hands. Mom, Molly, Gladys, Len and I all stood or sat round, everyone’s eyes fixed on Gloria.
‘I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at Number Ten Downing Street,’ the Prime Minister said. Words we’d never forget. The announcement of war.
‘Now that we have resolved to finish it, I know you will play your part with calmness and with courage.’
When Mr Chamberlain had finished they played the National Anthem. Molly and Gladys struggled grunting to their feet. Then church bells pealed from Gloria, filling the room. We drank tea. None of us spoke for a time. No one knew what to say. Molly and Gladys weren’t grinning any more.
‘So it’s finally happened,’ Mom said at last. ‘Len – you’d better go out and finish off. Mr Tailor’s coming later.’
Len wasn’t listening and nor was Molly, because they were staring hard at each other as if they’d never seen one another before, with great big soppy smiles on their faces. He walked backwards out of the room, tripping up the step into the kitchen.
‘I’ll have to watch him,’ Mom said when Molly and Gladys had departed, thanking us endlessly. ‘He may be soft in the head but he’s all man, our Len.’
‘I know,’ I said.
Her head whipped round. ‘What d’you mean, you know?’
I finally finished the rabbit, pulling back the skin from over the front legs like peeling a shirt off. The inside of the pelt was shiny and covered with hundreds of wiggly red veins like Gladys’s cheeks. When I got the skin off it looked small and helpless like a new-born babby. Tasted all right though, come three o’clock, with a few onions.
We waited for the peril that was supposed to fall from the clouds. That’s when people started staring up at the sky, heads back, eyes narrowed. The night war was declared I went out into the garden after it was dark. Mom was despondent because they’d announced in the afternoon that all the cinemas were going to close.
‘Life’s not going to be worth living!’ she kept on. I wanted to get out of our muffled rooms.
I leapt out of the back door closing it as fast as I could so’s not to spill any light. I walked down the garden. It was dark as a bear’s behind out there. Everything was quiet, deathly quiet I thought, really eerie.
At the bottom of the garden I could just make out the hunched shape of the Anderson which Mr Tailor had put in for us that afternoon. Len had heaped the soil back on top. It was odd seeing it there. A web of searchlights danced in the city sky, but down in the garden you could barely see a hand in front of your face. No lights from the street, the houses, the cars. Nothing.
I stumbled on a hummock of grass. Then there was a sound. Must’ve been a twig scraping the fence but it set me thinking, and my heart was off thudding away.
No one knew when the Germans would come. We’d expected them down the street straight away. Maybe they were here already. Was that what I’d heard, someone moving about in the garden next door? Or maybe there was someone in the Anderson . . . Someone just behind me with a gun . . .
Panic seized me tight by the throat and I was across that scrap of lawn and struggling with the door handle so mithered I could hardly get it open. I landed panting in the kitchen.
‘What’s got into you?’ Mom called through. There was a laugh in her voice.
One Sunday in the middle of September Mom was having one of her wet lettuce sessions. Lunch had been cooked by yours truly (I was getting a lot of practice). I’d done a piece of chine and Mom said, ‘This isn’t up to much, Genie. How d’you manage to make such a mess of it?’
So I said, ‘Cook it yourself next time if you’re so fussy.’ She slapped me for that, hard, at the top of my arm. Sod you too, I thought.
I knew what was wrong though. Partly the feeling of anticlimax.
‘You only have to strike a match out there at night and someone jumps on you,’ Mom moaned. ‘But there’s nothing cowing well
‘I am speaking to you from the Cabinet Room at Number Ten Downing Street,’ the Prime Minister said. Words we’d never forget. The announcement of war.
‘Now that we have resolved to finish it, I know you will play your part with calmness and with courage.’
When Mr Chamberlain had finished they played the National Anthem. Molly and Gladys struggled grunting to their feet. Then church bells pealed from Gloria, filling the room. We drank tea. None of us spoke for a time. No one knew what to say. Molly and Gladys weren’t grinning any more.
‘So it’s finally happened,’ Mom said at last. ‘Len – you’d better go out and finish off. Mr Tailor’s coming later.’
Len wasn’t listening and nor was Molly, because they were staring hard at each other as if they’d never seen one another before, with great big soppy smiles on their faces. He walked backwards out of the room, tripping up the step into the kitchen.
‘I’ll have to watch him,’ Mom said when Molly and Gladys had departed, thanking us endlessly. ‘He may be soft in the head but he’s all man, our Len.’
‘I know,’ I said.
Her head whipped round. ‘What d’you mean, you know?’
I finally finished the rabbit, pulling back the skin from over the front legs like peeling a shirt off. The inside of the pelt was shiny and covered with hundreds of wiggly red veins like Gladys’s cheeks. When I got the skin off it looked small and helpless like a new-born babby. Tasted all right though, come three o’clock, with a few onions.
We waited for the peril that was supposed to fall from the clouds. That’s when people started staring up at the sky, heads back, eyes narrowed. The night war was declared I went out into the garden after it was dark. Mom was despondent because they’d announced in the afternoon that all the cinemas were going to close.
‘Life’s not going to be worth living!’ she kept on. I wanted to get out of our muffled rooms.
I leapt out of the back door closing it as fast as I could so’s not to spill any light. I walked down the garden. It was dark as a bear’s behind out there. Everything was quiet, deathly quiet I thought, really eerie.
At the bottom of the garden I could just make out the hunched shape of the Anderson which Mr Tailor had put in for us that afternoon. Len had heaped the soil back on top. It was odd seeing it there. A web of searchlights danced in the city sky, but down in the garden you could barely see a hand in front of your face. No lights from the street, the houses, the cars. Nothing.
I stumbled on a hummock of grass. Then there was a sound. Must’ve been a twig scraping the fence but it set me thinking, and my heart was off thudding away.
No one knew when the Germans would come. We’d expected them down the street straight away. Maybe they were here already. Was that what I’d heard, someone moving about in the garden next door? Or maybe there was someone in the Anderson . . . Someone just behind me with a gun . . .
Panic seized me tight by the throat and I was across that scrap of lawn and struggling with the door handle so mithered I could hardly get it open. I landed panting in the kitchen.
‘What’s got into you?’ Mom called through. There was a laugh in her voice.
One Sunday in the middle of September Mom was having one of her wet lettuce sessions. Lunch had been cooked by yours truly (I was getting a lot of practice). I’d done a piece of chine and Mom said, ‘This isn’t up to much, Genie. How d’you manage to make such a mess of it?’
So I said, ‘Cook it yourself next time if you’re so fussy.’ She slapped me for that, hard, at the top of my arm. Sod you too, I thought.
I knew what was wrong though. Partly the feeling of anticlimax.
‘You only have to strike a match out there at night and someone jumps on you,’ Mom moaned. ‘But there’s nothing cowing well
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