Josie Under Fire Read Free

unpack your suitcase, Josie,” said her aunt. “Edith, I hope you made some space in your wardrobe.”
    Josie had not brought much: her school uniform skirt and blazer, two blouses, a fair-isle jumper and cardigan, a blue woollen dress that was beginning to feel tight. And underwear: three of everything. In the bottom of the suitcase she had packed a film annual, Black Beauty , Jane Eyre and The Three Musketeers .
    “Are you going to read all those?”
    Edith never seemed to read much. In fact Josie had noticed before that there were very few books in the Felgates’ house, except binders full of back numbers of Good Housekeeping and big books with titles like A Wonder Book for Boys and Girls which were a mixture of stories and things to do. Josie could not explain that she had brought the books for comfort; she liked to dip into them and read parts of them over and over again. She put them on the floor by her bed.
    Her aunt was sorting and putting away the clothes in Edith’s wardrobe.
    “Come and see the garden,” said Edith.
    They went out of the back door and down the steps, past the sandbagged sides of the cellar.
    As with the front garden, the lawn and flower beds had been taken over to grow vegetables. But there was space for only a few rows because the huge old walnut tree half filled the garden. Josie remembered the great circle of shade it cast in summer, and the harvest of nuts in autumn. Her cousins had told her that the tree was nearly a hundred years old. It was too big now, out of scale, and yet the garden would be ordinary without it.
    “Let’s climb the tree,” said Edith.
    The ridged trunk rose to a height above their heads without forking, but Peter had tied a rope to the lowest branch, and this helped them as they began to climb. Josie looked up at the spreading network of bare branches. Edith, above her, had reached the first-floor window level; Josie stopped just below. The tree still towered above them – as high as the attics.
    Josie glanced at the windows of the middle flat.
    “Do that old man and woman still live there?” she asked. She remembered them giving her sweets before the war – striped humbugs and cough drops.
    “Mr. and Mrs. Prescott? Yes. And Miss Rutherford’s in the top flat. She’s the ARP warden for our street.”
    “What’s she like?”
    “Fairly old – about like Mummy. She’s a spinster.”
    Clearly Miss Rutherford was of no interest. Josie climbed to a higher branch and let her legs dangle. “I love this tree.”
    “Remember when the boys used to try and scare us?” Edith reached out and grabbed Josie’s foot.
    “Don’t!” shrieked Josie.
    Edith laughed and began shaking the branch; Josie retaliated, and they both squealed in mock terror.
    Before long, Aunty Grace appeared at the back door and signalled to them to come down. They obeyed promptly.
    “Not so much noise, please – right outside Mrs. Prescott’s window! Remember it’s Sunday. In fact, we should be getting ready for church.” She turned to Edith. “Come and help me put up the blackout. It’ll be dark when we get back.”
    Josie followed Edith into her bedroom and watched as she drew the heavy black curtains across the pink flowered ones and made sure that no chink of light would show. The flat was already in darkness when all the rooms were done. They put on their coats and hats, and Aunty Grace slipped a torch into her pocket as they went out.
    A small movement of people was converging on the Old Church, which was five minutes’ walk away, along the Embankment. Two huge barrage balloons, floating high above the river, caught the last gleams of the setting sun. The river slapped softly against the quayside. Josie could smell its salty tang, mixed with the smoke from innumerable coal fires. She thought of it winding eastwards, to Greenwich, and to Dagenham, where her mother would be now, in Granny’s tiny flat.
    “This is the oldest church in Chelsea,” Aunty Grace said to Josie.