The Bomb Girl Brides

by Daisy Styles

  Julia leant across and gave her a pretend swipe. ‘Oddly enough, I like it here,’ she said, as she lifted her face to the sun and felt it warm her eyelids.

  ‘Me too,’ Rosa agreed. ‘This place – Kit, Maggie, Nora and now you,’ she added shyly, ‘are my lifeline.’ Her slender shoulders sagged as she confessed with a sad sigh, ‘I don’t know how I’ll survive without you all when I marry Roger and move away.’

  Bending to hide her flushed face, Rosa picked up a stone that was lying on the path and threw it over a drystone wall, which she and Julia leant against.

  ‘It’s funny,’ she continued with a blush, ‘I was only talking to Arthur about exactly the same thing when he was up here recently.’

  ‘Arthur,’ Julia inquired. ‘The man with the little boy?’

  ‘Yes, he used to work here but he and Stevie moved away when his wife died in a factory explosion.’

  ‘Poor chap,’ Julia murmured. ‘Everybody seems very fond of him.’

  ‘Oh, we all love Arthur,’ Rosa said warmly. ‘And we miss him too. Anyway, as I said to him, I’m very fond of Roger but his Englishness sometimes overwhelms me,’ she admitted. ‘And he’s in such a rush to get married. I told him I won’t do anything until I know more about Gabriel. Ideally I would want him at my wedding.’

  ‘Of course you do, and that’s a very sensible idea,’ Julia replied smoothly. ‘You can’t make a big move like that with everything hanging in the air the way it is at the moment. I’m quite sure Roger will understand that. Now come on,’ Julia joked as she tugged Rosa away from the wall, ‘if we don’t show up to help Maggie and Nora with their wretched weeding, we’ll never hear the end of it.’

  32. Tempers Flare

  When the day Nora had been dreading dawned, 24 April, she made sure she was nowhere near either the allotment or the cowshed. She didn’t know what time the doomed pig would be loaded and driven away by Percy (who to this day had kept her secret), but she decided to spend the time she wasn’t working on the cordite line with Polly.

  She found Polly snout down, guzzling contentedly on turnip tops in her spacious new run. When she heard Nora’s call, her ears flapped and, with her little curly tail wiggling excitedly, she trotted up to her mistress, who leant over the fence to rub her back.

  ‘Oh, dear, Polly,’ Nora sighed. ‘It could so easily have been your last day on earth.’

  Oblivious to the bullet she’d dodged, Polly stuck her head under the fence and rubbed her head against Nora’s legs.

  ‘Silly daft thing!’ Nora giggled. ‘Now you stay in your run whilst I muck out your sty and put down some nice clean bedding for you to snuggle down on.’

  When Nora returned to the cowshed, hot, sweaty and keen to have a bath after mucking out Polly’s sty, she walked straight into Maggie, who was blazing with fury.

  ‘You never told me!’ she raged. ‘All these weeks and you’ve never told me!’

  Nora immediately guessed that Maggie must have found out about the swap. But how? Racked with guilt (but not one bit sorry for keeping Polly safe), Nora fought back tears. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have deceived you.’

  Maggie was striding about the room, wildly waving her hands in the air. ‘How can I ever trust you again?’ she ranted. ‘My chief bridesmaid! My best friend!’

  Julia and Rosa, who were keeping themselves well out of the way in the kitchen, grimaced at each other.

  ‘Poor Nora,’ Julia whispered.

  ‘Shhh!’ Rosa hissed as she listened closely with her ear to the door.

  ‘Why did you do it in the first place?’ Maggie demanded.

  ‘Because I just couldn’t bear to see Polly go to slaughter,’ Nora explained. ‘I love her so much,’ she gulped.

  ‘Then why not talk to me about it?’ Maggie cried. ‘After all, it was me who bought her in the first place. Don’t you think I have a right to know what’s happening to my pig?’

  Nora crumpled. Everything Maggie said was true: she’d been a rotten friend, a liar, and a thief too.

  ‘I thought if I told you how I felt, you’d say I was being ridiculous –’ Nora started.

  ‘You are being ridiculous!’ Maggie shouted. ‘It’s a pig we’re talking about, not Mickey Mouse!’

  ‘I thought it would be best if I just did a swap on the quiet and told nobody,’ Nora blurted out. ‘How did you find out – was it Percy?’

