Soldier Girl

by Annie Murray

  It had still been raining as they made their way to the Butlin’s camp, and as well as damp, all of them were still in uniform, so it was not easy to feel particularly glamorous.

  ‘Look at that!’ Cath elbowed Molly. Along the top of one side of the mirror, someone had painted in large letters ‘TAKE A LOOK AT YOURSELF. ARE YOU A CREDIT TO YOUR UNIT?’

  They eyed themselves in the mirrors, with their heavy, masculine clothing, and laughed, fluffing up their damp hair. They were soon surrounded by male attention. They found somewhere to sit, the men brought beers over and they all took it in turn to dance. Molly, living her careful, sober life now, was careful not to drink too much, or give anyone any encouragement, and for the most part, she and the girls all sat and had a laugh together. But there was one man there that night who she couldn’t help noticing. He was a huge, burly fellow with thick, dark hair which, even when shorn into a service haircut, looked as if it was trying to break out and grow powerfully fast. He had a big, fleshy face and a general expression of happy good nature. He came over to them and introduced himself to her as Len Goodliffe and said he came from near Great Yarmouth. Smiling, his wide mouth revealed big square teeth.

  ‘Fancy another drink?’ he asked Molly. She could tell he had made a beeline for her. Somehow they were physical equals.

  Molly hesitated, then said, ‘OK, ta then.’ One more wouldn’t hurt, she reasoned. The other girls all seemed to be pairing off. Cath was talking half-heartedly to an eager-looking blond lad, Jen was laughing with another and Nora had gone off and was dancing with a lad so tall and gangly that he towered over her.

  ‘Here you go,’ Len said, handing her the drink and parking himself on the bench beside her. Molly found herself pleased to have his company. His big, smiling presence was attractive and he was cheerful, and easy to be with. Be careful, she told herself.

  ‘So where’re you from, Molly?’ he asked, holding out a pack of Park Drives.

  ‘Ta—’ Molly took one and they both lit up. ‘Can’t yer tell?’ She smiled. ‘Most people can spot a Brummie accent fast enough to take the rise out of it!’

  ‘Oh – Birmingham. I got it wrong – thought it might be Liverpool. Shows how much I know!’

  He asked questions about her family, in his Norfolk-tinged accent which Molly found quaint and soothing. She gave him a brief, cleaned-up version of her family – yes, she had a mom and dad and two brothers. She suddenly thought of Bert, at which a strange, unexpected shudder went through her which she hoped would not show, but Len said, ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yes – course. Just a bit chilly. I’m still drying out.’ She switched the conversation to him as soon as possible. ‘What about your family?’

  Len told her he was the baby of the family: he had a brother and three older sisters. His family were farmers. From the way he talked about them it sounded a loving family. He also, as he soon told Molly, had a fiancée, Sheila, from another farming family, who had stayed at home to work the land. They were planning to marry in a few months, when he would go home on leave.

  Molly felt relief wash through her, only slightly tinged with disappointment. She had no need to worry that Len might want to take things further with her – she could relax and enjoy the company of a friendly man, without any other complications.

  The evening rushed past very quickly and enjoyably. They swapped stories of their army history. Len let out his big, rumbling laugh when she told him about some of her antics as a cook, cigarette smoke drifting from between his lips as he did so. He told her he was a mechanic, on the permanent staff at Clacton.

  ‘I’ve always loved cars and engines – ever since I can remember. My mother says my first word was “wheels”!’

  Molly laughed. ‘Don’t s’pose our mom remembers what mine was.’

  Len looked surprised. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Oh—’ Molly wished she hadn’t said it. ‘Her memory’s not very good, that’s all.’ Not to mention the fact that she’s drunk as a skunk most of the time and doesn’t give a toss what I say.

  She and Len talked all evening amid all the dancing and larking around, almost forgetting about everyone else. She was so relaxed in his company that she found herself telling him about Tony, just the bare facts of what had happened, not going into it all too much because she didn’t want to break down and cry.

  ‘Dear God,’ Len said, looking at her aghast. ‘What a flaming awful thing to happen. I don’t know how you’d get over something like that.’

  ‘No,’ Molly said wanly. ‘Neither do I.’

  And she sensed he’d understood that now she could only be alone, and that since he had a fiancée, they could, without confusion, be friends.

  ‘You looked very thick with that big strapping fella,’ Cath said as they made their way back to their lodgings that night.

  ‘Len – yeah, he’s nice. But before you get excited, he’s promised to a girl called Sheila, so don’t you go getting the wrong idea! What about that bloke you were with?’

