Christmas with the Bomb Girls

by Daisy Styles

  Though unquestionably drawn to each other, there was always something that got in the way of the pair of them getting to know each other, though it was very obvious they both wanted to: Reggie’s long, gruelling hours; Gladys’s forever travelling up and down the coast entertaining the troops; the fact that when they did snatch a few precious minutes, they would inevitably be interrupted, either by a duty call or by the unfortunate appearance of the wretched Captain Miles, who relentlessly hounded Gladys.

  ‘I don’t know how to shake the brute off,’ Gladys confessed to a friend one night when she couldn’t get to sleep.

  ‘He’s the kind of creep that sticks like glue until he gets what he wants,’ her friend had remarked. ‘If I were you, kiddo, I’d stay right out of his way.’

  ‘I wish to God he’d damn well stay out of mine!’ Gladys retorted angrily.

  It all changed in the days that followed the captain’s vicious attack, Gladys recalled as the lurching bus braked and stopped to collect other bedraggled passengers. As they set off once again through the dark night, Gladys sighed as the precious happy memory faded and in its place came much less welcome ones. She blushed as she remembered how she’d actively avoided places where she might bump into Dr Reggie Lloyd, whom she should have had the guts to say farewell to. But once she’d got official permission to return home, she’d left Naples without making contact with him. Though he’d affected her more than any other man she’d ever met, she was convinced that men like Reggie Lloyd, clever, talented and handsome, wouldn’t give her a second look, not when they knew she was damaged goods.

  As the bus finally shuddered to a stop outside the Phoenix Factory, Gladys disembarked and, covering her head with a headscarf, she walked slowly and thoughtfully through the pouring rain. Reggie Lloyd was a good man, a man of principle, a man she could have fallen in love with … if things had turned out otherwise.

  9. Fear in the Sky

  On the edge of the solitary moors, the Phoenix fared better than most munitions factories in the Manchester and Liverpool area, many of which were repeatedly bombed by the Luftwaffe. There were rumours everywhere of spies passing on information as to the whereabouts of bomb- and aircraft-making factories, and government propaganda war posters were dotted all over the factory. LOOSE LIPS SINK SHIPS and BE LIKE DAD KEEP MUM warned gossips to be discreet. As the Phoenix’s safety officer, Arthur was constantly reminding the workers to keep details about their work and the factory’s remote location to themselves. ‘We don’t want Hitler targeting us,’ he regularly told the workers as he walked through the factory, checking the safety equipment. ‘Imagine if Gerry got wind of all the munitions factories across Britain and blew the lot sky high – we’d have nothing to send to our brave lads on the front line.’

  Maggie, who constantly worried about her soldier boyfriend, Les, said hotly, ‘I don’t go blabbing to anybody, but I’ve heard plenty of lasses showing off to fellas in town about building bombs up here on’t moors.’

  ‘If I catch them, they’ll be reported to the military police just like that!’ Arthur said crossly as he snapped his fingers.

  Wide-eyed, Maggie looked on the verge of tears. ‘They should know when to keep their traps shut!’ she cried. ‘I wouldn’t want to endanger my Les or any other soldiers risking their lives for us.’ She gave a long heavy sigh. ‘God, not knowing where they’re fighting is bad enough, but the thought of them not having enough ammo to fight off the bloody enemy terrifies me.’

  Rosa looked up briefly from the shell she was packing. ‘I agree,’ she said with great conviction. ‘The not knowing – as you say – it is the worst.’

  Knowing Rosa was referring to her family, her friends quickly glanced at each other; would this be an appropriate time to perhaps probe further into Rosa’s past? But when Rosa firmly turned back to her work, they followed her cue and did the same; when the time was right, they were sure Rosa would open up. They didn’t know anybody who didn’t live in fear these days: mothers worried sick about sons, sweethearts parted, and everyone living in dread of that fateful knock on the door.

  Keeping up with the momentum of the shells relentlessly rolling towards them on the conveyor-belt, Maggie continued, ‘Every time I hear news on the wireless of a massive attack in northern France or Belgium, I wonder, could Les be there? Or have they gained enemy territory and moved on?’

