4
RUBY
September
The air raid siren started to wail just as I was returning to the sector post to sign off for the night.
‘Drat,’ I muttered under my breath. It was almost eleven-thirty p.m. I’d been working all day, with barely half an hour to run home and grab a bite to eat before I’d had to rush back out to report for duty. After several hours walking the streets, checking no one had any lights showing, my feet ached and all I wanted to do was go home and have a cup of cocoa with Father – who’d be waiting up for me; he always did – before falling into bed.
‘Ah, Ruby, there you are,’ Mr Jones, the head warden, said when I put my head around the office door. ‘Can you go up to the shelter near the school, please, and see people in?’
I nodded, putting my helmet back on. This bloody war, I heard Vera’s voice groan inside my head as I trudged wearily back up the street. She said it all the time; it had become a sort of mantra between us.
Ten minutes later, just as I reached the shelter, I heard the rumbling drone of the German planes going over. I didn’t know what sort of planes they were – I had no idea about that sort of thing, although if Alfie was here I expect he could’ve told me – but it sounded as if there were a lot of them. I craned my neck but couldn’t see anything except the searchlights sending thin pencils of light into the sky above the town. The noise sent shivers down my spine. It was so sinister, like a swarm of giant, deadly hornets. The guns began firing along the coast, a dull BOOM… BOOM that made the very air shake.
‘I do hope they aren’t planning on dropping anything on us tonight, miss,’ a woman said as she hurried her family into the shelter. I didn’t know what to say, so I gave her a smile I hoped was reassuring instead, even though it was so dark she probably couldn’t see it. Once everyone was inside I hurried in after them, standing near the door. I listened to the planes go over, adrenaline surging through me and washing away my tiredness. I was thinking of poor Exeter last year, when the Germans smashed it to bits, and the awful pictures in Father’s newspaper. Was it Bartonford’s turn tonight?
But the planes must have been heading for Exeter again, or Taunton, because eventually the sound of the engines faded away and at last came the single, sustained note of the siren sounding the all-clear.
As I ushered everyone out of the shelter again, my exhaustion returned, crashing over me in a wave. I looked at my watch. Half past twelve. Gosh. I’d be glad to get home tonight.
‘What’s that noise?’ someone said.
‘What’s what?’ someone else asked.
‘Sounds like a plane.’
‘Can’t be – siren’s not sounded.’
‘It is – I’m telling you! Listen!’
I strained my ears as more voices erupted around me. Then I heard it: the stuttering drone of a single engine, gradually coming closer.
‘Gotta be one of ours, ain’t it?’
‘Sounds like it’s been hit.’
The sound of the engine got louder, a choppy roar. Whoever it was, they were flying much too low and much too fast – and they were coming this way. ‘Get back in the shelter!’ I shouted, blowing my whistle. ‘Back in the shelter! Now!’
Everyone did as I asked. As I reached for the door to pull it closed the plane’s engine cut out. There was a moment of silence; all I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears, then a terrible whining sound that grew and grew until it was the only sound in the world as the plane tumbled out of the sky. It felt as if it went on forever, although it could only have been a few seconds.
There was an earth-shattering crunch, and silence again.
‘They’ve hit the school!’ someone cried.
Everyone rushed for the door. I was helpless to stop them; all I could do was follow, running after them up the hill to Bartonford Junior School where a shuddering orange glow filled the night sky. Thankfully, the building itself was unscathed; the plane had come down in the field beside it and the fuselage was burning fiercely. Even though the black and white crosses on the wingtips were clearly visible, my stomach still turned at the thought of what it must have been like to be trapped inside. Surely no one could have survived?
Before long, it seemed half the town had arrived to stare at the spectacle. People tried to approach the plane but were beaten back by the flames. Even from where I was standing I could feel their fierce heat on my face and hands. I was relieved when the constable arrived. He ordered the crowd to step back. ‘Are you all right, miss?’ he asked me. I nodded.
‘Fire engine’s on its way,’ he said. ‘Not that there’s much that they can do. Can you keep an eye on things here until they arrive, make sure no one tries any funny business?’
I looked round at the crowd watching the plane burn. ‘Er, I—’
But he’d already gone. Inevitably, people began to trickle back, children among them, trying to get as close to the plane as they could. The flames leapt into the air, becoming more ferocious than ever, and there was an eye-watering stench of burning fuel. ‘Please, keep back!’ I shouted, but no one was listening. Their excitement was like an electric current running through the air.
