The Blitz Read Free Page B

rubberneckers.”
    Shirl had gone off to Chiesman’s at about half past seven, so when Tom and I’d done the breakfast dishes and got the house more or less straight (well I had!) we sneaked out to see what was going on.
    Until we talked about it the other evening, I hadn’t cottoned on that Mum’s going to be right in the thick of things if the bombs do start falling. When a factory or a house gets hit the wardens are supposed to get there as quick as they can. They take a quick shufti and then they’ve got to telephone the Town Hall to tell the ARP centre what’s happened. How many people have been hurt or killed? Is anyone still trapped in the rubble? Then they do what’s necessary, rescuing people and giving first aid until proper help arrives.
    Mum’s very brave. It made me shudder to think about finding dead bodies and things. I don’t think I could do it.
    Down by Finch’s Builders’ Yard there was a crowd gawping at something, but we couldn’t get close enough to see. Tom amazes me, really he does. He knows the alleys and back doubles much better than me, and eventually he found a wall we could sit on with a view out over the yard.
    Everyone was pretending a bomb had just fallen. We couldn’t see Mum but various wardens were running around like scalded cats. There were people lying on the ground. They were groaning loudly and waving their arms and legs to show they were injured until nurses came and bandaged them up. None of them would have won any prizes for acting. Then they were stretchered off into a couple of ambulances. After five minutes of this Tom was already saying, “I’ve had enough,” so we jumped down from the wall and walked on into Lewisham. Occasionally we could hear the bells on the fire engines ringing, so we headed for the Fire Station, me trying to keep up with Tom.
    â€œJust make sure Dad doesn’t see us,” I shouted at his heels. “We’ll catch it if he does, especially today!” Dad doesn’t like us hanging around the Station. “Work and home?” he says. “Oil and water!”
    The crowd around the Fire Station was huge, so this time there was nothing for it but to push to the front. There was a lot of excited chatter.
    â€œLet the littl’uns through,” said a big lady wearing a pink and yellow headscarf who was looming behind us. “They’ll want to see royalty.” As the crowd parted, she shoved us forward, using us as the excuse for her to get a better view too.
    I turned my head and asked her, “What royalty?” and over the crowd’s cheering she shouted, “It’s the King and Queen, ducks! Come to see how the other half lives!”
    In front of us we could see a line of firemen standing against a gleaming fire engine, while with their backs to us a man in smart military uniform moved slowly down the line accompanied by a lady in a blue feathered hat. We were just in time to see them pass Dad. The King stopped and seemed to say something, and Dad bowed his head slightly, smiling a reply.
    â€œIt’s not the King!” said Tom a bit too loudly. “Where’s his crown?”
    â€œDon’t be so daft,” I said. “You don’t think he carries it with him everywhere, do you?” Tom tutted. “You’re the end, you are,” I said. “Here’s your dad meeting the King, and all you care is that he’s not wearing the Crown Jewels on his head.”
    A few minutes later, the King and Queen shook the mayor’s hand and sped off in shiny black cars towards Blackheath. Then there were some rescue demonstrations with people jumping off the Fire Station tower into sheets, and firemen showing how to put out pretend incendiary bombs – the little ones that don’t blow you up, but just burn you to death by starting fires. Apparently you don’t throw water over them like everyone thinks. That only