  Gladys, working beside Maggie, gave her a reassuring pat on the hand. ‘Our Les has his wits about him,’ she said. ‘Remember he was the only prisoner that escaped the German round-up last year?’ As Gladys withdrew her hand, Maggie’s eyes widened when she saw how raw and even blistered in places it was. ‘Isn’t that painful?’ she asked, as she nodded at Gladys’s inflamed skin.

  ‘More itchy than painful,’ Gladys replied, looking ruefully down at her hands. ‘I thought I’d get used to it – after all I did work with explosives in the filling shed – but I never had a reaction like this.’

  ‘Cordite’s a bugger!’ Nora declared. ‘First it bleaches your hair, then it turns you as yellow as a banana! But I’ve not seen a reaction like that before, Glad.’

  Gladys gave Nora a rueful smile. ‘Hopefully it’ll go away soon.’

  As Tommy Dorsey and his orchestra blared out from the factory loudspeakers, the girls gave up on their conversation and tapped their feet as they hummed along to ‘On the Sunny Side of the Street’. In the filling shed, Arthur, pushing a trolley before him, also whistled along to the popular tune as he collected trays, each containing twenty-five filled cases, from the workers’ benches. As he passed his wife’s bench, Arthur bent to give her a gentle kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Less of your canoodling!’ an older woman chided as she gave blushing Violet a cheeky wink. ‘Leave that till you’re in private.’

  Before Arthur moved on to the next bench, Violet quickly whispered, ‘How was Stevie when you dropped him off this morning?’

  Arthur smiled fondly; his wife’s initial nervousness had grown into a full-blown, all-consuming love for her son; she quite simply adored Stevie, who had her enormous violet-blue eyes and his father’s silky blond hair.

  ‘He was fine,’ Arthur assured her. ‘All smiles and giggles. As soon as I set him down on the play mat, he grabbed another kiddie’s toy and started chewing it.’

  ‘Little monkey,’ she said fondly. ‘I’ll pick him up as soon as I’ve finished my shift.’

  Arthur grinned as he moved on. ‘If you can get him away from that nursery he loves so much.’

  ‘He loves his mum a lot more!’ Violet laughed, as she turned back to the shell she was filling with mucky grey explosive.

  As Tommy Dorsey was replaced by Joe Loss, the shrill sound of a siren caused consternation amongst the workers.

  ‘Isn’t that the signal to evacuate the factory?’ one of the women asked nervously.

  Arthur’s face was grim. He knew exactly what it was. ‘Christ!’ he thought to himself. ‘I only hope this is a practice, and that there aren’t enemy planes in the area!’

  Keeping his voice as calm and moderated as possible, he called out, ‘Into the shelters, ladies, right away.’ The shock amongst the women was palpable. ‘Surely it’s just a false alarm, you know, one of them practice evacuation exercises the management love to try out on us?’ Maggie half-joked.

  Ignoring her flippant question, Arthur continued to usher the workers in his care out of the factory. Hearing the women grumbling about having to go outside into the cold, Arthur put on his firmest safety manager’s voice, calling out with increased urgency, ‘Come on, don’t hang about. Everyone out!’ he yelled, hoping against hope that young Maggie was right and it would just turn out to be a safety practice.

  As the siren continued to shrill out, women around the plant frantically grabbed their coats and gas masks, and in a steady stream made their way to the air-raid shelters built some distance away from the main factory site. As soon as she was safely out of the filling shed, a white-faced Violet left her friend
s to hurry over to her husband, who was marshalling workers across the yard to safety.

  ‘What’s happening, Arthur?’ she demanded.

  Knowing how nervy his wife was and how worried she’d be about little Stevie, Arthur summoned up his most reassuring voice. ‘Probably something and nothing,’ he said as he steered her back towards her friends. ‘It might be just a precaution, sweetheart, but we have to go through the hoops. We’ll be back inside in no time.’

  ‘I don’t want to go into the air-raid shelter without Stevie,’ Violet protested loudly.

