Time Goes By (22 page)

Barbara continued with her job as a telephonist. She stayed at home most evenings, writing letters to Albert in answer to the long loving letters she received from him, or listening with her aunt and uncle to their favourite programmes on the wireless:
Monday Night at Eight, In Town Tonight
(broadcast on a Saturday),
Happidrome, Garrison Theatre,
and
ITMA,
with the irrepressible Tommy Handley, the comedy show above all others that managed to keep the people’s spirits up in those depressing wartime days.

Occasionally she went to the cinema with a friend from work. She enjoyed
Gone with the Wind,
and the light-hearted Hollywood musicals, starring such glamorous female stars as Betty Grable, Veronica Lake and Alice Faye, as well as the movies put on for propaganda purposes to boost the morale of a population becoming more and more war weary:
Mrs Miniver
and
In Which We Serve.
She could not be persuaded, however, to go out dancing. Albert, to her surprise, was a very good dancer and she looked forward to stepping out on the ballroom floor with him the next time he came home on leave.

That was in September, when he was granted a whole week’s leave. They went dancing a few times that week, to the Tower, and to the Empress ballroom in the Winter Gardens. But their
favourite venue was the smaller Palace ballroom, a more intimate place, but just as splendid in its own way as its larger counterparts. The superb ballroom floor was perfect for the thousands of dancing feet that trod it each evening.

They danced to an old-time medley; the veleta, the military two-step and the St Bernard’s Waltz, as well as the quickstep, the modern waltz and the foxtrot. Albert confessed that he had been to lessons in ballroom dancing some years ago, and he was certainly a very accomplished dancer. Barbara had never been able to master the slow foxtrot, but under Albert’s patient guidance she found she was now able to do so, following the expert lead that he gave.

Barbara sang softly beneath her breath to the music of ‘As Time Goes By’, a sentimental song that captured exactly the mood that they and hundreds of other young couples were feeling that night; a tale of moonlight and kisses and sighs, and of love that would last for a lifetime.

‘I’ll always love you, my darling,’ Albert whispered to her. ‘No matter how the time goes by … you will always be the only girl for me.’

Barbara felt, almost, as though she might be falling in love with her husband. One thing she was certain about was that their child was conceived later that same night.

Baby Katherine Louise was born on 30th June, 1943.

A
s 1943 dawned there was hope, at long last, that the tide was turning. It seemed that victory – hopefully in the not-too-distant future – was now a possibility; some, indeed, believed that it was assured. Civilians and servicemen alike were now starting to look towards the long-term future and to think about what sort of a world would emerge after the war-torn years.

A significant event had been when the Russian armies defeated the Germans. Hitler’s greatest mistake had been, undoubtedly, his belief that Russia could be conquered along with the rest of the Western nations. He had not reckoned with the severity of a Russian winter, which proved to be the undoing of the German armies. The last of the German troops at Stalingrad surrendered on 2nd February, 1943.

The surrender of Italy followed a few months
later. The North Africa campaign had ended in total victory for the Allied forces, and that army was now freed to take part in the planned invasion of Europe, which was being known as the ‘Second Front’. The ongoing Battle of the Atlantic in May was another turning point. Forty German U-boats were destroyed and the transatlantic supply line was secure once again.

On 17th May came the news that nineteen Lancaster bombers had successfully breached the two largest dams in the manufacturing district of the Ruhr Valley, by means of what was known as the ‘bouncing bomb’. The devastation and loss of life was tremendous, giving way to the thought in many thousands of minds that the majority of the casualties must have been innocent civilians. It had been reported in the newspapers that four thousand Germans had lost their lives in the flooding, and one hundred and twenty thousand had lost their homes.

The loss of life in Great Britain had been equally catastrophic in the blitz of the major cities – London, Liverpool, Manchester, Plymouth, Coventry – in the earlier years of the war, and still there was continuing loss of life amongst the soldiers, sailors and airmen who were fighting and believing in an ultimate victory. Indeed, it was reported that several of the bombers that had taken part in the breaching of the Ruhr dams had not returned.

At the time that baby Katherine was born on the last day of June, a mood of optimism was prevalent in the majority of households, none more so than in the homes of the Leigh and White families.