  ‘As a matter of fact it wasn’t,’ Maggie snapped. ‘It was the man who slaughtered the pig; he told me it was a male.’

  Nora sighed, so it was simply by chance that Maggie had found out.

  ‘I said that my pig was female, and he said the one that Percy had dropped off was definitely male; then I asked Percy and he had to admit the truth. But he didn’t want to.’

  There was nothing Nora could do but apologize, but at one point in the middle of Maggie’s tirade she remembered Peter’s words and daringly repeated them. ‘They all taste the same in the end, don’t they?’

  Hearing this and expecting another flare-up, Rosa called loudly from the kitchen, ‘Tea’s ready.’

  Feeling sick to her stomach, Nora said she wasn’t hungry and, after a tepid bath, she stayed well out of Maggie’s way, which was difficult, because they had always shared their night-time routine: putting in their rollers, having a cigarette, switching out the light, getting into bed and chatting quietly till they both dropped off. But not tonight. In frosty silence Maggie undressed, turned out the light and got into bed; it was the first night in all the time that the girls had known each other that they didn’t call out in the darkness, ‘Night, night, God bless.’

  Nora felt it keenly; turning her face into her pillow, she stifled her sobs, whilst wondering if Maggie would ever speak to her again.

  The days that followed were uncomfortable for everybody, and they didn’t get any easier when Percy thundered on the cowshed door early one morning.

  ‘The bastard whiteflies have attacked the vegetable patch!’ he announced.

  Forgetting their quarrel, Maggie and Nora ran down the cobbled lane to the allotment, with Percy panting and cursing behind them. The sight that met their eyes stopped them dead in their tracks: a large section of the patch, which only yesterday was bristling with spinach, broccoli, cabbage and sprouts, had been blitzed by what looked like a cloud of white mould, which clung to the leaves and stems of the vegetables whilst small white-winged insects flitted on the underside of the plants.

  ‘Oh, God!’ Maggie cried.

  Nora, who’d run to the other end of the allotment to examine the extent of the damage there, called out, ‘The carrots are okay.’

  By this time Percy had caught up with them and was staring at the pests like they were God’s own personal enemy.

  ‘How could this have happened?’ devastated Maggie sobbed. ‘There was no sign of them here yesterday.’

  ‘They’re like a soddin’ bad wind; they blow in and they blow out again, leaving ruin in their wake,’ Percy growled.

  ‘What’re we going to do?’ whimpered poor Maggie.

  ‘Well …’ said Percy as he surveyed the blighted plot. ‘This patch here has taken the brunt of it, but that patch over yonder is looking healthy enough.’ He nodded in the direction of the healthy carrots. ‘We’ll have to check where the little buggers are breeding, then sluice every single plant with a solution of soap and water to get rid of ’em.’

  ‘All of them?’ gasped Nora, surveying the sprawling allotment.

  ‘All,’ Percy reiterated. ‘It’ll be back-breaking work, but it’s got to be done, and done right away, before they multiply before our very eyes.’

  ‘So it’s not as bad as it might be?’ Maggie said, grasping at straws.

  ‘If we can get on top of the whitefly, we may only lose this lot,’ Percy said, as he pointed at the ruined vegetables before them.

  ‘And the rest might survive?’ Maggie asked hopefully.

  ‘Aye … if we’re lucky,’ he replied.

  Wit
h no time to waste, Percy made up solutions of soap and water in watering cans and galvanized buckets, which the girls lugged along each row, dousing the plants with the liquid, whilst digging up and throwing away all the infested plants. Working in silence, intent on their work, Maggie and Nora fell in beside each other; Nora was surprised when Maggie broke their concentrated silence by asking a very unexpected question. ‘Where did you take Polly?’

  Playing for time, Nora fiddled with the watering can in her hand. If she told Maggie Polly’s whereabouts, would she go to claim her? As if reading Nora’s mind, Maggie added, ‘It’s all right, I’m not about to take her back.’ She tried to hide the smile that was playing at the corners of her mouth. ‘I don’t need to roast two pigs on my wedding day.’

  Then suddenly Maggie started to giggle, and in seconds the pair of them were rocking with laughter. Percy, across the way from them, scowled at the hysterical girls. ‘What’s so bloody funny?’ he demanded.

  ‘Oh, just something Maggie said,’ Nora, breathless with laughter, tried to explain.

