A Distant Dream

by Pamela Evans

  ‘What difference does that make?’ asked May naively. ‘He’s a thief whatever class bracket he’s in.’

  ‘It will be your word against his, and apart from anything else, you will be in trouble for making the accusation,’ Miss Palmer explained.

  ‘I’d sooner lose my job than let him get away with it, especially as the machinists are all under suspicion,’ May told her.

  ‘That’s all very well, my dear, but things could get very unpleasant indeed for you, and as the head of the department it’s my job to protect you.’

  ‘I don’t want protecting, I want justice,’ declared May. ‘Anyway, it isn’t just an accusation. It’s true. I heard it loud and clear. The man is a thief and he’ll do it again as soon as he thinks it’s safe.’

  ‘But it is all just hearsay,’ said Miss Palmer. ‘We have no evidence and Mr Saxon will deny it if challenged to save his own skin.’

  ‘Surely you are going to report it to someone on the management, Miss Palmer,’ said May.

  The other woman mulled it over. ‘I’m not sure what I’m going to do about it at the moment. Leave it with me.’

  ‘If you don’t tell someone at the top, I will,’ said May in a determined manner.

  ‘Don’t threaten me please, my dear,’ said Miss Palmer in that way she had of making a point without raising her voice; a kind of polite determination with a hint of admonition. ‘And don’t tell anyone else about this. No one at all for the moment.’

  ‘Oh, but—’

  ‘Absolutely no one, and that includes your friend from the factory who is staying with you,’ she repeated. ‘Now get along back to the switchboard and relieve whoever is covering for you. I’ll let you know what’s going to happen.’

  Clearly nothing, thought May crossly as she went back to her place at the switchboard. Talk about one rule for the management and another for the workers. If that had been a machinist she had overheard, they would have been sacked instantly and probably reported to the police.

  The desert moon was so brilliant it was almost like daylight. Some men chatted, others preferred to sit in quiet contemplation smoking; some prayed. Most were nervous because soon they would be forging ahead again in the battle for El Alamein, which was proving to be the most brutal experience of George’s life, a graveyard for both sides.

  War dehumanised people as far as George could make out. He himself had become almost immune to death, having seen so much of it. He’d seen mates drop beside him; others lose limbs and lie screaming with pain in the sand. The Allies were making headway, but at what price?

  Anyone who said they weren’t afraid was lying in George’s opinion. He himself was paralysed with fear at times. But still he went on, because there was no choice. In the midst of battle you stopped feeling and relied on instinct and the will to stay alive.

  In this quiet time before battle commenced again, he thought of home and the bomb sites he’d seen on that last leave, and of Betty killed before she was even twenty-one, and he reminded himself that he wasn’t the only one suffering.

  He’d had some leave in Cairo a while ago, which had been a welcome break from the fighting. Most of the men had made a beeline for the bars; female company too had been high on many of the lads’ agendas.

  George had enjoyed the respite, but it was a poor substitute for home leave. He was beginning to feel completely distanced from home and a normal way of life. It seemed like another world, a world he didn’t know if he would ever see again. He wasn’t much of a churchgoer, but these days he often prayed, and he did so now.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Contrary to May’s suspicions, the conversation she’d had with Miss Palmer wasn’t the end of the matter as regarded Mr Saxon and the silk stealing.

  ‘I want you to call me to the switchboard when Mr Saxon’s contact comes through again,’ the older woman said, speaking to May in a confidential manner at her desk. ‘I need to listen in.’

  ‘He might not ring up again,’ suggested May.

  ‘If he’s putting pressure on Mr Saxon for more material, as you say he is, he’ll call again.’

  ‘But I’ve told you what was said. Why can’t you take my word for it?’ asked May, impatient for the matter to progress and slightly miffed that her account of the conversation wasn’t to be trusted.

  ‘I need to hear what is said before I take things further,’ Miss Palmer explained. ‘It’s a very serious matter and I have to make sure that the people at the top take notice. If I have actually heard it for myself, I can speak to them with more confidence.’

