Queenie

All good things must come to an end so they say, and that was certainly the case on 7 September 1940. That was the day the Blitz started. I will never forget the sound of that first bomb going off.

‘Mum. Mum, you upstairs?’ I squealed, as the house literally shook and the cup of tea I’d just made flew off the kitchen hob, scalding my legs. There was no reply and I knew my dad and Viv were out. Petrified, I crawled on all fours inside the larder and shut the door. ‘Help! I think the house is falling down,’ I screamed, as I heard something else smash. I honestly thought I was going to die there and then. I even wet my knickers I’m ashamed to admit. Mum returned minutes later. She’d popped to the shops. The bomb had landed only two streets away from us. Too close for comfort.

Within an hour, Mum, Dad, myself and Vivvy were huddled together in our shelter in the back yard, but I didn’t feel at all safe in there. We could hear screams, smell smoke drifting through the air. I couldn’t help worrying about Aunt Edna. Was she OK? Had she made it to her nearest shelter? Then another bomb dropped and all but ruptured my eardrums. I was terrified at that point, so was Viv. My sister and I huddled together, crying.

I had no sleep that night. Not even when the bombing stopped. First thing the following morning Mum, myself and Vivvy walked round to Aunt Edna’s. The devastation we saw on the way was gut-wrenching. A whole row of houses a couple of streets away from ours had been completely wiped out. My classmate Roger lived in one of those houses and I was relieved he and his family were all right. They’d made it to a shelter in time. Mr and Mrs King weren’t so lucky though. They’d had a shelter erected in their back garden the same as ours and the bomb had ripped right through it, killing them both. I shuddered. That could so easily have been us.

Aunt Edna was indoors and thankfully OK. She looked shaken though, especially when Mum told her about Mr and Mrs King being blown up in their Anderson shelter. ‘You must go to a proper shelter if the bombing starts again. Promise me,’ Aunt Edna said holding me and Viv tightly. We both made her a promise. No way was I sitting in our shelter again – not when bombs were being dropped, anyway.

That night the bombing started again. It was terrifying, watching the sky lit up with fire as Mum, Dad, Viv and I ran to the nearest shelter with our neighbours. The shelter was busy, but we found Aunt Edna because we heard her singing ‘Down at the Old Bull and Bush’.

People huddled together to keep warm and most, including me and Viv, joined in with Aunt Edna’s repertoire. ‘Maybe It’s Because I’m a Londoner’, ‘Show Me the Way to Go Home,’ ‘My Old Man’s a Dustman’ and ‘Leaning on a Lamp-post’ were just some of the many songs we sang. It seemed to lighten the mood, taking our minds off what was happening outside. I suddenly felt brave. The complete opposite to how I’d felt the previous day. Instead of wetting my drawers like a coward, I comforted some of the other kids who looked scared. I even gave them the rest of my sweets and reassured them us East Enders were strong enough to fight off Adolf bloody Hitler.

The following day, Aggie and Nelly Brown left the area to return to their aunt in the countryside. After we’d waved them goodbye for a second time, Mum informed me and Viv that the next day we too would be leaving the East End. I begged Mum to come with us, but she said she couldn’t; the offer wasn’t extended to her.

I went to see Mrs O’Leary to tell her the news. I always called her Mary to her face, but would refer to her by her surname when mentioning her to other people. My mum had taught me that. Most of the neighbours I would refer to as mister and missus, or if they were close friends of my mum and dad I’d call them aunt or uncle.

Mrs O’Leary hugged me when I told her the news. ‘It’s for the best, Queenie. My heart would break if anything happened to you. At least you’ll be safe.’

‘But the only time I’ve ever been parted from Mum and Dad is when I’ve stayed round Aunt Edna’s. I don’t want to live with strangers,’ I wept.

‘You won’t be alone. You’ll have Vivian with you. Make sure you tell them that the two of you won’t be separated.’

I nodded. ‘I’m going to miss you, Mary. Say goodbye to Patrick and Daniel for me, won’t you?’ Daniel had a girlfriend now. A stunning blonde called Lucy. I hoped that one day when I was older I would look like Lucy.

I spent a good hour with Mrs O’Leary before saying a final goodbye.

