Brighter Days Ahead

by Mary Wood

  Flo let out a laugh that had many heads turning. ‘I’ve nearly got you speaking proper English, lass. Yorkshire English!’

  They both laughed at this. Flo sobered first. ‘Eeh, it’s good to laugh, but I suppose we ought to get to see this boss of yours. I’ll just go and tell Simon what’s happening.’

  Mr Jenkinson was a kindly man, who welcomed Flo and Pauline into his house. After listening to Flo, he nodded his head. ‘Of course we would like your help. And don’t worry about the rota that we normally run – we won’t include you in it. Here’s my telephone number. You just let me know when you are coming, then I will stand down someone who is tired or has done a lot of shifts. How does that sound?’

  Glad that not being able to give a structured timetable was acceptable, Flo thanked Mr Jenkinson. ‘Oh, before I go, will there be any training?’

  ‘No. I’ll just leave someone on with you both, for your first couple of shifts. You’ll get the hang of it by then.’

  ‘Yer can work with me for the rest of the afternoon, if yer like, Flo. Gladys was saying she was tired and her feet are swelling. I could send her home, then.’

  ‘If Simon’s up for it, then I am. Are you busy in the afternoons?’

  ‘Can be. Them as have lost their homes are often salvaging what they can in the mornings. Then they come for sommat to eat in the afternoons. We had a load of sausage donated this morning. I’m thinking of making a big sausage stew, and then keeping some to griddle and serve on a stick.’

  ‘Sounds good. I make a good stew. And Simon can serve at the window while we’re busy cooking. He’s good with a teapot.’

  ‘Is Simon your young man then, Flo?’

  Flo felt the blush sweep up from her core, before it reddened her face.

  ‘Right. You don’t have to answer that. I can see you’d like him to be.’

  Not wanting to be untruthful, or to come across as ridiculing Simon by speaking of his homosexuality, Flo just giggled. ‘Aye, sommat like that, but all will become apparent. Come on, let’s get back to him.’

  The small confines of the van, which housed two gas rings and a gas boiler, made for a few uncomfortable moments as Flo worked between Simon and Pauline. One thing she was glad of: those two got on like a house on fire, and dropped into a mode of taking the rise out of her on more than one occasion, calling her a cry-baby as she chopped the onions, and nicking her carrots as she tried to cut them into small pieces.

  ‘Give over, the pair of yer. How am I meant to make a stew, if you’ve eaten half of me ingredients? The next hand to come across me will have their fingers chopped off!’

  Simon made a play at a couple more attempts, on one of them brushing Flo’s hand, then holding her gaze for a moment, until Pauline coughed in a meaningful way.

  ‘Mr Jenkinson won’t have any carrying-on, yer know.’ Pauline said this with a laugh in her voice, but it again prompted a sideways glance from Simon.

  A woman at the hatch broke the moment. ‘Here, have you that stew ready yet? The smell of them onions frying is getting the whole street going.’

  ‘Now then, Fanny, you don’t need to come begging here. You haven’t lost your house, and your man’s in a job that keeps him at home. We’re here to look after the homeless.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t see you back there, Pauline. Sorry.’

  ‘No, I can tell that.’

  As the woman walked away, Flo thought it worrying that those not in need might come to the van when she and Simon were in charge. ‘How will we know if the folk are needy or not, Pauline? We could be giving food away to crafty folk like that woman.’

  ‘You’ll get used to it. Those in need have dark circles around their eyes and a haunted look. Or, if they’ve just been bombed out the night before, they’ll be shook up and obviously upset and in shock. They don’t look rounded and well fed, like that Fanny. Ha, she’s got a right name as well. They say she offers herself around a bit, even though her man’s at home, but then Dick Barker never had much about him.’

  Flo exploded with laughter. Pauline looked at her, bewildered, as did Simon. This made her laugh even more. Her sides ached and her eyes streamed with tears.

  ‘What? What’s got into you, Flo?’ Even though Pauline and Simon didn’t see what she was laughing at, they joined in.

  At last she was able to say, ‘It’s what you called them . . . Th-their names. Oh, help!’

  It took a moment for Simon and Pauline to cotton on. When they did, Flo thought they would never stop laughing.

