The Bomb Girls (36 page)

Robin and Emily sat on either side of Alice's mother, who had turned into a frail, trembling old lady almost overnight. She had collapsed on hearing Robin's terrible news and was heavily tranquillized in order to get through the service.

‘Imagine being alone in her house with no hope of ever seeing her husband or daughter again,' said Agnes. ‘Well, not in this life anyway.'

Brigadier Kingsley from Helford House came to the funeral and he spoke of Alice's unflagging energy and determination, her selflessness, her beauty and her bravery.

‘She also had a cheeky, mischievous sense of humour, setting decoys to lead her fellow trainees on a merry dance that usually ended up in the Ladies! Being here in the town where Alice grew up, meeting Alice's friends and family, I can see where that humour came from and from where she drew her strength,' he said to the tearful congregation. ‘You should be proud people of Pendle to have had such a daughter, one who loved and was loved and never gave up.'

By the end of the ceremony the entire congregation was in tears. After the final blessing they trooped out of the church and gathered around the memorial stone
erected for Alice in the churchyard, where they laid wreaths of fragrant spring flowers.

As the mourners dispersed to the Station Hotel for strong drinks and sandwiches, Emily hung back; she was in no hurry to go anywhere. Resting her head against the memorial she read the words carved onto the grey Pennine slab.

ALICE MASSEY

Who lost her life in active service

in Dachau, Germany, aged 25.

Your sacrifice gave us our freedom.

Emily looked up into the vaulted blue sky.

‘Catch this, Al,' she said as she blew a kiss up to heaven.

Seeing a figure approaching, Emily hurriedly took out her hankie and brushed tears off her cheeks. When her eyes had cleared she looked again, squinting, then caught her breath. Was she dreaming? The outline of the tall, slim figure in army uniform walking up the church path towards her took her breath away. Blinking hard, she looked again. Her Bill! Was it really him? As he got nearer, she saw the sweep of his dark hair over his forehead, the scar on his chin he'd got playing football at primary school, the soft smile playing on his lips. Wide-eyed, frightened and shaking in every limb, Emily gazed at him in total disbelief.

‘Hiya,' he said in his old familiar way as he neared her.

Oh, the sound of his voice! How long since she'd heard it! How sweet it sounded, like a long-awaited caress. Holding onto Alice's memorial for support Emily swayed.

‘Hiya,' she answered weakly.

‘Need a hug?'

Weeping uncontrollably, Emily fell into his open arms, and then, pressed against his warm, strong chest, she sobbed herself dry.

‘What will I do without her?' she cried.

Smiling gently, Bill wiped a finger down her wet cheeks and around her full mouth, which he kissed softly.

‘Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll look after you,' he promised.

They stayed in the churchyard a long time. Moving her away from the memorial, Bill led a trembling Emily to a bench under an old elm where they sat holding hands. In between bouts of talking they gazed rapturously at each other.

‘You're even more beautiful than I remember,' Bill said as he kissed each of her delicate eyebrows then traced her cheek with kisses.

‘And you're even taller, broader and bonnier,' she said.

‘It's not army grub!' he joked. ‘Just a soldier's life,' he added dismissively.

‘Fighting for six years,' she said as she carefully avoided adding, ‘Killing and bombing, frightened, hungry, tired and lonely.'

‘There's more fighting to come,' he said solemnly.

Emily closed her eyes as she leaned her head against his shoulder. She'd just got him back, only for him to be taken away again.

‘Our regiment will be going to the Far East.'

Emily gazed up at him, her blue eyes wide and blazing with passion.

‘I'll wait, darling. If it's twenty years, I'll wait,' she
vowed. ‘I've paid for what I did a thousand times over. I was young, stupid – bloody vain! I'll never stray again, never! I thought I'd lost you, Bill,' she whispered. ‘I'll
never
let you go again.'

‘You lost me for a bit, Em,' he admitted. ‘I was hurt and humiliated. I could've strangled the fella with mi bare hands!'

‘Me and you both,' she said as she kissed him over and over again.

‘Hell, Em, if there's one thing this war's taught me it's that life's precious. Love's what counts, not killing and maiming. When the war's over, what years I have left I want with you … Whether life's long or short I want you, Emily Yates, by my side for ever.'

One minute after midnight on Tuesday 8 May 1945, Victory in Europe was officially confirmed. Everybody knew the day was coming – Hitler was dead, Mussolini hanged and the Allies were in Berlin – but for all of that, the day they'd longed for and dreamed of started with a slow burn. Nobody could quite believe the news; there was simultaneously weeping and laughter combined with confusion, which Elsie summed up beautifully.

‘What're we going to do now?'

‘Six years …' Lillian sighed. ‘Six long, long years of poverty, hard work, heartache and rationing.'

‘And that dreaded knock on the door,' said Agnes knowingly.

Emily gazed around; she simply couldn't imagine not living with Agnes and Lillian, little Elsie too, who seemed to spend half her life running up the hill from town, pushing her Silver Cross pram overflowing with Jonty and Esther.

What would they do? Return to the same place, mentally and physically, where they'd been before the war started? Impossible! Millions of women had been part of Churchill's Secret Army, the special agents working underground; they couldn't just resume a life of drab domesticity, washing and cleaning, shopping and cooking. Here were women who'd made bombs, day in and day
out; they'd been a vital part of the drive to destroy Hitler and prevent an invasion of their precious land. These women, Emily thought passionately, were a powerhouse not to be dismissed. Collectively they were an industrious, driven army who, out of necessity, had survived without their men. They'd made decisions on their own, forged new lives on their own, and how could that be reversed? Surely this war had turned the world upside down; surely the established customs and traditions of a pre-war society would be changed for ever.

