by Annie Murray
She decided to try and avoid all conversation and pretended to go to sleep. But the lad beside her was not to be put off. She sensed that he kept turning and looking curiously at her. Men always looked at her. Her striking appearance – tall, with a full figure and thick golden hair – brought her endless male attention. And she was used to responding. When she had reached a certain age, fifteen or sixteen, she had begun to discover that she was alluring to men. She had been tall for her age then, had a pretty face, and was past the worst of her physical problems. And her hair, so abundant and blonde, always drew stares. Suddenly, everywhere she went, blokes appeared at her side and chatted her up. It was a heady experience, confusing; she didn’t know how to behave, but it was a revelation. For the first time in her life she knew she had power! And she liked to play with it.
‘Where’re you off to then?’ the young man asked, when she risked opening her eyes for a few seconds.
She couldn’t resist turning to glance at him. All right, she couldn’t compete with those other girls, but she had something they didn’t. And he seemed to be of her class. In a loud, arch voice she said, ‘The army – joined up, ain’t I?’
The lad grinned. He was definitely more like her, she could tell by his face, his slicked-back hair. ‘You an’ all, eh? ’Ere, girls’ – he turned to the others – ‘ ’ere’s another one going where you’re going.’
‘Oh – really?’ Lipstick lips leaned forward enthusiastically. ‘You’re ATS, are you?’
Molly nodded. She felt insecure and prickly in the face of these foreign, superior creatures.
‘Well how marvellous. Are you from Birmingham? That’s where we’ve travelled from.’
Does she think I’m blind? Molly thought. I saw them get on the train. ‘Yeah – I’m from Brum, can’t yer tell?’ She laughed loudly and the lad joined in. ‘What’s yer name, soldier boy?’ she asked. She wanted to shut the other girls out of the conversation, because she felt so uncomfortable with them.
‘Billy – yours?’
‘I’m Molly.’
‘Nice to meet you, Molly,’ Lipstick Lips said. Molly gave her a look which said, I wasn’t talking to you. ‘My name’s Marguerite Dunne, and this is Ruth Chambers.’
‘Oh,’ Molly said. She knew she was being rude, but she couldn’t think what else to say. Ruth, the other woman, was dressed more drably in an old camel coat, her black hair in a plait which snaked out from under her hat. She looked across haughtily and didn’t smile. Molly turned back to Billy.
‘So – how long’ve you been a soldier, Billy boy?’
‘Only a few months,’ he said. She could see it working already, feel herself reeling him in, by the way she looked at him, talked to him all intimately. God, it never took much.
The other two girls soon gave up and fell into conversation with the two lads closer to them. Molly spent the rest of the journey talking and flirting with Billy, who was a sweet-natured lad whose family lived in Winson Green. He seemed flattered by Molly’s attention. She laughed loudly at his jokes and told him stories about the factories she’d worked in. Every so often, when she was loud, she saw the other girls glance at her as they might at some strange animal in a zoo and it made her want to laugh even louder. Billy, however, although looking a bit uncertain at first, as if he wasn’t used to girls telling saucy stories, was soon laughing raucously along with her.
‘Any chance of keeping the noise down a bit?’ one of the other lads asked, not unkindly, but Molly was immediately riled.
‘Sorry, Yer Honour,’ she said with all the sarcasm she could muster, and she and Billy giggled again. ‘Christ—’ She leaned closer to him and brushed his thigh with her hand. ‘I wish we had a drop of summat worth drinking in ’ere – and the place to ourselves.’ She looked up at him through her lashes.
‘’Fraid I haven’t got anything,’ he said, blushing. ‘But we’ll be there soon. Fancy meeting up sometime, Molly?’
‘Oh – I expect so,’ she said, withdrawing again. Better not seem too keen. That was when they’d lose interest. ‘We’ll ’ave to see, won’t we?’
The train slowed, as if running out of breath, and finally shuddered to a halt in the station.
