The War Girls

by Rosie James

  Abigail looked over. ‘Well, I’d be quite happy if my name went forward, too,’ she said. ‘So bring back all the information you can find, and as long as it would fit in with Emily, I wouldn’t mind volunteering my services for war work. Blackwell’s will survive without me there,’ she added. ‘Though Janet will have to find extra help.’

  After a moment, Carrie looked at the others solemnly. ‘Come on! What about me? You can’t expect to keep me out of this exciting change of scene, can you?’ she said. ‘So when you come back with all the fascinating details, Eileen, together with all the forms which are sure to need filling in, make sure you bring some for me to sign as well.’ She smiled. ‘My father will be very proud of me because he’s always saying that we shouldn’t leave everything to others. That it’s up to us all to pull our weight.’

  Abigail broke in, smiling. ‘And what will Mark think about his beloved going to war!’ she teased. ‘You’ll have to take great care of that beautiful engagement ring!’

  Eileen sat back, clearly thrilled at the reaction from the others. ‘Well then, I’ll go and find out what’s what. And then the three of us should hold ourselves ready to ring in a rather different New Year.’ She picked up her glass. ‘Come on – let’s drink to this – let’s drink to us! And what awaits us!’

  Gladys Matthews took her own glass to share in the toast, looking at her daughter fondly. Eileen was unstoppable, and if she said she was going to do something, she would do it.

  ‘Well, all I can say is good luck to you all,’ Gladys Matthews said. She glanced at Abigail. ‘And of course, Abigail, whatever all this turns out to be, you know that you need never worry about Emily. I will always be here to look after her.’ She smiled. ‘You might even call it my own volunteering for war work!’

  Chapter 25

  It was to take longer than they might have thought for Eileen, Carrie and Abigail to hope to bring the war to an end all by themselves. As Carrie had suggested, many questions had to be answered first, and they’d each been expected to give their present employers time to find replacements.

  Fortunately for the residents of Bristol, the early weeks of 1941, though pestered by constant sirens, did not bring the violent and intense bombing which they continually braced themselves for. But intermittent raids did carry on, accompanied by the deafening and perpetual boom of anti-aircraft guns. And all followed by the everlasting toil of clearing up to ensure the city could carry on as normally as possible. Unbelievably, despite the snow and icy conditions which persisted, many people still managed to get to work, roads were soon cleared for traffic, and some shops – though badly damaged – managed to open for business.

  And just as importantly, fire watching went on unabated, and air raid wardens were permanently on duty to make sure that everyone could get to a shelter in time. It was a constant, and ghastly, cat and mouse game, and what also became a continual need was the removal of unexploded incendiary bombs – of which there were almost too many to count, and all within the city boundary. The incendiary bombs were taken to a disposal unit in Ashton Park which became known as the Bomb Cemetery.

  For the three girls, their wish to become part of the serious war effort was to be granted straight after Easter when they were to be deployed at a factory just outside the city. The delay in their assignment had been because of their insistence that they be allowed to work together. Eileen had left the officer in charge with no doubt that the war effort would benefit hugely if Eileen Matthews, Carrie Waters and Abigail Wilson worked as a team – whatever it happened to be.

  And staring at the three applicants the man had had no alternative but to agree, especially as the factory on the top of his list seemed a highly suitable place to send these three no-nonsense girls. They had attitude, and they were certainly going to need it.

  ‘Please present yourselves here on Tuesday next, the 15th of April, to pick up your uniforms,’ he’d said. ‘You will be working at the Royal Ordnance Factory just outside Bristol, and you will be given full instruction on your arrival.’ He’d glanced at his list. ‘A van will pick you up from somewhere convenient, and – um – I see you all live fairly close to Broad Walk so be there each morning at seven o’clock. And you’ll be brought back about ten or twelve hours later.’ He pursed his lips. ‘All according,’ he added mysteriously.

  ‘Wonder what he meant by “all according”,’ Carrie said as they’d gone back home, and Eileen made a face.

  ‘I think we’re going to find out soon enough,’ she said. ‘But – hey you two – we’re on our way at last!’