Lillian interrupted Emily's deep thoughts.

‘One thing's for certain,' she said. ‘We can't stay in the Phoenix making bombs that nobody wants.'

‘They're still needed in the Far East,' Agnes sharply reminded her.

Along with hundreds of other workers the Bomb Girls converged in the pouring rain on the town centre, where people were flooding out of their homes in the need to share the moment they'd been waiting for with the entire community. They stood in silence in the rain listening to the King's speech relayed through loudspeakers hastily strung up around the town hall.

‘His stammer's so bad it's difficult to catch the poor man's drift,' Elsie said as she strained to hear him.

‘He's saying the enemy's been overcome,' Agnes told her.

‘Sshshh!' hissed several people around her.

‘And now he's saying we've got to deal with the Japanese,' Agnes whispered to Elsie.

Lillian groaned as she rolled her eyes to the rain-sodden heavens.

‘Just my bloody luck! Gary will be on his way over there when all the other fellas are on their way over here!'

A big woman in front turned to glare at the girls.

‘I want to hear the King not you daft beggers – put a sock in it.'

The girls smiled at each other but did as they were told. When the King concluded his speech the crowd applauded and burst into a rousing chorus of ‘God Save the King', then as the sun broke through the mood of cautious incredulity changed to jubilation. ‘It's a Long Way to Tipperary' jangled out over the loudspeakers and the crowd quite spontaneously started dancing and singing. Children, who were let out of school for the day in celebration of peace in Europe, ran wild, the pubs stayed open and trestle tables were dragged out of church halls in readiness for a celebratory feast.

‘I don't know what we'll be eating,' a woman cried. ‘But we're sure to find summut!'

‘Summut's not good enough on a day like this,' Emily replied.

The woman smiled at Emily.

‘Then off you go, lovie, and come back like Jesus with enough food to feed five thousand!'

Emily persuaded the Phoenix cooks to lend her several portable gas rings and some great metal vats. Malc drove it all down to the town hall square where workmen connected the gas rings up to the mains. The vats were safely secured on trestle tables, then Emily asked everybody in the square to go home and return with their portion of fat rationing. As the vats filled up, Emily ignited the gas rings and the delicious smell of hot fat filled the air. Malc drove
all round town picking up potatoes from anybody who had them. Emily and her workers peeled and chopped them, then the victory supper got underway. Bags of chips and bottles of beer hidden long ago under the counter were circulated all night long. Added to this, people brought out what they had stored away in their homes: corned beef, tins of fruit, pickles, meat pies, pasties and sausages.

‘When we've finished all this cooking,' Lillian cried, ‘I'd like half a bottle of gin then I'm going to dance my socks off!'

Hot, sweaty, but radiantly happy, Emily cooked until there was nothing left to cook.

Esther, who'd been pushing a chuckling Jonty in his pram around the square, approached Emily and saw she was starting to tidy away her improvised kitchen.

Knowing Emily's genius for inventive cookery, Esther said in a sweet, persuasive voice, ‘No pudding, Em?'

Emily cocked her head as she thought.

‘Fancy a pancake?'

‘
Yes, please!
' cried Esther.

An hour later, after serving up dozens of pancakes spread with home-made jam, Emily called it a day. Drinking thirstily from a bottle of beer bought for her by Malc, she smiled with contentment.

‘Thanks for everything, Malc,' she said. ‘And I do mean
everything
,' she added pointedly.

Malc took a long pull on his bottle of beer before he replied.

‘You lasses have led me a right bloody dance and there's no doubting we've had our up and downs,' he said
nodding in the direction of Lillian, who by now was halfway up the flagpole. ‘But you've worked hard and more than pulled your weight.' He raised his bottle in a salute to Emily and her friends. ‘I shall always remember you Bomb Girls with respect and affection,' he said with a choke in his voice, then he added with a wink, ‘Even if you were a set of little buggers at times!'

Emily's happy smile widened as she looked at the partying crowd dancing around the square. This was her community, which she loved with all her heart. All she needed was Bill home for good and her happiness would be complete.

Churchill's rousing speech brought the street-party revels to a temporary halt. When he congratulated the nation on how valiantly they had fought and how much they had endured there was hardly a dry eye in the crowd, as the Prime Minister's booming voice faded away, the crowd broke into spontaneous song.

‘For he's a jolly good fellow,

He's a jolly good fellow,

For he's a jolly good fellow

And so say all of us!'

And then the party started in earnest. Children dressed in red, white and blue paper ran wild in the streets waving Union Jack flags. Fireworks were set off and then, to everybody's astonishment, a beacon of fire fluttered into life high up on Pendle Hill. As it flared, another beacon further along the Pennines lit up, then another and another until the whole of the Pennine ridge was one long line of
flaming beacons. For the first time in six years the night sky was lit up.

‘No more blackouts!' the children cried as they danced up and down in disbelief. ‘No more gas masks!'

Emily wiped tears away as a beacon flared on Witch Crag.

‘Alice,' she said out loud. ‘My sweet Al.'

They'd won the war but at what a cost. Millions dead, their lives snuffed out, taken too early. She and Alice should have grown into young mothers together, brought up their children together, shared childcare and birthdays; they should have grown old together and been buried in the same churchyard at the end of a long and happy life. But her lovely, delicate, beautiful friend was less than nothing now, her ashes blown by a stray breeze across some unknown part of Germany.

How could she keep Alice alive? How could she not forget?

A rush of emotion surged through her at these thoughts. There might be no body, no hand to hold, no smile to see, no words to speak, but there was love. All that finally remained was love.

‘Just like the beacons burning on the moors I'll keep my love alive for you, Alice,' Emily promised. ‘I'll never forget.'