Anna Richards, London, 1940
Concentrate! Anna chided herself. Eyes honed on the olive green sleeve she stitched beneath a sewing machine. Glinty steel needle galloping in a blur amidst sewing machines clattering around the room. She strained to hear a word of conversation from the other ladies or catch any of the hushed whispers that passed mouth to ear. And her conversation partner's chair had sat empty for the last two days. Canvas sheet draped over her machine like a widow's veil. With a flustered sigh, Anna finished tailoring a single Army men's uniform. A long-sleeved green shirt destined for one of the millions of Commonwealth men languishing overseas in bunkers and trenches. The uniform went folded into a pile of identical uniforms she'd sewn today.
Twenty, Thirty, Fourty, Anna counted. Just five more to meet the quota, thirty minutes to go. Brain spun into more sewing and folding and she opted not to take a cigarette break by the balcony. All week long. Quotas, quotas, quotas. Madam Wilson walking around with an iron ruler to smack any girl caught dozing off. She didn't even care if you'd pulled a nighter in the Underground bomb shelter sleeping on railway tracks. And besides, Anna needed the money. Timmy's eighteenth birthday was today and he's going away. Probably the last time she'd get to see her brother until this godforsaken war was over. Given how many empty chairs had been popping up around her recently, probably the last time ever. She remembered Timmy and his toothy grin and the way they played tag and hide-and-seek in all thousand square feet of their parents' London townhouse. In a short while playing real hide-and-seek with German U-Boats in the Atlantic. Her brows creased. Damn Hitler and damn this war.
Suddenly, she wished the elderly Polish Gentlewoman who'd sat next to her for the last week would've come. Anna scarcely understood a word she said but it was a healthy distraction to keep her eyes on the sewing machine and not wander to the Brown-haired girl sitting on the opposite corner. Oh! Brown-haired girl. Anna leaned closer to the needle, stamping its razor lines through seams. Maybe just a peek. She wouldn't even look up. Just a swivel of the eyeballs. Through dust motes suspended in the setting sun's rays and dozens of other hunched-over women slaving away sat Brown-haired girl. Blue dress today. Hair tied back in a shawl. Ankles crossed. Soft features in a placid expression that resembled one of those marble Roman Goddesses in the London Museum. A dozen other Brunettes worked on her factory floor. Anna knew each girl by name - Alice, Sophie, Eleanor. Except this one. Because she hadn't the courage to just walk up and ask her name.
Pain shot through Anna's forefinger and she yanked her hand away. Bollocks, Anna cursed. No blood. She'd tangled her fingers in the feed. Green thread dangling everywhere. Anna sighed and snipped away frayed bits, fussing around as she tried to reset the feed as quickly as she could. Six o'clock and its out-of-reach quota looming closer like a speeding train
"Distracted?" a familiar voice crept into her ear, warm and raspy, "You're gonna set her face on fire if you keep staring at her like that."
Anna swiveled around, fingers still tangled with thread, "Mummy? What're you doing here - weren't you at school?"
"Overtime!" Susanne chirped, thumbing through uniforms in Anna's basket, "Also, someone's gotta carry your arse given how you keep looking at her the whole shift."
"Oh come on!" Anna rolled her eyes, but a blush had already crept through her face, "Um, it's Tim's Birthday today."
"Already ahead of you," Susanne looked over her shoulder, before slipping a stack of ration coupons and pound notes, "see if you can get something from the store after knocking off. Dad's at the Auxiliary Unit's night shift so he can't come-"
She slid the precious bundle into the hem of her skirt. It'd probably taken Mum months to accumulate this on a teacher's salary. Prices had increased. More empty shelves and longer queues. Half the time, there wasn't even anything substantial to be bought besides the meagerest of rations. Flour and Bacon painstakingly brought across the Atlantic on Merchant Vessels her brother would soon be defending. Smoked Cod caught in the Channel by fishermen who braved the Stuka bombers. Anna cast one more glance at her mother disappearing into another workshop. Wishing she had something else to contribute besides distracted sewing and piles of uniforms. Speaking of uniforms - three more had mysteriously appeared in her basket. She smiled to herself, and mouthed: thanks Mum. Not enough to meet her quotas, but just enough to keep her arse moving.
"Just one day at a time," Anna bemoaned, settling back into her work. No matter how many bombs fell that night or empty seats appeared beside her or how many nights she had to spend crammed shoulder-to-shoulder in the accursed bomb shelter. There'd always be a sunrise the next day. Her mother's wrinkly hands on her crop of reddened hair, waking her to whatever drainwater tea or cardboard bread she could scrounge. For now, she didn't have to think about the war or far-off things she had no concern over. There was only today. Completing her quota of uniforms. Getting to the store. Her brother's birthday. Figuring how to ask Brown-haired girl her goddamned name once and for all. She's assigned to the same shelter on the street, perhaps -
Oh stop it! Anna scolded herself, you can't hope for a raid just to spend a night with her in the shelter, can you?
