Underground Social Club

It was March 1941 and the bombers had returned for the sixth night in a row.  While Brentwood was hardly what one would consider a military target, they came nonetheless to drop their incendiary bombs that would set the town ablaze once again in a rather primitive display of the destructiveness of this war so far.  After walking her Lake Terrier Weldon around Shenfield Commons, Mrs. Dalby wrapped her precious dog in a blanket and headed for the local shelter.  Last week, a bomb landed near her flat, but it did not detonate otherwise neither Weldon or her would be on their way to the shelter.

“Come along, Weldon.” She held him close to her chest as she ran out the door.  There was the droning of distant aeroplane engines that had become all too familiar to her and the rest of the residents of Brentwood.  Soon there would be a whistle as the bombs rained down on them.  This would be her first trip to the underground shelter and she could feel her heart race as she walked the block and a half to where the entrance was located.  Once part of the Tube, many of the stops that connected Brentwood with the rest of London had been converted into bomb shelters due to the fact there was safety underground when the bombs started to explode.  She could not trust luck to save her after the close call last week.  Last night a bomb destroyed the house across the street killing the family inside.  She watched the fire crew and Homeland volunteers pull out seven bodies covered with white sheets on stretchers.  A flutter of a breeze moved one of the sheets a bit so she could see the hand of the victim beneath, the skin gray and lifeless and it made her shudder to think about it. She could not say for certain that tonight the bomb would not get her house.

She moved into the flat after her husband Roy was killed in action fighting the Germans in France last year.  Her son and his wife helped her find a place more suitable for a widow and her small companion.  As she arrived at the entrance there were a couple of homeland guards with their steel olive drab helmets and their armbands clearly signifying who they were.  One was a man who reminded her of Roy, straight back, proper posture, a manicured mustache and some silver streaks while the other was about the age of her son and was rather dumpy in appearance since his shirt appeared disheveled and there were crumbs from his dinner in his shaggy mustache.

“Go’dday.” The dumpy one greeted her, “Where ya be going?”

“The shelter.” She smiled.

“Oh, I’m afraid not.” He shook his head slowly.

“But the bombers are coming.” She gave him a proper scowl. 

“Aye, you can, but I’m afraid no dogs allowed.” He pointed to the dog bundled in a blanket.

“What ever do you mean, young man?” She was incensed since she would not dream of leaving Weldon behind.

“We have about a hundred folks down there in close quarters and some are not fond of dogs.” The older guard explained.

“Weldon?  He ain’t going to be any problem.  I will keep him on me lap.” She could feel her anger rise up as it often did these uncertain days.

“It’s the rules.” He nearly apologized.

“Me dog is all I have left after Roy was taken from me by this bloody war.  I’m begging you, sir.  Lemme down there with him.” She was near tears and when he saw the glimmer in her pale blue eyes, he coughed.

“Keep ‘im close to ya.” He put his hand on her shoulder.  For a moment it felt like Roy’s farewell before he walked out the door for one last time. 

“Bless ya...bless ya.” She nodded several times down the stairs where the others were sitting on the cold cement floor.  She could hear the two guards argue over her admittance.

In the darkness of the tunnel, she could not see everyone clearly, but from the faces she could see, she felt totally unwelcome in their midst.  There were several small children and a few infants that their mothers held to their breasts.  Weldon fussed a little in his blanket as he fancied children since they would often offer him treats in exchange for their friendship.  It was a pact that he would gladly agree to every time.  

But not down here where the children and their parents were stressed and frazzled by another night of bombing.  In the distance the sounds of bombs detonating had already begun.  From the sound a few speculated that the Germans had reached Southend-on-Sea where there were a couple of aeroplane factories as well as a couple of vehicle assembly plants, one of which Roy had worked at before being commissioned into the Royal Army.  There were groans from some of the people sitting on the floor.

“Cripe the nerve of her bringing that scavenger down here.” She heard one of them grumble in the darkness. She chose to ignore the rudeness, but she could not find a vacant place to sit down with Weldon.  As she searched the eyes of the others stared suspiciously at her as she clutched Weldon close to her chest.  She was wearing her overcoat, because she had heard that sometimes these tunnels got a bit chilly.  She sensed that the overcoat was bejeweled and therefore made her appear as a person from privilege, which she was not, but in looking at the shoeless children she could not help feeling social distancing from the other less fortunate. 

The bombs were now closer.  She could hear the drone of engines getting more pronounced.  Soon the bombs would be falling on Brentwood.  It was only a matter of time now.  

