The Butlins Girls

by Elaine Everest

  ‘We are safe today. I heard he is on duty taking photographs of Billy Butlin with the campers. Spud told Plum the odious man has even done a deal to sell some to the newspapers.’

  ‘In that case, you keep well clear. We don’t want to draw attention to you until Gordon has cleared his name. Why don’t you go and help Plum with the donkey rides? It’s part of our duties as Butlins aunties so won’t look too suspicious.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ Bunty said as she gave Molly a hug and turned away into the crowd. ‘Whatever would I do without you?’ she called over her shoulder.

  ‘You’d manage.’ Molly laughed.

  The redcoats had been totally unaware of Billy Butlins visit until an hour before he arrived in his chauffeured limousine. Johnny and Connie had called the staff together to inform them of his imminent arrival and to ask those who were off duty if they’d be prepared to work an extra shift. Not one redcoat complained, as most had never met the great man and were keen to see the showman-turned-holiday-camp-owner in the flesh. So, it seemed, were the campers, and as word spread through the camp that he was visiting to judge that afternoon’s beauty competition, there was an extra buzz in the air. Little did the holidaymakers know that besides shaking hands and being a sociable, smiling face, Mr Butlin would also be going behind the scenes and checking a hundred and one things to ensure his camp was being run just as he liked. Not one staff member could breathe easy until the great man had departed the camp and they were told that all was as it should be.

  It was a memorable day for staff and campers, who would tell the story of how they met Billy Butlin to their children and grandchildren in the years to come.

  ‘I’m sorry to see the Sangster family leave,’ Molly said sadly as she waved goodbye to the last coach as it headed out of Butlins on the Saturday morning.

  ‘It feels as though I’ve worked for Butlins for months,’ Bunty said as they turned to head back to reception.

  ‘Let’s have a drink in the coffee bar before our staff meeting and the new intake of campers arrive and we start all over again,’ Molly suggested.

  The girls linked arms and strolled towards the coffee bar. They often enjoyed their breaks with fellow redcoats, catching up on news of the camp and also the outside world while popular records played in the background.

  ‘Miss Missons, I have something for you.’ Gloria, the receptionist whom Molly had seen on Johnny’s arm a few times, strode towards her. ‘I don’t make a habit of delivering redcoats’ post, but Mr Johnson told me you were out here.’ She handed a white envelope to Molly. ‘I told Mr Johnson it’s most likely just a love letter from one of the many young men who follow you around the camp, but he insisted that I give it to you all the same,’ she said with a thin smile that did not quite reach her eyes.

  Molly took the letter and thanked Gloria. ‘I have no idea who would write to me.’

  ‘Probably one of those “many young men”,’ Bunty sniggered for the benefit of Gloria, who was walking away far too slowly, intent on listening to what the two friends were chatting about.

  ‘Oh, it’s from the Sangster family,’ Molly said with a smile as she removed a pretty card from the envelope. ‘They are thanking me for looking after them during their holiday and reminding me to write. Isn’t that nice?’

  ‘It’s all right, Gloria. You can report back to your boss that Molly doesn’t have a missive from a young man and all is in order,’ Bunty said loudly, making sure the receptionist could hear. She did, as she stuck her nose in the air and headed back to her office at a fast pace. Bunty started to giggle, then froze. ‘Oh, blast. Whatever have I done? Trust me and my big mouth!’

  Molly frowned and looked to where Bunty was staring. It was Charlie Porter and he wasn’t at all happy. ‘Oops. I think it’s time we put Mr Porter in the picture, don’t you? Let’s invite him for a coffee.’

  ‘I think you’ve got some explaining to do,’ Charlie Porter said as he placed his cup on the table and sat down next to the three girls.

  Molly and Bunty had been pleased to see Plum already in the coffee bar when they arrived and they’d quickly informed her of Bunty letting the cat out of the bag and that Charlie now knew Molly was not Bunty. Plum, being slightly older and more worldly-wise, would be able to deal with whatever happened next.

  ‘We have no idea what you mean,’ Plum said, stubbing out her cigarette in a tin ashtray that advertised a well-known brand of beer.

