Down Daisy Street (27 page)
‘Why didn’t you wait for me, queen?’ Jane said now, as soon as she had breath enough to speak. ‘You’re not usually in such a bleedin’ hurry and I particularly wanted to talk to you. You know that feller we met at the Grafton, the one who said me hair was like sunlight on the sand? Well, he wrote me a letter; he wants to meet up again. I – I’m not sure whether I should ’cos he wants me to go to the flicks and you know what some fellers are like when they’re buying you six penn’orth of dark. Now if you were to come along of us . . .’
‘Jane, how can you?’ Kathy said reproachfully. ‘When Jimmy was on leave last spring I scarcely saw you, and ever since, you’ve been telling me how you’re as good as engaged. If that’s so, you can’t possibly mean to go to the flicks with anyone else, particularly a six-foot Scottish seaman with red hair and a broken nose.’
Jane gave a delighted gurgle of laughter. ‘I didn’t mean
him,
you fool,’ she said, still giggling. ‘I meant the air force type with the little moustache and the twinkling blue eyes. As for being unfaithful to Jimmy, you know I wouldn’t! Only – only I do love the flicks and it would be nice to go out and have someone else pay for a change. But I wouldn’t go alone with him, only if you’ll come too . . . what’s happened to that feller who dated you? Paul, wasn’t it?’
him,
you fool,’ she said, still giggling. ‘I meant the air force type with the little moustache and the twinkling blue eyes. As for being unfaithful to Jimmy, you know I wouldn’t! Only – only I do love the flicks and it would be nice to go out and have someone else pay for a change. But I wouldn’t go alone with him, only if you’ll come too . . . what’s happened to that feller who dated you? Paul, wasn’t it?’
‘As if you didn’t know,’ Kathy scoffed. ‘Paul is on convoy duty between here and the States, or at least I think he is. If he gets leave then he’ll come round to Daisy Street –
if
it’s a forty-eight, that is. But if it’s a long one he’ll go home to Barnstaple – that’s the town in Devon where he lives. So the chances of him being around are pretty slight.’
if
it’s a forty-eight, that is. But if it’s a long one he’ll go home to Barnstaple – that’s the town in Devon where he lives. So the chances of him being around are pretty slight.’
‘Well, couldn’t you come by yourself? Or you could bring Billy, or your mam,’ Jane said with a hint of desperation in her tone. ‘He’s ever so nice, honest to God he is, Kathy.’
‘I’m sure he’s charming,’ Kathy said sarcastically. ‘However, I don’t mean to play gooseberry just so that you don’t get kissed in the dark. Besides, if you tell him about Jimmy . . .’
‘If I tell him about Jimmy then he won’t take me to the cinema,’ Jane said flatly. She sighed, then gave her friend’s arm a squeeze. ‘You’re right, of course. I do love Jimmy and I don’t really want to complicate my life by going out with anyone else. But the truth is, Kathy, that I’m bored, and some of the girls . . . well, they can be spiteful, and when someone’s gorra down on me I wonder whether I wouldn’t be better off workin’ in a shop, or – or back at the jam factory. I know we get paid good money but there’s hardly anything to spend it on; I’ve been cleaning me teeth with soap – yuck – for the past week because there doesn’t seem to be a scrap of toothpaste left in the whole of Liverpool and I’m browned off.’
‘I know. Friday night is Amami night just doesn’t apply any more,’ Kathy said, returning the squeeze. ‘I’ve not seen a bottle of shampoo for – oh, for ages. My hair isn’t all curly and lovely like yours but I can tell you it isn’t improved by being washed in carbolic.’
Jane laughed. ‘We shouldn’t grumble, not really,’ she said. ‘There’s decent girls at work – Jenny, Freda, Annie Browntoes. And though the work’s bleedin’ boring, it isn’t all that hard. Tell you what, queen, let’s take ourselves to the flicks this evening, just the two of us. And at the weekend, we’ll go to the Grafton and dance with all the handsome, homesick young fellers and tell ’em we’re happily married to six-foot dockers. Hey, there’s our bus!’
‘Thank God there’s a queue,’ Kathy panted as the two of them tore along the pavement in the direction of the bus stop. It was difficult to see the destination board, though it was lit up with the greyish-blue light from the interior, but both girls recognised passengers from their factory and knew it was the right vehicle. They made it by the skin of their teeth and, as they were last aboard, stood on the platform clutching the stair rail and holding out their season tickets for the conductor to scrutinise. ‘Tell you what, Janey, I bet you sixpence that there’s a letter for you when we get back to Daisy Street. Your Jimmy’s a first-rate correspondent. He must write two or three letters a week. So that’ll cheer you up, won’t it?’
