A Safe Place To Stay: A Novel Of World War II

By Derek Ansell

London, World War Two. When Sandra Cooper is offered the chance to move away with her children, it seems like a good opportunity to escape the 1940 blitz.

Her husband Harry is away in the army, and over the next five years she experiences the very worst of World War 2. As they settle into their new home, she realizes that the Hertfordshire town is not such a safe option after all.

Then along comes Edward; a young pilot who proves a good friend in unexpected circumstances. As Sandra becomes more and more fond of him, Germany prepares to launch their assault on London... and their lives will change forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: Dec 4, 2021
• ISBN: 4824106605

Book preview

PART ONE

One

OCTOBER 1940

From the bedroom window that afternoon, I could see three houses across the road, numbers 16, 18 and 20 but by the following morning there were only two houses standing and in between them, a great hole with a smouldering mass of rubble where the third dwelling had been. When I stood there, looking out though I had no idea of what was coming. It wasn't new or unexpected of course and it had already happened several times all over London and, a few times, near- by in our corner of Islington.

The air raid siren began wailing at around nine that evening. My mother was rushing around getting my sister Paula out of bed and dressed although she had only just settled her down for the night. Then she was packing her bag with snacks like potato crisps, chocolate and lemonade and a brief shout, while on the move, to me, to get moving quickly. I never needed prompting, I already had my hand round Charlie's collar and was leading him to the scullery at the back of the kitchen where I would lock him in. He didn't make any fuss but went there in docile manner; he had been deposited there enough times to be used to it. Then we grabbed canvas chairs, Mum carrying two and me one and we left the house at her signal, a nod of the head and a widening of the eyes, and set off down the hill. Paula was showing no sign of urgency as the siren squealed out again, raucous and threateningly loud now that we were out in the street. I grabbed her little hand and said something like come along, quickly and pulled her as I walked.

Under the concrete roof of the football stadium there were already quite a few people settled down on makeshift chairs or sitting on blankets on the cold ground. The space was big, a wide corridor leading to the main parts of the stadium but well equipped to offer at least immediate safety from bombs. We always preferred the football stadium to the underground station platform; the tube was much further down the hill and when you got there it was far more crowded with bodies huddled in close together; the noise unsettling, the odour of perspiration unpleasant and the dank, sour air in the tunnel most unpleasant.

My mother undid the top of her thermos flask and poured herself a mug of tea. Paula was wandering round peeping into corners, looking at people sitting with their books, newspapers or knitting, many of them glancing up to smile at the little girl.

'Keep an eye on her Bobby, would you?' Mum said softly. 'And bring her back here if she's annoying anyone.'

I nodded. Outside I could hear the muffled boom of Hitler's bombs exploding but I never felt or even sensed any danger. Too young to take it in I suppose, ready to live the adventure of the moment where bombed houses toppled into piles of rubbish or you might find a piece of jagged silver shrapnel in the garden the next morning.

I wandered around for some time, watching people's activities, checking to see if they were reading books or newspapers or doing crossword puzzles or just dozing off to sleep. When I spotted Paula just standing glaring at an old couple, one in a wheelchair and both looking uncomfortable, I decided it was time to take her back to mum. Actually, my mother herself had closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. I remember thinking how peaceful she looked asleep, eyes tightly closed, light brown hair wispy on her forehead and her expression bland. Normally, when awake, her expression was always fraught with anticipation or frustration. Now she looked free of care for a minute or two anyway and Paula snuggled down next to her in her chair and immediately stuck her thumb in her mouth and closed her eyes. I wandered around some more looking for something, anything of interest but gave it up after a while and returned to our spot where I sat down; eventually my eyes closed as well, and I fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke Mum was handing out chocolate bars and lemonade and we were well into devouring a big bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk when the all clear siren sounded; a long continuous note that indicated there was no further danger overhead, for this night at least. Or so we thought.