  Although no one knew it at the time, the Good Friday Blitz was to be the last really terrifying raid Bristol was to experience. Other, less fearsome assaults by the Luftwaffe did go on, but nothing could compare with the enormity of the 11th and 12th April 1941.

  That barrage from the sky came in two waves, resulting in a constant series of desperate cries for help, mixed with frenzied dashes to the shelter, of wardens putting out incendiaries with sand and shovels. And – using hatchets – attempting to dig trapped people out of half-damaged buildings. Those cowering in cellars could look up through their now roofless houses at the flame-lit sky to see bombers circling overhead. And the noise and dust was nothing short of hell itself.

  The family living at number six West Road, and their immediate neighbours, remained in the shelter at the bottom of their gardens for the duration of that air raid, emerging safely at 4 a.m. when the all-clear sounded.

  And as they all breathed slightly fresher air – though the stench of smoke and cordite made every pair of eyes stream – their overwhelming sense was one of helpless gratitude.

  It seemed that, once again, they had defied death.

  In the Council House at 10 a.m. the following Tuesday, Eileen, Carrie and Abigail waited dutifully in the line of volunteers all there to receive their uniforms and last instructions.

  ‘Can’t wait to see what they’ve got planned for us to wear,’ Eileen said from the corner of her mouth. ‘I do hope the colour suits me!’

  A woman standing by a large table in the far corner beckoned them over. There was a pile of clothes in front of her. She glanced up, smiling briefly.

  ‘Now – Miss Eileen Matthews, Miss Carrie Waters and Mrs Abigail Wilson? Have I got that right?’ And before they could answer, she handed them each a set of clothes. ‘I’m afraid it’s one size fits all,’ she said, ‘but I think these should be all right – though yours might be a bit small,’ she added, nodding at Eileen.

  The uniform consisted of a dark green, heavy duty, linen-type boiler suit, together with short rubber boots, a mask, and a close-fitting hair net.

  ‘This is to protect your hair,’ the woman said, picking up one of the nets, ‘and you tie it around in a kind of snood, like this,’ she added, demonstrating. She half-smiled. ‘Not the height of fashion, but it does the job. And I’m sure I don’t need to explain how you use the mask. Now then, when this lot of clothes get dirty, you’ll be given a fresh set.’ She handed the three girls their uniforms and nodded to her right. ‘Go over there in the anteroom and slip everything on,’ she said, ‘just to make sure everything fits.’

  Saying nothing, they did as they were told and presently, fully kitted up, they stood and looked at each other. Eileen broke the silence.

  ‘Crikey,’ she said, ‘I feel like an Egyptian Mummy! And what on earth do we look like!’

  ‘I don’t think I would describe this as “comfy”, would you?’ Carrie said doubtfully. ‘It’s quite tight, but I don’t think I’m going to feel cold when I’m wearing it. And my engagement ring is going to stay safely in its little box at home.’

  Abigail nodded. ‘I should think so, too. But I can’t wait to be given “full instructions” when we get there, can you? I hope I’m going to be up to it, whatever it is.’

  ‘Of course you will be!’ Eileen said, starting to clamber out of her uniform. ‘Remember, there’ll always be the three of us working together, so it s
houldn’t be a problem. And anyway, we volunteered to do whatever they wanted, didn’t we? So there’s no going back.’ She grinned. ‘Come on – you never know, it might even be fun! Let’s just call this turn of events part of life’s rich pattern!’

  When they got back home, Emily and Gladys Matthews were waiting for them in the kitchen.

  ‘We’re longing to hear all about it,’ Eileen’s mother said, but Eileen interrupted.

  ‘We haven’t been told anything, Mother, not really,’ she said. ‘Only that we actually start next Monday, the 21st, and will work a five-day week. Leaving Bristol at seven o’clock, starting at eight o’clock and finishing at five-thirty, so we should be back home by just after six. For the moment, no weekend duties.’

  ‘Well now, why don’t I make us some tea,’ Gladys Matthews said, moving across to fill the kettle. ‘I expect our volunteers are ready for some lunch.’ She glanced at the others. ‘Emily and I have made some cheese and pickle sandwiches, rather more pickle than cheese I’m afraid,’ she added. ‘But we get our rations on Saturday, don’t we, so we’ll be able to stock up a bit then.’

