I wish I could say I carried on with my day like nothing had happened. I should have, God knows Da had talked to me like that enough times. Instead, I went from the hospital to work at the GPO(1) in a fog, trying to drive his words from my head.

"Hello Mavis," the redhead beside me, said, chewing on her usual imaginary piece of gum. "How're you today?"

I slid my telephonist headphones over my ears. "As peachy as a rosebud in December, Jane. Has Myrtle been using my equipment again?"

"Why?"

I winced. "I feel like I've put my loaf in a vice."

The switchboard buzzed, cutting her laugh short. "Ruddy hell. It begins already."

oOo

The rest of the day passed in a blur of surly military personnel demanding to be connected to their party, a few even yelling at me when I couldn't do it instantly. My anger with Myrtle had turned to gratitude by the time she relieved me.

"Have a great night!" she said in her infuriatingly chipper voice.

"You too," I replied, managing a friendly tone as I headed for the coatroom.

"Mavis, wait up!" Jane called from behind me. "Do you want to get some nibbles? It's on me."

I sighed. "I'd love to, but not tonight. I'm making a special dinner for Alistair and me. It's our anniversary." Guilt ripped through me as her smile disappeared. "Look," I added hastily. "I'll take you out next week after pay day. My treat."

Jane nodded, looking away. "Sure. I'll see you tomorrow."

I watched her go, the urge to tell her I'd changed my mind tugging against my desire to get Glynis and go home. The later won. I slipped into my coat and headed out, the throbbing in my head easing as the cold evening air outside kissed my forehead.

Why was Da so cruel? I thought. What did I do wrong?

I reached in my pocket and pulled out a rolly(2) and lighter. Damn. I've gone almost five days without a craving. Since the last time I saw Da, come to think of it.

I lit the rolly's end, shielding the flame from a biting gust of wind, and exhaled the stale smoke from my lungs. Bloody marvelous, another thing for Alistair to give me hell for. "If it isn't the Jerrries that get you, it'll be your dad."

The droning wail of air raid sirens cut through my thoughts. I looked up at the darkening sky as the sharp crack of gunfire and a deafening grinding roar announced approaching planes.

"Jerries!" an elderly gentleman screamed, grabbing my arm as he hobbled past me with the aid of a cane. "We're under attack!"

I shielded my eyes against a brilliant flash of white light. The bomb that caused the flash exploded, shaking the ground so violently my knees almost gave way.

"C'mon, you daft woman!" He yelled, pulling me along with more strength than I'd expected as anti-aircraft guns boomed in reply. "Sir!" He motioned to a man in a helmet like one Da wore in the Great War, except for a white W painted on it. "Help me get her below."

He grabbed my other arm. "Now, lass," he said, as if talking to a frightened dog. I detected a hint of an Irish accent in his speech. "Come with us. You'll be safe underground."

I thought of Alistair and wondered if he was helping someone like me, or Charlotte. Charlotte. Glynis.

"Wait!" I screamed, dropping my rolly as they pulled me to the underground entrance, which was obscured by rows of sand bags. "I have to get my daughter!"

"What does she look like?"

"She's three years old with brown hair and blue eyes like mine, and she's wearing," I paused, fighting to keep the panic rising in me from muddling my memory. "A blue coat."

The air raid warden shook his head. "I haven't seen her, but I'll let you know if I do."

I fought their grips. "You've got to help me find her! She could be wandering the streets, scared and alone!"

"Sorry, ma'am, I can't let you go. You could get killed out there."

I screamed a few choice words that would've even made Peter blush. It didn't faze my rescuers, however, who wrestled me halfway down the steps before I broke free.

"Glynis!" I shouted against the explosions, which grew louder and closer. "Glynis!"

"That's quite enough, ma'am," the warden growled, grabbing my ankles and sweeping me over his shoulder like a limp doll. I howled and kicked as another blast rattled the walls around us.

"You bloody murderer!" I screamed. "You killed her!"

He ignored me and put me down next to the old man, who'd found a bench seat, before tending to the crowd of people filing down the steps. My nose burned against the mix of burnt dust, gaspers(2) and sweat in the air.

"That's quite a fuss you made, and with such vulgar language for a woman," the geezer said, pulling a pipe and pouch from his trouser pocket. "If you were that worried about your daughter, you would've kept a better eye on her."

I bit my tongue as he lit his pipe. "She's with a friend of mine. I had to work today."

"Oh." The disapproval in his tone was stronger than the smell of his cheap tobacco. "What a world we live in. In my day, women stayed in the kitchen where they belonged."

"You sound like my father."

"And just who might he be?"

"Crawford Newkirk." You nosy bastard.

His disgust disappeared as he chuckled. "I know 'im. We worked together on the railway. 'E was always good for a laugh, and generous with money too." He patted my back. "You're lucky to have a Da like him."

You obviously never knew him. Guilt stabbed at me before I finished the thought. Maybe I was too hard on him. Maybe he'd earned the right to be angry, especially at me, since I was such a disappointment for him. And a failure as Glynis's mum.

