Daisy's Wars (35 page)

Most of the POWs had been reasonably treated, but not all, and the sight of some of the men would live with the WAAFs till the end of their days. They were like walking skeletons, their bones
showing clearly through what was left of their grey skin, and their poor bodies, unwashed for years, created a smell few could forget, even years later. They were deloused, washed, given a medical
and then taken by bus to secret locations to be given clothes and allowed to rest before being reunited with their relatives. Then, inevitably, there were so many little personal tragedies for men
who had suffered more than enough. Those who returned clutching ‘Dear John’ letters at least knew what they would find, unlike others who only discovered when they arrived home that
wives and sweethearts had gone off with someone else.

After the atom bomb had been dropped on Japan, the final surrender of the Japanese was signed on 2nd September 1945, VJ-Day, Victory in Japan, and the war was finally and completely over. For
WAAFs on operational bases, like Daisy, everything seemed to stop. There were no more planes flying missions, and before they knew it, RAF and WAAF demobilisation was taking place. By the end of
December 125,000 men had been demobbed and 45,000 women, and the process went on into 1946, on a first-in, first-out basis.

Married WAAFs were demobbed first, then the others waited for their turn to be bussed to Birmingham and turned into civilians again, leaving them with mixed feelings. Since operational flying
had ended the military mind had reasserted itself with the urgent need for parades, route marches, PE sessions and the absolute necessity to have every item of kit as polished as possible and laid
out for inspection whenever those above felt like seeing them.

It wasn’t what the girls had joined up to do, it wasn’t what they excelled at, so on the whole they were keen to go back to civvy street. Many had married during the war years and
were eager to start normal married life and raise children. It was a fresh start, but adjusting wasn’t always easy. Throughout the war they had taken on huge responsibilities and performed
them well for years, and now they were expected to go back into the home to become housewives and mothers.

The returning men would, naturally, want to take up employment again, it was only right, so the women who had trained as mechanics, engineers and had driven trucks and ambulances found that
though they still had their skills they were no longer able to use them. They were once again ‘only’ women.

They also went through medicals, and Sadie, one of the girls from Daisy’s hut, was in line in front of her. The examining doctor was Polish, a small man who spoke heavily accented English.
‘Show me your tiths,’ he instructed, whereupon Sadie undid her bra and obliged without a moment’s hesitation.

‘No, no! Tiths! Tiths!’ screeched the little doctor, pointing distractedly at his teeth as the other girls giggled.

‘Now see what you’ve done, Sadie,’ Pearl joked. ‘You’ve caused a titter to run around the room!’

‘The oldies are the best, Pearl,’ Daisy commented.

‘Anyway, what’s he so annoyed about? He’s the only man I’ve come across in years who
didn’t
want to see them,’ Sadie shrugged, doing up her bra
again.

‘I know some who would’ve paid,’ Daisy laughed.

‘I know some who did!’ Pearl giggled.

‘But never enough,’ Sadie muttered, ‘never bloody enough!’

Next they were given unemployment and health-insurance cards, their Service and Release Book, and informed that they could purchase 320 cigarettes and seven ounces of chocolate at the nearby
NAAFI.

At the end of the bewildering process an officer waited to shake hands with each ex-WAAF and say ‘Thank you for coming,’ and that was that. Free at last, and, in Daisy’s case,
with no home to return to. All around her were girls like her who had lost their youth for their country, some crying, some just dazed, all of them bemused and swearing to keep in touch
forevermore. Some would, of course, their friendships based on so many shared experiences that, like a great many returning servicemen, left them slightly adrift from their families.

Daisy had already been invited to stay at Rose Cottage for as long as she wanted, her people being ‘abroad’, and that was where she headed, clutching in her hand an
invitation to a post-war cocktail party at the home of Lord Nuffield, the wonderful benefactor who had supplied sanitary towels, radios, sun lamps, wedding dresses and bicycles to the services
throughout the war.