It was a straightforward, comparatively easy birth. Barbara stayed at home for the confinement, and the baby was born in the bedroom that had always been hers and in which she and Albert sometimes slept when he was home on leave.

All babies are beautiful, at least to their parents and close members of the family, but Barbara believed that her baby was, truly, the most beautiful baby she had ever seen. Her head was already covered with a mass of dark hair, clinging to her scalp in damp curly tendrils. Her cheeks were a rosy pink and her eyes, when she opened them, were a sort of inky grey. Barbara knew that babies couldn’t focus properly, not so soon after the birth, but they seemed to be staring right into those of her mother, who already adored her. Tentatively, Barbara reached out a finger, placing it in the tiny palm of the baby, and the minute fingers, like a little pink starfish, closed around her own. She felt a deep thrill, unlike anything she had experienced before, and a feeling of wonder that she should be entrusted with the care of this tiny child.

‘She looks just like you,’ her aunt and uncle, and Albert’s parents, told her.

‘And I think she’ll have your brown eyes when she’s a few weeks older,’ said Aunt Myrtle. ‘Babies’ eyes change, you know. They always look a sort of muddy grey at first.’

Albert was granted a forty-eight-hour compassionate leave, and he was delighted with his new daughter. ‘I didn’t believe I could ever be any happier than I was when you said you would marry me,’ he told Barbara, ‘but now I know that I am even happier. I’m the happiest man in the world. Thank you, my darling. She’s … just perfect.’

Between them they chose the names Katherine Louise, just because they liked them. But before long the little girl became known as Kathy.

She was a good baby, waking only once in the night for a feed, and by the end of September, when she was three months old, she was sleeping right through the night.

‘You’re lucky,’ Albert’s mother told her. ‘I had endless trouble with both of mine. I forgot what a good night’s sleep was like until they were more than twelve months old, especially with our Albert. He was on a bottle by that time, mind you, so I made sure that Bill took his turn …’

Albert, of course, could not take his turn at feeding the baby because he was not there, but Barbara was pleased that he did his share whenever he was home on leave. By the time baby Katherine
was four months old she was being bottle-fed. In spite of Barbara’s somewhat shapely figure – she could not be called plump, but she was certainly not skinny and had a bust that might be the envy of many girls – she found that her supply of milk soon dried up. She had no regrets about this and Kathy took to the bottle without any problems.

Albert came home on leave for the Christmas of 1943, but only on a forty-eight-hour pass. Barbara was sad to see him return to his camp, although, in a way, it was nice to have the baby all to herself again. He had, in fact, seemed at times to be more interested in the baby than he was in her, or had she been imagining it, she wondered? He was certainly taking his duties as a father very seriously. He watched her continually to make sure she was doing everything correctly – that the bath water was not too hot or too cold, the same with the bottle of milk, and that the nappies and little vests were well aired before the baby wore them.

‘How do you think I manage when you’re not here?’ Barbara asked him jokingly.

‘I’m sure you manage perfectly,’ he replied, kissing the end of her nose. ‘You’re a wonderful mother, but I like to do my share. I’m hoping it won’t be too long before I’m home for good, once we’ve got the better of old Hitler, then we can see about getting a little place of our own. Just you and me and little Kathy …’

Yes, it would be nice to have their own place, thought Barbara, although her aunt and uncle, and Albert’s parents too, were very good to her. She had, of course, finished work well before the baby was born and there was no talk of her going back. Besides, mothers with young children were exempt from war work.

Despite having the baby to care for, time began to hang rather heavy for Barbara and she was even feeling a little depressed, an unusual state for her. She had enjoyed her job as a telephonist and the camaraderie of the other girls. Her aunt persuaded her to go to the pictures now and again with a girlfriend; Dorothy was the young woman who had been her bridesmaid. She was unmarried, although she had a fiancé serving in the merchant navy. She was now working at a munitions factory in Blackpool.

‘Go out and enjoy yourself,’ said Barbara’s aunt, ‘and don’t worry about little Kathy. You know she’ll be quite all right with me and your uncle Ben.’

