Queenie

‘Is it still OK if I sleep ’ere tonight, Edna?’ asked Molly. ‘Vivvy’s staying round at Mary Moggins, and me and Eric had a big barney last night. Berlin was bombed the day before, weren’t it? Eric’s adamant I shouldn’t come out tonight. He fears reprisals. Ya know what he’s like.’

‘Not drinking again, is he?’ asked Edna.

‘No. He’s even got himself a better job in a factory. But he’s obsessed with the war and listening to the bleedin’ radio. That and newspapers. He has no other interests these days.’

‘You stay ’ere with us, Mum,’ smiled Queenie. ‘My boss at work was talking about reprisals today too. But as Aunt Edna says, we just have to carry on our lives as normal.’

‘Too right we bleedin’ will. Sod Hitler and his not so merry men. Us East Enders ain’t frightened of no bastard. Right, we ready?’ grinned Edna. ‘It’s party time!’

Queenie was jovially chatting to her mum and aunt about work when there was a blackout. Seconds later, the sirens sounded.

‘Gawd stone the crows!’ gasped Edna.

‘Run,’ yelled Molly.

Queenie could not see properly, but was aware of the panic around her. Everywhere she turned, people were running for their lives.

Bethnal Green tube station was the nearest shelter and as Molly grabbed her daughter’s hand, she heard that formidable noise. The whirring, buzzing, the sounds of bombs dropping from the sky. ‘Run, Queenie. Run!’ shrieked Molly.

There was shouting, screaming, children sobbing, dogs barking as Queenie ran through the dark streets in the same direction as everyone else. It was mayhem and she could not help but feel scared. Not for herself, mind; she was far more worried about Viv, Mary, Patrick and Daniel. Were they running towards a shelter too? she wondered.

‘We’ve lost Edna. Where is she?’ Molly panted. She wasn’t used to running, was completely out of breath.

Queenie let go of her mother’s hand and tried to turn around. It was impossible though. They were nearing the entrance of the station and the crowds were surging towards them. Not all were panicking, but the women with children were.

As Queenie and Molly got lifted off their feet by the stampeding crowd behind, they found themselves inside the station and almost tumbled down the steps. ‘Aunt Edna. Aunt Edna,’ Queenie bellowed. Her voice could not be heard though. There were far too many other voices also shouting for their loved ones.

Recognizing someone she knew, Molly turned around and grabbed him. ‘You seen Edna, my sister?’

‘No, Molly. You seen my mum? I got separated from her. She’s seventy-four, for Christ’s sake.’

Guessing that, because of her size, Edna couldn’t run as fast as most, Queenie had her eyes glued to the hordes of people trampling down the slippery steps. The lighting inside the station was dismal and the atmosphere claustrophobic as it began to fill.

‘Aunt Edna! Aunt Edna!’ Queenie yelled, frantically waving her arms in the air. Relief flooded through her as she spotted Edna among the crowd being herded like cattle down the steps.

All of a sudden, Queenie heard a commotion behind her. She turned to see a scuffle, and as she turned back, she saw a woman fall down the last few steps with a child in her arms. An elderly man then fell on top of her and mayhem followed.

Queenie screamed as people, including her aunt, tumbled like dominoes on top of each other. ‘Aunt Edna,’ she cried. ‘Aunt Edna.’

‘Do something, someone. Stop the crowds coming,’ shrieked Molly.

But there was nothing anybody could do. The crowds just kept coming, then falling. Queenie sobbed. People were squashed, many dying in front of her very eyes, and Aunt Edna was at the bottom of the pile.

Overcome by the horror of knowing her sister was one of the fallen, Molly Wade fainted.

‘Mum,’ Queenie screamed. ‘Mum, wake up!’

Queenie stood inside the station, one of the many who had loved ones missing. Her mum was in a terrible state. She couldn’t stop trembling, neither could she speak.

Apparently, a single off-duty police officer had halted the chaos. He’d heard all the screaming and shouting and had stopped anybody else from entering the station.

There were lots of rumours flying around. A man behind Queenie was telling everyone that it wasn’t bombs being dropped by the Germans that had caused the chaos. It was the new anti-aircraft rockets being launched for our own protection and the government were to blame as they should have pre-warned us what was going on.

Another rumour said the stampede was caused by a pickpocket, but Queenie didn’t care what started it. All she could think about was her aunt. She could only hope and pray that Aunt Edna’s size might have saved her life.