All the other conversations in the room faded into chugging machinery as the two dozen women picked up their pace in a mad rush to fulfil their quotas. Anna stopped talking to herself. Stopped thinking altogether. Fingers and feet moving as steadily as the minute hand ticking away. Until at last, the clock struck six and the whistle blew and Anna dropped her last uniform into the basket for Madam Wilson to count through. Thanks to Susanne's timely help, she earned that silver token which guaranteed an extra shilling to spend on Tim's birthday. Hopefully not his last before Hitler destroyed the world as it was.
Queues, queues, queues. Anna scampered through the throng of Londoners in peacoats and plaid skirts. Hand on her brimmed hat as she crossed the street to join the shortest queue. Above the rumbling streetcars and splashing puddles Anna nestled into the buzz of ladies' conversations in the queue. Tobruk's not doing well, I'm afraid. Letters not coming in anymore. Tonight looks blitzy. Susie's got a cellar - why don't you join us? Anna hadn't the slightest idea where Tobruk was. Only that it appeared to matter a whole lot to at least two women in the queue. This was what the world came to now - sons and husbands flung into far-off places with names she couldn't pronounce, Calais, Dunkirk, Malaya, New Guinea, Tobruk. Somehow finding its way into the consciousness of women standing right next to her in London. All because of Führers she didn't care for but made good flour impossible to obtain. And randomly killed gentle, elderly Polishwomen sitting next to her who hadn't done a thing wrong. Perhaps a bomb with her name on it would find her red hair in the dark and end things. Anna bent her sore back and craned up at the sky. The sun was setting. Blood red scrawl in the sky that made Anna think about the blood that was sure to be spilled tonight.
Nah, tonight will be a good night. Tim's last night in London - there'd be wine and they'd tune into BBC radio and dance to jazz music. Mummy would bring one of those puddings she'd score from Neighbour Sally and her black market treacle. Even if it did taste like sweet sand, at least she'd be having it with her family. Perhaps, even if the bombs fell and the world blew itself apart. Her last dying breaths could be spent asking Brown-haired girl what her name was. Probably something delicate. Aurelia? Gwendoline?
She hadn't even realised it'd reached her turn in the queue. Anna upended a week's wages and Mummy's stash and a thick wad of ration coupons. Mr Giovanni looked upon the pile of papers on his counter. Flanked by charcuterie she couldn't afford and bags of sugar she didn't even want to think about. He wiped his hands on a greasy apron and widened his eyes.
"Big party tonight, I see-"
"Yes sir, 'fraid m'brother's off to the front," Anna tightened her shoulders, "the usual - and I'd like a bottle of wine, please."
The woman queuing behind her audibly gasped. Mr Giovanni counted her coupons and reached behind for a bottle of Claret. No idea what vintage. Didn't care. People drank to forget in these times. More than one elderly lady eyed her wine on the way out. Anna shoved the bottle deeper into her leather satchel. It paid off when she stepped onto the street and was immediately accosted by an Urchin kid. Grubby lil' hands that shot straight for her satchel. An everyday occurrence she'd more than prepared for; tailoring shears jammed straight into his chest. The kid got the message and trundled off in search of another petite freckled girl to rob. There were probably hundreds of such kids prowling London tonight. Shortages and hardships and lost parents making little vermin of them all. Undoubtedly, Anna would've fought tooth and nail to keep her brother's birthday present if she could. She grew up the only ginger girl in a posh school above her parents' means and had to scrap to defend every shred of her dignity. But she still couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as the shaven-headed boy disappeared down a sewage-ridden alleyway.
Focus, focus - just one day at a time.
Three more blocks dodging the urchins and clutching her precious satchel of meagre food and Tim's present to herself. Avoiding gazes thrown her way each corner she turned, like she was some damn Nazi spy. Two more blocks stepping over sloping piles of concrete rubble still getting sifted through by construction crews. Glowing fires from last night's baby blitz that hadn't burnt themselves out. One more block of rampant darkness caused by enforced blackouts and that weird gutter she'd always managed to trip over no matter how careful she was. Last corner. Her home around the lamp post. Still cold from lack of coal. But Mummy would be there. And Timmy at least. She could put her burden down and let her nerves unravel themselves after a hard day of sewing and -
An air raid siren's wail shot through her soul and shredded all hopes. Her chest clammed up. Shoes frozen stock-still in a puddle while pedestrians brushed past scampering to the nearest shelter. But just within eyeshot were the stairs to her townhouse! Home! A stone's throw away yet blocked by a Trenchcoated Tommy wielding a truncheon and a mustached face that said no mucking about. The shrill screech of his whistle shook her from her stupor. Shelters! Proceed to shelter!
Keep calm and carry on.