  ‘Oh—’ Cath said dismissively. ‘He was a terrible stodgy one! D’you know, I don’t know what’s come over me, but I can’t seem to get on with men at all these days. They all seem so young and a waste of time – either that or older and dull as suet pudding.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Molly laughed, ‘you are in a bad way. Seems Jen got on all right with her bloke – I ain’t seen her for hours!’

  ‘Well, good luck to her,’ Cath said tartly. ‘I’m more interested in getting into a nice warm bed and getting a good night’s sleep!’

  Thirty-Five

  ‘Are you walking out with that fella of yours again tonight then?’ Jen demanded a couple of weeks later as she and Molly and the others jolted from side to side in the truck to the gun park. ‘I should think you’ll soon be joined at the hip!’

  ‘I’m not “walking out” with him,’ Molly bawled over the rumbling engine. ‘Well, not like you mean, anyway.’

  Jen looked sceptically at her. ‘Looks mighty like it to me.’

  ‘I told you – he’s getting married soon! He just wants some company, that’s all.’

  Even Cath was giving her funny looks. ‘Well I hope that Sheila knows what he’s up to, that’s all.’

  ‘He’s not up to anything!’ Molly exploded, losing patience. ‘For heaven’s sake all of yer – leave me alone!’

  Len was safe and there was nothing in it, that was what Molly kept telling herself. He had a fiancée – he almost had a wedding date. And nothing had happened – he had not tried anything on, made as if to kiss her, nothing like that. But suddenly, he was everywhere. He seemed to pop up at every opportunity and be very keen to have her company. And she couldn’t help being pleased every time she saw his burly frame and amiable face approaching. He was kind, friendly, reassuringly solid and capable, and as there was no threat to her she relaxed into being with him. After all, she would almost certainly have left Clacton within another month, and he would go off and be married. They were just ships passing in the night, so why not enjoy it?

  They went to the NAAFI at Butlin’s, sometimes with the others, sometimes without. They went for walks and bicycle rides, and then one Sunday after church parade (which they avoided if possible), Len suggested they take a trip to Colchester.

  ‘It’s the oldest town in the country, so they say,’ he told her. ‘I’ve never been. It’d be nice to go and have a look.’

  They spent a warm afternoon looking round the old town, and found a tea room where they could have tea and strawberry tarts – an enormous luxury!

  ‘I’ve never tried one of these before,’ Molly said, gazing at the bright red syrupy tarts. ‘My mouth’s watering already – I’m drooling worse than a dog!’

  Len laughed. ‘Oh, my mother grows strawberries, so she makes tarts like this. I bet these aren’t as good.’ He sank his big teeth into it. ‘Close,’ he said indistinctly, through a mouthful of pastry.

  ‘You’ve got a garden then?’ Molly said. His life
seemed magical, being so utterly different from hers.

  ‘Well, yes.’ Len looked surprised at the question. ‘It’s a farm – there’s always plenty of room for things like that. Why – don’t you?’

  Molly thought of the gloomy yards at the back in Lupin Street and laughed, blushing. ‘No. We live right in the middle of Brum. There ain’t room for that sort of thing.’

  Len was looking at her, seeming puzzled by her laughter. He kept staring, as if he couldn’t stop, the tea and cake forgotten, and this made Molly feel self-conscious. She stirred sugar into her tea, avoiding his gaze.

  ‘Tell me about your farm,’ she said, to break the silence. ‘What’s it like?’

  Len lit a cigarette and, resting his elbow on the table, happily told her about his home. Watching his face light up as he talked about it, Molly was soon with him in a country world of carrot and potato picking, of dew-drenched summer mornings, hens picking their way across the garden leaving warm eggs for them to collect, the pig called Bertha in a sty at the back, the ducks and dogs.

  ‘The ground’s very fertile there see,’ Len said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Come the summer, when all the veg crops are coming up, you can see nothing for miles but spuds and carrots and peas and you can hear ’em growing.’

  ‘No – you can’t really, can yer?’

  ‘You can,’ he said, solemnly.

  ‘What do they sound like?’

  ‘Well – they make a sort of creaking noise, and then, if they grow too fast and they knock into a stone or something, they let out a shriek!’ Only then did she notice his lips curling.

  ‘Oh – you’re having me on! You cheeky bugger – you can’t hear anything. I knew it! You must think I‘m a right soft-headed townie! Here – give me one of them to make up!’ She picked up his cigarettes and took one, fumbling with the matches. ‘It sounds lovely though, where you live. I wish I could live in the country.’

  He told her about his dogs then, an old black Labrador called Jet, who was really his father’s, and a mongrel called Toffee.

