Blackout

En Route to London-9 September 1940

THE TRAIN WASN’T QUITE AS JAMMED AS THE ONE EILEEN had sent Theodore home on in December, but every compartment was filled, and she had to wrestle the children and their luggage through three cars before they found space in a compartment with a portly businessman, two young women, and three soldiers. Eileen had to hold Theodore on her lap and sit across from Alf and Binnie. “You two behave,” she told them.

“We will,” Alf promised and promptly began tugging on the sleeve of the stout man who had the window seat. “I got to sit by the window so I can look for planes,” he said, but the man went on reading his newspaper, which read, “German ‘Blitz’ Tests London’s Resolve.”

“I’m an official planespotter,” Alf said, and when the man still refused to move, Binnie bent toward Alf and whispered loudly, “Don’t talk to ’im. I’ll wager ’e’s a fifth columnist.”

The soldiers looked up.

“What’s a fifth columnist?” Theodore asked.

“Here,” Eileen said, taking a packet from the basket the vicar had given them and handing it across to Alf and Binnie. “Have a biscuit.”

“A fifth columnist’s a traitor,” Binnie said, staring hard at the man.

He rattled his newspaper irritably.

“They look just like me ’n’ you,” Alf said. “They pretend to be readin’ the papers, but they’re really spyin’ on people and then tellin’ ’Itler.”

The two young women began whispering to each other. Eileen caught the word “spy,” and so, apparently, did the man, because he lowered his paper to glare at them and then at Alf, who was munching on a biscuit, and then retreat behind his newspaper again.

“You can tell fifth columnists by the way they hate children,” Binnie told Theodore. “That’s ’cause children are ’specially good at spottin’ them.”

Alf nodded. “’E looks exactly like Gцring, don’t ’e?”

“This is intolerable!” the man exclaimed. He flung his newspaper down on the seat, stood up, yanked his valise down from the overhead rack, and stormed out. Binnie immediately moved into the now-vacant window seat, and Eileen expected an explosion from Alf, but he continued calmly munching his biscuit.

“You better not eat that,” Binnie said. “You’ll be sick.”

The soldier and the young women looked up alertly.

Alf dug another biscuit out of the packet and bit into it. “I will not.”

“You will so. He’s allus sick on trains,” she said to the soldiers. “’E threw up all over Eileen’s shoes, didn’t ’e, Eileen?”

“Binnie-” Eileen began, but Alf shouted over her, “That was when I ’ad the measles. It don’t count.”

“Measles?” one of the soldiers said nervously. “They’re not contagious, are they?”

“No,” Eileen said, “and Alf isn’t going to-”

“I don’t feel well,” Alf said, clutching his middle. He made a gagging sound and bent over a cupped hand.

“I told you,” Binnie said triumphantly, and within moments the compartment had emptied, and Alf had scooted over to the other window. “Can I have a sandwich, Eileen?” he asked.

“I thought you got sick on trains,” Eileen said, moving Theodore off her lap and onto the seat beside her.

“I do, ’specially when I ain’t ’ad nothin’ to eat.”

“You just had two biscuits.”

“No, ’e ain’t,’ Binnie said. “’E ’ad six,” and the compartment door opened.

An elderly woman leaned in. “Oh, good, there’s room in here, Lydia,” she said, and she and two other elderly ladies came in. “Little boy,” one of them said to Alf, “you don’t mind sitting next to your sister, do you? There’s a good boy.”

“No, of course he doesn’t mind,” Eileen said quickly. “Alf, come sit here next to me.” She pulled Theodore onto her lap again.

“But what about my planespottin’?” Alf protested.

“You can look out Binnie’s window. And don’t you dare pretend to be sick again,” she whispered. “And no fifth columnists, or you shan’t have any lunch.”

Alf looked as if he was going to object and then reached into his pocket and said to the ladies, “Want to see my pet mouse?”

