Blitz by Claire Rayner Page A

let’s get down to the cellars – now we’ve got all this sorted out we don’t want to get ourselves killed, do we?’

5
     
    The sirens were still wailing as Poppy emerged into the street, and went hurtling across it and into Backchurch Lane. She was calculating feverishly as she ran; there were usually a few minutes grace after the sirens went this far west. Most of the raids were centred on the docks, much further east, and though the planes came this far, often it took a few minutes for them to get here. If she managed to run fast enough, she’d be in the canteen basement in time to avoid being hurt.
    And as she ran she prayed incoherently somewhere deep inside to the God she wasn’t even sure existed: Please let me get there safely, please let me not be killed and make sure my Robin’s safe and back at the hospital by now – and again she started working out how far the two girls had had to go, and whether they’d have reached their destination in time. And felt a little better, for they were long-legged healthy girls and anyway would have the sense to take shelter well in time to be safe, even if they hadn’t got as far along the Whitechapel Road as they needed to be.
    She was still running, but her attention had slipped and in trying to dodge a hole that had been made in the pavement a few days earlier she swerved, caught the heel of her shoe on a piece of rubble and went sprawling, to lie there winded for a second or two, not quite sure what had happened.
    Someone hauled her to her feet and dusted her down, scolding all the time in a croaky rumble.
    ‘Look at you, lady, just look at you, running around the streets and the sireen blowin’ off fit to bust itself! Come on now, into the shelter ’ere and no muckin’ about. We’ll get you safe, come on now, lady.’
    She got to her feet awkwardly, very aware now that her knee hurt abominably. She looked at the torn silk stocking there and could have wept; she had only one more pair left and after that, heaven knew where she’d get a further supply.
    ‘I’m all right,’ she muttered and pulled away from the man’s restraining hand. ‘I’ve got to get to Plumber’s Row – don’t stop me – I’ve got to get there – ’
    ‘’Ere, if it isn’t Mrs Deveen!’ the voice said and for the first time she peered at the dusty face under the warden’s tin hat and said gratefully, ‘Arthur! What arc you doing here?’
    ‘My job, Mrs Deveen,’ he said promptly and shook her arm. ‘Which is to get the likes of you to safety. Now come on. We ain’t got more than a few seconds till they start chucking it all down.’
    ‘I’ve got to get to the canteen, Arthur – help me!’ she said and turned and began to run and after a moment he came thumping after her.
    ‘You won’t be no good if you gets there dead!’ he bawled. ‘And you will, yer go runnin’ around like that with no ’at on. ’Ere, take mine if you gotta go –’ and he caught up with her and took his tin hat off and thumped it on to her head. It smelled of hair oil and tobacco and she grabbed the brim as it slid around on her and held on, and gasped gratefully, ‘Bless you, Arthur! Will you be all right without it?’
    ‘I will,’ he said and stopped running to shout after her, ‘I got another at the Post. Run for it, you ’ear me? Run like the bleedin’ clappers!’
    And she did.
    Robin and Chick had nearly reached the hospital when the sirens began and Chick lifted her head and said in surprise. ‘But it’s not dark yet!’
    ‘Maybe not, but they’re still coming,’ Robin said grimly. ‘Here we go again! Do we shelter or run for it?’
    Chick was craning at the sky. ‘Run for it,’ she said after a moment. ‘There’s nothing to see yet and I’ve heard no explosions. It’s only a few hundred yards or so now. Step it out, kid – ’
    They hared along the Whitechapel Road, wheeling in and out of the other running people, and Chick, with her much longer legs, was well