  ‘Come off it, girls. I reckon you’ve been leading me a merry dance this past week or so. You’re not Bunty Grainger,’ he said, nodding towards Molly.

  ‘I never said I was,’ Molly replied.

  ‘So, come on, love,’ he said, ignoring Molly and turning to Bunty. ‘Where’s the boyfriend? I know you’re hiding him here somewhere.’

  ‘He’s not—’ Bunty started to say before Plum placed her hand on Bunty’s arm to stop her speaking.

  All eyes turned to Plum, who slowly lit another cigarette before speaking. ‘What’s it to you who we are and if we have boyfriends?’

  Charlie leaned back in his seat and nodded. He could see that Plum would be a problem if he didn’t tread carefully. Posh birds always were. ‘Sorry, Lady Plumley. I didn’t know you was part of the crime. I s’pose your mates here know they are sleeping in a shed with an aristocrat?’

  Plum felt her heart beat a little faster. The man was good at his job. She’d known her secret would come out before too long. She only had herself to blame for not telling the girls sooner about her past. After all, they’d been above board with her.

  Molly squeezed Plum’s hand under the table. Whoever Plum was, she deserved privacy, and regardless of her family, she was a good sort. She’d no doubt explain later if she wanted to. ‘We know who Plum is, thank you, Mr Porter. We also know who you are. I wonder if Billy Butlin knows you are spying on his staff and pretending to be a camp photographer, when in fact you are a reporter for a tacky national newspaper.’

  Charlie thought for a minute, then gave them a toothy grin, showing his nicotine-stained teeth. ‘You’ve got me there. I s’pose you could call this a stalemate. You haven’t got any little secrets, have you?’ he asked, looking at Molly, whose cheeks suddenly turned pink. ‘Ho, ho, perhaps I’ll leave you until later.’

  ‘Mr Porter, I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just leave my friends alone, please,’ Bunty begged. She was surprised at what the man had said about Plum and knew that Molly felt uncomfortable with anyone knowing about her problems at home. Not that it would be of interest to the kind of people who read the newspaper he wrote for. Then again, if he even got a sniff of the fact she was keen on Johnny Johnson – and Bunty was sure it was reciprocated in some small way by the screen idol – then he could create a very unpleasant headline.

  Charlie nodded. ‘I want an exclusive interview with your boyfriend, the murderer Gordon Taylor,’ he said, glancing at Molly and Plum as if he were revealing a big secret.

  ‘Give over, Charlie,’ Plum said, blowing smoke into his face. ‘We know about Gordon and we’ve met him, so you can stop being so dramatic.’

  ‘So I was right. He did follow you here,’ he said, looking around the busy coffee bar.

  ‘No, I followed him here, but he’s been gone for over a week. You’ve missed your story,’ Bunty said, feeling a little braver with Plum and Molly by her side.

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. You’ve been helping to harbour a criminal – all three of you. He’s a murderer on the run and you three are accomplices.’ He smiled. ‘That’ll be a nice little earner for me and will put me in my editor’s good books as well as stick my name on the front page.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Very nice, if I do say so myself.’

  Plum looked at the faces of those sitting round the table – Molly and Bunty, both a little fearful, and Charlie Porter grinning like a cat who’d got the cream. ‘You could do much better than naming us in your newspaper, you know.’

  Charlie frowned. ‘What do yer mean?’


  ‘We may know where Gordon is and what he’s up to. Do as we say and you could have a prize-winning article and not something that’ll be wrapping the next day’s chips. You’ve got to trust us, though.’

  Charlie thought for a moment before looking Plum straight in the eye. ‘For some reason, I trust you. I’ll go along with what you say for now, but I want details of everything that’s happened or I’ll shop the lot of you to the police and write what I know.’

  Plum stood up. ‘It’s a deal, but you’ll have to forgive us. We have a meeting to attend. You can have your story tomorrow after lunch. Come along, ladies,’ she said as she headed towards the door. ‘We have work to do.’

  ‘So what do we do now?’ Bunty said as she sat in bed hugging her knees. It was the first chance the girls had had to chat since they’d met Charlie Porter in the coffee bar. ‘I really don’t want to tell him where Gordon is, assuming he’s reached Dumfries. It’s been over a week since he left the funfair. Goodness knows what’s happened. I haven’t been able to concentrate on a thing knowing we have to talk to that infuriating man tomorrow.’

