Free Tin Hats and Gas Masks by Joan Moules

releasing them, she clenched her fist and shadow-boxed her son’s chin. That nearly made him cry, and he wanted very badly to tell her he missed her too. Instead he said loudly, ‘Hey Mum. Annie’s hoping there’ll be an air-raid while we’re here.’
    Annie looked embarrassed. ‘You make it sound wicked, Johnny, and I didn’t mean it like that.’
    Mrs Bookman turned to here. ‘There probably will be,’ she said, ‘but I think I know what you mean, duck – not much excitement stuck down there in the country. I’d hate it meself.’
    They travelled by tube and bus back to Johnny’s home in Hackney.
    ‘D’you want to see your mum while you’re up here, Annie?’ Mrs Bookman said as the tube raced through the blackness.
    ‘No, thank you. They’re away at present. I spoke to her on the telephone last week, though.’
    Once indoors Johnny thought how small everything looked. The two-up, two-down terraced house had always seemed roomy to him before. Bigger than the homes of some of his mates, who lived in the flats anyway.
    Now it felt very poky. Still, it was good to be back. To hear his mum singing away to the wireless and to see again his home-made ships and racing-cars. Before the war he had shared a bedroom with his two brothers. Now they were both in the army he’d have it to himself.
    ‘I’ve put Annie in the bedroom, Johnny,’ Mrs Bookman said now, ‘and you’ll be in the bedchair down here tonight.’
    Oh well, you couldn’t win ’em all and he hadn’t really thought about where Annie would sleep. Just to be home was good enough, and he’d slept on the bedchair often before; it wasn’t too hard, unless you turned over suddenly and caught your face on the arm.
    ‘When we going up West then Mum?’
    ‘When we’ve had something to eat. I’ve got some dried egg so I thought I’d do you scrambled egg and chips now and we’ll have tea out before we go to the show.’
    ‘I am looking forward to it, Mrs Bookman,’ Annie said quietly, ‘and it is good of you to invite me too.’
    ‘It’s a pleasure, Annie. I just hope those blighters stay away tonight, that’s all. It’s been much better lately. It’s such a relief to know you kids are safe down there in the country. I expect your mum feels the same.’ Annie didn’t answer.
    They both helped to wash and wipe up, then they set off for the West End. They had seats booked for Applesauce atthe Palladium. ‘Second house,’ Mrs Bookman told them, ‘because I wasn’t sure if we’d make the first at half past two. But this starts at twenty past six so it’ll give us time for a meal first. I know a nice little place where we can eat. It’s small but the food’s good. Unless you want to go to Lyons Corner House. They have a band there.’
    The subject of where to eat lasted almost until they were in Oxford Street, the smaller place eventually winning when Mrs Bookman told them about the chocolate éclairs with real cream.
    ‘I’ve only been there once meself, but it was good,’ she said, ‘and it’s handy for the theatre. Don’t want too far to go, do we?’
    They had a wonderful afternoon. ‘It’s smashing to be in London again,’ Johnny said, ‘though to be fair the country’s not bad. More to do than I’d thought there’d be. Which do you like best, Annie, forgetting about being away from home I mean. Just supposing you could have a choice like, after the war?’
    ‘The country, Johnny. It’s quieter, not so smoky, and you can keep animals.’
    ‘You like animals, Annie? What, sheep and things? Because you can keep cats and dogs in town, can’t you?’ Johnny’s mum smiled across at her.
    ‘Yes, but with me it’s horses mostly, Mrs Bookman.’
    ‘Call me Mum, or Mrs B or something,’ she said. ‘Mrs Bookman’s such a mouthful. Horses, eh – I like horses too. Have you got one at your home?’
    ‘No. But I can ride. I used to have lessons, and there’s a girl at school sometimes lets me ride her pony.’
    ‘I