Ellen Blake Destined To Return

51 - St Pancras

London, 6th August 1941

The train journey had been long and Ellen wished that the seats were as comfy as those from 2014. It didn't help when she discovered that it took an age from reaching the outskirts of London to St Pancras. Billy had been so excited to see London that he had stood at the window in the corridor for the full 45 minutes it took to reach the station. He always thought Nottingham was a metropolis in comparison with York, but this was something else. Endless streets of houses, warehouses and factories as far as the eye could see. He found it massive and enthralling.

Brook woke almost in time with the train coming to a complete stand-still and they all prepared to leave the carriage, not forgetting the old suitcase. It felt so good to stand on the cold concrete of the steady platform after such a tiresome and juddery journey. They were all delighted just to stretch their legs and look around the glorious old station even with clouds of steam buffeting from all directions.

'I always thought the railway station in London was called King's Cross, not St Pancras,' Billy mused.

'St Pancras is another station right next door to King's Cross,' said Aaron.

'Oh, I see.'

'I'll tell you something else,' said Brook, with her historian hat on once more. 'St Pancras is named after the patron saint of children and when he was a lad, about your age, he was beheaded for his religious beliefs.'

'Lovely story,' said Ellen, before being cut off by a shout from behind.

'Hey stop!' came the shout from further along the platform near the front of the train.

'Oh no. It's the conductor!' said Aaron, seeing the woman chasing down the platform and waving her arm in the air. 'Do you think she's rumbled us and that story about Brook's disease?'

'What disease?' asked Brook. 'Never mind. Let's get out of here.'

They made a hasty exit along the platform away from the woman who was struggling to catch up. Aaron clutched the suitcase to his chest, in a manner he was becoming familiar with, whilst behind them cries from the woman could still be heard.

'Stop! Wait!' she cried. 'Somebody stop those children.'

Other passengers along the platform either turned to see what the commotion was or jumped to get out of the way of Brook and the four teenagers as they darted amongst them, trying to avoid the trolleys and luggage.

'Not so fast,' said a burly porter, as he and his colleague blocked their path.

There was nothing they could do as the two men grabbed the arms of Ellen, Billy and Aaron.

The conductor finally made her way through the watching crowd and took a few seconds to catch her breath, whilst almost popping out of her uniform.

'Thanks chaps,' she said, acknowledging the help from her colleagues. 'Sorry to startle you, my dears. I didn't mean to worry you.'

'What do you mean?' asked Marianne, trying to get one of the porters to release her brother.

'I needed to stop you. You see I misled you earlier. I've just checked with the driver again and he said that RAF Eastcote is possibly not the place you want to be heading.'

'Why?' questioned Ellen.

After a few more deep breaths the woman continued.

'It is the right place for the Wren's training camp, but I heard you say something about needing to see an officer, a Major. That got me thinking whether someone of that rank would be based at a training camp. Anyway I checked with the driver again and he said I was right. You won't find senior officers out there. They'll be in Whitehall ... in Central London.'

'Where? Does he know?' asked Brook, in her fake male voice.

'Yes, apparently the Wrens and many of the other allied forces have a headquarters on Pehl's Square in Pall Mall. They're based in a building called Norwich House. It's just north of The Mall ... you know the one with Buckingham Palace at one end?'

'Oh, thank you so much. That saved us heading in the wrong direction,' said Ellen. 'Sorry for rushing off like that. We were so scared to hear someone shouting after us ... like I said we've never been to London before and were a little on edge.'

'Don't you worry, my dear,' smiled the conductor.

'You've been so very helpful, but I don't suppose you know how to get there from here? Do you?' asked Ellen, cheekily.

'I'm afraid I don't. Not sure if you've noticed from my accent, but I'm from a little further north of these parts.'

She looked at the two porters still holding the teenagers.

'Either of you know?' she asked.

'Take the tube,' said the shorter man, abruptly.

'Naah!' said the other more burly man in a thick London accent. 'You can't trust the underground these days. Half the bloody lines aren't running and the stations double for air-raid shelters at the drop of a hat. You'd be just as quick to walk, but it's a bit of a trek mind. You take a left outta here, twenty minutes down the Euston Road, then forty minutes down the Tottenham Court Road till you reach Trafalgar Square. You've heard of Nelson's Column ain't ya? Well when you cop an eyeful of him, high on his perch, you're there. Then Pall Mall will be due west. I reckon you've about a good hour and a half's hike.'

The shorter man looked at the girls' feet and commented.

'They'll be lucky. More like a couple of hours in those shoes.'

Copyright © Dean Constable 2016