by Annie Murray
Kitty laughed and suddenly slipped her arm through Sylvia’s. Sylvia turned to Kitty, their eyes meeting happily. Kitty was so petite, and seemed so alone in the world, that she brought out a protective feeling in Sylvia. They set off into the green space, blowing clouds of white breath into the air. Although it was cold, Sylvia had a contented feeling of being close and cosy.
‘It’s been so much better at work since I got to know you,’ she said. ‘The first week I was at the yard I nearly gave up. What with flaming Froggy keeping on at me, jumping on anything I did wrong, and all those blokes who just think a woman can’t do anything apart from cook and make up her face . . .’
Kitty giggled. ‘You sound like one of those women – you know, suffragettes.’
‘Not really,’ Sylvia said. ‘You should meet Audrey if you think I’m like that!’
‘She sounds quite frightening,’ Kitty said. ‘She’s a looker though, I bet.’
Kitty had been very taken with Pauline’s family photographs in the front parlour. She had gazed for an especially long time at the one of Sylvia and Audrey together as little girls, shoulder-to-shoulder. ‘How lovely!’ she exclaimed. At the time Sylvia said, ‘Well, it’s lovely sometimes. But she’s ever so bossy.’ She had to admit that she missed Audrey though, now that she was away. She even missed arguing with her.
Now she said, ‘Well, she can be a bit frightening. But I’m beginning to see her point. Honestly, some of the men are so ridiculous. They seem to think girls are just made of cotton wool or something. How do they think babies get born? I’d like to see them do it!’
‘Are you going to have lots of babies?’ Kitty asked. ‘With Ian?’
Sylvia was proud to talk about Ian. Bit by bit she and Mom were getting things ready for the wedding. Marjorie Gould had offered to make her dress, and it was soon going to be ready for a first fitting. Sylvia could sense Kitty’s wistfulness.
‘Babies? Oh, I expect so! It’s funny – I haven’t given it much thought. I suppose you just think that when you get married that’s what you’ll do. Maybe I’ll have three, like Mom. But it seems such a way off at the moment that I can’t take it in.’
‘But July’s not that far off!’
‘It still feels years away to me – and we don’t seem to have much time to think about it!’ She glanced round at Kitty. ‘What about you? Lots of babies, faces at the window?’
‘Oh, yes!’ Kitty said, her eyes lighting up. ‘I don’t want just one child, growing up like I did.’ Her face fell and Sylvia was touched by her sorrowful expression. ‘My own mother’s life was so sad. She never had any real existence of her own. It was as if she was owned by other people all along, telling her what to do and who to be.’
‘It sounds awful,’ Sylvia said. Kitty had told the family that her mother had been one of the Exclusive Brethren, a branch of the Plymouth Brethren. Sylvia’s dad grimaced when he learned this. ‘Blimey. What a shower! I’m surprised she’s as normal as she is. Mad as hatters, the lot of ’em.’
‘They were so narrow and rigid,’ Kitty said as they stood staring at the murky pond in the park. A couple of mallards were floating about, without much apparent purpose. ‘They wanted to keep very separate from the world and, when she left to marry my father, they wouldn’t have anything to do with her.’
‘At least she had you,’ Sylvia said. ‘That must have been nice for her.’
‘But she was scared of my father. She was never allowed to step out of the house without his say-so.’ Sylvia could hear the biting contempt in Kitty’s voice. ‘He’s a cruel, arrogant man. He thinks everything is something you can buy for money. He’d say, “I bought you that new coat, or that carpet for the bedroom” or something like that. He thought that was what being a husband was. Just things. When she was ill, he hardly ever went in to see her. It was as if she was an old car that had broken down, and now she was no use to him. We had a nurse come in every day, but otherwise I looked after her. And all she did was worry about him. Was he getting his dinner? Had the maid starched his collars? She never thought about herself. And he’s never thought about anything except himself. Look at your father, Sylvia. He’s such a nice man. Can you imagine if your mother was ill? He’d care for her and go into her room and see her, wouldn’t he?’
Kitty looked up at Sylvia, her big eyes full of tears.