‘It’ll cheer me up if he’s getting some leave,’ Jane admitted. ‘A letter is always grand because it’s the next best thing to being with him, but I do so long to see him, grab hold of him and give him a great big hug. Do you realise, Kathy, that it’s nearly six months since I saw him last? It’s too long, and it’s not as though I can have some time off and go and visit him, because they keep moving him about and anyway the trains are dreadful, aren’t they? And . . . and I’d be a bit afraid of trying to cross England all by meself. I wanted to join the WAAF when war started and be truly independent, but now I’m glad I didn’t do it because they might have sent me even further away from Jimmy. Why, he’s in Lincolnshire or Norfolk or some other outlandish place and they could have sent me to Scotland or – or Cornwall! But at least I’d have been doing something worthwhile, which is more than we’re doing now! Oh, I know that the Forces need guns but anyone can work on an assembly line. Being in the WAAF could have been really useful; I wish I’d had the courage to join up right at the start, and it would have been more fun, too. I hate twelve-hour shifts, especially in winter when we get to work in the dark and reach home in the dark as well; it’s as though we only have half-lives, like moles or rabbits or something.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean. I wanted to join up when war broke out as well, even though I haven’t got a boyfriend in the Forces, like you have,’ Kathy assured her friend. ‘But it wouldn’t have been fair on Mam, because of Billy. She needs the money I earn, of course, but if I’d joined the WAAF I could have sent all my money home, just about. I mean, they clothe you and feed you and so on. So it wasn’t the money so much as having someone else to share the responsibility, like. And now . . . oh, I don’t know, I suppose I’m in a rut and it’s easier to stay in it than scramble out.’
‘We’re both in a rut,’ Jane said gloomily. ‘Hey up, here’s our stop!’ The two of them tried to leave the bus and were considerably jostled by passengers trying to board. Jane became indignant. ‘Mind my toes, you dozy bugger, or I’ll loosen your teeth for you,’ she said wrathfully to a young man who was trying to jump on as they alighted. ‘Honestly, men! You’d think they were the only people on the perishin’ planet!’
Kathy laughed as the two of them hurried off in the direction of the nearest tram stop that would take them to the Stanley Road. ‘Well, there’s nothing like telling a feller what you think of him,’ she observed. ‘Fancy you calling a total stranger a dozy bugger, Jane! Still, if he’d been a gentleman, he’d have waited for us to get off before trying to cram his way aboard.’ She glanced down at her friend’s feet in their cheap utility shoes. ‘Did he get you? There’s mud on your instep.’
‘Yes he did, and I only hope he hasn’t laddered me bleedin’ stockings,’ Jane said, slowing to examine her foot as they reached the tail end of a rather long tram queue. ‘Good job they’re only lisle; if they’d been me best silk pair, I’d ha’ given him a knuckle sarnie, honest to God I would.’
Kathy shook her head reprovingly, thinking that her friend must be even unhappier at the factory than she was herself, for Jane was naturally sweet tempered and easy going and had never, to her knowledge, offered violence to a total stranger before. ‘Life isn’t
so
bad when you consider it carefully. I mean, think of the Londoners; they’ve been blitzed and bombed and absolutely crushed, and they aren’t the only ones. We’re lucky to be pretty well out of range of the Luftwaffe – that’s what Mr Bracknell said the last time he came home on leave, anyway.’
so
bad when you consider it carefully. I mean, think of the Londoners; they’ve been blitzed and bombed and absolutely crushed, and they aren’t the only ones. We’re lucky to be pretty well out of range of the Luftwaffe – that’s what Mr Bracknell said the last time he came home on leave, anyway.’
‘It’s nice that he thinks of it as his home,’ Jane said thoughtfully. ‘Do you know, I were
sure
he were going to ask your mam to marry him . . . only he never has, has he?’
sure
he were going to ask your mam to marry him . . . only he never has, has he?’
‘I don’t know,’ Kathy said honestly. ‘He likes her ever so much, you’ve only got to see the way he looks at her, but Mam’s never said.’
‘Does she like him, though?’ Jane asked. ‘I were never sure how she felt.’
‘She likes him, I’m sure she does. But whether liking is enough, I don’t know. Remember, Jane, you’re the one with experience in the liking and loving field, not me. I’m nearly nineteen, and I’ve never had a serious boyfriend. And I probably shan’t, either,’ Kathy added honestly. ‘Not while this bleedin’ war is on, anyway.’
Jane was starting to reply when a tram came charging out of the darkness and drew to a halt beside them. ‘This one’ll do,’ Jane said, peering up at the destination board. Kathy was clad in a thick coat and scarf with a woolly hat pulled down over her eyes but the cold was biting and she was truly glad to get aboard the tram. They were draughty, rattling vehicles at the best of times, but because this one was so full she guessed that they would soon warm up among the folk crammed up like sardines in the tin-like interior.
It was difficult to hear each other speak above the din but they managed to agree that they would go to the late showing at the Grosvenor Picture Theatre that evening, having first eaten whatever meals their respective mothers had provided. ‘But we’ll have to hurry,’ Kathy warned her friend, ‘because I do hate going in halfway through the big feature. Oh, I am looking forward to it; it’ll be my first outing for absolutely ages. Damn these twelve-hour shifts!’