  ‘Well, don’t dwell on it too long,’ he grumbled. ‘You’d best finish this lot before you start your shift ’cos one thing’s for sure: I can’t do it single-handed.’

  With his sharp words ringing in their ears, the girls returned to the job, but a few days later, when the whitefly blight was under control, Maggie walked the few miles with Nora to Polly’s new home. Polly was delighted to see Maggie, who she frisked up to, grunting a greeting.

  ‘You look comfortable, missis,’ Maggie joked, as she scratched Polly’s ears. ‘In your smart new place far away from wicked Maggie and the butcher’s knife.’

  Blushing Nora apologized again. ‘I’m sorry I lied to you, Maggie, it was wrong, I know.’

  Big-hearted Maggie threw an arm around Nora’s slumped shoulders. ‘It’s all in the past, kiddo; now all we’ve got to worry about is Percy and the wrath of the returning whitefly!’

  Unfortunately Maggie spoke too soon. Just as they were recovering from the shock of the whitefly attack, Kit, who always treated the cowshed like her second home, walked in looking as white as a ghost.

  ‘Billy’s got chicken pox!’ she announced.

  Rosa, Julia and Nora, who were in the kitchen making a pot of tea before they headed off to the Phoenix to clock on for their afternoon shift, stared at her in dismay.

  ‘He’s covered in spots,’ Kit added mournfully. ‘There’s no way he’s going to be better in time for the wedding.’

  Nora slumped into the nearest chair. ‘Maggie’s going to go nuts!’ she whispered.

  ‘Who’s taking my name in vain?’ Maggie called cheerily as she breezed into the kitchen, then stopped in her tracks when she saw her friends all nervously staring at her.

  ‘I’ve got bad news,’ Kit started.

  Assuming the worst, Maggie clutched the side of the kitchen table.

  ‘Not Les? Please not Les …’

  Before her legs buckled beneath her, Kit grabbed Maggie’s arm and sat her down on one of the wooden chairs. ‘No, thank God, not Les. It’s Billy. I’m not sure he can be your page boy …’

  After hearing Kit’s news, Maggie was disappointed indeed, but, because she’d been expecting something a thousand times worse, she didn’t go to pieces; instead she took a more practical approach.

  ‘He might be better in time?’ she said hopefully.

  ‘He might but I don’t want to infect the entire congregation,’ Kit answered with a smile. ‘I’m on my way to the Phoenix nursery right now to ask Matron’s advice.’ As she made a move towards the door, she called over her shoulder, ‘I’ll report back as soon as I can.’

  On the way to work Maggie’s resolve weakened. ‘It’s a shame,’ she said sadly. ‘I thought Billy would look so cute dressed up as a page.’

  ‘And such a waste of the sweet little outfit Ian bought for him,’ Nora commiserated. ‘The wedding photographs won’t look anything like as nice with only me next to you,’ she added glumly.

  Before spirits sank lower, Rosa quickly said, ‘Kit might come back to us with good news.’

  Later, when the hooter went for tea-time, the girls rushed to their favourite table, where Kit was waiting for them.

  ‘What did she say?’ cried Maggie, as she sat down next to Kit and lit up a Woodbine.

  ‘Once the spots are dry and Billy’s showing no sign of a cough or a cold, he won’t be contagious.’

  ‘So he could be all right?’ Maggie replied.

  Kit was busy counting the days off on her fingers. ‘I think he could be all clear by your wedding day.’

  ‘That’s good news,’ Maggie said with relief. ‘We wouldn’t want the guests breaking out in spots a week after my wedding!’ she giggled.

  With the big day fast approaching, Julia suggested to Maggie that she might try out a new hair-style in advance of her wedding day.

  ‘I think you’d really suit that Lauren Bacall look,’ she said, as she showed Maggie a picture of the beautiful film star with her long hair looped in golden waves around her face. ‘Your hair’s long enough to take it – shall we give it a try?’

  Intrigued and excited, Maggie immediately agreed. ‘Yes, that style would look lovely with my long veil.’

  ‘I’ve done it before,’ Julia reassured her. ‘On a friend of mine: we used setting lotion and heated rollers, and it looked stunning.’

  Taken with the idea, Maggie agreed that they’d have a trial run at the end of the week of afternoon shifts, which gave Julia time to purchase the setting lotion and borrow some heated rollers and a portable hairdryer from a woman she worked with in the filling shed. On the appointed night Maggie washed her mass of thick auburn hair. After running the setting lotion through Maggie’s hair, Julia rolled long strands around the heavy rollers, then carefully arranged the hairdryer that was attached to a bag over Maggie’s head.

