Soldier Girl

by Annie Murray

  Molly sipped her beer, laughing. ‘Are they the only ones’ll risk it?’

  ‘Yeah – too young to complain. Mum taught him – he only does one style, short back and sides, very short.’

  ‘Your mom nice, is she?’

  ‘Mum?’ Tony seemed puzzled by the question. ‘Yeah, course. Then there’s Mick, the oldest – he’s away at sea. They thought he was going to be a priest for years ’til he got a girlfriend and that was the end of it!’

  ‘A priest? Why shouldn’t he have a girlfriend?’

  Tony lit two cigarettes and passed her one.

  ‘Here – give us one, Tony!’ another lad said, passing, and Tony threw one over, saying, ‘Get your own you lazy blighter,’ and the other lad laughed.

  ‘You can’t be a priest and have a girlfriend and get married or anything. Not Catholics – they’re not allowed.’

  ‘Oh,’ Molly said. ‘I daint know that.’ Teasing, she added, ‘So you don’t want to be a priest then?’

  Tony drew on his cigarette so that his cheeks sucked in. The evening light made his face glow golden, but his voice was suddenly bitter. ‘I wouldn’t go near those twisted bastards again if you paid me.’

  ‘God, why?’ she asked, startled at the angry change in him.

  ‘Anything I know, that’s in here?’ He tapped his head. ‘They beat every ounce of it in there, every crumb, every date in history, every word of Latin, every number of arithmetic . . . the sadistic—’ He bit back an obscenity and got restlessly to his feet. ‘Finished your drink? Let’s walk a bit, shall we?’

  Molly swigged the last of the beer and stood up, taken aback at his sudden change of mood. Slightly tipsily they left the pub, ignoring a couple of the others who called after them. Tony pushed his hands down into his pockets, seeming tense and ill at ease.

  ‘What’s up?’ Molly asked, timidly. ‘Was it summat I said?’

  ‘Oh – no.’ He seemed to shake himself out of it. ‘Just thinking about it – that school, those blokes . . . Christ. Vicious bastards. Anyway. No good thinking about them. Tell me about your lot.’

  ‘I told yer – not much to tell.’

  ‘Come on – there must be something.’

  He was nice, and she wanted to talk to him, but how could she begin on the truth of her family? So she gave him a part of it.

  ‘My mom’s . . . well, we don’t get on. She’s had a hard life. My dad was shell-shocked in the war and he’s an invalid, can’t do much for himself. And I’ve got two brothers but one’s left home and we never see him.’

  ‘What about the other?’

  ‘Bert. He’s two years older than me.’

  ‘Has he joined up?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘There’s a lot of Reserved Occs in Birmingham, I suppose.’

  ‘There is, but Bert ain’t Reserved Occ. He’s a waster and pig. I hate him.’

  Tony stopped in the lane, a tender expression on his face. The air was full of summer smells, the hedgerows, the damp earth and pungent flowers.

  ‘That’s a tough thing to say. You’re a funny girl, Molly. You’re so blinking beautiful, did you know that? And you come across all tough and mouthy, but. . .’ He frowned. ‘I’m not sure what to make of you.’

  Don’t make a mess of this, Molly admonished herself, biting back a smart-alec comment to hide her tender feelings. Tony was like Jenny Button: he tried to see you, see you properly, and it was touching and frightening at the same time. The fact that he was keen to talk about family was strange enough to her – most blokes rambled on about football or motorbikes or some other girl they wanted to see. She wanted to laugh it off, but instead she tried to be more gentle. She didn’t want to lose this one.

  ‘I s’pose I’m a bit of a mystery to myself,’ she said lightly.

  ‘What about your mother?’

  ‘Look, I’ve told you – we don’t see eye to eye.’ Under his gaze, which seemed to embrace her, she felt disarmed. There was something in him that she recognized, and she sensed that he felt the same about her, though neither of them could have named what it was. ‘Look – she’s . . . It’s not summat to be proud of. She’s a drinker . . . Has been for years. She’s a hard woman, not much kindness in her.’

  Tony reached out and took her arm, pulling her close as they walked again.