Presumably each station had put forward names for the grand event, Daisy thought, though she wasn’t really sure why she had been chosen. As the queen of the Langar tower? The gorgeous,
sexy creature all men lusted after? No matter, she had no intention of going.

‘But you must!’ Mar wailed when she told her.

‘Absolutely!’ Par agreed. ‘Nuffield’s a wonderful fellow, you know, far more interesting than any of us hereditary shower! If you don’t go, I swear I’ll throw
on a blonde wig and falsies and go in your place!’

‘But I haven’t anything to ‘wear,’ Daisy said half-heartedly. What she really wanted to do was nothing. Her plan was just to drift along, taking walks in the countryside
and hoping that a time would come when she could do so without listening for sick planes. What a luxury it would be to look at the sky just for the sake of it.

‘Let’s look in Dotty’s wardrobe,’ Mar said, taking her by the arm. ‘As far as I recall you’re much the same size, only you manage to inhabit it
better.’

‘You can’t just go through her things!’ Daisy protested.

‘Oh, do be quiet!’ Mar boomed in reply.

Dotty’s wardrobe was far more extensive than Daisy expected, even though she had seen a few gowns when they’d dressed for dinner at Rose Cottage. They had lived it up together at
parties throughout London in their time, too, but always in uniform, and the gowns hanging up were almost a statement of the social life of an upper-class gel in the pre-war era.

Mar saw her looking at them.

‘You’re thinking that Dotty is a terribly profligate creature,’ she said, eyes narrowed.

‘No I’m not,’ Daisy protested, ‘I’m thinking what a beautiful collection she has, and how she’d feel about me delving into it and picking out what I want. I
know how I’d feel, Mar!’

‘Oh, stuff and nonsense! Anyway, it wasn’t Dotty’s choice to have all this, it was mine. I was from the generation who survived the first war, you see, the generation that was
scarred by it. So many young men just disappeared. I was determined that my daughter would have a jolly time while she was young, then the blighters did it again.’

She pulled out one or two evening dresses and laid them on the bed. The black one Daisy had worn the first time she stayed at Rose Cottage was inspected.

‘No,’ Mar said. ‘Quite beautiful on, as I recall, but I think we want something brighter for this occasion. What about this one?’

Daisy turned and as she looked at the dress her heart gave an enormous thump in her chest. It was sky blue and covered with sparkling sequins, as though someone had thrown a handful of diamonds
in the air and sewn them where they fell. For a moment a little girl stood before her, long russet hair tied with a bow the same colour as the dress, expressions of emotion she didn’t
understand on her beautiful, innocent face, her sky-blue eyes full of sadness as she sang ‘I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen’. The child was so real that she felt that she could
reach out and touch her, and the sound of her voice was as hauntingly angelic as she remembered.

She sat on the bed, the colour drained from her face, tears brimming over her cheeks.

‘My dear girl!’ Mar said, dropping the dress and rushing to put her arms round her. ‘Whatever is it?’

‘Someone I used to know wore a dress of that colour,’ Daisy said, smiling and trying to lighten the moment. ‘I couldn’t do it justice.’

Mar, a lady to her fingertips, simply turned back to the wardrobe and came out with an exquisite dress of pale pink silk cut on the bias, the kind of dress Daisy remembered from her days at
Fenwicks.

‘This,’ Mar said quietly, ‘is your colour, and it’s terribly sophisticated. I think Dotty was trying to impress me. It’s not her, you know what she’s like, or
used to be, Dotty by name and Dotty by nature. Now, try it on and I’ll be back in a tick. I have an idea.’

Daisy loved silk and dresses cut on the bias and remembered Joan laughing at her when she had tried to create her own version on the little sewing machine in Guildford Place. As she examined
herself in the long mirror she found it hard to believe it was really her. For six years now she had been in uniform and had hardly worn anything else, and yet the woman she saw looked so
completely different she could’ve been another species. The cut of the material suited her figure, the subtle plainness emphasised her curves, and she couldn’t resist walking up and
down in the exaggerated way she had been taught for the benefit of Fenwicks customers.

