To Hans, who was a “Railway Child” too –
much love, LK
“I wonder if the railway misses us …
we never go to see it now.”
The Railway Children by E. Nesbit (1906)
Contents
Cover
Dedication
1. Goodbye, Piccadilly
2. Smoke, Steam and Suitcases
3. The Great Leap
4. Three Chimneys
5. The Railway Children Return
6. Scrumping in Springtime
7. Headquarters
8. The Dark Demon
9. The Telegram
10. Missing
11. The Pig Club
12. Secret Codes
13. The Storm
14. “Our Duty In A Time Of War”
15. A Bad Day
16. A Happy Birthday
17. The Very Last Dark
18. The Fox
19. The Lie Of The Land
20. Maps and Plans
21. Capture
22. Beginnings and Ends
Acknowledgements
Copyright
Chapter One
Goodbye, Piccadilly
They were not railway children to begin with.
In fact, at first there was just one child. Edith lived alone with her mother in war-torn London while enemy planes dropped bombs on the city every night. Back then, if Edie thought about railways at all, it wasn’t roaring steam trains puffing past woods and country fields. It was more likely to be the underground sort, with dark tracks and gloomy tunnels running deep beneath the battered city streets. Edie spent so many long nights huddled in Piccadilly Tube station, amongst hundreds of other Londoners hiding from the air raids, that she began to forget what it was like to sleep in the comfort of her own soft bed.
The Tube station was only a five-minute stroll across Piccadilly Circus from the tiny attic flat on Glasshouse Street where Edie lived with her mother. Yet, every time the siren sounded, there was always a mad last-minute dash to get safely underground.
“Perhaps I ought to go down early next time and save us a good space,” said Edie one spring evening as the wailing siren warned them to hurry and take shelter yet again. She’d heard of other people doing this – old ladies or mothers nursing babies, staying in the station all day, holding on to the best sleeping spots right down on the platform, furthest underground, away from the bombs, but with a good wall to lean against while you slept.
“Nonsense, sweetheart,” answered Phyllis – or Fliss, as Edie always called her mother. It was all she could manage when she’d try to say “Phyllis” as a little girl. She never called her “Mum” or “Mother” or “Ma”. Fliss seemed more like a big sister to Edie than that. “It’s a sweet thought, darling, but you’d die of boredom.” Fliss kissed the top of Edie’s head as she leant over her and reached a silk scarf from the peg behind the door.
Trust Fliss to worry more about being bored than being hit by a bomb, thought Edie. She fidgeted anxiously with the buttons on her coat as Fliss stood in front of the mirror, tucking her long auburn hair under the scarf and putting a fresh dab of scarlet lipstick on her lips.
“But once the siren’s sounded, it means German planes have already been spotted over the city. Bombs could start dropping at any moment,” Edie said, rushing to the sink and filling a big flask with cold water from the tap so they’d have something to drink. Fliss had promised to make tea earlier so that it would be ready to take with them if the air-raid warning came, but she must have forgotten about it. Edie sighed under her breath and snatched up a pile of blankets she had folded by the door, balancing the flask on top of them.
“Nearly done.” Fliss patted her lipstick dry then sprinkled her handkerchief with a little Chanel perfume, the exotic French scent she always wore.
“You don’t need perfume now!” groaned Edie. “Come on!”
“I always need perfume!” Fliss’s blue eyes twinkled. “Especially now!” One of Fliss’s old friends was a pilot who had recently brought her a big bottle of the perfume from France, even though rationing was supposed to have made it almost impossible to get hold of. Fliss often got little gifts from her friends in the air force; before the war, she had learned to fly planes herself and had even crossed the channel to Paris in a tiny bright yellow biplane called a Tiger Moth. That’s the thing about Fliss, thought Edie: she’s always on the hunt for adventure.
But with war raging in the skies above Britain, Edie couldn’t help feeling glad her mother’s flying days were over. Fliss was helping out in the offices at the Air Ministry instead. “The most excitement I get these days is flying a paper aeroplane!” she moaned on an almost daily basis.
“Ready!” she cried now, putting a last drop of Chanel perfume behind her ear and grabbing Edie’s hand. “Let’s go.”
They dashed out of their peacock-green front door, letting it bang closed behind them.
Edie almost tripped, she ran so fast down the steep stairs from their attic flat. It was horribly busy as they darted across Piccadilly and squeezed into the Underground station. But Fliss led the way, smiling and greeting everybody as she ducked through the crowd in the ticket hall. By some miracle, they managed to find a spot just big enough for the two of them on the end of the platform against the wall.
“See, you old worrier!” Fliss grinned and put her arm round Edie’s shoulder as they snuggled down together. “I told you we’d be all right.”
“I know.” Edie couldn’t help smiling too. Things did have a habit of working out when Fliss was around. Edie gave a sigh of relief; she was glad they’d managed to get such a perfect spot. Without it, they’d have had to sleep on the escalators, where the sound of falling bombs could be heard all through the night. Edie shuddered at the thought. Even though it was hot and stuffy on the platform, at least it felt safe – like an underground cave, deep beneath the city – and you couldn’t hear a thing that was going on up above.
The man beside them had