‘Ma’am, can we help? We were in town and saw the plane come over – we got here as fast as we could.’
I turned to see two soldiers in American uniforms standing behind me, one dark-haired, the other one – the one who’d spoken – with hair that was somewhere between brown and blond. Neither of them appeared to be much older than me, their uniforms new and crisp.
‘Oh, yes, thank you,’ I stammered. ‘I need to get people away from the plane – it isn’t safe.’
The two soldiers ran across the grass and began ordering the onlookers back. Everyone obeyed immediately; the American army had finally arrived in Bartonford last week, pouring into the camp overlooking Bartonford Bay, and they’d been causing quite a stir. That evening, Father had called me into the parlour. ‘You must be careful, Ruby,’ he’d said. ‘I don’t want you associating with the Americans. These men… I’ve heard all sorts of things about them – the things they do – taking advantage – only after one thing—’
Fat chance of that, a devilish little voice in my head had spoken up. I’d squashed it back down. ‘Don’t worry, Father, I’m not the least bit interested in the Americans. I’m far too busy for all that!’ I’d reassured him.
‘Oh, good, good.’ He’d patted my hand. ‘I don’t mean to lecture you – I know you’re a sensible girl. But—’ He’d begun to cough. I’d fetched him a glass of water and escaped to my bedroom, where I threw myself down on my bed with a resigned sigh. I loved Father dearly, but sometimes I suspected he thought I was still twelve years old, a silly child in pigtails who was going to have her head turned by the mere sight of a man in uniform.
As the two soldiers shepherded the last person to what I hoped was a safer distance, there was a flash of light and another tremendous, ground-shaking roar. I was flung off my feet; people screamed, and I felt earth, clods of grass and shrapnel raining down on top of me.
When the commotion had ceased, I struggled to my feet, my ears ringing. Where the plane had been was an enormous, smoking crater, flames still leaping into the air. The plane must have still been carrying its bombs, I thought dazedly.
Someone touched my arm.
I cried out, startled, and whirled around. It was one of the soldiers, the one with the sandy hair. My ears were still ringing, but as they cleared I was able to make out what he was saying. ‘Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was speaking, but you didn’t seem to hear me.’
I was absurdly relieved to see that he wasn’t injured. His friend was helping people up. ‘Is anyone hurt?’ I asked the first soldier, trying to cover up my embarrassment by fumbling in my satchel for my first aid kit. The smoke caught in my throat, making me cough; my eyes were watering.
‘There’s someone here with a cut on their leg,’ the second soldier called. I hurried over to tend to the woman, who’d been caught by a piece of metal flying from the plane and had a bloody gash across her shin. As I bandaged her up, two more wardens arrived with the constable and the fire engine, and the firemen got to work fighting the flames.
By the time everyone was tended to – thankfully, the only injuries were minor cuts and scrapes – it was almost a quarter to two. ‘Thank you for your help,’ I said to the soldiers as we left the playing field. ‘I’m ever so grateful.’
‘You’re welcome, ma’am. Glad we could be of assistance,’ the one with the sandy hair said. In a daze, I returned to the air raid shelter, where I’d left my bicycle. When I got back to Barton Hall I left it leaning up against the Anderson and let myself into the cottage. It was in darkness. ‘Father?’ I called.
There was no answer. Taking my torch, which had tissue paper pasted over the beam, I went out into the garden to check the Anderson. That was empty, too.
I went back into the cottage and shone my torch into the cupboard under the stairs. Father was huddled amongst the coats and tins of shoe polish and furniture wax, white-faced, rocking, his arms clasped around his knees. ‘Gas, gas, bloody gas!’ he said in a high, broken voice, staring wildly at nothing, when I gently touched his arm. I tried not to think about how long he must have been in there; what he’d been imagining as the plane crashed and its bombs detonated. It took me almost fifteen minutes to gently talk him back to reality and get him into the parlour, another twenty to get him to drink a cup of tea, sweetened with a precious teaspoon of sugar, and fifteen minutes more to coax him up to bed. By that time, I felt as if I was wading through treacle. The sight of the burning German plane was imprinted on my mind – I knew I’d remember the moment of the explosion as long as I lived. Thank goodness those American soldiers had been there. If they hadn’t, and people had still been standing near the plane…
It wasn’t until I was almost asleep that something occurred to me: I’d never thought to ask them their names.