Ruby's War by Johanna Winard

music in that case of yours? Shame you’ve not brought it. Let’s see if I can find something for us to play.’
    â€˜The music in the case is mostly the arrangements for my mum’s songs. I used to play for her, and I can pick up tunes from the radio.’
    They sat side by side on the stool. Ruby played the songs that were her mother’s favourites and Johnny joined in. She was surprised by his capable playing and by his rich tenor voice. As Johnny’s gnarled fingers followed her lead on the keyboard, the teacher’s meanness, her disappointment that the girl from the recreation ground had a friend and her fear at Jenny’s anger all began to dissolve. It was, Ruby decided, a funny school, if the kids were still learning catechism at their age; she could say hers from beginning to end.
    â€˜You fancy a bit of dinner, love?’ the landlord asked, waddling over to the piano to bring Johnny another half-pint of beer. ‘There’s quite a bit of stuff left from that do last night. You fancy a nice bit of ham, Johnny?’
    â€˜Have you been listening to this?’ Johnny asked. ‘Lovely touch. She’s a natural, if ever I heard one. I bet that teacher never got as far as hearing you play. Bert’ll give you a job in here.’
    Bert Lyons shook his head. ‘She’s too young,’ he said, and went over to lock the front door and switch the lights off. ‘Vera wouldn’t have it, and a pub’s not the place for a kiddie.’
    As she and Johnny were playing, Ruby noticed that her granddad was still in the vault. From time to time, she saw him look out over the top of the bar, as though he were peering from a trench. It wasn’t until Vera had handed round plates of leftover ham and slices of bread, that he slipped cautiously into the best room. The sight of the food had helped Jenny’s temper, and soon she and Granddad were sitting together, drinking and laughing, with the landlord and his wife. As the afternoon wore on,Granddad came over to the piano, his railwayman’s cap tipped on the back of his head, and took out his mouth organ. Johnny Fin got out his spoons, and they played the songs from their days in the trenches. They were all singing ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ when there was a deep rumbling sound and the bottles on the shelves behind the bar began to shake.
    â€˜It’s an air raid,’ Jenny wailed.
    â€˜No,’ Bert said, sliding back the bolts on the front door, ‘it’s on the street outside.’
    Through the top half of the frosted-glass window, Ruby could see trucks rolling slowly over the railway bridge and snaking back into the distance as far as she could see.
    â€˜It’s the Yanks,’ Johnny shouted. ‘Another lot of Yanks have arrived.’
    On the road outside, the head of the convoy was forced to a halt by a group of women who had left the queue outside the butcher’s and were now hugging the two American officers in the back of the leading jeep.
    â€˜Take it easy now, ladies,’ protested the sergeant, who was trying to drive the vehicle.
    On both sides of the street, people were coming out of their houses cheering and waving. In the shunting yards the engines’ hooters were sounded in welcome. Men reached up to shake the hands of the soldiers on the trucks, and the women kissed the ones they could reach. Mr Benson, the ARP warden, cycled along the pavement waving a Union Jack, and groups of small boys ran alongside the slow-moving trucks shouting, ‘Give us some gum, chum.’
    The little group in front of the pub stared up at the faces of the black soldiers in the trucks.
    â€˜All right, lads,’ Granddad shouted. ‘Nice to see you. You come to help us knock Jerry’s block off?’
    â€˜Call in anytime,’ Bert shouted, pointing at the sign over his pub. ‘The name’s Bert Lyons. I’m landlord here, and the first drinks