‘Yes,’ Sylvia said. ‘Our dad doesn’t have a clue in some ways, but he’d look after Mom – course he would.’
‘My father’s a monster,’ Kitty said, with such venom that Sylvia was startled and she broke down suddenly and began to cry. Sylvia put her arm round Kitty’s jerking shoulders, moved by what she had heard.
‘Oh dear, that does sound terrible,’ she said. ‘And you must miss your mom so much.’
‘I do miss her,’ Kitty said. ‘But I don’t want to be like her, or have a life like hers. She never had a life, that’s the truth. Sometimes,’ she looked up at Sylvia, eyes still brimming with tears, ‘I wonder if there really are any nice men. I’m scared I’ll never meet anyone or have a nice husband, and I’ll just end up as a sad old lady on my own.’
‘Oh, Kitty!’ Sylvia laughed, while still embracing her. ‘Don’t be daft. You’re only eighteen. There’s plenty of time yet. Come on, let’s walk on – it’s getting cold.’
Kitty dried her face and tried to look more cheerful. Her nose had gone pink from crying. ‘Thanks,’ she said humbly. ‘Sorry. I don’t often let go like that. But the man I told you I was seeing has decided he wants to pack me in, so I’m feeling a bit down. And everyone at your place has been so kind. I’ve never met a family as nice as yours before.’
‘They all really like you,’ Sylvia told her. ‘So look on it as a home from home.’
Later, snuggled up with Ian by the range again, when he came round in the evening, Sylvia told him about what Kitty had said.
‘Poor thing,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t think her old man was such a sod, would you, sweet girl like that?’
‘No – he sounds horrible.’
‘There is something a bit little-girl-lost about her.’
‘D’you think so? She always seems so lively.’
‘Yes, but . . .’ Ian shifted next to her. ‘Ow, watch where you’re putting that elbow! There’s something mournful about her. The way she’s tacked onto you, for a start. It’s nice that you’re so kind to her.’
‘You don’t mind? Her coming round if you’re here, I mean?’
‘Of course not. Well,’ he gave her a squeeze, ‘so long as we get some time to ourselves.’
‘Of course we will,’ Sylvia said, appeased by his encouragement. ‘But I do think she needs some help – and I like her. Since my other friends have deserted me, it’s nice to have a girlfriend to chat to.’
‘Well, there you are. And she seems a very good sort. Very pretty too,’ he added reflectively.
‘Oi, you – watch it!’
As she was teasing Ian, a burst of laughter came from the back room over the sounds on the wireless. Sylvia and Ian chuckled at the sound of it.
‘ITMA,’ she said. ‘Dad loves it.’ She reached round and looked up at Ian and he snatched a kiss. ‘And I love you.’
Eighteen
Audrey pulled the finished letter from her typewriter, adding it to the pile waiting to be signed and stifled another yawn. Tapping her feet with impatience, she gazed out of the window at the bright spring day. Voices called to each other outside, footsteps went past. Here she was, once again stuck in a stuffy office.
Her WAAF officer had left the room for a few moments. Audrey was left with the other secretary, a stylish, if scatty young woman called Miranda, who had worked in a London publishing house before she joined up. Miranda was an ACW1 (Aircraft Woman, First Class), a rank above Audrey, who was a humble ACW2. She was frowning at her shorthand pad, trying to decipher her latest scribblings, which, Audrey thought quietly, were really quite a mess.
‘D’you mind if I open the window?’ Aud
rey asked, half out of her chair.
Miranda looked up vaguely. ‘Oh yes, do.’ She retreated back into her notebook, a hand clamped over her forehead. ‘Heavens, I can hardly make head or tail of this. Serves me right for last night, of course. My head’s thumping.’
Audrey’s head was thumping as well. ‘Never again,’ she said.
Miranda looked up with a wan smile. ‘Did you make a night of it as well?’
‘You could say that,’ Audrey said.
Audrey was nursing not just her hangover, but also some sad feelings. At the dance last night she had met a boy who reminded her of Raymond Gould.