‘Northampton!’ Voices took up the cry along the carriages.
The posh one, Marguerite, opened the compartment door, letting in a rush of cold air and flakes of snow. She poked her head out, then turned to inform the rest of them, ‘Yes, it is Northampton, apparently – we’re here!’
‘I say – finally!’ said Ruth in her odd, tight voice. She had unfortunate protruding teeth and a rather old-fashioned way with her.
‘Could be anywhere really, couldn’t we?’ Marguerite said, yanking on her large case. ‘Oh drat! I knew I shouldn’t have brought this hulking great thing!’
All the signs had been taken down to flummox the enemy in the event of invasion, so Molly was grateful for all the shouting. There was a surge of movement all round her. The noisy group of servicemen who had been squatting in the corridor were now all hoiking kitbags on to their shoulders, and most of the other passengers in the compartment also got up, reached for cases and bags on the luggage rack, hauled packages out from between their legs and generally made plain their intention to get off.
Amid the hubbub of disembarkation, Molly called out loudly to Billy, feeling she somehow had to stay connected to him. ‘Don’t forget to come and see me, will yer Billy, there’s a darlin’!’ She gave him a wink.
As he called a cheerful reply, she saw Ruth and Marguerite roll their eyes at each other.
‘Stupid bitches,’ Molly murmured, and leaned down to pick up her case. She could see what they thought of her. She was already cast in the role of rough, mouthy Brummie, and the worst of it was, it was mostly her own fault.
She followed the throng of travellers from the platform out to the front of the station, which was a scene of great busyness. Small flakes of snow were falling slowly and there was plenty on the ground and rooftops. The crowd consisted mainly of servicemen and a number of young civilian women on their way to the training camp, and there were army vehicles coming and going. The women were ushered towards two army trucks, parked one behind the other, with open backs. There was no sign of any seats inside.
She longed to see a familiar face. If only Em was here and they’d joined up together! In the crowd she saw Marguerite and Ruth again, Marguerite nattering away, though Ruth looked cold and intimidated. The commanding voices of some of the other young women around her made her shrivel inside. They were going to the camp as well! Would they all be like that? How on earth was she, Molly, ever going to fit in? She cursed herself for being so loud and offish on the journey. What the hell must they have thought of her? Still, she rallied haughtily, holding her head up and looking round as if she had all the confidence in the world, what the hell did she care? It was her the blokes would go for, not some of those odd-looking toffs!
Holding her brown case, comforted by the soft feel of its handle, she took her place amid the group of young women. Some of the girls were chatting in animated voices, while others were silent and nervous. Molly felt small and very frightened, and at that moment she wished from the bottom of her heart that she could get on a return train and head straight home again
Eight
They worked up quite a fug in the truck, all crowded in together, clinging to the sides and to each other as the vehicle swerved round corners, making their insides lurch as well.
‘I say,’ a voice remarked, to scattered laughter, ‘who-ever’s driving must be keen to get back in time for lunch!’
Molly recognized the voice. She could see Lipstick Lips beside the more frumpy girl, Ruth, and although they were packed in quite close to Molly, neither of them turned to her or acknowledged her existence. The chatter was among the more confident ones. None of the girls close to Molly said much, all seeming shy and muted by cold and queasiness, and Molly stood silently, her feet so frozen she couldn’t feel them.
‘Is there no one to carry our luggage?’ a high, nasal voice asked, among all the other mutterings of uncertainty. The tone was tentative, without the braying confidence of some of the others. Molly turned, intrigued, to see an unusual-looking girl with wisps of blonde hair blowing about her face. She was tall, thin and lanky, and had a wide mouth and a large, beak-like nose. She also looked pale and exhausted.
‘You’ll be lucky,’ someone else retorted. ‘This isn’t a holiday camp, you know!’
‘You’re telling me,’ another voice chipped in, and there was a brief ripple of laughter.
‘Hello – who’s this?’
