Chapter 9 Elsie
Elsie
Nelly was smitten with Dr Barnet. Perfect Percy, as I liked to call him. I’d heard every detail of their evening listening to jazz. I’d heard how when the siren had gone, Nelly had thought they would go to the public shelter in the park, but Dr Barnet said no.
‘I thought he’d lost his marbles,’ she told me. ‘But he said it wasn’t safe. So he took me to the railway arches and there was a shelter under there. I didn’t even know it existed.’
She looked dreamy for a second. ‘And he wrapped me up in his coat to keep me warm and held me all night.’
She’d even given me chapter and verse on their first kiss.
I pretended to be horrified, putting my hands over my ears and begging her to stop telling me all the details, but I liked it really.
It felt normal. Like life before the war.
And Nelly was so happy, and now I’d met Dr Barnet he seemed to be much less of a rat than I’d expected him to be given his handsome looks and charming manner.
In fact, I couldn’t help thinking it was all rather romantic.
‘Do you know what Percy said, when he walked me home this morning?’ she said. And, she was off again, telling me all the sweet nothings Percy had whispered into her ear.
*
There was still no sign of Mrs Gold, nor Mr Gold, when Nelly and I left the house later that day.
We were going to the hospital, even though it was our day off, because I wanted to see the airmen and help them write the letters.
Nelly had promised to help, too, though she was worried she’d be no use because her handwriting was untidy and she always splattered the ink.
I stayed quiet as Nelly chattered about Percy, feeling a little thrill when I thought about seeing the sweet smile of the airman – Harry – who wanted me to write to his mother for him.
At the huts, the airmen were all in rather raucous spirits. They cheered when we went inside, which made Nelly and I laugh. The Red Cross nurse rolled her eyes. ‘Good luck,’ she said.
I’d brought the writing paper so I pulled it out of my bag and waved it.
‘We’re going to write letters to your families for you,’ I said. ‘But only if you promise to behave.’
They all murmured their agreement and I turned to Harry, who had the bed closest to the door. ‘Shall I start with you?’
‘Yes please,’ he said. ‘Hello.’
‘Hello.’
‘I’m Harry.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m Nurse Watson.’
‘I remember you.’ He smiled at me and his whole face lit up. He wasn’t what you’d call handsome, not as such, but he had the loveliest smile and eyes that sparkled with fun. I had the strange thought that if I stayed here, looking at his face for the rest of my days, then that would be enough.
‘You said you were going to come back and write a letter for me. I’ve been waiting.’
‘Well, like I said, here I am. Ready to write.’
‘Really?’ He looked sweetly eager.
‘Really.’
‘You’re like an angel,’ he said. ‘An angel sent from heaven to bring us joy.’
I looked at my watch. ‘An angel who needs to be home before blackout, so we should probably get on,’ I said briskly. Harry stuck his bottom lip out like a sulky schoolboy, though his eyes still flashed with mischief.
‘Sounds like a plan,’ he said. He had a northern accent and I liked the way it sounded. I gave half the notepaper to Nelly who went off to the other end of the ward to start writing, and I sat down next to Harry’s bed.
‘Fire away,’ I said, then I winced. ‘Sorry, that’s an awful expression to use for you.’
He grinned. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘I just meant what do you want to say?’
Harry thought. ‘Dear Mum,’ he dictated. ‘I know you’ll have heard that I was injured by the bomb at the base.
But I wanted to let you know I am doing all right.
There is a lovely nurse here called Nurse Watson who is writing this letter for me because my arms are both out of action, but hopefully not for long. Also …’
‘Hold on,’ I said, writing as fast as I could and feeling my cheeks flush because he’d called me lovely. ‘Let me catch up.’
Harry paused until I’d finished.
‘Also, I saw a dog the other day who looked exactly like Macauley. It made me really homesick and I wished I was there with you to throw a stick for him on the beach.’
The sweet honesty of his words made my eyes prickle with tears. I kept my gaze fixed on the notepaper.
‘Hope you and Dad are doing well. I miss you. Love, Harry.’
‘Is that it?’ I said.
‘That’s it. Oh no, hang on. Can you add a PS: I am looking forward to getting back into a plane.’
I wrote the PS then I held the letter up so he could read it and he nodded.
I slipped it into an envelope and Harry gave me the address in Lancashire.
‘Are you really looking forward to getting back in a plane?’ I asked as I tucked the letter into my bag carefully.
‘So much,’ Harry said. His whole face lit up. ‘I love it.’
I shuddered. All I knew of planes were the ones that flew overhead every night, bringing fear and destruction. ‘What’s it like? Flying?’
Harry looked far away at a spot somewhere over my shoulder.
‘It’s magic,’ he said, and I smiled because the dreamy way he spoke sounded like Nelly when she talked about Dr Barnet.
‘Don’t you get scared?’
‘Sometimes. But that’s all part of it.’ He looked at me again.
‘When I was little, my bedroom was right at the top of our house. And I’d sit by the window and watch the swifts riding on the thermals, swooping and diving, and I’d wish I could be like them.
When war was declared I knew I wanted to fly.
Most of the lads from school joined the Navy, because we’d grown up by the sea. But I wanted to be in the air.’
He gave me that sudden grin again. ‘And I get right seasick.’
I laughed. ‘Is it how you imagined?’