  ‘You’ll be breaking the rules by listening in deliberately, though,’ May pointed out.

  ‘Needs must when the devil drives, my dear.’

  ‘Why will they believe it if you have heard it rather than me?’ asked May.

  ‘Obviously because I am a senior member of staff and an employee of very long standing,’ she explained in a forthright manner. ‘I was working here long before they started making parachutes, whereas you are a mere girl and a newcomer. It is no reflection on you personally, but on your word alone they might dismiss the whole thing and you along with it for eavesdropping.’

  ‘But you could be in deep trouble if you are going to listen in,’ May reminded her worriedly.

  ‘If that happens, then so be it,’ she said. ‘Justice must be done, as you have said. So if that certain gentleman calls again, delay the connection until I am there. If I am not around, then find me.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Palmer,’ said May obediently.

  Several weeks passed before Mr Saxon’s ‘friend’ telephoned again and May was beginning to think they had heard the last of him. When he did finally get in touch, their plan was foiled, because although May delayed the connection until Miss Palmer was in place with the headphones on, Mr Saxon wasn’t in his office and couldn’t be found. The caller refused the offer of a call back and said he would telephone Mr Saxon at some other time.

  ‘We’ll just have to hope he doesn’t ring him at home, won’t we?’ said May.

  ‘Indeed,’ the other woman agreed.

  He came through again the next day, however, and this time things did go according to plan.

  ‘Gotcha,’ said Miss Palmer, returning the headphones to May when she had heard enough. ‘It’s time I went to visit our managing director, I think.’ She paused. ‘Don’t worry, my dear. I will take full responsibility for our eavesdropping.’

  ‘There’s no need for that,’ May assured her. ‘I’m willing to shoulder the blame if things turn nasty. So long as Mr Saxon gets his due and the machinists are off the hook, I’ll take my chances.’

  But there were no repercussions. The matter was dealt with quietly and promptly. Mr Saxon left the company immediately and a memo was circulated to all departments to that effect. His dishonesty was mentioned but not how it was discovered. The factory was buzzing with it.

  ‘That’s a turn-up for the books, old Saxon getting the sack,’ remarked Connie when she and May were waiting for the bus after work. ‘It was him all along who was nicking the material; the thieving old devil.’

  ‘Mm,’ muttered May vaguely.

  ‘I wonder how they found out,’ Connie mused.

  ‘Yeah,’ said May innocently. She was still sworn to secrecy over the matter. Her part in it was crucial but the method used had been unethical to say the least, so Miss Palmer deemed it wise to keep it quiet in case of later repercussions. ‘Still, as long as they’ve got the right person, it doesn’t really matter, does it?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Connie as they got on the bus.

  May smiled, pleased that justice had been done.

  There was a big day in the Bailey home in the spring of the following year, because Joe was to start school. So important was it judged to be that May took a day’s leave so that she could go with his grandmother to the school to offer some moral support. Joe was gleaming with cleanliness, every one of his curly hairs combed into place, and enthusiastic about this
new adventure, though he didn’t seem to have quite grasped the rules. ‘I shall come home if I don’t like it,’ he announced chirpily.

  As it was his first day, they were allowed to take him into the school and hand him over to the care of the teacher, but any tendency to linger was firmly discouraged as were any attempts to inform the teacher of a child’s personal needs.

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ said May to Dot as they walked across the playground on their way out.

  ‘Course he will,’ agreed Dot, wet eyed.

  ‘He’ll have a lovely time, I bet,’ remarked May.

  ‘I’m not so sure about us, though,’ said Dot. ‘I think we’d better have a cup o’ tea at my place to keep us going. It’s a long time until we can collect him.’

  ‘I’ll go along with that,’ agreed May.

  ‘He’s only gone to school; he hasn’t been sent out to clean chimneys or anything,’ said Sheila, who was home on leave and in the kitchen in her pyjamas when Dot and May got back, both of them close to tears.

  ‘It’s a big thing, Sheila, a new era,’ said Dot emotionally. ‘He’ll never be quite the same again.’