  Aware that one overwrought woman, even if she was his wife, could spread panic like wild fire, Arthur hurried up to Kit, with whom he locked eyes. ‘Look after Vi, will you, sweetheart? I’ve got to get back to the factory and clear the site,’ he said urgently as he placed Violet’s hand in Kit’s. ‘She’s anxious about our Stevie.’

  Kit nodded. God; she was worried sick about her own boy too. But knowing Arthur had a vital job to do, she said briskly, ‘You’d better get off.’ Then, turning to Violet, who was on the edge of tears, she added with a forced smile, ‘They say the best air-raid shelter on the entire site is right next to the nursery block; Stevie and Billy will be safe and sound there till we get the all-clear, then we can go and pick them up.’ She squeezed her friend’s hand, hoping to God that she was right.

  Violet nodded as she took in Kit’s reassuring information. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘They’re probably a lot safer with matron than we’ll be where we’re going.’ She was still deathly pale, but she stuck with Kit as she reluctantly followed her into the air-raid shelter.

  Back inside the factory, Arthur ushered more frightened women to safety, overhearing some of their nervous comments as he did so.

  ‘There are no barrage balloons to hide the site from enemy planes,’ one woman cried as she ran by.

  ‘The site’s camouflaged,’ the breathless woman beside her replied.

  ‘And what the hell’s the point of that if the bloody Luftwaffe are flying so low they can see the lace on our knickers!’ her friend scoffed.

  Exasperated by loiterers who were holding up the evacuation, Arthur began to lose patience. ‘Come along now,’ he shouted, but his voice was beginning to be drowned out by a noise that was getting louder all the time – a noise that sounded increasingly like a low-flying plane. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he yelled, ‘GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE – NOWWW!’

  Also hearing the plane, the remaining women ran screaming to the safety of the factory shelters, leaving Arthur shielding his eyes to gaze up into the sky.

  ‘JESUS!’ he gasped.

  From behind a bank of cloud he saw what looked like the tail of a German Messerschmitt. With his heart hammering against his ribcage, Arthur watched the plane fly east over the moors. Was it heading home or was it heading for the Phoenix? Were there more fighter planes behind this one? Was it possible the Germans had somehow got wind of the Phoenix’s location? His frantic thoughts were disturbed by the sound of sobbing, and turning he saw a lone woman crouching in the open doorway that led into the packing shed.

  ‘What the hell are you playing at?’ Arthur cried angrily. ‘You should be in the bloody shelters!’

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ the old woman gibbered in terror. ‘I can’t go in them shelters – please don’t make me go, please,’ she begged hysterically.

  With the plane almost overhead, tight-lipped Arthur simply said to the distressed woman, ‘It’s too late for that now anyway.’

  In the shelter where Kit and Violet, along with Maggie, Nora and Rosa, nervously crouched, every single woman around them held her breath as the terrifying noise overhead grew ever closer and ever louder. As the deafening roar of the engine drummed in their ears, Kit crossed herself and prayed, ‘Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou among women.’

  With her eyes shut tight, Violet also prayed under her breath, tears running down her cheeks, ‘Please, God, look after my baby, please, God, look after my son.’

  Inside the packing shed, Arthur positioned himself and the weeping old woman against a solid supporting wall. Expecting her to run off in a panic, he said firmly, ‘Don’t move from here unless I tell you to.’ Seeing her trembling and shaking in fear, he added, ‘Hopefully the plane will pass over.’

  ‘Holy Mother of God, I hope so,’ she whispered.

  Holding his breath, Arthur crouched down by the open door to watch the plane’s progress. As it cruised over the dense moorland terrain, it showed no sign of being on a bombing mission.

  ‘Has it missed us?’ the woman gasped.

  ‘I don’t think he’s even seen us,’ Arthur replied incredulously.

  Squinting, Arthur caught his breath, however, when he did see the unmistakable sight of the plane’s bomb hatch slowly unfolding. As if it was happening in slow motion, he watched as the pilot offloaded what must have been his spare bombs over the desolate moorland terrain. ‘Sweet Jesus!’ he gasped as the bombs plummeted to earth, right on target for the domestic quarters, which housed the infirmary and the day nursery. Every part of Arthur’s body turned to ice. ‘NOOOO!’ he bellowed as, regardless of his own safety, he rushed to the open door, from where he watched the bombs explode. Falling to his knees, he sobbed out loud, ‘Spare my son, please, God, spare my Stevie.’