‘Don’t forget, you can write to me every day if you wish. Not that you’ll have time – I’m sure you’ll be having too much fun for that. Never forget, I’m always here if you need me though. If the people aren’t nice to you, Queenie, you must tell your mum. Or if you don’t want to worry your mum, you can tell me. The boys’ll be down there like a shot if you’re being mistreated, let me fecking tell you.’

I giggled and gave Mrs O’Leary one final hug. She was always saying feck this and feck that, and the way she said it never failed to make me laugh. ‘Bye, Mary. I’ll write to you soon.’

The following day Viv and I said a tearful goodbye to Mum, Dad and Aunt Edna at the train station. We had our cases with us and were quickly ushered aboard a carriage with loads of kids we didn’t know.

As the train pulled away, I waved and waved until my parents and aunt were out of sight. Dad was positive he would soon be called up and I wondered if I’d ever see him again. With bombs dropping night after night, I couldn’t help but fear I’d never see any of them again.

Little did I know, Hitler’s bombs weren’t the real danger.

Six Months Later

March 1941

‘Queenie, Viv. There’s some letters arrived for you.’

Queenie ran excitedly down the stairs. She loved receiving letters. ‘Thank you, Betty.’

‘Give me a shout once you’ve read them and I’ll cook your breakfast,’ smiled rosy-cheeked Betty.

Queenie handed Viv her two letters. She knew by the handwriting who they were from. One was from Aunt Edna, the other, Nelly Brown.

Ripping open the one addressed to both of them, Queenie read it out loud:

‘Dear Queenie and Viv, I’m so pleased you’re enjoying your time more in the countryside, now the weather is warming up a bit. Spring will be here soon and I’m sure you’ll love watching the flowers bloom and seeing all the baby animals being born.

‘Ivan sounds nice. I’m glad he’s taken the two of you under his wing and you are earning extra pocket money. It’s good of Ivan to drive you to the shops too to save you walking all those miles. Does he have children himself?

‘Things are very much the same here, but please do not worry, as we’re all OK. We get to the shelter early now as we know the bombs will be dropped at some point during the night. Big Fat Flo lost her house last Monday. That whole row is now a pile of rubble. Thankfully, nobody was hurt. They were all down the shelter.

‘Re your question about Aggie Brown not writing to you, Queenie. I had a word with her mum and Mabel said she’s not much of a letter writer and has made friends with some girls her own age where she is staying. It is very rude of Aggie not to reply to yours though, I must say. The ignorant little cow!

‘Please thank Mr and Mrs Briggs again from me for looking after you and feeding you so well. I bet I won’t recognize the pair of you when I see you, what with all that country air and wonderful grub you’re eating.

‘Dad and Aunt Edna both send their love, girls. Keep your chins up. You’re both doing brilliantly and I’m so very proud of you. Love always, Mum.’

Viv smiled. ‘Can I look at the letter now?’ Both girls’ biggest fear was that one day their mother wouldn’t write back to them because she was dead.

Queenie handed the letter to Viv and winced. She had woken up with a bad belly ache and it seemed to be getting worse. ‘Viv, do me a favour once you’ve read your letters: go down for breakfast and tell Betty I’m not feeling hungry this morning.’

When her sister left the room, Queenie read her letters from Aunt Edna and Mrs O’Leary, then curled up in a foetal position and held her aching stomach. She’d eaten the same as Viv yesterday, so it couldn’t be food poisoning. Perhaps she had caught a bug? But she hadn’t really been out anywhere.

Wishing she was at home so her mum could look after her, Queenie quickly reminded herself how lucky she and Viv had been. From the moment they’d met Betty and John Briggs, the couple had been extremely kind to them.

It had felt odd spending her fourteenth birthday and then Christmas with the Briggs, especially when Betty and John’s sons had turned up on Christmas Day with their wives and kids. Both Queenie and Viv had felt they didn’t belong there that day, but they’d put on brave faces and pretended to be jolly before excusing themselves and going to bed early.

The bedroom they shared was nice, bigger than their bedroom at home. It had pretty patterned curtains and oak furniture. They even had a proper wardrobe in which to hang up the small amount of clothes they’d brought with them. Their mum sent them money in the post to buy anything new they needed. Viv’s feet had recently got too big for her shoes, so Mrs Briggs had taken them to a shop to buy some new ones.