“Mouse?” one of them squeaked, and all three shrank back against the upholstered seat.

“Alf-” Eileen said warningly.

“I told ’im not to bring it,” Binnie said virtuously, and Alf took his fisted hand from his pocket. A long pink tail dangled from it. “’Is name’s Arry,” he said, holding his fist out to the ladies.

Two of them shrieked, and all three scooped up their things, and fled. “Alf-” Eileen said.

“All you said was no being sick and no fifth columnists,” he said, sticking his fist back in his pocket. “You never said nuthin’ about mice.” He shut the compartment door, sat down by the window, and pressed his nose to the glass. “Look, there’s a Wellington!”

“Alf, give me that mouse this instant.”

“But I gotta mark down where I seen the Wellington.” He pulled out the map the vicar’d given him and began to unfold it.

Eileen snatched the map away from him. “Not till you give me that mouse.” She held out her hand.

“All right,” Alf said grudgingly, bringing it out of his pocket. “It’s only a bit of string.” He held a faded pink cord out in his open palm.

It looked oddly familiar.

“Where did you get this?”

“That carpet of Lady Caroline’s,” Binnie said.

“It fell off,” Alf said.

Lady Caroline’s priceless medieval tapestry. And when she finds out…

But by then Eileen would be long gone, Lady Caroline would blame it on the Army, and Alf and Binnie would have been long since hanged for some other crime, so she settled for an admonition against frightening people and gave the three of them the sandwiches and bottles of lemonade in the basket, which they were happily drinking when a woman with iron-gray hair and a no-nonsense air opened the door.

“No,” Eileen said to Alf and Binnie.

The woman sat down across from Eileen, both hands on the handbag on her lap. “You should not allow your children to have lemonade,” she said sternly. “Or sweets of any kind.”

“Would you like to see my mouse?” Alf asked.

The woman turned a gimlet eye on him. “Children should be seen and not heard.”

“It’s to feed my snake with.” He showed her the dangling tapestry cord.

She looked coldly at it. “I have been a headmistress for thirty years,” she said, taking hold of the cord and pulling it from his fist. “Far too long to be fooled by schoolboy tricks regarding imaginary mice.” She handed the cord to Eileen. “And imaginary snakes. You need to be firmer with your children.”

“She isn’t my mother,” Theodore piped up, and the headmistress turned the gimlet eye on him. He shrank back against Eileen.

“They’re evacuees,” Eileen said, putting her arm around him.

“All the more reason for you to use a strong hand with them.”

Alf put his hand on his stomach. “I don’t feel well, Eileen.”

“Alf allus gets sick on trains,” Binnie said.

“I shouldn’t wonder,” the headmistress said to Eileen. “This is what comes of giving them lemonade. A dose of castor oil will cure them.”

Alf promptly removed his hand from his stomach, and he and Binnie both scooted over to the corner.

“It’s clear all three of your charges have been pampered and indulged far too much,” she said, glaring at Theodore.

Theodore. Who’s had a luggage tag pinned to his coat and been handed over to strangers and shipped off to a strange place how many times?

“Coddling is not what children need,” the headmistress said. She turned to glower momentarily at Alf and Binnie, who were whispering in the corner. “They need discipline and a firm hand, particularly during times like these.”

I’d have thought they needed more “coddling” during a war, Eileen thought, not less.

“Being nice to children only makes them dependent and weak,” which weren’t exactly the words Eileen would have used to describe Alf and Binnie. “Spare the rod and spoil the child.”

“You mean beating?” Theodore asked tremulously, burrowing into Eileen’s side.

“When necessary,” the headmistress said, looking over at Alf and Binnie with an expression that clearly indicated she thought it was necessary now.

Alf had stepped up on the seat to reach the luggage rack and Binnie was standing below to catch him. “Alf, sit down,” Eileen said.

“I’m lookin’ for my planespotter log,” he said, “so I can write down the planes I seen.”

