Christmas with the Bomb Girls

by Daisy Styles

  Thinking of the terrifying nights she’d spent under canvas, Gladys shrugged as she shook her head. ‘There’s nothing to be scared of,’ she replied, then added under her breath, ‘Safer than most places I’ve been in recently.’

  Again, Kit and Violet exchanged a quick, anxious look. The unspoken question that hung in the air between them was: what’s happened to our Gladys? As if sensing their anxiety, Gladys pushed back her chair and got to her feet.

  ‘I’d better check in with Mr Featherstone,’ she said.

  ‘And Malc too, Love’s Young Dream!’ Maggie laughed.

  ‘Him and Edna are walking out!’ Nora added with a snort.

  Myrtle rose to her feet. ‘I think it’s time these two young things got back to the serious business of building bombs!’ she said as she herded the giggling girls out of the canteen.

  ‘I’ll pop into the filling shed after I’ve seen the boss,’ Gladys said to Kit and Violet before she too hurried away.

  Left alone for a few minutes, Kit and Violet stared into each other’s eyes, Kit’s dark and thoughtful, Violet’s sky-blue and anxious.

  Kit was the first to break the silence. ‘There’s something not quite right.’

  Violet nodded. ‘She’s changed.’

  ‘Something’s happened to her,’ Kit added knowingly.

  ‘She’s keeping something to herself,’ said Violet as she lit up a Woodbine, then offered one to Kit. ‘I just know it, right here,’ she said as she tapped the area around her heart.

  ‘A secret,’ Kit murmured.

  A troubled silence descended as they smoked their cigarettes.

  ‘And we know how bad they can be,’ said Violet, as they both stubbed out their cigarettes and returned to work in the filling shed.

  2. The Phoenix Songbird

  Gladys wasn’t assigned to the filling shed where she’d previously worked; instead she was despatched to the cordite line. Standing between Nora and Maggie, she listened carefully to their instructions.

  ‘Welcome to the Canary Girls’ Department,’ Maggie joked.

  ‘Canary …?’ Gladys asked.

  ‘Cordite turns your skin yellow and bleaches your hair yellow too,’ Maggie added.

  Gladys warily looked at the explosive material.

  ‘You have to pack it into them things,’ Nora explained, as she nodded towards the bomb cases, which, loaded ninety-nine to a pallet, continuously rolled down the conveyor-belt towards the girls, whose job it was to fill the cases to a specified level. ‘Like this,’ Nora went on, as she packed the cordite into an empty tube. ‘Further down the line they’ll be fitted with detonators.’

  ‘Heavens!’ Gladys gasped as she stared at the network of rattling conveyor-belts that ran around and above her. ‘It’s really noisy!’ she yelled over the din of the machinery and the relentless music that was belting out of the factory wireless. ‘Where do the bomb cases go after we’ve filled them?’

  Keen to show off her knowledge, Maggie added, ‘Once they’re loaded, they’re hooked on to the overhead conveyor-belt.’ She nodded at the one clattering above them. ‘They’re carried round the factory to the packing shed, where they’re loaded into ammunition boxes.’

  ‘From there,’ Nora chipped in, ‘they’ll be flown out to our lads working the howitzers on the front line.’

  ‘Mebbe my Les will unload them,’ Maggie said wistfully.

  Gladys smiled gently at the love-sick girl who had fallen for her handsome brother, Les. ‘God keep him safe wherever he is,’ she murmured fervently.

  Gladys slipped into her new work routine without any complaint, though she really didn’t like the yellow stain the cordite left on her long, slender hands, which immediately reacted to the explosive she was working with and broke out in a patch of tiny blisters.

  ‘Your body will get used to the dirty stuff,’ Nora assured her. ‘It’s a common enough reaction.’

  Nobody could fail to notice there was one big difference in Gladys these days: she didn’t sing at all any more as she worked. Consciously or subconsciously, just about every Bomb Girl sang, hummed, tapped or whistled to Music While You Work or Workers’ Playtime, which rolled out from the factory loudspeakers throughout the entire day. In previous times, Gladys, the Phoenix Songbird, would have raised her beautiful voice and led the singing, sometimes rising from her chair to sway to the music of Joe Loss, Glenn Miller or the Andrews Sisters, the last her absolute favourite. But now Gladys sat mute, concentrating more on her work than on leading the chorus to ‘Little Brown Jug’ or ‘Yours ’Til the Stars Lose Their Glory’. She was sociable enough, always joining in the chatter during their breaks in the canteen, but her friends sorely missed her former radiance. Though Violet and Kit frequently discussed Gladys in private, their free time outside of their working hours gave them hardly a moment to do more than speculate about the changes in their dearest friend.