I stood up and walked off, hoping to drive away thoughts of firemen finding my dead daughter buried under a pile of rubble. I covered my ears as another explosion shook the tunnel. Children screamed as the lamps above us flickered. A chorus of mums murmuring 'it's alright,' and 'don't worry, mummy's here,' followed their cries.

I stopped, suddenly aware of a woman on my right hanging laundry on a line strung against the wall and a girl changing a baby's nappies(3) on my left. It's as if they call this place home.I watched as strangers in front of me huddled together, sharing blankets and gaspers as if they known each other all their lives. Maybe there's hope for us yet.

A girl let out a wail behind me. I turned as her father, who strummed an acoustic guitar, tried to hush her.

"I'm scared," she cried. "I want me mum."

I held her until her shaking passed. "Don't cry, luv. Everything's going to be alright." I wiped the last of her tears away. "Would you like me to sing to you? Me mum used to sing to me whenever I was scared."

She stared at me, her hazel eyes reflecting my own uncertainty.

I turned to her father. "Do you know any folk songs?"

He nodded. "Sing and I'll pick it up."

I took a deep breath. "Forgive me if I hurt your ears, sweet pea, I haven't done this for awhile."

In Banbridge town in the County Down

One morning last July

From the bóithrín green came a sweet cailín

And she smiled as she passed me by.

She looked so sweet from her two bare feet

To the crown of her nut brown hair

Such a coaxing elf, sure I pinched myself

To make sure I was really there.

I was a bit rusty, but she didn't flinch at my sour notes. Her dad, however, struggled to pick up the melody.

From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay

From Galway to Dublin town

No maid I've seen like the brown cailín

That I met in the County Down.

I turned as a small woman with a shawl around her shoulders picked up the next verse. A little boy clutching a teddy bear stared at us with wide green eyes. I smiled and motioned for him to join us. He looked over at a soot-covered woman making tea on a small stove, who nodded at him, before scurrying over.

At the harvest fair she'll be surely there

And I'll dress in my Sunday clothes

With my shoes shined bright, my hat cocked right

For a smile from the nut-brown rose.

No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke

Till my plow is a rust coloured brown

Till a smiling bride by my own fireside

Is the star of the County Down.

The dad found the melody as a group of nippers(4) circled us. The grown ups who weren't singing were clapping, whistling or stomping their feet by the time we finished.

"That was lovely," the small woman said, grasping my shoulder. "You took me back to when I was a bonny lass playing in the hills. Where did you hear that song? You don't sound Irish, if you'll pardon me saying so."

I smiled. "My mother traveled all over the empire, picking up ditties wherever she heard them." Mostly in dancehalls.

"Thank her for me, will yeh? She's given this woman a bit of peace before she dies."

I didn't bother correcting her before she hobbled off and passed a young man in an RAF uniform. I had to look twice when he approached me. He could've been Peter's twin, except for a beard and an accent so thick I could barely understand him.

"It'm a perty tune, you know," he mumbled, staring at the pavement.

"Ta," I said, suddenly feeling warm and safe like I did when I was with Peter. "Beggin your pardon, but what part of England are you from?"

He shook his head. "I'se a Newfoundlander. I joined the RAF because I've bin on boats all my life and I'se sick of them." He shuffled his feet. "Haven't done much flying yet. Only just got here."

My heart sank. I'd hoped he could tell me something about Peter, like what he was like in training or before he left for France.

"Say," he said, looking at the children sitting crossed legged around us. "Would you like to 'ear a song I learned while on a cod trap crew?"

The children oohed and awed as another explosion rocked the ground.

Newfoundland Peter motioned to the dad, who'd bent protectively around his guitar. "Mind if I try? I've adone this many a time at house parties."

The dad handed it over reluctantly and flinched as Newfoundland Peter bashed the strings with his right thumb.

I's the b'y that builds the boat

And I's the b'y that sails her!

I's the b'y that catches the fish

And brings them home to Liza.

I jumped as he bellowed the words like he was fighting a gale. The children, however, clapped and shrieked with delight.

Hip yer partner, Sally Tibbo

Hip yer partner, Sally Brown

Fogo, Twillingate, Moreton's Harbour

All around the circle!

I fumbled through the next chorus, not understanding a ruddy word I was saying. Still, his gaiety was catching.

I don't want your maggoty fish

They're no good for winter!

I could buy as good as that

Down in Bonavista.

He paused his singing, strumming a few chords. "Now, I took Lizer to a dance. You want to know what happened?"

The children's eyes grew wider as they nodded.

I took Liza to a dance

As fast as she could travel

And every step that she did take

She landed in the gravel.

Hip yer partner, Sally Tibbo

Hip yer partner, Sally Brown

Fogo, Twillingate, Moreton's Harbour

All around the circle!

He bashed his thumb against the strings and let quiet reign before another explosion shattered the moment. Sweet Pea grabbed my waist while her dad grabbed his guitar.