We trudged home wearily, eyes full of sleep, up the hill into pitch black night, no cracks of light to be seen from any blacked-out window and the street lamps unlit. There was nothing to do on reaching home other than to pile into our beds and sleep fitfully for what was left of the night. Mum put Paula to bed first although my sister was asleep as soon as her head touched the soft white pillow. I undressed swiftly and as I got into bed my mother appeared, smiled and wondered aloud how long I would be able to stay awake and concentrate at school the next day. I told her I felt fine and I would be all right in the morning too. She smiled. 'I'm putting your light out right away,' she said, kissed me swiftly and left me in the dark again.

The explosion, when it came was shatteringly loud and shook the very walls of our house. There had been no further air raid warning and it was still dark outside but only just. Mother and Paula appeared suddenly in my bedroom almost immediately and both looked stricken. They both sat down on my bed and mum took my hand.

'Are you all right, Bobby?' Mum asked.

'I'm fine,' I replied, 'Is the house on fire?'

'No,' she said, smiling grimly. 'It was very close though.'

'How close?'

'I don't know but I'm going to find out.'

I followed her to the window and looked out onto a scene of utter chaos and confusion. There was an ambulance and a police car and a fire engine and lots of men in various uniforms rushing about all over the place. The pile of rubble where number 18 had been was still smouldering but there was a fire hose directed on it. My mother turned and rushed towards the staircase, shouting to me as she went that she must go across the road and asking me to keep an eye on Paula. I looked at Paula but she had fallen asleep on my bed, so I went downstairs and found mother putting the dog in the scullery and then getting her coat and putting it on for it was cold in the early hours. She began telling me that she must go and see if the neighbours were all right, and gave me instructions to lay the table for breakfast while she was gone. I nodded to everything she said, but then followed her out into the street as the jangling bell of another ambulance sounded in the distance. A burly policeman and an ARP warden soon blocked my mother's progress towards the other side of the road.

'Please go back to your house, madam,' the police constable said in a loud voice.

'I have to call on Mrs. Bailey,' mother said in agitated voice and tried to step forward but the two men restrained her. 'I need to see if she is all right, and see if I can help.'

'You can't do anything at the moment,' the ARP man said in a softer, gentler voice. 'If its Mrs. Bailey in number 16 you're concerned about she's alive and being comforted by an ambulance man.'

'Oh, thank God,' Mum said breathlessly. 'I just wanted to see if I could do anything for her.'

'Plenty –a-time later,' the constable told her. 'Just let the services get on with their jobs ma'am, there's a good lady.'

'But what about the old couple in number 20?' Mum asked, her voice again shrill with anxiety.

'Both all right. Shaken up and their house considerably damaged but both unhurt, just shaken up considerable.'

'And no hope for anybody in 18,' Mum said very softly, as though talking to herself.'

'No. 'Fraid not.'

'James lived alone and worked in a munitions factory, often doing night duty,' Mum was saying, again as if talking to herself. 'We can only hope and pray he wasn't in.'

'Yes, madam, and now I must ask you to return home and keep your little boy safely in the house.'

She looked down at me, frowned and seemed to be only just conscious that I was there. She shook her head and reminded me that I was supposed to be looking after my little sister so I told her Paula was asleep. The policeman though, getting impatient had taken hold of her arm and wheeled her round and was propelling her towards our house.

Back in the house she went to get Paula and set about getting the kettle on and preparing breakfast for the three of us. Just before serving it up she went into the dining room and switched on the wireless set and left the door open so that we could listen to it in the kitchen. The news broadcast was full of all the various raids on London and the bombing of homes, mostly in the East End, a few miles down the road. Mum toyed with her shredded wheat but seemed to be lacking appetite. Paula and I wolfed ours down as though there was no tomorrow. Maybe there wouldn't be! Mum was talking to herself again, softly, reflectively. She surmised that it must have been a stray bomber that was late going back but dropped its hideous load of bombs before flying out towards the coast.

'Time to go,' she said, suddenly, shaking her head in agreement with her own thoughts. 'Time to head out to Hertfordshire.'