“Children should not be allowed to talk back to their elders,” the headmistress said. “Or to clamber about like monkeys. You there,” she shouted to them, “sit down at once,” and, amazingly, they both obeyed her. They sat down next to her, their hands folded on their laps.

“You see?” she said. “Firmness is all that is required. These modern notions of allowing children to do whatever they-yowp!” She shot to her feet, flung her handbag at Eileen, and brushed madly at her lap as if it had caught fire.

“Alf, what did you do?” Eileen said, but he and Binnie were already on their knees scrabbling to retrieve something off the floor. Alf jammed it in his pocket.

“Nuthin’,” he said, standing up and holding out his empty hands.

“We was just sittin’ there,” Binnie said innocently.

“Horrid children,” the headmistress said furiously and wheeled on Eileen. “You are obviously unfit to have children in your care.” She snatched her handbag out of Eileen’s hands. “I intend to report you to the Evacuation Committee. And the conductor.” She snatched up her suitcase and her parcels and turned on Alf and Binnie. “I predict you two will come to a bad end.” She swept out of the compartment.

“I only wanted to show her it wasn’t ’maginary,” Alf said, pulling a green garter snake out of his pocket.

“And it served ’er right,” Binnie added darkly.

Yes, it did, Eileen thought, but she said, “You had no business bringing a snake on the train.”

“I couldn’t leave ’im all alone at the manor,” Alf said. “’E might’ve got shot. ’Is name’s Bill,” he added fondly.

“Will we be thrown off the train?” Theodore asked fearfully, and as if in answer, the train began to slow. Alf and Binnie dived for the window.

“It’s awright,” Binnie said, “we’re comin’ into a station.” But at the end of ten minutes, the train hadn’t started up again, and when Eileen went out in the corridor (after warning the children not to move while she was gone) she saw the headmistress out on the platform shaking her finger at the stationmaster, who was looking anxiously at his pocket watch.

Eileen retreated hastily back inside the compartment. “Alf, you must get rid of that snake this minute.”

“Get rid of Bill?” Alf said, appalled.

“Yes.”

“’Ow?”

“I don’t care,” she began to say, then had a horrible image of it slithering down the corridor. “Put it out the window.”

“Out the window? ’E’ll be run over!” and Theodore began to cry.

One more day, Eileen thought, and I will never have to see these children again.

The train was beginning to move. The stationmaster must have persuaded the headmistress to allow them to stay on board. Or perhaps she’d stormed off to take a later train. “You can’t throw Bill out now we’re movin’,” Binnie said. “It’d kill ’im for sure.”

“It ain’t Bill’s fault ’e’s ’ere,” Alf argued. “You wouldn’t like it if you was somewhere you wasn’t s’posed to be and somebody tried to kill you.”

Which is exactly the situation I’ll be in when I reach London, Eileen thought. “Very well,” she said, “but you must put him out the next time we stop. And till then, he stays in your haversack. If you take him out, it’s out the window.”

Alf nodded, climbed on the seat, stowed the snake away, and jumped down. “Can I ’ave some chocolate?”

“No,” Eileen said, looking anxiously at the door, but when the guard appeared, it was only to punch their tickets, and there were no other intrusions, not even when the train stopped at Reading and passengers swarmed aboard.

Word must have spread, she thought, wondering how long it would take the Hodbins to become notorious throughout London. A week.

But in the meantime, Theodore could sit beside her instead of on her lap, and she didn’t have to listen to the headmistress’s lectures, so when the candy butcher came through, she relented and bought them a chocolate bar.

She should have known better. They immediately demanded Cornish pasties, followed by peppermint rock and sausage rolls. I’ll be bankrupt before we reach London, she thought, and let’s hope Alf doesn’t really get sick on trains, but he was busy marking Xes on his map and pointing out nonexistent planes to Theodore.