And so Barbara and Dorothy started to go to the cinema once a week, very occasionally twice, and Barbara knew that her baby was in safe hands. She liked to get home by ten-thirty if possible, as her aunt and uncle did not keep late hours. She had her own door key, of course, but she did not want them to think she was taking advantage
of their kindness. Her friend had been trying – though unsuccessfully at first – to persuade her to go dancing, to the Tower Ballroom, which was a favourite haunt of Dorothy’s.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Barbara. ‘It wouldn’t really be fair, would it? I mean, with Albert away. I don’t think he would like the idea of me dancing with … well, with other men.’ She knew, in fact, that Albert would hate it.

‘You have to wait to be asked!’ joked Dorothy. ‘You’d be surprised how many girls you see dancing together. Although I must admit there’s no shortage of male partners, especially now the Yanks are here. I’ll dance with you. I can do a pretty nifty quickstep, and Albert can’t object to that, can he?’

‘What does your Raymond think about you going dancing whilst he’s away on the high seas?’ asked Barbara.

‘I don’t know, because I don’t tell him,’ answered Dorothy, laughing. ‘He wouldn’t mind, though. He knows I don’t intend to stay at home knitting. I write to him every week, but I don’t see why I shouldn’t go out and have a good time. Life can be pretty grim, and boring too, you must admit, in spite of them saying that victory’s just round the corner. Please say you’ll come with me, Barbara, just for once and see how you like it.’

And so Barbara agreed, although she was very
unsure about it, to accompany her friend to the Tower Ballroom the following Saturday, the first Saturday in the February of 1944.

‘Good for you,’ said her aunt. ‘Off you go and enjoy yourself. And don’t worry about what Albert would say.’ In Myrtle White’s opinion, although she liked Albert very much, she had realised after spending more time in his company that he was something of a fusspot. He was clearly devoted to Barbara, and to the baby, but she had a feeling he might turn out to be rather critical and possessive, once the euphoria of marrying the girl of his dreams had worn off. ‘There’s an old saying, you know,’ her aunt went on. ‘What the eye doesn’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve at. And it isn’t as if you’re doing anything wrong. Lots of girls go dancing, even those whose husbands are away. I know how much you used to enjoy going dancing at the Palace.’

‘That was with Albert,’ replied Barbara. ‘It was Albert, really, who taught me how to dance properly. I wasn’t much good until he took me in hand.’

‘Well, there you are, then,’ said Myrtle. ‘Go and trip the light fantastic and you’ll feel better for it. And take your key. I know how you always try to get back early, but there’s no need. It isn’t as if you’re still a fifteen-year-old, is it? You’re a married woman now, and your uncle and I understand that.’

‘I shouldn’t be all that late, anyway,’ agreed Barbara. ‘I think the dance halls all close round about eleven o’clock. And I’ll be walking home with Dorothy, so we’ll be quite all right.’

‘Well, don’t forget to take your torch …’

‘No, I won’t forget,’ smiled Barbara, ‘and my gas mask. Although folks don’t seem to be bothering quite so much now. The danger seems to be past … thank God,’ she added.

The blackout was still in force, though, but everyone had grown quite used to going out in the dark, armed with a torch, and finding their way by means of the white edgings on kerbs and road crossings.

‘I’m ever so glad you decided to come with me,’ said Dorothy, squeezing her friend’s arm as they stood at the bus stop, waiting for the bus that would take them to the Central Station stop, near to the Tower. ‘You’ll enjoy it, I know you will. It’s been ever such fun since the Yanks came to Blackpool.’

There were two American bases where the GIs were stationed, at the outlying villages of Weeton and Warton, a few miles distant from Blackpool.

‘You hear a lot of tales about them,’ Dorothy continued, ‘but they’re real nice guys, the ones I’ve met at any rate. And you should see them do the jitterbug! They’re not supposed to do it on the ballroom floor, because it’s a bit dangerous,
all that prancing about and throwing the girls around. But they usually find a spot away from the ballroom where they don’t get in the way of the more … what shall I say? … more prim and proper dancers.’

‘And can you do it?’ asked Barbara, smiling. ‘This jitterbugging?’

‘I’ve not tried yet,’ said Dorothy. ‘I’ve not been asked. But you never know, do you? Oh see, here’s our bus. We’re going to have a whale of a time, Barbara, I know we are.’