After the many injured were taken away, bodies were pulled from the scene. Tears flowed freely. There was a dead woman, still holding her dead baby in her arms. So many looked dead, lots of them children. It was awful. Heartbreaking. It was Aunt Edna’s birthday too, thought Queenie.

As the bodies were taken outside by the men, Queenie felt sick. ‘Talk to me, Mum. Please,’ urged Queenie.

But Molly couldn’t talk. She was too traumatized.

As a gap to the left of the stairs opened up, a policeman urged the women and children to form an orderly queue and leave the station. As she filed past the lifeless bodies, Queenie glanced to the right but couldn’t spot Aunt Edna. One of the first to fall, she was too near the bottom of the heap to be visible.

Once outside the station, Queenie gulped in the fresh air, then watched in horror as each body that was brought out had a bucket of cold water thrown over it, to see if it would trigger any signs of life. One man sat up, but the majority just lay there lifeless, the cold water dripping off them.

‘Take Mum down to St John’s church, Queenie,’ urged Mrs Simpson. ‘That’s where the bodies are being taken for identification. You don’t wanna be watching this, love. I’ll come down there with you.’

Mrs Simpson lived not far from her mum in Whitechapel. Grateful to see a familiar face, Queenie held one of her mum’s arms, Mrs Simpson held the other and they led Molly away from the chaotic scenes. ‘My Aunt Edna, I saw her fall. She’s near the bottom,’ Queenie blurted out.

‘Oh no, Queenie. I’m so sorry,’ replied Mrs Simpson.

‘I’m hoping, ’cause she’s fat, it might have saved her,’ Queenie explained, her lip trembling.

Mrs Simpson doubted anyone near the bottom of the pile could have survived. But there was no point in saying that. All she could do was be there for Molly and young Queenie. ‘Miracles do happen. All we can do is pray. I’ll stay with you until we find out what’s happened to your aunt.’

‘Thanks, Mrs Simpson.’

The bodies were brought into the church by the men who’d been told by the police to help out. Adults were carried by two men, children were carried by one.

Having lost track of time, Queenie had no idea how long she’d been at the church. She felt numb. Her mum still hadn’t said a word. It was as though she’d been struck dumb.

Queenie waited and waited, praying for a miracle, then she saw four men walking towards her, obviously struggling to carry the body. Instinct told Queenie that was her aunt. She ran towards them. ‘That’s my aunt. Is she alive? Please tell me she is.’

‘I’m afraid not, darling,’ said one of the men. ‘None of ’em survived near the bottom of the pile. Tragic.’

When her aunt’s body was dumped on the floor of the church alongside many others, Queenie knelt beside her and held her hand. She looked a bit bruised, but she wasn’t flattened or anything. She just looked like she was sleeping. ‘Wake up, Aunt Edna. Please wake up. It’s your birthday,’ Queenie wept.

Aunt Edna lay lifeless. She would’ve loved to have woken up, such was her zest for life, but she couldn’t. The life she’d loved so much had been crushed out of her.

Queenie sat on the church steps. There were ten or so kids playing in the rubble, playing tag, screaming with excitement. Oblivious to the death and destruction going on around them. That had been her not so long ago. Mucking around in the streets with Viv and her mates without a care in the world.

Queenie steeled herself. She would miss Aunt Edna dreadfully, but knew she had to be brave. Mum and Vivvy would need her strength to get through this.

‘I miss my Seamus every day, but I refuse to mourn him. I only allow myself to remember the good times. Shedding tears for the dead doesn’t bring them back, Queenie. So save your tears for the fecking living,’ Mrs O’Leary had said to her only yesterday.

Queenie stood up. Mrs O’Leary was right. She’d run out of tears anyway, had none left to cry.

PART TWO

‘From the end spring new beginnings’

Pliny the Elder

CHAPTER EIGHT

When you think of the dead at war, you think of boys in the trenches or in the fields, not of my Aunt Edna who died needlessly. There were no bombs dropped that night. The blackout, sirens, weird whirring noises were all part of new anti-aircraft rockets, supposedly being launched for our own protection by the government. I was furious. Why hadn’t anyone informed us of what was going on? As if us East Enders hadn’t been through enough already.

