Waiting for the All Clear

I was almost home when the air raid siren sounded. My first instinct was to race the last few streets back to the house but I stopped on the corner, irresolute. The Tube station was just over the road and I knew that people had taken to sheltering on the platforms during air raids, despite the protests of the station master.

If I went home, I could potentially be spending the night in the Anderson shelter with Mr and Mrs Cartwright. The thought of being stuck in that tiny space with Mr Cartwright's eyes all over me was enough to decide me.

I crossed over the road and descended the steps into the Tube station. Many more people had the same idea and the station master stood by silently as people flowed onto the platforms. The last Tube had left a few moments before and the platforms were still largely empty.

I picked the southbound platform and made my way right to the very end, to the mouth of the tunnel where the platform was at its narrowest.

I looked enviously at the people who had come prepared with rugs, flasks and newspapers. I stood and leaned against the tiled wall. My legs were already tired from running up and down the stairs of the office all day and it wasn't long before I overcame my distaste and sat down on the floor, with my back against the wall. My stretched-out legs just reached the lip of the platform.

More people had come in and already there was the smell of confined humanity. Anxious chatter was punctuated by occasional laughter as people tried to make light of the situation.

The first dull thumps of bombs falling sounded a few moments later and the laughter died down. I tried not to think about where they were falling, tried not to call to mind the bombed-out houses and streets I walked past every day, the wardens picking through piles of rubble, unidentifiable things being brought out covered with sheets.

I shivered and pulled my coat tighter about me. I was dimly aware of other people moving down towards my end of the platform, settling themselves nearby.

I wished I had brought a newspaper or book to read, something to distract me from my gloomy thoughts. My life had once seemed a dazzling thing, full of promise and possibility. I had arrived in London like every other suburban girl before me, excited by the possibilities, the chance to remake myself into a new person, far away from the stuffy conventions of home. In London, with its blessing of anonymity, I could explore the desires and promptings of my heart that had always been so carefully concealed.

Even when the war had come, it had not caused me any alarm. Here was another opportunity, the chance to do a different sort of work that would never have been open to me before. I had moved from bank clerk to a clerk in the War Office, taking minutes from meetings where every aspect of the war was discussed.

It was exciting, at first. But as the bombings intensified, everything that had been delightful about life gradually ebbed away. The girls I had lived with in a messy, joyously chaotic flat in Clapham had all moved away; gone to join the Land Army or the ATS or to move back with their parents in the country. I had taken a room with the Cartwrights because it was convenient for work and because they had an air raid shelter in the garden. But there were no more parties, no more evenings in the pub.

I closed my eyes and wondered if I might be able to sleep until the raid was over.

A terrific bang sounded somewhere very close by. The whole station trembled and shuddered and then the lights went out, plunging us all into complete darkness. Screams sounded all around me and I could hear people moving, getting to their feet. I sat frozen in terror, unable to see anything at all in the blackness. Was this what death was like? A sudden snuffing out of the lights?

And then the voice of the station master; perhaps a notch higher than normal but still managing to sound calm, cutting through the tide of panic.

"Remain calm, ladies and gents! That was a big one all right but it hasn't hit us. The lights might be out for a while I'm afraid so the best thing is to remain where you are. As soon as all the all-clear sounds, we'll get the torches and get you out of here."

The panicked voices subsided to anxious murmurings. A few people struck matches and tiny pin pricks of light flared briefly down the length of the platform, like stars in the night sky.

I took deep breaths to try and still the hammering of my heart. I raised my hand before my face but could see nothing at all. The hot, sweaty stink of the station suddenly seemed more potent now we were in darkness. I closed my eyes and tried to focus only on my breathing.

I gradually became aware of a noise not too far from me. A soft sobbing noise of somebody crying. I shuffled along towards the noise, keeping my back to the wall. It would be absurd to break my neck now by falling onto the tracks.

The sound of the crying became more distinct. It was definitely a woman sobbing.

I reached out a hand and touched some heavy, thick material that felt like tweed. There was an immediate cry of alarm and I felt her flinch away from me.

