The Docklands Girls

Hildy Dickson pushed back a stray hair under the turban on her head. She was working at what used to be the Sunlight Laundry, but had exchanged sheets and shirts for making parts for Spitfires. The men and women who were employed worked in shifts to enable them to keep up the production of the vitally important work.

Hildy was a supervisor and it was her job not only to work on the assembly line but to keep an eye on the female workers, making sure that there were no shirkers. She was a dedicated worker which didn’t make her popular, but it didn’t bother her a jot. She was there to do a job and that was what she did. She was relentless with those girls who after a night out on the town would complain to her they were unwell.

‘Then take more water with it!’ she’d say. ‘Think of those poor devils who have to fly the planes we supply. They don’t complain. Now get back to your bench.’

She had thought of joining one of the women’s services. The WRENS or the ATS, but her mother had begged her not to leave home and as her drunken father had walked
out on them when she was a child, she had taken his place as head of the household and felt duty-bound to stay put. But deep down, she resented the position in which her father had placed her. She felt life was passing her by and her mother clung to her like a leach, which didn’t help. Consequently, she was a frustrated young woman. But she did insist on either going to the pictures or dances, once or twice a week. There at least she could forget her cares and relax. It was the only thing that saved her from completely losing her freedom and she relished those moments.

The bell rang for the end of the shift and she breathed a sigh of relief, took off her turban and shook her hair free. It had been an early morning shift and she thought she’d walk through the park, sit and have a quiet cigarette before going home.

Despite the havoc that the bombing had caused, the Southampton parks were still well cared for and now, in April, there was blossom on the trees, daffodils showing their trumpet-shaped blooms and after the decimation of much of the town in the Blitz, the parks were a thing of peace and calm in the uncertain world at war.

Hildy sat down on a bench and took out a cigarette, lit it and leant back taking in her surroundings. She’d been up at the crack of dawn and now it was lunchtime. She took a packet of sandwiches out of her pocket to eat after she’d enjoyed the welcome hit of nicotine. Fish paste on wartime bread wasn’t much to get excited about, but when you were hungry, it didn’t matter too much. She sat and watched the passers-by. Mothers pushing prams, office workers taking a break as she was and the usual mixture of troops from
different parts of the world, wandering aimlessly, trying to fill time in a strange country.

Rumours were rife and talk now was of an impending invasion. With the troops lining the streets, sitting on their tanks, others in camps, it certainly seemed likely and there was almost a hint of desperation in the chat-up lines aimed at the girls. Soldiers, afraid of what was ahead of them were determined to live what life they had to the full knowing that the possibility of death awaited them.

To alleviate the strain on the waiting troops, the Americans arranged dances for their men, inviting certain females to their camps, transporting them there and back in trucks. The female staff of Tyrrell & Green, one of the main stores in Southampton, had been issued invites and Hildy was going with a friend of hers who worked there and had managed to get an extra ticket. She loved to dance and it was another night of freedom from her mother. She sat eating her sandwich wondering what to wear to the dance.

Olive Dickson was not best pleased when her daughter told her of her plans for the evening.

‘Going where?’ she demanded.

‘Stony Cross.’

‘But how on earth will you get there in the blackout?’

‘The Americans collect us in trucks from the Civic Centre and bring us home.’

Olive looked appalled. ‘In trucks … like cattle! Well really, I don’t know what the world is coming to, really I don’t!’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Mother, it is only a form of
transportation. They could hardly take us all there in cars. Anyway, I’m going whether you like it or not!’

Olive changed her tactics immediately; she began to simper.

‘You know how I hate to be on my own at night. You know how nervous I get and, what’s more, I’m not feeling very well.’

Hildy was used to the emotional blackmail and didn’t respond in the way her mother hoped.
‘It’s That Man Again
is on the radio tonight. You know how much you like Tommy Handley. You can listen to that! I’m off to have a bath.’

When she was alone, Olive quietly fumed, telling herself she didn’t deserve such a selfish daughter. She went into the bedroom, got undressed and climbed into bed, placing a bottle of aspirin beside her. She lay in wait.