There was a total media blackout of the truth. No mention in the newspapers or on radio stations. Twenty-seven men, eighty-four women and sixty-two children was the final death toll, the youngest being a five-month-old baby. We only learned the actual death toll via neighbours, nurses and local bobbies. I heard rumours that those in authority had tried to bribe young children, offering five-pound notes to them if they’d keep their trap shut. My aunt’s body had been taken from that church and chucked on the back of a lorry like a bag of bloody coal. I couldn’t forgive our government and neither would I be able to forget.

Mrs O’Leary helped me clear out Aunt Edna’s home and it was Mary who found just over two hundred quid stuffed in an envelope under the mattress. That enabled me to give my aunt the send-off she deserved. I chose a smart coffin and abided by my aunt’s wishes. Even though I’d have loved to have chosen a nice headstone and been able to visit her grave, Aunt Edna had a terrible phobia of creepy crawlies, especially worms, and she’d told me and Mum numerous times that, if she were to die during the war, her wish was to be cremated.

I took Mary’s advice and never told anyone else about the small fortune we’d found. ‘I’ll keep it safe at mine for you, Queenie. Don’t be giving your mum the money if she’s not thinking straight. Your father’s bound to get his mucky hands on it if you do,’ warned Mary.

I knew Mary was right. I guessed it must be gambling winnings and I knew Aunt Edna wouldn’t want my father to waste it. She’d hated him. So I decided whenever Mum needed anything, I would give her the money in dribs and drabs and pretend it was wages I’d saved. I paid housekeeping money now anyway, to help out with the rent and bills.

Aunt Edna’s funeral was very sad, yet it showed her popularity. Hundreds of people turned up – so many that most of them couldn’t find room inside the church. Mum and Viv were in bits, but I managed to hold it together and read a eulogy. My aunt had been so good to me. It was the least I could do for her.

I hated sleeping back at home. My nightmares returned. They weren’t about that monster Ivan any more though. They were about the stampede, people getting crushed. I could see Aunt Edna clearly in my dreams, reaching out to me, a look of panic on her face, and me desperately trying to reach her.

I wasn’t the only one having bad dreams. Both Mum and Dad would wake Viv and me up, screaming and shouting. It truly was the house of bloody nightmares. Horrible.

Then finally some good news. The family upstairs were moving out. I urged Mum to tell the landlord we could afford to rent the whole house again, now I was working and Dad had a job in a factory that paid a steady wage. The landlord agreed, providing a deposit was paid up front in case we fell behind with the rent again. I paid the deposit out of Aunt Edna’s money. I was elated to have my old bedroom back. So was Viv.

But, as usual in my world, good news was accompanied by bad. That same day I found out the landlord had agreed, I ran over to Mrs O’Leary to tell her the good news and collect some of Edna’s cash.

Mary opened the door holding her rosary beads, her eyes red. ‘Whatever’s wrong?’ I asked.

Mary led me into what she called her best room. ‘It’s Daniel. He’s only gone and got his new bird, Bridie, in the family way. I warned him to be careful. Now he’s lumbered himself for life. He don’t love her. I know he don’t. He’s been seeing another girl behind poor Bridie’s back.’

My heart sank. I fell backwards onto the sofa. I’d so wanted to marry Daniel, have his children. I was gobsmacked. Dreaming of a future with Daniel was all that had kept me going through the bad times, even though I knew he dated other girls.

Mary squeezed my hand, as always knowing more than I realized. ‘You’ve had a lucky escape, darling, trust me. He’ll not make a good husband.’

A month later, Daniel and Bridie got married. I feigned illness. No way could I watch the man I loved marry another. My future was over. Why was life so bloody cruel to me?

Nine Months Later

New Year’s Eve 1943

‘Oh come on, Queenie. It’s New Year’s Eve, for goodness’ sake. You have to come to the pub with us,’ urged eighteen-year-old Doreen Laine.

‘Doreen’s right, Queenie. Even I’m going and I rarely go to pubs. My dad said he’ll pick me up, so he can drop you off home too. You won’t have to walk all that way,’ added Eliza, the boss’s daughter.

Doreen smirked. ‘There’ll be lots of handsome men there and I can show you the one I’ve got my eye on. Please come. It’ll be fun and you never know, you might meet the man of your dreams. I won’t leave you again if that’s what you’re worried about. I promise.’

