An eerie silence descended as Pops turned the car into Poplar Park Row. Daisy took a breath. Not one house, it seemed, had escaped the cruel ravages of war.
Pops brought the car to a halt. Daisy climbed out and stood with Bobby under the bare, black branches of the plane trees. Every house in the row had been victim to the Luftwaffe’s attacks.
‘Oh, Nicky,’ gasped Mother, as she stepped onto the splintered pavement. ’Look at what this terrible war has done!’
Daisy watched her father’s arm slip comfortingly around her mother’s waist. ‘Chin up, Flo. Look! Our home is still standing, which is more than can be said for many in this area.’
They all paused at the open gate, propped to one side on its creaking hinges.
‘Is it safe to go inside?’ Mother asked tentatively as they stared at the battle-scarred building.
‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained,’ Pops replied. ‘But let’s go carefully.’
Mother nodded. ‘But I’m afraid of what we might find.’
‘There’s nothing we can’t achieve together, Flo,’ Pops urged. ‘We’ll repair or re-build after the war is over.’
Daisy listened to her parents’ conversation and marvelled at their courage. They were country folk, but had claimed a small piece of the city as their own and refused to abandon it.
‘Look,’ shouted Bobby, springing into the garden. ‘There’s my old football!’ He leapt towards the side of the house and the apple tree where the swing hung limply from its branches.
It was no time at all before Bobby was kicking the ball and Daisy was swinging as high as she possibly could. How long was it since she had last occupied the little wooden seat? She swung higher and higher, straining to see the crane tops and tall chimneys of the factories. Would she ever see Mrs Hayes again and talk in whispers about Elsie Shiner and Joe Rawlings and the wicked Micky Wolf?
Daisy breathed in the tarry, salty air that was so familiar. The course of her life in wartime had taken her from the island, but her friendships were not forgotten. Fond memories of Cawdor School and playing on the waste ground and Iris and Sidney and Gary and Grace burned as vividly as ever.
Daisy slipped from the swing, planting her feet firmly on the ground. The football flew past her and Bobby ran up, his cheeks flushed. ‘You’re too big for that swing now.’
‘I don’t care,’ Daisy replied. ‘It still works.’
‘It’s good to be home,’ he said, idling around her.
’When we left Wattcombe I thought we’d never get used to Poplar Park Row,’ she admitted. ‘I missed the village. Then I slowly forgot. Not forgot exactly, but we made friends here. ‘Do you ever think of Grace?’ Daisy knew it was the kind of intimate question she wouldn’t have asked once. But somehow it was easier now.
‘I s’pose I do,’ he admitted.
‘I miss Sammy too. He was brave,’ she faltered. ‘He saved my life on the hospital roof.’
Bobby studied her for a while. ‘I wonder what happened to Peter Brady?’
‘Poor Tommy didn’t deserve a cruel brother like that.’
Bobby shuffled his feet, his eyes fixed on the house. ‘Do you think we’ll ever get our factory back?’
‘I hope so. I’d like to see Mrs Hayes again.’
Bobby frowned. ‘I suppose it all depends on Bletchley.’
Daisy frowned. ’What’s Bletchley?’
Bobby’s blue eyes flickered. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. And it’s not a what. It’s a where.’
‘So,’ Daisy persisted, puzzled, ’where’s Bletchley?’
‘I overheard Pops speaking to Mother,’ Bobby replied in a whisper. ‘Bletchley is a place near Milton Keynes. I looked it up on the map. And it’s all very hush hush. My guess is that the government send boffins like Uncle Ed and Pops to work there. To plan out Britain’s defence for the rest of the war.’
‘What’s a boffin?’
‘Someone who knows as much as an encyclopaedia.’ He pointed a stern finger towards her. ‘You mustn’t breathe a word. Bletchley’s a secret.’
‘I’m good at keeping secrets.’
‘You’d better be.’
Daisy smiled. Bobby had taken her into his confidence and that was something she valued. ’I’ll play football with you if you like?’ She jumped from the swing.
‘We’ll line up some bricks from the chimney to make a goal.’
Daisy considered the suggestion. ‘You can do all the lifting. You’re stronger than me. I’m only a girl.’
Bobby’s blue eyes danced. ‘I’m just surprised you’ve remembered for once.’
Daisy watched with interest as her brother constructed the goal. This was what girls did; they stood on the sidelines, letting boys take the lead. Or so they thought.
‘Daisy? Look what I’ve found.’ Mother waved from the front door. In her hand she held an envelope.
Daisy ran up. ‘What is it?’
‘This letter’s addressed to you.’
Daisy studied the untidy, looped scrawl which covered the best part of the crumpled envelope. ‘It’s from Sally,’ she gasped. ‘I recognise her handwriting!’
Mother smiled. ‘The letter was trapped under the matt. It must have been here some while. ’
Daisy slid her finger along the sealed edge and drew out the single sheet. Sally had written her new address. ‘Is Somerset far away?’ she asked.
‘Too far to walk,’ replied Mother.
Daisy returned to the swing, sat down and savoured the brief note. “Dear Daisy, this is to let you know I got a bilit with an old gel and a dog. I take it for walks. There are 2 other girls here. Not my cup of tea. I want to come home. It’s nearly Christmas and all. Please write qwick. Love Sally. ps. Mum wrote to me that all the Bradys got nicked. Good ridance I say. Thought youd be pleased. pps I got my monthlys, have you?”
Daisy swept a tear from her eye.
‘What’s that?’ Bobby called.
‘It’s a letter from Sally. She’s in Somerset.’
He shrugged and picked up the ball. ‘Come on, let’s have a kick-about.’
Daisy stuffed the letter in