Hildy crumbled a bath cube in the required five inches of bath water before climbing in and relaxing. After a quick soak, she eventually climbed out, dried herself, went to her bedroom and put on a dress she’d chosen. She pulled on a pair of Lisle stockings wishing they were nylons, but these were in very short supply, unless you had a GI boyfriend.

When she was ready, she walked out of her room and saw a light on in her mother’s bedroom as the door was ajar.

Tapping on the door, she asked, ‘Mum. Are you there?’

‘Come in,’ was the reply in a wan voice.

As soon as she entered she saw her mother laid against the pillow and saw the bottle of aspirin. Her eyes narrowed.

‘Let me look at you for the last time,’ said her mother.

Hildy just glared at her. ‘You really should be on the stage, you know. Sarah Bernhardt has nothing on you! I’m
off.’ She walked out, her cheeks flushed with anger.

She was still angry as she walked to the Civic Centre. She was twenty-three, for God’s sake! Not a child. She did have a life of her own. She was a daughter, not a slave! Oh, how she longed to walk away from her mother – the heavy chain around her neck, but how could she? She felt duty-bound to stay. At the back of her mind was always the small doubt, would her mother cope or would she do something stupid? That was the hold that Olive had over her and it was killing her.

There was a crowd of chatting, giggling young women outside the Civic Centre waiting to be collected. Hildy found Joan, her friend among the melee.

‘There you are!’ Joan rushed over to her. ‘I wondered if your mum had stopped you coming.’ Joan was aware of her friend’s difficulties.

With a tight grin, Hildy said, ‘No, but she did her best to do so. Anyway, let’s forget her and have a good night.’

Two trucks duly arrived and the girls were helped on by cheerful GIs who were delighted with their cargo. Inside, a bench seat was either side of the vehicle and everyone squeezed in. The air was alive with happy expectation. Wafts of Evening in Paris perfume and Californian Poppy filled the interior. Some wore stockings, others had put tan on their legs and drawn a seam down the back with an eyebrow pencil. Everyone had made a great effort. An invite to an American army camp was to be relished.

Eventually the trucks arrived at their destination and the girls were lifted down with enthusiasm by the soldiers who
flirted outrageously and they were led over to a hall. Inside, it was lit brightly; an American flag was at the back of the bandstand and a band was playing as they entered. Each girl was given a beautiful buttonhole and pin as she handed over her coat which was a delightful surprise. And without hesitation, soldiers stepped forward to claim a partner.

Hildy forgot her cares and let herself go. She loved to jive and the Americans were good at it. The band was playing Glenn Miller’s ‘In the Mood’ and she was turned and twisted to the music by her partner. As the dance finished, he grinned at her.

‘You’re quite a mover, lady!’

‘Yes, she sure is and this dance is mine, buddy!’ Another soldier took Hildy by the arm and danced her away from her partner.

She laughed at him. ‘That was pretty slick,’ she said.

He winked. ‘Don’t pay to hang about these days, honey. Time isn’t on our side,’ and with his hand firmly on her back, he led her through the quickstep faultlessly.

Finally, just when Hildy thought she couldn’t dance another step, a sergeant approached her and said, ‘Lady, I really think you deserve a break! Come and have a well-earned drink.’

She gratefully followed him to the bar.

‘What’s your poison?’ he asked.

‘Gin and tonic, please.’

Pointing to an empty table and chairs, he said, ‘I suggest you sit there and I’ll bring over the drinks. It’ll give you time to rest your feet.’ His eyes twinkled as he spoke.

‘You must be my guardian angel,’ she said with some feeling.

‘Who knows,’ he replied.

Eventually he came over and placed her drink in front of her and a Coke for himself.

‘Don’t you drink?’ she asked with some surprise.

‘Sure I do, but I’m on duty tonight, keeping an eye on things, making sure you ladies all have a good time without any hassle.’

‘And you are?’

‘Sergeant Milt Miller, at your service.’

‘Milt?’

‘Short for Milton. And you?’