Two

OCTOBER 1939

Two weeks after war was declared on Germany it was very quiet and almost peaceful in London. No bombers in the sky, no bombs falling on the houses. People went out into their back gardens and looked up curiously at the sky but by late September and early October it was all bright sunshine and clear blue skies. We went out into the garden one clear Saturday morning and pottered about with flowerbeds and plants, Mum instructing us what to fetch and carry. I filled up the watering can and left it on the pathway, under the dining room window for use later.

'Is the war on now Mummy?' Paula asked, gazing expectantly up at the sky.

'Yes it is, darling,' Mum replied, not pausing to look up from her flowerbed.

'Are they going to drop bombs on us?'

'Yes, I expect so. In due course.'

The talk everywhere was about German bombing raids, in the shops, schools, offices, up and down our road. Wherever we went. But on a walk up to the fields, past the clock-tower and away from the busy main road all was warm and pastoral, autumn colours; Indian summer. People played on the tennis courts or walked across the field happily enough.

My Dad was called up early for military service. When he went for his interview and they asked him what he did he told them he managed a small restaurant in Clerkenwell but it was nearer the mark to say he was a sort of Jack of all Trades, doing the books, working the till and sometimes serving customers. They told him he would be assigned to the soon to be formed Catering Corps and would be an army cook in the cookhouse. 'But I can't cook,' he said, 'can't even boil an egg.'

'Don't worry,' the recruiting Sergeant said, 'you'll soon learn.'

A week after he left to do his basic training my mother was informed by a very officious man from the council that we were being evacuated 'for safety reasons,' to a big old mansion in Cambridgeshire. She protested vigorously that she preferred to stay at home, in her own house but they just smiled and said she had to think about the safety of her children and herself. We went in a crowded coach and when we arrived the mansion was huge, old and musty and teeming with people of all ages but mainly children. It was noisy too. We were assigned to a huge room five flights up and when I looked down, out of the window, I saw tiny little people and a minute garden bench and I thought they were toys! The food was awful. After five days Mum announced that we were going home and we both shouted hurrah and helped her pack our case. She walked us all the way to the railway station, a good mile and a half away and we were back in London by evening.

One Saturday morning I had gone across to the football stadium and was idly kicking a ball against the big doors until a man in the flat above opened the window and shouted down angrily to me to be off with me and don't come back. I walked back up the hill and saw a big black Morris Ten car draw up outside our house. It was Uncle Edgar, my dad's brother, and I recognised his car before him. He was a big man with burly arms and legs and a weather-beaten face who wore glasses. He stepped out of his car and beamed a smile at me.

'Hello young Bobby,' he said cheerily, 'is your mum in?'

'Yes, in the kitchen,' I told him.

'Good,' he said and nodded in the direction of the stadium down the road. 'No more football matches until after the war then.'

'No.'

Mum opened the front door and was obviously surprised to see him. She said hello Edgar and expressed surprise that he was still running his car. He said he had filled the tank a few weeks ago and had been using it sparingly ever since.

'Nearly all gone now so it's going into the garage at home for the duration this time next week.'

Mum smiled and asked if he could smell the teapot as she was just making a pot now. We went into the kitchen and she invited him to take a seat. He sat down heavily and tickled Paula who was drawing on a notepad and who giggled as he touched her chin. Mum brought the tea over and poured it and asked Edgar if he took sugar.

'Only if it's left lying about' he said and grinned at his own joke.

'To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit then?' Mum asked, neglecting to laugh or smile and stirring her tea vigorously.

'Ah well, I've been called up. Royal Army Pay Corps. I report next week.'

'A bit late,' Mum said, deadpan. 'Harry went in weeks ago.'

He nodded and then cleared his throat. He explained that his boss had tried to get his call up deferred as their factory-made motor parts that were now being made as Military vehicle parts but as it was pointed out that he was chief clerk, in an office, it hardly qualified him as an essential civilian war worker. It had though, delayed his call up somewhat. Then he said that Edith, my auntie, had announced her intention, her determination even, to go and spend the duration of the war with her brother and sister in law in Norwich.

'Ah,' said Mum.

'Which leaves me with a dilemma,' Edgar continued 'but with a possible, positive solution that could benefit both you and me.'

