better, Queenie. Try and get some rest.’

  Rest? How am I going to rest? It’s chaos out there! I know she’s only trying to make me calm down, like someone telling me to chillax when I get all stressed about how totally unreasonable my parents are. But there’s a bloody war going on and I’m sitting here in the middle of it when I should be out shopping for a new phone charger and some skinny jeans in Oxford Street!

  I pull the blanket over my head and put my fingers in my ears and start singing to myself to drown out the noise. ‘La la la la la la la la la la la.’

  ‘And you can shut that bloody racket up,’ Nelly yells at me.

  A couple of hours later I’m trying to stretch the kinks out of my neck when Nelly raises her head, listening. ‘I think it’s dying down,’ she says.

  ‘Thank Christ,’ says May. ‘Let’s hope there ain’t no more on the way. I want me bed. I’m bleeding shattered.’

  Me too. I’d give anything to be back home in Wiltshire right now.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It seems like hours before the all clear siren goes off. We fold up the blankets and turn the lamp out. In the garden we stand and watch the searchlights doing their dance again, only this time the sky’s not black but orange and grey from the fires and smoke. In the distance we can hear the sound of fire engines and the hiss of water as it hits the burning buildings.

  ‘They’re getting closer every night,’ says Nelly.

  ‘I hope our boys got a few of them,’ says May.

  ‘It looks like there’s a lot of fires.’ In a strange way it looks beautiful. Smoke is swirling around the flames, dancing with the searchlights.

  ‘Yeah,’ says May. ‘People’s homes, they are. Jerry don’t care what he hits – houses, schools, shops. The bastards.’

  ‘Watch your mouth,’ Nelly snaps. ‘Just ’cause we think it don’t mean we have to say it out loud. Our Mum’d turn in her grave hearing you talk like that.’

  ‘Sorry Nell,’ says May, looking guilty. ‘I’m just so blinking tired.’

  Nelly puts an arm round her sister’s shoulder. ‘I know. But we’ve got to keep our standards up, May. We don’t want Dad coming home and finding us turned into a pair of savages, do we?’

  ‘I s’pose not,’ May sighs, rubbing her eyes. ‘Anyway, we’ve got to get up for work soon. I’m going to use the lav before I go in.’

  ‘Yeah, me too,’ I say. No way will I come out here on my own in the middle of the night.

  While Nelly and I wait for May to use the loo I close my eyes and try to imagine we’re queuing for the loos at Glastonbury. I makes me smile. At least this queue is short and the loo is clean, even if it does have a faint whiff of cat.

  I wish I could say something to make them feel better, but this war is going to last for years yet. I know they survive and their Dad comes home safely, but that’s all I do know. So what can I say?

  Above the noise of the fires I hear the loo flush and May emerges.

  ‘You go next, Queenie,’ says Nelly sounding tired. She steps back a
nd lets me go in front of her. I thought she was quite nice to May, even when she was telling her off, and now she’s being nice to me. If she keeps this up I could start to like her. ‘But don’t take all night about it,’ she calls after me, spoiling the effect.

  The kitchen seems warm and cosy after a few hours in the Anderson Shelter. Nelly boils the kettle and fills three hot-water bottles. I hug mine, glad of its heat.

  Nelly glances up at the clock on the wall. ‘Better get to bed. Bombs or no bombs, we’ll be for it if we’re late in the morning. Mr Cohen don’t put up with no time-wasters.’ She collects up the cups and saucers left over from earlier. ‘You show her up, May, and I’ll give these a rinse.’

  I take the suitcase and follow May up the stairs to the first-floor landing. I know what the bedroom will look like before May opens the door. It was the same room Gran and me cleaned this morning. Only it’s the dark, cold version, not the nice cosy one.

  ‘Isn’t this Nelly’s room?’ I ask without thinking. When May turns to look at me, all surprised, I want to slap myself for being so stupid.

  ‘How did you know that?’ May asks.

  ‘Er … I’m psychic?’

  May giggles. ‘Nah, don’t be daft. There ain’t no such thing, is there? Mind you, Lil over the road reckons she’s got the ’fluence on account of her Nan being a Romany who used to live in caravan.’ She wiggles her fingers in front of her face and crosses her eyes. ‘Mad as a hatter, she is.’

  I grin and shrug. ‘OK, I’m not psychic. I just guessed.’

  May nods. ‘Fair enough. It was a good guess. Nelly’s moved into our dad’s room while you’re here. If he comes home on leave, we’ll have to share so he can have his bed.’

  ‘Are you expecting him home soon?’