“Look, there’s a Messerschmitt! ME’s have got five-hundred-pound bombs on ’em. They can blow up a whole train. If they dropped one on you, they wouldn’t be able to find your body or nuthin’. Ka-bloom! You’d disappear, just like that.”

The two of them pressed their noses to the window to search for more planes. Binnie was engrossed in a film magazine one of the young women must have left behind. Eileen picked up the stout man’s newspaper to see if there was an ad for John Lewis or Selfridges which would give their addresses.

Both stores were open till six. Good. With luck, she’d be able to deliver the children and make it to both before they closed. But what if Polly didn’t work at either department store? Eileen scanned the ads, looking for the other name Polly’d mentioned. Dickins and Jones? No. Parker and Co.? No, but she was more convinced than ever the name had begun with a P. Was it P. D. White’s?

No, here it was. Padgett’s. I knew I’d remember it when I saw it. Padgett’s was open till six, too, and from the addresses, it looked as if they were only a few blocks apart. With luck, she could check all three before closing. She hoped there wasn’t a raid tonight. Or if there was, that it wasn’t over Oxford Street. The idea of being in an air raid was terrifying. I should have researched the Blitz so I’d know where and when they were, she thought. But it had never occurred to her that she would need to know those things.

Polly had said the Underground stations had been used as shelters. She could go there if there was a raid. But not all of them were safe-she remembered Colin giving Polly a list of the ones which had been hit, but she couldn’t remember which ones he’d said.

Once I find Polly, I’ll be all right, Eileen thought. She knows everything about the Blitz. Thank goodness she knew what name Polly was using and could ask for Miss Sebastian instead of-

“Polly,” Binnie said.

“What?” Eileen asked sharply, thinking for an awful moment that she’d spoken her thoughts aloud.

“What about Polly? For my name. Polly ’Odbin. Or Molly. Or Vronica.” She shoved the magazine at Eileen and pointed at a photo of Veronica Lake. “Do I look like a Vronica?”

“You look like a toad,” Alf said.

“I do not,” Binnie said and whacked him with the magazine. “Take it back.”

“I won’t!” Alf shouted, shielding his head with his arms. “Toad ’Odbin! Toad ’Odbin!”

One more day, Eileen thought, separating them. I’ll never make it. “Alf, do your planespotting,” she ordered. “Binnie, read your magazine. Theodore, come here and I’ll tell you a story. Once upon a time there was a princess. A wicked witch locked her in a tiny room with two evil monsters-”

“Look,” Alf said. “A barrage balloon!”

“Where?” Theodore asked.

“There.” Alf pointed out the window. “That big silver thing. They use ’em to keep the jerries from dive-bombing.”

That meant they must be nearing London, but when Eileen looked out the window, they were still in the country, and she couldn’t see anything that remotely resembled a barrage balloon.

“You seen a cloud,” Binnie said, but the only clouds were faint, feathery lines crisscrossing the expanse of vivid blue. Looking out at the sky and the passing fields and trees and quaint villages, with their stone churches and thatched cottages, it was difficult to imagine they were in the middle of a war.

Or that they would ever get to London. The afternoon wore on. Alf marked nonexistent Stukas and Bristol Blenheims on his map, Binnie murmured, “Claudette… Olivia… Katharine ’Epburn ’Odburn,” and Theodore fell asleep. Eileen went back to reading the paper. On page four, there was an ad encouraging parents to enroll their children in the Overseas Programme. “Have the comfort of knowing they’re safe,” it read.

Unless they’re on the City of Benares, she thought, looking worriedly at Alf and Binnie. Today was the ninth. If Mrs. Hodbin took them to the office tomorrow and they left for Portsmouth on Wednesday, they might very well end up on the City of Benares. It had sailed on the thirteenth and been sunk four days later.

“I’m hot,” Binnie said, fanning herself with her magazine. It was hot. The afternoon sun was streaming in, but pulling down the shade wasn’t an option. It had been designed for the blackout and shut out all light. And it would deprive Alf of his planespotting, and he’d think up some other mischief.