"Sorry," I said. "Sorry! I forgot you can't see me. I just wanted to see if you were all right."

"Yes," came a voice, choked with tears. "Yes, perfectly all right, thank you."

"It was a bit of a shock, wasn't it? And this total darkness...it's unnatural. Even in the darkest night you can always see something at least."

"Yes. It's...it's so dark."

"But it does have some advantages," I said, trying to sound perky. "It means you can't see that I didn't comb my hair very well this morning."

There was a polite attempt at a laugh that then descended into sobbing. I reached out and felt the tweed again. I squeezed what I took to be the arm beneath it.

"Come on now. We're quite safe down here."

"It's not me I'm worried about. I'm worried for my little boy."

"Where is he?"

"Out in Essex with my mum."

"Then he's a lot better off than we are."

"But he won't be if I die down here!"

"We're not going to die. We're going to sit here in the dark for a while, get very smelly and then, when the all clear goes, we'll be back up top."

There was a lot of sniffing and gasping but after a few moments, it sounded as if her breathing was steadying.

"I know I'm better off down here that I would be in my digs," I said. "They've got a shelter in the garden but..."

"But what?"

Something about the total darkness seemed to invite confidences.

"Well, it's the man of the house you see. He...has a way of looking at me that I don't much care for."

"I know exactly what you mean, darlin'," came the response. No tears in the voice this time. "Their eyes is everywhere they oughtn't to be. Stares at your chest, does he?"

"Actually no. I don't have much of a chest to speak of. It's my legs he stares at."

"Dirty old bugger." And that made me laugh and then I heard her laughing as well and some of the tension seemed to lift. "Got a good pair of pins, have you?"

"I don't know. What counts as a good pair?"

"Oh, you know! Long and shapely. The type that looks good in stockings."

I wiggled my legs experimentally, as if trying to judge their quality. "Well, they're quite long, I suppose."

"How tall are you?"

"Five foot, eight." The woman gave a low whistle.

"I can picture you, all right. A tall, leggy blonde."

"Not blonde," I said, smiling. "My hair is just a plain, dull brown I'm afraid."

"You could say your hair is any colour you like, darlin'. I wouldn't be able to tell."

"That's true! I could have said I had hair the colour of ripened wheat." The woman laughed again.

"That's very poetic. But have you actually got short, stumpy legs like me?"

"Sometimes I wish I did. I can't ever find coats the right length."

"No, darlin'. You take pride in your pins. I'd kill for some long, elegant legs." There was silence for a moment and I felt her shift beside me, trying to find a more comfortable sitting position. "Mind you, my husband weren't bothered about my legs. He was a chest man, if you know what I mean."

I wasn't sure that I did but I agreed anyway. "Where is your husband?"

"He was killed in North Africa a few months ago."

"Oh no. I'm so sorry."

"Thank you. We was only a married a short while. He got evacuated out of Dunkirk and then we was hitched shortly after. Just enough time for him to get me up the duff really." The woman sighed heavily. "He was a nice enough bloke but I did start to think that he had only married me for my boobs."

A bubble of hysterical laughter rose within me and I tried to suppress it. I shook with the effort of keeping it in and I felt the woman turning towards me.

"What's the matter? You ain't crying, are you?"

"No," I gasped. "I'm sorry. It's just...he married you for your boobs!" I couldn't contain myself any longer and my shoulders heaved and shook. There was a brief silence and then I heard the woman laughing along with me.

"I s'pose it is pretty funny," she chuckled. I finally caught my breath and wiped my eyes. The laughter had felt like a great release, as if a pressure valve had been opened.

"Your boobs must be very impressive if a man married you for them," I said.

"Ha! Well, they've always been my best asset. The thing that everyone notices about me. Like you with your legs."

"Oh no. We're not back to my legs again, are we?"

"Too bloody right, we are! I keep picturing your lovely, long legs."

"I don't think they're that long really."

"No?" I could feel her shifting beside me and then a questing touch on my knee. "What bit of you is that then?" she asked, squeezing. It was ticklish and I squealed.