A dumpy yet commanding-looking figure was striding towards the group. She planted her rather solid body before them, clicked her feet together in their shiny black shoes and looked them all over with darting brown eyes, not noticeably impressed by what was in front of her. Dark, wavy hair was visible under her ATS cap and Molly saw a tough, intelligent-looking face. Her heart beat faster. There was something about this alien creature that she found challenging; she also had a natural authority which invited respect. To Molly’s surprise she realized that the woman was not very much older than the rest of them, but she looked completely in command, and tough as old boots.
In a booming voice the woman welcomed them and introduced herself as Lance Corporal Phoebe Morrison. ‘Right – well, it’s no good all of you standing here out in this weather. We’ve got to get you kitted out – but the first thing I’m going to do is show you your billets. Get into threes – that’s how we do things around here – quickly now, no, threes, not fives, you numbskulls! In line, quick march!’
Molly found herself beside a small, wiry little person who she’d hardly noticed up until now. The girl was very young-looking and the ancient carpet bag holding her possessions looked almost too big for her to carry. She had her hair plaited and coiled round her ears in a quaintly old-fashioned style and strange, bulging blue eyes. She reminded Molly of an insect. As they marched towards the huts, the girl turned to Molly, gave her a wink, and through adenoids, in broad Black Country, said, ‘Well, I down’t much like the look of ’er, do yow?’
For the first time that day Molly laughed with relief.
‘She looks like summat you’d fire out of a cannon, don’t ’er?’ she replied, far too loudly. She heard the girl on her left, who had a head of wild red hair, splutter with laughter, and there were titters from among the others. Their corporal bawled, at astonishing volume, ‘No talking back there!’
The girls made wry faces at each other.
‘Where’re yow from then – Brum?’ the girl asked. She had a twitchy way of talking, as if someone was intermittently pricking her with a pin.
‘Right first time – what about you?’
‘Walsall. I thought anything’d be better than the factory. Our mom says I’ll never stick it out. “They’ll eat you up on toast,”’er said. But that’s ’cus ’er down’t want me to go.’
‘Halt!’ Corporal Morrison roared, causing them to come to a ragged standstill outside a hut. ‘This is Hut F. Right – first twelve of you in there!’
Molly and the Walsall girl, who said her name was Lena, and the redhead were first in line for the second billet, Hut J, and found themselves leading the way right to the far end. Molly and Lena took the corner beds – or what passed as beds, because none of the black metal bedsteads even had mattresses or any bedding whatsoever. All the hut contained otherwise was grey lino on the floor and an unlit stove in the middle.
Molly put her case on the floor and perched on the edge of the metal frame, still in her coat. It felt even colder inside than out and their breath was visible on the air. If only she’d chosen a bed closer to the stove! Lena seemed to be muttering to herself, searching for something in her bag. Molly perched on the cold edge of the bed and blew her nose again, wondering what would happen next. The redhead, who had the bed next to hers, threw her bag onto the springs and grinned across at her.
‘Dear God, they said it’d be basic! Would you not think they’d at least give us a little bit of straw or something to lie on? Even a cow in a barn’d expect that much!’ The girl was Irish. She flumped down backwards and the springs screeched with surprise, making both of them laugh. She had dancing blue eyes and a healthy look to her cheeks that said she was someone who had spent her life in the open air. With that and her curling red hair and upturned nose, Molly saw that she was very pretty. ‘Well, hello,’ she continued, sitting up. ‘Looks like we’re going to be lying here side by side then.’
She said it with a measure of impishness that put Molly at her ease and made her smile.
‘Looks like it,’ Molly said, full of relief. At least Lena and this girl seemed more her type. The blonde beaky one seemed to be muttering and complaining in a distracted sort of way a couple of beds away. ‘What’s yer name?’
‘Oh – I’m Cathleen Maguire – just call me Cath. And you?’
‘Molly – Fox.’
‘Lovely to meet you, Molly.’
‘That’s Lena over there.’