  ‘Well, I’m learning a lot about northerners from you, Flo. I thought us Londoners had a sense of humour, but I’ve never thought of Fanny and Dick Barker like that before. I’ll never be able to look at them with a straight face again!’

  The tension that had built up between Flo and Simon melted away after this, and as the van got busier there was no more time for frivolity. A steady stream of hungry, needy people soon demolished the stew and the sausages served on long sticks. Some of the folk tore at Flo’s heart and she felt glad that she was able to help them.

  Not wanting to dampen the lovely atmosphere they were working in, she didn’t mention the idea that had come to her. There were a lot of young women who were shabbily dressed. When it came to the right time, she would suggest to Simon that they brought all of Lucinda’s clothes to the Salvation Army. It would be good to see some of the women dressed in something decent.

  Simon, she thought, had coped well and looked happier, and she didn’t want to spoil that by bringing up the subject, in case it upset him. He’d taken a bit of stick because of his posh accent, but she’d been glad that he’d managed to hold on to his sense of humour.

  Only one incident marred the afternoon. It was just as it was getting dark and they were packing up. A group of young lads came to mess about near the van. One of them called over, ‘You nancy boys like doing women’s work, don’t yer? Yer should be fighting, but yer’d probably end up crying like a baby. Yer useless.’

  Flo felt her body stiffen. Pauline looked over at Simon as if seeing him for the first time. She soon composed herself and told the boys to bugger off. This made them worse. Their name-calling was now accompanied by the throwing of stones, which bounced off the van with a sound as if a gun had been fired.

  Flo was at a loss as to what to do, as the situation seemed to be getting out of hand. After a few moments Simon took off the apron that Pauline had wrapped around him, donned his uniform jacket and stepped out of the van. Flo held her breath. She’d been surprised when Simon had worn his uniform today, but thinking about it, it was like protective armour for him against these situations. A courageous man, he would hate to be thought of as a coward or a conscientious objector.

  At the sight of him, the boys quietened down. Simon walked over to them. ‘In times of war, a real man will turn his hand to any work that needs doing. There isn’t a division of labour any longer. Women are doing what men would normally do, and vice versa. I hope, when you are called upon, you will step up to the board and do your bit.’

  A small voice said, ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’ The others all joined in. Then one of them asked where Simon was stationed, which led to Simon sitting on the grass verge with them and explaining about asking questions during wartime. He did it in such a way, talking about spies and careless talk, that he held the boys’ interest and gained their respect.

  It gladdened Flo’s heart to watch his confidence growing and to see him managing a situation she knew he’d not coped well with, up to now. She wanted to go over to him and hug him, but instead she helped Pauline pack up the van.

  ‘I think I see the obstacle yer have now, Flo.’

  Flo just smiled. Yes, there was a huge barrier to her love for Simon ever being returned in the way she would like it to be, but it didn’t stop her being in love with him. There! I’ve admitted it to myself. I am in love with Simon.

  An arm came around her. ‘Come on, lav. This won’t get the pots done. We’ve to take them back to t
he depot in those buckets outside and get them ready for stocking the van tomorrow. Let’s put our backs into it. There’s never a better cure for lovesickness than hard work.’

  Flo nodded, then laughed as Pauline called over to Simon, ‘Come on, mate. Are yer going to leave all the work to us, or are yer waiting for the Luftwaffe to drop in for a mug of your Rosie Lee?’

  The boys and Simon laughed at this. Simon got up and shook each of the lads’ hands, then saluted them. The action made Flo realize that if this war dragged on for another couple of years or so, these young ’uns would be in the thick of it. She supposed Simon had realized that too, and that was why he had treated them as if they were already soldiers. But beyond that, she felt proud of him. She knew he struggled with others’ perceptions of him, but in this instance he’d risen to the challenge.

  When he rejoined them, she smiled up at him. He smiled back. She didn’t speak; she couldn’t. The tension inside her wouldn’t allow her to chat in the usual easy, companionable way they’d always enjoyed. Now there were only small moments of that. Flo wondered if it would ever return. She wished, with everything that was in her, that she hadn’t lost her heart to Simon. There was no future in it for her, she knew that. Eeh, Mrs Leary always told me to expect the unexpected, but how could I ever have prepared meself for falling in love with a man who prefers to have a lover of his own sex? She had never even thought to meet such a man, but now that she had, Flo knew her life would never be the same again.