  ‘We all have to grow up, Mum,’ said Sheila. She was sitting at the kitchen table smoking and drinking a cup of tea.

  ‘I hope the teacher realises that he’s quite a sensitive little boy even though he seems very confident,’ said Dot, too engrossed in thoughts of Joe to pay much attention to her daughter.

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed May, sounding concerned. ‘He doesn’t need the other kids to be too rough with him.’

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ said Sheila in a tone of affectionate admonition. ‘He’s gone to school, not into the army cadets to be trained for the front line.’

  ‘He’s still being plunged into a new world, though, isn’t he?’ her mother pointed out.

  ‘Gawd blimey, I don’t remember all this drama when I started school.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have known about it because you were only five, the same as Joe is,’ her mother pointed out.

  ‘Mm, there is that, I suppose,’ Sheila conceded. ‘Anyway, there’s tea in the pot, so have a cup and calm down, the pair of you.’

  They did as she said and spoke of other things.

  ‘So what do you do for fun these days, May?’ enquired Sheila with interest.

  ‘Not a lot,’ she replied. ‘Usually go to the pictures once a week with my friend who’s staying with us.’

  ‘Don’t you go out dancing?’

  ‘No, not since Doug died.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ said Sheila. ‘It’s terrific fun now that the Yanks are around. They’re very smart, and boy can they jitterbug.’

  ‘I haven’t been to a dance since they’ve been over here,’ said May. ‘But I’ve seen them around in London and heard about the jitterbugging, of course.’

  ‘How about we have a night out?’ suggested Sheila. ‘Bring your friend along; the more the merrier.’

  ‘I’m not looking for a chap at the moment,’ said May.

  ‘I suggested we go out dancing for a bit of fun, not sign up at a marriage bureau.’

  ‘She’s sort of with George now, aren’t you, love?’ said Dot supportively.

  ‘And you think George doesn’t have any fun when he gets leave, wherever he is?’

  ‘I haven’t really thought about it,’ she said.

  ‘You’re not engaged to him, are you?’

  ‘Well, no . . .’

  ‘George is the last person to want you to stay at home every night,’ pronounced Sheila. ‘He would want you to enjoy yourself. God knows we need to take our minds off the flamin’ war.’

  ‘I’ll see what Connie has to say about it and let you know,’ said May.

  ‘Good.’ Sheila lapsed into silence. ‘So what time can we go and get Joe?’ she asked eventually.

  They both stared at her.

  ‘What was all that about us making a fuss over nothing?’ asked her mother with a wry grin.

  ‘You were going on about it a bit, but . . . well, he is only little and he is my favourite nephew,’ she said.

  ‘You only have one,’ her mother reminded her.

  ‘All the more reason why I should come with you to meet him later on then,’ said Sheila.

  ‘Maybe you do have a heart after all,’ said Dot. ‘Even though you do your best to hide it.’

  May kept a diplomatic silence. This was definitely a private moment between mother and daughter.

  The Lyceum in London’s West End was crowded, smoky, dimly lit and buzzing with fun and laughter. Most of the men were in uniform and they were of many nationalities.

  May had no shortage of partners. She waltzed with a Polish soldier, quickstepped with a Canadian airman and learned to jitterbug with an American GI called Tom, who was polite, smart and unbelievably handsome.

  Once she began to get the hang of the jive and the jitterbug she couldn’t get enough of them and danced every dance after the interval with the gorgeous GI. It was fun, exciting, and she was having a wonderful time. When it came to the last waltz, however, it became obvious that he had mistaken her enthusiasm for the dance for something of a more personal nature, and she found herself fighting him off rather forcibly.

  But she had enjoyed herself immensely despite this little misunderstanding. It was a tonic to see everyone looking so well turned out, the men in uniform, the women smart despite a shortage of clothes and stockings and almost non-existent cosmetics and toiletries. But they all looked nice with hair done, stocking seams painted up the back of their legs with charcoal and beetroot juice for lipstick.

