Daisy's Wars (25 page)

‘Fine,’ she said calmly, ‘as long as I can bestow a fist in your mouth in return, sunshine.’

‘It would be an honour, Ma’am,’ Bruiser replied, ‘to be touched by you in any way.’

Daisy shook her head and walked away, hearing his voice in the background telling the others, ‘She’s thinking about touching me, she said so, she actually wants to touch me!’
and his friends yelling at him derisively.

There was just something about Bruiser that stopped her going for the jugular, but she didn’t know what, and it made her pay more attention to his kite, much as it annoyed her. When she
was on duty in the tower she always checked where Lady Groundhog was and when it had landed safely, all the time reminding herself that this must be some kind of slippery slope. Attachment of any
kind was a distraction she didn’t need.

Frank. There he was again, she thought savagely. Bruiser made her smile and Frank made her angry. Why was that? Celia had recently announced her engagement and, as ever in wartime, the marriage
plans had been hurried along, though being Celia everyone had to know every tiny detail. To Daisy’s mild surprise her friend was lost in the romance of it all, as though by marrying Bobby the
world would once again be full of roses. Daisy didn’t even think the world pre-war was like that, so she was troubled by Celia’s expectations. True, Bobby wasn’t quite a Fly Boy,
he was an aircraft mechanic, so that was something, but you had to wonder about these rush-jobs that always took place in the first mad flush of love. How many times had she seen the more sensible
ones cooling down in due course, so who was to say how many of these marriages wouldn’t do the same? In normal life only shotgun weddings took place faster than child-free ones did, but after
living like this for years it was hard to decide what normal was.

Maybe life as Daisy had known it pre-war had gone for good. She was absolutely sure that Celia’s wasn’t a shotgun wedding, but her friend’s romantic view was full of fantasy,
and every time she talked to Daisy about it the whole thing seemed to have become a tad more unrealistic than the time before.

Eileen Reilly arrived at the base with the latest consignment of WAAF recruits in spring of 1943. Daisy had been on duty in the tower the night before, or she would have taken them in hand
immediately, but she met up with them when she stopped off for a bite to eat before going back to the hut for some sleep.

Celia had returned from her short honeymoon the day before, and Daisy knew that when she went back to the hut Celia would be waiting to tell all, so she had taken refuge in the NAAFI to put the
dreaded moment off for as long as possible. All she wanted to do was sleep, but if she went back to the hut she knew Celia would still be there, waiting to go on duty, so she sat sipping tea she
didn’t want, wondering in a resentful way why she was always the one the girls came to, why they didn’t take their thoughts, fears and hopes to someone else. Why was she regarded as
some kind of authority anyway?

‘Are you Daisy?’ a girl asked beside her, smiling.

‘And you are?’ Daisy said, looking at her over the rim of her cup.

‘Eileen Reilly,’ the girl said, holding out a hand. ‘I thought I’d better introduce myself, I’ve been given the other bed in your room.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Daisy replied. ‘Eileen Reilly?’ she said thoughtfully. ‘But you sound Scottish. Not exactly a Scottish name, is it?’

‘As Scottish as Daisy Sheridan is English!’ Eileen replied with a grin. She was a pretty girl, petite, Daisy thought they called it, with reddish-fair hair and bright blue eyes, and
she seemed to be taking the horrors of early service life in her stride, even if she didn’t like them. Daisy approved of that; she had no time for the ones who sat down and wept for their
mothers, even though she became all of their mothers while they were WAAFs together. If she didn’t look after them, who would? So she and Eileen obviously shared the get-on-with-it attitude,
and the Irish thing, of course, though by the sound of it as they gleefully compared notes in the canteen that first morning, the bias was worse in Glasgow than in Newcastle.

‘When they meet someone new,’ Eileen explained cheerfully, ‘they ask “What school did you go to?” This is to sort out Catholics from Protestants. With a name like
mine, though, they didn’t have to ask, they just saved time and snubbed me straight off.’

‘It’s that bad?’ Daisy asked.

Eileen nodded. ‘I’m the second generation born in Glasgow, but as far as they’re concerned I’m still Irish.’

‘Same in Newcastle!’ Daisy said. ‘I’m the third generation, but it doesn’t matter a damn. Doesn’t matter to the Irish either, come to that, they still see
themselves as natives of the ould country.’

‘And do you have Orange Walks?’