Lena looked up from rooting about in her bag and then came over, grinning. Molly was struck again by how tiny and frail she looked.
‘D’you say yow’re called Cath?’
‘That’s me,’ Cath twinkled.
‘Where yow from then?’
‘Well, Ireland, as you can hear. Near Waterford, which is down in the south, in case you don’t know. But I came over to Birmingham for work first. To be honest with you, factory work wasn’t for me, not after growing up on the farm. So I’ve joined up instead.’
‘Down’t blame yer,’ Lena said. ‘Must be nice, living on a farm.’
‘Ah, it’s all right. But you want to get out, you know? Get away and see some life before it’s all over! So I jumped on the boat.’
Molly watched her with admiration. It seemed a huge step to her, crossing the sea and being so far from home.
As they talked, Molly began to feel a bit better. There was a hubbub of chatter along the hut and they both looked around to take in who else was with them. In the next bed to Cath was the tall, beaky-nosed blonde. Over the other side, with a shock, she recognized Ruth, who had been on the train, but she was relieved to see that there was no sign of the overbearing Marguerite. Ruth was talking to a girl with her dark hair cut in a bob who had her back to them. Other girls were chattering along the rows of beds, everyone wondering what next and where on earth was the bedding and when were they going to get a cup of tea?
However, the blonde girl next to Cath was sitting bolt upright on the edge of her bed not joining in the hubbub. She looked very distracted and upset.
‘She doesn’t look too happy,’ Cath said in her easy way. I’d better go and say hello.’
Walking round the bed, she went to the tall girl and held out her hand. ‘Hello there – we’re neighbours. My name’s Cath.’
The girl looked up with stricken eyes, as if she’d been brought back from some faraway dream. Eventually it dawned on her to take Cath’s hand.
‘Oh – I’m Honor. Honor Carruthers.’ Molly and Lena exchanged smirks at the sound of her posh, peculiar voice. ‘How d’you do?’
‘I’m doing all right,’ Cath said in her easy way.
‘Really?’ Honor said, seeming appalled by everything around her. ‘I – I didn’t know . . . I had no idea it would be so perfectly awful . . .’
‘Ah well,’ Lena called across to her. ‘Bit late now, ain’t it? We’re here and we’re all gunna ’ave to get used to
it.’ She looked across at Molly and rolled her eyes.
‘But I . . .’ the girl started to say, but it was drowned out by Corporal Morrison’s voice booming at the door, ‘Right – outside in threes, quick sharp!’
As they milled out of the hut Molly found herself close to Ruth. Seeing who was beside her, Ruth glanced at her, then turned away, a thick blush rising in her cheeks, and moved right away from Molly as fast as she could. Stung, Molly stared after her.
Right, she thought, I can see how it’s going to be with you, you stuck-up little bitch!
The occupants of Hut J were obviously a very mixed crew and Molly was grateful that her nearest neighbours were Lena and Cath. Imagine if she had to deal with one of those posh cows who had beds further along, with their bossy, cut-glass voices!
Outside, the snow had turned to a sleety rain, but this didn’t seem to make any difference to proceedings. The twelve of them stood like lambs ready for the slaughter, hands raw in the cold, freezing droplets trickling down the backs of their necks, waiting to be told what to do.
‘Squad! Move to the right in threes! Quick march – left, right, left, right . . . Right wheel. . .’
‘Holy Mother!’ Cath was already giggling at trying to set off on the right leg, or was it the left? The turn caused quite a few of them to bump into one another and there was much giggling and confusion. She and Molly seemed to set each other off and before they’d gone far, they were almost helpless with laughter.
‘Quiet!’ Corporal Morrison turned on them, glowering. She left the front and walked round to give Molly and Cath a particularly fierce scowl. ‘We can take as long as you like over this. D’you want to stand out here all afternoon?’
Some of the others were shushing them, annoyed. Molly and Cath just managed to stifle their giggles. It was quite some time before there were two orderly lines of six at the back of the hut.