  ‘Now all we’ve got to do is set the timer and wait,’ Julia said with a confident smile.

  Maggie smoked several Woodbines as she sat on an upright chair, talking loudly over the noise of the dryer.

  ‘It’s beginning to feel warm,’ she told Julia, who checked the time on her wristwatch.

  ‘Just another ten minutes,’ Julia replied.

  ‘Are you sure? It feels very hot under here,’ Maggie fretted.

  ‘Quite sure,’ Julia asserted, checking the timer. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

  When the timer finally shrilled out, Rosa and Nora gathered around excitedly as Julia carefully removed the hairdryer bag from Maggie’s head. But, as she pulled the bag away, her confidence abandoned her – for there was no mistaking the smell of singed hair.

  She stood, frozen, hardly daring to look at Maggie, or her hair. There was a horrible pause before anyone spoke.

  ‘Oh, Christ!’ wailed Maggie, as she clutched her hands to her head. ‘What on earth’s happened?’

  Terrified of what she would find, a white-faced Julia tore out the rollers with trembling, clumsy fingers. Exchanging horrified looks with Nora and Rosa, who could see as well as Julia that the hair on Maggie’s crown was badly burnt in several places, Julia made things even worse by running cold water over the area, which made the singed smell stronger.

  ‘What have you done to me?’ Maggie yelled as she leapt from the chair and ran to the mirror hanging on the wall.

  Though the rest of her golden-auburn hair fell in silky waves around her face, there were chunks of hair on top of her head that were standing on end. The sight of the burnt bits scattered on the floor sent Maggie into weeping hysterics.

  ‘Oh, no!’ she wailed. ‘No … no …’

  Beside herself with remorse and panic, Julia gabbled, ‘I’m so sorry – I have no idea what’s gone wrong. It worked perfectly when I did it before, truly it did.’

  ‘Well, it’s not worked now,’ Nora said bluntly.

  Though all three friends offered reassuring words, Maggie was beyond any kind of comfort.

  ‘M
y wedding’s doomed,’ she sobbed. ‘First the pig, then the flies and Billy’s chicken pox – and now this – I’ll be bald on my wedding day!’ Putting her head in her hands, she wept uncontrollably. ‘Les will never want to marry me looking like this!’

  When she was a little calmer, it was Rosa who came to the rescue, managing to soften the brittle burnt hair with some setting lotion, and then carefully looping it into little pin curls which she assured Maggie would give her a softer look in the morning. Still weeping, Maggie prayed that Rosa’s words would come true, but the next day, when the pins were removed, her damaged hair sprang up like a chicken’s coxcomb. Utterly devastated, Maggie returned to her bed, where she lay wide-eyed, staring up at the ceiling.

  ‘We’ve got to do something,’ Nora hissed to Rosa and Julia, who were in a huddle in the sitting room.

  ‘I’ve done more than enough,’ Julia said miserably. ‘I can’t believe I find her the dream wedding gown, then burn her hair just before her wedding day.’

  ‘This damned wedding has worn her out,’ Nora said crossly.

  ‘It’s turned into a nightmare for the poor girl,’ Rosa agreed sympathetically.

  ‘I can’t think of anything to say that will help,’ a defeated Julia admitted.

  Nora, suddenly wide-eyed, exclaimed, ‘Wait – I know exactly who can talk to her.’

  ‘Who?’ Rosa and Julia asked in unison.

  ‘Her sister, Emily.’

  Rosa and Julia looked blank. ‘How’s that going to help?’ Julia asked.

  ‘Maggie hero-worships her big sister; she used to work here at the Phoenix,’ Nora explained. ‘But then she got married and moved to Bolton. She’s the best person in the world to talk Maggie down. I’ve seen her do it many a time; she always talks sense.’

  ‘How do we get hold of her?’ Rosa inquired.

  ‘She regularly visits her mum,’ Nora said, as she snatched up her coat. ‘I’ll go and ask Mrs Yates if Emily’s due for a visit soon.’

  Nora returned an hour later with a smile on her face.

  ‘Mrs Yates said their Emily will be popping over this week; she said she’d send her up here to have a word with Maggie.’