The camp gym doubled as a dance and concert hall and there were frequent ‘dos’ and ‘hops’. The dances were packed with hordes of new male recruits on their basic training at RAF Cardington, all suddenly far from home and on the hunt for girls. Standing amid the energetic, jigging crowd last night, as boys in uniform swarmed around her and the other WAAFs, Audrey realized what it was she felt: under pressure to fall in love. The other girls in her hut – Cora, who was born in Jamaica, Pat from the Lakes, Joey ( Josephine) from Liverpool, and Maggie and Victoria from the Home Counties – all of them were forever on about the ‘boys’. Most of them, except Maggie, who was very shy and seemed to prefer food to anything in trousers, talked endlessly about their assignations, whom they had met and who had said what to whom. Audrey played along, and it was not hard to make dates with boys in the camp – there was an endless supply of them.
‘Not like in the training camp I was in,’ Joey said when they were chatting one night. ‘We girls had to dance with each other – not a lad in sight.’ Her dark eyes glinted with amusement. ‘It was just like being back in the convent again. It’s a lot more fun here!’
‘I bet it is,’ Cora laughed. She was big and blonde and always somehow seemed to have a supply of spirits (most often rum) hidden among her belongings.
Audrey found, secretly, that while a lot of the other girls leapt onto the dance floor with almost animal enthusiasm, she felt lost and self-conscious, even though she tried not to show it. She knew the others would have been surprised at this. She seemed confident and there was nothing wrong with her looks. She could put up her hair very stylishly, and everyone said she was gorgeous with her oval, brown-eyed face. There was never any shortage of offers to dance. Yet somehow, though she had quite a good time, she had a sneaking feeling that the real fun started afterwards, once they got back to the hut, where the festivities often continued.
Cora often brought out one of her bottles and they talked and laughed late into the night, squatting on each other’s beds in their nightwear – of which, as Victoria said, there was a ‘glorious variety’. It felt so cosy and there was so much laughter that this, Audrey felt, was really the heart of life. She and Cora sparked each other off with their sense of humour, and it was all such fun. But she went along with the pretence that life only really began when the men appeared. And she was puzzled at herself. Hadn’t she joined up for a bit more excitement than cocoa with a load of girls?
Last night she had stood at one end of the dance floor with Joey and Maggie while the band played and the room heaved with couples swinging to ‘T’Ain’t What You Do (It’s the Way That You Do It)’. The air was fuggy and tinged with the smells of beer and sweat. Joey was soon snatched away into the dance by a young man. Maggie, who had only just stepped out of a girls’ boarding school, took off into the corner with an equally shy-looking young man and they leaned against the wall talking, both looking terrified and blushing to their ears.
Audrey stood alone for a moment, but before she had time to feel awkward, someone jostled into her and almost knocked her empty glass out of her hand.
‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ A freckly face turned anxiously to her, topped by a head of red curls. ‘Can I get you something else to drink?’
He had a strong accent, which Audrey thought was Scots, and was also quite tall. As she was five foot seven, that was always a bonus.
‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘if there’s any punch left. Otherwise, anything that’s going would be nice.’
He elbowed his way back through the crush and she moved in the same direction and met him coming back.
‘I hope you don’t mind lemonade,’ he said apologetically.
‘Are you teetotal?’ she laughed.
‘No, I’m not. It was just the nearest one. I can go back for something else later.’
‘It’s all right. I could do with it. I’m thirsty.’
‘Would you fancy a dance?’ he asked. ‘I’m Hamish, by the way.
‘I’m Audrey,’ she said.
Once they’d had a drink they left their glasses and headed onto the dance floor. It was getting towards the rowdier time of the evening, when everyone would soon dance the Conga and end up snaking around the outside of the building. For the moment, though, the band was playing ‘These Foolish Things’, which, Audrey thought to herself, was a song that could even make her feel slushy and sentimental. She stepped into Hamish’s arms and smiled up into his face. He returned the smile, but there was a seriousness about him that, she realized as the night passed, was what reminded her of Raymond. He didn’t look at all like Raymond, but underlying his friendliness and his attempts at jokes was that similar sober steadiness.
‘Have you been here long?’ he asked, having to put his lips quite close to her ear to be heard among the shuffle and chatter of the other couples.
‘Since mid-February,’ she said.
