‘Bacon, eggs and fried bread,’ said Mother with a chuckle.
Though the porridge was no where as enjoyable as a fried meal, Daisy ate hers greedily. The hot oats rolled down her throat and quelled her rebelling stomach. The tea, though weak and watery, was hot and comforting.
After breakfast, duties were allotted. Daisy was given the task with Bobby of finding the apple cider. After a thorough search of the storage space, the apple cider was discovered.
‘It’s three-quarters full,’ said Mother delightedly. ‘Quite enough to celebrate.’
‘Let’s hope 1941 is kinder to us,’ sighed Aunt Betty, staring through the kitchen window to the end of the garden. ‘Mr Cook was right about that empty house. Now the mist has cleared, you can see it’s nothing but a ruin. Such a depressing sight. This neighbourhood held such promise before the war.’
‘Like so many others,’ Mother agreed, joining her at the window, ‘and there will be a good deal of rebuilding to do. Who knows if we’ll ever go back to Poplar Park Row?’
A short while later, Daisy stood with Bobby on the gravel path that led to the street, outside the kitchen. ‘Did you hear what Mother said to Aunt Betty? We might never go home!’
‘Pops won’t let that happen,’ said Bobby confidently as he opened the door of the old toilet.
‘But what if our house isn’t even there?’ Daisy suggested. ‘And there’s just a pile of bricks instead?’
’Look!’ exclaimed Bobby, adroitly changing the subject. ‘There’s an old crate and some pram wheels under the shelf. They would make a terrific cart.’
Daisy wasn’t interested. ’I’ll never sit on our swing under the apple tree or go to school again. I’ll never see our friends or Sally.’
‘Stop moaning and help me.’
She reluctantly obeyed though her heart wasn’t in it. When the crate and wheels were successfully dragged out, Bobby examined their finds. ‘There’s a pot of Uncle Ed’s paint on the shelf. It would look better if it was another colour. And with a bit of encouragement the wheels will fit.’
Daisy was unimpressed. She was still thinking about Poplar Park Row and all the things she would miss.
CHAPTER 68
IT WAS midnight and the candle’s flame was the only light to illuminate the shelter. ‘Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind,’ Daisy sang with Bobby, Mother and Aunt Betty.
She recalled the many new years’ celebrations in Wattcombe and none of them had been like this one. She fondly remembered her early years with Grandma and all her aunts and uncles and Matt - who in those early days - had not even dreamed of the brave pilot he would become.
The apple cider was shared into enamel mugs, and Mother made the first toast. ‘To Nicky and Ed, Matt and Amelia. God keep you all safe.’
‘Come home soon,’ said Aunt Betty quietly. ‘I’ve so much I want to tell you.’
Another toast was made for the rest of the family.
‘And Mr Cook,’ added Bobby, ‘and his crew.’
‘And Nurse Gwen,’ continued Daisy enthusiastically. She was about to include poor departed Tommy when an enormous explosion rattled every inch of the shelter. The mugs were lost and the candle extinguished.
1941 had arrived with ink-black darkness and the sickly smell of a very cold and musty Anderson shelter.
‘Happy New Year,’ Mother murmured as a familiar wisp of morning light squeezed in above the shelter door.
‘Happy New Year,’ replied Aunt Betty in a drowsy voice.
Daisy had slept fitfully under the blanket, but now the air tasted sour. It didn’t seem like a happy new year at all.
‘I’ll open the door,’ said Mother, unsteadily rising from the armchair. ‘Those explosions in the night came very close. I hope we’re not trapped.’
To everyone’s surprise, the door gave way. ‘Our luck’s in,’ decided Mother, shivering fiercely under her coat. ‘But there’s that awful fog again.’
Daisy staggered out beside Bobby who stretched his arms and peered around. All Daisy could see were fragments of concrete, dislodged roof tiles and broken bricks. ‘Be careful,’ warned Mother as they moved towards the house.
‘The door is still on its hinges,’ called Aunt Betty, first to arrive at the kitchen. ‘There seems to be no structural damage.’
They all stood uncertainly until Aunt Betty stepped forward to enter. Once inside they were met with a predictable, but heart-sinking scene. Over every inch of space lay a coat of thick grey dust that would take hours to remove.
‘Oh well, it could be worse,’ said Aunt Betty cheerfully. ‘I’ll look upstairs, Flo, if you check downstairs.’
Mother handed Bobby the broom and Daisy the mop. ‘The kitchen is yours,’ she said with a grin.
‘I really hate housework,’ Daisy complained to Bobby, who began creating more dust than he was clearing.
‘Me too,’ he agreed. ‘Let’s hurry up. Then I can finish the cart and whizz you along the street.’
Encouraged by Bobby’s unexpected offer, Daisy took off her coat and rolled up her sleeves.
A fter breakfast, the letterbox rattled.
‘It can’t be a delivery, can it?’ gasped Aunt Betty, her eyes wide as she pushed back a lock of untidy brown hair and jumped to her feet. Running into the hall, she cried, ‘Three letters, Flo!’
‘We haven’t had a post in weeks!’ gasped Mother and quickly followed.
Once seated back in the kitchen a letter from Pops was opened first. ‘Nicky’s is very short,’ said Mother disappointedly. ‘He wrote at the beginning of December. Unfortunately this has been heavily censored. Perhaps he mistakenly gave some indication of where they are stationed?’ Her voice broke and she took her hanky from her sleeve. ‘He writes that he’s well and hopes we are too. He wishes us all a happy Christmas.’ A tear slid down her cheek. ‘But there’s no mention of when we shall see him again.’
Aunt Betty hurriedly opened hers. She read it, then sighed. ‘Practically the same, Flo. The censorship prevents any real information coming through. And like Nicky, Ed says nothing about leave.’
Daisy watched