  ‘I hope you haven’t wasted any of your cheese on me,’ Carrie said at once, ‘because my mother will be expecting me home, and—’

  Eileen’s mother interrupted. ‘Of course we’ve made some for you, Carrie,’ she scolded. ‘What’s a few sandwiches between friends! It’s only a snack.’

  ‘Oh well – thanks,’ Carrie said, ‘but then I must be on my way. It’s the Mothers’ Meeting in the hall this afternoon, and I’ve promised to help with the tea and cake.’

  For the next few minutes they sat enjoying their lunch, and Gladys Matthews said, ‘Emily has decided that we’re having sausage and mash for our meal later today – and she is very good at peeling potatoes. She did all of them by herself! And there are just enough sausages for us to have one and a half each, but they are nice big ones, so no one’s going to go hungry.’

  Eileen looked at her mother for a moment. Was this the same person who two or three years ago had had so little interest in food – or in anything else – that Eileen had thought one morning she might go in to her mother’s bedroom to find she’d slipped away in the night? That she had finally given up on life?

  But somehow, a massive corner had been turned, and it was not hard to see the reason. Gladys Matthews was in control once more, not necessarily of all the practical issues, but in control of her feelings. Of her inner self. She had, astonishingly, also seemed able to adjust her health routine, always insisting on using one stick, and sometimes even forgetting to take her tablets. And her appetite had been transformed from that of a little bird into something more normal.

  Eileen knew there was one simple answer to this conundrum and it was Emily Wilson. The little girl had rekindled that special fire in Gladys Matthews’ heart – the fire which had almost permanently been extinguished. Just look at the two of them now, Eileen mused. So at ease with each other as they giggled at something silly.

  ‘My father loves sausage and mash,’ Carrie murmured now, as she bit into her cheese sandwich. ‘Especially with onion gravy. Apart from the Sunday roast, it’s his favourite dinner.’

  ‘Oh yes – we shall certainly have onion gravy with ours,’ Gladys Matthews intervened. ‘At least there’s no shortage of onions – at the moment.’

  Listening to all this, Abigail couldn’t help wondering whether Edna was affected by all the rationing. After all, there was always plenty to eat at Coopers, but of course, Edna would now have her own ration book to buy things she didn’t grow, so she wouldn’t go short of anything.

  And it was amazing, Abigail thought, how despite the fact that each person’s weekly allowance was hardly generous – four ounces of bacon, two ounces of butter, eight ounces of sugar, two ounces of cheese and one fresh egg (though dried egg was available) plus a pound of jam every two months, and sometimes the occasional shortage of things which were not rationed – no one went hungry. There always seemed just enough to get by, though the dearth of soap was worrying. But Emily didn’t go short of sweets – when they were available – because everyone else at number six gave her their tiny ration.

  It didn’t take long for the five of them to finish their snack then Gladys Matthews said, ‘Right. Now I think it’s time for us to be told all about your morning. Didn’t you say you were to be given uniforms today?’

  Eileen finished drinking her tea and stood up. ‘Hold your horses, Mother. All is about to be revealed! I think it’s time for our fashion parade! You and Emily stay here in the kitchen, and no looking until we make our entrance! I promise that you will never have seen anything like it before!’

  As they’d come in earlier, the girls had put their parcel of clothes on the floor by the hallstand, and now, removing their own clothes, they struggled once more into the all-encasing boiler suits before helping each other adjust the hair nets.

  ‘Let’s not take the masks in,’ Carrie said, ‘in case it upsets Emily. But perhaps we should wear the rubber boots – the finishing touch to this beautiful outfit!’

  ‘Come on,’ Eileen said briskly, ‘let’s not keep our public waiting …’

  They moved forward to open the kitchen door and, arm in arm, the three made their entrance. In a loud and ringing tone Eileen made the announcement.

  ‘Tra-la! May we introduce you to … The War Girls!’

  For a few moments there was complete silence, then Gladys Matthews said quietly, ‘Oh my goodness me.’

  Then Emily went over and stared up at her mother. ‘I quite like that thing on your head,’ she said. ‘What’s it called?’

  ‘A snood, I believe,’ Abigail said. ‘It’s just to keep our hair clean.’

