The Orphan Thief
Glynis Peters
From the internationally bestselling author of The Secret Orphan When all seems lost… As Hitler’s bombs rain down on a battered and beleaguered Britain, Ruby Shadwell is dealt the most devastating blow – her entire family lost during the Coventry Blitz. Hope still survives… Alone and with the city in chaos, Ruby is determined to survive this war and rebuild her life. And a chance encounter with street urchin Tommy gives Ruby just the chance she needs. And love will overcome… Because Tommy brings with him Canadian Sergeant Jean-Paul Clayton. Jean-Paul is drawn to Ruby and wants to help her, but Ruby cannot bear another loss. Can love bloom amidst the ruins? Or will the war take Ruby’s last chance at happiness too? This is a sweeping historical romance filled with hope and resilience, perfect for fans of Christina Baker Kline, Soraya M. Lane and Shirley Dickson.
THE ORPHAN THIEF
Glynis Peters
Copyright (#u44fe0a4b-8bbe-5407-a0a7-811e2062d12f)
One More Chapter
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First published in Great Britain in ebook format by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © Glynis Peters 2019
Glynis Peters asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008384906
Ebook Edition © 2019 ISBN: 9780008363260
Version: 2019-10-15
Dedication (#u44fe0a4b-8bbe-5407-a0a7-811e2062d12f)
Dedicated to my husband, Peter, in our 40th year of marriage; our Ruby Wedding Year.
I love you for believing in me, for encouraging me, and most of all – for feeding me during the writing of this novel. This is your medal. x
And to my new granddaughter, Felicity Dilys Piper Smy. You came into our lives during the start of this book. My little Canadian Bunny, Meemaw loves you very much. x
Contents
Cover (#ub98abf7b-eee5-5fa4-bc5d-64b6672496cb)
Title Page (#uf0a8e2b3-11e3-5c4e-9269-84df76fabcf8)
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
A Q&A with Glynis Peters
Keep reading …
About the Author
Also by Glynis Peters
About the Publisher
PROLOGUE (#u44fe0a4b-8bbe-5407-a0a7-811e2062d12f)
Coventry, 25th December 1938
The table, laden with fresh vegetables and a rib of beef, filled the room. Chairs sat around it, seating her favourite people. Ruby Shadwell watched on as they ate and chatted about the previous Christmas, when the table had held two other elders of her family – both grandfathers.
Although both had been loved, they were also remembered for their dour outlook on life. No one banged the table for silence today, and Ruby slipped into a relaxed position in her seat. Her gran praised her parents for such a feast, her siblings drooled as her father sliced the meat onto a large platter and her mother, pretty in her new dress, trotted back and forth from the kitchen. Ruby studied her family as they moved through the day. Her father, over-polite to his mother-in-law and extra friendly to the children, with praise for her, and she even saw him kiss the cheek of her mother. He’d planned their day with great precision and not a minute was wasted.
They played games of charades after the meal and sang carols around the fire during the evening. They sat in silence and listened to her young sister Lucy recite a poem, and smiled when her brother gave a pretend snore at the end of it, earning himself a gentle clip around the ear from their father.
Boxing Day would be a day of rest too and their father had promised them a day much like their Christmas Day.
Ruby looked forward to reading a good book rather than planting out or pulling up vegetables to sell in the family shop, but she couldn’t quite believe her father would honour his declaration. Contentment resonated around the room, but there was a darkness hovering over the adults too.
War loomed, but not a word was spoken about it during their special day. But once the two youngest of their children had given into sleep, the adults renewed their concerns about Hitler and his desire to hold power over Europe.
At fourteen, Ruby understood the implications of war. Her grandfathers and her father had already fought in one, and she’d witnessed men who’d lost limbs, or who choked still on gassed out lungs. Ruby knew if she sat and listened, her father often forgot she was in the room and broadened his views on the current situation. Today he didn’t fail her, and she hung onto his every word. Ruby knew dark days were around the corner, but when it was due to happen was down to politicians at home and abroad. The Shadwell family could only sit in hope it wouldn’t disturb the balance of their peaceful lives.
Toronto, Canada, 25th December 1938
Jean-Paul Clayton Junior watched his father dip the negative into the solution. Their darkroom housed many dripping negatives waiting to share what the two men had captured through their lens.
Photography was Jean-Paul’s passion and his father’s hobby, so when he’d mentioned his intention to leave the banking sector to take up photography full-time, this had not gone down well with his parents. At nineteen, although he wanted to rebel, he took their advice to continue earning and build a portfolio of work which might stand him in better stead for when he took it up as a permanent career.
Today, he unwrapped their gift to him, one which showed they understood his restlessness. He now owned one of the latest cameras and a ticket to travel throughout Canada. With news of the war brewing in Europe, his parents wanted him to have an adventure during his summer break. His sister received jewellery, which delighted her as much as his gift did him, but Jean-Paul knew his gift would never go out of fashion. A camera would always capture life through a lens and Jean-Paul intended never to miss a moment.
CHAPTER 1 (#u44fe0a4b-8bbe-5407-a0a7-811e2062d12f)
Coventry, 15th November 1940
Ruby Shadwell stared out into the street, blinked away her disbelief and then looked down once again into darkness over the edge of a large smoking crater. A flash of light from the rising sun emerging from behind a cloud skimmed across scattered shards of glass, giving her an insight as to what was below. The epicentre of horror.
The place her parents and two siblings would have sat enjoying their cocoa around the fire, as they did every night. Ruby had no doubt their routine hadn’t altered despite the air raid warnings.
Even if they had been in the Anderson shelter at the bottom of the garden, the scene before her would be the same. Total devastation. Her family crushed to death like ants under the foot of a human.
White-grey flakes fluttered from the sky. She held out her hand. It wasn’t snow, but something like the ash from the fireplace in their house. The house which no longer existed.
Ruby wrapped her arms around her chest and shoulders and gripped hard, digging her fingers into her flesh through the woollen coat she wore. At sixteen, she could not recall a pain so deep, even when her precious grandfather had passed away. Unable to absorb the enormity of the disaster, she remained staring downwards into the crater in the hope it could be a dream. She’d even accept a nightmare. One from which her family clawed their way back to the surface. Back into her life.
Her body, freezing with the November frost and easterly wind, felt stiff and bruised.
Heavy drizzle dripped across her face and she brushed it away, her skin sore with cold, but she was unable to move away from the place she once knew as home. How had it come to this?
Walking home from Lammas Road, Ruby had witnessed the first of the bombs before a warden had grabbed her arm and took her at great speed to the public shelter underneath Radford Common.
Someone gave the time as seven-twelve when the sirens blasted their warning around the city. They ran past the group and towards the shelter, the warden shouting for them to run faster. An elderly lady stumbled and the warden left Ruby in order to help. The enemy attacked before the wailing of the siren had stopped. Ruby screamed as a bomb dropped on the rooftops of a nearby street.
A feeling more than the fear of the bogeyman forced her onwards – it sickened her to think she was streets away from the comfort of her family. Her lungs burned with the cold of the evening air and by the time she made it into the shelter, huddled amongst strangers and a few familiar faces, more bombs had fallen. Too many to count, too many to ignore.
Everyone waited for the all-clear to sound. It never rang out, but the reassurances and door-banging from ARP wardens now that the raid was over came as a huge relief. The warden seeing them out of the shelter warned people to be careful of fires and unexploded bombs, and that electricity was no longer on supply.
Ruby moved forward in the queue to leave and was stunned by what she saw as she stepped outside. Enemy bombs had proved themselves to be powerful and destructive – they’d destroyed Coventry. The people with whom she’d sheltered shouted their disbelief, many sank to their knees, but the majority screamed and ran towards their homes. Ruby headed back; her family would be frantic with worry and she needed to get onto Radford Road and back home to reassure them she was still alive.
The further she made her way back towards the centre of Coventry, the more the mangled streets disorientated her. Once she’d gained her bearings Ruby headed for Eagle Street, picking her way through what should have been darkness, but the city was lit with fires so bright, and the moon shone clear. She had no trouble seeing, although at times she wished it was dark. The more she saw, the more fearful she became of what she might find nearer her own home, and her fears were soon realised. At one point she questioned herself so much she thought she’d go mad. Bombs. Craters. Death. Was she truly staring at the outcome of human action? If only she’d stayed home. Her head throbbed.
She worked out she’d lost hours, as already the day was drifting into late afternoon. She’d lost precious family time after falling and hitting her head. She’d lain in the darkness and wasn’t found by rescuers for several hours. Even without being knocked unconscious, Ruby knew the outcome would be the same. Over eleven hours or eleven days, it made no difference. She was here now, and she knew she was not insane.
Her family were dead.
She touched the bruised area on the back of her head and winced. Gingerly, she pulled her hand away and inspected her fingers, but saw no blood. Ruby walked around the edge of the crater, hoping to catch a glimpse of life – a movement or shout for help. Something, anything to prove her parents or siblings were still alive. Only devastation and darkness reflected back the image of mangled memories. Memories of a happy family life. Of a home brought to its knees by grown men in machines. Ruby had never understood the point of this war, no matter how many times her father drilled into them why it was necessary.
She thought back to when her dark-haired, brown-eyed nine-year-old brother, with his forever-grazed knees, ill-fitting socks and stick-thin legs which dangled from his baggy shorts, had announced he was going to be a soldier and fight for his country. Their mother had laughed and told him to wash his hands and eat his breakfast. With two front teeth missing, he often produced a lisped retort or a cheeky statement. Only that morning he’d teased her for having droopy drawers. James, named for their father, had been a loving soul. Their twelve-year-old sister Lucy had been a quiet, serious girl, her nose forever in a book, and her love of animals, especially cats, frustrated their parents as every day a stray would be brought home and fed. Lucy pleaded for a pet of their own, but their father forbade it and would shake his head and state they already had Coventry’s largest collection of animals hovering in the lane behind the house; he could not be doing with one indoors.
How could her family’s spirited energy disappear so suddenly? In such a cruel way? Painful thoughts dug deep inside and Ruby allowed them space to run free, until a sickness clawed inside her gut.
No more walks on the common, no more hide-and-seek, where her brother would peek from between open fingers. No more listening to the soft voice of Lucy reciting a poem, or her neat and tidy mother singing a verse or two of a song from the radio. No more them. No longer would Ruby use the term us when referring to her family.
The dark hole glared back at her, mocking her tears, tearing her heart in two each time she blinked down in hope.
Even the sunshine had given up trying to spread cheer and waned behind clouds, refusing to dress up such a hideous sight. Ruby shivered and staggered to one side. With a glance back down into the dark abyss, she teetered on the dislodged bricks. Was she meant to jump? What was she to do? How was she meant to survive alone?