Eyes shot to the sky. She'd never see the planes in the darkness, especially a vast, moonless night like this. Only hear the explosions and feel the earth tremor beneath her feet. Why? Why do they come back night after night to bomb Londoners who haven't a fight to pick with Germany? All at once her heart reached towards Daddy in his fire truck. Putting on his helmet and braving the blacked-out streets in search of bodies to pull out. It was only when Mr Tommy had ardently prodded her with his truncheon that Anna finally found the sense to join the crowd heading for the nearest shelter. Welp. No more music or dancing. She'd be lucky to even share this bottle of wine. Or get enough morsels to quell that grumbling in her belly. The crowd thickened like treacle. Moving slowly through the shelter's cavernous jaws. Bid farewell to a good night's sleep too. The murmurs fell away to silence. Sliced by that god-awful siren that shut everyone up and wrangled immediate compliance like a crying baby.
A drizzle picked up. She heard a muffled boom in the distance. The people around her shrieked and continued their urgent shuffling forward. Sirens faded away the further Anna drifted with the magnetic current of the crowd. No one hollered and no one pushed. Just grumbling and hushed whispers. She shivered against the dank tunnels and coughed passing under a crumbling archway. Hugging the precious satchel tighter to herself. As much of a chance getting robbed in a shelter.
Another boom shook the stone brick ceiling. A man yelled, "Hey Jerry! Drop some biscuits and a flask o' Earl Grey while you're at it, will ya?"
The crowd huffed a terse laugh. They'd reached the main shelter area, wardens sorting households and pointing at cots where mothers could bed their children. Anna wandered in a daze. Shuddering each time a close hit rumbled through the shelter. The constant flickering lights and sleet fall of dust grated her nerves. She coughed again. Eyes flitting from damp mattress to rat-infested darkness and little boys trading bits of scavenged bomb shrapnel like they were playing conkers. Looks like I'm really going to sleep on the floor. At this rate she'd be lucky to even find a spot. Just when her heart fell and that omnipresent sense of dread hardened her stomach like concrete. The familiar warm voice wafted through the crowd yet again. There Mummy was. Sitting on a cot with one of the neighbour's girls on her lap, reading her Peter Rabbit in an effort to get the crying girl to calm down. She immediately got up and strode over to Anna for a hug.
"Damn you - what took you so long? I was worried sick-"
"The queues were awful-"
Anna hugged her tight. Rife stench of pencil shavings and smoked ham and that urgent squeeze of her thick arms that could only come from a mother's love. A well of tears bloomed behind Anna's eyes. But she bit on her lip and held it back. Keep calm and carry on. Even when Susanne opened her haul and found there wasn't much food to go around. Well, looks like we're having spotted dick for pudding instead.
"Any word from dad?"
"I saw him driving past actually, sirens blaring and all," Susanne squeezed her hand, "bastard didn't even stop to tip his hat at me. I'd reckon I'd have to get blasted to pieces before the old fart gives me the time of the day-"
"Oh, Mum-"
"Have you seen Timmy?" Susanne hefted out the bottle of wine, "I'd be damned if I'd to drink this all by myself."
A warden in a tin helmet marched in, distributing families. Here's Essex street.
"Timmy!"
Timmy strode over. Light of life shone in his eyes despite the rife uncertainty around them. Bouncing gait which threw him straight into his mother and sister's arms.
"Happy Birthday," Anna smiled - arm clasped over his shoulder, "eighteen years old, you're a man now-"
"You must be joking," Tim guffawed, "I was a man the moment you kicked my butt over-"
"Oh stop it, you two," Susanne chided, dragging him over to pool their rations together. The apprehension in her eyes was plain to see as the buzzing warm glow of incandescent light bulbs.
"Mummy-" Tim croaked out.
Susanne's hand froze on a portion of salami. A luxury hard-fought from bartering and haggling. "No, no," Susanne blinked and turned away, "I'm not going to talk you out of it. You do what you have to do tomorrow."
Anna stepped back from the harsh glare Susanne threw at her son. Eighteen years old. Short and scrawny as herself. Ruddy pale cheeks and blue eyes and a short crop of ash blond hair. Surely the Royal Navy wouldn't have use for him, would they? All the sailors she'd seen at the docks were tall and stout. Peaked caps gleaming in the sparse sunshine like porcelain doves. Young lives thrown into the far flung Atlantic and the Mediterranean where death waited below the icy depths.
"All my friends have gone, I'd be ashamed and called a coward to be left behind," Tim whispered, his voice sharp like a knife edge, "it's what Dad would want me to do."
"For god's sake, I'm certain you haven't spoken to him about this," Susanne shot back, "I knew him while he served in a trench somewhere in France and he hasn't said a damn word about it to me. Or you. And if he had a thimble of common sense he would tell you to stay where you were."
"I'm still going," Tim glared.
