There's No Home by Alexander Baron

Author:Alexander Baron [Alexander Baron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781908745040
Publisher: Sort Of Books
Published: 2011-09-17T04:00:00+00:00

Wally Fooks was in a bar on the waterfront when the Messerschmitts flew over the town. He heard the thin, uneven engine beat, drained his glass of vermouth and said to two sappers who were sitting at another table, ‘I’ll lay yer a quid that’s Jerry, tosh.’

‘Ah,’ said one of the sappers thoughtfully, ‘it’s ’im all right.’

‘He wants to get shagged,’ said the other soldier, ‘muckin’ up a nice quiet gaff like this. Here!’ He waved to the barman. ‘Another vermutty, capeesh?’

Anti-aircraft shells coughed in the sky and the civilians in the bar realized for the first time what was happening. A couple vanished into the street; the rest crowded in the doorway in a state of agitation. There was an increasing clatter of footsteps in the street.

The ripping, thudding sound of gunfire was continuous. The din of footsteps on the pavements grew. Shouts echoed between the tall buildings. One of the men in the doorway shouted, ‘Al ricovero!’ and bolted. The barman rushed to the door, looked apprehensively at the soldiers, took a few hesitant paces back towards the counter and halted in indecision.

A battery on the docks opened fire with an ear-splitting series of detonations. The whole room rocked. There was another scream of ‘Al ricovero!’ and everyone but the barman and the soldiers poured out into the street and joined in the stampede.

‘They say them shells cost fifty quid each,’ mused one of the sappers.

‘What’s this ricovero lark they’re shoutin’ about?’ asked Fooks.

‘Al ricovero – to the shelter,’ the sapper explained. ‘Listen to ’em!’ The frantic voices of men and women could be heard amid the uproar in the street, ‘Al ricovero!’ ‘Al ricovero!’

‘F— a duck!’ exclaimed Wally Fooks. ‘What we waiting for?’

He jumped to his feet and shouted, ‘Al ricovero! Al ricovero!’

‘Ol’ bleed’n’ windy all of a sudden,’ said one of the sappers in disgust.

‘Oo’s windy?’ shouted Fooks. ‘Al ricovero! Al ricovero!’ He seized the bewildered barman by the arm and hustled him towards the door. The barman, more out of confusion than courage, resisted. ‘Al ricovero!’ Fooks put his mouth to the barman’s car and bellowed, ‘Bang! Bang!’ He forced the trembling Italian out through the doorway, ‘Come on mate, quick! Bang! Bang! Al ricovero!’

Fooks and the barman rushed away along the street. Fooks stopped, and watched his companion, caught up in the panic, borne away in the streaming, heaving, human surge. He pushed his way back to the bar. ‘Al ricovero!’ he roared from the doorway. ‘Ol’ rags and lumber! Apples a pahnd pears! Star, News an’ Standard!’ He urged the mob on with heroic gestures. ‘Come on, the Spurs! Chamberlain Must Go! Al ricovero!’

He crossed to the bar counter, selected a bottle of vermouth, and filled three glasses. ‘The ol’ ’elpin’ ’and,’ he explained. ‘One good deed every day. They learn you that in the Boy Scouts.’ He leaned over the cash register and pressed keys. A bell rang and the drawer flew open. ‘Jus’ like the ol’ pin table, eh?’ He held up a handful of lire notes.

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