Birmingham Blitz Read Online Free PDF Page B

it, other hand holding the cigarette in front of her face. Her skin looked pasty, nose shiny with night sweat. She was often like that, miles away, but this time her expression was drawn and frightened. I didn’t even think she’d seen me, until she said, ‘What’re we going to do?’
    I stared at her. I was angry at her for sending Eric away, and angrier because I knew she was right: there was going to be a war and none of us knew what would happen, and we were all confused and frightened.
    ‘How d’you mean?’
    ‘I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing.’
    You’re the mom, I thought, not me. What you asking me for?
    ‘Mrs Spini’s got four to send,’ I said, stepping past her.
    ‘Thought she wasn’t going to.’
    ‘Changed her mind.’
    ‘Typical.’ Tutting. ‘Italians.’
    I filled the teapot. Mom turned, slit-eyed, smoke unfurling from her nose. ‘I’m only doing what I’m told, you know Genie.’ She pointed in, towards Gloria. ‘She – I mean they – say that’s what we’ve got to do. This is an evacuation area. So we’re s’posed to evacuate.’
    ‘Well that’s all right then, isn’ it?’
    ‘What are you looking at me like that for then?’
    ‘I don’t know.’ I could feel the tears coming on. I turned away.
    We heard my dad coming down. The stair door pushed open into the back room.
    ‘It’s right, in’t it Victor?’
    ‘What is?’ He was stood there in his shirt and underpants.
    ‘Sending Eric out of harm’s way.’
    Dad looked in some amazement into Mom’s pinched, foxy face and saw that for the first time any of us could remember she was actually asking his advice. He pulled his shoulders back and stroked the reddish stubble on his chin. ‘I should say so. If that’s what they’re saying.’
    ‘Where is he, anyhow?’
    ‘In my bed. Still asleep. He came in in the night, crying.’
    ‘Shame.’ Mom stubbed out her cigarette, grey ash dirtying a white saucer. ‘Better get him up. It’s an early start.’ She went to the bread bin and fished out the stub end of a loaf. ‘I’ll make him a piece. He’ll need summat on his stomach.’
    Eric had to leave as soon as he’d had breakfast. His little bag and his gas mask stood forlornly in the hall. He clung to me, bawling his eyes out, and I was in tears myself. Hadn’t thought how much I’d miss him, even though he’d been stuck to me like my shadow all his life. There’d be no more Eric sneaking out after school with jam jars to sell for a ha’penny each, or driving us mad with that clattering go-cart of his with the back wheel falling off. No more walks to Cannon Hill Park to ‘get him from under my feet’ with a stale crust for the ducks. He suddenly seemed the most precious person I knew, my baby brother.
    ‘Can’t you come with me, sis?’ he sobbed, already in his little gaberdine coat.
    ‘I’ve got to get to work, Eric. Mom’ll look after you. We’ll see you soon.’ Someone had their hands round my throat. ‘Won’t be for long.’
    Mom didn’t say much, couldn’t. I did my best to hide most of my tears until they were away down the road. I stood waving him off, him turning, cap on his head, silver streaks of dried tears on his cheeks and new ones coming. He was twisting round, trying to wave, right the way to the corner. Then they were gone.
    I had a proper cry then, upstairs. Dad had gone out the back. I suppose he was upset too. After, I blew my nose, pulled myself together and hurried to work. I thought of Eric all the way there, wondering where he’d end up, what it was like outside Birmingham, and what an unknown family somewhere would make of the arrival of my snotty-nosed brother, Eric Rudolph Valentino Watkins.
    Palmer’s was on the Moseley Road, its golden balls hanging outside. It was a dark little shop and stank a bit inside of course, of frowsty clothes and camphor, of the gas lamp that was kept burning most of the time so we could see to write out the tickets, and of Mr