  ‘My uncle’s a boozer. Wrecked his family with it.’ She was glad of his words, but best of all was the warmth of his arm, wiry and strong. ‘Mum ran round after him for years. It took her all that time to see it was useless. She thought there was something she could do – say the right thing, keep praying. She thought she could save him. In the end his wife left and he wrecked his health . . . It’s no good getting hooked on the stuff . . .’

  Though happily mellow from the beer, Molly was immediately glad she hadn’t drunk any more. They’d had just enough to feel relaxed and playful.

  Tony was silent for a moment, then said, ‘Did you know there’s a castle here?’

  ‘No!’ A castle, with Tony, sounded exciting. But then, a cardboard box with Tony would have felt exciting too.

  ‘I’ll show you. Quick, we’ve just got time before it gets dark.’

  He walked her swiftly along the lane and soon the grey gatehouses and crenellated walls of a castle came into view.

  ‘Oh!’ Molly cried, full of wonder, like a little girl. ‘I saw a picture of one once. Never seen a real one before! It’s like summat out of a storybook!’

  ‘It is,’ Tony said. ‘Blimey – you have led a sheltered life, haven’t you? Up there – see that cottage? They call that the “Dak Bungalow” and the lady there’ll do poached egg on toast for you if you ask her nicely. Her husband wears a panama hat, come rain, come shine!’

  Molly laughed, still gazing at the castle. ‘Can we go in?’

  ‘Don’t see why not.’

  They went up the grass-lined path and through an arched entrance, and once inside, they were suddenly enclosed by the old stones, pierced through by dark-eyed, pointed windows. They explored passageways and chill little rooms and the open green area inside. Molly was quite surprised to find there was no one else there. By the time they had gone part of the way round, in the cooling air of dusk, Tony had taken her hand and they were exploring like children on an adventure.

  ‘D’you know,’ Molly said, finding the words coming naturally, to her surprise, ‘I’ve never had such a nice time as this before.’

  ‘You kidding?’ Tony asked.

  ‘No! This is . . .’ She shrugged, laughing – she couldn’t even explain how she felt set free and full of the newness of it all. She wanted to tell him it was because she was there with him. But she was being careful, and held back from saying anything.

  They left the castle building and climbed up to a rise where they could make out the sea in the distance with the pale shimmer of the sun’s dying light on it. Darkness was creeping softly up from everywhere, bringing with it even stronger scents from the summer flowers. They sat down on the sloping grass. A bird was calling somewhere near, insistently. A thrush, Tony told her. His father was keen on birds, could name them all and even imitate some of their calls. Molly realized they were still holding hands, Tony’s slim and warm in hers. She hoped her hands didn’t feel too rough.

  ‘It’s so lovely,’ she said softly, awed by how beautiful it all was, by the way she felt, seeing it all, and him beside her, his profile, as he looked out to sea.

  Tony turned to look at her. Molly felt herself go weak, but she didn’t move. Normally with blokes she liked to be in charge, to force things and make happen what she knew they really wanted from her, the things she was good for. But this time that felt wrong. Everything was different.

  For a moment, the way Tony was looking at her, she thought he was going to turn and take her in his arms, kiss her, but instead he lay back, looking up at the sky. She did the same. Above was a pale grey vastness. It made her feel a bit dizzy. She breathed in deeply.

  ‘I feel ever
so small all of a sudden!’ she said.

  Tony gave a slight chuckle. ‘Me too.’

  ‘I like you being from London.’

  He turned his head. ‘Why?’ He face was close to hers but she carried on looking up.

  ‘It just seems – glamorous.’

  Tony laughed. ‘Does it?

  ‘Yes – you know, London. It’s special, ain’t it – isn’t it? – not like old Brum where I come from. Full of smoke and metal-bashing.’

  ‘Well it’s none too glamorous where I come from, I can tell you. Cramped streets. I have to get out when I’m there – the bike, that’s my ticket to freedom.’ There was always passion in his voice when he spoke about the bike. ‘But it’s got its good bits, I’ll grant you.’

  ‘Palaces and that.’

  Tony seemed to find this very funny. Laughing loudly, he rolled over onto his front and looked at her.

  ‘You’re a caution. Have you any idea what state London’s in? It’s a mess! God – you should have seen when the docks went up!’