Alec sat in the crew room with a blue notepad before him. It was a mild and cloudy day in early April and he was writing to his mother, though if he had said as much to the young men who surrounded him there would have been jeers of disbelief. But it was perfectly true; Alec wrote home once a week when circumstances permitted and though he had been out with several of the pretty Waafs who worked on the station he thought, ruefully, that he had seldom had time to form any sort of lasting relationship. Certainly he had never felt sufficiently fond of a girl to want to start a correspondence – letter writing had never been his forte – so he wrote short letters regularly to his mother and occasionally to his grandparents.
Receiving letters was different, of course. He loved getting his mother’s rambling epistles, full of stories of the charms of the rebuilt farmhouse and occasional grumbles or jokes about the number of land girls who had been foisted upon them. Because their farmhands had all been called up the Min of Ag had billeted six girls on the Hewitts and they were as good as men, Bob thought. Betty said that at least it saved them from evacuees, though she had added rather wistfully that she would not have minded taking in children. It was the parents of the evacuated young, she had heard, who caused so much trouble and dissension in rural circles.
Alec had not been home very often because, it seemed, the life of a member of the Royal Air Force was to be moved from pillar to post. He had been on half a dozen stations since the early, pre-war days, had taken – and passed – a great many examinations and had attended many courses, and finally had ended up as he had wanted to do, as aircrew – a navigator in a Blenheim bomber. When he had been posted to Watton he had been delighted, thinking that it was much nearer home than his other stations had been. However, it had not been so easy to get away because ever since the Battle of Britain, aircrews had been pretty constantly on call, and when he was able to snatch a forty-eight the journey was tedious and often meant a long walk at one end or the other. Because of the war, everything the farm produced was wanted and needed and the Hewitts were in a fair way to making Honeywell Farm even more successful than it had been before the flood. Bob, Betty and the land girls toiled remorselessly and when Alec did get home he followed suit, often returning to the station completely worn out. The rebuilt farmhouse, though sparsely furnished, was as good as it had ever been and Betty worked hard to make it a comfortable home.
Now Alec was writing to his parents to tell them that there was about to be another change in his life, for aircrews were wanted for the heavier bombers, and his whole crew were about to convert on to Wellingtons. This would mean a three-month course at Church Broughton, outside Derby, and after that there might be other courses. Certainly it would mean that their three-man crew would have to take on two extra bods – Wimpeys carried a five-man crew – and then they would be posted to a more permanent station.
Alec was happy enough as navigator, particularly as his best friend, Jimmy McCabe, was the gunner of the crew and the pilot, Frank Collins, was an easygoing, friendly sort of chap, twenty-six years old and an experienced flier. He had been piloting planes for a couple of years before the war and Alec knew they were lucky to have him. Alec was wise enough to realise that he would probably have become friendly with whoever had made up the crew, but he and Jimmy, though different in just about every way, had got on from day one. In the air, they had to look out for one another, to share the same heightened awareness that made them a successful team and brought them back from sorties safely. On land, it became equally important to stand shoulder to shoulder, whether in a bar, in the city or in the mess, or even in the cookhouse.
‘Oh, Alec, not writin’ to your bleedin’ girlfriend
again.
’ A hand smote Alec between the shoulder blades, making him gasp and cough. ‘How about a trip into the city? There’s a gharry leaving in half an hour and it’s not raining for once even though it’s cloudy.’ Alec glanced up; it was Jimmy.
again.
’ A hand smote Alec between the shoulder blades, making him gasp and cough. ‘How about a trip into the city? There’s a gharry leaving in half an hour and it’s not raining for once even though it’s cloudy.’ Alec glanced up; it was Jimmy.
‘Sorry, old man, wrong again. I’m writing to my parents; as for girlfriends, chance ’ud be a fine thing. But now that you mention it, I wouldn’t mind a trip into the city; there’s a film showing at the Haymarket which I’d really like to see. It’s a comedy,
The Ghost Train,
and it’s had terrific reviews. How do you fancy six penn’orth of dark?’
The Ghost Train,
and it’s had terrific reviews. How do you fancy six penn’orth of dark?’
Other books
How to Get Along with Women by Elisabeth de Mariaffi
Fight For Her Heart: Tattooed Seduction (Rock Hard Doms) by Snow, Nicole
Drink Deep by Neill, Chloe
Fall of a Kingdom (The Farsala Trilogy) by Bell, Hilari
Home to Roost by Tessa Hainsworth
Lover Eternal: A Novel of the Black Dagger Brotherhood by J. R. Ward
Facing It by Linda Winfree
Deathstalker War by Green, Simon R.
Scout Force by Rodney Smith
Open City by Teju Cole
