‘I thought you didn’t want kids,’ Ellie teased her, a little surprised that Bonny was capable of being so emotional.
‘Of course I do, one day,’ she laughed. ‘But first I have to be famous.’
They woke the next morning to the sound of the last all-clear siren, to find the roofs outside the window steaming in the sunshine and the sky as blue and cloudless as Bonny’s eyes.
‘Our bodies are almost identical,’ Bonny said in some surprise as they shared a bath. There was a large mirror on the wall, speckled with brown where the silvering had peeled off but there was still enough of a reflection to see their naked bodies clearly side by side as they stood up to dry themselves. They were the same height, and both had small waists and long legs. The only difference was that Ellie’s skin was olive while Bonny’s was pink and white. ‘That’s handy, we can wear each other’s clothes.’
‘I haven’t got anything you’d want to wear,’ Ellie said dejectedly. The green dress Annie had given her was still her ‘best’ dress, and it was getting very shabby. She was so tired of mending and retrimming second-hand clothes. She’d grown used to food rationing, eking out a stub of lipstick and trying to mend stockings, but she’d give anything for a nice new frock.
Bonny wrapped the towel round herself, shamed because she’d been a little tactless. She had several nice dresses, carefully made by her mother, but until now she hadn’t considered how lucky she was.
‘We’ll soon be in the money,’ she said. ‘Besides, with faces like ours, no one’s going to be looking at our clothes.’
It was twelve noon when they sallied forth into Charing Cross Road arm in arm, aware they made a pretty picture.
They both had jaunty white sailor hats trimmed with red and blue ribbons, their newly washed hair cascading over their shoulders, Bonny’s blonde contrasting well with Ellie’s black mane. Armed with a striped cardboard hooter and a small flag to wave, smelling strongly of ‘Soir de Paris’, they were already intoxicated with excitement.
The streets were seething with people, many wearing foolish hats and blowing hooters.
They joined in a conga at Piccadilly with a crowd of American sailors and their girls, kissed countless soldiers, airmen and marines and posed to have their photographs taken dozens of times.
All the pubs had big banners outside, advertising ample stocks of gin, whisky and beer. Music was coming from every direction: pianists in pubs, gramophones in upstairs rooms, buskers playing everything from tin whistles, trumpets, violins and piano accordions. Scores of uniformed men had climbed on to the boarded-up Eros. Buses moved at a snail’s pace through the jovial crowd.
The girls were swept along down the Haymarket towards Trafalgar Square.
‘Just look at all the people,’ Bonny gasped, clinging to Ellie’s hand in terror of being separated.
It seemed as if all London was gathered here, a throbbing, seething mass of people spilling out into the surrounding roads, on to walls, steps and even the giant stone lions and still fountains.
Flags fluttered and banners made from sheets bore messages declaring ‘Peace For All Time’ and ‘Victory’. Smiles adorned every face. Uniformed men and women were kissed or patted on the back. Girls in borrowed soldiers’ and sailors’ caps vied for attention with others in home-made red, white and blue creations. Groups of servicemen and their girls rolled-up their trouser legs and paddled in the fountain.
At three, Churchill’s speech was relayed by loudspeaker to the vast crowd. They fell silent as his voice boomed out, hanging on his every word. A huge cheer went up as he announced that as from midnight, hostilities would cease, and another greeted the news that ‘our dear Channel Islands’ were to be liberated.
At the final point of his speech – ‘The German War is therefore at an end’ – thousands of flags were waved in triumph and the buglers of the Royal Horse Guards sounded the cease-fire.
Everyone stood to attention at ‘God Save the King’. Tens of thousands of people sang with all their heart and soul, many with tears streaming down their faces.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ Ellie hugged Bonny, entirely overcome by the emotion of the moment. ‘Let’s go to the palace now.’
There were times on the way down the Mall when it seemed impossible to get any further. They were packed in on all sides, a teeming mass of humanity shuffling in unison. People were singing now, everything from ‘Pack Up your Troubles’ to ‘Roll Out the Barrel’, and occasionally bursts of ‘Rule Britannia!’. Women trying to push prams stopped, disheartened by the effort, but someone was always there to urge them on. There were old ladies and men staunchly sitting in places they’d bagged early in the morning, undaunted by the fact they could no longer see anything but a forest of legs. Children, goggle-eyed, were lifted aloft on their fathers’ shoulders for safety. St James’s Park looked like an anthill, the grass all but concealed by the throng milling there.
