“Ruth!” a voice called from far away in the station.
She perked her head and struggled to see over the large number of people in the station. It’s someone else with the same name. She relaxed and adjusted her grip on the luggage.
“Ruth!” a man shouted, closer and more discernible.
The timber of the voice sent shivers down her spine. Her heart thudded against her rib cage. It can’t be—
“Ruth!”
She shot forward. “Jimmie!”
“Ruth!”
She labored through the throng and, as she passed a group of businessmen with briefcases, Jimmie’s face emerged from the crowd. Her body went weak, the luggage slipped from her hands, and she collapsed onto her knees. Tears flooded her eyes, and she felt him scoop her into his arms.
“Oh, darling,” he cried.
“Jimmie,” she sobbed. “You’re alive.”
He covered her face with kisses.
She pressed her lips to his and drew him tight.
The crowd stepped back, creating a circle around the couple. Eyes of people fell upon them. An elderly woman smiled and looped her arm around her husband’s elbow.
Jimmie gently placed his hands to her cheeks and looked into tear-filled eyes. “I’m so sorry it took me so long to return home and find you.”
“You’re here now,” she cried. “That’s all that matters.” Tears streamed down her face. Waves of emotion flooded her body.
Together, they wept, oblivious to the hundreds of Londoners who surrounded them.
He kissed her tears.
She clutched the tunic of his uniform and pressed to his chest.
An air raid siren sounded.
People shuffled down the landing, and Londoners, coming from nearby neighborhoods, began to enter the train station.
Ruth slowly released him. “We need to go.”
He stood and helped her to her feet, and then picked up her luggage.
Ruth clasped his arm, absent a cast and appearing to be fully healed. She led him through the surge of people making their way to the underground section of the train station. They traveled down flights of stairs and entered a tunnel, which was a disused section of the Central Line extension.
“There,” Ruth said, pointing to an empty spot at the back of the tunnel. She squeezed between people, who were putting down blankets and pillows, and sat on the concrete landing with her back against the wall.
Jimmie put down the luggage, sat, and wrapped his arm around her.
“I can’t believe it,” Ruth said, filled with joy. She leaned into him. “I watched the ship go down, and I thought you didn’t make it out. I searched for you in the water—on the evacuation ship—at the port in England. I thought I lost you.” Tears of happiness welled up in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry.” He kissed her hair. “I wish I could have found you, or gotten word to you. I’m so happy you’re alive.”
“The life jacket saved me.” She eased up and looked at him. “What happened?”
He drew a deep breath and peered at the arched ceiling of the tunnel, as if he were sifting through his memories. For several minutes, he told her about his struggle to get to the hull of the Lancastria, the reluctance of most of his ground crew members to disregard orders and come topside, and the explosion that occurred while he and some of the men began their ascent.
“I was the only one to get to the stairway landing,” Jimmie said, his voice somber. “The hull rapidly flooded. My friend Horace and the other members of my squadron didn’t get out, nor did the hundreds of ground crew who were ordered to go to the hull.”
“Oh, God.” She placed a hand to his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
He nodded. “I was overcome by water, and I swam through a submerged passage in search of a way out. As my body was giving out, a man grabbed me and pulled me into a compartment with an air pocket. We escaped through a porthole.”
Ruth shivered. She pulled him tight.
“I floated on a piece of wood debris from the ship’s deck, until French fishing vessels joined the destroyers and trawlers that were rescuing survivors. I was taken aboard an oared fishing boat that was rowed by an elderly Frenchman and a boy. They took me to shore and found a doctor to tend to my arm that I reinjured in the escape. By the time I got to Saint-Nazaire, the evacuation was over.”
Ruth drew a jagged breath.
“I met up with several BEF soldiers who failed to make it out of the port. We made our way south through France, Spain, and to Gibraltar, where we boarded a British ship to England. I got back a few weeks ago and learned from Nora that you were alive. I contacted ambulance units but couldn’t find you, so Nora and I wrote letters and made telephone inquiries to each of the women’s branches of the British military. This morning, I discovered that you were a member of the WAAF and acquired your address, but no telephone number. I couldn’t wait to see you, so I talked my squadron leader into giving me a day of leave. I went to your apartment and found Lucette. She told me you were on your way here to board a train.”
“Thank goodness my train was late,” Ruth said.
People—carrying blankets, pillows, lamps, and torchlights— flooded into the tunnel and squeezed into spaces. A muted sound of air raid sirens echoed through the underground shelter.
“It was wonderful to see Lucette,” Jimmie said. “I’m so glad she’s okay.”
Ruth nodded.
