The Bomb Girls (21 page)

‘Are you going to be here for long?' she asked casually.

‘Well, no, actually, I'm leaving next week,' Clive replied with a fake self-conscious smile.

Alice's mind reeled at his indiscretion. Was he just trying to impress her or had he already forgotten the basic rules of his training?
Never
reveal anything.

Feigning surprise, she batted her eyelids as she pressed on with her questions.

‘How thrilling!' she gushed. ‘Where are you going?'

With a swagger, the raw recruit moved closer to Alice, so close she could smell the gin on his breath.

‘I'm organizing resistance groups so that when the invasion comes there are people ready to stand up and rebel against the Germans,' he blabbed. Lowering his voice to a melodramatic whisper, he added, ‘I'm being parachuted into enemy-occupied territory.'

You've totally blown it, Alice thought, but her expression remained sweetly impressed.

After half an hour of even more careless talk from Clive she rose and said she had to go. By now rather tipsy, Clive lurched towards her and tried to plant a kiss on her cheek. Alice skilfully evaded his advances by pretending to look for her gloves.

‘Can I see you again before … you know, I disappear into the ether?' Clive said
sotto voce
.

Alice agreed to meet him early the following week, a date she had no intention of keeping, but at least it got him out of her hair.

The next day the commanding officer called Alice and Clive into his office.

‘Do you know this woman?' the Brigadier asked.

Realizing he'd been busted, the raw recruit flushed in embarrassment then shouted at Alice, ‘You bitch! You set me up!'

Later Alice guiltily told Robin what had happened.

‘I did a terrible thing,' she confessed. ‘The poor chap was dismissed on the spot.'

Robin gave her a hug.

‘Don't be silly, darling,' he said. ‘If the man can't resist showing off to a pretty face he's going to be useless in the field, when it won't only be his life that's in jeopardy but many others too.'

As 1943 dawned the Ops at Helford House threw a party. Food was procured from the surrounding countryside: a side of smoked ham was bought from a neighbouring farmer with their combined food coupons, and eaten with allotment-grown potatoes, cabbage and leeks. And there was no shortage of booze, thanks to their local black-market contacts.

‘After all, we
are
spies!' joked Robin. ‘If we can't track down contraband goods, who can?'

Helford House was bright with bunting and flickering candles, and the Christmas tree in the drawing room was so tall it almost touched the ceiling. After the meal the recruits took to the floor, dancing all night to the strains of Cole Porter, Anne Shelton, Glenn Miller and Joe Loss.

It was a wonderfully romantic evening, which Alice and her friends had carefully prepared for. Iris already had an evening dress but Alice, Gladys and Gwynne hadn't. They tracked down lengths of cloth in junk shops and stayed up late into the night stitching their gowns with frozen fingers. Alice's silver-grey velvet dress had a deep V neckline and long sleeves, and it fitted tightly around her slender frame, emphasizing her pale skin and stunning silver-blonde hair.

She gasped when she saw Robin, elegant in an evening suit, waiting for her on the stairs.

‘You look so handsome,' she sighed as she stroked the lapels of his fine suit.

‘And you look like a dream!' he said as he bent to kiss her full pink lips. ‘That dress is so lovely I want to take it off!'

As they dipped and spun to a lovely Vera Lynn waltz number, Alice closed her eyes and lost herself in the moment. With Robin's arms around her and the music playing out, she promised herself that she would treasure this golden candlelit moment, keep it for ever and remember it when times weren't quite as wonderful.

‘Do you love me, darling?' Robin whispered in her ear.

Standing on tiptoes, Alice pressed her lips to his neck, which she kissed.

‘I love you very much.'

‘When the war's over will you marry me?' he asked.

Alice stared up into his sweet, smiling face.

‘Marry you?'

‘Be my wife?'

Throwing her arms around his neck, Alice cried, ‘Oh, yes! Of course! Yes!'

