The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Dear Billy

It’s my favorite birthday card. Truly it is. I love it. You did such a good job drawing everyone. And I’m glad you didn’t forget Spitfire. She’d have been so cross! (She’s curled up in my lap, purring and watching me write.) I can’t wait to show your dad. He’ll be pleased as punch to see all those medals on his chest.

I’ve tucked the other cards away in the sideboard, but yours is staying put. Pride of place on the mantelpiece. I lift it down each morning and last thing at night, running my finger along your name and pressing my lips against the scribbled kisses.

I should’ve known you were up to something when you spent so many hours in your room. How you kept it secret, I’ll never know. I remember catching you and Aunt Mary whispering in the hallway and asking what mischief you two were cooking up. And you’d just shrugged your shoulders and winked at her.

It made my day when she handed me your card. I’d almost forgotten it was my birthday. Didn’t seem worth celebrating, not without you and your dad.

I longed for it to be last year when I’d listened to the pair of you rattling pans in the kitchen. The smell of bacon and eggs wafting through the house. I couldn’t stop smiling when I’d heard you clatter up the stairs, giggling and shushing one another. How hard you laughed Billy when you thought you’d surprised me. You rolled around on the bed, clutching your belly, and yelling ‘got you, got you.’

What a treat to be so spoiled, so loved. I honestly didn’t think life could get any better. I miss those moments. Miss you both.

The house is silent now. Bereft. Like it’s holding its breath until everyone’s home. I don’t think I ever noticed how loudly the coals hiss in the grate or that I startle every time the grandfather clock chimes the hour. How I resent its ticking. A constant reminder of how long you’ve been gone.

I’d give anything to see you dance round the front room, jigging to the jazz music on the radio and groaning when the news came on. ‘Oh, turn it off’, you’d say flopping down next to me on the sofa. And I’d hold my finger to my lips and say we might hear news of your dad. You’d sigh and rest your head on my shoulder asking when he’d be home.

It broke my heart. Really it did. I didn’t know what to tell you. Didn’t know myself. I’d just brush the hair from your eyes and say he’d be back when the war was over.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after you like daddy told me to,’ you’d say grabbing my hand. ‘Once daddy’s home can we go back to Llandudno?’

And I’d promised we would. Said we’d stay in the same boarding house on the promenade and visit the ice cream parlor at the end of the pier. A proper holiday to celebrate being back together.

I meant it Billy. I gave you my word.

It got worse after you left. The bombing relentless, never ending. I don’t remember the last time I slept through until morning. Huge circles ring my eyes and my hair hangs round my face, limp and dull.

I’m in Aunt Mary’s bad books for refusing to go with her to the public shelter. But it’s too noisy, too crowded. And it doesn’t matter how many blankets I put down, the platforms at the underground station are cold and unforgiving.

No, I’d rather stay in the cellar. At least that way I can shut my eyes and pretend we’re all together. I wriggle into the space under the stairs, press my back against the wall and wait for it to be over.

The planes thunder overhead, the house vibrating and buzzing, the windows rattling in their frames. I bury my face in Spitfire’s fur and squeeze her tight, shaking when high-pitched shrieks whistle through the sky. I hold my breath until the earth shudders, and red brick dust skitters to the floor.

The bombs have destroyed so many buildings. Whole streets have vanished; swallowed up by piles of rubble. Homes reduced to nothing but splintered wood and brick. It breaks my heart. People have lost so much. Everything.

It’s such a mess Billy, such a pointless bloody mess. All I ever wanted was to protect you. Wrap you up in cotton wool and keep you safe. I hope you know that. If I’d thought, if I’d known…

You looked so little on the quayside. In your best woolen coat, socks pulled up to your knees, gas mask dangling over your shoulder. You’d skipped along between me and Aunt Mary, chattering away, fizzing with excitement.

Although that could’ve been down to the chocolate too. Yes, I saw you sneak the bar out of your case on the tram. Honestly, Billy, it was supposed to last you at least part of the journey. When I wiped the corner of your mouth with a clean hankie, you’d just grinned. Your smile so like your dad’s.