  ‘Well it sounds lovely to me,’ Molly said dreamily. ‘I’d like to see it. The river and all the big buildings . . .’

  Tony looked down at her, and she stared up at the darkening sky, almost pretending she didn’t know he was looking. He reached out and chucked her gently under the chin. She turned to look then. He stared into her eyes, then smiled slowly.

  ‘Best be getting back,’ he said.

  She nodded, glad and disappointed at the same time. She’d thought he might kiss her then. Didn’t he want her? Was that it?

  They walked back, hand in hand, to the pub. Before they got there Tony said, ‘Molly? Will you come out again?’

  ‘D’yer want to then?’ It came out a bit harshly. She had begun to convince herself he was disappointed in some way. She was used to men being more basic and forward. It was usually the way she encouraged them to be.

  He looked a bit puzzled, offended even. ‘Yes – course I want to. You’re a funny girl, Molly.’ Awkwardly, he added, ‘This has been the best night I’ve had in ages – ever – just in case you want to know.’

  Twenty

  Molly knew she had never felt like this before, not in any of her relations with men. At first, with all the lads she made up to, she had naively believed that they would really want her and care for her, but all of them had just tossed her aside. After that her attitude had been a mixture of need for their attention and contempt for them once she’d got it. It had been like an itch she had to scratch: she had to make men notice her, desire her, but even though she often ended up in their arms, there was nothing warm or close about it, and no respect on either side.

  But Tony . . . he’s different – he’s so lovely, she thought, getting ready for bed that night with a big smile on her face. The lights in their hut had still been on when she got back and Mavis was sitting on her bed, legs tucked under her, leafing through Picture Post.

  ‘Well, you look happy,’ she observed, seeming amused.

  ‘I am,’ Molly said, surprised at the feeling. It was a warm night and she hesitated before climbing into the thick army-issue pyjamas. But she had nothing else; she’d have to put them on and throw off the bedclothes.

  ‘Is it that chap I saw you with? The one with the nice laugh? He looks a bit of fun.’

  Molly nodded, pinning back her hair. ‘’E is. ’E’s blooming gorgeous! Ooh – I feel like bouncing on the bed!’

  ‘Go on then,’ one of the others said. ‘I dare you!’

  ‘All right then.’ Giggling, Molly clambered onto the bed, but the sagging springs made it so hard even to stand upright that soon she was staggering about in fits and the others laughed at the sight of her. ‘I can’t – I’ll go straight through the thing!’

  ‘Come on, Molly – bounce!’

  ‘I can’t . . .’ She fell back, helpless with laughter. ‘I’m too much of a lump!’

  ‘Well you aren’t wispy, I’ll say that,’ Mavis said, giggling. ‘More of a Venus de Milo!’

  ‘Only with arms,’ someone else said.

  ‘Who?’ Molly tittered.

  ‘Listen to that bed – it’s complaining!’

  Molly climbed into bed as things quietened, excited, and thinking how different things were now. She’d got off to such a bad start in her first billet, with Win and Ruth and the others. Now she was learning not to be quite so prickly and take things a bit more gently. For once she seemed to be getting on all right with the girls.

  And Tony . . . She was brimful with happiness. He’d said it was the best night he’d ever had – and he sounded as though he meant it. She kept picturing his face, the way he looked at her, the way she had wondered if he would kiss her, and he didn’t. She went over everything, treasuring it, but wondering and scared at the same time. Would he still feel the same tomorrow? And even if he did, wouldn’t she go and make some awful mistake and spoil it all?

  He was there at breakfast the next morning, as she stood in clouds of steam doling out ladles of porridge. She saw him the moment he came into the mess, that long, unmistakable face and with some energy about him that made him stand out.

  ‘Mornin’, girls,’ he said roguishly, exaggerating his London accent. He gave Molly a wink which lit up her morning, but she saw Mavis blush. Mavis seemed to find Tony rather alarming. Lowering his voice, he said to Molly, ‘See you later?’

  ‘He’s a one,’ Mavis remarked as he went off with his breakfast.

  ‘What d’yer mean?’ Molly said, a bit put out.