"Of course you are," Susanne slouched, before snatching the bottle of wine from Anna, "we saved this for your birthday. Drink up and see if it puts some hairs on your chest before the sailors make you try the real stuff."
Always the proper Englishwoman, Susanne unearthed three tea cups packed between felt sheets. Taking her time to pour shot–sized portions of red wine for her family. All while the terror bombing above them picked up its intensity. Resembling the dull drumbeat of an Orchestral Symphony with no start or end. Anna ignored the rancour and moved to drink up.
"Wait!" Susanne interrupted again, "What do we toast to?"
"Um," Tim thought for a moment, "Down with Hitler?"
"And God Save the King!" Anna chimed.
"Right then," Susanne raised her teacup of wine, pinkie extended, toasting together with her children, "Down with Hitler and God Save the King!"
The burn coursed through Anna's soul and into her empty belly before she opened her eyes again and saw Timmy with tears in his. She hugged him. Fist bunched in a tuft of gold hair. The last time she'd ever smell his acorn-scented hair because he'd certainly come back smelling like the salty sea and men. If he came back at all.
"You're a man now alright?" Anna breathed into his face, trembling with the sniffles, "Save some Krauts for the other guys-"
Susanne embraced them both, the wide grasp of her arms as large as the love she held for her children, "I'm proud of you - even if it kills me that you're doing this."
"Mum-"
A low-pitched whine entered her eardrums. For a moment, Anna imagined it was her brother finally breaking down and crying - but there it was again. Like the whirr of a refrigerator. Susanne's ears perked and she lifted her nose to the dank air. A violin. The woman immediately stomped over to the neighbouring compartment and came face to face with Mr Giovanni from the store wielding a violin. Anna smiled between bites of coarse bread and cheese. Music never failed to light her mother's eyes.
"You devil," Susanne glowered, hands on her hips, "all this while you've sold us scraps and never told me you played the violin?"
"Ah, mi amor. But Mr Richards will be cross with me if he knew," Giovanni sniggered, before motioning for the door, "besides, I've a great surprise waiting for you today. Knowing how the Jerries will be at us for the foreseeable future."
Anna tried to keep up as they passed between the throng of Londoners crammed into their communal shelter. All while drumbeat bombs kept them on their toes. Boom. Boom. Boom. Anna winced when the lights flickered off for more than a second. Only the shadowy blur of her mother's hips gliding through the passageways. A sudden gasp of amazement and hands clasped over her mouth as they stood face to face with a Piano.
"Heavens!" Susanne exclaimed, turning to Mr Giovanni, "How did you get this entire thing down here?"
"Poor sod got bombed out of his house, I'm afraid - the crews moved this down 'ere," Giovanni pointed at Anna, "and your daughter mentioned a farewell party we're having for Tim? I'd say we need your help getting this started-"
Susanne sat at the piano. At the first note she played, the hushed conversations fell into silence. Like she'd woven a spell that captured an entire shelter's attention. Punctuated by the bombs still going off above. She played another note. And then another. Before picking up a melody that Giovanni filled in with his violin. Susanne turned to her daughter with a huge beaming smile on her face as she tapped away at the keys. The song of her childhood lifted the mood of the shelter residents and whisked them far away to a place where there weren't bombs or Führers looking to destroy their existence.
A random voice yelled around the corner, "You got the violin and the piano. Jerry's brought the drums. We got a full band going now!"
Anna's chest swelled with pride looking at her mother. Schoolteacher and textile worker by day. Impromptu shelter musician by night. All while the world was falling to pieces and her only son was going off to fight a war she had no part in. The pride turned sour in an instant when she wished, deep in her heart. That she could be even half the woman her mother was. Instead of moping around in the bitter resentment of what the world was like and just living each day as it was.
Keep calm and carry on.
An elderly couple beside them had already started swaying to the music. Arms locked like they were in their living room. Anna turned to Tim and offered her arm.
"A dance?" Anna sneered, "Because I'm probably the last girl you'll see for the next year and I'm sure as hell you won't score with any of the fine dames here tonight."
"My pleasure," Tim grinned, hugging Anna tight and allowing her to lead the way. Other couples caught up on the spontaneous dancing. If she shut her eyes and focused on the music, it could be like any night out. Booze in her veins. The flickering lights could pass for the Chandeliers at Astor Club. Mum and Giovanni's instruments could pass for the most well-heeled big brass band. Her neighbours could pass for Aristocrats and the wealthy. It could all fade away if she shut her eyes hard enough, really. The war. People dying. She could wake up in another world where none of the injustices wrought upon London existed and she'd get all her heart's desires.
As if Tim managed to read her mind - he whispered into her ear.
"I think someone's here to see you," Tim clutched Anna's head to himself so that she couldn't turn around, "and from the looks of it, she wants a dance."
"Tell me," Anna wriggled within his vice-grasp, "does she have brown hair?"
Tim giggled, "Why yes - a brunette. Do you know her?
