Time Goes By

by Margaret Thornton

  The surrender of Italy followed a few months later. The North Africa campaign had ended in total victory for the Allied forces, and that army was now freed to take part in the planned invasion of Europe, which was being known as the ‘Second Front’. The ongoing Battle of the Atlantic in May was another turning point. Forty German U-boats were destroyed and the transatlantic supply line was secure once again.

  On 17th May came the news that nineteen Lancaster bombers had successfully breached the two largest dams in the manufacturing district of the Ruhr Valley, by means of what was known as the ‘bouncing bomb’. The devastation and loss of life was tremendous, giving way to the thought in many thousands of minds that the majority of the casualties must have been innocent civilians. It had been reported in the newspapers that four thousand Germans had lost their lives in the flooding, and one hundred and twenty thousand had lost their homes.

  The loss of life in Great Britain had been equally catastrophic in the blitz of the major cities – London, Liverpool, Manchester, Plymouth, Coventry – in the earlier years of the war, and still there was continuing loss of life amongst the soldiers, sailors and airmen who were fighting and believing in an ultimate victory. Indeed, it was reported that several of the bombers that had taken part in the breaching of the Ruhr dams had not returned.

  At the time that baby Katherine was born on the last day of June, a mood of optimism was prevalent in the majority of households, none more so than in the homes of the Leigh and White families.

  It was a straightforward, comparatively easy birth. Barbara stayed at home for the confinement, and the baby was born in the bedroom that had always been hers and in which she and Albert sometimes slept when he was home on leave.

  All babies are beautiful, at least to their parents and close members of the family, but Barbara believed that her baby was, truly, the most beautiful baby she had ever seen. Her head was already covered with a mass of dark hair, clinging to her scalp in damp curly tendrils. Her cheeks were a rosy pink and her eyes, when she opened them, were a sort of inky grey. Barbara knew that babies couldn’t focus properly, not so soon after the birth, but they seemed to be staring right into those of her mother, who already adored her. Tentatively, Barbara reached out a finger, placing it in the tiny palm of the baby, and the minute fingers, like a little pink starfish, closed around her own. She felt a deep thrill, unlike anything she had experienced before, and a feeling of wonder that she should be entrusted with the care of this tiny child.

  ‘She looks just like you,’ her aunt and uncle, and Albert’s parents, told her.

  ‘And I think she’ll have your brown eyes when she’s a few weeks older,’ said Aunt Myrtle. ‘Babies’ eyes change, you know. They always look a sort of muddy grey at first.’

  Albert was granted a forty-eight-hour compassionate leave, and he was delighted with his new daughter. ‘I didn’t believe I could ever be any happier than I was when you said you would marry me,’ he told Barbara, ‘but now I know that I am even happier. I’m the happiest man in the world. Thank you, my darling. She’s … just perfect.’

  Between them they chose the names Katherine Louise, just because they liked them. But before long the little girl became known as Kathy.

  She was a good baby, waking only once in the night for a feed, and by the end of September, when she was three months old, she was sleeping right through the night.

  ‘You’re lucky,’ Albert’s mother told her. ‘I had endless trouble with both of mine. I forgot what a good night’s sleep was like until they were more than twelve months old, especially with our Albert. He was on a bottle by that time, mind you, so I made sure that Bill took his turn …’

  Albert, of course, could not take his turn at feeding the baby because he was not there, but Barbara was pleased that he did his share whenever he was home on leave. By the time baby Katherine was four months old she was being bottle-fed. In spite of Barbara’s somewhat shapely figure – she could not be called plump, but she was certainly not skinny and had a bust that might be the envy of many girls – she found that her supply of milk soon dried up. She had no regrets about this and Kathy took to the bottle without any problems.

  Albert came home on leave for the Christmas of 1943, but only on a forty-eight-hour pass. Barbara was sad to see him return to his camp, although, in a way, it was nice to have the baby all to herself again. He had, in fact, seemed at times to be more interested in the baby than he was in her, or had she been imagining it, she wondered? He was certainly taking his duties as a father very seriously. He watched her continually to make sure she was doing everything correctly – that the bath water was not too hot or too cold, the same with the bottle of milk, and that the nappies and little vests were well aired before the baby wore them.