Screams and shouting filled her ears. A little girl called out for her mother in the distance, but Ruby remained rooted to the spot. The child was not her problem. Guilt washed over her. Should she make the girl her problem? Should she leave this place – the grave of her family – for there was no reassurance on this earth which would allow her to think they could be rescued. If she had not taken outgrown clothes to her mother’s friend in Lammas Road, she’d have been with her family, enjoying their love, their laughter. More guilty feelings washed over Ruby. She should have been there. It was her mother’s fault. Ruby’s mind spun out reasons and accusations so fast she found it hard to concentrate. Eventually, she stopped and took a deep breath to gain control of her emotions.
What difference would it have made? She’d be dead instead of staring down into the centre of the planet. Either way, she’d be alone. Feeling nothing. Why didn’t she feel anything? Why wasn’t she crying? Slowly a fear crept into her veins. Now she was feeling something. Now she felt alone. No mother telling her off for not folding her clothes. No father reprimanding her for returning ten minutes later than normal. Never again would she hear his sermons. Ruby knew her father had loved them, but he’d struggled to express his feelings. He had good days when he made them laugh, but Ruby now realised his gloomy outlook was because of the never-ending war talk, and she wondered if he’d thought Christmas would be their last together. If he’d thought it, he’d been right, and she was grateful to him for trying so hard. Her family rarely laughed together but when they did the world was a good place to be, even during wartime in England.
Ruby pulled her coat around her as the temperature dropped, when it dawned on her she’d never hear their voices or laughter again. Disbelief set in.
Surely not? There must be life down there. She had to fight for them. Their family business, Shadwell’s Grocery, the place where she’d worked day and night, gone.
‘Here! My family! They are down there,’ she called out.
‘Get away from there, girl. It’s dangerous,’ a male voice bellowed out above the many sounds echoing out around the city.
Ruby turned to see who was talking, and she saw his tin hat bobbing up from a large hole in the ground. The man threw bricks and slates to one side. His plump face glistened with sweat and white vapours escaped his mouth and nostrils as he worked.
‘Get away. There’ll be no survivors down there. I’m sorry if they are yours, duck, but you must get away. Find somewhere safe. Don’t go to town – it’s bad there. Very bad. Those flames –’ he pointed to a red-gold skyline ‘– it’s the cathedral. There’s no hope left here.’ The man drooped his head, his voice gentle yet firm. Ruby said nothing, mesmerised by the flesh wobbling beneath his chin – a flash reminder of her mother. The man was the opposite to her father, whom her mother had often described as scrawny, and Ruby took after him. The man repeated his instructions and returned to clearing rubble, and Ruby shrugged her shoulders. Where’s safe? she thought. How would she find safe without her parents to guide her?
‘Get away, girl. There’s nothing you can do – it’s a mess. Go to a shelter. Get yourself to safety. Follow her,’ a man in Home Guard uniform shouted and nodded in the direction of a woman walking with a baby in her arms, but Ruby ignored him.
She stood and watched as he pulled at pipes and bricks from the doorway of a house which still had some resemblance to a home.
A fierce hissing sound penetrated into the many noises nearby, followed by a loud explosion forcing her to the ground. Ruby fell backwards, away from the crater. It was a sign. Time for her to leave.
The man who’d encouraged her to leave earlier groaned several feet away. Ruby scrambled to her feet. Before she could reach him, he was upright and brushing his hands against his trousers.
‘You still here?’ he said and moved towards her, his hands held out to her. Ruby noticed the thick mud still clinging to them and kept hers to her side.
She remained silent. Her legs refused to move.
‘Young woman here needs attention. Anyone? Family trapped in this one and I can’t leave.’
She listened as he barked out requests and instructions. He represented life. She needed to be near him, to hear his voice above the sirens and screams. She took a step towards him.
‘Gas!’ someone from behind them shouted, and the man turned their way then back to Ruby, his voice thick with concern.
‘The pipes are blowing. Get away, girl – how many times do I have to tell you? Run for your life. You are one of the lucky ones. Run.’
Ruby stared at him. Lucky? He considered her lucky? Didn’t he know what she’d seen? Didn’t he understand?
A tremor of gas hissed, and the man nudged Ruby’s back. ‘Go! Now!’
He ran towards the building in front of them. Ruby heard a woman shout for help when another explosion vibrated through her body. The noise was so loud she put her hands to her head, but the sound continued to penetrate her eardrums. Ruby crouched down to stop herself from fainting. She looked towards the building just as it blew into smithereens. The man didn’t reappear. The woman no longer called for help. Yet again, Ruby was alone.
Where now? As she looked around, all Ruby could feel was despair. She’d never experienced a loss so great and her heart beat fast and furious.
She stood back up and turned full circle. Her lungs choked on smoke, her eyes stung and watered, but she could still see a hell on earth. She’d heard enough sermons to have imagined it over the years, and now she stood in its jaws. Gripped by thoughts so powerful she couldn’t comprehend all of them. What was expected of her now?
Jump into the pit? Or live? Jump or live? The words pounded through her head, then she leaned to one side and retched out nothing. She watched the living retrieve dead bodies for a while longer, when she remembered her grandmother.
Gran! She must be petrified.
Breathing as deep as she could, she gained control of her feelings and got her bearings. She ignored the hunger gnawing in her belly and moved with speed towards Kirby Road, where her grandmother lived. The usual half hour walk took twice the time due to the detours she was forced to make, and Ruby’s calves ached. She turned into Kirby Road and saw it too had fallen foul of several bombs and no longer resembled the street she knew. Smashed chimney pots, cutlery, crockery and items of clothing were scattered everywhere. As in her own road, water flowed free from smashed pipes and added to the mess.
She picked her way from one end to the other, to where she estimated her gran’s house to have once stood. Another crater. The scene before her was much like the one she had just left. Ruby’s grandmother would never greet her with open arms and beaming smiles again. She’d also taken the full fury of Hitler’s bombs.
‘Excuse me,’ she called out to a woman in uniform escorting an elderly man from a house still standing, which Ruby knew had once been his home. His arm was in a sling, the striped material bearing resemblance to a bed sheet.
‘Fred?’ she said and took a closer look at the old man. He and her gran often exchanged produce from their gardens. The man looked different. More aged, and frail.
‘He’s in a bad way. Shocked is an understatement. I’ve got to get him help. You’re welcome to tag along,’ the woman said.
‘Did anyone leave here?’ Ruby asked, and pointed to her gran’s empty plot.
‘If they did, it wasn’t alive, my love. Not many did that side of the street. Sorry, sweetheart. Try the medical tent. You never know. But I’m warning you, don’t get your hopes up. If not, try the gasworks. That’s where the –’
Ruby flicked her chin upwards to indicate she understood, and to stop the woman saying the words out loud. The woman gave her a weak smile, her eyes loaded with sympathy.
‘Come on, Fred, let’s get you out of here before it’s too dark to see.’
Ruby nodded her thanks, fighting back tears.
‘You coming with us?’
Ruby shook her head at the woman and gave Fred a reassuring pat on his arm. ‘You take care, Fred,’ she said.
‘Gone. All gone,’ Fred said, showing no recognition, and he continued to repeat the words as they walked away.
Dazed, Ruby felt the overwhelming urge to run away from all she’d seen, to hide under a hedge on Radford Common until it was all over. Her life or the war, whichever ended first, but there was a chance her gran was still alive. She had no choice; she had to see if there was any news on the last surviving member of her family. She clenched her fists against her ears to drive out the mechanical and human noises pounding around her. Once again, her stomach growled with hunger and her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth. The smoke grew thicker and indescribable smells assaulted her senses; her heart pounded in her chest and for a few seconds Ruby thought she might faint.
Pull yourself together, girl. Gran might need you. She might still be alive.
All the while she walked towards the busy hub of medical tents, hastily erected food and information huts near the town centre, Ruby talked to herself. Forcing her legs to keep moving.
For over an hour she searched for her grandmother. Eventually, she found her name on a list of the dead. Her request to see her body was gently refused for her own sake. Ruby left the makeshift morgue and with a heavy heart made her way towards Radford Common with the intention of gathering her thoughts. She needed to think, away from the terrors she’d witnessed, and hoped the thirty-minute walk would help. Her young brother and his friends had made dens on the common, and for a few hours Ruby intended to make use of one. As she looked out onto the city darkness fell but it remained host to the endless glowing fires. Ruby doubted even the fiercest of flames would warm her through. She glanced skyward and saw a cluster of stars. Five. Were they her family, huddled together, shining out their love? Were they reunited – her parents, her brother, sister and grandmother? Ruby pondered the thought as she continued to stare. A dark cloud flitted across the stars; once again the lights went out for Ruby.
CHAPTER 2 (#u44fe0a4b-8bbe-5407-a0a7-811e2062d12f)
16th November 1940
A frozen Ruby stretched out her legs and rubbed them warm. Born with her left leg shorter than the right, she despised the limp and cramping of the muscles it gave her whenever she’d walked too far. Today she experienced severe pain, but knew sitting still would not relieve her aching limbs. She massaged them, pleading with her legs not to let her down.
A shiver ran through her as she heard a loud bang. They’d endured another long night of explosions from buildings and gas pipes, and it continued into the new day. Endless screams echoed across the city. The bombing was the cruellest thing anyone could have inflicted upon Coventry.
She felt dirty, unwashed, and needed food and drink. Crawling out from the small den, she made her way towards the public shelter. Bone-weary townsfolk sat propped outside its entrance. They stared at her, but she knew she was invisible to them. A nothing. Nobody’s daughter. She walked on, heading towards the warmth of the city, a fifteen-minute walk towards the heat of death and destruction. Rows of weary travellers passed her by, all fleeing the devastation for fear of more bombings. On more than one occasion she was encouraged to join friends of her parents and other families. She muttered about later, with no intention of leaving Coventry. For Ruby, despite not having one, this was home.
As she walked past a tumbled house, she spotted a blanket lying across a tangled fence. She glanced around but couldn’t see anyone, and tugged the blanket free. Draping it across her shoulders, she felt the weight of an honest parent bearing down on her. For the first time in her life, Ruby had taken something which didn’t belong to her. She’d not been given the blanket, nor had permission to remove it, but she’d gone ahead and done it with no repercussions other than a guilty mind. The freezing air away from the town deemed it necessary, as she fully intended to return to her den after she’d found food.
Picking her way down Little Park Street towards the centre of town, the sight of the burning cathedral in the distance took her fears to another level. It looked no more than a shattered piece of architecture. Splintered shards of brickwork refusing to cave in to a power mightier than itself, it stood defiant in the raging flames. She prayed it would survive. It was the beating heart of the city. The residents were proud of their cathedral and she watched as men battled to save its crumbling shell.
On the corner of Hertford Street, Ruby noticed a crowd praying and sobbing; most were women with children clinging around their legs or held tightly in their arms. To one side of the gathering she spotted a family whose children she knew from church, standing in an obvious queue near a makeshift building Ruby hadn’t seen before. They looked as bedraggled as she felt. She hesitated in her approach, and decided to join them for whatever they were queuing for, in the hope it was food.
‘Hello, Jenny,’ she said to a girl around her age but much shorter, making her appear younger.