  When she wasn’t working her shifts and looking after Billy, Kit – in her new home high up on the Pennines – was busy organizing repair work to their house at Yew Tree Farm, which she’d fallen in love with at first sight. It sat fair and square on the side of a hill facing west. Sections of the house had been cobbled together over the centuries: to the front lay the oldest part, a black-and-white timber structure, whilst the back of the house was built of solid moorland stone.

  ‘Is it too much to take on?’ Ian had worried when they’d paid their first visit to the farmhouse in the springtime.

  Running after a toddling Billy, Kit had laughed as she replied, ‘No! It’s grand – I love it.’

  Ian had gazed adoringly at his new wife as she scooped up her son, whom Ian had legally adopted. When he thought back to the skinny little Irish girl in threadbare clothes and battered shoes who had walked into his office just over a year ago to seek his help, he simply couldn’t believe that the slender young woman with flowing black hair and dark, sparkling eyes was now his wife.

  ‘But there’s so much to be done,’ he’d pointed out. ‘The roof’s leaking; every room needs stripping back to the brickwork and redecorating; the windows look as if they’ve got dry rot – and then there’s the garden – it’s the size of a field!’

  Kit gazed with pleasure at the riotous weeds and old fruit trees that populated the sprawling garden. ‘Darlin’, you forget I used to dig potatoes for a living. I’ll have it dug over in an afternoon,’ she promised as she popped Billy on to Ian’s shoulders, then kissed her husband on his warm smiling lips. ‘I love this place,’ she whispered. ‘We’ll soon make it our own.’

  ‘HOW?’ he cried as Billy tugged his hair and pulled it into short spikes. ‘You’re working factory hours and I’m out of the house almost as long as you are! When will we have time to do all that’s necessary to make this rambling old heap into a home?’

  ‘We’ll pay proper craftsmen to do the big stuff and the fancy bits we’ll do ourselves, together,’ she said with a confident smile as she linked her arm through his. ‘But we won’t be hanging about, Ian,’ she added briskly. ‘We want a family of our own, and Billy needs brothers and sisters.’

  Balancing Billy on his shoulders, Ian briefly took Kit in his arms and held her close. As he did so, he recalled their wedding day, which had unquestionably been the happiest day of his life. As the Bomb Girls’ Swing Band had played the wedding march, he’d turned to see his bride walking slowly towards him. Led up the aisle by Edna, her matron of honour, Kit had been a vision in white satin, a long veil obscuring her face, but when he’d lifted it to kiss her full lips, she had looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen her before.

  ‘Pretty Mama!’ Billy had gurgled, sitting wriggling impatiently in the congregation between Malc and Mr Featherstone. ‘My mama!’ Ian had bought the old farmhouse shortly after they’d got back from their brief honeymoon in the Lake District, and when she wasn’t on shift work Kit now delighted in restoring their new home to its former glory, cleaning, painting and decorating rooms with Billy at her side was si
mply a joy. And when she collapsed exhausted into bed beside her husband further joys were there to be had. Both Kit and Ian gloried in their love-making, though Ian had been anxious at first, fearful of bringing back bad memories of her time in Ireland. But Kit soon showed her husband she had no fears whatsoever. She abandoned herself completely to Ian’s tender kisses and caresses; in fact, it was more often Kit rather than Ian who suggested they had an early night, so keen was she to make love in their snug new double bed.

  Aware of her friends’ busy lives, Gladys barely troubled them, seeing them generally at work and catching up with their news in the factory canteen. She enjoyed the peaceful solace of the cowshed, but there were inevitably times when she missed the camaraderie of the old days, so it was a pleasure, one early evening after she’d finished work, to find Edna parked in the despatch yard.

  ‘Hello, lovie!’ Edna called in delight when she caught sight of Gladys through the serving hatch of her mobile chip shop.

  Gladys hurried towards the middle-aged woman, buxom in her colourful pinafore and turban that just about managed to contain her greying auburn curls.

  ‘Eeh, cock, we’ve missed you!’ Edna declared as she hurried out of the back of her blue van in order to give Gladys a bear hug.