“I’ll open the window,” Alf said and jumped up on the plush seat. There was a sudden jerk, a whoosh of releasing steam, and the train began to slow sharply.

“What did you do?” Eileen said.

“Nuthin’.”

“I’ll wager he pulled the emergency cord,” Binnie said.

“I never,” Alf said hotly.

“Then why’s the train stoppin’?” she asked.

“Did you let Bill out?” Eileen demanded.

“No.” He rummaged in his haversack and held up the wriggling snake. “See?” He shoved it back in and jumped down. “I’ll wager we’re comin’ to a station.”

He darted for the door. “I’ll go see.”

“No, you will not,” Eileen said, grabbing him. “You three stay here. Binnie, watch Theodore. I’ll go see.” But no station was visible in either direction from the corridor, only a meadow with a stream meandering through it. Several people had come out into the corridor, including the headmistress. Oh, dear, she was still on the train.

“Do you know what’s happening?” one of the passengers asked.

The headmistress turned and glared directly at Eileen. “I suspect someone pulled the communications cord.”

Oh, God, Eileen thought, ducking back into the compartment. They’ll put us off the train in the middle of nowhere. She shut the door and stood there with her back to it.

“Well?” Binnie demanded. “Are we at a station?”

“No.”

“Why’d we stop, then?”

“I’ll wager it’s an air raid,” Alf said, “and the jerries are goin’ to start droppin’ bombs on us any minute.”

“We’ve probably stopped to let a troop train pass,” Eileen said, “and we’ll start again in just a bit.” But they didn’t.

The minutes wore on, the compartment grew hotter, and the number of passengers milling about in the corridor increased. Eileen tried to distract the children with a game of I Spy.

“I’ll wager there’s a spy on the train and that’s why we’ve stopped,” Alf said. “I knew that man who wouldn’t let me sit by the window was a fifth columnist. ’E’s gonna blow up the train.”

“I don’t want-” Theodore began.

“There is not a bomb on the train,” Eileen said, and the guard came in, looking grim.

“Sorry to inconvenience you, madam,” he said, “but I’m afraid we must evacuate the train. You need to collect your things and leave the train.”

“Evacuate?”

“I told you,” Alf said. “There’s a bomb, ain’t there?”

The guard ignored him. “What was your destination, madam?”

“London,” Eileen said. “But-?”

“You’ll be taken by bus the rest of the way,” he said and left before they could ask any more questions.

“Gather up your things,” Eileen said. “Alf, fold up your map. Binnie, hand me my book. Theodore, put on your coat.”

“I don’t want to blow up,” Theodore said. “I want to go home.”

“You won’t blow up, dunderhead,” Binnie said, standing on the seat to take down their luggage. “If it was a bomb, they wouldn’t let you take anything with you,” which made sense.

And it’s a good thing there isn’t one, Eileen thought, wrestling the three of them and the luggage out into the corridor and down to the end of the car, or we’d never make it out in time.

The other passengers were already off the train and standing on the gravel next to the tracks. The headmistress was shouting at the guard. “Are you telling me we’re expected to walk all the way to the nearest village?”

It was obvious that that was exactly what was expected. Several passengers had already set off across the meadow carrying their bags. “I’m afraid so, madam,” the guard said. “It’s not far. You can see the steeple of the church just beyond those trees. A bus should arrive within the hour.”

“I still don’t understand why you can’t take us on to the next station. Or back to-”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that. There’s another train behind us.” He leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “There’s been an incident on the line ahead.”

“I told you there was a bomb,” Alf said. He shoved his way past the headmistress. “What’d ’e blow up?”

The guard glared at him. “A railway bridge.” He turned back to the headmistress. “We greatly regret the inconvenience, madam. Perhaps this boy could help you carry your bags.”