‘Ruby, oh, Ruby,’ said Jenny, her voice soft, her left eye twitching. ‘Isn’t it awful? We lost our house. We’re waiting to be taken to my auntie’s at Warwick. We’ll sleep on her floor. Mum’s registering for new papers, and sending word to me dad we’re all safe.’
She sniffled and her mother pulled her close. A pang of envy stabbed at Ruby and she gripped her hands together to remain in control of her emotions.
‘Ruby, where’s your family?’ Jenny’s mother asked.
‘With my gran,’ Ruby replied. ‘Probably heaven.’ She didn’t want to shock the woman but couldn’t think of another way of wording her loss.
‘Oh, my girl, come here,’ Jenny’s mother said, and smothered Ruby in a hug. She smelled of smoke and soot, and clung onto her until Ruby gently pushed herself free. It was her mother’s comfort she yearned for, not a woman filled with pity and sadness.
‘Do you know where I can find food? Is this a queue for some?’ Ruby asked.
‘You need to register your family deaths and get papers for yourself. I assume all is lost?’
Ruby nodded.
‘Food can come later. Stand here – we’ve waited around an hour now, and no one will notice you’ve jumped in halfway,’ Jenny’s mother said.
‘It’s been a busy day,’ Ruby said, and inhaled to fight off another wave of nausea.
Jenny reached out to take her hand, but Ruby gave a brief shake of her head. She could no longer bear the pitying eyes looking back at her. They stirred something inside and Ruby was wary of whatever emotion it was creating the dark thoughts each time she allowed herself to soften to another human’s kindness. Her heart was bruised, battered beyond repair.
‘I feel sick and weak. I can’t focus on anything,’ she said, distracting her from the rejected look on Jenny’s face.
‘Ah, of course. Silly me,’ Jenny’s mother said. ‘Try over at one of the canteen vans. They’ve got tea and beef dripping batches. Be careful, Ruby, and don’t forget, you need to get registered. Find a new home. You’re too young to be alone.’
‘What happens when I’m registered?’ Ruby asked.
‘They might find you a new family. Someone will take you in. If not, you will at least be in the care of someone until a permanent home is found for you. You need a roof over your head. It might be away from here too – safe,’ Jenny’s mother said, and gave her another hug.
Ruby removed herself from the well-meaning arms and gave a brief nod. ‘I’ll sort it as soon as I’ve eaten. Thanks. Bye, take care, Jenny.’
Jenny gave a half-hearted wave and Ruby left the queue and walked to the area where Jenny’s mother had pointed.
Tea and a bread roll steeped in meat fat appealed far more than explaining her predicament to a form-filler at the beginning of a very long queue. Besides, she didn’t want a new family, or to leave Coventry. The thought of being sent to an orphanage frightened her, and if she left the area she’d lose the sense of her family still surrounding her. And what if they’d survived and were looking for her? She needed to stay, to keep her eyes open for them. Registering might mean living miles away and the thought made Ruby shudder.
The best thing she felt she could do was to slip into the background during the confusion of the city, and find a way of surviving without leaving town. Her dream had always been to have an adventure of sorts and, although this was a tragedy forced upon her, Ruby sensed it was time for her to make her own way in the world.
She kicked a battered box away from her path. Life was going to become difficult for her, and she had already turned her mind to the important issue of obtaining food. She needed money. Maybe she could work off her purchases by washing up. It was worth an ask.
Entering an area set aside for food distribution, Ruby looked on in dismay. Queue after queue faced her, and all were longer than the previous one she’d stood in. At the pace they were moving, it would be well into the night, even the early hours before she would eat. She shifted from one foot to another, debating what to do. It frustrated her, knowing their shop had housed tins and packets of foodstuffs, along with fresh grown vegetables supplied by growers from nearby towns. Her energy was sapped, but Ruby thought about her gran’s house. Although it was no longer standing, her gran had always kept a good vegetable patch. Maybe there were a few veg or fruit items left amongst the ruins and, though sad at the thought of returning to the bomb site, Ruby knew she stood a chance of finding something to eat without having to beg elsewhere.
‘Oi. Where’s your mask, girl?’ a man’s voice bellowed out a few feet away from Ruby. She knew his question was directed at her, as she had no mask to carry. Not wanting to suffer explaining her losses, she turned and saw a man in police uniform. She waved a hand vaguely in the direction ahead of her.
‘I’m heading back home for it now,’ she called out.
‘Make sure you do. And your ID papers. Keep them to hand too,’ the officer said.
Ruby rushed away. ID papers, ration book, birth certificate – anything official, her mother kept in a case under the stairs. With the flames flickering within the crater, Ruby doubted the case would have survived and realised she had nothing to show she even existed. Registering would be an impossible task and she was too tired and fearful to face more impossible tasks.
She entered Kirby Road and made her way to the small row of houses still standing. Each remaining property stood with glassless windows and shredded curtains flapping in the chill wind. The majority of the contents of one house lay strewn along its pathway, and the path she walked crunched beneath her feet. The road had a silent eeriness to it, and there was no one around. Ruby, puzzled by the fact, called out, ‘Hello. Anyone here?’
Silence. The only noises from the street she stood in echoed across the flattened right-hand side, but human movement and voices no longer existed. Ruby shook off the air of loneliness; she could not afford to dwell on it for fear of breaking down. She gulped as she walked over what had once been a happy house filled with love and baked cakes. Her grandmother cured many a tear with a slice of Victoria sponge and a strong cup of tea. Her beloved gran, lying cold in the temporary morgue. Ruby’s throat tightened against the scream she wanted to release, but she needed to focus on regaining her strength. Her legs and hands trembled with hunger and cold.
She scouted around her grandmother’s land, but soon came to realise that all was lost. Mangled blackout curtains were a stark reminder of hours spent in the house helping her grandmother with her mother, preparing the windows for war. Only the memory of evenings spent with the two women she loved made Ruby appreciate it had not been wasted time.
She spotted a few personal items, untouched by the bombs, and for the first time a smile flickered across Ruby’s face. The items were random ones, but they’d belonged to her family. They were the only connection to them she had left: heirlooms. A colander, a blue glass powder pot with no lid, two silver forks, a bowl with pink rose patterns around the edge and a tortoiseshell hair comb. It was one her grandmother used to pin into her thinning grey bun.
Ruby also found coins amounting to one shilling, which she placed into the blue pot. Twelve pennies would get her milk and possibly an egg or two if available, but it would certainly not help her clothing or accommodation situation. She decided she’d return and search for more once she’d found somewhere to live. The chances were her gran’s electricity meter had burst during the explosion. No one would be collecting their payment for supply. The coins were family money; it wouldn’t be theft.
Ruby crossed the road and walked up to Fred’s and wondered how he was doing after seeing him so badly shaken. At least he was alive and in the care of someone; the woman she’d seen leading him away yesterday had looked kind and gentle.
Although she knew he was not home, she still knocked on the door. She called hello through the blown-out front window, but there was no response. She did the same to five other houses in the row. All residents were elsewhere. Ruby headed back to Fred’s house, which sat at the end of the terrace, and went around to the back garden. She doubted he’d begrudge her any foodstuffs, and she’d pay him back when she was able. Only a small patch of turned over soil laid untouched by debris. She peered through the broken back window and door and then, taking a deep breath, Ruby stepped inside. Now she added trespassing to her sins. A shiver passed through her body as she stared around the home. How scared Fred must have felt. Shelves swung downwards, their contents on the tiled floor. The house appeared worse inside than from outside, and Ruby pondered the safety of the walls. She took another look at the exterior and, aside from one or two roof tiles missing, the brickwork seemed sound. She listened. No hissing sounds unnerved her – no gas pipes releasing their explosive poison.
Ruby spotted a photo frame lying face down and lifted it away from a pail of dirty water. She rubbed away the grime on the glass, and a young couple from an era long gone smiled back at her. The petite young woman in the picture held a small bunch of flowers. A bride and groom, standing in the kitchen where she now stood. This house had been a home of longstanding to Fred and Elsie Lester. Life and age had taken Fred’s wife before Ruby was born, but the enemy had destroyed their home – all he had left of the life they’d shared – and anger built inside Ruby’s chest to the point of exploding into screams, and she feared once she started she’d never stop.
She’d witnessed a woman’s face twisted with grief, receiving a resounding slap for hysteria, and another bellowing out a sound so guttural and raw Ruby knew the woman had lost her mind. She’d seen a man beat the crumbling wall of a house, his screams as high-pitched as any female. Their pain had been so deep they’d never recover, and Ruby closed a door in her heart to prevent the same happening to her. She locked in memories and her own deep pain so tight; each time she sensed an inkling of it breaking free she suppressed the feeling and replaced it with another. Now was the time for survival. She had little doubt the tears would find her further down the years, but for now she needed to focus on the positive side of things.
She made a decision there and then. Although she wasn’t close to Fred, he’d been a friend of her gran’s and he was alive. He deserved a home to come back to, and Ruby vowed she’d work and clear the old man’s home in readiness for his return. He looked as if he’d suffered a broken arm when she’d seen him being led away, so she had no doubt, once fit, he’d want to come home. She’d repair as much as possible, as payment for her rent whilst she stayed there. Fred’s home would survive, where hers hadn’t.
Before she got started, Ruby spent time looking for anything edible. Her hands trembled with hunger, and nausea came in waves. A knob of bread and a thin slice of cheese with a sprinkle of grit sat on the side. A supper untouched; he’d probably prepared it before the siren sounded. She cleaned away as much as she could of the grit and dust, ate it without noticing flavour or added soot, and washed it down with the remains of water left in the kettle. Mains water appeared to be cut off, as did the electricity and gas. After finding a small torch, she set it to one side for the evening. Dragging a mattress still with a bottom sheet wrapped around it, and which she noticed matched Fred’s sling, Ruby made herself a makeshift bed in a corner of the kitchen and then started her cleaning mission with fierce determination. A strange smoke-filled sky made everywhere warmer and darker than normal, and Ruby worked in a dream-like state.
Four hours into clearing broken items into one side of the garden, the light disappeared. She dragged a blown-off door from the left of the property, unsure if it belonged to the old man’s house or the neighbour’s, but it was too useful to be left to rot. She propped it across the window from the outside and hoped it would help block some of the cool wind building into freezing air. She’d placed the torch in the lower part of the room, finding its shadow and glow a comfort. Grateful for the two greatcoats she found hanging on the back of a door hanging by one hinge, she pulled one of them on. It wasn’t too large around the body, nor too long. The second she placed on the bed. No longer hungry, just exhausted, Ruby climbed onto the bed and gave in to sleep.
CHAPTER 3 (#u44fe0a4b-8bbe-5407-a0a7-811e2062d12f)
17th November 1940
‘Next.’
Boom!
‘Next.’
Crash!
