Read Online Birmingham Blitz by Annie Murray - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Annie Murray
Ads: Link
happening, is there?’ You could tell she was under strain when her language started slipping.
Earlier in the week Dad had come home to tell us that his short period in Hall Green was finished and that they were being transferred for training outside Birmingham. He didn’t know where. Before he went, suddenly younger-looking in his uniform, I saw Mom go to him, and they held one another. He stroked her hair and she clung to him.
‘I can’t stand it,’ she sobbed into his chest. ‘Can’t stand being here on my own. I won’t be able to cope.’
‘You’ve got Genie,’ Dad said. ‘I’m sorry, love. I hadn’t realized it would all be so soon.’
She seemed to have more respect for him now he had an army uniform on. And I hadn’t seen Mom and Dad cuddling before, not ever. Made me cry too. And then Dad did something he’d not done since I was a tiny kid. He came and took me in his arms too and I saw there were tears in his big grey eyes.
‘Goodbye, Genie love. Eh, there’s a girl, don’t cry now. You’re going to help your mom out, aren’t you? I s’pect I’ll be back before we know it.’
Len was starting to blub too, watching us all, and Dad gave his shoulder a squeeze and then he was gone. I dried my tears. Didn’t like crying in front of Mom. It didn’t feel right.
She’d been all right up until Sunday. Even though we had a letter from Eric:
Dear Mom,
Ime well and I hope you are to. And Genie and Dad and Len. I was at one ladys and now Ime at annother. Shes qite nice. Shes got cats.
Love Eric.
It was from Maidenhead. Mom sniffled a bit when she read it – ‘Not much of a letter, is it?’ – but then carried herself along being busy and was quite cheerful. She even had a mad cleaning session and the house was spotless. But finally she fell over the edge into gloom and sitting for hours in chairs without her shoes on.
So I left, and went to see my pal Teresa. She’d always been my best pal, ever since we were kiddies, although we were never at the same school. The Spini kids traipsed all the way over to the Catholic School in Bordesley Street. Teresa, who was always up to something the rest of the time, could dress up demure as a china doll on a Sunday with a white ribbon in her hair and go off to Mass at St Michael’s with Vera’s – Mrs Spini’s – family, who all lived in the streets of ‘Little Italy’ behind Moor Street Station. It was like stepping right into Italy down there, with them all speaking Italian and cooking with garlic. I used to go with Teresa and see her granny sometimes. Nonna Amelia was a wispy old lady with bowed legs and no teeth who always wore black and spoke hardly any English. She used to suck and suck on sugared almonds from home and spit the nuts out because she couldn’t chew them.
They had a back-house in a yard just along from my nan’s, though not behind the shop as they’d tiled that part white like a hospital and turned it into their little ice-cream factory. The door of the house was almost always open, summer or winter, and usually there were kids spilling in and out. When I got there I could see the back of Micky, Teresa’s dad, sat at the table in his shirtsleeves. He wore belts, not braces like my dad. I could hear their voices, loud, in Italian.
‘Genie!’ Teresa called, spotting me. Soon as I got there they switched to talking in English.
Their house was much like any other in area inside, with a couple of small differences. Near the door was a black and white engraving (‘my photograph’ as Vera called it) of Jesus, and over the mantel hung a tile, in a thin wooden frame. On its deep blue glaze was a handpainted figure of the Madonna and child, and beneath, the words AVE MARIA. I’d asked Teresa about it once, years ago.
‘My nan in Italy gave it to Dad before he came here,’ she said. ‘She didn’t want him to go, and she gave it to him as she kissed him goodbye. She said “If your own mother can’t watch over you,
Earlier in the week Dad had come home to tell us that his short period in Hall Green was finished and that they were being transferred for training outside Birmingham. He didn’t know where. Before he went, suddenly younger-looking in his uniform, I saw Mom go to him, and they held one another. He stroked her hair and she clung to him.
‘I can’t stand it,’ she sobbed into his chest. ‘Can’t stand being here on my own. I won’t be able to cope.’
‘You’ve got Genie,’ Dad said. ‘I’m sorry, love. I hadn’t realized it would all be so soon.’
She seemed to have more respect for him now he had an army uniform on. And I hadn’t seen Mom and Dad cuddling before, not ever. Made me cry too. And then Dad did something he’d not done since I was a tiny kid. He came and took me in his arms too and I saw there were tears in his big grey eyes.
‘Goodbye, Genie love. Eh, there’s a girl, don’t cry now. You’re going to help your mom out, aren’t you? I s’pect I’ll be back before we know it.’
Len was starting to blub too, watching us all, and Dad gave his shoulder a squeeze and then he was gone. I dried my tears. Didn’t like crying in front of Mom. It didn’t feel right.
She’d been all right up until Sunday. Even though we had a letter from Eric:
Dear Mom,
Ime well and I hope you are to. And Genie and Dad and Len. I was at one ladys and now Ime at annother. Shes qite nice. Shes got cats.
Love Eric.
It was from Maidenhead. Mom sniffled a bit when she read it – ‘Not much of a letter, is it?’ – but then carried herself along being busy and was quite cheerful. She even had a mad cleaning session and the house was spotless. But finally she fell over the edge into gloom and sitting for hours in chairs without her shoes on.
So I left, and went to see my pal Teresa. She’d always been my best pal, ever since we were kiddies, although we were never at the same school. The Spini kids traipsed all the way over to the Catholic School in Bordesley Street. Teresa, who was always up to something the rest of the time, could dress up demure as a china doll on a Sunday with a white ribbon in her hair and go off to Mass at St Michael’s with Vera’s – Mrs Spini’s – family, who all lived in the streets of ‘Little Italy’ behind Moor Street Station. It was like stepping right into Italy down there, with them all speaking Italian and cooking with garlic. I used to go with Teresa and see her granny sometimes. Nonna Amelia was a wispy old lady with bowed legs and no teeth who always wore black and spoke hardly any English. She used to suck and suck on sugared almonds from home and spit the nuts out because she couldn’t chew them.
They had a back-house in a yard just along from my nan’s, though not behind the shop as they’d tiled that part white like a hospital and turned it into their little ice-cream factory. The door of the house was almost always open, summer or winter, and usually there were kids spilling in and out. When I got there I could see the back of Micky, Teresa’s dad, sat at the table in his shirtsleeves. He wore belts, not braces like my dad. I could hear their voices, loud, in Italian.
‘Genie!’ Teresa called, spotting me. Soon as I got there they switched to talking in English.
Their house was much like any other in area inside, with a couple of small differences. Near the door was a black and white engraving (‘my photograph’ as Vera called it) of Jesus, and over the mantel hung a tile, in a thin wooden frame. On its deep blue glaze was a handpainted figure of the Madonna and child, and beneath, the words AVE MARIA. I’d asked Teresa about it once, years ago.
‘My nan in Italy gave it to Dad before he came here,’ she said. ‘She didn’t want him to go, and she gave it to him as she kissed him goodbye. She said “If your own mother can’t watch over you,
Similar Books
