Gunner Girls and Fighter Boys (39 page)

This weekend Doug was travelling up from Moreton-in-Marsh on a forty-eight-hour leave, putting up in a local pub. He had proved an ardent suitor, spending every leave since they’d met with May. But whenever she saw Doug again, May was surprised. Somehow, between visits she managed to forget what he looked like. It didn’t help that she hardly ever got a night’s uninterrupted sleep, and time for daydreaming was limited. For though the intense bombing raids of the previous two years had eased off, they were still seeing action several times a week and her mind became a thing that focused with intense precision while she was on the predictor, and for the rest of the time turned to a dazed mush. Today she had a half-day pass and planned to meet Doug off the train at Barkingside Station. Afterwards they were going on to the Saturday night dance at the Chigwell RAF base.

*

When Doug strolled out of the station, kitbag slung over one shoulder, there it was, that shock of surprise. His hair was definitely ginger not red, his face paler and his freckles far more pronounced, his nose more prominent. She stood to one side of the station entrance, and as the passengers gradually dispersed, she watched him, waiting for him to notice her. He looked around and his gaze seemed to pass over her; perhaps it was the polka-dot dress, it wasn’t really her style. When he finally saw her, his face creased into a broad smile. As he took her in his arms, she realized she felt smaller, enfolded in his big-boned frame. Doug simply took up more space in reality than he did in her mind.

He pulled back to look at her. ‘Hello, gorgeous, you look serious. Aren’t you pleased to see me?’ He grinned and planted a kiss on her mouth before she had time to reply.

He put his arm round her waist as they walked to the pub where he would be staying. He chatted about his journey and the inevitable delays, wanting her to praise his resourcefulness in changing his route three times in order to arrive on time. She let him talk. The thing she found most attractive about him was his voice. His Canadian burr was, for her, exotic and strange. He was as unknown as the man in the moon, and seemed to have come from just as far away. She couldn’t comprehend Kamloops, it was a town in the middle of a desert high up in the mountains. And when she’d accused him of having her on, he’d laughed and said, ‘Well, honey, I’m not saying it’s the Sahara, but it is dry, so we all sort of huddle around the river.’ And that she could understand, for it sounded just like Bermondsey. It had been fun finding out about his life, but as they went into the pub she was forced to confront the thing about Doug that wasn’t fun.

‘Want to come and help me unpack?’ he asked, with a look which she’d got used to and which had nothing to do with putting a couple of shirts into a chest of drawers.

She shook her head. ‘No. You’re not a baby! I’ll wait here. Be quick and we can have a drink before the dance.’

Doug raised his eyes and gave her a mock salute. ‘Yes, Lance Corporal!’ And he bounded up the carpeted stairs to the bedrooms above the pub. She was used to these sorts of requests. At first she hadn’t been sure what to do, and had thought it was expected of her to go to his room. But the last time she’d ended up fighting him off and they’d had their first row. The Canadians had a reputation amongst the gunner girls as being the most persistent when it came to expecting more than kisses and, though she hated to admit it, Doug was not proving to be any exception.

The Saturday night dance at the RAF base NAAFI was always popular. With a dance floor large enough to prevent too many collisions and always a live RAF band to play the latest hits, it drew WAAF and ATS girls from the surrounding Essex bases. Tonight, when May and Doug arrived, there was a crush at the door and she was grateful for his muscular arm to steer her through to the dance floor. She spotted her friends and dragged Doug over to say hello. Emmy had been furious when she first found out about May and Doug, insisting that it simply wasn’t fair May had caught her Canadian dangling from a tree in the middle of nowhere, whereas she had spent her entire leave scouring the West End’s dance halls and still hadn’t found a sweetheart. But when she’d met him, Emmy had surprised her by being unimpressed by Doug, and May didn’t think it was jealousy. When she’d pressed her friend about her dislike, Emmy had said, ‘He’s tight as a duck’s arse – fancy making you pay for your own drinks! And I bet he gets paid a sight more than you do.’ May had protested that this wasn’t always true. Sometimes he was very generous, and then Emmy had let slip the real reason for her dislike.

‘Yeah, and then he probably wants something for it!’