Ruby, startled awake by loud male voices and explosions too close for comfort, rubbed her eyes and scrambled from her bed. She tried to peer from a smashed window to the front of the house, but saw nothing. She picked her way outside, but again saw nothing. Only distant noises filled the air and, satisfied it was a dream which had woken her, she gave in to nature as it begged her to heed its call. She snatched up a bucket from the yard and took it inside. Once relieved, she emptied the contents in the back far corner of the garden and covered it with soil. As she walked back through the garden, she spotted movement a few doors down, then came another explosion and, to her horror, the building collapsed to the ground. Ruby stood stock-still, her heart catching in her throat. She wanted to run or crouch, but her legs wouldn’t move.
Was the enemy bombing nearby? The thought threaded fear throughout her body. She tried to take a step.
Boom. Crash.
They were getting closer and, if captured, Ruby dared not to imagine the consequences.
She weighed up the time left for her to gather up Fred’s personal effects and leave before they reached the end of the row. She used the blanket she’d found and pulled several items into it, including two tins of Spam and a cabbage from the garden. She tied it with a length of rope, hoisted it onto her hip and moved to the front of the building.
‘Halt!’
Without waiting to find out if the instruction was for her or the men in uniform she’d spotted near a truck at the front of the property, Ruby moved quickly, her mind settling on the best place to hide. She’d return to Radford Common. Escaping the enemy was a priority. She’d heard the adults discuss what would happen to young women if captured. Whispers of rape and abuse amongst the parishioners of their local church one Sunday remained with her. More than once she’d heard her mother whisper her fears for Ruby to a customer or two. The dread of those overheard conversations spurred Ruby on now, her legs bruised with the baggage she carried. Her hip, sore from the metal saucepans and precious colander, hindered the speed she travelled, but she was determined not to stop.
Once satisfied she had enough distance between her and the explosions, she looked about for someone to report the presence of the enemy, but all she saw were miles of shell-shocked people leaving the city.
Her weighty load forced her to stop halfway, and she took in her surroundings. Bombed car factories. Bewildered people. Smells which made her gag, some which made her mouth water; whichever way she turned there was something new to scare her, amaze her or turn her stomach.
Across the road, she heard another team of men shouting instructions to one another. They were clearing the building they stood next to and, as the bricks tumbled to the floor, Ruby felt a bubble of hysterical laughter brew inside her belly. Sudden realisation released the pent-up fear she carried. The men she’d fled weren’t the enemy; they were British soldiers and workmen clearing the unsafe buildings. A sadness hit her hard and the pending hysterical laugher was soon suppressed. With the men clearing unsafe properties, it meant Fred’s house would match that of her grandmother’s, and Ruby recognised the fact she’d been rendered homeless once more. There was no turning back, and she made a decision to find the den she’d slept in after the bombing and trudged on towards the greensward.
Along the way she spotted many useful items flung far and wide from destroyed properties, and Ruby debated whether to collect some before dark fell; she also pondered whether it would be stealing from the dead – something she’d never dream of doing during peacetime.
Another gnawing bout of hunger reminded her of other important issues and she sat, thinking about her future. As the daughter of a greengrocer, she’d never had to consider purchasing food. Her mother was a good seamstress, and clothing had never been short for the family either. Circumstances for Ruby had not simply changed, they’d become life-altering. She needed paper and pencil to make a list of items required. For a faltering moment she considered registering herself homeless – family-less – an orphan. Orphan. A word she refused to recognise. She still had parents; they simply watched over her, not in the flesh but in her mind.
‘Did you see the King yesterday?’ Two women stood chatting nearby and they gave Ruby a fleeting glance as she crawled out from under the hedge.
‘He cried. Cried for us,’ one woman said.
Ruby brushed herself down and walked away. A crying King? Never. Some people exaggerated their stories. King George was a strong man, the head of the country. He’d never cry in the street in front of strangers.
A twist of disappointment niggled at her failure to have seen their sovereign visit the city, until Ruby decided he’d have nothing but words to offer her.
Everywhere she looked, queues zigzagged their way from one building to another. White, grey, soot-black and puce faces of worn-out Coventarians, who barely moved. The world worked around them. A loneliness sat heavy on her shoulders and she dropped to her knees, weakened by the senseless crime committed against her and her family – her city – and Ruby remained on the floor, organising her mind, her warrior instinct weakened by a heart-breaking sadness. She fought the idea of ending her own life, of leaving town to gain a better one, of joining others for nothing but company, but she couldn’t bear the thought of people pitying her, and talking about her family no longer being alive. She tussled with so many emotions on the cold ground until she accepted she needed help, and resigned herself to registering herself in need. Uniformed men and women busied about the devastated areas. No one acknowledged her; she wasn’t an unusual sight. Ruby had witnessed many like herself, tired, uninjured and in mourning. An everyday event for a city torn to shreds. Time and energy were spent upon retrieving and repairing. There was no time for pity.
Rising to her feet, Ruby recalled her father’s best friend, Stephen Peabody. He’d definitely help her, and he lived nearby. She needed to tell him he’d lost his friend.
It saddened her to see history brought to its knees. The sight of the cathedral, now a shadow of itself, and trams twisted as if crumpled paper, protruding at all angles, upset her and as she clambered over the dark beams of what had once been a beautiful mediaeval street Ruby gritted her teeth and fought back, yet again, the nagging temptation of giving up the fight. It all seemed so pointless.
Upon reaching a building tucked away in Spon Street, she noticed the sign above the front window, S Peabody, Accountant, swinging on one nail. She peered through a small, intact pane of glass, amazed the building had escaped ruination by the bombs. Inside, a man bent over a desk; his head leaned on the surface, supported by his brow. A sleeping Stephen Peabody at his desk was not an uncommon sight. He often worked into the late hours.
Ruby tapped on the window. He didn’t move, so she banged harder. Nothing. Walking around the side of the property, she turned the handle of the outer door and it opened. She let herself inside and rushed to his side. His hands were blue-grey and as she touched his cheek she felt there was no warmth, no breath moving his chest. She sighed. Dead. Her father’s friend, a man who had visited their home on many occasions, had joined the list of Coventry’s dead. Would this nightmare never end?
Ruby contemplated her responsibility towards Stephen. He was an unmarried man and, as far as she was aware, his last living relative was a sister he’d argued with when their parents had died, and who now lived in Scotland. Pulling the curtains closed, Ruby slipped out of the door and made her way back to the main hub of activity. She found a man in uniform, clearing rubble near the cathedral. He looked familiar, possibly one of her parents’ acquaintances from church. Ruby explained her discovery and the man laid down his shovel and followed her.
‘Yes, girl, he’s gone. Looks as if his heart gave out; I can’t see any injuries. You did right, coming to find someone. Is he a relation?’
Ruby hesitated, unsure of how to describe Stephen. ‘My dad’s best friend. Dad’s gone too.’
The man walked around the room. ‘Anyone else here?’
Ruby shook her head. ‘He lives alone – he had a cat, but –’
‘Right, well, we need to get him moved. Are you able to stay here? Looters are creating havoc and this place will be stripped in no time if we leave it empty. I’ll get the authorities to send a recovery team. Can you cope with that? We’ll cover him with a blanket, so it won’t be too much for you to deal with. You poor girl, you must have had a shock. Need me to get a message to your mum?’
Once again, Ruby shook her head.
‘Just sit tight and they’ll get to you as soon as they can.’
Ruby nodded and watched the man leave.
Sitting in the room with a dead body wasn’t quite what she had planned, but it was warmer than being outside. She huddled onto a firm armchair and drew her knees up under her chin. She remained staring at the covered body for twenty minutes before a tap on the side door disturbed her dark thoughts. Guilty thoughts of being alive when so many were dead, and sad thoughts that shock had most probably killed Stephen Peabody. His house was intact whilst all around him lay in ruins, and yet he still hadn’t survived.
Ruby let a man and woman inside. When they entered the room, the man laid down a stretcher beside Stephen and both gave a brief smile towards Ruby.
‘Bert was right. Looks like his heart gave out,’ the man said after checking Stephen.
The woman tutted and spoke to Ruby. ‘You want to step outside, duck, or are you fine with us moving your dad –?’
‘He’s not my dad. He’s … he’s a sort of uncle.’
‘Sort of uncle?’ said the woman in uniform. She frowned and removed the blanket from the body. Her voice had a tone which disturbed Ruby, and her frown suggested something unpleasant.
‘My dad’s best friend.’
‘Aha, I see. Where’s your dad – want us to fetch him to see to his friend’s place?’
Ruby stood up. She’d heard about fate. Her mother had often spoke about guiding spirits, and her father spoke of God paving the way forward for those in need. This was her moment of need, and finding Stephen was fate’s way of showing her a safe haven.
‘I’ll deal with it. I’ll see it’s safe. His cat will need feeding. I can do that.’
The man from the rescue team gave a gruff cough, and the woman threw him a cold stare. Ruby knew why; she’d seen the stray animals feast in the streets, she wasn’t a fool.
‘I heard it earlier; he’d want me to look out for it,’ she said, determined to give a reason for staying.
‘Well, you knew him. Has he got papers?’ The woman spoke to Ruby and the man at the same time.
They looked around his desk and eventually found all they needed in the inside pocket of his coat, hanging by the door.
‘We’ll register him. The authorities will need to come and inspect the house for safety, no doubt, and this address with be listed as empty, unless … are you living here? I didn’t think to ask,’ the woman said.
‘I stay here at times,’ Ruby said, and crossed her fingers behind her back. It was a small white lie. She had stayed there at times, but not overnight, only when her father or mother took their books to Stephen for him to check. He’d helped with their accounts and they had paid him in groceries.
‘We’ll leave that part then, and maybe your dad can sort out the necessary. We’re off. Well done for being brave, not easy at your age, but girls are having to grow up fast during this war. Stay safe.’
As she heard the door click shut the house fell silent and Ruby absorbed what had just happened. Everything seemed like a story from a book. A horror story, and one from which she couldn’t escape. A tear slithered down her face, swiftly followed by more until she could no longer catch her breath between sobs. She’d found sanctuary for at least another night, and this place held memories. Cigarette and pipe smoke from Stephen and her father playing cribbage. Hearing her father laugh when Stephen lost and had to forfeit a few coins, or a dram of whisky. A simple friendship which both men acknowledged through daily actions or a game of cards. Neither of them were sentimentalists, but no one who’d known them could ever doubt their strong bond, which stemmed from their first day at school. Ruby also recalled the scratching sound of Stephen’s pen as he worked through the mathematics of their weekly earnings. And of how he’d helped her understand the muddle of learning her times table. He’d ruffle her hair and chortle out a ‘well done’ when she succeeded with a difficult sum. An uncle, as she’d told the woman? If that was what an uncle did to support a brother or niece, then yes, Stephen was her uncle.
CHAPTER 4 (#u44fe0a4b-8bbe-5407-a0a7-811e2062d12f)
20th November 1940
Pulling the last of the small cupboards across the room back into their rightful place, Ruby stopped and stretched her back. Clearing the kitchen had proven to be quite a task for her, but the dust and soot from outside blew in each time she opened the door. During the day she’d cleaned and scrubbed Stephen’s property, and at night she’d slept through intermittent nightmares and new noises from outside.
