Free Peggy's Letters by Jacqueline Halsey

1
    News travels fast on our street. It flies over garden fences and zings along washing lines.
    â€œCoooeeee…Peggy luv. Run and tell your Mum, Keddy’s got sausages, one per ration book. But hurry, dear. There’ll be ever such a long queue.”
    â€œMum…Mum…There’s sausages.”
    â€œI heard,” calls Mum from the back door. “Thanks for letting us know, Mrs. P.”
    Pulling on my coat, I grab the strings of our gas-mask boxes and hurry into the kitchen. Last week the greengrocer had oranges in, but we were too late, and they were gone by the time it was our turn.
    â€œPee hew, Tommy.” I hold my nose and he copies me. He’s so funny.
    â€œIt’s no good. I’m going to have to change him,” says Mum.
    â€œBut we’ll be too late again.”
    Mum gives me a stop-whining look, and I know we’re not going anywhere until my baby brother’s in a clean nappy.
    At last he’s ready. I clip the straps of his harness to each side of the pram, and off we go, down the hill to the High Street.
    My friend, Nora, is skipping on the other side of the road.
    â€œKeddy’s got sausages,” I yell.
    â€œMum’s already in the queue,” she yells back. “Come and call for me this afternoon. Bring your skipping rope.”
    â€œRight-oh.”
    A bit farther along we bump into the postman.
    â€œNothing for you today, Peggy,” he says.
    I sigh and bend down to stroke the airraid warden’s ginger cat.
    â€œKeddy’s got sausages,” I purr.
    â€œDon’t dawdle, there’s a luv,” calls Mum.
    The queue outside Keddy’s butcher shop stretches all the way along the High Street to the bomb-damaged house with the missing wall. I can see the wallpaper in the different rooms just like a doll’s house. We join the end of the line. It’s going to be another long, long wait.
    â€œWhat a lovely boy you are,” coos the woman in front of us, patting Tommy on the head.
    â€œHe’s only seventeen months old, but he’s really smart,” I tell her.
    â€œI’m sure he is,” says the woman, laughing and tickling Tommy under the chin. She and Mum start grumbling about the weather and the war and how the caterpillars ate most of the cabbages. I’m bored with listening, so I twirl Tommy’s pram beads and make him giggle.
    The queue shuffles up to the butcher’s shop window.
    â€œNearly our turn,” says Mum.
    At last I see the circle of sausages. Tonight they’ll be sizzling in our frying pan. Mmmmm. I can almost taste them.
    Tommy claps his hands over his ears, and before I can say, “What’s the matter?” I hear the whistling shriek of a Doodlebug too.
    Mr. Keddy runs out of his shop waving his arms. “In here,” he yells. “Quick everybody.”
    â€œGo on, Peggy,” shouts Mum as she gets Tommy out of his pram.
    I want to stay with Mum, but she nudges me forward, so I follow the other customers to the back of the shop and down the steps into the cellar. There’s sawdust on the floor, and it smells of blood. My legs turn to jelly, and my heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my body. Mum pushes her way through and stands next to me. Tommy is screaming at the top of his lungs, but I can still hear the bomb’s whine over all his noise. I know when the engine stops, it will fall out of the sky and explode on whatever’s below.
    â€œDon’t fall on us today. Don’t fall on us today.” I chant the magic words under my breath. They always keep me safe.
    â€œI hate Doodlebugs,” says Mum. “They’re worse than the Blitz.” Her lip is trembling like she’s going to cry. She cries a lot these days.
    â€œThere there, dear,” says Mr. Keddy, patting Mum on the shoulder. “Stiff upper lip, girl, that’s the way. Got to be brave in front of the kiddies.”
    Mum looks really