Now, as they approached the group of friends, Emmy smiled at Doug, and although May could see it wasn’t sincere, he was oblivious, quickly whisking her off on to the dance floor. The band was playing ‘There’s a Land of Begin Again’, but May couldn’t see the stage beyond the mass of coupled heads surrounding her.

‘That guy on the piano’s good,’ Doug said, as they glided in a slow foxtrot towards the band.

‘They don’t usually have a piano in the band. He must be new,’ she said, having to raise her voice above the music as the band came into view. She craned her neck to get a look at the new musician as Doug steered her swiftly past the stage. In her shock she stumbled, nearly causing a pile-up of dancers behind them.

‘Hey, watch your step. Are you OK, honey?’ Doug clamped his hand into the small of her back and they swept on. But her legs had turned to water, for she was quite certain that the new piano player in the RAF band was Bill Gilbie and she was also quite certain that he had seen her in Doug’s arms. Bill’s thick dark hair was shorter, his face leaner, but the deep blue eyes were the same, and when they met hers for a brief instant what she had wanted to convey was an apology, which was ridiculous, for she had nothing to be sorry about.

‘You tired already, had enough?’ Doug asked. ‘Let’s sit down.’

His forehead was shiny with sweat and seamed with concern. She used the heat of the crowded dance hall as her excuse.

‘I just need to get some fresh air, Doug, and I’ll be fine.’

His big frame carved a path through the dancers, and she followed weakly. With Doug’s arm round her, she allowed him to lead her to the back of the hut, where not a glimmer of light shone from the windows. In the darkened base, the only things visible were the stars and a crescent moon. From the direction of the airfield, she heard the rising pitch of an aeroplane taking off, then another, and soon the night sky was filled with the silver wings of bombers, glinting in the moonlight. She looked up.

‘I wonder where they’re going tonight?’ she whispered.

‘I can’t say too much, but there’s a big push on. We’re sending in a thousand bombers a night. They’re in for a hell of a pounding.’

She imagined how the docks of some German town would be suffering the same fate as Bermondsey tonight. But the idea of adding German ruins to the sum of London ruins didn’t equal anything remotely comforting and she let herself be turned into Doug’s arms, away from the arrows of destruction disappearing in the direction of the Channel.

The sight of Bill Gilbie had unnerved her. And besides, she felt mean, having her mind on one man while she was in the arms of another. She gave herself up to Doug’s strong arms and his kisses were at least a distraction. She had come to like the grown-up feeling of being kissed and wooed by the handsome Canadian, and liked being seen on his arm. It was exciting to feel life opening out for her, but she disliked the insistent weight of his pursuit of something more than she was ready to give. And once again as he pressed her back against the wooden boards of the hut, she felt that dogged persistence. Sometimes his probing tongue made her feel as though he were drawing the very life out of her. She knew herself, how she liked to observe from the shadows, never wanting to be centre stage, especially not in another person’s drama. But like some passionate gold miner, Doug was determined to uncover every hidden seam, and she found her hands were flat on his chest, pushing him away as his hand slid under the regulation utility A-line skirt of the polka-dot dress.

‘Hey, don’t shove me away,’ he said, his hand grazing the suspender belt holding up the nylon stockings he’d given her. ‘It’s time you thought about what I need, May. I’ve paid my dues.’

‘What!’ She couldn’t believe that he had classed her with those girls who paid for nylons with sex, and perhaps it didn’t help that used condoms were scattered at their feet, sordid evidence of all the other girls who tonight had come behind the hut, only too willing to pay in kind for favours received, or to comfort their fighter boys before a night-time raid which might not see them return.

She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but his other hand was flat on the hut wall, his arm a barrier. She felt caught in a cage of her own making and panicked.

‘Get off me!’ she gasped, which only spurred him on, so that his mouth closed over hers, stifling her cries. He pulled at the elasticated knicker leg under the parachute silk petticoat and she felt the elastic break as his other hand grasped the front of her dress. The meagre utility buttons popped easily off the dress and as she struggled, she heard the fabric tear. The part of her mind that focused with sharp intent to keep enemy aircraft within her sight told her she must act now to unbalance him. She gave one last shove but was astonished to feel no resistance, for out of the darkness a figure had charged at Doug and was now grasping his shoulder, spinning him round. The crack she heard was Bill Gilbie’s fist connecting with Doug’s jaw. She saw the Canadian crumple to the floor amongst used condoms and dog ends.

