An Army of Smiles

by Grace Thompson

  ‘And a sticky bun! I’m starving,’ Rosie groaned, having abandoned her meal in the shelter.

  ‘So am I,’ Kate said. ‘I was expecting a meal last night so I ate nothing after lunch and that was only rissoles and chips.’

  The café was crowded but they managed to stand and drink a cup of tea and eat a slice of cake before going once more to the bus stop. Two men in conductor’s uniform were waiting and they led them through deserted streets in which several houses had been bombed. Piles of rubble were all that was left of some properties; other houses suffered little damage, even though they were not far apart.

  When the orderly queue had re-formed and they were beginning to think the end of their troubles was in sight, the air raid siren began its wail. There were two more raids and it was four the following morning when they eventually emerged from the air raid shelter to which they had been led.

  ‘I’m starving,’ Rosie said.

  ‘Quick, let’s make a dash for the café before the others have the same idea!’

  It was as they emerged from the all-night café which, at that early hour, had promised a pork sausage and mashed potatoes for one shilling and ninepence, that Kate saw Rowan Fotheringay. She pulled Rosie into a doorway and pointed to him. ‘That’s the delightful Rowan who left me to find my own way back from London. He took me there by car and I didn’t even know where to find the nearest station.’

  ‘Let’s do the same to him,’ Rosie suggested. ‘He’s parked his car over near that hotel and I didn’t see him take out the key.’

  ‘You don’t mean… we daren’t!’

  ‘He deserves it.’

  They waited until Rowan had disappeared through the door of the hotel and ran to the car. Rosie was right, the key was in the ignition.

  ‘Come on, Kate, you have to make use of those driving lessons.’

  They jumped in and Kate tentatively pressed the pedals and fiddled with the gear stick. Then she turned on the ignition, the blast of sound convincing her that Rowan would hear, and releasing the brake shot off barely in control into the traffic, with Rosie squealing in delight.

  Their progress was not unobtrusive. People stopped and laughed at them as the car jerked and stalled, was gunned into life, jerked and stalled again, and they went around the first corner in a series of jumps before settling down to head out of town.

  They left the car just out of sight of the guard room at the gate and walked in still giggling at their adventure. They had to report and explain the reasons for their absence and they said that after being told of the unavailability of the bus they had managed to get a lift from a kind-hearted airman.

  Chapter Eight

  Over the following months Ethel, Kate and Rosie were moved several times. Army camps, and more airforce stations and once, during 1942, a camp in which prisoners were kept. The Italians worked in the kitchens sometimes, under supervision. Their attempts at learning English were encouraged and caused much laughter when the guards allowed. At another place in the north of England they were stationed at a camp where tanks training took place, the great cumbersome-looking vehicles a strange sight in the countryside. Fortunately the three girls stayed together, so starting again was always fun even when the work was not.

  For the first time, Ethel had letters when the others collected their post. Baba Morgan wrote to her weekly, giving her news of the happenings on other stations on which they had worked. Gradually he added news of himself and his sisters, amusing stories intended to cheer her, anecdotes about himself as a child. He described his family and even sent a photograph of them. He referred to all they would do, the things he would show her when she visited his home and met them but she did not respond to the hints. Tempting as it was, she was not certain enough of her feelings for him and didn’t want to give him hope then let him down.

  Duggie was still in her thoughts. Duggie and their child. While she still grieved for them she wasn’t free to love again. Desire to be loved as Duggie had loved her flared sometimes and would quickly subside as shame for her disloyal feelings overwhelmed her.

  She felt the same ambivalence toward Albert Pugh. He wrote to her regularly and his letters were more serious, discussing the wider progress of the war and his relief that the United States of America had brought the force of their armies to help Britain’s fight.

