Chapter 1

It was Saturday the 15th Dec 1940 at about 07.30 in the morning when Lt Tony Nash RNVR wearily trudged homewards, he was feeling dirty and tired after traveling nearly all night from Portsmouth Harbour Station to London Waterloo, and then on to Stratford underground station, the nearest station to his home in East London. The underground railway platform was full of people still sleeping on the platform or, just beginning to wake to face a new day of queuing for food or getting ready for work.

He was wearing his Royal Naval greatcoat, against the morning chill, and carrying his attache case and walking slowly with the aid of a stick. Dawn was just breaking, and there were signs of a wintery sun breaking through the clouds. The air was filled with the pungent smell of acrid smoke. He was very tired, his face showing signs of severe strain and he walked with a pronounced limp, as he picked his way with extreme care through the badly bombed streets of East London. His leg hurt quite badly, and it was long overdue for a long rest.

The train had made painfully slow progress during the journey, having twice been diverted into sidings until the raids had finished, and then the railway company had to check the lines were still intact, or perhaps they were then stopped to let troop trains through. He was fortunate that as an Officer he had a reserved First Class seat. However many of the traveling servicemen were having to sleep in the corridors loaded down with their Kit and their Rifles. Even the toilets were full of people trying to snatch a few moments of sleep.

Sleep had been almost impossible, with blackout blinds drawn, and the acrid smell of tobacco smoke polluting the air. The stopping and starting of the train, together with the incessant chatter of people, plus the lack of fresh air with the result that most travelers had given up the idea of sleep, and had decided to play cards or just to talk the night away.

It had been still dark as he left the station and Ambulances and Fire Engines still made their way through the rubble, their bells ringing and klaxons sounding, as the tired crews still went about their errands of mercy, carrying on with their grisly heartbreaking work until it was finished, and they could then go home for a few hours hard earned rest. Tony stopped to watch two ambulance men carry the body of an old lady from a bombed out house. A fragment of her grey hair poking out from under the covering sheet. He stood and saluted as a token of respect as her fragile body was loaded into a waiting ambulance. An elderly man stood, his eyes full of tears, as he watched his deceased wife being carried away, while a younger woman, probably his daughter, tried in vain to console him, her arms round his shoulders. Her own tears trickling down her cheeks.

The front of the house had been blown clean out, and Tony could see the pictures on the wall of the front bedroom, some tattered curtains, and a whole host of personal effects including a cracked chamber pot lying abandoned in the roadway.

He guessed that it would be many hours before all the fires were extinguished, and any hint of normality returned to the City. The roads had to be kept clear and there would be a lot of work for the bomb disposal squads before they too could rest.

In the next street attempts were being made by local people to bring some return to normality and householders were out sweeping the street, and children looking for bits of shrapnel that they could swop with others kids at school. People were setting out to work on bicycles, not really knowing whether their offices or factories would still be standing when they eventually arrived. But they all knew full well that the following night would mean yet another night sleeping in the underground station, or in an air raid shelter.

The George and Dragon public house bar room door was open and he could see that the Woman's Voluntary Services were providing the Air raid Wardens and other rescue services with free cups of Coffee or Tea and sandwiches, as they had a chance of a few moments break from their onerous task. A Warden just leaving the bar shouted to him"

Come on in Navy there's a cuppa just waiting for you. "Tony shouted. "Thanks pal but I'm nearly home now."

Many shops were boarded up, but still open for business as the owners desperately tried to earn a fragile living amongst the bombed out ruins. Tony gave a little smile as he saw one shopkeeper with a boarded up front had written

"Fuck you Adolf we are still open for Business as Usual."

Farther on a small queue of housewives, were waiting for a local greengrocer to open, as they chatted amongst themselves. One woman seeing him shouted "Up the Navy."and they all joined in to give him a small cheer as he limped past them on his way home.

They made Tony feel a little guilty, as he thought to himself, that they were the real heroes, these were the people, the ordinary people who carried on day after day with little food and looking after their families, doing vital war work, and doing all the things that normal human beings did on a daily basis despite the best efforts of the Luftwaffe. Germany he thought could never ever beat these people.

Tony had just left Haslar Royal Naval Hospital at Gosport the previous day. It had been a long painful few months as he recovered in Haslar Hospital from his injuries, sustained on the 4th June when he had made his last return from the Dunkirk beaches. His life had been in the balance for over a month, the doctors and his own indomitable spirit had survived in the end, and he had made a long slow recovery from his horrific injuries. Now he had been given sick leave until the New Year. Now all he wanted was to get home, see his wife Sarah and catch up on some sleep, and when he woke, to go and have a pint of Brown and Mild beer with his father at his local.

Tony had been seconded from the battleship HMS Howe and given command of the thirty year old stern Paddle Steamer which was manned by naval volunteers from local shore bases, and ex navy pensioner volunteers to meet the emergency. The ship had no guns except for the arms brought aboard by the army survivors, many of whom were also killed or injured by the raiding aircraft. The final trip when he had been injured, had been the third time they had visited the Dunkirk beaches. It was to have been the last trip they could make anyway, as the Germans had almost reached the beaches when they had left this last time.

The intermittent fire from soldiers Rifles and Bren Guns had done little to deter the Luftwaffe on their mission of assassination. It had been the unexpected arrival of an RAF Hurricane fighter plane which had driven off the attacking JU88 and probably saved them from further casualties or being sunk. The Fairy Queen had just made it back to port, before she gently settled down alongside the jetty. But Tony had not been conscious, as he too was carried ashore to a waiting ambulance, and then rushed to a local hospital as the doctors battled through the night to save his life. It was only later after he had been transferred to a Naval Hospital that he was told how he had been cheered ashore by the grateful soldiers, whose lives he had helped to save.

It was three weeks later when he really regained full consciousness for the first time, surfacing from the unending waves of pain. Then he had been told that he had been awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for gallantry. He was one of several serviceman, who had received awards from the Surgeon Admiral representing the King. Gradually with the help of the dedicated nursing staff, his own dogged determination, and the skill of the overworked physiotherapists that he had gradually recovered to something nearing full fitness.

The Medical Board had told him that it was highly possible that he would be discharged from the Navy on a medical pension, but only time would tell, and much depended on how well he recovered from his injuries. His parents had visited him in hospital every week, and he had received two very brief fleeting visits from his wife Sarah, who apologised for the shortness of her visits, but she use the excuse that she was working in a munitions factory on war work. However there seemed to be a coolness between his parents and Sarah, which the more he thought about it caused him some concern.

Sarah and he had been an item virtually since their early school days. They had grown up together gone to school together, and it seemed ordained that they should eventually marry. Which they did three months before the outbreak of hostilities. Tony had been a Sub Lieutenant in the peacetime RNVR and had been called to full time service in September 1939. He had been promoted to Lieutenant some two months after his call up.

His home in Stratford was one of a typical terraced house with an outside toilet, and open coal fires. They had gas for cooking and some heating, and his father had paid for Electricity to be put in just before the war started.