Lucky’s antics, recorded down to the last teaspoon of strained veg. He could suck his toes, almost turn a circle on his tummy. She
and Lofty had bathed him in the tin tub and dried him on the towel in front of the open fire.
Connie’s mouth was watering. Not for food. She wasn’t hungry. But the thought of bathing Lucky’s little pink body, trickling the water over his bald head and dressing him in
some of the fresh clothes that Pat had given her, was a sweet torment. How she longed to care for him herself, she thought, as she sat in one of Nan’s large armchairs set either side of the
blacked-out window.
It was a pleasant room, if cluttered, unlike her own home, not a cushion out of place. Nan and Lofty cared little for the appearance of their nest. The sideboard was overflowing and the old
upright piano was in use as a clothes horse. But the room was easy on the eye and restful, as though the turmoil of the outside world had not yet reached in.
Connie listened to Nan’s hearty laughter and saw the twinkle of a smile that Lucky gave her as he rested in her arms, all clean and scrubbed. Connie ached to take part in all these baby
developments. Work had been miserable! Mr Burns had kept his staff ’s nose to the grindstone all day. Even Len had been out of sorts after a terrible night with his mother, who had refused to
leave her warm bed when the warning went. He had been forced to stay up all night, as the bombs exploded around their ears. Ada had not seen Wally, either, and was pining for her boyfriend. The
atmosphere at work had been sombre now that the raids looked set to continue.
‘Here we go again!’ Nan exclaimed when the siren wailed. ‘Lofty! Where are you? Get this girl and baby home quick!’
Nan handed Lucky over. Connie wrapped him in his shawl, all thumbs as Lofty appeared. They ran together along the street and the sky grew dark against the searchlights.
Her mother and father were just leaving the house. ‘Constance, are you coming with us?’
‘No, I’ll wait for Billy in the Anderson.’
‘I don’t know how you can—’
Ebbie gripped his wife’s arm. ‘Come along, Olive. Connie, take care of yourself, love.’
‘Your dinner’s in the oven,’ Olive cried as Ebbie dragged her on. ‘It’s still warm.’
Connie rushed through to the kitchen. Balancing the baby in one arm, her dinner in the other she rushed out to the Anderson. Having forgotten to bring the milk with her, she laid the baby in the
cart and rushed back in again. A few minutes later, back in the Anderson, she was too scared to move as the bombs began to fall outside. Her dinner went untouched and when Billy arrived she threw
her arms around him.
‘Oh, Billy, thank goodness you turned up.’
‘What’s the matter? Has Hitler landed?’ Billy teased as he secured the iron door and lit the Tilley lamp.
‘I don’t like it here on my own.’
‘You’ve got Baldy.’
At that moment an explosion rocked the Anderson and Lucky began to scream. Connie lifted him from the cart and held him tight. ‘What can I do to comfort him?’ she asked
helplessly.
For once, Billy didn’t come up with an answer. ‘I don’t know about babies,’ he said lamely.
Connie was beginning to think she didn’t either.
Vic Champion inspected his face in the washhouse mirror. He groaned. He’d had practically no sleep in two nights and it showed. His jaw was covered in sharp, dark
bristle, there were bags under his eyes and his thick, dark hair needed a good wash. As did the rest of his body, but with just a pitcher of water available he would have to be careful. He’d
brought two big jugfuls from the standpipe this morning on his way home from night duty. Gran would certainly need one of them for her household chores and he always left her a spare, just in case
the water was off for the day.
It was an irony he looked so rough, he thought as he rubbed his face with the penny-sized fragment of soap that he kept aside
and Lofty had bathed him in the tin tub and dried him on the towel in front of the open fire.
Connie’s mouth was watering. Not for food. She wasn’t hungry. But the thought of bathing Lucky’s little pink body, trickling the water over his bald head and dressing him in
some of the fresh clothes that Pat had given her, was a sweet torment. How she longed to care for him herself, she thought, as she sat in one of Nan’s large armchairs set either side of the
blacked-out window.
It was a pleasant room, if cluttered, unlike her own home, not a cushion out of place. Nan and Lofty cared little for the appearance of their nest. The sideboard was overflowing and the old
upright piano was in use as a clothes horse. But the room was easy on the eye and restful, as though the turmoil of the outside world had not yet reached in.
Connie listened to Nan’s hearty laughter and saw the twinkle of a smile that Lucky gave her as he rested in her arms, all clean and scrubbed. Connie ached to take part in all these baby
developments. Work had been miserable! Mr Burns had kept his staff ’s nose to the grindstone all day. Even Len had been out of sorts after a terrible night with his mother, who had refused to
leave her warm bed when the warning went. He had been forced to stay up all night, as the bombs exploded around their ears. Ada had not seen Wally, either, and was pining for her boyfriend. The
atmosphere at work had been sombre now that the raids looked set to continue.
‘Here we go again!’ Nan exclaimed when the siren wailed. ‘Lofty! Where are you? Get this girl and baby home quick!’
Nan handed Lucky over. Connie wrapped him in his shawl, all thumbs as Lofty appeared. They ran together along the street and the sky grew dark against the searchlights.
Her mother and father were just leaving the house. ‘Constance, are you coming with us?’
‘No, I’ll wait for Billy in the Anderson.’
‘I don’t know how you can—’
Ebbie gripped his wife’s arm. ‘Come along, Olive. Connie, take care of yourself, love.’
‘Your dinner’s in the oven,’ Olive cried as Ebbie dragged her on. ‘It’s still warm.’
Connie rushed through to the kitchen. Balancing the baby in one arm, her dinner in the other she rushed out to the Anderson. Having forgotten to bring the milk with her, she laid the baby in the
cart and rushed back in again. A few minutes later, back in the Anderson, she was too scared to move as the bombs began to fall outside. Her dinner went untouched and when Billy arrived she threw
her arms around him.
‘Oh, Billy, thank goodness you turned up.’
‘What’s the matter? Has Hitler landed?’ Billy teased as he secured the iron door and lit the Tilley lamp.
‘I don’t like it here on my own.’
‘You’ve got Baldy.’
At that moment an explosion rocked the Anderson and Lucky began to scream. Connie lifted him from the cart and held him tight. ‘What can I do to comfort him?’ she asked
helplessly.
For once, Billy didn’t come up with an answer. ‘I don’t know about babies,’ he said lamely.
Connie was beginning to think she didn’t either.
Vic Champion inspected his face in the washhouse mirror. He groaned. He’d had practically no sleep in two nights and it showed. His jaw was covered in sharp, dark
bristle, there were bags under his eyes and his thick, dark hair needed a good wash. As did the rest of his body, but with just a pitcher of water available he would have to be careful. He’d
brought two big jugfuls from the standpipe this morning on his way home from night duty. Gran would certainly need one of them for her household chores and he always left her a spare, just in case
the water was off for the day.
It was an irony he looked so rough, he thought as he rubbed his face with the penny-sized fragment of soap that he kept aside
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