  For a few seconds Gladys clung on to Edna, drinking in her warmth and strength. When she reluctantly pulled away, she gazed into Edna’s steady green eyes.

  ‘It’s good to be back.’

  Though shocked by the physical changes in Gladys – her weight loss and the slight ageing in her beautiful face – Edna, like all of Gladys’s friends, said nothing.

  ‘Well, then, what’s your news?’ she asked.

  ‘I decided to come home,’ Gladys replied and, from the evasive look in her eyes, Edna knew she’d get no more out of that conversation just now. ‘What about you, Edna?’

  The older woman’s eyes sparkled as she lit up a Woodbine and blew smoke across the sunny yard.

  ‘I’m courtin’!’ she announced with a cheeky wink.

  Though Maggie and Nora had joked about Edna’s love life, Gladys hadn’t taken them seriously – she knew too well how prone they were to exaggerate – but, seeing Edna’s glowing cheeks and wide smile, she now saw that it must be true.

  ‘Who’s the lucky man?’ she asked with a teasing smile.

  Edna stubbed out her Woodbine and put her hands on her broad hips.

  ‘Bing Crosby!’ she joked. ‘Actually, he was spoken for, so I settled for Malc, yon factory supervisor!’

  Gladys burst out laughing. ‘Who would’ve believed it? As I recall you and Malc were always arguing about something or other.’

  ‘We’ve had our moments,’ Edna chuckled. ‘Probably always will!’

  ‘So when did it all start?’ Gladys enquired.

  ‘That night at the Savoy,’ Edna replied. ‘When you got picked up by ENSA. Remember …?’

  Seeing Gladys’s bright smile fade and her eyes darken, Edna thought to herself, ‘Aye, aye, looks like ENSA is at the heart of her troubles.’

  ‘We danced till mi legs were crippled!’ Edna continued brightly. ‘I ’ad quite a few sherries too, so I wasn’t averse to him giving me a goodnight kiss on the cheek,’ she confessed. ‘In the New Year, round about the time you were getting ready for your first tour, he got in the habit of dropping by the van for a bag of chips.’ Edna smiled a soft tender smile that touched Gladys with its gentle sincerity. ‘I got used to seeing him, looked forward to it, in fact. We talked about everything: the war, the government, the Allies, family and friends. Then we started talking about each other.’ She paused to take a breath. ‘He’s been married before – she died of breast cancer just before the outbreak of the war.’ She sighed then added, ‘I think they were very much in love.’

  Gladys really didn’t want to say anything that might deflate Edna’s happiness, but she wondered if Malc had ever got over his wife’s death. Fortunately, Edna read her thoughts. ‘I asked him outright if he could ever love another woman and he said, dead straight, “Aye, I could love you, Edna Chadderton!” And we’ve been walking out ever since,’ she finished happily.

  ‘Congratulations!’ Gladys exclaimed as she gave her friend another hug. ‘When’s the Big Day?’

  ‘Eh, one thing at a time, our kid!’ Edna joked.

  The arrival of a gang of factory girls eager for a bag of hot chips brought their conversation to a halt, but, after the flurry of serving and dousing in salt and vinegar, Edna again joined Gladys in the despatch yard, where, after lighting up another Woodbine, she gave her a pat on the shoulder. ‘Glad to be home?’

  ‘Oh, yes, so glad.’

  ‘Not what you expected, then?’

  Gladys shook her head. ‘It was a nightmare,’ she confessed.

  Sensitive Edna knew when to stop probing. ‘Let’s hope you get some company soon – we don’t want you brooding alone up there for too long. And remember I’m always here for you if you want a bit of a chat.’

  ‘Thanks, Edna,’ said Gladys fondly. ‘I won’t forget that.’

  A cheery woman at the front of the queue that was now forming waved a hand at Edna. ‘Come on, kid! We’re bloody starving over here!’

  ‘Gotta go,’ Edna said as she hurriedly stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Pop by for a natter tomorrow night, if you’ve time.’

  ‘I will,’ Gladys promised.

  As Edna shovelled crispy hot chips into newspaper bags, she gazed after Gladys’s receding figure. ‘Something’s happened to that girl, over there in them foreign parts,’ she thought to herself. ‘And, from the look of things, it weren’t that good.’