  ‘Oh, I don’t mean no harm,’ Mavis said hurriedly. ‘He just looks . . . I dunno – a bit of a handful, that’s all.’

  Molly shrugged. Mavis obviously liked her men very staid. Tony had a liveliness and sense of adventure that so many other blokes didn’t.

  After they had finished the midday meal, there was a break, and Tony showed Molly round the windy gun park, the ack-ack guns pointing out from the high cliffs towards the sky, and generators, height finders and predictors on their tripods to plot the planes’ courses.

  ‘See, the height finder tells the predictor where the plane is now?’ Tony indicated the dusty electric cables joining the two instruments like an umbilical cord. ‘You have to be able to see two images of the plane and line them up. Then the predictor tells you where it will be in a few seconds’ time, so that the fuse setter can get ready for firing. It’s all got a lot better. In the early days when they were bombing London, it was like clay-duck shooting in the dark. They were banging away at them and hardly hitting anything.’

  Molly looked at the instruments, intrigued.

  ‘I wish I could do that. I reckon I could.’

  ‘Oh, I expect you could,’ Tony said. He elbowed her playfully. ‘It’d spare the rest of us your cooking.’

  He ran off before she could thump him.

  They spent every bit of time they could together, talking, joking, finding out more and more about each other. Both of them were full of energy and happiness, often walking hand in hand. Molly felt like a child again with him – this time, a happy, excited one. They explored the village, and the coastline. Walking along the cliffs in the opposite direction to where they first met, the going was more difficult. The Kinnys, who had a hut on the cliffs each side of the gun park, were beginning to wear a path along there, but other than them, there were not usually many people about. It was steeper, and involved scrambling between clumps of bracken and brambles, with foxgloves and honeysuckle beginning to flower among it all. Molly often got the giggles, losing her footing and clinging to clumps of broom or ferns.

  ‘Wait for me!’ she’d call, laughing helplessly. Tony would roll his eyes comically and turn back to give her a hand.

  ‘Well you can tell you’re a townie,’ he’d say.

  ‘I can’t help it – I keep slipping over!’

  And then, having stopped, they’d look out to sea and be struck by the sight all over again.

  ‘God, it’s lovely,’ Molly kept saying. />
  It was here, two days after their first date, sitting on the sandstone cliffs in the scent of bracken, looking out over the bay, that Tony put his arm round her shoulders, drew her close and sat for a moment, their shoulders touching as they companionably looked out at the view. When he turned and looked at her, the expression she saw in his eyes almost brought tears to hers. Suddenly she felt shy. There had been so many men she had kissed, so many that didn’t matter, but with Tony she felt like a complete beginner. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her intently for a moment as if he was memorizing her, then leaned in close to kiss her.

  It was the first of many kisses. In the July weather there were places to escape to once their shifts were over, and warm, balmy evenings to do it in, always with the scent of the flowers and bracken, the buzzing insects and the salt sea on the breeze. Molly loved the place, and she knew she loved Tony. He said he loved her, and the way he looked at her, she believed him. Being with him, she felt for the first time that something in her life made sense. She also understood that Tony was not just ‘nice’, though he was. There was something deeper which bonded them, though she could not have put it into words.

  To her surprise, one evening when they were sitting side by side on the cliffs, shoulders touching, holding hands, he told her he loved fishing.

  ‘Fishing? What, down the cut?’ That was the only fishing she’d ever heard of, and any fish was lucky that managed to stay alive in that fetid canal water!

  ‘Nah – the river. Or anywhere really. My dad’d take us, me and Mick, sometimes of a Sunday, get on the bus . . . It was, well, a treat – sometimes when . . .’ He trailed off, face darkening. She saw that happen to him sometimes, as if a memory had come over him like a cloud.

  ‘When what?’

  ‘Nothing. It was just something we did. Nothing like it – sat there with your line, rain or shine, glare on the water . . .’ He moved his arm as if it was all there in front of him. ‘Or raindrops down the back of your neck. The old river going by, the quiet. No one bothering you. Mick used to fidget, but Dad said it was the only thing’d keep me still. We left Mick behind in the end. I always liked being out and away somewhere. Then when I got my bike, well, I could go off anywhere. That’s heaven to me.’ He looked at her. ‘That and sitting here.’