  ‘I noticed,’ Molly said as she climbed into her own bed. ‘You didn’t even hear that camper shout, “Bingo,” when he won the full house and he was standing not ten feet from you.’

  ‘He did make me jump.’ Bunty smiled. ‘I did my best to pay attention after that.’

  Plum leaped onto her bed and picked up a pen and notepaper from the nearby table. ‘I’ve made some notes and think I know how to handle our Mr Porter. We give him the news that Gordon did not murder his wife and that he knows who did kill Aileen. We tell him how Gordon acted on impulse when he escaped during the air raid and that all he thought of was that the murderer needed to be behind bars so Bunty’s name could be cleared and she would be able to nurse again, and of course he would be able to work as a doctor once more.’

  ‘That would certainly tug at his heartstrings,’ Molly said.

  ‘But what if the police see the story and go after Gordon and the real murderer, Richard, is never caught? He will be sent back to prison and the three of us will no doubt be in trouble as well.’

  ‘But we don’t know where Gordon is, do we?’ Plum said, giving them both a wink.

  ‘But he is staying—’ Bunty was cut short by Plum and Molly placing their fingers in their ears and singing, ‘La, la, la, la, la, la,’ extremely loudly.

  ‘Did you hear something?’ Plum asked Molly.

  ‘Not a sausage, Plum,’ Molly answered with a cheeky grin.

  ‘Do you remember that poster from the war “Careless talk costs lives”? Keep anything about Gordon to yourself. We don’t want to know.’

  ‘I can’t even tell you what he says when he writes to me?’ Bunty asked.

  ‘Definitely not! In fact, he isn’t going to write to you.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean, Plum? We have no reason to think Richard has moved from the area as he would want to see his son – even if Aileen’s family believe Gordon is the true father.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong. The only letters arriving here will be for me from my aunt Gertrude, and this is what she’ll be saying.’ Plum handed a page of neatly written words to Bunty. Molly leaned over her shoulder to see what Plum had noted down.

  ‘Let me get this right. When Richard has been located, Gordon is to write to you pretending to be your aunt Gertrude saying she’s “located the right shade of embroidery silks to complete her tapestry of the family coat of arms”,’ Bunty said.

  ‘Yes, and if things go pear-shaped, Aunt Gertrude will write that “The old brown cow has died.”’

  ‘It seems very straightforward,’ Molly said. ‘You seem to have a statement for every eventuality. How will Gordon know to use these phrases?’

  Plum passed her notepad to Bunty. ‘You are going to write to him this instant and enclose the list of Aunt Gertie’s comments. I’ll post the letter first thing when I exercise the ponies. There’s a letterbox down the lane. It’s best not left in reception for collection. You never know who’s watching. I assume you have an address to contact him?’

  ‘Yes, it’s—’

  Again the two girls put their fingers in their ears and started to sing.

  Bunty giggled. ‘I get the message.’ She started to write her letter to her fiancé but looked up. ‘By the way, what’s all this about you being called Lady Plumley?’

  Plum grinned. ‘That story, my sweetie, is for another time.’ She lay down, turning her back on Molly and Bunty. ‘Night-night, girlies. Turn the light out when you’ve finished. Don’t be too late. We have our rehearsal tomorrow for the Redcoat Variety Show.’ As she closed her eyes, she heard her two friends groan.

  Molly had known since her interview in London that she may have to perform as a Butlins redcoat. She could belt out a song if need be, and had been a regular in the church choir, but to stand up and sing in front of over a thousand campers was another thing completely. Standing in the wings of the theatre waiting for her turn to perform, she felt more than a little sick and hadn’t been able to eat her dinner, even though it was her favourite, fish and chips. In her hand were the words to a well-known song, which she was expected to sing alone in the centre of the stage with a spotlight picking her out in the darkness. She was word-perfect and had sailed through rehearsals that afternoon, despite having no knowledge of the running order of the acts. The wardrobe department had supplied her with a beautiful grey satin gown with fitted bodice and flowing skirt. With her hair brushed away from her face and pearl earrings clipped to her ears, she felt glamorous and a little giddy. Perhaps she could get through this if she just focused on the words. Pulling black satin evening gloves up her arms and patting her hair, she laid the sheet of music aside and concentrated on her performance.