‘That’s the thing!’ Mar barked from the doorway. ‘Flaunt it, girl, flaunt it!’ and Daisy giggled. ‘Now sit down while I fasten this.’

‘What is it?’

‘You’ll see!’ Mar said, placing a necklace around her neck, a series of diamond-studded open hearts, each one with a pink diamond drop in the centre. ‘There are earrings
to match,’ Mar said.

Daisy was speechless.

‘It was made for my grandmother’s twenty-first,’ Mar said. ‘Been passed down the family. I wore it on my wedding day, thought Dotty might on hers, but there we are.
It’s yours for the night, Daisy. You
shall
go to the ball!’

Lord Nuffield lived in Huntercombe, in a large house nestling in the Chilterns, and it was something of a surprise. It had been extended from the original design, presumably in
expectation of the children he and his wife never had, but though the furniture, carpets and tapestries were of fine quality, the Nuffields lived in a very 1930s style, with few precious antiques
around them. Into this setting came the guests that night, the WAAFs, ever ready for a good time, seeking each other out without too much trouble and becoming a group, even if they didn’t
know each other. They were immediately identified and paired up with specially chosen escorts, something that didn’t entirely please the girls. They had been ordered about and regulated for
years – now that they were free they wanted to please themselves.

‘Peter Bradley,’ said a voice behind her, ‘and you must be Daisy.’

Daisy turned to look at him. About fifty, she guessed, a good four inches taller than her, fairish hair, receding, but otherwise well-preserved, must have been quite something in his day. Nice
smile, distinguished-looking, but with a certain look in his eyes as well, an amused expression.

‘Yes,’ she said, gracefully taking his proffered arm without touching him too much, another technique she had perfected over the years to keep a distance between her and anyone who
wanted actual contact. He simply grabbed her hand and tightened it through his arm, pulling them closer, then he held on to the hand. She pulled slightly to get more control.

‘I’m not letting go!’ he announced cheerfully, looking at her with that expression in his eyes. He was annoying her, but she didn’t feel threatened in any way, she
realised. This man must be a very good father, but she wasn’t looking for one. She felt vaguely disappointed that he wasn’t younger or handsomer, or something, watching the others walk
off on the arms of those who had that something. Still, it was only for a few hours. She could be civil, as long as he behaved.

‘I’m one of Lord Nuffield’s directors,’ he smiled. He seemed very sure of himself, but then if he wasn’t by his age, she supposed, he never would be.

She nodded slightly in reply, wondering if he expected her to say, ‘How clever of you’, or ‘Oooh!’

‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.

‘Soda water, please,’ she replied.

‘That
all
?’ he almost shouted, looking aghast. ‘There’s plenty to choose from, you know.’

‘That’s what I like,’ she shrugged. ‘And do you always make sure everyone in the room is looking at you?’

He threw his head back and laughed. ‘You want a bit of decorum, do you?’

‘No, but I think you do,’ she said icily, and was rewarded with another great guffaw as he went off to get her drink.

‘Trust me to land the nutcase,’ she thought, wondering how long she would have to stay here.

‘You’d be a very cheap date,’ he smiled when he came back with her soda water.

‘I don’t think you’ll ever have to worry about that,’ Daisy countered; she had decided on arm’s-length cool to freeze him out. If she could put him off the night
might not be wasted after all. Judging by the glances of the younger men around them she wouldn’t have any trouble finding a replacement.

He was laughing at her as she thought this. ‘I know what you’re thinking!’ he yelled, and there it was again, that attention-pulling laughter. ‘So where do you come
from?’ he asked.

‘Originally from Newcastle,’ she said, ‘but that was a long time ago.’

‘You don’t
sound
Newcastle,’ he grinned.

‘I still think it, and if I spoke it you wouldn’t have any idea what I was saying,’ she said, ‘so I don’t.’

‘Except to yourself?’ he asked. ‘And your family, I suppose.’