Mr and Mrs Briggs were generous too. The farm was ever so cold and muddy in the winter, so they’d brought her and Viv Wellington boots and trousers. Queenie had never worn trousers at home, her mum said only boys wore them, and it felt weird at first. They were far more practical though, for roaming across the fields on the farm.

Feeling something trickle down her legs, Queenie leapt out of bed and was mortified to see blood, not only on her skin and clothes but on Mrs Briggs’ white flannelette sheet.

Surely she wasn’t dying? And how was she going to tell Mrs Briggs that she’d ruined her lovely white sheet? She lifted up the sheet and was horrified to see the blood had seeped through to the mattress too.

Queenie burst into tears. What was she going to do?

Betty Briggs had been ever so nice about her situation. She’d sat her down, wiped away her tears and told her not to worry at all about the sheet or mattress. She’d then explained about the birds and the bees and given Queenie something that looked like bandages to stem the blood flow.

Later that evening, Queenie lay in bed not only feeling very stupid, but also thoroughly annoyed with her mother. Why had her mum never explained that her body would change at some point in her teenage years?

‘You still got a tummy ache, Queen?’ asked Viv.

‘No. The tablets Betty gave me worked far better than those awful-tasting Epsom Salts we’re forced to take at home.’ Queenie propped herself up on her elbow. ‘I felt so humiliated today, Viv. I honestly thought I might be dying, that something had burst in my stomach. Why didn’t Mum tell us about this, eh? Mrs O’Leary would have, I know she would. It’ll happen to you too, you’ll start bleeding in a year or so. It means you’re ready to make babies.’

Eleven-year-old Vivian shuddered at the prospect. ‘Not sure I want to have babies or be a midwife after all,’ she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

When Vivian finally fell asleep, Queenie read Mrs O’Leary’s letter once more. Because they were Irish, Patrick and Daniel wouldn’t be called up to join the British Army. Ireland had decided to remain neutral in the war. Currently, the O’Learys were living back in Ireland, driven out of London by the Blitz. They still had the house opposite hers, but wouldn’t return until the bombing stopped.

Queenie chuckled inwardly as she read one particular paragraph over and over again.

Daniel and that blonde tart have split up, Queenie. I’m fecking glad. Never liked the silly girl in the first place. She was all over him like a rash whenever he brought her round mine. I knew it wouldn’t last. Good riddance to Lucy.

Queenie folded the letter up and put it in her bedside drawer. She never read Mrs O’Leary’s letters to Viv. It didn’t seem right. Mary was her friend, not her sister’s.

Smiling, Queenie shut her eyes. She’d got over her embarrassment of earlier and Mrs Briggs had promised not to tell her husband or anybody else. Thinking about Daniel, Queenie drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face.

CHAPTER THREE

Two Months Later

May 1941

‘What does Mum say?’ asked Viv. ‘Read it out loud,’ she demanded.

Queenie’s eyes skimmed over the letter. ‘You can read it yourself. There’s been no more bombs. That’s over two weeks since they stopped. We still can’t go home though,’ sighed Queenie. It had been fun watching the spring lambs born and the little piglets, but overall, living on a farm was boring. It was so different to the East End, where the houses were close together and you only had to open your front door to bump into your friends. There was literally nothing to do here. And it was so quiet Queenie felt as though she needed to speak in a whisper.

‘How d’ya feel today? The weather’s glorious. Fancy going for a walk somewhere where we ain’t been before?’ asked Queenie.

‘I still don’t feel too clever. I don’t mind sitting outside, but I’m not up to walking far. Why don’t you go and find Ivan, see if he’ll take you into town? You can spend that money Mrs O’Leary sent us, and while you’re there you can get me some magazines and a good book.’ Mrs Briggs had been giving them lessons at home and it was she who suggested that they start reading books. Viv was currently reading Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens and loving it.

‘It wasn’t Mrs O’Leary who sent us the money, it was Daniel and Patrick – I told you that.’ Queenie had been stunned when a ten-pound note fell out of Mrs O’Leary’s latest letter. She’d never had so much money in her little purse before. ‘Do you want me to bring you a cup of tea before I go out?’

‘No. I’m fine, thanks. Mrs Briggs will bring me some breakfast up soon. I want to finish my book anyway. I need to know what happens to poor Oliver.’

Queenie put her purse in the pocket of her blue-and-white striped dress. ‘Bye then. I’ll see you later.’