‘Hildy, short for Hilda, Dickson. Supervisor at a factory building engines and parts for Spitfires.’

‘A worthy occupation,’ he said smiling at her.

Sipping her drink, Hildy looked around at the dancing figures on the floor.

‘How long before you will all be shipped across the Channel?’

Grinning, he said, ‘If I knew I couldn’t tell you, you know that. But the fact is I don’t know. All I do know is if and when we leave, it’s my duty to keep my men alive.’

‘That’s some responsibility,’ she remarked.

‘One I don’t want to think about tonight. You hungry, Hildy?’

She nodded.

‘Then you come with me,’ and he led her to the other end of the hall where a table was laid, packed with food.

Hildy’s eyes lit up as she looked at the spread. There were sandwiches made with real ham as opposed to the usual Spam. The bread was white, unlike the grey of the National loaf. Sausage rolls and something called hot dogs,
long sausages in a roll, were on offer as well as small cakes. She looked at her escort.

‘Blimey! It’s like Christmas has come early!’

Laughing, Milt filled a couple of plates with this manna from heaven and led her over to a small table. ‘Go for it!’ he said. And she did, savouring every mouthful.

At the end of their picnic, Milt left and returned with two cups of real coffee. When Hildy smelt the aroma of coffee beans instead of the usual camp coffee, she couldn’t believe her luck.

‘You have no idea just how great this tastes,’ she told him. ‘I don’t remember when I last enjoyed a cup of proper coffee. How lucky you Yanks are.’

‘Yes, I guess we take these things for granted. The Post Exchange store is pretty well stocked. In the States we haven’t suffered the shortages you have. But at least we’ve been able to share our good fortune with others.’ He opened a pack of Camel cigarettes and offered her one. After they lit them, he handed her the pack.

‘Here, take these I have more.’

Hildy studied the man sitting opposite. He was tall, broad-shouldered with twinkling blue eyes and looked extremely fit, a little older than most of the other GIs. His dark hair was cut short just like all the other military, but there was something very solid about this man, she decided. Someone to be relied upon. She thought the soldiers that would be fighting alongside him would be in good hands.

‘So, Hildy, what’s going through your mind right now?’

She looked startled. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘Well, you’ve been staring at me for a while and I wondered what you were thinking.’

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. ‘I was thinking that you looked as if you would know what you’re doing on a battlefront.’

‘Well I’m a regular soldier not a conscript so I guess I’m more trained than most of my boys. It’s good to see them letting off steam tonight because in the future, they’ll have to face the enemy and that ain’t a great deal of fun.’

‘Have you got a girl back home, Milt?’

‘Lordy no! I’ve had girl friends, of course, but no one special. How about you?’

She shook her head. ‘No, no one.’

‘A good-looking chick like you, I find that hard to believe.’

Shrugging she said, ‘Well you know how it is. Life and the war got in the way.’
And my mother
she thought to herself.

Milt studied the girl sitting opposite him. She had a certain air about her. A confidence yet at the same time there was sadness in her eyes and he wondered what the story was behind it. He thought he’d like to learn more about her.

‘Well, Hildy, as it seems we are both free agents, how about we get together until we ship out? We could have some fun, no strings attached. How about it?’

She started to laugh. ‘That’s just about the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Most men have an agenda, you know!’

This amused the American. ‘You are so right. However, in wartime things are so uncertain, you have to seize the moment. What do you say?’

‘I’d like that very much is what I say, Sergeant!’

‘Then let’s take to the floor and celebrate.’ He held out his hand and she took it.

The band was playing a waltz and Milt drew her into his arms, holding her close as they danced to the music. She could feel his taught body against hers and could smell the scent of his aftershave. Somehow she felt at home within his hold and all the stress of her situation at home seemed to drift away as the music played.

They stayed together until the end of the evening and as he walked her to the truck waiting to carry the girls back to Southampton he said, ‘I’ve got tomorrow evening off, fancy going to a movie?’

‘I’d like that very much,’ she replied.

‘Great. I’ll meet you outside the Empire cinema at six-thirty. Is that alright with you?’

‘I’ll be there.’