  Ethel wrote back to them both, the mood differing with each recipient, humour more prevalent in the letters to Baba, and shorter, more factual notes to Albert. She was grateful to them both, the letters gave her greater happiness than either realized. To wait for the post with anticipation was new to her. To have someone who cared, loved her maybe, gave a purpose to her days and a hope for the future. Life could be lived without a readymade base provided by a family, she told herself. Perhaps one day she would build one; a family of dear friends. Once the war ended she would be on her own, she would have to make a base for herself far from her home, but with the affection of friends. With Kate and Rosie, Baba and Albert, she wouldn’t find it impossible. She knew she would cope.

  Rosie’s Nan had been told she had to have soldiers billeted on her and she wrote to her granddaughter telling her how much she was enjoying having them. On a visit home, Rosie learned that the men were there for training at a nearby beach. As one group left, another came and it had given Nan an idea.

  ‘She gets a temporary ration book for them and some money, and best of all, she loves it,’ Rosie reported. ‘In fact she thinks she might open a guesthouse after the war. There’ll be plenty of commercial travellers looking for a night’s lodgings and they pay about three shillings and sixpence a night. The house is too big for just the two of us and we both enjoy cooking.’

  ‘Mam and Dad seem to be involved with all kinds of unlikely schemes too,’ Kate smiled. ‘This war has certainly changed everyone’s life. They’d never bothered to make friends, too busy I suppose, but now Mam belongs to a knitting circle making scarves and socks and things for the forces and goes out collecting National Savings contributions every week. Dad does firewatching and belongs to the Home Guard. He’s even joined their darts team. My Dad playing darts in the local. It’s unheard of.’

  ‘Will you go back to the shop?’ Rosie asked Kate.

  ‘I don’t think so, I fancy something more glamorous – that is, unless I’ve married my rich, handsome American by then.’

  ‘Heaven knows what I’ll do,’ Ethel frowned. ‘When this lot’s over I’ll have to make a fresh start somewhere far away from my pre-war life.’

  ‘Let’s open a café!’ Rosie suggested and they discussed the idea for a while in a non-serious way.

  When they managed to have the same weekend off, they sometimes went to stay with Rosie’s Nan. Once or twice they descended on a rather anxious Mr and Mrs Banner and stayed with Kate. They didn’t do this often as they sensed that Mrs Banner found them hard to take.

  ‘Your friends are welcome any time, dear, you know that, this is your home,’ she told Kate, ‘but I do admit to finding them rather… boisterous.’

  Kate smiled and reminded her mother that working hard and with such long hours they needed to let off steam.

  ‘Let off steam? You make them sound like kettles, dear.’ Kate laughed so loudly that Mrs Banner joined in, flattered to find herself so amusing. She repeated it to the others and again to her husband.

  When she packed the inevitable parcel for them to take back, she added a few extra sweets and bars of chocolate – which, in the previous July, had joined the list of rationed goods – as well as food for the train journey.

  It was autumn in 1942 when they stayed with the Banners again. All three of them, as Rosie’s Nan’s house was now full of soldiers. The talk was of the good-natured and attractive American soldiers who had arrived to great excitement earlier that year.

  They met them on the streets, often surrounded by young boys, handing out sticks of chewing gum, which was rapidly becoming the international currency of friendship. Kind, friendly yo
ung men who were patient with the children who sometimes pestered them. They were amused by and sometimes tried the various street activities, looking ungainly as they rode the smallsized bicycles and bogie carts, and tried their hands at hopscotch, whip and top and skipping games.

  They crowded the floor at the local dance hall, British soldiers watching in admiration and envy as the smartly dressed men demonstrated their new dances. They brought such fun to the normally staid affairs, and there were only a few who wished they had not arrived – usually the local boys, who were afraid they couldn’t compete with the fascination of these newcomers.

  Dressed in her newest clothes supplied by her doting parents, Kate went to try the new dances with fear and determination. Here was her chance to find herself a rich American husband, and learning to jive and boogy was clearly the first step.

  Rosie hid well back in the line of admirers, away from the chance of being invited to dance, and Ethel too had doubts, seeing the way the girls were thrown about with such apparent indifference to their safety. But as she watched she realized that in the hands of these experts the danger was slight, the fun better than anything before.

