Chapter 18

18

POOLE – MARCH 1941

When Charlie woke the next morning, the smells and sounds that attacked his senses took him immediately back to the Blitz. Even inside his small bedroom, with the window firmly shut against the cold March night air, he could smell smoke that must have come in through the chimney to the little fireplace that had been, and was still, unlit.

The all-clear siren had been sounded some hours earlier, but now there were whistles, and the clanging of the fire-truck bell, and men shouting from all directions. And yet, Charlie thought with an emotionless snort of dry humour, here he still lay: alive, surviving, alone.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, still pulling the straps of his braces over his shoulders, Mrs Rogers came in through the front door in a flurry.

‘Oh, there you are, son! Did you stay up there all night, you fool? You might have been killed, you know? I was down in the public shelter and had visions of you crushed beneath the rubble of this place,' she said admonishing him and yet the love and concern for him flowed like rivers.

‘I slept so soundly, I didn't hear the sirens, Mrs Rogers,' he lied easily. ‘But all's well, as you see,' he said, holding out his arms and grinning. ‘Here I am, all in one piece.'

She had moved into the kitchen and lit the range, and began to heat a kettle for tea, then mixed up some oats with water and a little milk, setting them on top to begin simmering. He stepped outside the back door and made his way to the shared outhouse, where, thankfully, there was no queue this morning. The smoke was thick and the air still full of the sounds of panic, but from this perspective, he couldn't see any buildings that were damaged.

‘It was a bad one, then, was it?' he asked his landlady as he took a seat at the kitchen table and gladly drank the cup of tea she placed before him.

‘The island took a lot of damage last night, and I'd say there's nothing left of Maryland this morning, looking at the flames going up over there. So sad, you know, that mad old woman taking over and throwing us all out. I grew up there, with all my brothers and sisters. Went to school in the little village, and Sunday school in St Mary's Church too. My father was a farmer on the island, as was his father before him,' she said. ‘Still, we must be grateful that Brownsea Island is doing its bit to protect us all now.'

Charlie had learnt that the area of Brownsea called Maryland Village had stood empty of all but ghosts ever since Mrs Bonham-Christie had bought the island and ordered all the inhabitants to leave in 1927. She turned the island into a nature reserve of sorts and after a dreadful fire in 1934, she had not let a soul visit the place. But the defence forces had decided to set up the village as a decoy for bombers, and flares were lit all over Maryland, attracting the attention of the Luftwaffe away from Poole and Bournemouth – and particularly the munitions factory on Holton Heath between Poole and Wareham – while the towns on the mainland were protected by blackout.

‘There must have been a few places hit on the mainland too, going by the sirens and shouting I can hear outside. Can't see any damage near here though,' Charlie commented and he started to blow on the bowl of hot porridge he'd been given.

‘Yes, there's a few places hit around West Quay Road, and I hear that Parkstone took quite a lot of damage, and even some places at Canford Cliffs. They're saying it's the worst air raid we've had here so far. Usually, it seems they just drop their bombs off here on their way home from the other cities, but this time it was more of a direct attack, so they're saying,' she told him.

Charlie ate on in silence as he thought about the VIP guests who had spent the night up at the Harbour Heights Hotel. What would happen to Britain's chances if Churchill were taken out, let alone De Gaulle and Mr Menzies, all at once? It didn't bear thinking about. And had the whole raid been meant for them? He glanced at his watch and, thanking Mrs Rogers politely for his breakfast, Charlie set off on the short walk to the harbour commissioner's office where he was due to meet Peggy for the first trip of the day.

Peggy didn't know how long she had stayed at the back fence watching the flames and smoke billowing out from Maryland Village on Brownsea Island. The Symonds family had spent most of the night in their Anderson shelter and with nothing but harbour waters between them and Brownsea, the noise of the bombs that fell there through the night had been terrifying. Several times, Mrs Symonds had shrieked in fear and Peggy was certain that their house, or at least one very close by, must have been hit. But in the smoky, hazy light of dawn, after the all-clear had sounded, they had crept out and been amazed to discover not one house within sight had been hit. After a subdued and sleepy breakfast at the kitchen table, she had taken a last trip down the garden to the outhouse, and had become transfixed, watching the fires rage on the island.