  It spoke volumes about the tenacity of the human spirit, she thought. No matter how hard life became, people could still go out and have fun. Hitler probably hadn’t bargained on that when he set out to seek world domination.

  ‘I didn’t expect you to come home with us, May,’ said Sheila when the three of them were on the train. ‘I thought you’d have a much more interesting escort.’

  ‘If you mean the American, he did ask to take me home as it happens,’ she told her.

  ‘And you said no,’ Sheila said incredulously.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Have you lost your mind?’

  ‘Not at all. I’m very sane as it happens,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want to do what he obviously had in mind and I think I have the right to refuse even if I did dance with him a lot.’

  ‘You could have held him off and got a good few treats out of it,’ Sheila said laughingly. ‘The Yanks are loaded and they can get all sorts of nice things. Think of all those lovely nylons and chocolates you could have had.’

  ‘I couldn’t be that materialistic,’ May told her.

  ‘Some women don’t seem to worry about that sort of thing when it comes to the Americans and all the goodies that come with them,’ Connie put in. ‘Nor do they seem to care about their reputations.’

  ‘My reputation would be the last thing I’d worry about if I had a gorgeous Yank after me,’ Sheila pronounced. ‘But I’m in the ATS so mine can’t be much worse anyway.’

  ‘It isn’t so bad now,’ May pointed out. ‘I think most people realise that you do a good job.’

  ‘It’s after work that the trouble starts, when we go to the pub,’ she said. ‘Decent women aren’t supposed to do that except on the arm of a man, so we’re considered to be fast and loose.’

  ‘Attitudes towards that sort of thing surely must be changing because of the war,’ said May. ‘At one time you wouldn’t have seen a woman smoking, now lots do.’

  ‘Me included,’ said Sheila, who was always puffing away.

  ‘So how come you two didn’t click with anyone tonight?’ said May, addressing them both.

  ‘I didn’t want to because I already have a boyfriend – Dave – my lovely brown-eyed soldier who’s overseas,’ said Connie.

  May looked at Sheila, who had grown up into an attractive brunette with brown eyes and hair taken up at the sides. ‘What about
you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m obviously not as irresistible as you are,’ Sheila replied. ‘I had plenty of partners but no one asked to see me home.’

  ‘The main purpose of a dance hall is to get off with someone, so men think that’s the only reason women are there,’ mentioned May.

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ said Shelia. ‘There has to be somewhere for people to meet.’

  ‘Of course, but if you aren’t interested in finding someone it seems a bit silly to go,’ said May.

  ‘Not if you enjoy dancing,’ Sheila disagreed. ‘It’s a dance hall; the clue is in the title.’

  ‘But you can’t just dance, can you? You end up fighting someone off like I did.’

  ‘I should be so lucky,’ Sheila joked. ‘But yes, I suppose it could send out the wrong message, though it shouldn’t stop anyone going if they like to dance.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll be doing it again. When that Yank was all over me, I felt cheap. I felt as though I had led him on just by being there.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have done,’ said Sheila with emphasis. ‘If he chose to get the wrong impression that’s his problem. Most of the fellas are decent types, though some are probably hoping for something a bit more spicy than a quickstep. It’s in a man’s nature.’

  ‘Come on, you two,’ said Connie as the train rumbled into Ealing Broadway station. ‘We’ve got the blackout to contend with yet. There’s no moon so it will be dodgy.’

  The three of them alighted from the train and went up the stairs and out into the inky blackness of a wartime night.

  Along with growing vegetables, keeping chickens became a way of life for the Stubbs family and was another thing that amazed May about the adaptability of human beings. Before the war their little garden had consisted of a scrubby area of grass that her father, to whom the job of gardening had been assigned, rarely got around to cutting.

  Now, in the summer of 1943, it was cultivated into rows of carrots, potatoes, swedes, cabbages, runner beans and beetroot, a chicken run at the side next to the coal shed. Her father was very territorial about his vegetables and didn’t trust anyone to help tend them in case they pulled out a plant instead of a weed.