Blood Line: Sometimes Tragedy Is in Your Blood

While you’ve a lucifer to light your fag,

Smile, boys, that’s the style.

And it had helped, Charlie remembered, once everyone began joining in. Then, in all likelihood innocently, one of their neighbours asked Big Reggie if he’d seen action in the last war himself.

Reggie didn’t even seem to try and come up with an answer. He just staggered to his feet – no mean feat in such a confined space – and in response felled the poor man with a single punch. But not for long – he was immediately back on his feet, and the entire shelter erupted in shrieks and cries and sobs as the two men went at each other, seemingly oblivious and refusing to give ground.

‘He should mind his own bleeding business!’ Annie shouted, as everyone else wanted to know what the heck had got into him. ‘He couldn’t fight the war, could he? He got signed off by the doctor because of his TB!’

Which was true, but not the whole truth, Charlie knew. Annie didn’t know, but his gran had told him the real reason years back; yes, he’d been signed off, but it was nothing to do with having sustained lung damage as a baby. It had been a question of cash changing hands, pure and simple. He hadn’t wanted to fight, so he’d paid the doctor to pronounce him unfit.

Still, this was his dad, and though he still very much had the upper hand, this wasn’t fair on the nippers either, so he had a duty to step in. He stood up and stepped behind the hapless neighbour, placing an arm around his throat. He was called John Sheehan and lived a few doors away on the same street. A married man with two young kids, he’d always seemed all right to Charlie. Certainly didn’t deserve what he’d just got. Even so, family loyalty had to prevail.

‘Bleeding leave it, John,’ he growled quietly, ‘or you’re a dead man, you get me? Surely you know better than to take the old bugger on.’ He then dragged the man to the back of the shelter, sat him back down and then turned back to everyone else. There was a heavy silence, the children still clutching each other nervously and blinking in the gaslight.

‘Come on, then, you lot!’ roared Charlie, pointing upwards and laughing. ‘Bloody Hitler could be outside, so let’s sing him a lullaby, shall we? All together – It’s a long way to Tipperary, it’s a long way to gooooo!’ And, in a matter of half a minute, they were back in full swing.

All except Reggie Snr, who was still too busy nursing his pride. Should have fought then, Charlie thought. Simple as that.

The damage that night was the worst Bradford would suffer during the entire war. A bomb strike in the town centre had done extensive damage – including obliterating the huge Marks & Spencer building. Which was no accident, Charlie had told his mam a day or so later. It hadn’t been one of the ‘accidents’ the papers would have them believing. It was strategic; the shop had been closed for the duration, in order to act as a storage facility for the surrounding mills.

‘And the reason for that,’ Charlie explained, having had his ear to the ground as usual, ‘is because the mill storage facilities are being used for another purpose: to be made ready to house German prisoners of war. Mam, we have to face it,’ Charlie continued as Annie sat there sobbing, ‘I’m going to have to go and that’s the end of it.’

‘But do you have to?’ she said, wiping her tears away with the corner of her pinny. It was such a familiar gesture – one he’d known his whole childhood. But he wasn’t a child any longer. And neither did he want to be.

‘Everyone’s getting called up, Mam. Look, it won’t go on for ever. And I’ll send my wages home for you.’ He grinned. ‘That’ll cheer you up.’

He got his papers and was gone before Christmas.

Chapter 6 (#uef994a76-bf06-54a9-9f7c-1395028a6a20)

Annie made her way through the estate, arm in arm with her new neighbour. Alice Donovan and her husband had recently moved in next door, their two sons having both been called up.

Annie liked Alice. She was as down to earth as they came, but quiet and unassuming. Her sons meant the world to her and Annie knew she was lost without them, and as a result Annie had sort of taken her under her wing.

It was a sunny day in May but the mood on the estate was anything but. The shortages were getting worse, and many were really living hand to mouth, her new friend included. So she was taking Alice down to the pop-up food shelter with her, determined to help her get something to eat.

‘Are you sure I’m entitled?’ Alice asked anxiously. ‘Do I qualify, what with it just being me and Dennis?’

