The Air Raid Book Club(77)

“Now, now, Gertie. There’s no time for all that. You did what you thought was right. That’s all we can ever do. Now, we must concentrate all our efforts on the rescue.” She reached out a hand and squeezed her arm. “We will find her.”

They worked all night and into the next morning as the day dawned pink and orange in a sky still thick with smoke and plaster dust. Gerald appeared after his warden shift, bringing another flask of tea and an air of quiet purpose. Together the three of them heaved and hauled the filthy debris until their hands were raw. The task seemed impossible, like trying to shovel snow in the middle of an avalanche. Gertie looked from the pile they’d cleared to the mountainous heaps remaining and felt her shoulders sag.

“We thought you might need some help,” said a familiar voice. Gertie turned, blinking through the rubble dust at Miss Snipp, standing with Miss Crow, Cynthia, and several of Margery’s WVS volunteers including Emily Farthing. For once in her life, Gertie Bingham was lost for words.

“Jolly good,” said Margery, rolling up her sleeves. “Just what we need. Right. Miss Farthing, you start to clear from this side with Miss Crow; Cynthia, you come with me and Miss Snipp. Gertie, Gerald, the rest are with you.”

Hemingway circled the group as they worked, sniffing the air for his beloved Hedy. After more hours of clearing, a shout went up. “I see corrugated iron here!” cried Emily. Hemingway made a beeline for the spot and began to bark.

“Here!” cried Margery. “We need to dig here.”

They hurried over and redoubled their efforts to the one spot, clearing as quickly as they could until everyone was covered in dust and the door to the shelter was visible.

“Right,” said Margery. “Put your backs into it.”

They heaved at the door, which was bent out of shape and wedged fast.

“Again,” she said, jutting out her chin. “Imagine we’re playing tug-of-war with Hitler himself.”

They shot one another steely nods.

“On my count. One. Two. Three!”

The door gave way with a metallic shriek as they wrenched it from its hinges. They peered into the inky darkness.

“We need light,” called Margery.

Gerald passed his flashlight to Gertie, whose fingers were trembling as she took it. Margery placed a hand on her shoulder as she directed the beam inside. The shelter looked almost exactly as she’d left it. There were the mattresses, blankets, her tea and book from earlier, the candle knocked to the floor. Gertie narrowed her eyes, desperate and fearful of what she might see as she darted the light from left to right.

It was the locket she caught sight of first, glinting like lost treasure. The locket Sam had given Hedy on her sixteenth birthday when the world was still intact, when life had been full of light. She followed the beam and there, tucked in the corner, her eyes closed as if she was fast asleep, was Hedy.

“I see her!” she cried. “Help me down. Please. Someone help me down.”

Strong hands reached out to lift Gertie into the darkness. Margery shone the flashlight as Gertie inched toward Hedy, her heart thundering in her ears. Please, she prayed. Please let her be alive. She crept nearer, whispering, “Hedy? Hedy, can you hear me?” The silence was suffocating.

“Check her pulse, Gertie. Feel her wrist,” urged Margery.

Gertie knelt beside her and reached out through the dank darkness. She took hold of her hand. It was freezing cold. “I’m so sorry, my darling Hedy,” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry.” She felt her wrist, tracing the veins with her fingertips, desperately hoping, willing there to be the smallest beat of life. Gertie began to shake her head as she realized it was useless. “No. No, no, no.”

“Try her neck,” urged Margery. “Just under the back of her jaw.”

Gertie did as she was told, sniffing back her tears. “Please, Hedy. Please. The world needs you. I need you.” She closed her eyes as thoughts of all those she’d loved and lost flooded her mind. She hadn’t been able to save them, and now this precious girl, entrusted to her by her mother, would be lost too. A vision of her loved ones’ bright faces danced before her: Jack teasing Gertie at her wedding, Lilian comforting her when she was ill, her father smiling proudly, and Harry. Dear Harry. Her true and only love. That was the moment Gertie felt it. Her own heart skipped in unison. A flicker of life. A tiny pulse. Very faint but very certain. She opened her eyes and jumped to her feet. “She’s alive!” she cried. “I can feel a pulse. It’s very weak. Send for an ambulance. Quickly! She’s alive!”



The prognosis from the doctor was grim. “She’s lucky to be alive and she’s not out of the woods yet. She inhaled a great deal of plaster dust while trapped under the rubble. Her lung function is severely compromised. For now, she needs rest and recuperation.”

Gertie visited every day. There were strict visiting times, but depending on which nurse was on duty, she was sometimes allowed to flout the rules and stay a little longer. Nurse Willoughby was her favorite. She had a daughter the same age as Hedy.

“You’d do anything to make sure they’re all right, wouldn’t you?” she said. Hedy was yet to open her eyes or communicate with more than a gentle sigh.

Gertie kept her eyes fixed on Hedy’s face. “Yes,” she said. “Anything.”