  ‘How do you think I manage when you’re not here?’ Barbara asked him jokingly.

  ‘I’m sure you manage perfectly,’ he replied, kissing the end of her nose. ‘You’re a wonderful mother, but I like to do my share. I’m hoping it won’t be too long before I’m home for good, once we’ve got the better of old Hitler, then we can see about getting a little place of our own. Just you and me and little Kathy …’

  Yes, it would be nice to have their own place, thought Barbara, although her aunt and uncle, and Albert’s parents too, were very good to her. She had, of course, finished work well before the baby was born and there was no talk of her going back. Besides, mothers with young children were exempt from war work.

  Despite having the baby to care for, time began to hang rather heavy for Barbara and she was even feeling a little depressed, an unusual state for her. She had enjoyed her job as a telephonist and the camaraderie of the other girls. Her aunt persuaded her to go to the pictures now and again with a girlfriend; Dorothy was the young woman who had been her bridesmaid. She was unmarried, although she had a fiancé serving in the merchant navy. She was now working at a munitions factory in Blackpool.

  ‘Go out and enjoy yourself,’ said Barbara’s aunt, ‘and don’t worry about little Kathy. You know she’ll be quite all right with me and your uncle Ben.’

  And so Barbara and Dorothy started to go to the cinema once a week, very occasionally twice, and Barbara knew that her baby was in safe hands. She liked to get home by ten-thirty if possible, as her aunt and uncle did not keep late hours. She had her own door key, of course, but she did not want them to think she was taking advantage of their kindness. Her friend had been trying – though unsuccessfully at first – to persuade her to go dancing, to the Tower Ballroom, which was a favourite haunt of Dorothy’s.

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Barbara. ‘It wouldn’t really be fair, would it? I mean, with Albert away. I don’t think he would like the idea of me dancing with … well, with other men.’ She knew, in fact, that Albert would hate it.

  ‘You have to wait to be asked!’ joked Dorothy. ‘You’d be surprised how many girls you see dancing together. Although I must admit there’s no shortage of male partners, especially now the Yanks are here. I’ll dance with you. I can do a pretty nifty quickstep, and Albert can’t object to that, can he?’

  ‘What does your Raymond think about you going dancing whilst he’s away on the high seas?’ asked Barbara.

  ‘I don’t know, because I don’t tell him,’ answered Dorothy, laughing. ‘He wouldn’t mind, though. He knows I don’t intend to stay at home knitting. I write to him every week, but I don’t see why I shouldn’t go out and have a good time. Life can be pretty grim, and boring too, you must admit, in spite of them saying that victory’s just round the corner. Please say you’ll come with me, Barbara, just for once and see how you like it.’

  And so Barbara agreed, although she was very unsure about it, to accompany her friend to the Tower Ballroom the following Saturday, the first Saturday in the February of 1944.

  ‘Good for you,’ said her aunt. ‘Off you go and enjoy yourself. And don’t worry about what Albert would say.’ In Myrtle White’s opinion, although she liked Albert ver
y much, she had realised after spending more time in his company that he was something of a fusspot. He was clearly devoted to Barbara, and to the baby, but she had a feeling he might turn out to be rather critical and possessive, once the euphoria of marrying the girl of his dreams had worn off. ‘There’s an old saying, you know,’ her aunt went on. ‘What the eye doesn’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve at. And it isn’t as if you’re doing anything wrong. Lots of girls go dancing, even those whose husbands are away. I know how much you used to enjoy going dancing at the Palace.’

  ‘That was with Albert,’ replied Barbara. ‘It was Albert, really, who taught me how to dance properly. I wasn’t much good until he took me in hand.’

  ‘Well, there you are, then,’ said Myrtle. ‘Go and trip the light fantastic and you’ll feel better for it. And take your key. I know how you always try to get back early, but there’s no need. It isn’t as if you’re still a fifteen-year-old, is it? You’re a married woman now, and your uncle and I understand that.’