But now she must draw her strength, from those deep reserves she was discovering inside that she never knew she had before the war, and get on with the day. She looked to the north, towards Hamworthy and the RAF base where she knew Darrell would be. There were no smoke plumes in that direction, thank God. She sighed and turned on her heels, heading back into the kitchen to collect her bag and gas mask before trotting off down the road towards the quay, calling a quick cheerio over her shoulder as she left. Her dad was staying home today, as the smoke on the harbour made fishing too difficult, and her mother needed him close for her nerves' sake.

Peggy saw the smoke coming from over near Holes Bay, probably on West Quay Road. As she was passing the pottery, she was busy looking out across the harbour to Brownsea again when Rose Stevens ran out and called her name.

‘Peggy! Can you stop in here for a few minutes, on your way, please?' Rose called.

Peggy looked at her watch. Still fifteen minutes before she was due to pick up the launch key, and plenty of time before she had to be at Salterns to pick up the guests from the hotel and take them out to board their early-morning flight.

‘Morning, Rose. How did you and your sister sleep last night?'

In reply, Rose just grunted and made a face.

‘Enough said. Must be tough for Daisy, getting so well on with the baby as she is. But at least the two of you have your shelter to yourselves. There are four of us crammed into ours and poor Molly is not one to suffer in silence! It's like a game of hide-and-seek in the cupboard under the stairs.' Rose managed a smile at this, though Peggy could see she had something important on her mind.

‘Major Carter would like a word, if you don't mind, please Peggy. Just this way,' she said, leading Peggy into the offices of the major who was responsible for Field Safety in Poole Harbour.

‘Ah, good morning, Miss Symonds,' the major said as he stood to welcome Peggy with a businesslike handshake. He indicated she should take a seat, and Peggy was surprised when Rose sat down beside her as well. She was too stunned to make any small talk and simply waited for him to speak.

‘You'll be aware of my new position since the war – that I'm responsible, as part of the British Army, for the security of Poole Harbour and surrounds, especially as relates to the BOAC flying boat services.' He said it as a statement of fact. There was no room for Peggy to claim she had no knowledge of the fact, and so she simply nodded in response.

‘You will also be aware, as part of the fleet of staff who took part in the transfer, that three very important dignitaries were spending the night at the Harbour Heights Hotel last night,' he said with meaning and he leant towards her, resting his forearms on the desk as he did so.

‘Yes, sir, I am aware. Very important dignitaries indeed,' she said.

‘Quite so. And you will also be aware, as are we all, that last night Poole was targeted by the Luftwaffe in what was the most extensive air raid to date?'

‘Yes, sir. It was a terribly rough night,' she said.

‘The thing is, Peggy, we want to be sure you understand the very serious nature of the secrecy needed around our guest lists. We are reminding all the staff, individually, that nothing of the business of BOAC must ever be repeated outside of our own circle. Our nation is depending on this. You understand me?' he asked with a very firm tone.

Peggy took a few seconds to think about the conversation she'd had with Fletcher, just yesterday, and how much further up the pecking line Fletcher must be than Major Carter. Did the major even know of Fletcher's existence? Possibly not. But of one thing she was sure: they were all in grave danger while Hitler was still at large and there was a possibility of spies in Poole.

‘Yes, sir, I understand you perfectly. Mum's the word,' she replied.

As Peggy left the pottery, and stepped back outside into the smoky gloom caused by the bombs of the Luftwaffe planes dropped on Poole overnight, and probably intended for Churchill, de Gaulle, and Menzies, she knew that she would stop at nothing to protect them all from any spy that might be leaking secrets to the enemy. But she was utterly convinced that Charlie was not that spy.