Beware This Boy Read Online Free PDF

perhaps they’d had experience. I know Dad did, although he rarely talks about it. Dad even got through the police cordon and came to see if there was anything he could do. I told him to deal with the rest of the workers, get them to go home and make sure somebody was with them. He didn’t try to talk me out of my task, bless him. The factory caretaker, the Polish refugee, came in. He’s been nicknamed Wolf because his real name is unpronounceable. He immediately volunteered to fix the huge hole in the roof with a temporary tarpaulin. He doesn’t speak much English but he was calm and efficient, although he too looked dreadful. Bless him too. In emergencies such as these, people going about their business without being asked are deserving of the George Medal, if you ask me
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    I’ll try to go to see the Deacons tomorrow. At least Mum went on our behalf tonight when she heard the news about Tess. She said the sorrow was almost unbearable. Tess was their pride and joy. Just twenty years old. We sent her a birthday card two weeks ago. What a waste of a young life, the promise snuffed out in an instant. I assume there will be some kind of investigation into what happened, but with the kind of work those young women were doing, an accident can happen anytime. It’s both tedious and dangerous, which is the worst kind of combination
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    Christmas will be here in no time. I’m not looking forward to it. How desolate it will seem with so manymen overseas and so many families destroyed by the bombing. It makes you wonder if we can keep going.
    Eileen looked over what she had written and replaced the notepaper on the table. Was there really somebody reading these diaries? Or was it a futile gesture that mattered to no one?
    She turned off her light and lay awake in the dark.

    Steelhouse Lane Police Station was an imposing three-storey building that had an aura of authority reminiscent of the Victorian era. In actuality it had opened its doors only in 1933. It was often called grand, sometimes intimidating. Tyler thought that your opinion was dictated by your conscience. At the moment, however, its dignity was somewhat diminished by piles of sandbags stacked around the perimeter. Tyler stepped into the grand arched doorway and pressed the bell. Alf Mason himself answered the door immediately.
    “Tom. Good to see you. Wasn’t sure you’d ever get here.”
    “Sorry. They had to clear the tracks twice.”
    “You were lucky it was only twice. Come on in.” They shook hands heartily, with some additional thumps on each other’s arms. “Give me your things.”
    Tyler handed over his hat and coat and Mason ruffled his hair playfully.
    “What happened to the carrot top? You’re almost as much silver as red now.”
    “At least I’ve still got some,” retorted Tyler.
    Mason chuckled, rubbing his own smooth dome ruefully. “I heard that bald heads were a sign of intelligence.”
    “The brains burning out the hair, I suppose?”
    “Something like that.” He snatched Tyler’s suitcase before he could protest. “Here, let me take your bag. Let’s go up to the common room. I’ve got a kettle on the boil.”
    He led the way up a poorly lit flight of stairs and ushered Tyler in. Warmth and brightness welcomed him.
    “Thought you’d like a bit of a warm,” said Mason. “Mind you, we had to burn some of the furniture to keep the fire going.”
    Tyler grinned. “Too bad there’s a war on. You could requisition some new stuff. Looks like you could do with it.”
    Heavy use had already softened the furniture and scuffed the wood flooring.
    “Go and warm up your cockles,” said Mason. He began to gather together the newspapers that were scattered on one of the couches. “That’s all my mess. I spend most of my time in here when I’m not working. My house took a hit a few days ago and I’ve moved in here with the bachelors.”
    Tyler had obediently gone to the hearth. He turned around. “Good Lord, Alf. I didn’t know you