“No, thank you, I will manage on my own.” She turned to Eileen. “I warn you that I have no intention of sharing a bus with a snake,” she said and set off grimly across the meadow after the others.

“Was it a Dornier what dropped the bomb?” Alf, undaunted, asked the guard. “Or a Heinkel III?”

“Come along, Alf,” Eileen said and dragged him away.

“If the train’d been a few minutes earlier,” he mused, “we’d been on that bridge when they dropped the bomb.”

And you and your snake were the ones who made the train late, Eileen thought, remembering the headmistress shaking her finger and the stationmaster looking anxiously at his watch. Which she supposed meant she should be grateful, but somehow she couldn’t manage it. The grass in the meadow was knee-high and impossible to walk through while carrying luggage. Theodore made it a quarter of the way and then demanded to be carried. Alf refused to carry Theodore’s duffel, and Binnie dawdled behind.

“Stop picking flowers and come along,” Eileen said.

“I’m pickin’ a name,” Binnie said. “Daisy. Daisy Odbin.”

“Or Skunk Cabbage Odbin,” Alf said.

Binnie ignored him. “Or Violet. Or Mata.”

“What sort of flower’s that?”

“It ain’t a flower, slowcoach. It’s a spy. Mata ’Ari. Mata ’Ari Odbin.”

“I’m hot,” Alf said. “Can’t we stop and rest?”

“Yes,” Eileen said, even though the rest of the passengers were far ahead. Or perhaps that was just as well, considering. She set Theodore down. “Alf, they won’t let you take your snake on the bus. You need to let it go.”

“’Ere?” Alf said. “There ain’t nothin’ for Bill to eat ’ere.” He pulled the writhing snake not out of his haversack, but out of his pocket. “’E’ll starve.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “This is a perfect place for him. Grass, flowers, insects.”

It was a perfect place. If she hadn’t been trekking three children and all this luggage across it, she would have loved standing here knee-deep in the fragrant grass, the breeze ruffling her hair, listening to the faint hum of bees. The meadow was golden in the afternoon light and full of buttercups and Queen Anne’s lace. A copper dragonfly hovered above a spray of white stitchwort, and a bird flashed past, dark blue against the bright blue sky.

“But if I leave Bill ’ere, ’e might get bombed,” Alf said, dangling the snake in front of Binnie, who was unimpressed. “The Dornier might come back and-”

“Let him go,” Eileen said firmly.

“But ’e’ll be lonely,” Alf said. “You wouldn’t much like bein’ left all alone in a strange place.”

You’re right, I don’t. “Let him go,” she said. “Now.”

Alf reluctantly squatted and opened his hand. The snake slithered enthusiastically off into the grass and out of sight. Eileen picked up Theodore’s duffel and her own suitcase, and they set off again. The other passengers had disappeared. She hoped they’d tell the bus to wait for them, though that was probably a fond hope, considering the headmistress’s attitude.

“Look!” Alf shouted, stopping so short Eileen nearly ran into him. He pointed up at the sky. “It’s a plane!”

“Where?” Binnie said. “I don’t see nuthin’.” For a second Eileen couldn’t either, then saw a tiny black dot. “Wait, now I see it!” Binnie cried. “Is it comin’ back to bomb us?”

Eileen had a sudden image of a vid in one of her history lectures, of refugees scattering wildly as a plane dove toward them, strafing them. “Is it a dive-bomber?” she asked Alf, dropping her suitcase and clutching Theodore’s hand, ready to reach for Binnie and Alf with the other and run.

“You mean a Stuka? I can’t tell,” Alf said, squinting at the plane. “No, it’s one of ours. It’s a ’Urricane.”

But they were still out in the middle of a meadow, with a stopped train-a perfect bombing target-only a few hundred yards off. “We need to catch up to the others,” she said. “Come along. Hurry.”

No one moved. “There’s another one!” Alf said deliriously. “It’s a Messerschmitt. See the iron crosses on its wings? They’re gonna fight!”

