A Strong Hand to Hold. Anne Bennett
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see her, for she thought Jenny’s mother sounded like a silly cow. Everyone knew that housework and babbies were women’s work. ‘Why did they come to live in Birmingham?’ she asked as the silence between them lengthened, but Jenny’s reply was stopped, for suddenly there was a shout above them. ‘Are you all right down there?’
Jenny gave a sigh of relief. ‘We’re fine.’
Cor blimey, thought the man who’d broken through close enough to communicate with the girls. They’re alive!
That cheered him, for as the icy night had drawn its freezing cloak about everyone, hope had died among the rescuers. It was hard to keep working in the dark and intense cold, when all you expected to recover from your efforts were two corpses. God, when he took the news back, it would make everything seem worthwhile.
But none of his thoughts did he portray in his voice. He forced himself to speak calmly, in order that neither of them was alarmed as he shouted down, ‘We’ll start moving the heavy stuff now. Don’t be alarmed at the noise. We might disturb some dust and that. Wanted you to be prepared. Take some time, I’d say, because we might have to shore it up as we go.’
‘That’s all right,’ Jenny said. She knew they’d need to take extreme care, but however nerve-racking it would be, it was the first step to their release. She felt lightheaded as she thought that in a few hours they might be free and out in fresh air again. The air around them had got extremely muggy and she wondered how much air there was left but she definitely didn’t want Linda worrying about it, so she said brightly, ‘This calls for a celebration! What about another biscuit and a drink of water?’
Linda laughed. ‘You’re a proper daft bugger, you are,’ she said. ‘But you’re dead nice with it.’
For a while all that could be heard was the sound of crunching. Linda finished her biscuit and said, ‘I feel as if I’ve known you all my life. I reckon our mom will be really grateful to you, coming back like you said you would. She’ll want to thank you, I know she will. You’ll like my mom; she’s nice.’ There was a pause and Linda said, ‘You ain’t that keen on your mom, are you?’
Jenny hesitated a moment or two and then decided to tell the truth. ‘I don’t like her that much,’ she said. ‘I don’t think she’s that keen on me either.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jenny said wearily. ‘I don’t really think she wanted any more children for one thing. She already had four. Then I don’t look like the others either. I take after my dad’s side of the family. I look just like my Gran O’Leary did when she was young, and I’m glad because I think the world of her.’
‘Well, I think you’ve got a lovely face,’ Linda said firmly. ‘I can’t see much of it, but you look really friendly. Tell you the truth, I ain’t been so pleased to see anyone in my life as I was to see you. I thought I was going to die all by myself.’
‘Oh but that’s different,’ Jenny said. ‘I mean in your position I’d have been pleased to see Dracula.’
‘Hmm, I suppose so,’ Linda agreed and then with a spark of humour added, ‘You’re nicer looking than Dracula though, not much mind, but a bit.’
Jenny marvelled at the young girl’s spirit.
They lay in silence for some time, then Linda said, ‘Talk to me some more, Jenny.’
‘What about?’
‘Tell me about your gran and what she did when she first came to Birmingham.’
‘Well, she went to work in the Jewellery Quarter,’ Jenny said.
‘Oh I’d love it there,’ Linda cried. ‘I’ve only been once in my life. What did she do?’
‘She made watch chains, bracelets and necklaces,’ Jenny said. ‘At first she operated a press to cut out the rough for the men to work on, but then she learnt how to do it herself. She knew how to enamel brooches and badges too.’
‘I’d love to do that,’ Linda said again.
‘Well you can if you’d want to, I’d say.’
‘If the war ain’t over, I’ll probably have to work in munitions,’ Linda said glumly. ‘Mom likes it, but I don’t think I will.’
‘Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like,’ Jenny said. ‘But the war won’t last for ever, will it?’ Eventually all the workshops and factories will make other things just like they did before the war. We’re lucky in Birmingham.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s the workshop of the world. Don’t you know that?’
‘I never heard that before.’
Jenny gave a little laugh. ‘I didn’t understand it when Daddy told me either,’ she said. ‘It means Birmingham makes so many things, small things like safety pins and nuts and bolts, up to bicycles, motor bikes and cars, while related firms like Dunlop make rubber for the tyres. We also have our own jewellery quarter and thriving brass industry. It means, not only are there lots of jobs, but there’s also a variety of them, see? You can do more or less any job you want, if you set your heart on it.’
She was glad they’d both been warned about the noise the rescuers might make because it was unnerving. The sides of their space beneath the stairs kept groaning and shaking, and plaster and brick dust began to trickle down on them. Jenny found herself holding her breath, expecting any minute for the lot to crash in on them, burying them both. She wondered how Linda was bearing up against the new danger that seemed to be around them, and when she felt a small hand tighten around hers, she knew the level of panic within her. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘They know what they’re doing.’
‘I know,’ Linda’s voice was a mere whisper. ‘My legs are beginning to pain me again.’
Jenny wasn’t surprised. They had been trapped a long time; small wonder the morphine had begun to wear off. ‘If my mom was here, we’d be singing together,’ Linda said with a stifled sob. Jenny felt she had to take the child’s mind off the pain in her legs if she could, so though she hated any reference to Linda’s mother, in case it should lead to awkward questions, she said, ‘Did you used to sing a lot?’
‘Sometimes,’ Linda said. ‘Once we sang all the time but that was before Mom married that Ted Prosser, and then we stopped ’cos he didn’t like it. Mom’s got a lovely voice and we had a good old sing-song in the shelter, for the babbies you know. They was scared to death – so were we really – but in a way it was worse for them, ’cos they don’t understand nothing do they?’
‘No,’ Jenny said, and before Linda could say anything else about the little boys that Jenny had seen crushed to death, she went on, ‘why don’t you sing here for me, now?’
‘On me own?’ Linda said.
‘Why not?’
‘I’m no good without Mom,’ Linda said. ‘And I’d feel proper daft.’
‘Why?’ Jenny said. ‘It isn’t as if I can even see you.’
Linda considered Jenny’s words. It was true, no one could see her and no one but Jenny would hear her, either, and she could often forget things when she sang. Perhaps the pain in her bloody legs wouldn’t be so bad either. ‘I’ll sing for you,’ she said. ‘It’s me mom’s favourite. It ain’t mine. I like something a bit jollier, but she sings along with this whenever it’s on the wireless.’
‘What is it?’
‘“A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square”,’ Linda said, and without another word she opened her mouth and began, ‘“When true lovers meet in Mayfair, so the legends tell …”’
Jenny was stunned by the beauty and clarity of the voice. It was so sweet and clear and perfectly in tune, it moved Jenny