Bombers’ Moon

then put her arms awkwardly around the old man’s bony shoulders.

‘It’s bad, I know it’s bad but it will pass, you’ll see. They say time heals don’t they?’ She was mouthing platitudes and she knew it but the words seemed to help and Mr Evans rested his head against her breast and she patted his back as though he were a child.

‘Go to bed, Mr Evans,’ she said softly, ‘try to get some sleep. Meryl went up hours ago, I don’t think she’s recovered from the shock of the… well you know.’ She moved away from him decisively. ‘I’ll tell you what, I’ll make us a nice drink of Ovaltine, how about that?’

‘Aye girl, you do that, it’ll have to be mostly water mind, there’s not much milk left.’

While the kettle boiled, Hari stood in the doorway of the house and stared at the road, her road. There was a gaping black hole where her home had once been, ‘The Big House’ as it was known in the neighbourhood. Jagged pieces of stone and timber looked like tombstones in the moonlight. Hari stared up at the moon, willing it to go behind a cloud so that the enemy bombers couldn’t see what was left of Waterfield Road. She felt like calling out to God to ‘put that light out’ but it was too late even for divine help for already she could hear the drone of engines and knew the enemy were on their way again.

Three

I was to go and stay with strangers, I was an evacuee on account I had no mother and my father was away fighting the Hun. Paul Houlihan sitting in the bus beside me dug me in the ribs and began to grin. I got to my feet impatiently—why couldn’t it be John Adams sitting with me? But he was further down the bus sitting with Sally. How I hated my friend in that moment. I swayed down the aisle of the bus clinging to the backs of seats for support. I must have caught Sally’s hair because she howled like a wounded wolf.

I looked at John; he winked at me and, embarrassed, I stared through the grimy windows of the bus as though my life depended on it. The buildings were giving way to countryside and I thought about what I’d left behind. The wide roads, the bustling streets, the neighbours popping in and, most of all, my sister Hari.

Hari had seen me on to the bus. I had a label round my neck and a gas mask in a box clutched to me like it was gold, frankincense and myrrh. Mind I was never sure what myrrh was, apparently it was very precious, and so was my box with its ugly gas mask in it.

Someone had given me a tin of cocoa to take with me. I offered some to John. He shook his head; his arm was stretched across the back of Sally’s seat. Disconsolately I dipped my finger in the tin and sucked; it was sugary and sweet—it was lovely. I went back to my seat and let Paul Houlihan have a dip too because he was only ten and now the reality of the situation had sunk in.

‘Remember what your Kate said?’ I plumped down beside him forcing him to move into the window seat. He shook his head.

‘She said you were nearly a man and big enough to look after yourself.’ He looked doubtful. Big sisters talk a lot of scribble sometimes.

The bus grumbled into sudden halt as a cart pulled out of a lane beside us. I jerked forward hitting my head against the seat in front of me.

‘Bugger it!’ I said, and Paul stared at me in admiration.

‘Bet you wouldn’t say that in front of Hari.’

‘Bet I would.’

‘Say it to the driver then.’

I hesitated and the bus lurched forward again and I bumped my head a second time. Through the window I saw miles and miles of green grass with tiny cows and sheep dozily standing still like toy farmyard animals. This then was the country and I knew at once I didn’t like it.

‘BUGGER IT!’ I screamed as, thirteen years old, I peed my pants.

Four

‘You have lovely golden hair, pet.’ The air force pilot leaned over Hari, in an attempt to dance the waltz with her. His eyes were glazed, his breath smelling of whisky. The pilots liked to live high on the hog, Hari noted with resignation.

‘Well, don’t get too close, pet.’ Hari edged him away from her and took a deep breath of the cigarette smoke that was marginally better than close-quarter whisky fumes.

‘Don’t push me away, you know I love you.’

She looked up into his face: he was handsome and broad-shouldered, with thick, severely brilliantined hair that shone like shoe black under the lights; and he had a dimple in just the right place on his chin. She didn’t even know his name.

‘I love you, I really do.’ He nuzzled into her neck, his lips sucking at her skin. Irritated, she pulled away from him and left the dance floor.

‘I’ve got some fantastic stockings,’ he called after her. He was swaying where he stood and for a moment Hari felt sorry for him, tonight’s mission might be his last. She was sorry, but not sorry enough to surrender her virginity to him.

‘I hope they suit you,’ she called back, and made her way outside the hall to take a deep breath of clean air. She looked up at the sky—the clouds were scudding like large black pillows edging and pushing past a watery moon. She shivered. It was a sudden cold snap come early in November reminiscent of the February night when her life had been torn apart by the three nights’ heavy bombardment of Swansea. Below her the town was in darkness, the only lights,’ shining dimly, were from the dock’s emergency lights that would be extinguished only if there was an air raid.

‘Sorry about Stephen.’ A voice spoke close to her ear and she turned around, startled. Framed in the doorway was the slim figure of an airman. ‘He’s lonely and afraid.’

He held out his hand. ‘I’m Richard Squires. I’m based at Fairwood so I get into Swansea quite often.’

She took his hand. ‘Hari, Angharad Jones, and don’t worry about your friend, as you say, he’s just a bit drunk.’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘How can he possibly fly a plane the way he is?’

‘Shoving your arms into your flying jacket and preparing to take off soon clears the head. Up there you’re on your own, no one to rely on but yourself.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’ Hari turned away from him. She didn’t allow herself to make friends with the men from the airfield as inevitably, one night, one more of them would fail to return from a raid.

Kate came out of the Glyn Hall giggling and clinging to the arm of the airman Hari had been dancing with.

‘He loves me, so he does—at least that’s what he tells me.’

‘Me too, Hari said dryly. ‘Any minute now he’ll tell you about his stockings.’

‘These you mean?’ Kate dangled the fine stockings from her fingers. ‘If he’s good I might even try them on for him.’

‘He’s scared, apparently,’ Hari said. ‘The poor chap is frightened of dying without knowing what it is to have a woman—that’s the new way of making a pass these days. It’s anyone, anytime, anywhere—so don’t encourage him.’

Kate held up her hand. ‘No lectures, Hari, I’m a big girl now, remember?’ She rested her hand on Hari’s shoulder. ‘I’m scared. I work with them damn shells all day; I could be blown up at any time and I don’t want to die without “knowing” too.’ She clutched the pilot’s arm.

‘Come on, pet, we’ve got to go.’

Reluctantly, Hari remained silent. If Kate was old enough to risk her life in the munitions factory she was old enough to make her own choices in other ways. She looked up at the man at her side. ‘Well, Richard, I’m off home.’ She held out her hand and he took it.

‘Can I see you again?’