Family of Women by Annie Murray Page B

worrying. She feared the worst, sick with dread.
    She crossed the shop floor to find Mr Riddle. His face was pale and she could see the tired lines round his eyes.
    ‘I can’t think straight worrying about Josephine,’ she said.
    ‘Oh God – I know,’ Mr Riddle said wearily. The gulf between the gaffer and everyone else on the factory floor had narrowed with all the troubles. Mr Riddle was a kind, humane man who looked out for his workers. ‘It was a hell of a night last night. I’ve never known it as bad. Look, love – go and see. It’s only up the road, isn’t it?’
    ‘Ta ever so much,’ Violet said. She could tell Mr Riddle was worried too; he had a rather soft spot for Jo, who was one of his fastest workers and always cheerful.
    Hanging up her overall, she hurriedly put on her coat and hat. It was still grey and drizzly outside. She thought she’d never seen such a dismal sight as that road, a great gap where five or six houses had been taken out. The end of a terrace had been destroyed; the bomb had smashed into the court behind, leaving what was usually an invisible yard of dwellings suddenly open to view in all its glorious squalor. At the end the three lavs were on full view, the door of one swinging open. The sight made Violet’s heart sink. She felt sick.
    ‘Oh God, Jo – please be all right!’ she found herself muttering desperately. ‘Why are you so late, you silly sod? Couldn’t you have just got there on time today?’
    She could hardly bear to turn into the Snells’ street for fear of what she might find.
    And what she saw when she did left her in no doubt. She stopped, stunned.
    ‘Oh God above . . .!’ Her hand went to her lips and her legs started to shake. She could hardly believe what was in front of her.
    There were fire engines at the end of the road, and an ambulance. The right-hand section of the street, and the Snells’ house, number twenty-two, was gone. There was nothing but piles of rubble, smashed sections of walls with stained strips of wallpaper clinging to them and the debris of lives – a smashed pram, a kettle, a rent book, sodden among the heaps of bricks. The mess was unbelievable. Everything was wet, and stinking and so, so sad-looking.
    Numbly, Violet scrambled across the mess to one of the ARP team. He was a middle-aged man, his moustache grey with dust.
    ‘Number twenty-two? They’re my friends . . .’
    Silently he waved his hand over the wreckage.
    ‘Where was it?’
    ‘About there.’
    He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, love. This was the bit that really took it. There’s no one alive in there. No chance.’
    ‘But . . .’ She couldn’t take this in. ‘They would’ve been under the stairs – Jo, her mom, the two kiddies . . .’
    ‘They’ve brought them out already.’ His voice was quiet and gentle, and he was shaking his head. ‘All of ’em. I’m sorry. Poor souls.’
    Violet stood in the road as he moved away, shoulders hunched. She was so much in shock that she didn’t know how long she stood there, shaking and chilled to the bone. It was only when an ambulance turned into the street and hooted at her to move that she came to again.

    It hit Violet very hard.
    Days went by before she could even take it in or begin to cry over it. She had been very fond of all the Snells. They had been almost family to her. And worst of all was the loss of Jo, her best friend, whom she could tell her heart to, share all the everyday happenings of life with, and the laughter. She had always loved Jo’s sunny outlook at work.
    ‘Smile and the world smiles with you – weep and you weep alone,’ Jo used to say.
    But there’d be no more smiles now.
    Once Violet’s emotion began to release itself, she only had to look at Joyce and Linda and think about Jo’s little ones and the tears would start to flow. Especially as Joyce kept asking about them.
    ‘Why don’t we see Lizzie? I want to go to Lizzie’s house.’
    ‘Lizzie doesn’t live there any