The only time Queenie had been out with Doreen was on her birthday. They’d got chatting to two strapping American servicemen. Doreen got sloshed, disappeared with one and the other insisted on walking Queenie home. On the way, he tried it on. He dragged Queenie down an alleyway, stuck his tongue down her throat and grabbed her tits. Petrified, Queenie had kneed him where it hurt the most and run for her life. She’d vowed there and then never to go out with Doreen again.

‘Please come, Queenie,’ urged Eliza. ‘It won’t be the same without you.’

Queenie rolled her eyes. Pubs reminded her of Aunt Edna, which was why she disliked going to them. She knew her aunt would want her to go out and enjoy herself though. ‘OK. You’ve twisted my arm. But I haven’t a clue what to wear.’

On the journey home, Queenie couldn’t help but feel excited about her spur-of-the-moment decision. She had recently turned seventeen and this would be the first New Year’s Eve she’d celebrated in a pub with friends. Watching Daniel O’Leary walk around with his new wife by his side hurt Queenie more than she could ever admit, but she was determined to show everyone in Whitechapel that she was getting on with her life as if nothing had happened.

Queenie opened her bag and ran her fingers over the pretty navy and white polka-dot dress. It was lovely material and by far the nicest thing she’d ever treated herself to. It was also only the second item she’d purchased for herself from the shop where she worked. Mr Cohen had been ever so kind, allowing her to buy the dress at cost price. Most of their customers were wealthy Jewish women and Queenie now knew why Mr Cohen lived in a posh house in North London and drove a Pontiac Streamliner. The mark-up on his dresses was immense.

Thinking about Doreen’s words, Queenie hoped there would be plenty of handsome men to choose from this evening. She’d been asked out on a few dates, but none of those men had met the criteria she was looking for. Only five foot three herself, she was determined any potential suitor must be tall, like Daniel. She didn’t want short kids. She also didn’t want girls; she wanted big strapping sons who would grow up to protect her, like Daniel and Patrick. Daniel had a child now, a daughter. Queenie was glad it wasn’t a boy. She’d have been even more jealous had it been. Mary kept urging her to go out with the girls, find the man of her dreams.

Picturing Clark Gable, her favourite actor, Queenie smiled. Tall, dark and handsome, that’s the type of man she wanted. He had to be kind too, and a good provider. And having seen what alcohol did to her father, she would be steering well clear of drunks.

‘What you all dressed up for? Where you going?’ exclaimed fourteen-year-old Vivian.

‘To a pub, with Doreen and Eliza from work. Do I look all right?’

Vivian studied her older sister. They used to look very much alike, everybody said so. Slim, petite, with the same mousy-brown hair, worn shoulder length. But Queenie had dyed her hair blonde now and she had breasts. She looked so pretty in her beautiful dress that had a tight bodice, Vivian could not help but feel a bit envious. ‘But what if Dad comes home drunk and starts on Mum? What am I meant to do if I’m alone and you’re out?’

Queenie squeezed her sister’s hand. Their father had fallen off the wagon in spectacular fashion over Christmas. ‘I’ll be home not long after midnight. Just sit with Mum, and if Dad gets home before me, come up here and put the radio on like we usually do.’

Vivian scowled as her sister hugged her goodbye. Once upon a time, she and Queenie were inseparable and spent all their spare time together. Now Queenie was all grown-up, had a new life and friends. Vivian didn’t like that, not one little bit.

Doreen was waiting at the station when Queenie arrived. ‘Oh Queenie, you look amazing in that frock, but why the pale lipstick? Here, put some of mine on. Bright red gets you noticed.’

Queenie allowed her friend to apply the lipstick. Doreen Laine was five foot six and with her high heels on, looked like a giant in comparison to herself. She had short blonde hair and an aura about her – until she opened her red lips and started swearing like a trooper. Men seemed to adore her though. Doreen turned the heads of males even when she was working.

When Joseph turned up in his posh car with Eliza in the front, Queenie felt very grown-up as her boss dropped them off at the Beehive. Joseph stuffed some money in Eliza’s hand, warned them all not to get drunk, but insisted the drinks were on him this evening.

On entering the pub, Queenie clocked a group of lads looking their way. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was because they were an odd-looking set of friends. Doreen was the stunner. She was the average one, and poor Eliza bordered on ugly with her squat, plump body topped by a mass of fuzzy hair.