  Inside the shelter, the terrified women gazed at each other, incredulous.

  ‘Have they flown over?’ Nora gasped as the sound of the Messerschmitt’s engine receded slightly.

  ‘God be praised,’ Rosa murmured.

  No sooner were the words out of her mouth than they heard the bombs explode, causing the ground beneath them to shake. The terrified women gripped each other for support.

  ‘Christ! It’s missed us but it’s hit some other poor buggers nearby,’ one woman murmured.

  Violet, half mad with fear, leapt to her feet. ‘STEVIE!’ she screamed hysterically.

  Fighting off her friends, who were trying to hold her down, she kicked and punched her way free, then ran sobbing towards the door, which she flung open.

  ‘STEVIE!’ she yelled. ‘STEVIE!’

  Through the open door of the packing shed, Arthur watched in horror as his wife erupted from the air-raid shelter and like a thing demented ran screaming across the yard. Horrified by the agonized expression on her face, he bellowed, ‘STOP, VIOLET! STOP! You must wait for the all-clear.’

  Before he could take a step towards his wife, Arthur heard a dull thud behind him, followed by a thundering, rumbling noise as the building started to collapse. As hundreds of tons of debris engulfed him, the last thing Arthur saw before he sank unconscious to the ground was his wife running towards the blazing domestic quarters.

  When Arthur came round, it was dark, and, grunting with pain, he made a frantic effort to free himself, but realized with horror that he was hemmed in on all sides. Straining to turn his head, he saw that the brickwork and machinery that had fallen on top of him from the floor above had landed on the old woman too. Groping, he reached out to her; feeling his way up her motionless body, Arthur tentatively touched her temple in order to find a pulse, but all he felt was a warm flow of blood trickling over his fingers.

  Realizing the poor woman could not be saved, he shuddered. ‘So how the hell did I survive that?’ he wondered.

  With images of Violet’s agonized face in his mind, Arthur struggled to free his feet, which were trapped under a heavy door that had missed the old woman but landed on top of him, protecting him to a large extent from the tumbling masonry. Trapped in the darkness and half crazed with fear, Arthur frantically shouted for help as he wriggled and twisted to free himself, but soon he started to gasp from the smoke and dust. Straining to breathe, Arthur realized that he could die buried under half the Phoenix Factory, never knowing whether his wife and son were dead or alive. As drowsiness weakened him, images of Violet floated into his mind: Violet the first time he’d laid eyes on her – terrified of men, she’d been n
ervous of his attention, but his love and patience had won through in the end. He’d courted her in his allotment garden in the summertime; he remembered how the sun had caught her long, silky hair, turning it silver-bright, and her eyes had shone as blue as the bluebells that grew wild on the moors. How he loved her, body and soul! The birth of their son completed their happiness; he knew it was Violet’s total devotion to her baby that had sent her running recklessly in the direction of the Phoenix’s domestic quarters. She would always unquestionably have put her life before that of her beloved son. ‘Oh, Vi,’ he murmured as tears pricked his eyes. ‘Please, my love, stay safe.’

  Small flickering flames flaring up in the darkness snapped him out of his drowsy reverie. He was fearful that the factory might soon be ablaze and there’d be no escape; he gasped for air as smoke engulfed the chamber in which he was imprisoned. As the fetid smoke curled down his throat, Arthur was startled by the sensation of cold water trickling from above.

  ‘Somebody’s trying to put out the fire!’ he realized. ‘Somebody’s up there!’

  Too hoarse to yell, he frantically searched around in the darkness for a weapon, and, finding a long metal stick that had once belonged to a piece of machinery, he began to bang it hard against the wall.

  ‘HELP! HELP!’ he croaked weakly.

  The water that had started as a trickle was now flowing fast down the wall, soaking his clothes and lodging in a muddy pool underneath him. Freezing cold and shivering, Arthur continued to bash the metal stick and then suddenly he was conscious of a muffled voice behind the debris.