As she continued to dance, pressed against Robin's warm, strong body, his words rang through her head.

‘When the war's over …'

Alice closed her eyes and prayed.

‘Please, God, let that be soon.'

The year began well, with news of further successful Allied bombing raids over Germany.

‘I bet my Gary's one of them brave lads,' said Lillian proudly.

A few weeks later there was even more good news for a nation exhausted by war.

‘The Germans have surrendered in Stalingrad,' the BBC news reporter announced on the Phoenix radio.

Everybody in the entire factory thumped the air in triumph as they cheered at the tops of their voices.

The German drive on Stalingrad, which had begun in the summer of 1942, resulted not in a great triumph for Hitler, but quite the opposite, in fact: the Germans' retreat from Stalingrad was their first major defeat in Europe.

‘There'll be no stopping them Soviets now,' Malc predicted as he walked down the bomb line with a grin on his face. ‘They're tough sods, them Soviets, fighting all winter in freezing temperatures and no food in their bellies. Bloody superhuman, if you ask me.'

‘It seems like this ghastly war's finally turning,' said Daphne.

Elsie's green eyes widened as she asked hopefully, ‘Are you serious, like, about the war ending?'

‘Put it this way, darling, it's the Huns that are
running instead of us, for a change!' Daphne smiled. ‘I admire those plucky Soviets. Malc's quite right: they're heroic.'

‘So are the Yanks!' Lillian said staunchly.

Later, in the canteen, Emily laughed as Daphne fixed a cigarette into her long silver holder then elegantly puffed clouds of smoke into the air.

‘You're not in the movies, Daf!'

‘Darling, I'm not prepared to let my principles drop just because I've been forced to work in the arctic north,' Daphne joked.

After the shock of finding Daphne in their digs the girls had quickly grown to like her. She was great company and told hilariously funny stories of her pre-munitions days when she was a secretary in Kensington.

‘I did as little as possible,' she said candidly. ‘So boring, banging away all day on a Remington typewriter. It ruined my nails, darlings! I spent most of my working days having long lunches with chinless wonders,' she added with a languid smile.

The girls laughed at her posh accent, but equally she howled at their Lancashire accent and quaint idioms.

‘Pleeease don't tell me you seriously call your friends “cock”?' she cried in horror.

‘It's an affectionate name,' Emily explained.

‘You'd certainly have to be on close terms with somebody you addressed by the name of the male genitalia,' Daphne replied.

‘What's genitalia?' innocent Elsie enquired.

Daphne covered her face with her hands.

‘Elsie, dearest, didn't you ever go to school?'

‘No, mi dad wouldn't let me, like,' Elsie replied honestly and in all innocence.

Daphne, who had a tender heart, for all her airs and graces, patted Elsie gently on the top of her head.

‘Dear child, you're intuitively cleverer than most women who've had an education.'

Elsie blushed and smiled at the compliment although, if the truth were known, she didn't quite understand it. All she knew was that Daphne was her friend and, like Emily, Lillian, Agnes and Alice, she loved her very much.

Lillian and Daphne were a scream together, doing imitations of film stars and singers, some of whom Daphne had met and could perfectly mimic. Together they'd do renditions of the Andrews Sisters till late into the night; harmonizing and improvising they'd click their fingers, stamp their feet, bang pan lids, even tap dance.

‘Do “Tuxedo Junction”,' Emily begged.

‘It's gone midnight,' Agnes pointed out. ‘We really should be in bed.'

‘In a minute,' Elsie pleaded. ‘After “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy”.'

Agnes wagged a finger at heavily pregnant Elsie.

‘You, young lady, should be in bed,' she scolded, but Agnes loved their sing-song evenings just as much as her friends did.

For all of her wild ways, posh tastes, funny stories and string of boyfriends, there was a serious side to Daphne. Deeply patriotic, she pitched into gruelling munitions work with zeal and determination. On wet winter mornings, as they slithered and slipped on the muddy cobbled path that led to the Phoenix, Daphne would skip over the puddles.