  ‘More chance of being knocked down in the blackout than being hurt by one of these fellas, Rosie,’ she said in awe, and moved slowly towards the edge of the admiring crowd forming a circle around a few couples demonstrating their skill. When a tall, handsome young soldier approached she took a deep breath, determined not to refuse, but he went past her and took the hand of a disbelieving Rosie.

  What happened next made Ethel and Kate stare mesmerized, trying not to blink for fear of missing a moment. Rosie tried to run away but then the wail of a trumpet in the unbelievably good band seemed to catch her up in the music, capture her in its magic and she gave herself into the care of her partner.

  Stiff at first, but soon surrendering to the music, she relaxed and concentrated on her partner’s moves. He was skilled but, aware of her shyness, he carefully coaxed her, determined she would have fun. They were not the star performers of the evening but, blushing furiously in the over-heated dance hall, Rosie declared herself happier than she could remember.

  Ethel wriggled her way to where the kind young soldier was talking to friends and thanked him for the way he looked after Rosie.

  ‘A pleasure, young lady,’ he smiled and offered his arms to her. She tried but failed to reach the heights scaled by shy little Rosie. Awkwardly she apologized and asked her partner why.

  ‘Your delightful friend wanted to please,’ he replied. ‘That’s a wonderful gift, to be able to forget yourself and please another, specially a stranger like myself. You’re very fortunate to have a friend like her.’

  The words, spoken with such conviction and in his delightful accent, warmed Ethel’s heart and she pushed her way back to where Kate and Rosie were drinking lemonade and hugged them both.

  When they went back in a dreamily happy state to the Banners’ home, Kate declared herself in love.

  ‘Which one?’ Ethel asked with a frown.

  ‘All of them,’ Kate sighed happily.

  In a spare room they pushed the bed against the wall and with Kate’s gramophone played records and danced until they were exhausted. Leaving the others to finish the final record, Kate went downstairs to prepare a hot drink before bed and was weepily surprised to see her parents dancing together, humming softly to the music, in the room behind the shop.

  * * *

  There were always newcomers to the camps, sometimes transfers and, more often, young men and women newly conscripted. It was these the three girls tried to befriend. The inoculations and injections, which all recruits had to undergo, were always a trial and they comforted the sufferers as they recovered. As they dealt with orders at the busy counter, serving hot snacks of beans on toast, chips, omelettes made from dried egg and smothered with sauce, sausage and mash and other favourites, they would seek out the quiet ones and encourage them to talk about home and family. Rosie and Kate often offered them some gifts from home, some of the chocolate given to them by Kate’s mother, or cakes supplied by Rosie’s Nan.

  Ethel gave up her sweet ration so she too could contribute to the occasional gifts. There were no parcels from her home to add to their generosity.

  One morning while they were on their way to yet another posting, this time to a large army camp, they passed close to her home and, begging the driver to give them a couple of hours, she left him eating lunch in a café in the town and led her two friends first by bus then across fields to her former home.

  She daren’t go in, daren’t even risk being seen close by, so after looking in the hope of seeing her mother, and seeing instead her father arriving and dismounting from his motorbike in the road outside, they turned away and went to the Baileys’ farm where she had worked on occasion as a child, helping with the seasonal tasks.

  She hadn’t been there since leaving to join the Naafi. They might not even recognize her, she thought. She was certain her experiences over the past years had changed her. It was a long time since, as a child, she had helped with the harvest or taken food to the fields for the hedger and ditcher. So much had happened since those days. How could she still look the same?

  She led her friends towards the entrance to the yard, listening to the sounds of someone moving churns around. They would have washed them after morning milking and were putting them ready to receive the evening’s refills. At the roadside was a platform on which the churns were placed for collection – fifteen-and seventeen-gallon churns that were tilted and rolled with ease by the dairymen. A resurge of memory flooded back and it all became so familiar and dear to her, and yet tinged with the sadness of loss. A glimpse of childhood rescued from memory, together with the tainted overtones of all that had happened since.

