Page 8 of Whispers At Dawn
‘The Jerries are giving us hell tonight,’ he said, shaking his head and drawing on his cigarette. ‘Lord knows how much damage there is out there. The bombing hasn’t been this heavy in ages.’
A baby whimpered, shifting on its mother’s knee. Lizzie could see why many families had taken government advice and evacuated their children to the countryside. She couldn’t decide what must be worse for a parent—worrying their children would be struck by a bomb and killed in their beds or being separated from them indefinitely in an effort to keep them alive.
‘What time is it?’ Lizzie asked, when she awoke from an uncomfortable doze on Jack’s shoulder. The dust from the old station glittered on the air and tickled Lizzie’s nose, making her sneeze.
‘It’s after eleven. It’s been quiet for a while now. We can leave soon if the bombing doesn’t resume. Are you alright?’
Lizzie yawned. ‘A bit cold and crumpled, but nothing a hot bath and a few hours' proper sleep won’t fix.’
‘That’s the spirit. Can’t let the Boche get us down or they’ll have won.’
Lizzie glanced at the rows of exhausted Londoners lining the station floor. There were people of all ages huddled together trying to keep warm, some managing to sleep, whilst others paced nearby. A little girl with black hair, her weary head lolling on her mother’s shoulder, caught Lizzie’s eye and her heart stirred. This was no life for a small child.
She should be tucked up in bed without a care in the world. The girl reminded her of the Jewish children she and Hannah had sheltered in the farmhouse in Paris. She wondered briefly whether the family had made it to America, and her mind raced with thoughts of all the people she had encountered during her missions and the tragic stories they had shared about their missing family members.
The all-clear siren sounded like a bugle from heaven. ‘Let’s go home,’ Jack said, glancing at his watch and interrupting her reflections.
They unfurled their aching bodies, stood and stretched. It was cold at that time of night, sitting on the floor in the underground station so Lizzie hadn’t removed her coat. Jack positioned her hat back on her head, his eyes tender. ‘Ready?’
Their movement triggered others to follow and soon they were leading a chain of tired, but not beaten Londoners in a mass exodus from the station. Further along, others made theirway outside. As they emerged onto Baker Street, Lizzie and Jack studied their surroundings cautiously.
‘We haven’t been bombed here, at least. Let’s walk to the SOE and check everything’s alright,’ Jack said.
They walked for about five minutes until they arrived outside HQ. Jack looked at Lizzie. ‘It’s fine. Do you want to go in and hear the latest?’
Lizzie shook her head. ‘Better not risk it. Us turning up together at this time of night would be a dead giveaway.’
Just as they turned to walk back in the direction of Jack’s flat, two ambulances raced up the street, their sirens blaring.
‘I wonder what’s been hit,’ Lizzie said, pointing. ‘There’s smoke over there.’
As if in a trance, Jack followed Lizzie as she started running after the ambulances and they soon reached a back street, the air thick with smoke. They stared at the sight before them, and for a few seconds they just stood there, mesmerised by the blazing buildings. Then the smoke made Lizzie splutter and cough.
‘It’s like entering the gates of hell,’ she said, the horror reflected in her eyes.
A row of houses had been badly hit, the fire still licking fiercely through the bombed out upper storeys despite vigorous attempts to douse the flames. Fire engines were on site, and a group of grimy faced firemen blasted the burning buildings with water.
A fireman shouted to the gathering crowd, ‘Stand back! Stand back. These buildings may collapse at any moment.’
Jack pulled Lizzie away from where she stood transfixed by the terrible scenes of death and destruction unfolding before their eyes.
Auxiliary fire service volunteers were also on site, and one of them approached Lizzie and Jack. ‘If you want to help, grab apump and blast this.’ He pointed to the side of a house that was burning fiercely.
‘Are people still inside?’ Lizzie asked.
‘Hard to say. There was a siren, so hopefully they got out and made it to a shelter before the bombs hit.’
Lizzie and Jack stood side by side with their respective pumps, blasting water at the burning house. The area was in chaos as people stumbled onto the scene searching for loved ones after the all-clear. A woman fell to the ground on her knees, screeching like an injured creature. Lizzie passed her pump to someone else and crossed to her swiftly.
‘What can I do?’ she asked.
‘It’s my Joey. He’s trapped in the back bedroom. They can’t get him out,’ she gasped, struggling to speak between choking sobs.
Lizzie tried to console the desperate mother as she gazed at the house she pointed to. It had already partially collapsed, and the thought of the woman’s son trapped by the fire upstairs was too much to bear. Lizzie estimated that the density of the smoke alone would be enough to suffocate him.
A few minutes later, a soot covered fireman emerged from the smoke-filled entrance, a small body slung over his burly shoulder.
The woman leapt towards him, making little sounds like a mewling kitten.