'Oh, how so?'

'Well I don't relish the thought of leaving my house empty for who knows how many years. I thought perhaps you and the children could move in.'

He paused and Mum frowned.

'Well it would get you out of the blitz and into a safer part of the country. Away from the bombs.'

Mum started shaking her head and then she said that Barnet was barely out of London even if it was classed as part of Hertfordshire and her home was here, in this house and really she thought that was where she ought to stay. Then there was my school and it would be a bit of a general upheaval for us all. I sipped lemonade and winked at Paula who made a face at me and Mum poured out two fresh cups of tea.

'Well, think about it,' Edgar said quietly.

'Oh, I don't know Edgar.'

'It's a nice big house as you know, plenty of space to rattle around in. I'd feel happy knowing the house was being looked after and you and the kids would be safer, away from the worst of the blitz.'

I remembered from our last visit that it was a big house in a nice tree lined road, a modern house and the sort that my mother had often said she would like to have herself, one day. It was bright and light with big windows and I remember Mum saying, on our way home that it was easy to keep a house like that clean and sparkling and not like the grimy Victorian house that we lived in. Dad protested, saying it was a jerry built modern house, not solid and sturdy like ours and he wouldn't swap it for all the tea in China. Mum laughed and said he was an old stick in the mud and he'd never change but as far as she was concerned looking after our place and keeping it clean and tidy was a full-time job and a difficult one.

'I don't know Edgar,' Mum said again. 'I'd need to talk it over with Harry anyway.'

'Of course.'

'I'm going to phone him tonight.'

'Well, let me know—in due course. No hurry really.'

When we had seen him out Mum asked us what we thought about going to live in a big modern house in Hertfordshire, away from all the bombs. I shook my head and said I liked it here and I was worried that if we moved I would no longer find shrapnel pieces in the garden but I didn't say that to her. Paula said she wanted to stay in our house too. Mum looked at us intently for a while, then she nodded and said we would have to see what dad thinks.

Early that evening, Mrs Hudson came in from next door to baby sit Paula and Mum and I set off down the road to the phone box just past the underground station. I stepped into the box with my mother and watched as she put her money in, asked for her number and pressed button A as she was put through. I heard my Dad ask how things were going and how were Paula and Bobby getting on. I heard her telling Dad about Uncle Edgar's suggestion and could just make out his replies.

'Well, what do you think?'

'I'd like to think you are all safe,' I heard Dad respond.

'We're safe now Harry. And maybe there won't be any bombing, maybe it's all government scare tactics.'

'Oh, I think the bombers are coming, right enough,' Dad warned. 'The talk here is how long it will take the Germans to get organised.'

'Well, anyway, I prefer to stay in my own home,' Mum said stubbornly.

'Then that is what you must do. Tell Edgar you are thinking it over and try to leave it open,' dad advised. 'In case you change your mind.'

'Alright then.'

Then the phone was passed to me and dad and I chatted for a few minutes. He wanted to know if I was OK and if I was looking after my little sister and being a good boy for mum and all the rest of his usual questions. I just grinned and said yes to everything, as I usually did and then gave the receiver back to my mother. She asked me to wait outside for just a minute so I suppose she wanted to say things of a more intimate nature to dad.

I wandered slowly back towards the Underground station entrance and stood there watching people coming in and going out. It was getting dark now and the lights in the station seemed to be beckoning, welcoming. Next to the passageway going down, there was a small, very narrow wired off passage that was used for people to come up to football games on match days. It used to be full of people every other Saturday and cars were parked all along the usually empty streets but now that the war was on, football was to be suspended. I think that was the word Uncle Bernie used and he always came to matches every other Saturday. Without fail.

Mum had finished speaking as I returned to the phone box and she smiled and we fell into step back up the hill to home.

'You don't want to go and live out in Hertfordshire do you Bobby?' she asked suddenly.

'No,' I responded, 'not me.'

'Good, 'she said. 'So we'll stay right where we are.'

