The Gift

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“Morning coffee, lunches and teas as usual unless a bomb falls on the building.” So read the notice at H. D.’s local restaurant, The Tea Kettle. Then, one morning: “more open than usual.” The waitresses were still sweeping up broken glass. And they were very apologetic. “Sorry, only cold cuts and salad today, we seem to have lost our gas main.” They provided good scalding tea, however — brewed on a camping stove. Life had to go on, and so it did; cheerfully and sometimes grumpily — unless and until a bomb fell on the building.

Bryher had moved into H. D.’s apartment — close quarters for two such turbulent spirits. To accommodate the material overflow she rented storage space in the basement. When the raids intensified, she hauled in two lumpy mattresses and created a private shelter. There they spent many noisy nights. As soon as the All Clear wailed, they went back upstairs, breakfasted, and started the working day.

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