Eileen craned her neck to look up at the tiny planes. She could see them both clearly now, the sharp-nosed Hurricane and the snub-nosed Messerschmitt, though they looked like toy planes. They circled each other, swooping and turning silently as if they were dancing instead of fighting. Theodore let go of her hand and went over to stand by Alf, looking up at the graceful duet, his mouth open, transfixed. And rightly so. They were beautiful. “Get ’im!” Alf shouted. “Shoot ’im down!”

“Shoot ’im down!” Theodore echoed.

The toy planes banked and dipped and soared silently, trailing narrow veils of white behind them. Those weren’t clouds I saw from the train. They were vapor trails from dogfights just like these. I’m watching the Battle of Britain, she thought wonderingly.

The Messerschmitt climbed and then dove straight at the other plane. “Look out!” Binnie shouted.

There was still no sound, no roar as the plane dove, no machine-gun rattle. “Missed!” Alf shouted, and Eileen saw a minuscule spurt of orange halfway along the Hurricane’s wing.

“’E’s hit!” Binnie shouted.

White smoke began to stream from the wing. The Hurricane’s nose dipped. “Pull up!” Alf shouted, and the tiny plane seemed to straighten out.

That means the pilot’s still alive, Eileen thought.

“Get out of there!” Binnie yelled, and it seemed to obey that, too, fleeing north, white smoke trailing from its wing. But not fast enough. The Messerschmitt banked sharply and came around again.

“Behind you!” Alf and then Theodore shouted. “Watch out!”

“Look!” Binnie’s arm shot up. “There’s another one!”

“Where?” Alf demanded, “I don’t see it,” and Eileen suddenly did. It was above the other two planes and coming in fast.

Oh, God, don’t let it be German, Eileen thought.

“It’s a Spitfire!” Alf yelled, and the Messerschmitt cockpit exploded into flame and black smoke. “’E got ’im!” he said deliriously. The Messerschmitt keeled over and went into a spiraling dive, smoke billowing from it, still graceful, still noiseless in its deadly descent.

It won’t even make a sound when it hits, Eileen thought, but it did-a quiet, sickening thud. The children cheered. “I knew the Spitfire’d save ’im!” Alf exulted, looking back up at the two planes.

The Spitfire was circling above the Hurricane, which still streamed white smoke. As they watched, the Hurricane went into a long, shallow dive across the endless expanse of blue sky, and vanished beyond the trees. Eileen closed her eyes and waited for the impact. It came, faint as a footstep.

I want to go home, she thought.

“’E bailed out,” Alf said. “There’s ’is parachute.” He pointed confidently at the empty blue and white sky.

“Where?” Theodore asked.

“I don’t see no parachute,” Binnie said.

“We must go,” Eileen said, picking up her suitcase and taking Theodore’s hand.

“But what if ’e crash-landed and needs first aid?” Alf asked. “Or a ambulance? The RAF are wizard pilots. They can land anywhere.”

“Even with their wing on fire?” Binnie said. “I’ll wager ’e’s dead.”

Theodore clutched Eileen’s hand and looked imploringly up at Eileen. “You don’t know that, Binnie,” Eileen said.

“My name ain’t Binnie.”

Eileen ignored that. “I’m certain the pilot’s fine, Theodore,” she said. “Now come along. We’ll miss the bus. Alf, Binnie-”

“I told you, I ain’t Binnie no more,” Binnie said. “I decided on my new name.”

“What is it?” Alf asked disdainfully. “Dandelion?”

“No. Spitfire.”

“Spitfire?” Alf hooted. “’Urricane, more like. ’Urricane ’Odbin.”

“No,” Binnie said. “Spitfire, ’cause they’re what’s gonna beat old ’Itler. Spitfire ’Odbin,” she said, trying it out. “Ain’t that a good name for me, Eileen?”