Whilst wiping down the last of the shelves and replacing the few china cups Stephen owned, a babble of voices distracted her and Ruby went to the window at the front of the house, but could see nothing. The drone of aeroplane engines throbbed overhead. She had learned the difference between enemy planes and friendly ones, and she identified these as British. She grabbed the coat she’d found in Fred’s house and rushed out of the back door, locking it behind her. A Fire Warden stood on the pavement and Ruby could see he was watching a crowd of people walking past the entrance of the road. She saw many wore black armbands, and some carried flowers or wreaths. Another two planes flew overhead. Everyone looked skyward.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked the warden.
‘Burying our dead. Planes are out to stop the Jerries from attacking the cemetery. You should go. Pay your respects. Say a prayer for the dead. Think yourself lucky,’ he said.
Shocked to think the enemy might attack the dead and their mourners, Ruby shuddered. ‘Not all my dead can be buried. There’s nothing to bury,’ she said, her voice tightening with emotion.
‘Oh, God, girl, I’m sorry for your loss. My boy –’ The warden shrugged his shoulders mid-sentence and pinched his lips together.
Ruby watched his face flush red; she guessed his thoughts: men don’t cry. Put on a brave face.
She’d heard the words said to her brother so often; she now realised it was true. From now on, she’d put on a brave face. Become a boy inside. Keep her emotions to herself. Hide from the world her thoughts. She’d ‘toughen up’, as her father had often instructed her brother, James.
‘My gran’s body was found, but I don’t know what there is to bury. I told them her name. No one said anything about a funeral, and I forgot to think about it. I’m not a good granddaughter, am I? I must go. You are right. Sorry about your son.’
Fully aware she’d not drawn breath throughout her garbled speech, Ruby ran towards the crowd. She pushed herself into a line of mourners and picked up their solemn pace towards London Road Cemetery. As they stood beside their dead, a soldier in uniform lifted a camera and recorded the despair of the living. Ruby watched him, and wondered how he could bring himself to do such a job. It seemed ghoulish – an uncaring act. She frowned at him as he lowered his camera, and he smiled at her. A soft smile from a handsome face, one which looked neither ghoulish nor uncaring. It puzzled Ruby, for she’d expected an older male to look back at her, not one with youthful features. She moved along with the crowd and, when she glanced his way again, he’d moved away towards the back of the cemetery and out of view.
The town buried everyone in an open grave of tagged bodies. There was no time to look and see if it was your loved one’s name scribbled on the label in the large vat of beloved bones, huddled together after life, but there was time enough for someone to record their pain. All she could do was remain calm. Her duty was to pay her respects, shed tears and move forward at a snail’s pace. Ruby returned her focus upon the words of the officials performing their last task for over five hundred residents of their city. Her city. This war was beyond cruel. Its actions were vicious, and Ruby pledged there and then to bring back a little joy to her small community, however she could.
Once home, Ruby composed herself and wrote to Stephen’s sister. She’d put it off, unsure she’d want to learn of her own brother’s death by post, but there was no other way. In true Stephen style, all was in an orderly fashion at his desk and she sat to write in her neatest hand. It took several attempts, but the final version satisfied Ruby enough to hunt out a stamp. She’d seen the postman tramping across town and had been amazed by how soon things were returning to normal practice. Water dribbled through the house pipes once again, and for an hour she’d enjoyed electricity. Every day the city moved one step towards recovery. The clanging of factories repairing themselves gave renewed hope. Warnings to boil the water were called out on regular occasions, and Ruby heeded the instructions – surviving was to be her tribute to her family.
Rereading the letter for any possible additions, Ruby knew once Stephen’s sister received the letter and arrived she’d be without a roof over her head yet again. The letter was not a comfort to her, but she hoped it would comfort Stephen’s sister to know someone from the city cared about him.
Wednesday 20th November 1940
Ruby Shadwell c/o S Peabody, Accountant,
Garden Cottage,
Spon St,
Coventry.
Dear Mrs McBrae,
This is a difficult letter to write for several reasons. One, it is to inform you of your brother’s death. You might not be aware of what happened, but we have been attacked in the most vicious way. Fortunately, if that is the correct word to use, he was not killed by a bomb, as my family were in the dreadful attack upon our city. Instead, Stephen’s heart gave out with shock.
My own family were killed, so I am the only one able to write this letter. Sadly, Stephen has already been buried. The council organised a mass grave at London Road Cemetery. I’ll be willing to show you when you visit. Stephen’s house is in good order despite the crumbling surroundings, and I am staying here to ensure it is kept safe and clean. I keep a bed aired in anticipation of you receiving this letter and coming to Coventry to sort out your brother’s affairs.
My deepest sympathy and kind regards,
Ruby Shadwell, Miss
After posting the letter, Ruby took a walk around town. The queues still held strong, longer than ever. People wore an assortment of clothing, and held their heads high, the days of despair waning due to the united spirit to not allow the enemy to beat them down. The further she walked, she could see areas cleared of debris and personal items piled high in large mounds. She stood and watched lorry after lorry drive away, loaded with the city’s rubbish. After seeing the same thing street after street, she headed towards the Council Office, the only place she could think of to find someone to speak to about the seedling of an idea. For the first time since the bombing, Ruby had a purpose in life and was prepared to queue for an answer to her question.
Three hours later a woman beckoned her to a small room. Efficient and tidy in her brown suit, the woman gave the impression of someone who could be trusted. Her blonde hair was neat with buoyant curls seated at the nape of her neck. Her skin, peach and blemish-free, was a stark contrast to the dirt and grime gracing Ruby’s. For one moment Ruby experienced a sense of shame; her mother would not have approved of her sitting in such an important office looking like a vagrant.
‘Please, take a seat,’ the woman said, her voice soft and encouraging. A delicate hand directed Ruby to a chair with a gentle wave.
Ruby’s feet and legs ached, and she expelled a deep sigh as she sat down across the desk from the woman.
‘It’s hard work getting back on our feet, isn’t it? My name is Helen Morgan, but feel free to call me Helen. What can I do for you, Miss …?’
‘Shadwell – Ruby Shadwell,’ Ruby said, and watched as Helen frowned in recognition of the name.
‘My entire family were killed – gone. There was nothing left of them. They were crushed beneath our house.’
The woman put her hand to her mouth and Ruby heard a sharp intake of breath. She continued talking, wishing she wasn’t so blunt with her speech, but she needed to keep control of her emotions.
‘I believe you knew my mother, June Shadwell, and am grateful for you seeing me like this,’ Ruby said and tried not to speak in a monotone downbeat voice, but all strength and energy had left her in a dark mood. A fear of what was to come swamped any feeling of hope.
Another gasp left Helen’s lips and she moved both hands as if in prayer to her mouth. ‘I did know your mother. Very well, as it happens. I’m sorry for your loss. Your mother made my wedding dress several years ago. And I am … was a regular customer of your father’s. I am blessed enough to have not lost either my home or any member of my family, and I cannot imagine how you must feel,’ Helen said, and Ruby saw tears glisten in her eyes.
Ruby twisted the piece of damp scrap paper in her hand. She’d written notes whilst waiting in the street, but now she sat talking with someone she no longer needed them.
‘I feel numb, lost. Confused.’
‘I cannot register you here, Ruby. I’m a secretary manning the offices. Although I have more jobs every day. There’s so much to be done for recovery. Everyone else dealing with reissues are out there, in the temporary buildings.’ She pointed to the window.
Ruby shifted in her seat; there was nothing comfortable about it and her tense body ached. It was time to move the meeting along. Her future depended upon it and Helen had a long queue of desperate folk waiting outside.
‘I can deal with the registering. I’ve come about something different. I’ve questions to ask about personal items lying around the streets.’
‘Ask away, and I’ll see what I can help with. Your family’s items are yours to claim, Ruby,’ Helen said.
‘There’s nothing left. Nothing. I borrowed – no, took, as I still have it, a blanket which had blown from a house. There was no one there, no house. When I went to my gran’s I found a few things. Silly things, but they are mine, and it got me to thinking – what happens to all the other things lying around if no one claims them? Can they just be taken, collected and sold on, or given to those in need? I saw a mound of perfectly good items scooped up and put into a truck with mud and rubble. Such a wicked waste when so many have lost so much. I’ve an idea to set up a collection business. To repair, sell and, if possible, return to the rightful owners. It is something I can manage alone, and I’ve a feeling it would be useful to others.’
Helen stood up from her chair and walked to a filing cabinet. She tugged open the drawer and pulled out a form. She placed it in front of Ruby and tapped it with a manicured nail. Ruby sat on her hands, ashamed of her own dirt-ingrained ones.
‘You will need permission from the owners of the houses if they are contactable before you touch anything.’
Ruby flinched and thought of Fred’s photograph. She’d find him as soon as possible and return it to him. The last thing she needed was trouble with the police; she’d definitely be sent away from the city then.
‘I’m not sure what the War Department will expect of me if the war continues. I’m not much use with this short leg.’ Ruby tapped her thigh.
‘We’ll cross that bridge when need be; in the meantime, let’s get you set up with the great idea you have. The white form is to apply for a trading licence. You are under twenty-one, but I’ll act as co-owner until then. I want no payment. Your parents helped me, and it is my turn to help you. Red tape must not stop you from your dreams. Goodness knows we all have witnessed how quickly life can be taken from us.’
Helen placed the forms into a large brown envelope. ‘The form will take several weeks, possibly months, to process, given the circumstances, but maybe you could collect items to repair in the meantime. To take things without permission would be classed as looting – a criminal offence, which carries a prison sentence. Sadly, there is a lot going on at the moment, and several people have been caught red-handed. Make sure you are not one of them, Ruby.’
Ruby gave a gasp. ‘The blanket –’
Helen gave her a smile. ‘The blanket won’t be missed, and it’s between you and me. Don’t fret. Ruby, are you staying somewhere? Are you safe?’
Unsure whether to give her whereabouts to Helen as she was determined to remain as independent as she could, Ruby gave a tight smile. ‘I’m looking after a family friend’s house. He died, and his sister is coming from Scotland to arrange things.’
She gave away no more about her living arrangements, or where the house was. Helen might be kind and supportive, but Ruby could not risk being sent away from Coventry.
Helen tapped the white form on the desk. ‘Fill it in and return it to me when you are ready. Think of a name for your business and put it in this box. Your name and address must go in this one. Once done, we can make you official.’
Ruby’s heart gave a disappointing dip and rise. She had no formal address. ‘What if I move house?’ she asked.
‘Then you inform us and we amend the paperwork accordingly. Don’t worry, Ruby. I’ll help you.’
Rising to her feet, Ruby held out her hand. Helen had helped remove the depressive mood and fired up her passion of wanting to succeed once again. ‘Thank you. I’ll get the form filled in once I’ve given my idea some more thought.’
‘Good luck, and well done for being so brave. I’m not sure I’d be so clear-headed as you. We’ll speak again. And I am really sorry about your family.’