A man stood up wearing a cap and bib overalls, his face smudged with soot as he obviously worked delivering coal to customers in the neighborhood even though she did not recognize him, he was not familiar to her. He tipped his cap and waved his hand over the area he had just vacated.

“Thank you, sir.” She nodded before sitting on the cement floor.

“You are quite welcome, mum.” He unfolded his newspaper and continued to read.  There were others engaged in nervous conversation, but she could tell they knew each other from either neighbor or family ties.  It would be so much more comforting if everyone engaged in conversation even as the thunder of exploding ordinance could be heard and it was getting closer.  Weldon started shaking as loud noises made him anxious, but then he was no different than the rest.  Some of the younger children were already crying.  The woman sitting next to Mrs. Dalby was scowling at her as she held two small children close to her.

“You had a lot of nerve bringing that down here.” She lifted her chin at the dog shivering in Mrs. Dalby’s lap. 

“He is a very obedient dog, really.” She answered defensively.

“Nonetheless, a nuance.” One of the children in her lap began to snivel as a bomb exploded a few meters away.

“Sounds like it hit the Major’s house.” Someone muttered.

“I pray not.” Someone responded. 

Two more exploded in what Mrs. Dalby estimated it was just meters away and hoped it had missed her house again. Dust and dirt began floating in the air with each bomb that hit.  The man reading the paper, folded it again because the dim lights on the wall began to flicker.

The man who had given up his place for Mrs. Dalby squatted near her, “Go’day, my name is Thomas Thorne. Welcome to the Underground Social Club.” He smiled and put her at ease and even Waldon stopped shuddering. 

“Underground Social Club?” She was perplexed by his reference.

“Yes, we gather here every evening these days and listen to the Jerrys play a familiar tune as it were.”  He nodded toward the people huddled together.

“My name is Lydia Dalby and this is Waldon.” She nodded and even Waldon seemed to give some sort of recognition to Thomas.

“Aye, before we formed this impromptu social club we were neighbors and relatives who barely spoke a civil word as we passed on the streets, but each night when the bombers come, we come here and form a social club of sorts.  In the darkness we tell each other secrets and things that we haven’t even told our spouses or children.  Strange, it is.” He chuckled.

“Why are they so quiet now?” She asked as another bomb could be heard a few blocks away bringing more dust and dirt that squirted through the tiles of the walls. 

“Because you are here.” He shrugs with a half smile. “And you brought that dog here with you.” 

“Waldon?  He’s a good boy.” She shook her head.

“No doubt, no doubt.” Thomas reached out and patted Waldon on his head.  Waldon responded by licking the stranger’s hand affectionately.

“My husband was killed last year in France fighting the Borsch.” She closed her eyes to pinch off a tear. 

“Me condolences.” He tipped his hat.  

“Waldon is all I got now.”  She patted him on the head herself. 

“No children?” He asked.

“Me son is in the RAF. He works on repairing the Spitfires while my daughter is in the country with my sister going to school there.” She explained.

“Hope they are safe indeed.” He nodded, raising his eyebrows. 

“My husband’s a pilot.” The woman next to Mrs. Dalby who had been rude said as another bomb shook the tiled walls, spilling out more dust. “He was shot down, but managed to get out with his parachute.”

“Bless you my dear.” She put her hand on the woman’s face that was now moist with tears.

“I smell smoke.” One of the men down near the entrance cried out.  Some of the people stood up, but then sat down once another bomb shook the ground. 

“Of course there’s smoke.  Them bloody bombs be starting fires that the crews can’t put out no matter how hard they try.” There was a hint of terror in the unidentified woman’s voice.

“You are now a member, Mrs. Dalby.” Thomas confirmed. “We are all scared out of our whits, but we got each other and that’s the only thing sometimes that keeps us until the morning when all of this is over.”

“For another night.” One of the men snorted nearby.

“Aye, but what choice do we have?” Thomas asked, sitting high on his haunches. 

“Leave England.” He answered angrily.

“Oh tosh, Peter.  You always say the stupidest things.” The woman snapped sitting next to him which Mrs. Dalby assumed was his wife.

“Oh Marge, why must you always say that stuff to me.” He said indignantly. 

“I wanna go home.” One of the children whined.

“No dear, we must stay here.” The woman holding the child’s hand responded.

“We have to make sure Mr. Boots is alright.” She added.

“He’s fine.” 

“How do we know the bombs haven’t got him?” She started to cry.

Silence.