Ellie had an advantage over many of the people here today, in being used to crowds. Dragging Bonny by the hand, she elbowed her way through, right up to the palace railings, just in time to see the Royal Family step out on to the balcony. The King was in naval uniform, bare-headed. The Queen and Princess Margaret were in blue; Elizabeth wore her ATS uniform. But it was Winston Churchill’s day. The moment he stepped out, his fingers raised in his victory salute, the cheering rose to a deafening roar.
‘I’m exhausted.’ Bonny flopped down on a spare patch of grass in St James’s Park. The crowds were dispersing now, the people left looking faintly stunned and unsure what to do next. It was some time after five and they hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast. ‘What are we going to do now? We haven’t got any money left.’
Ellie lay back on the grass thinking. A tree up above her was just coming into leaf. The sun shining through its branches made each furled leaf look like an emerald.
She was tired too, and felt she ought to go home in case Charley came round, but like Bonny she wanted more. It had been the most special day in her life. Just to slink home would cut it short.
‘We can’t go to a pub,’ she said wistfully. ‘I suppose we could go to the Blue Moon later – Cyril will slip us a few drinks. But Jimbo might be funny, I think he’s fallen out with Ambrose.’
‘Sod Ambrose,’ Bonny said. ‘And this grass is wet, my dress is getting all creased.’ She leaped up and pulled at the hem.
‘Hi, girls!’
Ellie was surprised, not by the American voice – they’d been surrounded by both Yanks and Canadians all day – but by the closeness of it.
‘Hello boys,’ Bonny retorted in the husky voice she invariably dropped into when she saw a man she wanted to flirt with.
Ellie opened one eye, squinting round. It wasn’t one Yank but two, and both were very handsome.
‘Pardon me if we’re intruding,’ the man said, so very politely. ‘But you two look like we feel and we just wanted to say hi.’
Both men were dark-haired and brown-eyed, with the kind of olive skin that pointed to Italian ancestry. They were in blue-grey uniform, both tall, with wide shoulders and slim hips. The one who had spoken was marginally taller and older, and had a wide, smiling mouth and dazzling white teeth.
‘Hi,’ Ellie said, getting up. ‘How do we look?’
‘Gorgeous.’ He grinned wickedly. ‘But a bit pooped.’
Ellie said something about the grass being wet as she picked up her sailor’s hat and plonked it back on her head.
‘Then let us escort you both to some real seats,’ he said. ‘I’m Brad Summers. This is Steve Ginsberg.’
‘I’m Bonny Phillips,’ Bonny said, the bubble of delight in her voice so obvious Ellie knew she wasn’t going to be rude to these two. ‘This is Helena Forester. We’re dancers in a West End show.’
The four of them moved to sit on a bench to chat.
Steve was twenty-one, from Indiana; Brad was from Texas and he was twenty-five. They were stationed out at Ruislip, but they were expecting to go back to
Germany any day, taking supplies for the troops over there.
It was quieter now as they sat by the lake. Most of the people left in the park were lovers, entwined in each other’s arms on the grass, or strolling arm in arm. There were a few family groups, many with small children in pushchairs, eating sandwiches, but there was an air of expectancy somehow, as if everyone was biding their time until it was dark.
Ellie realised Bonny was attracted to Steve. Perhaps she was only thinking the men might buy them a meal or a few drinks, but she fizzed and sparkled in a way that suggested it was more than that.
Ellie thought of Charley then, a little guiltily. She guessed once it got dark there would be bonfires on every bomb-site and many would get out of control. Even now he was probably wondering what she was doing and what her answer would be about marrying him. He certainly wouldn’t approve of her sitting here with these two Americans. Perhaps she ought to telephone the fire station?
‘You’re cold.’ Brad touched Ellie’s bare arm lightly, his dark eyes looking right into hers. ‘Let’s find a bar and get you warmed up.’