Outside in the damp air, the cold nipped at Ruby’s skin. A shiver ran down her spine and she gave herself a shake. Had she really just set herself on the path of a new business? And ensured she didn’t have to leave the city? Helen had been upbeat and reassuring, and her confidence renewed Ruby’s. She would fill in the form. She would make a new life for herself. It could be done.
She set her mind to speak with as many residents as she could. Stephen had always impressed the importance of good paperwork to encourage her father in keeping better records for the business. A task she would attend to once she and his sister had spoken face-to-face.
CHAPTER 5 (#u44fe0a4b-8bbe-5407-a0a7-811e2062d12f)
25th November 1940
‘Excuse me. Was this your house?’
Ruby approached a woman perched on an upturned metal bucket, staring at a partial end of terrace house. The exposed interior showed brown striped wallpaper, a badly damaged horse-hair sofa, and she could see the building meant a lot to the woman. Large teardrops trailed from her chin, and she snuffled into a grey-white handkerchief.
‘I came back for my stuff, but I can’t find a thing.’ The woman waved her hand in front of her. ‘I’m exhausted. Too tired to look.’
Ruby didn’t like to say she looked worn to the bone, but that was exactly what the woman presented. A washed out, hollow-cheeked living ghost with black rings framing terrified eyes.
‘I lost everything too. It’s frightening, isn’t it? Have you found much yet?’ Ruby asked.
‘Only bits and pieces, and I haven’t got time to find more. I’ve got to get food for the kids. You stood in a queue yet? Murder on your feet, and nothing to sing home about at the end.’
‘I’ve stood in one. Three hours. Listen, go and get food for your children. I’ll scout around here and anything I find, I’ll store … er … over there,’ Ruby said, and pointed to a lopsided shed.
‘That’s very kind, but why? Why would you do this for me? A stranger?’
‘We have to pull together. And I’ll be honest with you. In a few months I’m getting a business licence to set up a shop repairing and selling unwanted items, or ones I’ve been given permission to salvage.’
‘How do I know you won’t take anything today?’ the woman said, and gave Ruby a frown.
Ruby clasped her hands together, then wiped them down her dress. They would not warm up with the cold wind and fresh sleet falling feather-like to the ground. She held her right arm out and flexed her fingers in readiness to shake hands.
‘Trust. We have to have trust between us; that’s all this city has left. I promise – promise to help you. I have nothing in my life except this new idea. No family, and no home of my own. I have to wait for the licence, but was told I could approach people like yourself. You are the first and I’ll be honest, at sixteen I’m finding this hard, but I have to survive, to carry on the Shadwell name.’
‘Shadwell?’ The woman rose to her feet. ‘As in Shadwell the grocer?’
Ruby lowered her head; just hearing someone else mention her family name and business was painful. She held her breath for a moment. ‘Yes,’ she said.
‘All gone? What a loss. Your dad gave me extras at the end of the week for the kids. I’ve four, and their dad’s away fighting. Your dad was a good man. Churchgoer like my mam. Girl, take anything broken and if you think you can fix it, sell it and get your shop going. Good for you. Brave girl. I’ll go and get food for the little ones; you have my trust,’ the woman said and took Ruby’s hands in hers.
As she walked away, she turned back and called out to Ruby. ‘By the way, what will you call your shop, just so I know what to look for if I find stuff I don’t want, or something I need?’
‘Shadwell’s Buy and Sell,’ Ruby replied. The name rolled off her tongue with ease for the first time. It came to her in that split second. It was meant to be and gave her a warm sensation of pride.
‘Sounds a good name to me. Good luck.’
Watching the woman pick her way out of the street, Ruby felt a strange sense of peace wash over her. She lifted her head skyward and smiled.
‘There you all are. Watching over me. I know you’re there; I’d never have thought of that name alone … Oh, and if you can think of how I might buy things with no money, I’d be grateful if you could let me know!’
With a light-hearted giggle, she blew a kiss to the clouds. Something had changed during her conversation with the woman. She’d found a friend. For Ruby, it was a crutch, something to hold onto during the dark, grey day – and beyond.
A fork here, spoons there, cracked plates, pillows, cushions, whole sideboard drawers were piling high inside the shed. No longer cold, Ruby worked with steadfast determination to find as much as she could for the family. Even a one-armed teddy bear lay, waiting to be reunited with its owner. Baby clothes made a large pile of messy washing, and Ruby didn’t envy the woman the task of cleaning them. With limited water, it was virtually impossible to wash her own clothing, but Ruby debated taking them home, then reminded herself of the pact she’d made. To take them away was not an option but, then again, they were in need of repair of sorts, and she was allowed to take what she wanted according to that conversation.
Around two in the afternoon, the woman reappeared with her family in tow. She hitched a baby on her hip whilst the others, the eldest no older than six, ran around the grounds of what had once been their home. A little girl ran to the teddy bear and squealed with delight.
‘Ah, you found Ted, thank goodness. Now maybe she’ll sleep at night.’
They walked to the shed and the heap of broken items, and Ruby opened the door.
The woman gasped with delight. ‘My word, you’ve worked hard. Look what you’ve found. I’ll have a word with my brother-in-law and he’ll come with his cart and take it to his. That’s where we’re living now. His wife never made it, and he needs help with his little ones. Seven kids between us. What I don’t want, I’ll know where it can be of use. My other sister has lost her home and moved back to my parents. Once she’s in a new place I’ll give them to her.’
Ruby walked to the pile of clothes. ‘I’ll wash these for you if you’d like,’ she said, and lifted a tiny cardigan, ingrained with black soot.
‘No, you take them. I’ve plenty between all seven of the little ones to keep me going. Sell them if you can. Grow that business.’
Smiling, the woman picked out a little pair of grey shorts. ‘School shorts. My eldest’s first pair. Someone will be grateful for them.’
A loud bang made both women jump and the children scream. The youngsters clustered around their mother, and Ruby stood with her hand over her mouth. A plume of smoke rose at the rear of the property.
‘Another incendiary late for the party,’ said the woman, her arms sheltering children like a mother hen under her wings.
‘They never fail to make my nerves tingle,’ Ruby replied.
‘Nor mine. Come on, kids. Home. We have food!’
The excited group walked away, and Ruby watched on with envy. She gulped back dark thoughts and headed home herself.
Once indoors, she gathered up matches and headed outside again to light a small fire to heat a saucepan of water. She’d always be grateful to Stephen for his collection of tea, coffee and cocoa. More evidence her father had paid his bills in goods. Each packet wore the ornate S stamp of Shadwell’s – one she was determined to use for her own business. The form given to her by Helen sat on the desk and, once settled with a warm drink, she entered the shop name in its appropriate box, using Stephen’s fountain pen and her best handwriting. Seeing the words on official paper made her smile. It indicated another step towards a brighter future.
Keeping busy during the day helped Ruby, but the evenings were lonely and the night-time frightening. Planes flew overhead and bombs dropped in the distance. A few days previously, the Germans had bombed Birmingham, and Coventry had held its breath every day since, waiting for more to fall on the factories returning to production of vital supplies for the forces. Car production was on hold, and everyone worked to defend the country.
10th December 1940
Each day, Ruby kept herself busy finding personal items for residents, and leaving them in boxes to be found should the owner return. After one particularly busy day, she returned home to find a white envelope pushed through the door. It was a response from Scotland. She marvelled at how quickly she’d received a response, tore it open and pulled out the contents.
Dear Miss Shadwell,
It is with regret I inform you that my wife passed away two years ago. I’ve sought advice about the property you mention, and it appears it is rented accommodation. With regard to the funeral of my brother-in-law, thank you for informing me. I have no desire to become involved in his affairs. I have written a second letter giving you the right to clear the property and sell items to fund any outstanding bills. We were distanced due to a rift between him and his sister, and I am not interested in any contact with regard to the matter. Please do not write again, nor pass along my address to a third person.
Regards,
Thomas McBrae
Ruby read the second letter, written in the same handwriting.
25th November 1940
To Whom it May Concern,
As the heir to my wife’s estate, and she to her brother’s, Mr Stephen Archibald Peabody of Garden Cottage, Spon Street, Coventry, I hereby give permission to Miss Ruby Shadwell, of the same address, permission to collect and sell personal items belonging to Mr Peabody (my brother-in-law), and use the money for any outstanding debts. Any monies remaining, Miss Shadwell is free to keep in repayment for her work in housekeeping the property after the death of Stephen Peabody.
The letter was witnessed and signed by the Reverend Burns of Dumfries, and formally signed by the sender. Ruby read through both a second and third time, and each time she realised she now had responsibilities beyond her comprehension. Where did you find a landlord of a property if he’d not already been to find out if the property was still standing? How long would it take for her to raise the money to pay for any rent Stephen owed?
Although she’d peeked into the odd drawer or cupboard, Ruby had never fully investigated Stephen’s belongings. Now it appeared she’d been given permission to do just that, and more. Since the bombing, her life had become quite bizarre – beyond a believable story – yet here she was, living it each day.
CHAPTER 6 (#u44fe0a4b-8bbe-5407-a0a7-811e2062d12f)
11th December 1940
‘My, it’s cold outside today, and not much warmer in here, I’m afraid. Sit yourself down, Ruby.’ Helen Morgan unbuttoned her coat but didn’t remove it, and beckoned Ruby to sit in the same seat as on her previous visit. Today, she’d risen early and was the first in the queue to see Helen. ‘Do you have the form I gave you?’
Ruby nodded and with shyness handed the form to her. Helen looked them over and frowned.
‘You have no address written down.’
‘That’s why I’m here, Helen. I don’t know what to do. I wrote to the sister of the man living … well, he’s dead now … in the house I’m staying at, and this is what I received back.’
She passed the envelope containing the two letters from Stephen Peabody’s brother-in-law. Helen ran her tongue across her lips as she read, then replaced the letters into the envelope and handed them back to Ruby.
‘As I see it, all is legally binding. What does the landlord say?’
‘That’s just it. I don’t know who it is, and hoped you might be able to help me find out. I still have to register for a ration book, Identity card and everything else I’ve lost. I’m scared,’ Ruby said, and chewed on her bottom lip to stop herself from crying. Confessing she was scared and speaking out about her lack of papers had taken every ounce of courage. She waited whilst Helen walked around the room, blowing on her hands as she did so.
‘I understand, but I thought you were going to deal with this, Ruby. Give me your details. I’ll get the paperwork sorted out for you. Where is it you are staying?’
‘Peabody Accountants. He was Dad’s best friend. I found him dead.’
‘Not pleasant for you. I remember Stephen, and heard he was one of the unfortunates. Not pleasant at all. Right, why have you left it so long to register yourself, Ruby? It’s not that difficult.’
Ruby looked down at her feet.
‘Ruby?’ Helen said, and sat back in her seat.
‘I don’t want to leave Coventry. A friend’s mother told me I’d go into care or another home somewhere. I can’t … I won’t leave my family.’
Helen gave a slow nod of understanding. ‘But your family aren’t here, Ruby. I’m confused. At our last meeting you were ready to start again.’