Ivan Tumbleweed was a simple, thick-set, dark-haired thirty-year-old local man. He lived down the road from the farm in his caravan on some land his deceased father had left for him. His mum had abandoned him when he was young and taken his two older sisters with her. None of them had ever contacted him again, which at times grated on Ivan.

Seeing Queenie, Ivan drove towards her in his tractor. He liked young Queenie a lot and was sure she liked him too – why else would she spend so much time with him?

‘Good morning, Miss Queenie. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?’ Ivan greeted her in his thick country accent.

‘Yes. It’s lovely. Are you finishing at lunchtime as it’s Saturday?’

‘I sure am, Miss Queenie.’ Ivan couldn’t help but notice that since arriving at the farm, Queenie had turned from a girl into a woman. She had titties now, not big ones, but they were noticeable, especially when she ran. She obviously didn’t wear a bra because he’d seen them bouncing up and down.

‘If you aren’t busy this afternoon, would you be kind enough to take me into town? Viv’s still in bed with mumps and I need to get her a couple of bits. I also need some things for myself.’

Ivan smiled broadly. The farm was his life, that’s why he had such big muscles. His only other interest was the pub. Every night he’d go to his local for five or six pints. ‘That would be my pleasure. I will finish ’ere at twelve. You can help me with my jobs if you want?’ He’d given Queenie lessons in driving the tractor yesterday and liked the feel of her body next to his.

‘I don’t want to get my frock dirty and I haven’t had any breakfast yet. I’ll meet you at twelve.’

‘Miss Queenie, I think you’re forgetting something,’ grinned Ivan.

Queenie stood on tiptoes and pecked Ivan on his unshaven cheek. Ivan always reeked of sweat and wore the same clothes. He actually reminded her of home as he smelled like Stinkhouse Bridge. But he seemed pleasant and harmless, and she didn’t want to hurt the poor sod’s feelings, so she waited until he was out of sight before wiping her mouth with her hand.

The journey to the nearest town took about twenty minutes. Ivan drove a green truck and Queenie loved going out in it. Her father had never had a car, so being driven somewhere seemed ever so exciting and grown-up. ‘Have you got a girlfriend, Ivan?’ asked Queenie, politely trying to make conversation.

Ivan grinned. She obviously fancied him. She’d asked him only a couple of months ago if he had children and he’d told her he didn’t because he was yet to get married. ‘No, Miss Queenie. Not many women round ’ere to choose from, so I thought I’d bide my time until the right one came along,’ he winked.

Queenie smiled politely. Ivan was simple, that much was obvious. ‘Do you need anything in town?’

‘No. I shall just be your bag carrier. That’s what gentlemen do, Miss Queenie. They open doors for a lady and carry her bags.’

‘Ahh. You’re a sweet man, Ivan. I hope one day you meet a nice girlfriend.’

Even more positive that Queenie fancied him, Ivan grinned like a Cheshire cat. He’d never had a girlfriend in his life. It was about time his luck changed.

Queenie bought herself and Viv a new summer dress each, then spent ages choosing a book for her sister. She finally decided on The Railway Children by Edith Nesbit. Hoping now the bombing had stopped, they’d soon be going home, Queenie bought some thank you gifts for the Briggs: a pipe for John and a pair of slippers for Betty. She then decided to buy Ivan a small gift too. He’d been ever so kind running herself and Viv into town. Without him they’d never have got there, because John was always working and Betty didn’t drive.

Lastly, Queenie bought herself and her sister a pair of comfortable sandals. They only had wellies and shoes to wear, which were far too warm now the weather was hot.

‘I think I’m done now, Ivan. Oh, wait a minute, Viv asked for some magazines.’

‘That’s fine. I’ll sit ’ere a minute with the bags while you buy your magazines.’

‘Thank you. I won’t be long.’

Ivan smiled. His Miss Queenie could take as long as she wanted.

Ivan opened the passenger side of the truck. ‘There you go, Miss Queenie.’

Having kept Ivan’s present separate to all the others, Queenie waited until he was seated before handing it to him. ‘I bought you a gift. Open it.’ The lady in the shop had kindly wrapped the dart flights in tissue paper for her.

Ivan could not believe his luck. No woman had ever bought him a present before, not even his own mother. ‘I loves them. I needed a new set too. One of mine is split. How did you know I play darts?’