It occurred to Ellie some time between her third and fourth gin that however charming, generous and handsome these two men were, she ought to make it quite clear she had a boyfriend. But the atmosphere in the Old King Cole in the Strand was so exciting, she had her fourth gin and forgot about it.
The bar was packed, elbow to elbow, and shouting was the only means of communicating. Someone started to play the piano and everyone sang their hearts out. The landlord did switch on the wireless at nine to hear the King’s speech, but after a minute or two of silence while the King stuttered out his message, slowly everyone lost interest and the murmur of drunken voices drowned the last of his speech.
The four of them went out again into Trafalgar Square to see all the buildings floodlit. For Ellie it was an emotional experience: the last time she had seen the National Gallery and St Martin-in-the-Fields lit up like this had been Christmas 1938.
‘What’s up, honey?’ Brad saw a tear rolling down her cheek and tenderly wiped it away.
‘Just seeing it again like this,’ she said, letting him draw her into his arms. ‘My mother always brought me here late on Christmas Eve to see the tree and the lights. It just reminded me of her. But she won’t ever share it with me again, she was killed in an air raid.’
‘I’m so sorry, honey,’ he said, kissing her nose. ‘That don’t seem much to make up for losing your ma, but happy times are here to stay now, you’re all grown up and beautiful and it’s a wonderful night.’
Someone started a conga, then it was ‘Knees up Mother Brown’. Even the police kept a low profile, only intervening when the merriment got to the point of endangering someone.
Ellie was aware Bonny and Steve were in a tight clinch, but then so were most of the other couples around them. When Brad kissed her she felt as if the searchlight scanning the night sky were right inside her head, and it was a delicious feeling.
The events that happened later were cloudy to Ellie. She remembered they went back to the pub and met airmen friends of Brad and Steve. She vaguely remembered there being an announcement that the bar had run out of drink, and that the one in her hand seemed very large. She and Bonny sang ‘I’m Gonna Get Lit Up’ at one point, but whether that was before or after the large drink she wasn’t sure. Then suddenly they were on their way to a party.
Ellie had no idea where the jeep was taking them. She was crammed into a seat between Brad and Steve, Bonny on Steve’s lap. Three other men sat in the front and another two were right in the back. They were all singing and laughing and although they saw hundreds of bonfires and even fire-engines racing by, she was too drunk and happy to give Charley more than a passing thought.
Instinct told her they were out in the suburbs as the jeep stopped. She had an impression of a tree-lined avenue, but all she saw clearly was a keyhole-shaped porch, light blazing out of the open front door, and the sounds of Glenn Miller.
Ellie’s experiences of parties were limited to the ones in Alder Street and though the people here were far more sophisticated and smart, the atmosphere was similar. The men were mainly American, outnumbering the rather glamorous women by two to one. In the big room downstairs, several couples were attempting to jitterbug, the men swinging the girls round like rag dolls. People spilled out of the French windows into the garden, the hall, the stairs and the kitchen.
Ellie remembered going up to the bathroom to wash her face and comb her hair. The wash sobered her up enough to think she must ask Brad how they would get home, but once she got back to the kitchen and saw the food, she forgot everything but how hungry she was.
She hadn’t seen anything like it, not even before the war. Plate after plate piled high with things she barely remembered: pork pies, legs of chicken, thick slices of ham, great wedges of cheese and sausage rolls. A huge cake decorated with both the Union Jack and the American flag, trifles, fruit flans and apple pies.
‘Tuck in, girls.’ A burly lieutenant shoved a glass of red stuff in their hands, informing them it was punch. ‘We had some trouble getting the grub, and now no one wants to eat it.’
Bonny and Ellie didn’t need urging. They loaded food on to their plates and sat down on the kitchen doorstep to wolf it down.
‘Where’s Brad and Steve?’ Ellie asked Bonny after they’d finished one plateful and began on another. ‘We’d better ask how we’re going to get home.’
‘I don’t care if I have to walk,’ Bonny said, munching greedily on a chicken leg. ‘All I want is to feel my belly burst with food.’
‘Look at those two pigs!’ A woman’s voice somewhere behind them halted them in mid-feast. ‘Who dragged them here?’
