Free Polly's War by Freda Lightfoot

bench more than an hour before. It wasn’t until he marched through his own front door and saw his sister set the frying pan on the stove and start tossing in slices of black pudding, that he remembered. He stopped dead and swore softly under his breath.
    ‘What’s wrong? You’ve gone white as a sheet.’
    ‘I’m in dead lumber, Lucy.’ Thank heaven his mam wasn’t home yet. He turned and raced straight out of the house again, Lucy’s voice echoing after him, yelling to ask if he’d taken leave of his senses. He’d just have to hope Big Flo was still sitting tight on that bench.
    His hopes, sadly, were in vain. The bench was empty. The half demented old woman had vanished.



Chapter Five

    Polly was furious. Having found the untouched midday meal in the Anderson Shelter with not a sign of Big Flo, she was half demented with worry by the time Benny returned alone from the city centre. Couldn’t he do a simple task like minding one old woman? Didn’t she have enough to worry over without being able to trust her own son? And much more on similar lines, punctuating her words with frequent slaps about his shoulders and upper body which bounced off Benny as if they were made by a fly. She was for calling the police without delay, or for dragging the canal basin at the very least. Minnie Hopkins, who came galloping down the street at the first whiff of trouble, advised caution.
    ‘Give her till tea time. Her stomach’ll fetch her home by then.’ Even so, the entire street turned out to search for the old lady.
    All afternoon they hunted high and low, trailing the length of Deansgate, through St Anne’s Square, along Cross Street, Market Street, even checking all the surface air raid shelters around Piccadilly Gardens in case she’d taken a fancy to one. Then back to Deansgate village and Castlefield where they searched beneath every railway arch, trawled around every likely wharf and tramped over practically every dingy stalk of grass down by the canal basin without seeing hide nor hair of her.  
    It was Lucy who found her, quite close to home, sitting in an air raid shelter of course, on a stretch of wasteland. It was growing dark by this time and nobody could begin to guess how she’d got there or when. Big Flo had her gas mask on, which she always carried in her portmanteau sized handbag, and her only response when Lucy gently scolded her for wandering off and not waiting for Benny, was to tell her that Jerry was sending buzz bombs now.
    ‘Like a bleedin’ homing pigeon said Lily Gantry, in her usual colourful language.
    ‘At least she’s nearing the end of the war,’ Lucy said with a wry smile, once they had the old woman safely asleep in her own bed, a warm meal inside her and a hot water bottle at her feet. ‘She might reach VJ Day soon, you never know.’ Mother and daughter laughed, though not unkindly for it wasn’t really a laughing matter.
    ‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ Polly mourned. ‘She’s hardly with us these days, is she?’ Feeling a pang of guilt for leaving her mother-in-law to Benny’s mindless care. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, she doesn’t ask for much, does she? All she wants is an Anderson shelter, fitted out with a bed and a gas mask and she’s happy as a bug in a rug. It’s my fault, it is so. I shouldn’t’ve left her.’
    ‘You’re not to blame,’ Charlie insisted. ‘Benny should’ve had more sense than to take her into town. Mind like a feather pillow, that boy has.’
    Polly quickly changed the subject, eager to tell Charlie all about the warehouse she’d found, close to Knott Mill Iron Works and having easy access to Castle Quay. ‘I’ve agreed to take the ground floor, which has plenty of space for the big machines I have in mind. We can just about afford the rent, so long as we all pull together and get the business going pretty smartish.’ Polly thought of the savings she’d kept hoarded away in the bank for just such a day as this when the war came to an