  On stage, Plum was using her husky voice to great effect as she leaned on a piano singing Cole Porter’s ‘Night and Day’. The late-night show contained popular American songs. She knew that Plum would take a bow and leave the stage, then return for a short performance before it was Molly’s turn. She clapped along enthusiastically with the audience as Plum took her bow before heading to where Molly was standing. Unlike Molly’s full-skirted dress, Plum’s midnight-blue gown fitted tightly, emphasizing her slim form with a train of glittering voile trailing behind her. Reaching Molly, she grinned before turning to go back on stage.

  ‘Ouch – that hurt!’

  ‘Whatever’s wrong, Plum? Have you hurt yourself?’ Molly asked as Plum leaned over and rubbed her ankle.

  ‘It’s these blooming shoes. I don’t wear heels much these days and I caught my ankle as I turned,’ Plum replied. ‘I really can’t walk. Look, you are going to have to go on in my place.’

  Molly’s face went pale. ‘But I can’t. I don’t know what to do. Will I have to sing?’

  ‘No, just stand by the piano while the man sings and try to look interested,’ Plum instructed as she hobbled to a nearby chair and plonked herself down. ‘Hurry – the curtain will be going up soon.’

  Molly had no choice but to help out her friend. She walked to the piano and stood on the mark the pianist pointed out to her as he started to play. In front of the red velvet curtain she heard the compère announce the next song. Slowly, as the curtain rose, the first lines of ‘The Way You Look Tonight’ were sung. Molly knew the song well from a Fred Astaire film she’d seen. It was very romantic, and if she’d not been so nervous, she would have found the whole experience wonderful.

  As the curtain rose higher and higher, Molly tried to pose as she felt a woman being serenaded by her beloved would have posed. It was then she realized who was singing. It was Johnny. His face was a picture as he turned towards the piano and saw Molly standing there. Being a professional, he continued singing without missing a beat and moved towards her. Taking Molly into his arms, he moved her gracefully round the stage before continuing to sing.

  If Molly could have drawn breath, she would have noticed his fresh colog
ne; instead, she felt his strong shoulders under the white tuxedo jacket and his arms holding her close. Please don’t step on his toes, she screamed inside her head. She’d heard Johnny sing in several of his movies so was not surprised by his tenor voice and how meaningful he made each word sound.

  All too soon the song came to an end and she curtsied as he took a bow. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Molly Missons,’ he announced, before kissing her hand and leaving the stage without a backward glance.

  The piano struck a note, indicating she should start her song. Molly controlled her feelings as she watched Johnny depart the stage. ‘Someday he’ll come along, the man I love . . .’

  She felt every word was true as she poured her heart out on stage. To rapturous applause, her fellow entertainers returned to the stage for a final song and the curtain went down for the last time.

  ‘You did very well, Molly,’ Johnny said as he approached her.

  ‘Th-thank you . . .’ was all she could stammer before running to the dressing room and closing the door. What was happening to her? It was only a song . . .

  13

  ‘It’s wonderful to hear your voice, my love. Do you have enough coins, or should I try to telephone you back?’

  Molly smiled. She knew that Kath was fearful of using the telephone in the shop and would jump if it rang when she was nearby. She treated it like a piece of furniture, having crocheted a small mat for it to sit upon and polished the black phone until it shone. It was treated with reverence, as it could bring news, good or bad. ‘I have plenty of pennies, Kath. I’ve been saving them specially to speak to you all. Now, tell me what’s been happening at home.’ Molly made herself as comfortable as she could in the red telephone box she’d found down a narrow, winding lane not far from the Butlins holiday camp and prepared to listen to the latest news from Erith.

  Kath chatted away happily about the goings-on in the town and what the neighbours had been up to since Molly moved away. Molly listened quietly, wishing she was once more sitting at Kath’s kitchen table enjoying the company of the older woman. She closed her eyes and imagined being back home.