Olive noted with gratitude the collective sucked-in breaths of his listeners. How wise he was to give them all a stark warning of the danger of trying to be too gung-ho.
‘Now,’ Sergeant Dawson continued, ‘when it comes to those incendiaries that can be dealt with, this is how to do that.’ Turning towards Olive he asked her, ‘If I could trouble you for a bucketful of water, Ol— Mrs Robbins?’ before turning back to his audience.
‘If you aren’t already doing so just make sure that you fill what you can with cold water at night, just in case, especially baths, because should a local water main be hit then your stirrup pump isn’t going to work.
‘Hitler’s incendiary bombs are designed to penetrate any roofs on which they land, via their sharp fins. Then once they’re safely inside, they’ll explode, showering whatever room they’re in with burning magnesium sparks that will quickly start fires. Our task as fire-watchers is to make sure that that doesn’t happen, and that’s why every time there’s an air-raid warning the first thing you do is make sure that those who are supposed to be watching for falling incendiaries do so. That’s why you need a team of watchers, in pairs say, one every five or six houses. It’s the same principle as that old warning that a stitch in time saves nine. Spotting where the incendiaries fall means that with luck your team can get to them and put them out before they get the opportunity to do any damage. And that’s where your Redhill container and your long-handled shovel and hoe come in.
‘Say, for instance, one of you saw an incendiary fall, the closest watcher would send his or her partner round to the house concerned with their equipment. The long handle of the hoe and the shovel mean that it’s possible for whoever is using them to keep well away from the bomb itself whilst they scoop some sand out of the container to put on the bomb to put the fire out. The sand and the bomb can then be hoed up and placed in the container itself to be doubly sure it is out.
‘As an alternative, or if a fire has already taken hold, what you must do is carefully open the door onto the room with the fire, making sure that you keep the door between you and the fire, and then aim the water from the pump either at the ceiling to fall on the fires, or at the fire itself.
‘Keeping your sand in a wheelbarrow can be a good idea. Then you’ve got it readily transportable.’
‘Well, I certainly won’t be filling my wheelbarrow with sand,’ Mr Charlton protested. ‘I need my barrow for my gardening. And there’s no point in saying we buy more. They can’t be had.’
‘I’m sure we’ll be able to manage between us,’ Olive assured him. It was so kind of Sergeant Dawson to put himself out like this, especially when some people were being so unenthusiastic.
‘If you wish, on Sunday after church I’ll be available to give a practical demonstration of what I mean whilst it’s still light,’ the sergeant offered generously.
‘It all sounds very complicated and dangerous. If you ask me I’d say it would be better for us to let the professionals deal with any fires, instead of trying to do it ourselves,’ said Mrs Charlton apprehensively.
‘Nonsense,’ Miss Jane Barker spoke up firmly, ‘although, Olive my dear, if I can make one suggestion it would be that you pair up those of us who aren’t as agile as we once were for fire-watching duty with a younger person who is steadier and swifter on their feet. I do believe too that we can manage our garden without our wheelbarrow, if that will help.’
Drew smiled as he listened to her. He felt so proud to be accepted by these brave and stalwart people that he had come to admire so much. When he wrote his articles for his newspaper back at home he tried to convey something of the simple unselfconscious, shrugged aside as ‘nothing special’ bravery, of the ordinary people of London, but so often he felt that he was not doing them justice. The truth was, he suspected, that you had to be here to understand and appreciate the true nature of a Londoner’s determination to save their city.
It was gone ten o’clock before everyone had gone, the Misses Barker and, rather surprisingly, Mr Whittaker, lingering until well after the sergeant had excused himself to return to his duties.
‘Of course, the fact that Mr Whittaker is still here has nothing to do with Mum’s offer of supper,’ Tilly said ruefully to Agnes, as she mashed up a tin of American corned beef with some cold boiled potatoes, whilst Agnes diced some onions, ready to make the mix into corned beef hash, for Olive to fry for supper.
‘I feel sorry for him,’ Agnes told her as Tilly wrinkled her nose, grateful that Agnes had volunteered to slice the onions, knowing that Tilly was going out dancing the following night and wouldn’t want any lingering smell on her hands. ‘He must be so lonely living on his own, especially now that the Longs have gone and their house is empty.’
‘You’re a softie, do you know that?’ Tilly teased her. ‘He’s such a crosspatch and so mean.’
‘He used to give money to the orphanage,’ Agnes told her. ‘We all used to be frightened of him because when we walked past his house he would come out into the garden and glare at us. Matron always said that we shouldn’t judge him because only God knows what is truly in a person’s heart.’
‘Is that mash ready, girls?’ Olive demanded, hurrying in from the front room where she’d settled her ‘team’. ‘Put the kettle on again, will you, Tilly? They’ll have to eat their supper in here. I’m not having my front room smelling of fried meat and potato and onions, even if it is a blessing to be able to have onions again after last year’s shortage. Sally’s done us all proud with those she’s grown.’
‘Please change your mind and take me with you tomorrow, Drew,’ Tilly begged a little later when everyone else had left and she was saying a final good night to Drew in the protective darkness outside the front door.
‘You know I can’t,’ said Drew.
‘That means that I’m going to have to do something far more dangerous than sit with you whilst you listen to someone telling you about the looters,’ Tilly sighed.
‘What do you mean?’ Drew demanded, alarmed.
‘I mean that now I’m going to have to go round the markets whilst Dulcie looks for a new dress to wear tomorrow night.’
Drew relaxed. ‘Oh, yes, that sounds very dangerous indeed,’ he agreed, mock solemnly.
‘It will be,’ Tilly assured him. ‘You don’t know what Dulcie can be like when she’s got her mind fixed on something. From the minute she persuaded Wilder to go to the Café de Paris she’s been going on about getting herself what she calls “a really posh frock like ladies and that wear”, and knowing Dulcie, that will mean going round every second-hand stall in London until she finds what she wants.’
‘Mmm, sounds a terrible way to spend a Saturday afternoon,’ Drew agreed, bending his head to kiss her.
‘Afternoon and morning,’ Tilly told him, holding him off for a few seconds before wrapping her arms around his neck and responding to his kiss with an appreciative, ‘Mmm. Drew, that is so nice.’
Nine
‘Well, what was wrong with that pretty crêpe de Chine we saw on that first stall we looked at, Dulcie, the grey one with the cream lace collar?’
‘That thing? It looked like something a schoolteacher would wear. No, I want something much better than that. I want the sort of thing a proper lady with a title would wear, Tilly. After all, it is the Café de Paris that Wilder’s taking me to.’
Tilly sighed. She wanted to urge Dulcie to be careful about making too much of an effort on Wilder’s behalf. She didn’t want her friend to end up being hurt, although she knew that if she said as much to Dulcie herself she would tell her scornfully that nothing could hurt her.
‘What’s