The Orphan Thief. Glynis Peters
Toronto, Canada, 25th December 1938
Jean-Paul Clayton Junior watched his father dip the negative into the solution. Their darkroom housed many dripping negatives waiting to share what the two men had captured through their lens.
Photography was Jean-Paul’s passion and his father’s hobby, so when he’d mentioned his intention to leave the banking sector to take up photography full-time, this had not gone down well with his parents. At nineteen, although he wanted to rebel, he took their advice to continue earning and build a portfolio of work which might stand him in better stead for when he took it up as a permanent career.
Today, he unwrapped their gift to him, one which showed they understood his restlessness. He now owned one of the latest cameras and a ticket to travel throughout Canada. With news of the war brewing in Europe, his parents wanted him to have an adventure during his summer break. His sister received jewellery, which delighted her as much as his gift did him, but Jean-Paul knew his gift would never go out of fashion. A camera would always capture life through a lens and Jean-Paul intended never to miss a moment.
Coventry, 15th November 1940
Ruby Shadwell stared out into the street, blinked away her disbelief and then looked down once again into darkness over the edge of a large smoking crater. A flash of light from the rising sun emerging from behind a cloud skimmed across scattered shards of glass, giving her an insight as to what was below. The epicentre of horror.
The place her parents and two siblings would have sat enjoying their cocoa around the fire, as they did every night. Ruby had no doubt their routine hadn’t altered despite the air raid warnings.
Even if they had been in the Anderson shelter at the bottom of the garden, the scene before her would be the same. Total devastation. Her family crushed to death like ants under the foot of a human.
White-grey flakes fluttered from the sky. She held out her hand. It wasn’t snow, but something like the ash from the fireplace in their house. The house which no longer existed.
Ruby wrapped her arms around her chest and shoulders and gripped hard, digging her fingers into her flesh through the woollen coat she wore. At sixteen, she could not recall a pain so deep, even when her precious grandfather had passed away. Unable to absorb the enormity of the disaster, she remained staring downwards into the crater in the hope it could be a dream. She’d even accept a nightmare. One from which her family clawed their way back to the surface. Back into her life.
Her body, freezing with the November frost and easterly wind, felt stiff and bruised.
Heavy drizzle dripped across her face and she brushed it away, her skin sore with cold, but she was unable to move away from the place she once knew as home. How had it come to this?
Walking home from Lammas Road, Ruby had witnessed the first of the bombs before a warden had grabbed her arm and took her at great speed to the public shelter underneath Radford Common.
Someone gave the time as seven-twelve when the sirens blasted their warning around the city. They ran past the group and towards the shelter, the warden shouting for them to run faster. An elderly lady stumbled and the warden left Ruby in order to help. The enemy attacked before the wailing of the siren had stopped. Ruby screamed as a bomb dropped on the rooftops of a nearby street.
A feeling more than the fear of the bogeyman forced her onwards – it sickened her to think she was streets away from the comfort of her family. Her lungs burned with the cold of the evening air and by the time she made it into the shelter, huddled amongst strangers and a few familiar faces, more bombs had fallen. Too many to count, too many to ignore.
Everyone waited for the all-clear to sound. It never rang out, but the reassurances and door-banging from ARP wardens now that the raid was over came as a huge relief. The warden seeing them out of the shelter warned people to be careful of fires and unexploded bombs, and that electricity was no longer on supply.
Ruby moved forward in the queue to leave and was stunned by what she saw as she stepped outside. Enemy bombs had proved themselves to be powerful and destructive – they’d destroyed Coventry. The people with whom she’d sheltered shouted their disbelief, many sank to their knees, but the majority screamed and ran towards their homes. Ruby headed back; her family would be frantic with worry and she needed to get onto Radford Road and back home to reassure them she was still alive.
The further she made her way back towards the centre of Coventry, the more the mangled streets disorientated her. Once she’d gained her bearings Ruby headed for Eagle Street, picking her way through what should have been darkness, but the city was lit with fires so bright, and the moon shone clear. She had no trouble seeing, although at times she wished it was dark. The more she saw, the more fearful she became of what she might find nearer her own home, and her fears were soon realised. At one point she questioned herself so much she thought she’d go mad. Bombs. Craters. Death. Was she truly staring at the outcome of human action? If only she’d stayed home. Her head throbbed.
She worked out she’d lost hours, as already the day was drifting into late afternoon. She’d lost precious family time after falling and hitting her head. She’d lain in the darkness and wasn’t found by rescuers for several hours. Even without being knocked unconscious, Ruby knew the outcome would be the same. Over eleven hours or eleven days, it made no difference. She was here now, and she knew she was not insane.
Her family were dead.
She touched the bruised area on the back of her head and winced. Gingerly, she pulled her hand away and inspected her fingers, but saw no blood. Ruby walked around the edge of the crater, hoping to catch a glimpse of life – a movement or shout for help. Something, anything to prove her parents or siblings were still alive. Only devastation and darkness reflected back the image of mangled memories. Memories of a happy family life. Of a home brought to its knees by grown men in machines. Ruby had never understood the point of this war, no matter how many times her father drilled into them why it was necessary.
She thought back to when her dark-haired, brown-eyed nine-year-old brother, with his forever-grazed knees, ill-fitting socks and stick-thin legs which dangled from his baggy shorts, had announced he was going to be a soldier and fight for his country. Their mother had laughed and told him to wash his hands and eat his breakfast. With two front teeth missing, he often produced a lisped retort or a cheeky statement. Only that morning he’d teased her for having droopy drawers. James, named for their father, had been a loving soul. Their twelve-year-old sister Lucy had been a quiet, serious girl, her nose forever in a book, and her love of animals, especially cats, frustrated their parents as every day a stray would be brought home and fed. Lucy pleaded for a pet of their own, but their father forbade it and would shake his head and state they already had Coventry’s largest collection of animals hovering in the lane behind the house; he could not be doing with one indoors.
How could her family’s spirited energy disappear so suddenly? In such a cruel way? Painful thoughts dug deep inside and Ruby allowed them space to run free, until a sickness clawed inside her gut.
No more walks on the common, no more hide-and-seek, where her brother would peek from between open fingers. No more listening to the soft voice of Lucy reciting a poem, or her neat and tidy mother singing a verse or two of a song from the radio. No more them. No longer would Ruby use the term us when referring to her family.
The dark hole glared back at her, mocking her tears, tearing her heart in two each time she blinked down in hope.
Even the sunshine had given up trying to spread cheer and waned behind clouds, refusing to dress up such a hideous sight. Ruby shivered and staggered to one side. With a glance back down into the dark abyss, she teetered on the dislodged bricks. Was she meant to jump? What was she to do? How was she meant to survive alone?
Screams and shouting filled her ears. A little girl called out for her mother in the distance, but Ruby remained rooted to the spot. The child was not her problem. Guilt washed