Ellie’s head shot round, just in time to see an elegantly dressed woman in red disappearing back into the sitting-room.
‘Take no notice,’ Bonny sniffed. ‘We’ll sort her out later. This drink’s nice. I wonder what’s in it?’
They had eaten their fill and were filling up their glasses with more punch when they heard someone playing the piano. A woman began to sing ‘White Cliffs of Dover’ and Bonny pulled a face at Ellie.
The singer’s voice was out of tune and her breathing so laboured they could hear it in the kitchen. Bonny stuck her head through a hatch into the other room, looked around and pulled it out again.
‘It’s that cow in the red dress,’ she said.
They ladled out some more of the punch and drank it while they listened. The woman was doing ‘We’ll Meet Again’ now and they giggled helplessly.
‘What’s so funny, girls?’ Brad and Steve had come back into the kitchen to look for them. Steve tenderly cleaned chicken grease from Bonny’s face with a napkin.
‘We’re going to do a turn in a minute,’ Bonny said. ‘Ask the pianist to play “Yankee Doodle Dandy” and lend us your jackets and hats.’
The two men looked at one another and grinned. They were both a little disappointed that the party was waning and this looked like brightening it up again.
‘Sure, babe.’ Brad unbuttoned his jacket. ‘Anything you say.’
Someone had closed the front door now, and the people who had been in the hall and on the stairs had moved elsewhere or gone home. The girls had a two-minute conflab, then pulled off their frocks and slipped on the jackets.
Ellie was too drunk too worry that the lace on her pink camiknickers showed beneath the jacket. She was in the mood for showing off.
Brad’s voice boomed out from the other room. ‘We’ve got a star turn for you tonight,’ he said. ‘Two little honeys direct from the West End stage. Bonny and Helena.’
At the opening bars Bonny jammed a cap on Ellie’s head, put one on her own, picked up a walking stick from an umbrella stand and, holding it over her shoulder like a gun, marched into the room.
Ellie couldn’t match Bonny’s dancing, but she followed her steps gamely, the alcohol numbing any embarrassment. They marched round the room, the crowd sh
rinking back to the walls to make space.
‘I’m a Yanky Doodle Dandy, Yanky Doodle Do or Die,’ they sang. Ellie’s voice filled the room with its power and they went into a similar routine to the one Ellie did in The Quaker Girl, improvising when it didn’t quite fit.
They had the satisfaction of seeing the woman in the red dress slink into a corner, her face turning the same colour as her dress, and of knowing that every man in the room was looking at their long, shapely legs.
Bonny broke into one of her fast tap-dances. Even without the proper shoes she was as good as at dress rehearsal. Ellie strutted about singing, stopping here and there to chuck men under the chin and to give the woman in the red dress a smug grin.
The Yanks loved it – they clapped, whistled and cheered. Their women on the whole looked none too pleased, but that didn’t bother either Bonny or Ellie.
‘You two sure can dance,’ Brad said in stunned appreciation when it was over and the girls were back in their own clothes. ‘You know, I thought you were pulling our legs when you said you were dancers.’
It occurred to Ellie after her fourth or fifth glass of punch that there was more to it than fruit juice. She could barely move her feet as she shuffled around the floor with Brad and her eyes wouldn’t open more than a crack. Bonny was sitting on Steve’s lap in a corner and the crowd had thinned out to a mere four or five couples. ‘Little Brown Jug’ was playing softly on the gramophone, Brad was kissing her neck and she forgot about the rehearsal at noon the next day, Charley, even the show opening in the evening.
‘Why don’t you lie down on the couch?’ she vaguely remembered Brad saying to her. ‘I’m just going to the John, I’ll be back in a minute.’
The room began to spin the moment she was horizontal, but she couldn’t move. She wanted to know where Bonny was but the last thing she remembered was Brad asking her to move over so he could lie down too.
The cold woke her. Ellie’s hand groped to find the blankets, but instead it only encountered a hard and prickly settee. Her mouth was so dry she couldn’t swallow, her eyes seemed to be stuck together and there was an awful smell somewhere close.
Ellie Page 34