  Gladys Matthews bit her lip. She’d known very well what the Royal Ordnance Factory produced, and had rather naively thought that the volunteers would be doing desk jobs, or some other light tasks. But actually seeing her daughter, and Carrie and Abigail, geared up so specifically for action sent a tremor of fear right through her. What had they done, these three girls, so full of loyal ardour? What had they done in offering themselves for the obvious service which awaited them?

  On the following Monday, the three girls got to the top of Broad Walk in good time to be picked up by the van – which was there already waiting for them.

  ‘Hop in, girls!’ the driver said, opening the door for them. ‘You’re my only pick-ups from this area, so make yourselves comfortable in my limousine!’ He grinned cheerfully. ‘It’ll take about half an hour to get there as long as a lone bomber doesn’t suddenly pay us a visit and close off one of the roads! But so far so good!’

  He glanced in his rear-view mirror at the three young women sitting behind him. Three very attractive young women, he thought. Well, good luck to them, that’s all he had to say.

  The factory, though not that far from Bristol, was fairly isolated, with few other signs of life nearby, and as soon as they arrived the three girls were shown into a small building where they were to get into their uniforms. A man, fully kitted up in similar style, introduced himself.

  ‘I’m Mr Reynolds,’ he said, straight-faced, ‘I am the general superintendent and there’s nothing about this place that I don’t know. So, as soon as you’re ready, come on out over the road to where it all happens and I’ll show you what you’ve got to do.’ He glanced around him for a second and almost managed to smile before adding, ‘This luxurious area is where you all take a break – you can bring your own food if you want to, but sandwiches and tea and coffee are delivered each day at twelve o’clock. And hot and cold drinks will be available later.’ He turned to go. ‘The medical room and the lavatories and the washroom are two minutes away over there outside, so now I’ll leave you to get kitted up.’

  After he’d gone, Eileen said, ‘Well, that was fairly precise.’

  ‘I think all that was the easy bit,’ Carrie said, beginning to get into her uniform. ‘I can’t wait to see what’s expected of us an
d I hope I shall be given full training because I’m only used to thinking about Danish pastries and iced celebration cakes and dealing with members of the public who’ve come to enjoy a civilised holiday at The Berkeley!’ She made a face. ‘Do you think we’re in for a bit of a shock?’

  ‘I think we probably all are,’ Eileen said as, now, they went across the road to the factory – a massive, high-roofed building with what seemed like hundreds of doors, all open – and from which they could hear noises of every description. High-pitched sounds, hissing and humming and banging from working machinery, and human voices all trying to make themselves heard above the din. And as soon as they entered, the smell was so overpowering that Abigail put her hand across her mouth and tried not to heave.

  Mr Reynolds came up to them. ‘Right then,’ he said, raising his voice so that they could hear. ‘I’ve been told you three wish to work together, and that’s fine by me because this shop works well with three. So this is to be yours in the production line and in case you hadn’t realised it, you are going to be making guns, shells, bullets, grenades and bombs. I’m afraid you’ll have to learn everything as you go along, but that’s just the way it is. It’s the same for everyone and you’ll catch on pretty quickly.’ He nodded across the room, shouting louder. ‘There are fifty workers here at the moment, and everyone is expected to do whatever is necessary when and where it’s needed. Now then …’ He paused and glanced at his file. ‘You three will have your own small shop over here, where you’ll be filling land mines and shells with TNT.’

  For a moment, Abigail felt almost faint at what they were being told. This was a terrible, dreadful business and she had not given a single thought as to what it might mean to be working here. TNT! She knew what that meant – a high explosive material designed to maim and kill! And here she was, about to be shown how to make it fit for purpose!

  Mr Reynolds continued undeterred. ‘So, take this shell for example. Fill it with TNT up to this level, then insert this tube which contains the detonator. See? Then clean and scrape the shell, right inside, to the exact height. That’s the way to do it. When you need more TNT you can get a fresh lot from that cement mixer over there – take one of these cans and fill it from that.’ He stood back. ‘Just see how everybody else does it and follow suit – and as you’ll be working with highly explosive material, I don’t need to remind you that great care must be taken at all times.’