  ‘I shouldn’t be all that late, anyway,’ agreed Barbara. ‘I think the dance halls all close round about eleven o’clock. And I’ll be walking home with Dorothy, so we’ll be quite all right.’

  ‘Well, don’t forget to take your torch …’

  ‘No, I won’t forget,’ smiled Barbara, ‘and my gas mask. Although folks don’t seem to be bothering quite so much now. The danger seems to be past … thank God,’ she added.

  The blackout was still in force, though, but everyone had grown quite used to going out in the dark, armed with a torch, and finding their way by means of the white edgings on kerbs and road crossings.

  ‘I’m ever so glad you decided to come with me,’ said Dorothy, squeezing her friend’s arm as they stood at the bus stop, waiting for the bus that would take them to the Central Station stop, near to the Tower. ‘You’ll enjoy it, I know you will. It’s been ever such fun since the Yanks came to Blackpool.’

  There were two American bases where the GIs were stationed, at the outlying villages of Weeton and Warton, a few miles distant from Blackpool.

  ‘You hear a lot of tales about them,’ Dorothy continued, ‘but they’re real nice guys, the ones I’ve met at any rate. And you should see them do the jitterbug! They’re not supposed to do it on the ballroom floor, because it’s a bit dangerous, all that prancing about and throwing the girls around. But they usually find a spot away from the ballroom where they don’t get in the way of the more … what shall I say? … more prim and proper dancers.’

  ‘And can you do it?’ asked Barbara, smiling. ‘This jitterbugging?’

  ‘I’ve not tried yet,’ said Dorothy. ‘I’ve not been asked. But you never know, do you? Oh see, here’s our bus. We’re going to have a whale of a time, Barbara, I know we are.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  America had entered the war two years previously. It had been on 7th December, 1941, that the war had entered upon a new and significant phase. The Americans, led by President Roosevelt, had delayed entering the conflict, believing it to be a solely European war and, therefore, of no real concern to them. However, the Japanese attack on the US naval base at Pearl Harbour, Hawaii, forced them to change their outlook. The neutrality and isolationist policy of the American people was at an end, and when the USA eventually did enter the war they did so with determination.

  The arrival of the American servicemen – known as GIs – had, so far, had little impact on Barbara or on her family and that of Albert’s family next door. At the time of their marriage both the Whites’ and the Leighs’ boarding houses were still being used as billets for the RAF personnel, one group of men following upon another as their initial training came to an end.

  Barbara had seen the GIs, of course, strolling around the streets of Blackpool. Their smart uniforms – a sort of brownish green and made of a fine cloth – contrasted greatly with the coarse material of the RAF and army uniforms of the British troops. Those had been designed for practicality and hard wear, not to enhance the figure! ‘And not to attract the birds, either,’ Barbara had overheard one of the RAF lads saying to his mate. The higher ranks in the British services wore uniforms of a finer material, but all ranks of American servicemen, both privates and officers, were dressed in the same impeccable manner.

  Barbara had also heard the phrase ‘overpaid, oversexed and over here’ on the lips of some of the RAF lads who were billeted at the boarding house; it was a phrase that was being bandied about both by servicemen and civilians. In some instances it could be seen as a question of ‘sour grapes’. It could not be denied that the American troops were overpaid, at least by British standards. They were paid five times as much as their British counterparts. The wages of an ordinary soldier in the US army was, in some cases, as high as those of a British officer.

  As well as that, the GIs had access to what was known as the PX (Post Exchange), a sort of NAAFI, where all kinds of luxury goods were available, goods such as had not been seen in Britain for years. Chewing gum, sweets (which they called candies), oranges, butter, spirits, cigarettes, razor blades, and sweet-smelling soap – a contrast to the hard carbolic soap being used in the British households, and even that was rationed. Ice cream had been banned for the duration in the September of 1942, but it was available on the American bases.

  Barbara’s friend, Dorothy, had even managed to acquire a pair of the newly invented nylon stockings, which no British girl had ever seen before. She had been given them by her friend, Mavis, a girl who worked with her at the munitions factory. Mavis was keeping company – for the time being, at least – with a GI from Maryland whose name was Hank. It seemed that a goodly number of them were called Hank.