‘I’m not certain,’ Annie admitted. ‘But I tell you what, love, I’ll give ’em bloody hell if they knock you back. Your lads are off bleeding fighting, aren’t they? That’s left you as skint as the rest of us.’ She quickened her step, fuelled by righteous indignation. It wasn’t right to refuse Alice. It was her boys being gone that had left them struggling, wasn’t it?

‘Yes, but I don’t have a houseful of other kids to feed, do I?’ Alice answered. ‘My Dennis said it’s only for them that have big families. Just them and those that don’t have a roof over their heads.’

‘Well,’ said Annie firmly, ‘we’ll see about that, won’t we? It’s not right, your boys fighting and you starving.’

And many more would have been starving if it hadn’t been for the shelters, the Hudson family included. They’d been set up by the government in the poorest areas, and staffed with volunteers, who’d make soups and stews to distribute free of charge for those most in need; those who could prove they had many mouths to feed and not enough money to do so. These families were also awarded bread units. BUs, as they were known, could be exchanged for a loaf. It was a blessing for those like Annie and Reggie who really struggled, having so many kids, but people like Alice and Dennis didn’t get them.

Annie pondered as they approached the shelter on the end of Ringwood Road. Chances were that, whatever she said, they’d turn Alice away. There were just too many people with loads of nippers who needed feeding, and she felt anxious that she might have given Alice unrealistic hope. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘you just follow my lead and we’ll give it a try, okay? And if they ask you outright, just lie. But if they don’t give you any stew, you can have a bit of mine.’

‘I’m not telling lies, Annie,’ Alice said. ‘And I’m not taking food that’s rightfully yours, either. Not taking food off your little ones.’

‘It’s fine, honestly,’ she said, looking at her friend’s pinched expression. There was really nothing of her and she needed feeding up. ‘They won’t even notice,’ she reassured her. ‘I’ll just water it down a bit. It’ll be fine.’ Though even as she said it she knew there’d be holy hell to pay if Reggie knew she was offering to give their food away.

‘We’ll be okay, Annie, love,’ Alice persisted. ‘My lads send home a bob or two when they can, at least.’

‘Yes, but where does that go?’ Annie countered, knowing the answer all too well. It went to Dennis, who probably drank half of it away, just like her own feckless husband did. Men, she thought. They were all the bleeding same.

There was no answer required to that one, and the two women exchanged wry smiles. ‘It’s okay,’ Alice said. ‘If I get nowt, then I get nowt. We’ll manage. We usually do. And who knows? Maybe one of the lads’ll send something soon. Speaking of which, have you heard from your Charlie lately?’

Annie pulled a face. That was a bit of a sore point. He’d been so full of promises to send his wages home, full of promises to write, but so far there hadn’t been so much as a peep from him. He’d been gone six months now, doing his military training, no doubt enjoying the luxury of some warm cosy barracks, all the while knowing damn well how hard she’d be struggling without his contributions to the family pot.

‘He’s a pillock, Alice,’ she said with a vehemence that shocked her. ‘A bloody pillock! Hasn’t sent us a bean so far, and probably won’t either. Forgotten all about us, no doubt, the little twot.’

It was that – that sense of having been abandoned by her boy that stung the most. She missed him. Missed him dreadfully. In a way she couldn’t really articulate, much less try to explain to Reggie, who’d have laughed in her face and told her not to be so wet. But Charlie had always been such a support to her; taking charge of his younger siblings, looking out for them in a way Reggie rarely did these days – he was either too busy working down the Punch Bowl or, much more likely, just sitting around drinking there instead. Just a single letter. That would do. Just so she knew he was thinking of them, at least.

The women arrived and took their place in the queue, the aroma of stew hitting her senses and making Annie lick her lips. She sniffed the air appreciatively. Might there even be meat in it? They hadn’t had meat for a while now and she was craving it – though it would have been even longer if it hadn’t been for Ronnie who, at ten, was shaping up to have his oldest brother’s wits.