"This brings back memories."
The old man took his jacket off and draped it over the birdcage, which he set on the floor at his feet, before sitting on the half-cushion Rita had passed up. The man with the braces had balanced himself rather unsteadily on a rickety wooden chair; his wife kept knitting.
"How d'you mean?" she asked; but the old chap just gave her a toothless grin.
"Did you remember to lock the back door, Bet?" said the man with the braces.
She sighed faintly. "Yes, love."
"You're very quiet, Margaret," said Rita. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," mumbled Lilly, blushing. Maybe she should own up to not being Maggie; it was a bit embarrassing, seeing as Rita was being so nice. But she didn't want to confess just now. It might make her start crying, and she never cried during air raids.
The two boys had retreated to the back of the lock-up and squatted on the dusty floor. One of them gazed at the gap above the door "What d'you reckon, Bill - Dorniers, or Heinkels?" he said.
"Dorniers," replied Bill, with the authority of a self-taught expert on the subject of aircraft noises.
"I dunno, they sound more like Heinkels."
"Leave it out, Alf. You wouldn't know a Heinkel if it snuck up behind you and bit you on the arse."
"Language," said Bet, glancing up from her knitting.
"Sorry, missus."
For a minute or so, there was silence in the little arched shelter, but that could never last, not when there were bombs falling. Pretty soon the old man with the birdcage started singing. His voice, thin and stretched with age, was overwhelmed by each rumbling explosion, only to resurface as the noise subsided. The woman smiled over her knitting; the two boys sniggered between themselves.
Everyone knew Underneath the Arches, of course. There was something cosy and old-fashioned about it, something that belonged to before the war; that long-distant time which, to Lilly, seemed almost like a dream. A vague recollection came to her, of someone singing that very song in the front room at home; Peter, probably, although it could have been their father in one of his rare good moods.
She snuggled a little closer to Rita, closed her eyes, and tried to let the gentleness of the singing drown out the terrifying din from the streets outside.
"It sounds like they're getting further away," remarked Alf.
"Probably not a proper raid," replied Bill, who was obviously a right know-it-all. "They come in from north-west, didn't they? Most likely they was on their way back from Birmingham or one of them places, and just had a few left over."
"Well, they needn't bleedin' well drop 'em here," grumbled Bet's husband. "Bet, did you turn off the gas? Last thing we want is the kettle boiling over again."
"Oh, for pity's sake, Jim. Yes, I turned off the gas, and the radio, and I've got the savings book, the sugar ration and your mother's wedding ring in my handbag."
With a sudden chill of dread, Lilly clutched at her pocket. The ration book was still there, to her great relief. She could feel Rita's breathing, interspersed with little catches, and it suddenly occurred to her that the grown-ups were just as scared as she was. The irritable comments of the man with the braces, his wife's dogged persistence with her knitting, even the argument between the two boys crouched against the back wall - all of it was just a way of keeping up a brave front. Well, she could be just as brave as any of them, even when she didn't have Mam and Maggie to look after her.
She found Rita's hand, and gave it a squeeze, and Rita squeezed back.
The old man with the budgie had started up again. After a couple of bars, other voices joined in. They were into the second repeat, when the loudest crash yet cut them off. For ten seconds, as the noise died away, nobody even breathed; then one lone voice answered back: "Missed us, you short-sighted bugger."
Lilly gave a slightly hysterical giggle; a splutter of laughter came from the two boys, and the man with the braces stared in astonishment. But his wife's eyes twinkled at Rita's scarlet face. "That's right, miss, you tell 'em," she said; and that cracked everyone up.
It was the last big one, although sporadic crashes continued for some time, gradually becoming more distant, until finally came the welcome sound of the all-clear. "About flippin' time," said Jim, as he stood up and went to open the doors.
Outside, a haze of dust and smoke shimmered in the late afternoon sunlight. Lilly scrambled to her feet, and snatched up her shopping basket.
"Hold up, kiddie. I'll see you home," said Rita, trying to find a graceful way to get up off the floor. She accepted Jim's offered hand, and took a moment to brush the dust from her skirt, while Lilly bobbed impatiently in the doorway. The two boys hurried off, intent on seeing what damage had been done, and hoping to find a few shrapnel fragments.
The old man took his coat back, uncovering the birdcage and drawing an anxious whistle from the budgerigar. He picked up the cage, nodded to the ladies, and went on his way.
"Thanks awfully for letting us into your shelter," said Rita to the man with the braces.
"My pleasure, love." He gave her a grin, the first sign of good humour he'd shown. "It's not mine, anyway. Some old geezer up in Stoke Newington's got the lease of it. But I'm sure he won't mind, specially as he won't never know. That little sister of yours is off, you'd best be after her."
Lilly couldn't wait, now that the bombs had stopped falling. She refused to admit any thought of what might have happened in Esk Road. Everyone would be all right, of course; but all the same, she was in a hurry. Mam would be cross as anything with her, if she was late. She heard the sharp tapping of Rita's high heels behind her, and slowed a little, just to let her catch up; and they turned the corner into Esk Road together.
"You see? Not even a broken window in the whole street," said Rita, her voice wobbling a little.
Other people were coming home, too; those who had sheltered in their houses had come outside to see what damage had been done. Over the rooftops, a blossoming of smoke showed where the nearest bomb had dropped; but Rita was right, Esk Road had escaped.
The front door of Number Twenty-Seven was closed. Lilly stood on the doorstep, momentarily at a loss. Then she rallied. "They'll have gone to the tube station. That's where we always go."
"You'd better wait here," Rita called after her. "It'll be crowded there, you might miss them."
But Lilly wasn't listening. At the far end of the street, someone had just come into sight; a recognisably gawky figure, walking very quickly, almost outrunning herself in her anxiety. Lilly broke into a run, and flung herself into Alice's arms. And Mam was right behind her.
For half a minute, an incomprehensible babble filled the street; Mam scolding, Alice exclaiming, Maggie and Noel adding their contributions at the top of their voices. Only Lilly didn't say anything, once she'd found her way into her mother's embrace.
Arthur had gone on past, but now he came back. "The house is still standing, Mum. Can we go in? Everyone's staring at us."
With a final hug, Mam released her youngest daughter, although she kept hold of Lilly's hand. "Take that basket, Maggie," she said, trying without success to sound as matter-of-fact as usual.
Lilly scrabbled in her pocket. "I didn't lose the ration book," she announced, holding it up in triumph.
"Who cares about the ration book?" Alice brushed it aside. "Where on earth have you been? We were worried sick about you, out there on your own."
"But I wasn't..." Lilly turned around. She gazed along the street, trying to find her new friend. But Rita had already gone.
For a moment, Lilly didn't know what to say. Finally she looked up at Mam.
"She's ever so nice," she said.
Underneath the Arches: written by Bud Flanagan (with co-writer Reg Connelly), and performed for many years by Flanagan and his stage partner, Chesney Allen. It can be found on YouTube; I recommend the 1941 recording.