JOE AND NELLY A World War Two ghost story
CHAPTER 16

The morning after Uncle Bill’s return, Joe woke up alone in bed, wondering how he got there. He remembered sitting on the stairs and trying to listen to snatches of the grown-ups’ conversation. He remembered what Mum had said about Nelly’s mum pretending she had scarlet fever just to keep her from being evacuated, and the broken lock that stopped Nelly getting back into the house to be with her parents – could they have made it to the air raid shelter? He also remembered the look on Mum’s face when she saw Uncle Bill. He didn’t like the sickly feeling in his insides, crawling around like a giant insect.

He slid out of bed and opened the blackout curtains. The summer sun was in the sky, Lovegrove Street looked the same as ever and he could hear the familiar sound of the wireless from downstairs. He was about to splash some cool water on his face from the wash basin, when he noticed an envelope that someone had left on the chest of drawers. He picked it up and recognised his own hand writing. It was his letter, the one he had sent to Dad. Although the envelope wasn’t torn, it looked as if it had been opened. He lifted the flap and removed the folded sheet of paper. There was no sign that it had been read by Dad though, no dirty fingerprints or grease marks. It looked clean and newly written. But it had been opened.

Several days had gone by since he said goodbye to Nelly in the churchyard and Joe hadn’t been to the bomb site. It reminded him of happy times digging in the crater with his best friend - and of his life before the war with both parents. But he felt a strong urge to go back one more time. He pulled on his clothes, shoved the letter in his pocket and ran down the stairs, jumping down the last four steps and landing with a thud. Nan came to the door, a tea towel in her hand.

‘How are you feeling, Joe?’

Joe gazed around the empty dining room. Apart from the big band music coming from the wireless and water running from the tap in the kitchen, the house was quiet. Even Monty was silent on his perch.

‘Where is everybody?’ he asked.

‘They’ve all gone to work.’

‘What about Granddad?’

‘He had to go somewhere but he’ll be back soon. Now sit yourself down and eat some breakfast.’ Nan said.

Joe did as he was told. He was too unsettled to disobey Nan. There was a strange atmosphere. His cup of tea tasted bitter and wouldn’t wash away the lumps of bread and marge that clogged up his mouth. He wanted to spit them out. When Nan returned to the kitchen, he got down from the table and called out: ‘I’m going for a walk. I need some fresh air. I won’t be long.’ Before she could reply, he dashed up the hallway and out the front door.

Outside, nothing had changed. Lovegrove Street was dusty, quiet and empty. He thought about walking up the Old Kent Road and back towards the river, but that was too far. Peckham Rye might be a good place to spend the morning. There would be people and a few dogs to watch. But Joe was drawn like a metal filing to a magnetic field, towards the flight of steps, and he didn’t resist.

He had got halfway down the street, when he stopped and drew in a sharp breath. On the top step he could just make out the shape of a person, leaning forward with one arm on their knee. As he got closer, he could see it was a man in uniform, with one arm in a sling. He was singing in a voice as warm and tuneful as a clarinet:

On Mother Kelly’s doorstep, down Paradise Row

Where little girl Nelly used to sit along with Joe.

She had a little hole in her frock,

Hole in her shoe, hole in her sock

Where her toe peeped through,

But Nelly was the darling of our alley.

On Mother Kelly’s doorstep, - I’m wondering now

If little girl Nelly remembers Joe, her beau,

And does she love him like she used to

On Mother Kelly’s doorstep - down Paradise Row.

Joe was bursting from holding his breath. He let it gush out of his lungs. His heart knocked against his ribs and his knees wobbled as he ran the last few yards to the steps. The man in uniform stood up as Joe ran at him and flung his arms around his waist. He inhaled the fresh scent of his hair oil and felt the rough material of his jacket as it brushed against his cheek. Joe looked up at his father’s face. It was thinner and sharper. He had a bandage wrapped over his left eye but there it was still there in his good right eye – that familiar twinkle.