Soldier Girl

by Annie Murray

  ‘It does seem a little rash of them, doesn’t it?’ She spoke in her usual floaty way. ‘Of course we girls are on the predictors – they won’t turn us loose on the guns! I’d rather hoped they’d make me a driver or something. But this is what was decreed. It’s not really too bad, as long as you can concentrate all right and you’re not gun-shy.’

  Molly ladled soup for her. ‘Gun-shy?’

  ‘Some people just can’t stand it. They jump about like rabbits every time a gun goes off. Oh – this is Gina by the way?’ Molly and Gina, a rather horsey-looking girl, smiled nervously at each other. ‘And guess what – Ruth’s here too!’

  ‘Oh.’ Molly’s heart sank. Honor was one thing, but she wasn’t so pleased at the idea of seeing snooty, academic Ruth again. ‘She a gunner an’ all?’

  ‘No – something far more brainy. She’s a Kinny! There’s a bunch of them training here.’

  ‘A what?’

  Honor and Gina were having to move along the line – others behind were starting to mutter. ‘They’re Kiné-Theodolite operators, she says. It’s a more technical way of working out where the target is, apparently.’

  ‘Oh,’ Molly said. Trust Ruth.

  ‘I’d best move on – we must get together for a chinwag, Molly! See you!’

  ‘Er – see yer,’ Molly said, pleased, but startled to hear Honor use a phrase like ‘chinwag’. The army was changing her. She saw Gina lean in and ask something and Honor glance back in her direction. What were they saying? Molly wondered, digging out another ladleful. She burned with envy at their work. Here was she, stuck with a vat of flipping soup!

  Though she had expected a lonely day populated by strangers, it turned out differently. There was so much work to do that Molly was kept very busy, baking football-pitch-sized trays of dry Madeira cake made with powdered egg and minimal sugar for the afternoon tea break. The kitchens were full of the waft of hot sponge and big urns of tea when Ruth turned up.

  She was standing by the long serving counter. As their eyes met, Molly saw Ruth blush in confusion and look down for a moment. Sewn on her khaki uniform Molly saw the Royal Artillery gun badge above her left breast pocket. The other ack-ack girls in the mixed batteries wore the flaring bomb badge. There was also the white lanyard across her right shoulder. Kinnys were evidently something rather special. Molly took all this in enviously.

  ‘Hello, Ruth,’ she said forcefully, in case Ruth should try to pretend they didn’t know each other.

  ‘Oh!’ Ruth looked up, giving a flustered, buck-toothed smile. ‘Hello, Molly. I thought it was you, but I wasn’t sure.’ Her tone was non-committal, neither friendly nor off-putting. Then, with forced jollity, she added, ‘How’re you getting along?’

  ‘All right, thanks. With or without?’ She pointed at the tea. Ruth held out her big bone china mug.

  ‘Oh, without please. Though many more days out on the park and I’ll be taking sugar as well!’ She spoke fast, in her odd way. ‘Nice cake, by the way. Glad you’re getting along all right.’ She moved away, saying, ‘See you around.’

  Watching Ruth’s departing back, her small, curving figure swathed in battledress, Molly realized that if anything, Ruth was even more nervous than she was.

  At last there was a little bit of spare time, once tea was cleared away.

  ‘D’you want to come over to my hut – have another cuppa and a chat or anything?’ Mavis asked kindly. But Molly replied that she was going to go and have a look round. She didn’t tell Mavis that she had never seen the sea before, but now she had time to think about it, she was excited. The smell of it was in the air, and while she could see where the land gave out in the distance, she had not yet been over to have a look.

  ‘All right then,’ Mavis said easily. ‘It’s a nice afternoon for it now. See you back here later. No rest for the wicked, eh?’

  Mavis was right: it was a beautiful afternoon. The buffeting winds of the morning had died, the rain had passed off, and it was warm with a gentle breeze. Molly felt the sun hot on her face and her spirits lifted. Last night’s journey seemed a long time ago, and strange as this place was, she was beginning to be glad to be here, and was eager to explore. Saluting absent-mindedly, even at a junior ATS who giggled at her mistake, she made her way towards the cliffs, noticing that for the time being most of the guns seemed to be quiet. Though she was curious to see the gun park, she steered away from it, making for a place where she could walk and be alone.

