Tension spread through Ruth’s shoulders. Evacuation is voluntary and many children remain in the city, but if it were up to me, they ’d all be given sanctuary in the countryside.
Over the past month, Ruth had written two letters to the United States Committee for the Care of European Children (USCOM), a new organization chaired by Eleanor Roosevelt to bring Jewish refugee children to America. To date, she received no response.
“I spoke to Mrs. Webb about children moving out of the city.”
Aline lowered her head.
“She told me that she’s working to get some of the children into private homes, far away from London. I asked her to include you, if possible.”
Aline sat up straight. “I don’t want to go. It’ll mean that I’ll never see you and Lucette.”
“I don’t want to be away from you either, but it will be safer for you outside the city.”
“Why can’t I live with you?”
“I’ve tried, and will continue to try, but I have no authority in the matter.”
Aline looked up at Ruth. “It’s not fair. I wish we could run away—someplace with no bombs or guns—until the war is over and my papa comes home.”
Ruth’s chest ached. She placed an arm around Aline’s shoulder. “Me too.”
They sat silently for a moment while more children descended the stairs and made their way down the hallway.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about Grandpapa, Maman, and Jimmie,” Aline said.
Ruth drew a deep breath. Upon her arrival to London, she’d told her that Jimmie was killed in a raid while evacuating from France, but did not provide the details. “Would you like to talk about it?”
“Sometimes I’m angry, and other times I’m sad.”
Ruth swallowed. “I am, too.”
“You are?”
“Oui. It’s okay for you to have these feelings.”
Aline picked at a loose thread on the sleeve of her shirt. “I miss them.”
She leaned to Aline. “We’re going to get through this.”
The orphanage worker approached them. “Excuse me. Aline needs to join the others for breakfast before going to school.”
Ruth nodded.
The woman turned and joined a group of children who were shuffling down the hallway.
“I’ll see you after work,” Ruth said.
Aline hugged her and left to join the others.
Alone, Ruth felt miserable. She left the orphanage, made her way through the East End, and boarded a train to RAF Croydon. Throughout her eight-hour shift of packing parachutes, her mind remained on Aline and the Luftwaffe air raids. I need to do more to get her out of London, she thought, carefully folding the silk fabric of a canopy.
After her shift, she and Lucette left the airfield for Dankworth Hall. Before they could get there, air raid sirens sounded, sending them and thousands of Londoners scrambling to nearby underground shelters. Within minutes, a rumble of antiaircraft fire and bombs resonated through the overcrowded tunnel. She hoped that Aline made it safely to Tilbury Shelter, and she was disappointed that Lucette would not get to see her.
Ruth, determined to not allow the Luftwaffe to hinder her endeavors, borrowed a pad of paper and a pencil from a businessman who was carrying a leather briefcase. She hunkered on the concrete floor and placed the pad of paper against her leg. First, she wrote a letter to her maman and dad. Then, she began to draft her third letter to USCOM.
Dear First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt,
A detonation shook the ground, and bits of mortar fell from the ceiling. Cries and whimpers echoed through the tunnel.
Ruth dusted bits of sand from her paper. Her mind raced, searching for the right words, and she continued to write.
CHAPTER 57
LONDON, ENGLAND—SEPTEMBER 17, 1940
Ruth, along with Lucette, reported to work at RAF Croydon and entered the hangar that contained the WAAF parachute packers. She went to her assigned table, where she labored to untangle a mass of parachute cords. Her hands and fingers ached, and she was exhausted from lack of sleep, due to spending ten consecutive nights in an underground station. For Ruth, the worst part was worrying about Aline’s safety. Although the frequency and intensity of the bombardments had escalated, Dankworth Hall had yet to find countryside homes to evacuate its children.
For several hours, Ruth untangled, folded, and packed parachutes. Then, she carried the packed harnesses to a pile at the entrance to the hangar.
A WAAF supervisor named Enid entered the hangar, cupped her hands around her mouth, and called, “A driver has fallen ill—can anyone drive a lorry?”
“I can,” Ruth said, standing near the woman.
“The lorry is outside. Load thirty chutes into the back and take them to number twelve hangar to be unloaded.”
“May I bring another person with me to help?”
“No. It’s a one-person job.” Enid handed Ruth a key and left.