"That's my knee," I said, laughing.

"Your knee? Bloody hell! Hang on, let's find your ankle then." Her hand moved down and grasped my ankle firmly. "Right," she said, business-like. "Now, let's see." She slowly moved her hand up my shin. "Bare legs," she murmured.

"I'm down to my last pair of stockings so I'm saving them for a special occasion," I explained, though I was finding it hard to focus. The feel of her touch on my leg was sending tingles down to my toes.

She reached my knee and paused. "Hmm, that's already longer than one of my legs."

"Oh, give over," I said. She moved her hand over my knee until she found the hem of my skirt. Her hand paused and then her fingers wiggled their way beneath the hem. She continued her progress very slowly up my thigh. Her touch was warm and firm as she went ever higher. My breath caught as her questing fingers brushed against the fabric of my knickers.

The air seemed thicker and heavier. I could feel her leaning in close to me as she slipped her hand under the leg of my knickers and rested her finger in the crease between my thigh and hip.

"As I thought," she said and I was taken aback by how close she was; I could feel the warmth of her breath on my cheek. "You've got lovely, long legs."

I swallowed. I wasn't quite sure what was happening but I was very sure that I liked the feel of her hand on me.

"Well, that's not fair," I said.

"What isn't?"

"You've confirmed your thoughts about my legs but I can't confirm that your chest is as glorious as you claim." There was a silence and as I stared into the blackness that held her, I wondered if I had misread the situation.

"I reckon you could," she said. She withdrew her hand from my leg and fumbled at my side until she had hold of my wrist. She pulled on it and I felt layers of clothing and then smooth, silky fabric beneath my fingers. "Give me your other hand."

I turned onto my side and reached my other arm across. I patted at her until she took hold of it and guided it to join my other hand.

I had both hands on her breasts. I could not quite believe that this was really happening but I thought I had better move fast before she changed her mind. I ran my hands over the smooth surface of her bra and then cupped her breasts. I brushed my thumbs across her nipples and heard her sharp, intake of breath. I squeezed gently, pushing her breasts together and repeating the movement of my thumbs.

She shifted and her voice was close against my ear. "You've done this before, ain't you?"

"Once or twice."

"That feels very good." Her voice caught as flicked my thumb hard against her nipple and then she let out a sigh. "It's nice to feel something good again."

And then I felt her move. At first, I couldn't make out what she was doing but then I felt her weight on my lap and I was reaching up to cup her breasts. She wriggled and I felt her bra loosen so that I could slide my hands in and feel the warm flesh of her breasts. I kneaded them gently, brushing my palms across her hard nipples.

I felt her face close to mine and I tilted my own upwards. My lips brushed what felt like her chin but then she moved her mouth onto mine. I parted my lips and felt her tongue sliding against my own. I squeezed her breasts hard and felt her gasping against my mouth.

I kissed her hungrily for several minutes, my tongue lapping at hers. I broke the kiss and leaned forward, until I could feel that my face was between her breasts. She smelt of coal smoke and beneath it was the tang of her sweat. I moved my mouth across the soft flesh of her breast until I felt her hard nipple against my lips. I placed my mouth around it, holding it there for a long moment whilst she gripped the back of my head. She held herself still against me, her chest rising and falling.

I could hear the faint chatter of people further along the platform, the shifting and sighing as they moved about.

I pursed my lips and sucked gently on her nipple, whilst my hand squeezed and kneaded her other breast. She let out a long sigh against my ear and then, as I sucked slowly harder and harder, she began to pant. I felt her hips pushing against my own, moving up and down against my stomach.

She grasped the hand that was on her breast and moved it down. I felt her fiddling with something and then she pushed my hand past a waistband and smooth material of her knickers until suddenly, I could feel her warm, moist sex against my fingers. I let out a small cry, a mixture of surprise and delight.

"Shhh!" she said into my ear. "You'll get us chucked out."

"I promise to stay quiet if you will," I whispered back. And then I returned my mouth to her breast whilst I slid my hand further between her legs. I licked at her nipple, running my tongue back and forth across it as the tip of my finger circled around her entrance.

