opened a carriage door. There were many other men aboard in uniform, no doubt returning from leave, like Ernie.
‘Don’t you get worrying about us. It’s you who’ll be in the line o’ fire,’ Ruth sobbed as she kissed him tenderly on the cheek. She would have liked to throw her arms about his neck and kiss him soundly on the lips but she sensed that he wouldn’t want that.
‘Oh, I’m like a cat, me,’ he told them with a cheeky grin. ‘I’ve got nine lives.’
‘Well, if that’s the case you only have eight left,’ Briony retorted. ‘So just be careful and don’t get taking any chances. We don’t want a dead hero.’
‘All aboard!’ The guard was striding along the platform slamming the carriage doors shut so Ernie threw his kitbag in front of him and hopped onto the train before leaning out of the window.
‘See you soon,’ he shouted above the noise of the engine. ‘And let’s hope that the next time I come home, it will be for good.’
The train began to move away in a cloud of steam and for a few moments Ruth and Briony ran alongside waving until they felt as if their arms were about to drop off. Ernie waved back – and then the train turned a bend in the track and he was lost to sight.
‘That’s it then. We might as well get back to work,’ Ruth muttered brokenly. Briony linked her arm through her friend’s and the two girls left the station in silence.
Chapter Nine
The first bombs had been dropped on Coventry in June, and as the Battle of Britain escalated the people of Nuneaton began to wonder when it would be their turn.
‘I’m gettin’ the shelter ready just in case,’ Mrs Brindley told Lois one fine morning in late July. Lois helped her to drag in a couple of worn fireside chairs that had been stored in the shed and Mrs Brindley also took in some tatty old blankets that she didn’t use any more, explaining, ‘It can still be nippy of a night an’ yer never know. Better to be prepared.’
Lois took in some cushions and candles and Mrs Brindley made sure that a large flask was always at hand at the side of the kettle. ‘I couldn’t go all night wi’out me cup o’ tea if the sirens should go off after dark,’ she said stoutly. Lois eyed the reasonably comfortable little sanctuary they had prepared and prayed fervently that they might never need it. Britain was teetering on the edge of defeat as the German army stormed its way across Europe and the Battle of Britain raged in the skies above them.
Ernie, meanwhile, felt as if he were caught in the grip of a nightmare. Each day, he and his co-pilot took to the skies to fight the enemy, and each night when they returned to base they heard of yet more of their friends whose planes had been shot down and who would never return.
‘I wonder if it isn’t time I shipped you all off to your grandparents’,’ Lois told Briony musingly one day as she read the newspaper. She still had lapses when she was able to get hold of alcohol, but thankfully for most of the time now, Briony would return home to find her sober.
‘No, not yet,’ the girl pleaded. ‘I’d be worried sick if you didn’t come with us, Mum. Why won’t you?’
‘Because I have to stay here and keep the house going for you all for when it’s over,’ Lois answered. ‘And anyway, I couldn’t possibly live under the same roof as my mother again. We’d be at each other’s throats.’
And then one Saturday morning early in August as Briony was scrubbing the front doorstep, the unthinkable happened: a telegram boy pulled into the kerb and, looking directly at her he asked, ‘Are you Mrs Valentine?’
Briony feared she might vomit as bile rose in her throat, but she managed to keep her voice steady as she answered, ‘No. I’m Miss Valentine.’ Her hands were trembling uncontrollably as she gazed at the brown envelope in the boy’s hand.
‘I . . . is that for my mother?’
The boy nodded solemnly, and when she held her hand out for it, he rode
‘Don’t you get worrying about us. It’s you who’ll be in the line o’ fire,’ Ruth sobbed as she kissed him tenderly on the cheek. She would have liked to throw her arms about his neck and kiss him soundly on the lips but she sensed that he wouldn’t want that.
‘Oh, I’m like a cat, me,’ he told them with a cheeky grin. ‘I’ve got nine lives.’
‘Well, if that’s the case you only have eight left,’ Briony retorted. ‘So just be careful and don’t get taking any chances. We don’t want a dead hero.’
‘All aboard!’ The guard was striding along the platform slamming the carriage doors shut so Ernie threw his kitbag in front of him and hopped onto the train before leaning out of the window.
‘See you soon,’ he shouted above the noise of the engine. ‘And let’s hope that the next time I come home, it will be for good.’
The train began to move away in a cloud of steam and for a few moments Ruth and Briony ran alongside waving until they felt as if their arms were about to drop off. Ernie waved back – and then the train turned a bend in the track and he was lost to sight.
‘That’s it then. We might as well get back to work,’ Ruth muttered brokenly. Briony linked her arm through her friend’s and the two girls left the station in silence.
Chapter Nine
The first bombs had been dropped on Coventry in June, and as the Battle of Britain escalated the people of Nuneaton began to wonder when it would be their turn.
‘I’m gettin’ the shelter ready just in case,’ Mrs Brindley told Lois one fine morning in late July. Lois helped her to drag in a couple of worn fireside chairs that had been stored in the shed and Mrs Brindley also took in some tatty old blankets that she didn’t use any more, explaining, ‘It can still be nippy of a night an’ yer never know. Better to be prepared.’
Lois took in some cushions and candles and Mrs Brindley made sure that a large flask was always at hand at the side of the kettle. ‘I couldn’t go all night wi’out me cup o’ tea if the sirens should go off after dark,’ she said stoutly. Lois eyed the reasonably comfortable little sanctuary they had prepared and prayed fervently that they might never need it. Britain was teetering on the edge of defeat as the German army stormed its way across Europe and the Battle of Britain raged in the skies above them.
Ernie, meanwhile, felt as if he were caught in the grip of a nightmare. Each day, he and his co-pilot took to the skies to fight the enemy, and each night when they returned to base they heard of yet more of their friends whose planes had been shot down and who would never return.
‘I wonder if it isn’t time I shipped you all off to your grandparents’,’ Lois told Briony musingly one day as she read the newspaper. She still had lapses when she was able to get hold of alcohol, but thankfully for most of the time now, Briony would return home to find her sober.
‘No, not yet,’ the girl pleaded. ‘I’d be worried sick if you didn’t come with us, Mum. Why won’t you?’
‘Because I have to stay here and keep the house going for you all for when it’s over,’ Lois answered. ‘And anyway, I couldn’t possibly live under the same roof as my mother again. We’d be at each other’s throats.’
And then one Saturday morning early in August as Briony was scrubbing the front doorstep, the unthinkable happened: a telegram boy pulled into the kerb and, looking directly at her he asked, ‘Are you Mrs Valentine?’
Briony feared she might vomit as bile rose in her throat, but she managed to keep her voice steady as she answered, ‘No. I’m Miss Valentine.’ Her hands were trembling uncontrollably as she gazed at the brown envelope in the boy’s hand.
‘I . . . is that for my mother?’
The boy nodded solemnly, and when she held her hand out for it, he rode
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