‘You’ve heard my idea. I want to keep the Shadwell name alive. To have a business just like Granddad and Dad. They were proud of this city, and I don’t want to leave. If you fill in the forms I might –’
Helen held up her hand, indicating Ruby stopped talking and listen.
‘It will mean you have a right to stay here. We’ll put down the address you are at for now, and it can be changed when you move out. If the landlord hasn’t been around to check on his property, then there’s a chance he’s from out of town. This is to your advantage as it will be some time before they realise the rent hasn’t been paid. Or they have a private collector to collect on their behalf and, with so many dead, well, who knows, they might have not survived. Leave it with me. I’ll do all I can. When I have news, I’ll call on you. I promise. Do you have food in the house?’ Helen asked and pushed a pen and paper towards Ruby.
Ruby scribbled down her previous and present address, full name and date of birth.
‘I’ve plenty of tinned foods, and someone gave me milk for sorting out their property the other day. I’ve learned to go without it in my drinks; it was a real treat. Fresh and creamy.’
‘Right, well, you take care of yourself, and please, do not think me rude, but what about clothing?’
With a shrug of her shoulders, Ruby looked down at her coat, glad it hid her one outfit.
‘It’s due another wash, I know, but this is all I have –’ she gave a cough ‘– I’m wearing a pair of Stephen’s underpants and a vest. I wear one of his shirts and an old cricket jumper when this is drying. I have no fire. I’m not sure about gas pipes in the street. They blow up so easily.’
‘Stay here,’ Helen said and left the room.
Ruby sat watching snowflakes hitting the window; it was to be another cold night and soon she would be unable to retrieve any goods from nearby properties. The Anderson shelter in the garden of the cottage made an ideal storage room, and it was already a quarter full of broken items waiting for repair.
The door swung open and Helen came back into the room and handed Ruby a bulging pillowcase.
‘Inside you will find four pairs of knickers, all new. A cardigan, vest, blouse and skirt – not new but in good condition. You are a little smaller than my daughter and I’d put these in our back room for distributing to those in need. I think they’ll do you a turn. And here’s a small loaf to tide you over. All bakeries are closed, except for the one on Maudsley Road. My mother can share ours,’ Helen said, and waggled the bag in Ruby’s direction.
‘I’m grateful – thank you.’ Ruby took the gift from Helen and clutched it close.
‘It’s the least I can do. I’ll sort out the papers for you and, as I said, will drop by when I have news. Now, get yourself home before the weather sets in and you get soaked. One thing before you go. Do you know if your parents had a bank account? Most business people do, but some preferred to mattress stuff and not trust banks.’
‘I don’t know. I counted the end of day money and handed it to Dad; after that he dealt with it. I can’t recall going to the bank for him. He was a bit funny about money, so the chances are he hid it in the travel trunk we were never allowed to touch,’ Ruby said.
‘Hmm, shame. The bank might have held money in his name. Mind you, we’d have to prove you are his daughter and, without papers – Wait, were you christened?’
‘Yes. We all were. Why?’
‘It will be recorded in the parish records. Unless, of course, they were destroyed. The same with civil documents, recording your family. There will be copies – birth certificates and such. Leave it with me. One step at a time; we’ll sort things out, don’t you fret. Now, as I say, head home and stay warm. And you’re sure you’ve enough to eat?’ Helen said.
‘Yes, and thanks. Thanks for everything,’ Ruby said and hesitated. She wanted to ask more about the bank, but changed her mind. It would keep for another day; Helen had done more than enough for her, and other people were outside, waiting their turn for the next available slot.
As she exited the building Ruby noticed the clouds scudding overhead and threatening to drop more than a few flakes of snow. In her arms she clutched the new clothing bundle from Helen, and hurried home to try them on, excited at the prospect of having fresh things to wear.
A rush of memories caught up with her and she let them flow as she walked home. She recalled the pretty dress her mother had made for her sixteenth birthday in June. Green paisley with a yellow sash. She’d worn it on for the church summer party after the fete, along with white gloves, shoes and a yellow ribbon for her hair. She’d watched Lenny Barnes blink and stare at her as she’d walked towards the church doorway. Lenny often declared her as his girl, and she would retort with a dismissive put down which always ended with a wink from the tallest boy in school. When they left, he made it his duty to escort her to and from the church dances, and Ruby always ensured another female friend tagged along. Ruby had never had many close friends as she preferred her own company and attending the dances was under sufferance, just to please her mother. Her father had no say over Lenny’s protection of his daughter, but always gave a speech prior to them leaving the house. Lenny had left Coventry with his parents when war broke out and Ruby missed his humour. She also missed how he’d made her feel special in her new outfit – a precious gift she’d never see again.
Before melancholy could set in, Ruby walked faster and thought of what room she needed to investigate next. She only just made it inside before a torrent of hail dropped to the ground. Winter was edging its way closer, adding to Ruby’s concerns. The coal store looked full enough, but the fear of exploding gas pipes prevented her from lighting a fire indoors. On the sideboard in Stephen’s office she’d stood Fred’s photograph and she reminded herself to find him and return it the following day. The weather didn’t invite a second visit outdoors. She had a lunch of thinly sliced bread from the small loaf with a smearing of some fruit jam she’d found in a cupboard. Stephen had certainly received a variety of gifts from his customers; she’d found pickles in old jam jars, and more tinned food than was allowed on a ration card.
After she’d eaten, Ruby made a start on the paperwork in the office. She created piles of official-looking papers to take to Helen and ask her to find the appropriate people to deal with them. Whilst she was sorting them out, she came across a file with her family name written in one corner. She lifted the many papers inside and laid them onto the table. Most were scribbled notes from her father and notifications from Stephen, all relating to the business. She also found papers from the savings bank on Hertford Street. They suggested her father held an account there and Stephen paid in money on a regular basis. It made sense and she laid them onto the pile to take to Helen the next day to see if she could find a way of accessing the account on Ruby’s behalf. If her father did have money for the grocery business, she might be a beneficiary. The thought excited her and she made plans in her head as to where she would set up business in the city. Daydream after daydream kept her company as she packed away the papers. Once finished, she moved upstairs.
Ruby stepped inside Stephen’s bedroom. She’d been inside before to find temporary underwear, but this time the room carried an air of sadness about it as she was to clear away his belongings. His clothing was of fair quality, with one suit barely worn. Ruby guessed it was his Sunday best. A drawer of pullovers and knitted waistcoats proved useful, as four of the seven fitted Ruby and she kept a dark navy one as another warming layer. Socks were also placed in a pile for her own use, as were a pair of brown corduroy trousers and a set of braces. Working on the bombsites, Ruby often scraped her knees and the trousers would be ideal for workwear.
With the clothes sorted into piles, she wrapped and tied them with old newspapers, took them downstairs and placed them to one side for the outside storage room. On the top of the pile she placed Stephen’s brown fedora hat, but almost immediately changed her mind and put it back on its hook. It seemed disrespectful and Ruby hoped the landlord would make good use of it, as it looked relatively new.
A loud bang and crash startled her as she carried the last of the packages down the stairs and she lost her footing on the bottom step, causing her to stumble to the floor. The noise came from outside and she listened in the darkness of the hallway to deep muffled voices outside the door.
Looters!
Ruby remained on the floor, afraid any movement would alert whoever was outside to the fact there was someone inside. After a minute or two, it dawned on her to make herself known, and then word would be out that Garden Cottage was not empty. She had no candles and the light faded fast, but she recalled seeing an oil lamp in the corner of the second downstairs room, just off the hallway. She crawled into the room, feeling her way around until she touched the lamp. She went back to the kitchen, found matches and lit the lamp, keeping it low. Persuading her shoulder-length curls to settle under Stephen’s hat, she slowly opened the side door and lifted the lamp.
‘Who’sa’?’ she called out in a gruff voice, the deepest she could muster, and made the two words roll into one. It hurt the back of her throat, but she held back the tickling cough which threatened. She banged a saucepan lid against the edge of the lamp, unsure why, but hoped the noise would add to the threat she tried to offer the intruders.
She saw two shadows at the bottom of the pathway leading to the garden; both loomed large and masculine. Ruby, not wanting to get into a physical confrontation, went back inside, leaving the lamp on low at the kitchen window and the hat on her head. If the men were looking for trouble, it was best they thought a man was inside. The thud of their feet running past the door told her the ploy had worked and she let out a breath of relief.
Then she stopped. She’d lit a lamp and the house hadn’t blown up. She glanced over at the fireplace. She’d cleaned and prepared it in readiness for when it could be used. The fire would be so helpful for many things and, before she talked herself out of lighting it, Ruby struck a match and held it to the paper in the grate.
A large pan of water sat on the flames and Ruby’s clothes waited in the sink for a dousing of hot water. A wooden clothes horse propped around the fire overnight would dry them in no time. Ruby placed a tin bath beneath them to catch the drips. A scraping of washing soap would help with the soaking process, and give her another change of clothes. Helen was a kind soul and, yet again, Ruby felt guided by a parent in the right direction. She lay by the fire on a makeshift bed; the heat was not to be wasted.
As she drifted off to sleep, Ruby thought back to the days of working for her father, and of chatting with customers whilst tidying the shop. She yearned for those days again, even a stern lecture from her father on how to present the produce in their crates and how to safely stack tins on their shelves would be welcomed. News of her licence couldn’t come quick enough.
CHAPTER 7 (#ulink_62f4a2de-cf9e-5a48-974c-e8e00a046487)
12th December 1940
‘First in the queue again, Ruby?’ Helen said and gave Ruby a beaming smile.
‘Second today. And thank you for the clothes; they fit me well enough. I found a couple of Stephen’s pullovers and look –’ Ruby opened the front of her coat to show off her ensemble.
‘Very … um … chic,’ said Helen, and both laughed. Ruby’s clothing was a mishmash of colours, but warmth and comfort came first. Stephen’s socks were long on her legs and the skirt fell calf-length and between them they kept her legs from freezing.
‘What’s that you’ve got there?’ Helen asked, and pointed to the packages in front of Ruby on the desk.
‘Papers I found in Stephen’s office. I think they need to be seen by someone with knowledge of accounts and passed along to the relevant people. This pile is mine.’
Ruby waited for Helen to sit in her seat across from her and she unravelled the string holding her package together.
‘They are to do with Dad and the business and, would you believe it, he had a bank account.’
She passed the papers one by one to Helen, who read each one and placed them to her side. When she’d finished glancing over the last one, she looked up to Ruby and then back at the paper in her hand.
‘Have you read these, Ruby?’
‘Some, but I haven’t read them all properly.’
‘Well, as you say, they are your dad’s, and they do relate to business. Two businesses, in fact. One the grocery shop, and the other as a landlord – Stephen Peabody’s landlord. Garden Cottage belonged to your father and, according to this, he rented it to Stephen.’
Ruby frowned at Helen and took the paper from her. She read it and laid it back down on the desk. ‘My dad owned the building – is that what you’re saying?’
