Across the Mersey - Annie Groves [45]
‘Luke’s going to be working in the Salvage Corps with me,’ Sam told their neighbour sharply.
‘Oh, Mum …’ Grace’s voice broke as she went into her mother’s arms, and they hugged each other.
They were less than halfway home when they heard a booming noise, similar to that made by the One o’ clock Gun down on the docks, followed by another. Before the echoes of the second had died away Sam was shepherding his family towards the nearest public shelter, which happened to be in the grounds of a school. New and purpose-built with brick walls and a concrete slab roof, the shelter might be ugly, but right now it was a very welcome sight indeed.
Joining in with the shrill wail of the air-raid sirens, small children snatched up by their parents had started crying. Jean kept the twins in front of her, telling them to hold on to one another, conscious of the press of people seeking safety, but everyone was doing their best to keep calm, even if there were some very set and frightened faces.
Inside, the shelter was very similar to the one at the bottom of the road, which they had all been down to have a look at once it had been erected earlier in the year, although much larger. Bunk beds lined the walls; there were buckets filled with sand as emergency fire extinguishers, and a dedicated ARP post right by the door for those who would be in charge of getting everyone in and keeping a check on everything. Electric cables supporting solitary light bulbs dangled from the ceiling here and there, the bulbs giving off pools of light. Without any windows there was no chance of that light giving away their location to Hitler’s Luftwaffe. There was even a door marked ‘WC’, which was more than they had in their shelter, Jean thought enviously.
As Sam guided his family to one of the bunk beds so that they could all sit down he commented admiringly on how well equipped the shelter was.
‘We’ll be all right in here, love. They’ve got a supply of stoves stacked up over there, and their own water supply,’ he told Jean, before going back to join the other ARP men outside, helping to make sure everything proceeded as it should. Jean watched him leave with some anxiety – for his safety, not their own.
‘Blimey, that Hitler don’t believe in wasting much time, does he?’ an old lady puffed as she sat down on the bed next to the Campions’. The twins were packed in tightly between Jean and Grace, and a group of men a few yards away were joking that the ARP warden hadn’t thought to stock up with a few crates of beer.
‘Shame on you, Harry Meadows,’ a woman, whom Jean guessed must be his wife, objected sharply. ‘Talking about drinking beer on a Sunday, and when we’ve only just come out of church. You should be praying to the Good Lord to save us, not thinking about beer.’
Lou shivered and moved closer to Jean. Jean put her arm around her, and hugged her tightly, hoping that Lou wouldn’t be able to feel how fast her own heart was beating and guess how very afraid she was.
You could almost feel the effort everyone was making not to be afraid, or at least not to let their fear show. But it was there, Jean could see it in the eyes of other mothers and in the way they kept their children close to them. People were talking in low voices, quickly, anxious not to miss any sounds from outside.
Jean looked towards the shelter entrance. The door was still open; she could just about see Sam standing with the other ARP men. She wished desperately that he was with them, but he had his duty to do. Grace was holding Sasha as closely as Jean was holding Lou, and she felt a surge of pride for her eldest daughter.
‘It’s cold in here, Mum,’ Lou complained.
It was cold, and damp as well, Jean suspected, but far more important than