  15

  Molly

  No Tinsel for the Wicked

  Standing on the corner of Poland Street and D’Arblay Street, Molly watched the sign swing backwards and forwards outside the tobacconist’s opposite. ‘Craven A’, the name of the fags advertised on the sign, stood out in red on a yellow background. What she’d give for a fag right now.

  Just past the shop, a team of ARPs were dealing with the aftermath of last night’s bomb attack. A pile of rubble was cordoned off and an ambulance stood nearby. Next to it a fire engine spewed pipes that still trickled water. A couple of firemen were reeling them in one by one and rolling them up into neat coils. One of them suddenly called out, ‘Eh, look who we have here!’ Santa Claus came round the corner, carrying a heavy sack. ‘Morning, Santa, yer starting early, I see.’

  ‘Ha, Rudolf dropped me off at six a.m. and he’ll pick me back up at four p.m. I’ve to deliver early, this Christmas Eve, before the Luftwaffe come to wish us all a Merry Christmas.’

  They all laughed, increasing the sense of loneliness that enveloped Molly.

  ‘Where you off to then, Santa?’ one of the ARP men asked.

  ‘Charing Cross Underground Station. There’s going to be a children’s party down there this afternoon. Poor buggers.’

  ‘Well, come and have a warm around the old brazier and get a cup of tea in yer. We’ve got the kettle on and we’ve a drop of brandy to go wi’ it.’

  ‘Brandy?’

  ‘Yes, some toff brought a flask of it over to us earlier. A nice Christmas present, if ever we saw one.’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do, guv’nor. Ta, mate.’

  As the ambulance drove off, Molly thought she heard the man shout over, ‘What about you, Miss? Yer look froze to death – come and have a warm.’

  She waited, unsure.

  ‘Come on, Miss, we won’t bite yer. Come and share in our Christmas cheer.’

  Molly couldn’t believe they were inviting her. They knew what she was, for her attire alone would tell them that. Short skirt, high heels and low-cut top. Not that she was touting for business at this hour, but she’d had a customer around the corner who’d chucked her out just before the siren had sounded. When it had, she’d made her way to Charing Cross Underground and spent the night there.

  The underground had been packed with families. Most had brought decorations with them and they’d set about getting ready for the party that this man, dressed as Santa, had spoken of. They’d sung carols and drunk home-made beer, but nothing had been offered to her. She’d found out what it was to feel lonely amongst a crowd. She thought they’d have treated a German soldier better than the short shrift they gave her. Judgemental, she’d call them. Though one young girl had spoken to her and shared her mug of tea with her, which had warmed her a little.

  Taking up the offer, Molly walked across to them. ‘Ta, thanks. I could do with a warm.’

  ‘Here, lav, we’ve a spare blanket. Wrap it around yer.’

  Their kindness plopped a tear onto Molly’s cheek. She wiped it away. She could only nod her thanks as the tall fireman wrapped her in the warmth of the blanket. ‘Yer working early an’ all. Not much business about at this time of day for yer, is there?’

  She told them how she came to be there.

  The younger members put their heads down in embarrassment. She hadn’t thought. She’d become so used to her way of life that it seemed normal. But it wasn’t; there were folk, lots of them who, like she used to, thought her way of life was the dregs and the pit of degradation.

  Drawing deeply on the fag one of the men had given her, she sipped her tea, and the nip of brandy it contained warmed her inside. She felt a sudden urge to explain herself and make them understand her position. ‘I can’t help what I am. I got into the clutches of Gus Williams and Lofty Tyler.’ Everyone knew who they were – these men included. Molly could tell that by the sharp intakes of breath and the looks on their faces.

  The one dressed as Santa was the first to speak. ‘So, yer haven’t much of a choice then, girl. I feel sorry fer yer. If yer want to get away from that gang, yer going to have to travel to the other end of the country.’

  ‘Or join up.’ This came from the tall fireman. ‘Women are doing so all over the country, yer know. There’s a recruitment office just down the road. It opens in an hour: why don’t yer take yerself there and explain yer situation?’