‘No slacking, girls! This is no worse than hockey at prep school!' she'd call.

The national euphoria brought on by the success of the Soviet offensive and the increase in Allied bombing of Germany plummeted in the spring, when news began to creep through about the continuing and relentless Battle of the Atlantic. During one particularly bleak week in March twenty-seven merchant ships were sunk by German U-boats.

The mood was sombre in the canteen, and some women, wives and sweethearts of sailors aboard the fated ships hadn't even clocked on for work but had taken themselves into Pendle to be with their families as more news filtered through.

It was around this gloomy time that Agnes received a letter from Cambridge, which she told her friends about during one of their tea breaks. She'd been finding it unbearably hard not being with Stan, but factory work, sometimes with back-to-back shifts, had distracted her a little.

‘The doctors say there's no improvement in Stan's condition and therefore they have no alternative but to administer electric-shock treatment,' she said miserably.

‘Oh, God! Isn't that a bit experimental?' Daphne asked.

Looking careworn, Agnes continued, ‘They mentioned it when I was in Cambridge; they said it was something they would only do as a last resort … when nothing else worked.'

A heavy silence hung over the table.

‘I've got to go to Cambridge to sign the consent papers,'
she said as she folded the letter and slipped it into her overall pocket. ‘Poor Stan,' she whispered as tears rolled down her face. ‘I never thought it would come to this. They'll have to give me compassionate leave.'

Elsie handed her a hankie, which Agnes gratefully accepted.

‘I wish Esther could see him before he has the treatment,' she said as she mopped up her tears. ‘Who knows what state he'll be in afterwards … ?'

Unknown to Agnes, Emily and Lillian began devising a secret plan.

‘There's nothing to stop us from going to pick up the little girl ourselves,' Emily said excitedly. ‘If we can sort our shifts to get Esther here, Agnes could take her to Cambridge.'

‘You can't kidnap a child!' Daphne cried in shock.

‘It's not kidnap,' Lillian pointed out. ‘She knows us.'

‘Well, why don't we run the idea past Agnes?' Elsie asked.

‘Because she'll refuse,' Emily said pragmatically. ‘You know how principled she is; she'll think we have to go through all the formal channels, but that would waste precious time.'

Lillian quickly added, ‘The less she knows, the better.'

‘You sure you can get to Keswick and back in between shifts?' Elsie asked.

‘I reckon we can. It's only up the road,' Lillian replied.

‘Hardly, darling,' Daphne laughed as she gave an elegant little shudder then said, ‘I'm told it's damp and misty and surrounded by mountains.'

‘Stop being dramatic, Daf,' Lillian said. ‘Em's right: time-wise it's do-able.'

Emily grinned.

‘So let's do it!'

Daphne rolled her eyes.

‘Oh, my God! What have Emily Yates and Winston Churchill got in common?'

‘Dunno. Tell me,' Emily asked.

‘True grit!' Daphne replied.

A few days later Lillian and Emily finished their morning shift and by three o'clock they were on a slow train to Preston, changing at Lancaster and Kendal and finally getting into Keswick around six o'clock. They went straight to the place where Esther was housed – Lillian had found the address in Agnes's bag – but Mr and Mrs Sugden were more than wary about letting the little girl leave with total strangers.

‘But we're not strangers,' Emily explained as she showed them a photograph of Esther with them at Elsie's wedding.

‘We're Esther's friends,' Lillian said as she cuddled the little girl, who'd climbed onto her lap and was tugging her earrings.

Emily decided the only way forward was the stark truth.

‘Agnes really wants Esther to see her dad before he has electric-shock treatment, because after that, well …' She paused then added bleakly, ‘He could be a vegetable for the rest of his life.'

