Free Always in My Heart by Ellie Dean

precious than any biscuits,’ she muttered as she took the air-raid box and left it on the top step.
    Once they’d reached the scullery and the walking stick and gas mask had been retrieved, Peggy steadied Mrs Finch as they hurriedly negotiated the rough path to the Anderson shelter. At least it had stopped raining, but the sirens were still wailing, Daisy was still screaming and the searchlights had begun to flicker into life against the dark sky.
    The Anderson shelter was bitterly cold and stank ofdamp, rust, and mouse droppings. A bench had been fixed on both sides and a deckchair had been wedged into a corner so that Mrs Finch could be comfortable. There was an oil lamp hanging from the tin roof, and a primus stove for cooking tucked away under the bench beside the special gas-mask cot for Daisy.
    A kerosene heater stood by the entrance so the fumes could escape through the many gaps in the door. On the back wall, Ron had fixed a wooden shelf, which held a battered saucepan, an equally battered kettle and teapot, as well as chipped mugs, mismatched cutlery and some tin plates. It wasn’t exactly welcoming, and hardly a home-from-home, but it had been their refuge now since the first air raid in 1940, and they’d become inured to its dubious attractions.
    Peggy helped Mrs Finch into the deckchair and, with Daisy still screaming and flailing in her arms, attempted to light the lamp and the heater. Daisy suddenly became fascinated by the flickering light and forgot her fear, and Peggy handed her to Mrs Finch who’d at last had a chance to switch on her hearing aid.
    ‘I need to go back and get the rest of the stuff,’ she said clearly.
    Mrs Finch nodded and held Daisy close as Peggy dashed out of the shelter. Retrieving the precious digestive biscuits as she ran up the scullery steps, she put them back in the box, yanked on her overcoat and grabbed the pillows and spare blankets which were always to hand for just such an emergency.
    Heavily laden and out of breath, Peggy stumbled outside again. The sound of approaching bombers was interspersed with the sharp rat-a-tat-tat of the ack-ack guns as red tracers stitched through the sky and the searchlight beams swung back and forth in search of the enemy.
    She didn’t stand about to watch, but ducked her head and almost fell into the shelter. Slamming the door, she dropped everything on the bench and collapsed beside it as she tried to catch her breath. She really did feel awful, with a head full of cotton wool, legs like jelly and a dull ache at the pit of her stomach.
    ‘I don’t wish to state the obvious, dear, but you’ve been overdoing things,’ said Mrs Finch as she gently rocked a now pacified Daisy back and forth in her arms. ‘Why are you even out of bed, let alone dressed?’
    Peggy’s heart was racing and she felt sick and faint. Dropping her head to her knees, she fought to stay conscious. ‘I’ll be all right in a minute,’ she insisted.
    Mrs Finch didn’t reply, but her silence spoke volumes.
    Peggy waited for her pulse to return to normal, and as it did the nausea faded along with the feeling that she was about to faint. She slowly lifted her head and reached for the large fresh-water container she always kept in the shelter. The tin mugs weren’t very clean after sitting out here for days, but she didn’t care, and she poured the cold water and drank greedily. The second cup restored her to something approachingnormality, and she smiled to reassure Mrs Finch that she was indeed all right.
    It was impossible to talk, for the bombers were right overhead now, probably heading for the large naval dockyard further down the coast. It had already taken a fierce hammering over the past year, and she couldn’t help but wonder if there was much left to bomb. Of course there was always the chance they would dump the last of their deadly load on Cliffehaven before they scuttled back across the Channel – and these ‘tip and runs’ had caused a great