  ‘Honestly, they’re so fine you can’t tell you’re wearing them,’ Dorothy had told Barbara. ‘Except for the seam up the back, of course. They’re just like gossamer, not that I’m really sure what gossamer is,’ she laughed. ‘I’ll have to be real careful not to ladder them; they’re so sheer, though, that a ladder might not even show. She’s had chocolates from this Hank as well, my friend Mavis, and tinned peaches. And he got her dad a carton of Camel cigarettes. I didn’t ask her what she had to do to get them, mind you, if you know what I mean.’ Dorothy winked and sniggered.

  ‘Dorothy, really!’ exclaimed Barbara. ‘You don’t think, surely …?’

  ‘Well, she’s footloose and fancy free, is Mavis. She’s not got a husband or fiancé, like you and me. And I must admit she’s done the rounds; she’s had a go with most of ’em. Our own RAF lads, Poles, Aussies, Free French, and now the Yanks. You’ve heard the expression about the Yanks?’

  ‘You mean, overpaid … and all that?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. Of course, I don’t really know about the “oversexed” bit. Mavis plays her cards very close to her chest. It may well be that she just likes to have a good time with no strings attached. She’s a stunning-looking girl, I must admit; it’s no wonder that the blokes all go for her. She might be there on Saturday night, at the Tower. If she is I’ll introduce you to her. She told me that Hank is teaching her to jitterbug …’

  It was not without a certain amount of trepidation that Barbara made her way to the Tower Ballroom on that Saturday night. The last time she had been dancing had been with Albert, and that had been long before baby Katherine was born. It had been the Palace Ballroom, rather than the Tower or the Winter Gardens, that Albert had favoured, and so Barbara had come to prefer that smaller and, she believed, much friendlier venue.

  She had been to the Tower a few times, before Albert had come on the scene. She had danced there with her fiancé, Mike, who had been killed at Dunkirk. She had always felt that the Tower was somewhat brash and noisy, the place where the good-time girls hung out to ‘click with a feller’. And there were plenty of those around at the moment, to be sure. But she told herself not to be stupid. She was a married woman now, mature and self-confident and well able to look after herself. She was going along solely to enjoy the music and gaiety, to hav
e a change from the day-to-day routine and to forget the gloom and the deprivations that were a result of the ongoing war.

  It was hard to believe that Britain had now been at war for more than four years. Admittedly there was no longer the despondency and fear for the future that there had been in the early years. Some believed that victory was assured and that it could even be brought about before the end of the year. All Barbara knew was that one had to go on hoping and praying …

  The Tower Ballroom had been the dream, brought to life, of John Bickerstaffe – later Sir John – the first chairman of the Blackpool Tower Company. It had been his ambition to create a ballroom to equal, or preferably better, the Empress Ballroom in the Winter Gardens. To achieve this aim Mr Bickerstaffe had engaged the noted architect, Frank Matcham, to transform the room that was at first known as the Grand Pavilion. Frank Matcham was already well known and revered in the town, having designed Blackpool’s Grand Theatre in 1894.

  The ballroom was decorated in the French renaissance style and when it was completed in 1899 it was believed to be one of the three finest in the country; it had even been described as the finest in the whole of Europe. It was said that up to seven thousand people could be seated comfortably in the two tiers of balconies, supported by massive gilded pillars. At one end of the room was a large ornate stage with a quotation inscribed above it in gold lettering. ‘Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear’ it read, a quotation from Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis. Large classical paintings adorned the ceilings and the surrounding walls, depicting idyllic scenes of nymphs, shepherds and shepherdesses, Grecian gods, and heroes taken from ancient legends; gilded motifs, too, bearing the names of famous composers, Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin …

  Two large and elaborate chandeliers were flanked by a series of smaller ones, casting a radiance of electric light down onto the ballroom floor; this form of lighting was in its infancy at the end of the nineteenth century. The floor was a marvel in itself, comprising thousands of blocks of mahogany, oak, walnut and maple woods arranged in an intricate geometric design.