  Suddenly, on the high cliff, with its wind-ruffled grass, she was looking out over the sea. The sight made her gasp, though it was not just the sight of the jewelled blue, the great reach of it as far as the eye could see, it was the whole experience of standing in the breeze, gulls seeming to float in the sky above, with more open sky around her than she had ever known before in her hemmed-in life.

  ‘The sea! The sea!’ she squeaked to herself, delighted. She was bubbling with excitement, wanting to run about like a child. Everything about being there made her soar inside. ‘It’s lovely and I want to stay here for ever!’

  She saw a movement out of the corner of her eye: a rabbit’s white scut disappearing behind a wiry bush. No wonder the grass was so short, as if someone had mown it! Enchanted, she moved along the sward, seeing in it tiny pink, yellow and white flowers and clumps of ferns. Further along she noticed two figures sitting closer to the cliff edge, off-duty ATS, their hair, one chestnut, one ginger, blowing back behind them, and laughing together. She felt a pang. Where was Cath now? What was happening to her? Snatches of their voices came to her. Molly passed quietly along behind them, not wanting them to see her.

  After walking further, to what seemed a more solitary spot, she found a perch on a grass-cushioned lip of ground which made a step, from where she could look out over the sea. She sat, astonished by the depth of colour brought out by the strong sunlight. She thought she had never seen the sky such a rich blue, the sea a dark, lovely line meeting it in the distance, the white waves forming little ruffles. And the grass: a vivid green that was completely new to her. Why had no one told her the world could be so beautiful? That there was so much to see outside the walls and alleys of the city? Turning her face towards the sun, she closed her eyes, feeling its warmth pressing on her lids. The dizzy wind whirled in her ears, and gulls screamed, their cries echoing against the cliffs, then wheeled overhead. The shadow of a pair of them passed over her, and she jumped, opening her eyes.

  ‘Well you’re some big buggers, ain’t yer?’ she said to them as they swooped out of sight over the cliff edge. For a moment she found herself wishing Em was here, to see all this too. But it was hard to imagine Em ever leaving home.

  She lay back for a moment, drinking in the warmth, head resting on the grass, hearing bees in the flowers. She started to feel as if she was floating, weightless, her head spinning. Everything – home, the war, all troubles – felt so far away. She stretched luxuriously, then frowned. The sun had gone in. More of those piled clouds must have sneaked up without her seeing . . . But there had been no clouds . . . She opened one eye, and leapt into a sitting position.

  ‘Oh my God – what the hell’re yer doing creeping up on me like that?’ she raged at the man standing over her. ‘You’ve almost made me jump out of my bleeding skin!’

  He laughed, even with Molly’s fury directed at him. She felt as if her privacy had been destroyed. Shielding her eyes against the sun, she glowered up at him.

  ‘You didn’t ’ave to come sneaking up on me like that, did yer?’

  ‘I suppose I could wear bells on my toes,’ he said, laughingly. ‘Sorry – I didn’t see you there ’til the last minute. I come and sit in that spot myself sometimes.’

  ‘Oh,’ Molly said. She felt a bit ashamed of her reaction. And she liked his deep voice, with a bit of an accent she wasn’t sure of, and even his half-mocking manner. ‘Sorry. D’yer want to sit down then?’

  ‘Well – if you don’t mind.’

  She budged up. There was eno
ugh room for two, quite easily.

  ‘You a new one?’ he asked, fishing out a packet of cigarettes from his breast pocket and holding it out to her. ‘I’ve not seen you round here before.’

  ‘I just got here yesterday.’

  ‘Here?’ He lit her cigarette skilfully, hands cupped round the match, and then his own, twisting his body away from the wind. Molly took the opportunity to look at him carefully. He had seemed tall standing over her, was broad-shouldered but slender. She saw army cropped hair of a middling brown, a large, beaky nose which, like Honor’s, dominated his face, and hooded eyes. His smile had shown a wide, slightly lopsided mouth. The effect was not so much obviously handsome as intriguing. She wanted to keep looking at him, couldn’t imagine getting bored by the sight of his face. She leaned close to him to light her cigarette, then back again, drawing on it.

