Bomber's Moon

Night Watch

Night Watch

Rushing down the hallway and out into the street, Leslie thought only of his “flock,” neighbors in his district who depended on him and whose lives he was responsible for. People who knew each other, yet really didn’t know each other, not in the sense neighbors usually did. They were momentary companions who settled in for the nightly raids, and then returned to their homes—if they were still standing—afterwards. Leslie thanked God that most Londoners knew what to do in a raid. By the second week of the nightly bombings, the rich and the not so rich worked together, came out into the streets in an orderly fashion, headed for their assigned shelters and, for the most part, listened to their wardens and cheerfully did as they were told.

Once his flock was safely sheltered underground and, before entering the shelter with the other wardens, as was his habit, Leslie glanced down at the full moon’s reflection in a roadway puddle.

“Your sheep in?” one of the wardens called out.

“Yes,” he said. “The lot.”

“Good. Best to be getting in yourself.” He turned and looked up at the night sky. “Bomber’s moon for sure. The Jerries will be having a great time above.”

Yes,” Leslie said and then quickly followed the warden into the shelter and down the stairs.

* * * *

In the Underground, Leslie sat on a wooden bench sandwiched between a man and a small boy, about six. The man appeared to be somewhere in his late thirties or early forties. The boy held a small teddy with a missing ear.

“I can’t believe she’s gone,” the man said, absently brushing flecks of dirt and dust from his trousers. “I expect to see her everywhere.”

Leslie glanced up at the man and forced what he hoped was a sympathetic look—genuine emotion was such an effort.

“Not to worry, love,” said a woman sitting across from Leslie. Her hair was in curlers and she was dressed in a threadbare chenille bathrobe. “My husband’s talking about the family cat. She ran off in a raid and we haven’t seen her since. Just like losing a loved one, it was.”

Leslie nodded. He understood the meaning of sudden loss. He turned to the boy, and ruffled his hair. “Scared?”

The boy shook his head in a way that said he wasn’t, but replied, “Yes.”

Suddenly there was a droning of engines overhead, followed by the rat-tat-tat of anti-aircraft guns, and then the dreaded whistling of a bomb plummeting to earth, indiscriminate of its target. Heads automatically turned upward, as if their eyes could trace the path of the flying explosive through the depths of the Underground. Leslie took in a breath, held it and counted. One. Two. Three…Several children covered their ears with their hands. Others waited for the earth to shake violently, and when it finally did, clouds of dust and dirt filtered through the air. A collective sigh of relief accompanied the all clear. It was over for the night. The bombers had done their work and wouldn’t be back. Until tomorrow.