The poisonous air outside was barely breathable, a stark contrast to the cleansed hospital atmosphere and Daisy struggled for a few seconds. The sights and sounds of mass destruction almost overwhelmed her. Sammy urged her forward and she clung to him, grateful for his strength.
They slowly but successfully navigated the broken hospital steps, before stopping by the battered light-coloured Morris van parked at the curb. Mr Cook started the engine and the fierce vibration caused a flurry of scorched paper fragments to fly up from the windscreen.
Sammy opened the door and helped her inside. A tool box rested at her feet, together with a sack of potatoes propped against the wheel-arch. Closing the door firmly, he met her gaze and she wished there’d been time to ask where he lived and what had become of his father. Instead she made do with waving furiously from the window, mouthing her “thank you” as best she could.
His tall figure receded into the grey, swirling smoke and eventually he was gone. Vanished like a shadow in one of her dreams.
‘That boy’s a good ‘un,’ said Mr Cook as the van rattled into action. ‘Never laid eyes on him before, not till I asked for you at the desk. He was standing close by and must’ve heard me. When the lady said she’d seen someone pushing a wheelchair out the exit to the roof, we didn’t waste no time coming after you.’
Daisy wanted to pinch herself. Could all that had happened today be true? Had Peter Brady really intended to kill her?
‘Are the police really going to arrest the five - the fifth - ‘
‘Fifth columnists?’ chuckled Mr Cook. ‘I told a bit of a porky there. Wanted to see his face when he realised the game was up. Now, I might have to put me foot down sharp, so ‘ang on to yer ‘olly-ocks.’
Daisy did just that, gripping her seat tightly as she watched the never-ending streams of people coming from every direction. Some were weighed down with bags and suitcases. Others pushed barrows and carts spilling with personal effects. The elderly and lame were assisted by wardens or the Home Guard while the Red Cross manned medical posts or gave out refreshments.
A stomach-turning odour clogged the air as they travelled past fires that were still burning and firemen braved flames to retrieve casualties. Daisy felt sick to her soul as she witnessed the many lines of corpses on stretchers covered by blankets.
When, at last, they could make no headway, Mr Cook swung the vehicle round, hoping to find a path forward. But instead, they were met by more carnage; city streets dangerously strewn with glass and half-demolished buildings looming perilously above the rescue teams as weary survivors emerged from the ruins, searching for friends and family. The shapes of bodies under blankets, quite motionless. Lined together on stretchers, a dreadful bonding of lives that were alive no more.
The sad sights went on and on.
She thought of the quiet and peaceful countryside of Wattcombe and knew she should be grateful they were leaving London - of course she should! But even though the streets around them were in ruins, disfigured and maimed by war, this was her home and where she wanted to be … here with the people she loved.
Daisy jumped awake to the ear-piercing screech of a siren.
‘You alright, youngster?’ Mr Cook asked as he frowned intently through the windscreen. ‘You’ve had a bit of a kip, but the bloomin’ warning went off and woke you.’
‘Are we in Wattcombe yet?’ Daisy struggled up from the uncomfortable ball she had been curled in. As always when anxious, her head began to throb. She missed the reassurance of the hospital ward where Nurse Gwen had never been far away.
‘Wattcombe?’ Mr Cook repeated vaguely. ‘No, we ain’t going there. For the past hour we’ve been stuck in the biggest free-for-all I’ve ever witnessed. Roads are blocked or turn out to be dead-ends. I even lost me way once or twice and I’ve lived in London all me life. I was hoping to get you to safety before the blackout, but dusk caught up with us.’
Daisy peered out of her window, although it was difficult to see properly as the glass was filthy.
Mr Cook reached over to pat her hand. ‘You’re still bit confused, gel.’
Daisy felt rather dreamy and a little light-headed. Soothing the scar on her forehead, she mumbled, ‘Pops is making thermometers to fight in the war. But it’s supposed to be secret.’ Giving a yawn, she added, ‘You won’t tell will you?’
Mr Cook grinned. ‘Me lips are sealed.’
Daisy giggled. ‘And Aunt Minnie told a fib, just a white one, when Aunt Betty went to the cinema with Micky Wolf. The film was called Discovering England.’
‘You don’t say,’ replied Mr Cook bewilderedly.
‘And this is the biggest secret, so you mustn’t ever repeat it. But Joe Rawlings is colour blind. What do you think of that?’
‘Gawd only knows,’ replied Mr Cook hesitantly.
Daisy was about to add that, on second thoughts, she might have got some of the information muddled, when an almighty screech and burst of bright light was followed by a huge bang.
Mr Cook swung the wheel to one side and with a yell of ‘Duck!’ he threw himself across her.
Suddenly she remembered it wasn’t Joe Rawlings who was colour blind at all.
It was Mr Calder.
Ha
CHAPTER 58
‘COR BLIMEY, that was too close for comfort!’
‘What happened?’ Daisy looked around.
‘An incendiary landed behind them houses. Better check the wheels I think, as I felt the van hit something.’ He climbed out but soon returned. Opening her door he peered in. ‘Bloomin’ tyre is flat as a pancake. Your aunt’s house is just round the corner so we’ll go by Shanks’s pony.’ He pulled a rag from his tool box. ‘I’ve got a couple of helmets and a gas mask in the back. But that stink of cordite