‘You’ve broken my damn jaw, you idiot!’ he cried out, holding on to his chin while struggling to his knees.

Bill ignored him and took May by the elbow. ‘May, are you all right?’

‘I think so.’ She was shaking. ‘Bill, what are you doing here?’

‘I put in for a transfer to a fighter squadron. Not been here long. Shall I take you back to the base?’ he asked and she nodded.

‘Here, take this.’

She felt him drape his tunic over her shoulders. When had the night turned so cold, and why couldn’t she stop shivering?

‘I’ve just got to let the band know I won’t be here for the second half.’

They walked into the lobby of the NAAFI. The light seemed brutally bright to May and she shaded her eyes. Conscious now of the ripped front of her dress, she hesitated. ‘I don’t want to go in there, Bill,’ she said and he laid a reassuring hand on her arm.

‘It won’t take a minute.’

‘It’s all right, Bill, don’t worry… I’ll just go…’

‘Just hang on, stay there!’

He hurried off, but once he’d disappeared into the crowd of dancers, she turned to leave, eager to be out of this glare and feeling only shame that Bill should have seen her in such a horrible situation. She would just get a bus and hide herself away and hopefully never have to see either Doug or Bill again. She hurried out of the NAAFI and began walking up the gravel drive. There was a bus stop just outside the base gates, but as she walked, she drew the coat around her and realized she was still wearing Bill’s RAF tunic. She stopped in the middle of the drive, hugged herself beneath the jacket, and let the tears fall. Then she heard hurried footsteps crunching on gravel behind her. Doug! She broke into a run. Of course he would not be the type to give up. But the hand on her shoulder when it came was gentle.

‘It’s only me,’ Bill said. ‘Let me take you home, May,’

They walked in silence to the bus stop and to May’s relief they didn’t have long to wait before the squat, unlit single-decker bus came into view. Bill shone a torch on to the bus’s number. ‘This one’s going to Barkingside,’ he said, flagging it down with his torch.

It wasn’t until they were seated in the back of the bus that he spoke.

‘Do you know him well?’

May blushed. ‘Yes, of course I do.’ She was mortified that he even considered Doug might be a stranger. ‘I met him in Moreton-in-Marsh, when I went to visit Mum. She’s evacuated there now.’

‘He’s your chap then?’ he said. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have interfered, but it looked to me like you needed some help… was I wrong?’

‘Oh no, Bill, you weren’t wrong. I don’t know what got into him…’ But that wasn’t exactly true, and she didn’t want to lie to Bill. ‘Well, I do know. In fact he’s been trying it on ever since we met. I feel so embarrassed. I’m sorry, Bill.’

‘You’re sorry? I just hope I’ll get another chance to make
him
feel sorry!’ His face flushed, and his normally full lips tightened to a thin white line.

‘Will you be all right getting back to your hut?’ he asked, when they arrived at her base.

‘Oh yes, I’m all right now. It was just a bit of a shock. Don’t worry, Bill.’

The guard on duty was watching them and May didn’t feel like prolonging the conversation. She took off his RAF jacket and handed it to him.

‘Well, you know where I am… if you need me.’ And he bent to kiss her on the cheek.

‘Thanks, Bill,’ she said. And she watched him walk away. She wanted to touch her cheek where he’d kissed it, but the guard was still watching. So instead, she folded her arms across the torn dress with a mock shiver as though against the cold and, ducking her head, hurried past the sentry box. The night had been vile and wonderful in equal measure. She had no reason to be happy that Bill was nearby, and yet he had said, ‘you know where I am, if you need me’. And knowing that, somehow helped.

She got to the hut door and realized she wasn’t ready to be alone. So she made her way across the base to the stores. Pat looked up from the counter, where she was filling in a ledger. ‘May! What are you doing back so early?’ A look of alarm was followed by a flash of anger. ‘What’s he done to you?’ She held up a finger. ‘Let me just tell Sarge.’ She disappeared behind some storage racks and was back in a few minutes. ‘It’s OK, I can take an early break.’

‘Oh, Dobbin, I’m so sorry about the dress, it’s ruined!’ May said, beginning to let the tears flow, that she’d stemmed so fiercely on the journey home.

‘Don’t worry about the dress. Let’s get you a hot cuppa – you’re shaking like a leaf.’