‘Well, that makes you an old hand,’ he said. ‘I’ve been here two days!’
And you’ll soon be gone again too, she thought with relief. The lads stayed for six weeks.
He told her he came from Aberdeen. ‘And what about you?’ he asked.
‘Birmingham – can’t you tell!’ she said.
Hamish smiled. ‘I’m not very well up on English accents; better at telling Edinburgh from Glasgow, that sort of thing.’
‘Yes, I suppose you would be. Are you hoping to be a pilot?’
‘If I make it. I’d like to be. Otherwise I’ll have to settle for something else,’ Hamish said. ‘What do you do?’
Audrey grimaced. ‘Secretarial. Very boring.’
His raised his eyebrows. ‘Is it boring?’
‘Yes,’ she said with feeling. ‘It’s about as interesting as staring at a blank wall all day. I’d rather be doing almost anything else.’
‘Perhaps you could transfer?’ he suggested. ‘Is that allowed?’
‘I don’t know,’ Audrey said, wondering. ‘I’ve never really thought about it.’
‘Balloons?’
She shook her head. ‘Men only.’
RAF Cardington specialized in making and testing barrage balloons. Except in very bad weather there were usually a number of them floating like waterlogged fish above the camp.
‘It’s an interesting place this, isn’t it?’ Hamish said. His arm was resting comfortably across her waist at the back and she enjoyed the sensation. It made her feel feminine, which she didn’t, very often. She felt too energetic and abrasive to be really womanly. ‘I never knew a thing about it before we came here. I only put two and two together when I saw it was Shortstown – of course, the Short brothers! I remember reading about it. This is where the R101 airship was made, wasn’t it? Those great big hangars, where they’re making the balloons now. It’s clever the way they’ve camouflaged them.’
The two of them chatted easily. Hamish told her he had three sisters, but was the only son. His father was a Church of Scotland minister. Audrey realized that he was well used to talking to people and she found him good-mannered, pleasant company. He asked about her family.
‘So do you like the life?’ he asked, as the dance finished and they stood clapping, waiting for another number to begin. ‘I mean, apart from the job!’
‘I do,’ she said, realizing as she said it that she loved it and was having the time of her life. ‘I like feeling more grown-up – getting a
way from home – don’t you?’
Hamish grimaced. ‘Oh yes! I’m the youngest, so you can imagine: I’ve got mother hens all about me. If I hadn’t got away I don’t think I’d ever have learned to fend for myself. Your sister hasn’t joined up?’
‘No, she’s a real home bird, Sylvia is. Mind you, she surprised us all and has gone off to work for the railways. She goes about in overalls all the time – I’d never’ve expected it, but it seems to suit her.’
‘Good for her!’ Hamish said.
‘In the Mood’ was beginning. Every band seemed to play it sometime in the evening when there was a dance. Hamish held out his arms and looked at Audrey enquiringly. She nodded and they danced, laughing and pitching back and forth to the catchy tune.
She realized she liked Hamish. She wasn’t sure how old he was – perhaps not even as old as her, like Raymond – but he had a grown-up, solid way about him. As they danced she tried to examine her feelings. Of course she hardly knew him, but she wanted to find herself attracted and sentimentally bound up with someone – even bowled over by love. It was what everyone else seemed to want.
It doesn’t happen all in one night, she thought. And then she remembered Joey, from her hut, who had met a chap she liked within the first week. It had been hard to get any sense out of her ever since. Audrey wondered about herself, and whether anyone’s heart really could be made of stone.
Could I fall in love with Hamish? she asked herself as he held her, strongly but gently. In fact he was everything good that a young man could be. He was handsome, polite, pleasant to talk to, and the way he held her felt right.
Stick around, young man, she thought. Could he be the one? When the dance ended, would he try and kiss her? Did she want him to? She wasn’t sure. It seemed very soon. After they had congaed until they were all in a lather, and had more lemonade and danced a few quiet numbers, she could see that Hamish was keen to stay with her and was not trying to take off and dance with anyone else. Audrey felt the same. It was so much easier to stay with one nice partner if you could find one, than try your luck with anyone who came along.