Another bomb followed by another, more dust, lights flickering before going out.  Now there was nothing in the tunnel by opaque darkness where you could not see your hands in front of your face.

Someone screamed followed by the shuffling of feet.

“Do we have a doctor?” Someone called out.

Waldon started shaking again, but he was not alone as Mrs. Dalby now joined him.  The total lack of light, the scream, the scurrying of feet and a desperate call for a doctor had pushed her over the edge.  More bombs.  Some were farther away.  Dust and dirt filled her mouth and she was scared she would not be able to breath much longer. 

Hell of a social club she thought to herself.

“Everyone stay where you are.” She heard someone shout.  It sounded like the dumpy guard who had told her Waldon was not allowed in the shelter.  She wondered what was going on.

“I think the wall collapsed on someone.” The woman next to her explained.  “It happened last week.  Four children were buried and they managed to get three of them out alive.  The fourth one was not so lucky.” 

She heard some of the people begin to whisper prayers.  She and Roy were not particular about what she would classify as religious since Roy expressed doubts of the existence of a higher power.  She was raised to be a proper Anglican, but even as she had been in the choir, she could not subdue her nagging doubts.  Those nagging doubts were turning into conviction and before she knew it she whispered a couple of prayers she remembered from her days in Sunday School.  

When the lights finally flickered on, she saw Thomas’ head bent in the reverence of prayer.

“Thank God.” Someone said when it seemed the lights were on to stay. The thunder of the bombs were just a distant sound by now.

“I am sorry about saying what I did about your dog.” The woman said as Waldon went over to make friends with her children.

“It is fine. Really.” She forced a smile as one of the children gave Waldon a sweet from the box he was holding.

“No Roger, do not give the dog sweets, it’s no good for them.” She scolded him as he stuffed the last of them into his own mouth.  He did not appear repentant.

“You’ll get used to all this.” Thomas told her.

“I don’t see how.” She shook her head.

“What other choice do ya have?” 

She nodded knowing he was right.  This Underground Social Club as he called it would become part of her reality as she had just gained membership and hoped Waldon would be considered a member as well.  It was nearly four in the morning, she heard no more bombs or the drone of engines.  Silence was like a cleansing bath in hot soapy water and heaven knows she would most certainly draw water as soon as she walked into her flat and scrub all the dirt and dust off her skin.  She would do her best to try to wash down the dust she inhaled with some of Roy’s favorite brandy.  There was still a bottle in his things that she never unpacked.  She would find it and toast to him and the Underground Social Club that she was now a member of.

Most of the people were asleep on the floors now that there was that early morning silence that comes just before the breaking of the dawn.  Thomas lay at her feet snoring.  The woman next to her was semi-awake while her children were both fast asleep with Waldon curled up between them.

As the night had brought the savagery of war, the morning’s silence was bringing the settling feeling of peace.  Picking up Waldon without a single protest, she began to walk toward the entrance where the dumpy guard was asleep snoring on the stairs.  The other guard was standing by the entrance at the top of the stairs smoking a cigarette.

“Ya can’t leave until we get the all clear.” He said when he saw her climb the stairs. She immediately was overcome by the smoke and the horrible aroma of burnt things. “Can be quite powerful, eh?” 

“I’ll say.” She coughed.

“Damn Jerry's really did a number.” He pointed to the houses that had been leveled by the bombs.  In horror she saw her own place had been burned to the ground.

“Oh my God.” She began to cry.

“Still quite dangerous.  Several unexploded ordinances the sappers are taking care of.” He pointed to the men scurrying about on the street with tools in their hands.

“My home.  Gone.” She gulped.

“So sorry.” He tossed his cigarette into a pile of rubble that wasn’t there the night before. “Most of the folks in there have already lost their homes and are staying in the shelter.  Thomas Thorn lost his wife and four children a week ago.”

Suddenly her own loss did not seem so horrible as she thought of how he had made her feel welcome when the others were not so cordial.  Suddenly there was an explosion followed by the sound of sirens.

“Sounds like one them poor blokes found a live one.  Shame.” The guard shook his head.  

An hour later when the all clear was given, she wandered over to what was left of her home.  Seeing that there was nothing salvageable, she shed a few tears before walking to the shelter.  When she got there one of them mentioned how dogs were not allowed, but then Thomas came up and explained the situation.  The nun nodded and bade Mrs. Dalby into the shelter where she was amazed at how many of them had been in the tunnel with her.

“Membership to the Underground Social Club is an honor, because of the high cost of the membership these days.” He smiled as they sat down at a table together.