"You bloody sailors are all alike, a crude lot," he snapped above the wailing and fresh tears.

I almost told him to shut his stupid trap when I spotted a familiar face coming down the stairs with the warden. "Jane!" I called, standing up. She looked around as I came to her, almost tripping over a dog chasing its tail while I ran. "Jane!"

The warden frowned when he saw me. "I told you before…."

I shook my head. "She's a friend of mine. I'll look after her."

"Mavis," she whispered as I took her arm. "Is that you?"

My eyebrows rose. "Yes, Jane, it's me. Are you alright?"

She touched her forehead. "I think so. I was on my way home when the bombs started."

"Don't try to talk."

"The sun's rising, but you can hardly see it, it's so cloudy. It smells rotten outside, like the house after me mum cooked supper."

I grabbed her arm as she stumbled, almost collapsing under her full weight. Newfoundland Peter must've seen us, as he rushed to our aid. I gasped as he lifted her right arm over his shoulders, revealing a bloodstain on the side of her blouse. "Jane, you're not alright!"

She looked down at her wound. "That's funny. I don't feel anything," she murmured, her eyelids fluttering shut.

"Warden!" Newfoundland Peter shouted, laying her down and making a pillow for her with his jacket. "Get an ambulance!"

"Mavis," she whimpered, groping weakly for my hand as he tore strips of his shirt for bandages. "Don't leave me."

I took her fingers and squeezed them in mine. "I'm right here, darling.'"

"Get Jim. Bonny Jim."

"Jane…"

"Remember the lake, Jim? How pretty it was? You could see our reflections, plain as day in it. Could've watched our wedding upside down if you'd wanted to."

My cheeks burned as she rambled. I didn't know she was married. She didn't wear a wedding ring and hadn't mentioned Jim before now.

"Remember, Jim?" she asked, distress creeping into her voice.

"I remember," I whispered.

The children around us screamed as another bomb exploded close by. Mercifully, Jane didn't seem to hear, or comprehend it anymore.

"Remember our honeymoon before you left for training? And that beautiful cottage in Scotland? How many babies did we plan on having?"

"Ma'am." I looked up as Newfoundland Peter touched my shoulder and waved at two grim, soot-covered men bearing a stretcher. "I stopped an ambulance. They need to take her now."

I nodded and let go of Jane's hand. She cried out and tried to struggle as they lifted her onto the stretcher. "Jim! Come back! Don't leave me again. I almost died the day I got the telegram."

I stroked her hair. "I'm here darling, don't cry." I turned to the blonde stretcher-bearer beside me. "I'd better come along. She'll be less trouble that way."

He shrugged. "Fine. I'm too tired to argue with yeh. Just keep up with us."

I did what he asked, despite almost knocking my Hampsteads (5) out trying to keep my balance while holding Jane's hand. It wasn't long before we emerged to a hellish sky and a stench of combined smoke, gunpowder and a stomach-wrenchingly sweet smell I couldn't name.

"What's happening?" I asked as a disheveled woman pushing a pram-full of clothes and dishes passed us, looking off someplace I couldn't begin to imagine.

"The Jerries got Islington," the stretcher-bearer said. "Heard they got Guildhall too. Seems like half of London's on fire tonight. Wouldn't surprise me if St. Paul's burned down."

My breath caught in my throat as I peered through hazy pink-white smoke where a bakery had stood and watched flames consume a church on the next block. I could hear their crackling and the firemen's shouts from here. Anti-aircraft fire flashed in tiny brilliant specks as a barrage balloon, which looked pink instead of silver in the light, passed overhead.

I turned back to Jane as she moaned. Her eyes were open and clearer than I'd ever seen them.

"Why do they hate us so much?" she asked, so faintly I had to put my ear next to her mouth to hear.

I felt helpless as I watched them load her into the ambulance. "I wish I knew."

She'd closed her eyes again by the time I climbed in with her.

"Hurry!" I yelled as they slammed the doors behind us.

Jane gave a shallow sigh as the ambulance started forward, its tires crackled under the debris on the road.

(1) General Post Office, which operated England's telephone service during the Second World War.

(2) Slang words for cigarettes.

(3) Diaper.

(4) Children.

(5) Teeth.

A/N: I opted not to write Newfoundland Peter's speech completely as how he probably would have talked to prevent breaking the story's flow. I apologize to those from Newfoundland if I've used the speech patterns or slang incorrectly.

Also, I don't own the words to either song used in this chapter, and haven't included the full lyrics to save space. Star of the County Down is an Irish folk song and I'se the B'y is a Newfoundland/Maritime folk song. Both were introduced to me through a wonderful trio called Glencoulee, based in Lethbridge, Alberta. While neither of their versions of these songs are available online, I recommend anyone who's interested search Youtube for Star Of The County Down by Van Morrison and the Chieftains - and I'se The B'y by Great Big Sea. Both versions are close to the Glencoulee recordings.