  A young woman she didn’t know came into view first and asked what they wanted.

  ‘Are Mr and Mrs Bailey here? I’m Ethel, I used to work here,’ she explained, ‘when I was little.’ She gestured toward Kate and Rosie, who was bending down admiring some Light Sussex hens that were strutting around chortling a welcome.

  ‘Mrs Bailey?’ the girl called and headed for the kitchen door. She called again and Mrs Bailey came out, stared short-sightedly for a moment then ran towards Ethel, her arms wide, words of welcome issuing from her lips. ‘William!’ she called. ‘Come and see who’s here. It’s Ethel Twomey, come to see us at last.’

  ‘Please don’t tell Dad I’ve been here,’ Ethel warned when the ecstatic welcome eased and food was offered. ‘I don’t want him to find me again.’

  Rita and William Bailey promised but asked, ‘You do know he’s given up his job?’

  Ethel shook her head and Mrs Bailey added, ‘He’s demented, determined to find you and bring you home. He refuses to tell your mother why, but he spends time going around the army and airforce camps looking for you.’

  As they tucked into thick slices of fat bacon and eggs and home-made sausages that were strictly over and above the rationed allowance, their son Colin came in. He looked older than Ethel remembered, his tall frame stooped slightly, the dark brown hair was tinged with grey, but he still had the kindly manner she had known all her life. He beamed when he saw them, his eyes shone with undisguised pleasure and the years fell from him. She realized with shock that he was only thirty-eight. At first sight he had looked years older. Perhaps life with his ageing parents had made him forget his youth and settle into old age prematurely.

  ‘Does this mean you’re back home for good?’ he asked, shaking hands with Rosie and Kate and giving Ethel a brief hug. She explained the situation and the need for secrecy and he too promised not to tell of her visit, but explained, ‘I don’t know how I’ll manage to keep the smile off my face, mind!’

  She asked about her brother who, she knew from her mother, had returned not long after she had run away. She wanted to see Glenys’s grave but there wasn’t time.

  ‘Don’t worry, dear,’ Mrs Bailey said, patting her
hand affectionately. ‘I go up when I can and leave flowers for the dear girl. Sid goes regularly. Your mother too, of course.’

  Having worked on a farm until she joined the Naafi, Rosie was interested in looking around and it was Mr Bailey and Colin who showed them, waiting patiently while they admired the two horses that were still used, and stood for a while looking over the stubbly fields where corn had been harvested, and at the pastures dotted with cows. They smiled with pleasure at the enthusiasm the girls all showed. Even Kate, with her uniform shoes instead of her usual light-hearted nonsense, didn’t object too loudly about the unmentionable mess underfoot.

  They left after an hour, loaded down with apples, sausage rolls and pies, sweets and with a package of food for the journey that they told Mrs Bailey would last ten squaddies a whole week.

  ‘Or our Rosie for a day,’ Kate added.

  Before they left, Ethel gave Mrs Bailey Rosie’s Nan’s address in case there was an emergency, reminding her it was not to be given to her parents whatever the reason. Then they staggered off to rejoin the lorry. Rosie trailed behind, eating one of the still-warm sausage rolls.

  ‘I’m helping,’ she protested when they teased her. ‘By eating some of the sausage rolls I’m helping to lighten our load!’

  The Baileys walked with them through the fields and to the bus stop. Mr Bailey apologized for not having the petrol to drive them into town and stood in the road waving until the bus disappeared around the corner and the three faces staring back from the rear window were gone from sight.

  Ethel was quiet and the other two left her to her thoughts, of home, Glenys and the kindly Baileys.

  * * *

  Their new camp was the largest they had seen. Army vehicles moved about between huge buildings and camouflaged supply dumps, soldiers marched on the parade ground to instructions barked at them by drill sergeants, and the guards marched around the perimeter fences armed with rifles. The guards at the gate were even more meticulous than usual checking the comings and goings of the hundreds of personnel. Passwords were given as they went out and insisted on when they returned.