Oh! I thought this night couldn't get any better!
"What're you waiting for?" Anna hissed, "Send her over! But don't make it too obvious-"
"For you, dear sister - and as my going away present. Anything at all-"
Anna's heart pounded in time with the falling bombs. She remained perfectly still while music wafted around herself. Until Tim's acorn stench faded away to the unfamiliar fragrance of cherries. Anna shifted away just enough to see the curl of her lips. Green eyes that resembled the most lush forest she'd never been able to see up close. The breath caught in her throat and she struggled to breathe. All while Brown-haired girl flushed their hips together as they swayed to the music.
"We finally meet," Brown-haired girl drawled. Smooth like butter. Hint of a Bristol accent. Is that what she sounds like? Anna realised she'd spent so long admiring Brown-haired girl from afar that she'd never even heard her voice.
"We? Meet?" Anna stammered, heart hammering wildly against the other girl's floral dress, "I mean - finally? D-do you know me?"
A fit of giggles broke out, before she simmered down, "Of course I know you, Anna. We work on the same factory floor."
Anna feigned disinterest, "Oh? We do? That's interesting - I didn't imagine you'd-"
"You're that girl who keeps looking at me when you think I don't notice."
A blush shot through Anna's face. Not the booze for sure. It's this woman pressed right up against her. Generous swell of her bosom touching Anna's. Just an inch taller. Looking down at her and waiting for a reply with a huge smirk.
"I-I'm just looking out for you, I guess," Anna sucked in a deep breath, right as hands wandered around her lower back, "you never know who's not showing up for work. With all this happening around us-"
"It goes both ways, then-"
A huge pool of liquid courage swelled within Anna. Who cares? She might be dead tomorrow night. Either of them. At least she'd know the one thing that'd plagued her mind the entire week.
"Actually, about that," Anna gathered the courage, and her wits about herself, "I haven't the foggiest idea what your name is. And I'd really like to know."
The girl's grasp tightened. Their foreheads touched. Cherry blossom scent on her breath matching the tint of her lips. Still, ambivalence roared within her green eyes.
"You'd like to know, wouldn't you?" she sighed, "But what good is my name to you - when it'd be gone tomorrow and replaced with another? I could scarcely count on you to remember something as trivial as a name. Especially if another prettier girl takes my seat."
Disappointment sank into Anna's chest, "Y-you're leaving?"
"A gentleman has been up and down the factories asking women to Bletchley Park. Anyone who can work a typewriter. Good scores in maths. Solve a crossword in under five minutes. Unfortunately, I can do all three - so they didn't give me much choice in the matter."
"S-so-"
"I hardly imagine the girls there are as pretty as you."
A smile broke through the pang of longing clouding Anna's head. She tried one more time, "But you still aren't telling me your name."
Her embrace jerked tight. Anna's breath hitched. She found it hard to breathe again with the intoxicating scent filling her chest. Between the stars that crossed her eyes - she saw flowers. Red and white blossoms refracted in the lush forests of her green eyes. A breath ghosted across her lips. A dip of her gaze south. Giddy rush of adrenaline that left her lightheaded. The entire shelter. Its music and the thumping bombs and the warmth of civilians dancing in tight circles - fell away into the space between them.
"Why would I give you something that you'd forget in a day," the girl smirked, "when I could give you something you'd remember for a lifetime?"
"-whatever would that be?"
Brown-haired girl answered by leaning in. The softest of kisses. Heat burst through Anna's face like the warmest glow of a summer morning she'd all but forgot. Replaced by drunken heat. The taste of wine and the electric thrum of her pulse arcing into her spine.
By the time they'd parted, Anna forgot her own name as well.
Morning brought a grey dawn. Fine-powdered silica that drifted through the streets like a veil over the dead and mourning. London's way of hiding the devastation that Hitler unleashed last night. Anna wandered through piles of rubble and firemen hosing down burning houses. Her house still stood intact - that much she knew. But all the Cafes and Bakeries on the street were either boarded up or had their roofs caved in. Adding to the ache in her belly was a headache from sleeping with her head on the concrete wall. Mummy's gentle snores and an arm around her elbow. Like she couldn't let go of the last child she had within her grasp. Anna traced a fingertip over her chapped lips. Already, the heat of Brown-haired girl's kiss had faded into the frigid morning cold. The more she stumbled through the haze, the more it felt like a fever dream. A fantasy that drifted away like ash floating before her eyes.
Anna walked until she reached a bombed-out townhouse next to a church with half its domed ceiling smashed to pieces. Rafters dangled from the balconies. A mist had settled upon the sanctuary and amidst the rays of sunlight stood the altar and its cross. Still unspoiled. An elderly couple had already started picking through the remnants of their home and salvaging food to haul away. Her eyes avoided the row of three, white-shrouded corpses neatly lined on stretchers waiting for pickup, one bundle smaller than the others. Anna peered up the sloping pile of rubble and saw her father. Slouched upon the ruin. Helmet dangling from his left hand and a lit cigarette perched within his right. Vacant, hollow eyes that stared past Anna's shoulders. Unshaven. She stood there for a moment, waving. Wondering whether he could see her. Or if his eyes were still crammed full of the horror from last night.