‘Do you think I’ll see daddy’s boat?’ you’d asked, and I’d chewed my lip and pulled you into my arms, reminding you that you were headed in the opposite direction towards Canada.

You’d wriggled free, puffed out your chest and said: ‘When I grow up, I’m going to be just like daddy. I’ll wear a uniform and go to war.’

I’d held you tight then and rested my chin on your head, praying there’d never be another war like this. Murmuring over and over into your hair how much I loved you.

Then it was time.

I’d clasped your hand, and we weaved between the soldiers marching across the dock, buckling under the weight of their duffel bags. Men yelling as they hurled bags of flour onto wooden carts. It was so busy; I was terrified I was going to lose you.

We’d lined up with the other families, waiting for the man to check your name on his clipboard. You hopped from foot to foot and gazed in wonder at the huge ship, stumbling over the word ‘Benares’ emblazoned on its side.

‘You will write to me, won’t you?’ you’d asked and for a second you looked so much younger than your nine years. I’d nodded, choking down the lump in my throat and smoothing down your hair. I kissed you one last time. Oh, my boy. My precious, precious boy

I was still fumbling in my bag for a tissue when I’d heard you shout for me and Aunt Mary. I’d looked up and there you were, hanging over the railings of the ship, laughing and waving surrounded by a crowd of children. Your socks were already round your ankles and goodness knows what you’d done with your coat. ‘I love you mummy’ you’d yelled, giving me the thumbs up and pulling faces.

Oh, Billy.

And I was fine. Really, I was. Right up until when the clock struck six on the Liver Building, the ship’s horn bellowing and scattering the screeching gulls. The chimney belching thick black smoke into the sky. Then I’d wanted to run up the gangplank and whisk you away, take you home. But Aunt Mary held me back, gripping my arm and reminding me it was for the best.

For the best, I’d whispered, shaking my head.

I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cry. That I wouldn’t show you up. So, I’d smiled and smiled until my cheeks ached, the tears rolling down my face. I stood on the docks, waving and waving until your ship was just a spec on the horizon. And then I left. Without you.

I’m not sure how I got through those first few days. All I could think about was you. Were you eating properly, able to sleep without Spitfire curled up on your bed. Did you get seasick or were you like your dad? I hoped you found my note and the comics I’d hidden at the bottom of your case. I hoped you thought of me too. Knew how much I loved you. How I wanted the bloody war to end and for you and your dad to come home.

And I’d never let us be separated again.

Eight days. It was eight days after you’d left when the postman knocked on the door and handed me a letter. Official looking it was, postmarked London. I ripped it open, the words blurring, sliding off the paper.

‘I am very distressed to inform you … the ship carrying your child to Canada was torpedoed on Tuesday night, September 17th… your child was not among those reported as rescued … no chance of there being any further survivors.’

It took me a minute to work out where the howling was coming from, then I realized it was me, screaming out your name. I slid down the doorframe, burying my face in my hands, sobbing.

Dead. Killed. How could it be possible, Billy? I can’t believe you’ll never walk into the house again, wrap your arms round my waist and tell me you’re still hungry. I’ll never get to see you grow up; see the man you would’ve become. It’s all been taken. You’ve been taken.

I’m so sorry Billy. I thought I was doing the right thing, sending you away. Trying to keep you safe. I wish I could go back in time and snatch you off the ship and take you home. If I’d thought, if I’d known…

I just hope you understand. Know how loved you were. How loved you’ll always be.

Till we meet again.

All my love,

Mum

NOTE:

This is based on a true story. On Friday 13 September 1940, The SS City of Benares, known as the Children’s Ship, set sail from Liverpool. The ship was carrying 90 evacuee children heading to Canada to escape the war. Liverpool was the one of the worst bombed cities outside London because of its huge docks and factories. Four days later the Benares was torpedoed off the coast of Ireland. 81 children died along with 173 other passengers and crew. Only 105 people were rescued by the Royal Navy. This was considered one of the worst tragedies involving children during WWII. Thanks so much for reading.