The old couple finally conceded and then it was a mad
rush to get the last train. Taking it in turns to carry the giggling, excited Esther, they ran through the dark streets of Keswick and hopped on a train just as the guard blew his whistle. The return journey involved only one change, at Preston, where some American GIs fed Esther chocolate and chewing gum. By the time they stepped out of the taxi at the Phoenix it was gone two in the morning and all was quiet in their digs.

Taking Esther to Agnes's room they quietly opened the door.

‘Go and give Mummy a kiss,' Emily said as she gave the little girl a gentle pat on the bottom.

Esther limped over to the bed and, on tiptoes, she stretched up to kiss her mother.

Agnes woke with a start. Looking into the face of her daughter, she genuinely thought she was dreaming.

‘Hello, Mummy.'

Gathering Esther into her arms, Agnes wept with joy.

‘Tomorrow we're going to see Daddy,' she said.

Though Agnes was overwhelmed by her friends' generous and daring plan to bring Esther to the Phoenix, there was hardly time to thank them as Malc was waiting early the next morning to take mother and daughter to Clitheroe railway station.

‘I'll never forget what you've done for me and Esther,' Agnes said as she clung emotionally to Emily and Lillian.

As usual Lillian down-played her important role, fobbing it off with a joke.

‘We needed the fresh air!' she laughed.

The long journey across England would have seemed
interminable but Agnes and Esther had months of catching up to do. Esther gloried in the excitement of the train journey; she loved exploring the corridors, stepping over sleeping soldiers or playing games with those that were awake. ‘I Spy' was her favourite as the train rattled through the spring countryside. Agnes couldn't believe how unencumbered she was by her disability. As she hopped over bulging kitbags to get to the toilets, she played a game called ‘Bouncing Bunnies', which involved all the young soldiers copying her actions.

‘I never thought I'd be playing “Follow My Leader” on the way back to barracks,' one smiling young soldier said as Esther made him stand on one leg and wobble just like she did.

When Esther got sleepy Agnes cuddled her and stroked her long dark hair as she told her stories of when they lived together in London and Daddy drove a big red bus. Then, while Esther slept, Agnes stared at her daughter's tranquil face. Would Stan recognize her? Would Esther even remember who he was?

As before, it was late when the train pulled into Cambridge. Agnes hailed a taxi and drove to the B&B she'd previously stayed in, then, curling up in a single bed with Esther, she fell asleep.

The following morning, with her stomach churning in fear, a nervous Agnes led Esther into the hospital ward. Assuming that Esther might be overcome by the sight of doctors in white coats and rows and rows of beds, Agnes started to say, ‘Darling, it might seem a bit strange to begin with –'

But Esther took her mother totally by surprise. Well
used to hospitals, she was unperturbed by what she saw, and dropping her mother's hand she limped the length of the ward looking for her father. Remembering the photograph of Stan that Agnes kept by her bedside table, Esther miraculously managed to pick out her emaciated father sitting in a high-backed chair and staring blankly out of the window.

‘Daddy! Daddy!' she cried as she hurled herself into his arms.

Time stood still.

Agnes saw Stan look at their daughter, and as she watched she prayed desperately for some sign of recognition. But a tremor went through her husband as if he'd been shot.

‘Oh, my God! He looks like he's going to have a stroke!' she gasped as she dashed forwards.

The doctor put a restraining hand on her arm.

‘Leave them,' he said as he gave his full attention to the interaction between father and daughter.

The shock of seeing his little daughter smiling up at him with tears in her big dark eyes seemed to shift something long locked in Stan's brain.

‘Remember me, Daddy?' she said.

Seconds ran into minutes as he searched his memory for the name of his daughter. Agnes hardly dared breathe.

‘Esther … ?' he said hesitantly.

The little girl nodded and smiled encouragingly. Agnes looked hopefully at the doctor, who kept his eyes on his patient.

‘I'm Esther and you're my daddy.'

Taking him by the hand, she pulled him up out of his
chair. He never took his eyes from hers as she led him through the open French window into the sunshine.