Three

NOVEMBER 1940

A sudden gust of wintery wind blew up as we crossed the road to number 16. The road looked bleak and deserted and there was still some of the rubble of number 18 piled up along with sandbags and stuff. The poor man living there had died instantly when the bomb hit, Mum said and she looked very upset and a bit weepy as she told me.

She knocked at the front door and Mrs. Bailey opened up looking a bit tired and weary in her hairnet and faded dress. She was a widow woman, Mum had told me, about seventy years old but to me, at that time she looked about ninety. Mum asked how she was in a concerned voice and the old lady said that she was all right now, mustn't grumble.

'It's good of you to come over dear,' she continued. 'Come on in, I've got a pot of tea on the go.'

'It seemed very dark and bleak in her front sitting room; there was a very old and faded wallpaper all round that seemed to enclose the chamber and the dining table had a thick brown cover all over it, a bit like a heavy blanket. There was an ancient clock on the mantelpiece which ticked and tocked with a loud, metallic clonk. A small fire burned cheerfully in the grate. She sat us all down around the big table and handed out cups of tea and lemonade for Paula and myself.

'Look at you Bobby,' she said animatedly, 'what a big boy you've grown.'

Mum smiled and Paula grimaced.

'I remember when you all moved in and he was only tiny,' she said. 'How old is he now?'

'Ten next birthday,' Mum replied.

'Goodness me. And little Paula, she's getting big.'

'Yes, she's coming up to four, quite a handful. Both of them.'

'And look at Bobby with that curly hair and big blue eyes. He'll have the girls in a tizzy in a few years from now.'

I blushed scarlet and Paula giggled as I looked away, fastening my eyes on a big, ugly aspidistra in the window alcove. Mum asked the old lady if she needed anything but she shook her head vigorously and said she was fine. Mum told her she could easily get her groceries from Sainsbury or Williams Brothers or run any errands for her but the old lady was fiercely independent and said she could manage very well but thank you very much for offering. Then Mum told her we were thinking of moving out to Hertfordshire to look after her brother in law's house but if she ever needed anything or help in any way, she must promise to let Mum know.

'I will dear, I will.'

'Edgar has a phone and I'll give you the number if we go.'

Then the conversation turned to how lucky she had been that her house was not badly damaged but I noticed that part of the window had been boarded up and a lot of plaster had come off the ceiling. Then my mother asked about the old couple at number twenty but Mrs Bailey said they had been taken to live with their daughter at Finchley and they were fine now but their house was badly damaged and was not fit to live in. We finished our drinks and she went out to the kitchen to fetch her sweetie jar as she called it and gave Paula and me a handful each. Mum said we must leave her in peace now and we all trooped back across the road.

Mum was making a savoury onion casserole the next day with powdered egg, breadcrumbs and margarine for dinner because Uncle Edgar was coming over. She had wanted to make something with meat but we had used up our ration for the week and anyway the casserole did smell good as she cooked it. She added cheese and chopped sage and it had been baking in the oven for over an hour and the aroma was terrific, making me feel very hungry. I was getting impatient to tuck in and kept asking what time we were eating dinner but Mum was a bit flustered and rushing from the kitchen to the dining room looking hot and bothered in her apron and hair tied up under a head scarf and she said I would have to wait, Uncle Edgar would be here soon and if I wanted to make myself useful I could take the dog for a walk.

So I put Charlie's collar on and his lead and went out and down the hill. I walked him all the way round the big block, past the other two entrances to the football stadium, up the hill, down past the church and back down again to the underground station. Uncle Edgar was just emerging from the tube station as I got back there and he greeted us with a big grin. He asked if Charlie and I had come to escort him to the house. I said yes because I couldn't think of any other answer. He laughed, a big throaty laugh.

'So did you go over to the shelter last night? He asked as we walked side by side up the hill.

'Yes,' I told him. 'We spent five hours there as the bombs dropped all round but none in this area.'

'You and your mum and sister need to get away from this area,' he said but I didn't answer as I knew my mother was still having doubts about moving. I did ask him where his car was and he said she was just about to run out of petrol and he didn't think he'd be able to