"Dad!" she repeated for the third time before Richards moved. Like a corpse rising from the grave, dust falling off his shoulders. Stiff-limbed stumbling down the broken bricks. She made out the streaks of blood lining his forearms and rescue gloves.
"Hullo, love," Richards took a final drag on his cigarette, before chucking it away, "hope you had a better night than I did."
That familiar guilt bubbled within her again. Dancing with cute girls and drinking wine while her father pulled corpses from bombed houses. She ventured a single-armed hug around his gaunt frame. Trembling when she felt him squeeze her back.
"Tim's gone."
"Aye - I saw him off at the Navy Recruiting Station," Richards answered, voice wavering slightly, "I thought Jerry might've bombed it out and he'd stay. But I'd reckon the King has other plans."
He looked away. And Anna felt her father slipping with each vacant second that passed.
"Dad-"
"They're not going to stop," Richards turned and glared at her, "they're going to keep coming. Night after night."
Anna huffed a nervous laugh, "Well, nothing's changed then."
"I've spoken to the Captain. And I've gotten passage for you and Mummy out of London."
The words sank into her gut like ice. "What?" Anna's eyes shot open, watering at the stinging, acrid smoke, "Why? And where?"
"To the countryside. Berkshire. Grandpa's land. I'll join you and Mum once I finish my rotation."
"Berkshire? Isn't Grandpa dead?" Anna's voice broke, "And i-it's a farm! And Mummy has to teach at school and I have a job at the factory. No, we have a job at the factory!"
"Give your notice to Mrs Wilson. I've discussed this with your mother. All the children have left anyway. She agrees it's the best we can do to keep you safe."
"Safe?" Anna cried out, incredulous that her father could even suggest such a thing while people died around her, "But I want to stay here - to contribute to the war! I don't need you to tell me what's safe while you're out in the darkness each night. Bombs flying about while Jerry keeps us locked away-"
"You are to contribute to the war from Grandpa's farm and that's final!" Richards shot a finger at her, "Farming. Raising animals. Soldiers need food to eat and this helps as much as sewing uniforms and darning socks!"
"What? Farming?"
"The Ministry of Agriculture will requisition the land if we don't do something about it ourselves," Richards glowered, "I'd be damned if I let some foreign sod touch Grandpa's soil."
"It's not right-"
"Who are you to say what's right?" Richards shouted, gruff voice shattering the morning calm, "What's right is that you and Mum stay alive - I can't guarantee that here!"
"Is that what it's all about?" Anna argued, hands upturned, "Keeping me alive?"
"Tim's gone, he's fighting the war and we don't know if he's coming back," Richards's face hardened like granite, "you're a sitting duck here in London. One bomb hit and we've lost all our children. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"I'd like to stay here," Anna crossed her arms, before acceding to an old trick that always got her way, "please?"
"No," Richards brushed past her, muttering a slew of instructions, "pack your things. Board up the windows. Train leaves at noon tomorrow."
A fire truck pulled up. Weary men within resembling contorted, dust-ridden corpses. Vacant gazes looked worse for wear than Richards'. He turned towards his daughter, still staring at the rubble in a daze.
"You're not going alone, Anna," Richards mounted the truck, "we'll be there with you."
With her father's departure, Anna's left standing alone on the ruined sidewalk. Three unknown corpses amidst a bombed-out city for company. And the tattered remnants of a public notice poster fluttering in the breeze.
Keep calm and carry on.
"It's a splendid place, Berkshire," Susanne trilled as they boarded the noon train out of Waterloo station. Children gathered around them in lines. Teary eyes, forlorn faces as mothers and fathers hugged them. There was hardly a squeal to be heard. No pleaful begging on knees not to be separated. Only hushed whispers. Don't cry. Be brave. This will be over soon. Punctuated by the occasional train whistle and chugging wheels. Sunlight laced through the station's glass canopy. Cracks and missing panes looking like some macabre stained glass painting. Despite her mother's reassuring presence and the warmth of the cabin, still Anna shivered against the cold. Like the war had left ice in her heart that could never be thawed.
Perhaps this was why Dad always appeared so unflappable.
Her heart ached at the boy seated two rows down. Perched on his knees with one arm stuck clean out the open window. Little hands still holding onto his mother's who stood at the platform. She was wiping his face with a handkerchief until the very last second when the train started pulling away. Susanne had already abandoned their haphazardly packed pile of trunks and satchels. Opting to entertain a pair of unaccompanied girls with her rendition of Snow White.