‘I am. He did.’
‘How come we didn’t know?’ Ruby said, and ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Mum never mentioned it, and I went there for lessons enough times. Are you sure it isn’t that Stephen owned the grocer’s and we paid him rent – wouldn’t that make more sense? I know we paid rent. I heard them talk about it often enough.’
Helen shook her head. ‘It’s there, in ink and binding. Stephen paid your father rent to live in the house. It was probably never mentioned as, with no disrespect, Ruby, it’s not the sort of thing children need to know. It does mean we have to sort your papers out and we find out about getting your inheritance sorted officially. There’s money in the bank, according to these. They are statements of the account. Stephen was a good tenant and paid on time.’
With a shudder, Ruby stood up and began pacing the floor. ‘It does explain why the landlord’s not been around for rent. I’ve waited for them to knock on the door.’
Helen gave a smile and chuckled. ‘In a way you’ve been waiting for yourself, Ruby.’
Ruby responded with a grin. ‘I suppose I have, but I’m not silly; I know I have to prove who I am and that it was Dad’s place. What happens if I can’t?’
Helen tidied the papers and took a brown file from her drawer; she placed the papers inside and wrote Ruby’s name across the front.
‘I have a good friend, a solicitor. I’ll track him down and ask his advice – with your permission, of course. But, in the meantime, say nothing to anyone. Sadly, there are a few ruthless people taking advantage of the vulnerable since the bombing. Keep yourself to yourself. If you need help, come here or this is my address.’ Helen scribbled it down on a piece of paper and handed it to Ruby.
‘Thank you. This will change my life. Help my plans. If Stephen was alive, he’d explain and I know he’d look after me. Thank goodness I went to find him or I’d never have known. I’m not traceable, have no papers, nothing.’
‘Ruby, if I am right about this, you will have a lot more than you realise right now. You will have premises to sell from, and a home. And again, if I’m correct, a tidy sum of money in the bank. I suggest you go and stand in a food queue today; fresh bread and milk arrived in town and there’ll be a scramble for them. You won’t need a ration book; take this letter from me if you are asked for any type of paperwork. It explains your situation.’
When she left Helen’s office Ruby knew she’d found a friend, not just an official body willing to help, and she allowed some of the fear she held close free with a large sigh.
CHAPTER 8 (#ulink_f56e0534-bb7a-5315-b7f6-960efacca0f6)
20th December 1940
‘Hello, Fred,’ Ruby said, and sat beside the frail man staring out of the window. His lank grey hair drooped over his weathered face, and his hands trembled in his lap.
Ruby had tracked him down to a private lodging in Cheylesmore, after a day spent checking medical tents, the morgue and finally the hospital, where they’d told her he’d been taken in by a friend of one of the nurses.
‘Fred, do you remember Gwen Blake, your neighbour from Kirby Road?’
With slow movements, Fred turned from the window and faced her. His arm was no longer in a sling, but his face bore the scars of recent wounds.
‘She was my grandmother. I’m June’s girl, Ruby. June Shadwell, her daughter?’
Fred’s hand reached out for hers. His eyes filled with tears. ‘Gone. All gone. I saw her fly,’ he said and he gripped her hand tighter.
Ruby realised he’d witnessed her grandmother’s death, and sat in silence whilst the old man allowed his tears to fall. She watched his lips tremble and the pain of what he’d witnessed flow with each tear.
Men do cry, but it takes death to free their pride. There’s nothing I can say or do for him.
‘Ah, you found him,’ the woman who’d let her into the house said as she brought in a tray of tea. ‘Got you a cuppa, Fred.’
Rising to her feet, Ruby helped clear a small table for the woman to place his cup.
‘He’s rather sad, I’m afraid. I think he saw my gran die, and I’ve reminded him.’
The woman touched her shoulder. ‘It might help him to sleep better now he’s shed a tear or two. All this brave face nonsense. If you’ve been through hell, why on earth can’t you show it?’
‘I feel the same, but sometimes we have to hold back and be strong for others,’ said Ruby.
They shared a smile and sipped their tea in silence. Fred reached for his cup.
‘That’s it. A nice hot cuppa will make it better,’ the woman said.
‘Is he going to stay living with you?’ Ruby asked.
‘For a while,’ the woman replied, ‘but I can’t have him here for ever. He needs a better home than this one, but I’ll do my bit until it is found.’
Fred slurped his tea and held out his cup for more. Ruby obliged.
‘I’ve brought you your photograph, Fred. I rescued it from your house,’ Ruby said as she poured the tea. She waited until he’d finished his drink and handed him the picture, wrapped in an old tea towel.
Fred blinked, looked at the package and back up to Ruby.
‘It’s a special one, I could tell. Your wedding day?’ she asked as she unwrapped the picture.
He snatched the photograph from her hands and stared at it, then stroked the glass front. His hands trembled. Looking back at Ruby, he clutched it to his chest and continued looking out of the window.
‘He hasn’t said a word since he arrived. You’ve done him some good,’ the woman said.
A sharp snore from Fred made them both smile.
‘It’s done the trick,’ said the woman.
‘Where will he go from here?’ Ruby asked. She watched Fred’s chest rise and fall as he settled into a peaceful snooze.
‘I’ve no idea. He doesn’t appear to have family. You’re his first visitor, aside from my friend at the hospital.’
‘This war is cruel,’ Ruby said. ‘I’ve a lady, well, she’s a friend now, helping me with important things. I can ask her about Fred’s future for you. Can I visit again next week?’
‘God willing, yes,’ said the woman.
Ruby frowned.
‘If the enemy allows us next week. I’m fearful every day I open my eyes.’
‘I know what you mean, but I’m not focusing on that any more. I’m going to build myself a future. Hitler won’t stop me,’ Ruby said, defiance in her voice.
‘Ah, the optimism of youth. I bet your parents are proud of you,’ the woman said.
‘They were, and I’m sure they are watching me grow stronger each day, but we just can’t communicate it in words, only thoughts.’
‘You’ve lost them. Both of them. I’m that sorry … Oh, you poor girl. Me and my big mouth.’
‘It’s painful, but I need to talk about them. I say things and get upset because I’ve embarrassed someone, but it’s the way I cope. Don’t be sorry for me. I was lucky; they gave me a good start in life. I’m building a business to carry on our family name,’ Ruby said with pride.
‘Time for another cup of tea? I’d love to hear your plans. Aside from Fred, some days I don’t get to see many people for a natter.’
For another hour Ruby sat explaining her idea, and left for home with a small basket of bric-a-brac to sell once she opened Shadwell’s Buy and Sell. The woman applauded her idea, and Ruby walked home with another spinning inside her head.
25th December 1940
The tiny Christmas pudding sat on its plate in front of Ruby. She sliced it across the middle and placed a portion into another dish. The smell made her mouth water as she poured a small dribble of watery custard. Although she’d called it a Christmas pudding, it was more like a marmalade suet sponge.
The smell transported her back to the previous Christmas. No matter how hard she tried to ignore the memories, she could not help but think back to the days she’d spent embroidering a tray cloth for her grandmother, a pinafore for her mother, wrapping a twist of fudge, hidden inside hand-knitted mittens for her siblings, and restoring a pipe stand for her father. She’d sanded and polished it until the perfect grain of wood shone. His face had lit up when he’d seen it, and he’d immediately placed his four favourite pipes in the appropriate holes and stood it beside the hearth. Every gift offered to her family had received a rapturous shout of glee. Ruby, in turn, had received a new hair ribbon and band, a pair of pink lace gloves which frilled at the wrist, a small bottle of peach perfume and a small raffia handbag. She remembered the smells of the day, the laughter, the joy of listening to the King give a slow, deliberate speech of reassurance about the onset of war. They had stood united in the best parlour and held hands. When he’d finished, they’d hugged each other. What she’d give to have that day again. The fear had been there still, but so was her family.
Today, her Christmas was shared with Fred, who sat snoring in his chair by the fire. He’d moved in with her two days previously. She knew she’d taken on a great challenge, especially if she had to find a new home for them both, but he represented the last link with her grandmother, and he needed her just as much. They’d enjoyed a meagre meal; she’d purchased a small piece of beef with his meat ration.
She watched him sleep, grateful for the occasional snore reminding her she was not alone. He looked so peaceful and she wondered when she’d sleep for more than two hours of a night without waking herself from a bad dream. She envied Fred.
‘Pudding, Fred,’ she said and gave him a gentle shake of the shoulder.
He gave a yawn and broke free from his snooze with a last snort, rose to his feet and sat at the table. ‘Looks good,’ he said.
‘Simple but filling. Next year we’ll have a proper plum pudding with creamy custard,’ Ruby replied.
‘This is tasty enough. Better than nothing,’ Fred said and shovelled a large spoonful into his mouth.
Ruby remembered he’d probably been without during the Great War, and so her pudding effort was appreciated. She opted to do the same and appreciate what she had in front of her.
‘You’re right; it is tasty, and better than nothing. Fred, there’s a bottle of rum in the cupboard; I found it when I cleared out papers. Would you like a tot? I know Dad enjoyed one at Christmas, and recognised the bottle, so I suspect it was a gift to Stephen last year.’
Fred scraped his spoon around his dish and ate the last spoonful. He leaned back in his chair. ‘A small rum would be acceptable, considering the day. Thank you. And Ruby, thank you for your company. You remind me of your grandmother – generous and thoughtful. You look like her too, but a taller version.’
Handing Fred his drink, Ruby giggled. ‘I think everyone was taller than Gran. She was a tiny thing.’
‘Feisty, though. I’ve seen her chase off a grown man for ill-treating a dog, and that man ran for his life,’ Fred said and laughed.
‘She loved animals, but would never keep one as a pet.’
‘Talking of pets, did you hear that cat again? I thought I heard a meowing in the yard earlier this morning.’
‘Not since yesterday. I’ll keep an ear out. Stephen had a cat, so there’s a chance it ran away after the bombing and has found its way home. Ooh, look, time for the King to say his piece,’ Ruby said and turned on the radio. They both stood as the National Anthem played. When the King spoke of Christmas being for children, no matter where they might be, the words hit Ruby hard.
At the end, Fred gave a huff of indifference. ‘A happy Christmas. We’ve coped, but can’t say either of us, nor any of them poor buggers – excuse the language – fighting are having a happy one, and some won’t ever again. Words are all very well, but this war needs to end. We were told it would be over by now. What’s the point of carrying on living? Politicians. Pah.’
He drained his glass and Ruby held back from offering him another. His flushed cheeks and fired up temper told her she’d been generous enough the first time around.
‘It’s tough for us all, Fred, I agree, but we have to find a way forward. Tomorrow, I’m going to write a list of the stock I’ve collected. I’m going to label it all with the street and, where possible, the number of the house I found it, so if anyone claims it as theirs I can give it back. If not, I’ll sell it on. You can help and polish a bit of brass for me, and I’m sure you’re a dab hand with a screwdriver and paintbrush. We’ll make it work, Fred. Me and you, we’ll get through this.’
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