The atmosphere in the pub was one of jubilance. The East End had been through so much since the war had begun, but all that bastard Hitler had achieved was to make an already tight-knit community even stronger. The war might not be won yet, but everybody believed that England would defeat the Germans at all costs.

‘What shall we have to drink?’ Eliza asked, waving a ten-shilling note in the air.

‘Gin and tonic for me, please,’ Doreen shouted. The pub was ever so noisy.

‘I’ll have the same,’ Queenie smiled. She’d rarely drunk alcohol in the past, would actually prefer lemonade, but didn’t want to come across as immature in front of Doreen.

When a few American servicemen strutted over and began chatting to the girls, Queenie nervously sipped her drink. Two of them were extremely handsome, and tall, but Mrs O’Leary had warned her not to have anything to do with them. ‘Lily Turner’s eldest daughter and Clara Miller’s niece both got in the family way with American servicemen. You steer well clear, Queenie. They only want one thing, and most of them probably have girlfriends and wives back home,’ were Mary’s exact words. Queenie had reassured her friend there was no way she’d have anything to do with them after having been dragged into an alley by one.

‘Let’s make our way over to the piano. That’s where the bloke I like usually stands.’ Doreen craned her neck. ‘I can’t see him in ’ere at the moment though.’

‘What’s his name? This mystery man of yours,’ enquired Eliza.

‘I don’t know. I’ve only been in here twice before, with that Roger I dumped. He’s ever so good looking and always surrounded by fluttering females. You wait until you hear him sing. He’s got a lovely voice. I do hope he turns up. I’m assuming it’s his local.’

‘Let’s get this party started, shall we?’ bellowed the jolly-looking male pianist. There were whoops of delight as ‘Bye Bye Blackbird’ kicked off the evening’s entertainment. Queenie smiled. Aunt Edna sometimes used to start with ‘Bye Bye Blackbird’. Mary was always telling her to look out for signs. Perhaps this was one?

By 10 p.m., Queenie had already decided that this was the best night out she’d ever had. As much as she loved her mum, sister and Mary, it was wonderful to be able to temporarily forget about her shitty home-life and enjoy being a teenager with girls of a similar age.

‘That bloke’s looking at you again, Queenie. I bet he comes over in a minute,’ nudged Doreen. The pianist was taking a well-earned break, so they could hear themselves speak at last.

‘He’s got a kind face, Queenie. Nice eyes too,’ added Eliza.

Queenie turned her back on the lad in question. Dressed in a shirt, braces and checked cap, he reminded Queenie of one of the barrow boys off the market. ‘He’s not my type. I’m not interested.’

‘How can you say that without even talking to him?’ Eliza chuckled. She didn’t get any attention from blokes, but that didn’t bother her. Her parents expected her to marry a nice Jewish lad and had a list of possible suitors for her to meet next year.

‘He’s coming over,’ Doreen lied.

Queenie glanced around, then playfully punched her pal on the arm. ‘You fibber,’ she laughed. In her stunning red frock with lipstick to match, Doreen was getting plenty of male attention. ‘Why didn’t you like that chap who bought us a drink? I thought he was cheeky-looking,’ Queenie asked.

‘Not my cup of tea, and he’s a coalman. Imagine a man coming home every night covered in soot from head to foot. Sod that. I’d lock him out the bastard house,’ Doreen laughed. She came from an extremely rough family in Poplar, but like Queenie, was determined to better herself. She spoke nicely when working at the shop serving all those respectable Jewish women. Well, apart from that time she’d stubbed her toe in front of Mrs Rosenthal and a ‘fuck’ had accidentally flown out of her gob.

‘I’ll get us another drink. I’m having a lemonade now. What do you two want?’ asked Eliza.

‘Gin and tonic again for me, please,’ replied Doreen.

Queenie didn’t reply. She was fixated on a man in a smart suit who had obviously only just arrived, as people were greeting him and shaking his hand. His hair was black and he had a twinkle in his eyes. He was very handsome and at least six foot tall, but most importantly, he reminded her of Daniel.

‘Who you gawping at?’ Doreen asked, before turning around. She gripped Queenie’s arm. ‘Oh my God! The man. That’s him. Look, the one standing next to that chap in the trilby. He’s wearing a dark suit.’

Queenie’s heart sank. ‘What! Is that the one you fancy?’

Doreen beamed from ear to ear. ‘Yes. I didn’t think he was going to turn up. I must pop to the ladies to powder my nose. Hold my drink for me.’