You're safe now. Anna told herself. No more shelters or tremoring floors or that omnipresent layer of dust that coated their furniture after each bad night. In the countryside there would be silence. Wide open spaces. The rationing would be twice as awful but at least there was fresh food. And how bad could farming be compared to tailoring? The broken stone buildings and smoke-logged air gradually gave way to open fields. Trees and green plains stretched so far that it hurt her eyes. Trucks and streetcars became horse-drawn carts. A warm, melodic voice filled the car, audible above the rumbling. Anna turned to her mother singing a lullaby to the twins. One already sprawled out asleep on her knee. This woman has so much to give. Anna remembered nights where Susanne would drink tea for dinner just so they'd have a bit more bread. Hardy old woman who suffered the German blockade three decades ago yet still had enough spirit to light up other people's lives. What on earth did she see in a miserable old Oaf like Dad?
A drizzle started. Pearlescent drops careening down the windowpane. Shadowy clouds loomed in the distance and Anna tightened her cardigan around herself.
"Colder in the countryside, innit?" Susanne sat back down beside her, "takes some getting used to. Your first winter will be an exercise in endurance-"
"Or maybe this whole thing will be over before winter and we wouldn't have to stay."
"Ever the optimist aren't you? I'm glad to see you've taken your trials and tribulations in stride."
"Did Dad talk to you about this?" Anna turned to her mother, "Or did he just order you to go?"
"It was a mutually agreed decision between the both of us."
"Oh god-"
"Call him a bastard, an old fart, whatever word you want to use," Susanne stretched out her legs, "he's still your father and he has your interests at heart."
Anna paused. Fighting off that ache in her chest.
"And mine," Susanne whispered.
Anna flicked her head over, "You love him. Don't you?"
Susanne's eyes widened in wonder, "What the heavens are you talking about? Of course I love him. We're married."
"It's just that-"
"Oh, I know what you're thinking. Just because we don't say anything to each other doesn't mean we've fallen out," Susanne crossed her feet, "if it ever came down to it - the man would lay his life down for both of us in a heartbeat."
"I hope it never does."
"One day you'll understand that love isn't about the things you say to each other - but more about the stuff you do. Any old sod can tell you he loves you but that doesn't mean a thimble of piss if he flees at the first sign of trouble."
"Right."
"And what's gotten into you? It's that factory girl you're besotted with from last night, wasn't it?"
"She's going away, so it's not like either of us will meet anytime soon."
Susanne shrugged, "Well, I was born in Berkshire. I'd have to say the girls are prettier there."
"Hah!" Anna laughed, looking out at the rain, "The apple never falls far from the tree."
Susanne turned to her daughter, cradling her words for a moment until Anna returned her full attention.
"I don't say much, because you'll think I'm a nag," Susanne clutched Anna's head to her shoulder, "but you'll never have to guess with me. I love you to the ends of the world and back-"
"Oh Mum, stop it, you-"
Before she could say anything further. The air turned heavy and choked her reply. Crows fluttered in the distance. Dark silhouettes that rose in eerie, misshapen swarms. Susanne rose from her seat and moved towards a window for a clearer look. A faint unease lent to a tremor in Anna's chest at her mother's silence. Hardening into ice-cold fear in her spine when she whispered a single word.
"Luftwaffe," Susanne pointed at the sky. Those weren't crows. They were planes. "Can you see the trails? Our boys are giving em' a knackering."
Anna squinted at the grey clouds. Through the driving rain she made out white, spindly spirals. A hidden battle in the skies so far from London. That their train was heading straight towards. How far away were they? Wasn't the countryside meant to be safe? Hairs stood on Anna's neck and her chest clammed up. The rain fell in sheets. Thunder rumbled. The children had fallen silent and stood on tiptoes, pointing at the dogfighting Hurricanes and Messerschmitts.
A single shadow rose from the haze. Merely a speck at first. Growing until it resembled a vulture's wingspan. Whirring twin-engines Anna could just make out over the din of rain. She didn't need to look for more than five seconds to deduce it was heading towards them. A bomber.
"Well, well, I'd be damned if that Junkers broke off from the fight," Susanne shrank away from the window, "only to dump er' load all over a train full of children."
The vulture's menacing shadow now appeared like a dragon. Claws and fangs honed for destruction, waiting to devour them whole. A shriek pierced the car. Shaking fingers pointing at the plane as black dots fell away. Floating parcels of death that drifted on the winds.
"Mum, no!" Anna screamed, lunging for her mother, "Get away from the windo-"
The blast ripped through the car. Fire and smoke burned into Anna's eyes. She flew. Hurled into metal and shattering glass as her hands still strained to shield Susanne from a maelstrom of shrapnel piercing fabric and flesh alike. As soon as it started, the train ground to a halt. Through the smoke and contorted bodies of little children she made out the shadow of a woman struggling to stand upright. Hauling herself over upended seats. Anna sucked in a lungful of soot. Heart battering wildly against the fog in her head. A hand grabbed hers.