‘Sometimes when I’m in the plane, it’s like being one of those birds, and I want to scream with the joy of it,’ he said. ‘And other times it’s so frightening I think I might faint.’
‘But you don’t.’
‘I don’t. Because we’ve got a job to do and what use would I be if I fainted, eh?’
‘I think you’re ever so brave.’
He shrugged, but he looked pleased. ‘We’re all doing our bit.’
I looked at the notepaper on my lap. ‘You should write this down,’ I said. ‘Write about what it’s like to fly. Maybe when your arms are better you could start keeping a diary.’
‘We’re not supposed to,’ he said, tapping the side of his nose. ‘It’s all top-secret business.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘I don’t mean sharing anything that would get you into trouble, I just mean writing about what it’s like to fly. One day, when you’re older, you might like to look back and remember. Or someone might.’
‘Maybe,’ Harry said.
‘Oi, Harry, are you done?’ the airman in the bed next to him called over. ‘Stop taking up all this nurse’s time. I need her to write to my Marjory for me.’
‘Righto,’ I said to him. I got up from the chair next to Harry’s bed and picked it up to take it round to the other chap. Harry reached out his arm, stiffly because of the plaster cast, and put his fingertips on my hand. ‘Thank you, Nurse Watson,’ he said.
*
‘He likes you,’ Nelly teased as we walked home later. We were both feeling quite giddy because we’d written lots of letters for parents and siblings and sweethearts, and it had been emotional and heartbreaking but also really rather fun.
‘Who likes me?’ I said now, even though I knew who she meant.
‘Harry, was it? The airman with the sparkly eyes.’
I snorted. ‘They all look the same,’ I fibbed. ‘I don’t know who you mean.’
‘Sure you do,’ said Nelly. ‘I saw the way you looked at him, Elsie Watson.’
‘Rubbish,’ I said, but I couldn’t hide my smile.
We’d walked all the way home from the hospital because, though it was cold, it was bright and the sun was shining, and we weren’t in a hurry for once.
But the air was thick with dust from buildings and though we’d not walked far, my eyes felt gritty.
As we turned the corner, we saw several houses that had taken a direct hit and been reduced to rubble.
‘Jesus,’ said Nelly looking at the pile of debris. ‘Didn’t whatsit from the hospital live round here somewhere? That doctor – what was his name now?’
I had no idea, so I just shrugged, finding it hard to tear my eyes away from the bombsite.
A woman in a thin coat was standing on top of the rubble, a little girl by her side.
She couldn’t have been more than four years old, five at the most, and she was gazing round in wonder.
She wouldn’t remember a time before bombs, I thought.
How awful that this was her childhood. As we walked by I saw something catch the little girl’s eye.
She bent down and when she stood up again, she was wearing a hat with a large bow on it and looked very pleased with herself.
I nudged Nelly. ‘Look, she’s found her favourite hat.’
Nelly smiled. ‘That’s sweet,’ she said. ‘Her mammy’s found some bits too, see?’
The woman was rummaging through the debris, throwing small items into a suitcase she’d perched on the remains of a dining-room table. But as we went past, a shout from an ARP warden nearby made her look up.
‘You there,’ he yelled. ‘Get out of it. This isn’t your house.’
The woman shut the suitcase, took the little girl by the hand and hurried away. Nelly and I exchanged a glance.
‘Thieves,’ I said in disappointment.
‘People are doing what they have to do,’ said Nelly and I admired her empathy. She was so kind – always seeing the best in people.
As we got close to the house, I groaned. ‘We’ve got no bread,’ I told Nelly. ‘We need to go to the shop.’
‘I’ll go and get some. I’ve got some other things to pick up, too.’
‘If you’re sure?’
‘Course.’
She wandered off in the direction of the shops and I went inside the house.
Mrs Gold was in the hall. She was wearing her coat on her way in or out – I couldn’t be sure. She looked pleased to see me.
‘Thanks for keeping me company last night, Elsie,’ she said.
‘I was glad you were there. I don’t like being in the shelter alone.’
We smiled at one another.
‘Where have you been on your day off? Have you been up to something fun?’
‘Nelly and I have been at the hospital,’ I said. ‘But not working.’ I explained about us writing letters for the injured airmen and she beamed at me.
‘What a marvellous thing to do. Well done.’
‘One of the chaps was telling me about how he felt when he was flying. It really was marvellous. I said he should write it down in a diary but he said he wasn’t allowed.’
Mrs Gold leaned against the doorframe. ‘You could do it.’
‘Keep a diary?’
‘I remember hearing that in the last war, lots of the nurses who looked after the wounded soldiers kept books – big sort of scrapbooks – and they let their patients write in them.’
I was intrigued. ‘And what did they write?’
‘All sorts. Memories of the war, accounts of battles, poems, Bible verses. Some of them drew pictures even. They’re real treasures, I believe.’
‘What a lovely idea,’ I said. ‘Like a book of memories.’
‘Yes, exactly.’
‘Maybe Nelly and I could do that? Get a book and let the patients write in it.’ I frowned. ‘Our patients aren’t soldiers, though.’
‘Everyone has a story to tell,’ said Mrs Gold wisely.
‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘I’ll talk to Nelly about it when she gets back from the shops.’
She grinned at me. ‘Let me know if you need any help,’ she said.