  One of the younger ones said, ‘I’d go to the police and tell them, if I were you.’

  ‘The cops are hand-in-glove with the gang, or at least most of them are. I wouldn’t know how to find one that ain’t bent. And if I went to the wrong one, I’d be for it. It ain’t worth the risk.’

  They were silent for a moment. Molly wondered what was going through their heads, then an older ARP man spoke. ‘Look, I only live around the corner. Me missus is the salt of the earth. I’ll take you there, and she’ll help yer clean yerself up and let yer have one of her frocks. Then yer can look half-decent when yer go to the recruitment office.’

  The tears tumbled at this. Kindness always broke Molly more quickly than cruelty. The tall bloke put his arm round her. The young one kicked at a brick and said, ‘It ain’t right. I always thought you girls wanted to do what yer do.’

  Between sobs, Molly told him that there were some who did, but a lot had been forced into it by circumstances or brutality. ‘Believe it or not, I was a respectable girl. I didn’t know that this kind of life existed, and nor did me mate. Now she’s in hospital with pneumonia. Gus and Lofty have been to visit her and have told her they know where her sister lives, and if she breathes a word then she’s done for.’

  The shock on the men’s faces as she said this frightened Molly. She didn’t want them to do anything they might perceive as the right thing, like reporting the gang to the police. That would mean dire consequences for her. ‘Look, there’s nothing you can do. I can take care of meself. I’ll get going now, but thanks for your kindness. I’ll find a way of going to that recruitment office, but I’ve to watch out for me mate first and make sure she’s safe.’

  ‘I feel sorry for you, lav. If you’re near to Charing Cross this afternoon, pop down and I’ll see that you get a mince pie.’

  Molly wiped her face on the back of her hand and smiled at Santa. ‘Ta, mate. And all of you, thanks for showing me a bit of human kindness. I’m sorry if I’ve worried you. But I’ll be all right.’

  ‘Well, we work in this area all the time, so you can always come and find us. I’ll spe
ak to me missus; she works with the WRVS and the Salvation Army. I’ll see if she can get the women to extend their charity to you working girls. They knit jumpers, scarves and gloves. You could do with some of them.’

  Molly smiled even more widely at this and had a job not to giggle. The thought of prostitutes walking around in woolly jumpers in a rainbow of colours tickled her.

  The more the idea took root, the more her restraint cracked, until she burst out laughing. The men looked at her as if she had gone mad, until she gained enough control to share the picture she had in her head. They all laughed with her then. It was a moment like none she’d had for a long time. But it was cut short when a woman pushing a pram shouted over, ‘Get away with you, yer floozy. What d’yer think yer up to, corrupting men who have a job to do. Yer disgusting.’

  ‘Now then, Missus, she ain’t doing any harm. She’s just having a warm, and a drop of tea. Even the devil himself deserves that on a morning like this.’

  The woman looked at the tall fireman and scoffed. ‘Ha, tickled what yer have in yer trousers, has she? Yer all the same. Men!’

  With this, she went off in a huff, and the men laughed. Molly didn’t. Inside, she cringed. Inside, she knew that was what she’d become. A floozy that only men talked to.

  ‘Don’t let her worry yer, lav.’ Santa said. ‘She’s only jealous. She’d give her eye-teeth to be you. I mean, look at yer. Hobnobbing with Santa and three strapping firemen, and these ARPs. Oh, aye, the ARPs are old enough to be yer grandfather, but the rest of us are still desirable, and all she’s got is a man overseas. Yer have to pity her.’

  This set them off laughing again, even though the last bit was probably true, and the poor woman was alone with a baby whose dad had never seen it.

  Feeling cheered, Molly wished them all a happy Christmas and made as if to leave.

  ‘Hang on a mo, lav.’ Santa pulled his beard down so that she could see his lovely crinkly face. ‘Just showing yer what I look like, so yer’ll know me another time. I always hang out in the Copper Kettle Cafe, down the road. If yer need a cuppa anytime, come in there and I’ll buy yer one. Don’t worry about what folk’ll think – they’ll get over it. Yer might even do me standing some good. “Look at old Derrick,” they’ll say. “He’s still got it, then.” Ha-ha.’