"Oh get up, you," Susanne dragged Anna from between two mangled benches, "Up! Up you go! Out the window!"
Together, they pried open a window. Only to be blasted in the face by rain and cold. Her first raspy, strained breaths were further drained when she clambered onto the side of the overturned train car and saw what a wreck Jerry had left. Ten train cars full of children derailed and left in a tangled, snakey ruin on the side of the tracks. A fire had started in the engine compartment. Rapidly engulfing the first car. Susanne was already on her feet. Blue cotton dress soaked to the gills. Hair fell in tendrils beneath her scarf in a mess of grey tangles. Stoic, unmovable woman surveying the wreckage. Like she was appraising a new set of curtains. A line of blood trickled down her face.
"Now you listen to me, darling," Susanne's voice barely wavered, "it's going to be at least an hour before the Home Guard lads reach us."
Anna had barely caught her breath. Keeled over on the side of the slippery, smouldering steel carriage. Rain lashed her face like millions of needle pricks. The dread hardened her lungs and she could scarcely breathe. Not like this. Please, God, not like this. Windows started sliding open. Ash-stained faces popped from the wreckage like gophers. The older ones clambered out first. Reaching down to pull out screaming toddlers and children.
Without another word, Susanne lowered herself back into the carnage.
"Mum!" Anna protested, merely a sputtery noise in the rain, "You're not seriously thinking of-"
Her plea cut off when a pair of strong arms handed one of the twins to her. Snivelling and rubbing her eyes. Anna grabbed her by the waist, "It's ok love, I got you-"
"Keep 'em in one spot!" Susanne called out. Merely a shifting shadow amidst the smoke as she searched beneath the seats. She found the other twin, eyes frozen still in a shell-shocked daze. And a boy, hanging so limp between her hands that she scarcely knew if he was dead or alive. Two more children passed from hand to hand before Susanne finally acceded to Anna's frantic screams to get the blazes out of the smoke-logged train. The children had clambered off the overturned carriage of their own volition, helped by each other and the few adults who'd stopped fighting the raging fire.
"Help me out," Susanne coughed with exhaustion, "I'm an old fart and I can't feel my legs."
Anna sniggered, reaching down an arm, "And here you had to be Florence Nightingale-"
Her hand closed around Susanne's.
A whistle hit her ears. Followed by a shriek. More. Rising in a panicked cry. Anna didn't even turn to look at the approaching bomber. Eyes bolt-locked onto her mother's wrinkly lips curling into a smile. The crow's feet around her eyes. The light of her life that touched her soul for the last time. I love you to the ends of the world and back. Dull roar of destruction shot through her ears and still she didn't let go. Not until the fire engulfed them both and flung her off the exploding train carriage.
It did take the Home Guard lads an hour to reach them. But it could've been a day or a week for all Anna cared. It didn't matter anymore. Anna sat in the rain with water pooling out her shoes. Unsure of the passing time. Eyes still fixed on her mother's mangled corpse lying beside her. The scarf they'd knitted together still wrapped around her neck, twisted at a grotesque angle. A puddle of blood beneath her hips. Her eyes had closed. She looked almost peaceful. A soul departed from the ravages of war. Anna hadn't even noticed how badly burnt her arms were until a hand tugged her elbow. Nerve endings screamed with pain but her soul was silent.
The bloke's words shot straight through her ringing ears. Staring blankly until he repeated himself three times.
"Who is this lady to you, miss?"
Anna's shaky lips struggled through a herculean effort to move, "M-my mother."
"Sorry to hear that," the lad motioned to a truck, "please step aside as we'll need to embalm the deceased."
Anna staggered away. Waterlogged eyes that refused to shed tears. By the time she reached the truck with the other children, Susanne had become one white shroud amongst a row of other tiny ones. The Home Guard soldier asked for her name, and gave terse instructions to wait at a nearby town until the casualties had been accounted for.
"...following which, the remains of your mother will be released to you."
Remains.
Deceased.
Cold reality slowly trickled into her brain. Mummy's gone. She turned and walked towards a bus which had started evacuating the children. Single-file line of shaken boys and girls having their papers checked. A Tommy was doing his best to keep them in order.
"Stay with your families, get your papers ready!" he motioned for Anna to join the line, "Personal effects will be returned shortly! Keep calm and carry on!"
Keep calm.
Carry on.
The question filtered through the fog of her shock. Why? How? How was it possible to stay calm in a world where planes bombed trains filled with little children? How do I carry on when Mummy's torn away from my hands like a brolly snatched by the wind?
Anna walked away from the line. Far enough for her strength to give out by a ditch. Crumbling to her knees in a puddle of rainwater. Where she covered her shaking face and sobbed uncontrollably into her hands. Because she never had a chance to say it back until it was too late.
That she loved her mother more than anything in the whole world.