‘Yes,’ Daisy laughed, ‘not that we take much notice, because that’s what they want. My father says when he was young everyone used a bucket during the few days before a
march instead of the toilet, and they welcomed the Lodge with the contents.’

‘Same in Glasgow!’ Eileen replied delightedly. ‘Yet they always march through Catholic areas.’

‘That’s what always puzzled me, too,’ Daisy giggled. ‘They knew what was waiting for them, yet they kept coming back year after year.’

‘Are there certain jobs the Irish can’t get in Newcastle?’ Eileen asked, making a face at the plate of food in front of her. ‘Do you ever get used to this stuff?’
she added.

‘Well, you do or die, as they say,’ Daisy replied.

‘Like in the shipyards on the Clyde,’ Eileen continued, ‘Catholics aren’t allowed to work there. Not long ago they weren’t allowed to be tradesmen of any kind. I
don’t think it’s changed much, to be honest; it’s just gone underground. Employers don’t turn people down and
say
it’s because they’re Catholics any
longer, but my father remembers job adverts in the twenties carrying notices that no Catholics should apply, and that meant anyone with an Irish name.’

‘I don’t think it was as blatant where I come from, but put it this way,’ Daisy said with dark humour, ‘on Tyneside, Catholics know better than to look for jobs in the
shipyards.’

‘They know their place!’ Eileen chuckled.

‘That’s about the size of it,’ Daisy said cheerfully.

They sipped at their teas.

‘One of the pilots over there offered to take me up for a spin,’ Eileen said, ‘but I was warned by another WAAF to check with you first.’

Daisy scowled. ‘Which one?’ she demanded, and the girl pointed out the culprit. Daisy nodded. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘I’ll deal with him later. Never understood the
desire to fly, but lots of girls seem to want to do it.’

‘Do they?’ Eileen asked, sitting down.

‘Yes, and the Fly Boys know it, too. They take them up unofficially hoping for action of the other kind in return. One girl went up in a fighter a while back, it crashed and she and the
pilot were killed. Didn’t seem so exciting after that somehow.’

‘Good heavens.’

‘Maybe,’ Daisy replied, ‘but very definitely hard earth.’

Just then the crew of Lady Groundhog arrived and sat down not far from them, Bruiser smiling stupidly at Daisy and regarding her with soft adoration.

‘Are they friends of yours?’ Eileen asked.

Daisy, who had seen them arrive, didn’t look round. ‘That’s a nice boy,’ she said wearily, ‘a couple of other guys, and the one that’s smiling soppily is an
idiot.’

‘He seems to be quite sweet on you,’ Eileen said.

‘I told you, he’s an idiot,’ Daisy replied. ‘He’s harmless, really, he’s called Bruiser because he hits people.’

‘And he’s harmless?’

‘Totally. He’s not violent or anything, he just gets fed-up when people won’t give in to the obvious, so he belts them one as a kind of full stop. But don’t look at them,
that’s what they want. If you look at them it encourages them and they’ll talk to you, and if they talk to you you’ll have to waste time slapping them around to get rid of
them.’

Eileen put her head down and laughed.

‘Well at least you’re laughing,’ Daisy said, looking at Eileen’s fellow recruits. ‘Look at that miserable bunch of perishers.’

‘They’ve had a rough night. The recruiting office kind of led them up the garden path and they all want to go home. You should’ve heard the sobbing in the hut last
night.’

‘Heard it before,’ Daisy sighed. ‘Were they promised nice sitting rooms with plush furnishings, by any chance?’

‘Exactly!’ Eileen said. ‘And we’re all still looking for it. I have this feeling it doesn’t exist.’

‘I’ve got a feeling you’re right on top of this!’ Daisy smiled. ‘Look, I’ve got to get some sleep. See you later?’

Daisy got up and walked past the table where the nice boy Calli, Bruiser and the others were sitting, sashaying her hips slightly more than necessary for Bruiser’s benefit and giving him
the very slightest irritated glance. Then she walked out, knowing without looking that Bruiser was blowing her a kiss and still smiling stupidly behind her back as usual.

‘I wish to God you’d give up on her,’ Calli said, shaking his head.

‘Calli, my man,’ Bruiser said contentedly, ‘you have no idea about women. She loves me.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Calli MacDonald asked. ‘And just how do you work that one out?’

‘Her hips.’

All the others laughed and threw playful punches at him.

‘Her
hips?
’ said the rear gunner, who really was called Charlie.

‘I tell you, Charlie, her hips wiggle every time they see me.’

‘Her hips see you?’ Charlie asked.