  ‘You in a mixed battery then?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted, tetchily. If only she could say yes to that! ‘I’m a cook, worst luck.’

  He laughed, leaning back on one elbow. Long, very lean legs stretched out in front of him. Somehow, even reclining, he seemed to give off a restless energy.

  ‘Nothing wrong with cooks – well, except the ones around here! Everyone’s got to eat.’

  ‘I’d rather be out doing something else. Cooking’s like being at home, not like being a soldier.’

  ‘Women shouldn’t be soldiers.’

  ‘But we are – nearly. They can court-martial us now.’

  ‘So they can.’ He looked round, studying her face. Then he couldn’t seem to look away.

  ‘What’s that corking accent?’

  ‘Birmingham,’ she said defiantly. ‘And what’s your “corking accent”?’

  ‘Norf London,’ he joked. With mocking courtesy, he held out his hand, continuing in a very strong London accent, ‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Allow me to introduce myself – my full nomenclature is Anthony John Belham. Known to my closer associates as Tony. Might I ’ave the privilege of knowing under what appellation you formally introduce yourself?’

  ‘What?’ Molly asked, unable to keep from laughing.

  Deepening his voice to a roguish growl, he said, ‘Your name, young lady – your name.’

  ‘I’m Molly.’

  ‘Molly. Molly . . .’ He turned the name round. ‘A Moll, eh? Molly what?’

  ‘Fox.’

  ‘No middle name?’

  ‘Nope.’ Molly blew out a mouthful of smoke as elegantly as she could manage. ‘I’m surprised our mom even bothered giving me a first one.’

  Tony looked concerned. ‘Oh dear, like that is it?’

  ‘Nah – just pulling your leg,’ she said hastily, sorry she’d brought Iris anywhere near the conversation.

  ‘Molly from Birmingham.’ He grinned. ‘Well, Molly from Birmingham. That’s where all the best things come from – where my princess is from, in fact.’

  ‘What’re you on about now?’ She squinted at him.

  ‘My bike. A Norton, made in . . .’

  ‘Aston – I lived near the works for a bit,’ she said, excited. ‘You got it here? I’ve always fancied a go on one, but I never knew anyone with one.’

  ‘No – it’s back home. I only get to see her on leave. I keep her in the shed, locked safely away.’

  ‘Are you a gunner then?’

  He told her he was Royal Artillery, had been there training getting on for two months already. ‘We’ll be here a while more, and then – well, anyone’s guess where next.’

  ‘It’s lovely here. I’d never seen the sea before. Today’s my first day ever.’ She didn’t know why she told him that either. Something about him made her find it easy to be truthful.

  ‘Is that right? Yes well, I suppose Birmingham’s about as far from the sea as you can get. You got much family?’

  Molly stubbed out her cigarette on a bare patch of ground. ‘No – well, a bit.’

  ‘Brothers. Sisters?’

  ‘Two brothers. What about you?’

  ‘I’ve got a brother, Mick – he’s in the Merchant Navy. Bit older than me. And two sisters – they’re still at home. They’re all right, and they’re company for Mum. She says if she’d only had herself to see to in the bombing she’d have gone to pieces.’ His cigarette was finished now. He threw the stub away, but sat on in silence for a moment. Molly liked sitting with him. He interested her. He seemed to know what he liked.

  ‘Fancy a drink sometime?’ he asked, easily.

  ‘Yeah. Why not?’

  ‘Good – I’ll see you.’ He scrambled to his feet. ‘I’d better get back. See you soon, Molly.’

  ‘Ta-ra,’ she said, more casually than she felt.

  He turned after a few energetic paces and waved to her, his uniform billowing round his thin frame. The wind was getting up again and he walked off, bending into it. Molly stared after him until she couldn’t see him any more.

  Nineteen

  ‘I hope whatever’s in there’s better than the last lot – tasted as if it must have dead cat in it!’

  Tony was at the counter, rattling his mess tins. He had that restless air she recognized from before, of someone on the verge of running, or dancing. He was smiling winningly.