‘Because I remember you telling me you play in the pub.’

‘This is the nicest thing anybody has ever done for me, Miss Queenie. I will treasure them,’ beamed Ivan.

‘It’s just a little thank you for driving me and Viv into town all the time, that’s all. I reckon we’ll be going back to the East End soon. I got a letter from my mum earlier. There’s been no bombs dropped for over a fortnight now.’

Ivan grabbed Queenie’s hand. ‘I don’t want you to go, Miss Queenie. Why don’t you stay ’ere with me?’

Thinking Ivan was joking, Queenie laughed and snatched her hand away. ‘As if! I honestly cannot wait to get home, see my family and friends. I’ve missed them all so much.’

Ivan’s eyes clouded over. Why was she laughing at him and saying these things? He didn’t like that. Not one little bit.

‘Where you going, Ivan? Isn’t the Briggs’ farm straight on?’

‘Yes. But I thought you might like to see where I live.’

‘Erm, I would another time. But I think I should be getting back now. I need to see if my sister’s OK,’ said Queenie, beginning to feel the first stirrings of unease. When he carried on driving away from the Briggs’ farm, she became more insistent: ‘Please take me back now, I just want to go home.’

‘It won’t take long. I thought you liked me, Queenie. But it seems you’re like all the others. You laugh at me and can’t wait to get away from me. Just like my mum and sisters.’

It struck her that Ivan had been unusually quiet on the way home, as if he was sulking. There was a difference in his tone, too, and in the way he’d used her name, whereas in the past he’d always addressed her as ‘Miss Queenie’. ‘I do like you, Ivan. You’re my friend. But please take me back to the farm now. Viv and me will both visit you when Viv’s feeling better. I promise,’ Queenie replied.

‘No point turning back. We’re ’ere now.’

They’d come to the end of the dirt track and in front of them was a grubby caravan, standing in a field with no houses or buildings in sight.

‘Can you please take me home?’ repeated Queenie, her heart thumping against her chest.

Ivan leaned in, giving her a whiff of his vile breath. ‘You can’t be a prick-tease like you been to me, Queenie, then laugh at me and say you can’t wait to get back to the East End. It ain’t right.’

Realizing he was deadly serious, Queenie opened the truck door and made a run for it. Ivan was soon catching up with her though. She could hear him cursing and his footsteps nearing. Queenie had never felt so terrified in her life. Suddenly paralysed through fear, she hid behind a tree and held her breath. Tears were streaming down her face. How could this be happening to her?

Unfortunately for Queenie, Ivan tripped as he ran past the tree and spotted her. All Queenie could do was burst into tears. She couldn’t run any more, couldn’t even move. ‘I’m sorry, Ivan, if you think I led you on,’ she managed to stammer. ‘Please don’t hurt me. I thought you were my friend.’

Ivan smiled, showing his dirty uneven teeth. He grabbed Queenie, threw her to the ground, undid the zip of his trousers and released his stinking penis. He then put his hand up Queenie’s dress and ripped her knickers off with one hand. ‘What about earlier? Kissing me and buying me a present. What is a man supposed to think, eh, Queenie?’ Ivan’s voice was husky now, his penis fully erect as he rammed it inside the girl of his dreams. ‘And you wear no bra. You bounce towards me so I can see your little titties, I know you do. What you is, is a prick-tease. You can’t treat me like that, then pretend you don’t want me. I know you wanna be fucked.’

Queenie lay still, sobbing her heart out. She’d never felt pain like it. Fearing once Ivan was done with her, he might actually kill her, she shut her eyes and said a silent prayer. None of her family was religious, but Mrs O’Leary was. She’d told Queenie she prayed with rosary beads. How Queenie wished she had some of those now.

As Ivan tried to kiss her, Queenie retched. His breath was awful, as though he’d never cleaned his teeth in his life. ‘I love you, Miss Queenie,’ he groaned.

All of a sudden, he began making loud, weird noises. Queenie didn’t have a clue what was happening; she could only hope her prayers had been answered and he was dying. Unfortunately, he wasn’t.

Ivan rolled off her, zipped up his flies and smiled. ‘You mustn’t say nothing to the Briggs about this. They won’t believe you anyway. John trusts me; I been working for him for years. I give you a lift back now. Your shopping is in the truck.’