‘And they wiggle,’ Bruiser nodded.

‘You’re a sad creature, Bruiser,’ Calli laughed at him, ‘and you bring Canada into disrepute by virtue of being such an idiot.’ He slapped Bruiser on the head with
a teaspoon.

Bruiser smiled his stupid smile. ‘I know, I know, Skip,’ he said. ‘But this is love, you wait and see.’

‘She does nothing but give you the elbow!’

‘Ah,’ said Bruiser cunningly, ‘that’s just what it looks like to guys like you lot, but I can tell – I can tell. Every remark she makes to me might sound like a
putdown, but her tone of voice is a give-away.’

‘That she’ll crush you like a bug!’ Calli teased.

‘No, no, fair dos,’ said Taffy, ‘I can see something of what Bruiser says he sees.’

‘There you go!’ Bruiser shouted happily. ‘The mad Welshman here can see it!’

‘Only,’ Taffy said seriously, lining up Bruiser’s usual claim, ‘I think it’s me her hips see when they wiggle.’

Bruiser took his cap off and beat Taffy over the head with it.

Much to her relief, Daisy managed to avoid discussing Celia and Bobby’s first night as man and wife on a one-to-one basis for a couple of days. But the other girls
crowded round her on domestic night, desperate to hear every detail in an era when virgin marriages were in the majority, even though there was a war on. Celia described the dress, the flowers, the
church, the reception, the small sponge cake hidden under a highly decorated card-board cover before the girls got down to the nitty-gritty.

‘What was it like?’ a voice asked as they sat round the stove. ‘I mean, when you did it for the first time, what was it like?’

‘Oh, it was fine,’ the bride replied, head bent over her darning.

‘Yes, but, what did he, you know,
do
?’

There was a pause as Celia struggled to untangle a very difficult knot and Daisy glanced up at her and saw tears brimming.

‘Oh, come on!’ she said to the others. ‘That’s private. How’d you feel if you were asked to describe every detail?’

Mother Hen had spoken and the others giggled and changed the subject. Later, though, Celia sought Daisy out and threw herself into her arms. They all brought their problems to Daisy, and the
fact was that, however reluctantly, Daisy was always there.

‘It was awful!’ she sobbed. ‘I hated it, Daisy, and I wanted to like it for Bobby’s sake. It hurt and it was just awful. Every time he came near me after that I froze,
and he wasn’t very pleased. I don’t know if he’s even talking to me now. He’s been posted away and I’m glad I won’t have to see him for a while. I feel such a
failure.’

‘There, there,’ Daisy soothed her. ‘It was your first time, I’m sure it’ll get better.’

‘But it was
horrible
, Daisy, I never want to do it again,’ Celia sobbed. ‘Was it horrible for you the first time?’

‘Ssh,’ Daisy said quietly, ‘don’t get in such a state, it’ll all work out.’

Sitting in the tower that night, the boys having flown off and with little to do till they were on the way home, Daisy thought about Celia. They all assumed Daisy was a
veteran, a sexual acrobat who regularly took part in those fabled London orgies, so Daisy knew it all. And she couldn’t blame them; it was an image she had created all by herself.

‘Was it horrible for you the first time?’ Celia had asked. If only Celia had known, she thought. If only the leader and protector that Daisy had become to her girls could reassure
confused, disappointed Celia by telling her about her first time. But she couldn’t. She relived it in her dreams often enough and wakened terrified and feeling sick, but she could never tell
anyone. More times than she cared to think about she had heard airmen, full of bravado, make crude remarks about her as she passed. She had a body made for sex and that’s what she used it
for, it was common knowledge, that’s what they said, as though because she had swapped bodies with a sex bomb one night years ago, the sex bomb’s experiences had come as part of the
package. She had reinvented herself as Langar’s Mae West, quick, witty and choosy, and she
never
chose Fly Boys like them.

Long ago she had decided to walk away if the remarks were not intended for her ears, pretending not to hear them if they were far enough away. But if they were being really loud as well as
offensive, and for her benefit, she would walk up to the big mouths, the crudest creeps, lean close with her breasts almost touching them and say, ‘Fancy your chances, sunshine? Take my word
for it, you’re not man enough, you wouldn’t have a clue what to do with them.’

The creep, now having to deal face-to-face with Daisy, or as near as, would always gulp and look sheepish as she called his bluff, then she’d walk away slowly and calmly with a bored
expression on her face, to the cheers of the others.