  3. Rosa

  After a long hard night shift, Gladys made her way through the pearly dawn light to the cowshed, where she fell into a deep sleep that gave her no peace, despite her exhaustion. Images of leering sailors leaning forwards to grab at her red silk dress as she performed on stage filled her dreams.

  ‘No, no!’ she muttered wildly as the dream worsened and the sailors stripped the dress off her body, until she stood naked and weeping before them. ‘Don’t touch me, please don’t touch me!’ she screamed so loudly she woke herself up with a start.

  Shivering and trembling, Gladys stumbled out of bed and headed for the kitchen: she turned on the tap and thirstily gulped down a mug of cold water. Calmed by the sunshine pouring through the window, she decided against going back to bed; she’d had quite enough of nightmares, and a walk on the moors might do her more good than a fretful sleep.

  Though still disturbed by the sinister images in her dreams, Gladys felt so much better for being outdoors. The moorland colours were changing: tall fronds of green bracken were turning golden and the heather was losing its luminous lavender hue. But the sun was still strong, warming the rocks and crags she strode past. Taking in deep breaths of pure moorland air, Gladys felt her body respond to the landscape around her. She smiled at hopping bunnies scurrying in her wake and partridges that buzzed low over the terrain where pheasants ratcheted out their raucous call.

  ‘This beats the Mediterranean,’ she said out loud. ‘This is home.’

  Feeling refreshed after stretching her legs and clearing her head, Gladys returned to the cowshed starving hungry. Running up the cobbled path, she wondered what she had in the cupboard for tea: half a tin of spam, some new potatoes given to her by Kit (who’d started her own vegetable garden at Yew Tree Farm), which Gladys hoped she could spin out till the end of the week, and some baked beans. Picking some wild thyme that grew in abundance beside the path, Gladys decided to fry the spam in a bit of fat leftover from a stew she’d cooked a few days before. Hurrying into the cowshed, which nobody ever bothered locking, she dashed to make sure the wood-burner hadn’t gone out, topped it up with a few logs, then plonked the little kettle on top for a brew. Busy and preoccupied, she turned to go into the kitchen but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw a slight, dark figure standing behind the front door.

  ‘Wh … who are you?’ she
gasped in shock.

  When there was no response, she took a few steps forwards and saw a trembling girl clutching an enormous kit bag. Realizing that the girl might have had the cowshed allocated to her as her digs, she asked gently, ‘Have you come to live here?’

  When the girl didn’t reply, Gladys beckoned with her hand. ‘Come and sit down,’ she said in a soft voice. ‘Sit by the fire,’ she added, as she pointed to the old sofa by the wood-burner.

  Clutching her kit bag before her like a shield, the girl slowly emerged from the shadows. She was slim and willow-tall with glossy jet-black hair that lay in thick, silky curls around her shoulders, her warm olive skin was enhanced by the late sunlight slanting through the sitting-room window. As she approached Gladys she murmured, ‘I, Rosa.’

  Gladys smiled as she extended her right hand. ‘I’m Gladys.’

  ‘Piacere.’

  ‘Piacere,’ Gladys replied as she remembered the Italian she’d picked up in Naples.

  Keeping hold of the girl’s ice-cold hands, Gladys led Rosa to the sofa, where she obediently sat down.

  ‘Tea?’ Gladys suggested.

  Rosa nodded. ‘Sì, grazie, er, yes, please.’

  As Gladys busied herself making the tea, Rosa’s large, solemn, almond-shaped eyes roved around the cowshed.

  ‘Is a house for animals, eh?’ she asked when Gladys handed her a mug of hot, strong tea.

  ‘WAS for animals,’ Gladys replied. ‘Now for us, factory workers,’ she added slowly.

  Over more tea and strong, foreign-smelling cheroots, which Rosa carefully rolled and smoked, the two young women, in pidgin English, began to learn a little about each other. Gladys discovered that Rosa was from Padua, and had somehow managed to travel across Europe. She wondered if it might have been when the Nazis had started to round up the Jews; she couldn’t think why else the young girl would have fled her own country. She didn’t want to ask the shy stranger directly if that was the case, but Gladys, touring with ENSA way down in the south of the Italy, had heard lots of horrific stories about the persecution of the Jews. Knowing from her own recent experience of how intrusive awkward questions could be, Gladys didn’t pursue the matter; if Rosa wanted to talk about her past, it would be better to let her volunteer more information when the time was right.