  ‘Cheeky bleeder!’ she retorted, though she couldn’t help a blush of pleasure at seeing him. ‘I’ll give you dead cat! It’s mutton stew and it’s . . . well, not too bad . . .’ She had to laugh at herself for not being able to claim any better than that. The food at the camp did not have a good reputation and Molly had no ambition to improve on it. Even so, she was still eating better in the army than she ever had in her life before.

  Standing there, he seemed even taller and thinner than before, as if he burned up every ounce the moment he’d eaten it. But he was also more handsome than she’d remembered, his eyes stony grey and alight with energy. She felt drawn in, excited at seeing him – and here she was hardly at her most glamorous in an overall, with her hair taken back under an unflattering hat!

  ‘Hmm – looks just about edible,’ he mused as she spooned stew into the mess tins. ‘Give us plenty of spuds, eh?’ He was more nervous than he was letting on, she saw. There was an edginess about him that made him seem more alive than other people. ‘Coming out for a drink tonight then, Molly?’

  ‘I might think about it,’ she said archly. ‘So long as you’re not rude about my cooking.’

  ‘For you, lady, I’ll eat dead cat any day . . .’ He backed away to join his mates. ‘Meet you at eight by the guardroom?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’ She wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

  ‘He looks rather nice,’ Mavis said, though with a note of doubt in her voice. From the sound of things, Mavis’s bloke was a quiet, steady type, more like Norm. There was something much livelier and more exciting about Tony, and Molly bubbled inside at the thought of tonight.

  Being stuck there as a cook seemed as nothing now. Suddenly she didn’t care as long as she could be there, by the sea, where he was. This was a new start. All she could think of was him as she went about her chores of the day. But she was nervous at the same time. There had been so many blokes she’d walked out with, almost for the sake of it, as if life would have been empty without them. But she hadn’t felt anything for them really. Sometimes she could barely even remember their names. And so often she made a mess of it, not knowing how to behave, or what was expected. She could hardly bear to admit to herself how confused she was about this, about what men wanted, or what she might want, or about what was right in any given situation. Instead she blundered from one to another, getting it all wrong. And she desperately didn’t want to mess it up this time.

  The village, like many situated near camps which had sprouted up all over the place, must have been wondering quite what had hit it, with the arrival of crowds of young people, all full of life and hungry for drink and fun to pass the time. There was a truck going there that night and Molly and Tony climbed aboard, anxious for something ot
her than the NAAFI, and planning to crowd into the two village pubs.

  On the way, someone started singing, and they all joined in: ‘Run Adolf, Run Adolf, Run, Run, Run’ and ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy’ . . . Molly saw Tony join in, heard that he had a good strong singing voice, and she joined in too. They smiled at each other and she felt immediately, soaringly happy.

  Don’t let me go wrong this time, she prayed inwardly. Please, let it be OK. He’s the nicest bloke I’ve ever met . . .

  Most of the men she’d been with sat in groups and talked mainly to each other whenever they went to the pub, while she sat, bored and ignored. Tony was different. As soon as they’d managed to buy drinks in the crowded little village bar, he said, ‘It’s warm out still – let’s take it out on the grass, shall we?’

  So the two of them sat on a grass bank outside, a bit away from the other knots of joking, laughing drinkers, chatting the evening away while the sun went down and the midges came up. Molly felt herself relax. There was something about Tony that made him easy to be with. She realized there was something new in it, that she’d never really felt with anyone before – that for all his teasing, he respected her. And he was open and talked about his family. He talked with affection about his mother and father, Dymphna and Fred. Molly smiled at his mother’s name.

  ‘Does she ’ave dimples?’

  Tony laughed. ‘Yeah, she does, come to think of it. But that’s a good old Irish name – you not heard it before?’

  ‘No, can’t say I have.’

  ‘My dad’s English – became a Catholic to marry Mum – she’s very staunch that way.’

  ‘What’s ’e do – for a living, I mean?’

  ‘Oh, he’s got a little shop, off the Holloway Road – newsagents, all that, but he’s got a chair in there, gives haircuts as well – for kids mainly.’