Her breath came in short gasps and I could feel her hips moving against my hand, as she tried to push herself onto my finger. I held my hand flat, denying her a little longer.

Finally, as her teeth grazed my earlobe, I allowed my finger to slide up into her. She moaned softly into my ear and pushed her hips down onto my hand. The angle did not afford me much flexibility so I held my hand steady as she moved up and down, my finger sliding back and forth within her.

I released my lips from her breast and she kissed me hard, her tongue pushing insistently into my mouth. Her hips moved rhythmically up and down and I could her the faint slapping sound of her wetness slapping against my hand.

She rode me faster, her body heaving against mine until I felt her hands gripping my shoulders as her sex began to shudder and contract around my finger. She panted and gasped as she came and her teeth grazed the skin of my throat as she tried to suppress the sounds. I held her against me with my free hand as she trembled and convulsed.

The throbbing of her sex subsided and I held myself inside her, feeling the final pulses ebbing away. She was breathing hard against my neck and I heard a man's voice further down the platform say,

"Here, what's going on back there?"

There was a babble of voices in reply, as no one was quite sure who he was talking to. A woman's voice, shrill and annoyed, said "Keep it down, can't you? I've got kids trying to sleep here!"

As the hubbub rose, she eased herself off my hand and she held me against her, my head resting against her bosom.

"That was just what I needed, darlin,'" she murmured.

"I can confirm it," I said.

"You what?"

"I can confirm that you really do have magnificent boobs." She laughed and I could hear the sound echoing within her chest.

I rested contentedly against her and after a while, I felt my eyelids begin to grow heavy. I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I was aware of was a familiar sound cutting through the darkness. It was the all clear.

At once, there was movement and voices all around. Exclamations of relief and shuffling noises as people got to their feet. The station master's voice came again, loud and authoritative.

"All right ladies and gents! That's the all-clear sounding! Me and the warden have got some torches so we'll guide you back out to the top. No pushing please -- we don't want no one falling onto the tracks!"

Torch beams cut through the darkness from the other end of the platform. As I blinked into the darkness, I felt her move off me and could hear her fumbling with clothing. My legs were stiff and cramped and it took me a moment to be able to get to my feet.

And then suddenly a torch beam was slicing along the darkness, briefly lighting up faces and figures in its path. A man's voice was coming towards me: "Move slowly down the platform please. Nice and slowly."

I walked gingerly back down the platform, with my hands held out in front of me. I became aware of other bodies around me, people talking with relief.

"Thank God for that..."

"...could have been here all night."

"...see what Jerry has left for us up top."

I listened intently but couldn't identify her voice amongst the hubbub around me. I proceeded carefully, occasionally brushing against people around me. The beams from the torches moved across us and faces were lit up periodically and then gone again.

After what seemed an age of careful shuffling, I found myself at the bottom of the steps leading back up to the street. The station master was standing there, shining his torch up the steps.

"Mind how you go, ladies and gents," he said. "It's dark up there as well as down here."

I was carried along with the press of people making their way up the steps. I went with them and found myself standing out on the street. The air felt cold after the close heat of the Underground and I pulled my coat tighter around me. I scanned the people coming past me from the station, my eyes lingering on the women, looking at their figures and desperately trying to ascertain which of them she could have been.

Women of all ages and all shapes and sizes came past me. There were women in their twenties and in their fifties. There were tall women, short women, women with ample bosoms and women with almost none. Their gazes barely registered me as they hurried away into the darkened streets. I stood and waited until the flow of people from the station had ceased. The station master and the ARP Warden were the last to emerge. The station master looked at me and asked,

"Did you lose something, miss?"

"Yes. And I rather fear I shan't find it now." His face creased with kindly concern.

"I am sorry, miss. I hope it wasn't nothing very valuable?"

"Well. At least I had it for a short while." I bade him goodnight and turned my steps back towards the Cartwrights'.

As I thrust my hands into my coat pockets, I felt my thumb slide over my sticky forefinger. I smiled to myself in the darkness.