  ‘He’s mine,’ he explained. ‘We had him off Sheila’s farm when he was a tiny pup. He was always a lovely colour, sort of caramel brown with black brindling in ’im. And he’s fast. He’ll be out round the farm with you all day and it’s a job ever to tire ’im out.’ He shook his head fondly. ‘Ah – ’e’s a one. Wish I could have a dog here with me. That’s the life – out in the fresh air all day, your dog running along beside you.’

  ‘Sounds lovely,’ Molly said wistfully. It was all another world to her. She felt a longing. What would it be like to live that country, fresh-air life?

  ‘I’ll have to show you, one day.’ Len blew out a mouthful of smoke and suddenly he was gazing at her again, that long look, as if he was drinking her in.

  ‘You got your wedding planned yet then?’ she asked, pointedly, because though she didn’t want to, she was having to admit to herself that she knew there was a lot in that look. She had sensed over the past few times she had been with Len that he was falling in love with her. At first she told herself she was just being silly, that he was just a sweet bloke who gave you nice smiles. But the fact that he wanted to be with her every spare moment he could, the way he was looking at her – no, it was beginning to seem like more than that.

  Her words broke the spell. Len coughed and fiddled with his teacup. ‘No – not yet. Sheila’s an old-fashioned sort of girl – believes in waiting and all that. There’s no hurrying her. She’s always saying she wishes we could get married once the war is over, but I told her, it could go on for years yet, the way things are going.’

  ‘Ah well – I s’pect you’ll get it sorted out next time you go on leave,’ Molly said briskly. She had begun to feel forced to work all the time at keeping things at bay while she was with Len. To prevent his feelings developing – or was it hers as well? She could hardly admit to herself that this gentle giant of a man aroused a lot of tender longing in her, a longing which she had buried since Tony.

  She changed the subject and started to tell him about Ruth. She had mentioned her before, meeting Ruth again and the way Ruth was so ill at ease with her.

  ‘I don’t know why, but she always looks really frightened of me,’ Molly complained. ‘She always did, even when we were in basic. Mind you, I had a bit of a big mouth on me then and I’ve quietened down since . . .’

  ‘Really?’ Len teased.

  ‘Yes, really!’ Molly retorted indignantly. ‘I was one of the naughty ones back then, didn’t fit in at all. Then things changed. There was this sergeant we had, she helped me out, made me see that army was good for me. But anyroad – Ruth. I saw her again the other day and she came up to me, all stiff, as if she can’t move her neck or summat, and she says’ – Molly tightened her throat to imitate Ruth’s voice – ‘“I say – just wanted to mention, Molly, that I’m frightfully impressed by the way you’ve progressed. I almost didn’t recognize you – you’ve come on in leaps and bounds. Jolly well done!”’

  Len roared with laughter at the imitation. ‘Does she really speak like that?’

  ‘Yes – as if someone’s throttling her!’

  ‘And she’s scared of you, you think?’

  ‘I dunno – she seems to be.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, twinkling at her. He leaned forward, pushed the cup away and rested his arms on the table. ‘That I can understand.’

  ‘Oi you!’ Molly pretended to kick him under the table. But he had come up close, intimately, so she sat back to open a wider space between them. They finished their tarts and tea and wound their way back towards the railway station. Molly was thankful to be outside. She knew that the atmosphere had changed between them, as if a line had been crossed in those moments. Fortunately there was plenty outside to distract them. Colchester was a training garrison for troops from many different countries, and they heard snatches of different languages and accents among the servicemen – Australians and Poles, Czechs and Indians in all their varied uniforms – moving to and from the station.

  Len stopped near the entrance to the busy railway station, by the wall, to keep out of everyone’s way, watching all the coming and going around them with interest. ‘I’d like to see more of the world, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Would you want to get posted abroad?’ She saw a glimmer of an answer to her problems – he would be gone! And then a pang – she knew how much she would miss him.

  ‘Maybe – that’s not how I’d want to see it though, not at war, being pushed around here, there and everywhere.’

  ‘What would you want then?’ she joked. ‘A cruise?’

  ‘Oh, no! Just – I don’t know . . .’ He sounded awkward. ‘To take off for as long as I wanted and travel about, see the world, all the different places. With – well, with someone special.’

  He turned to her, with that look again, and a moment later he had drawn her close into his arms, and was kissing her urgently on the lips.

  Thirty-Six

  Travelling back in the train from Colchester, Molly and Len were both silent for a long time, neither wanting to admit what had just happened. Molly sat by the window, her face turned away from him, though she was blind to the countryside passing outside. Her thoughts were in turmoil. His kiss, the feeling of being held close to his big, sturdy, farmer’s boy body had woken all the longing in Molly which she had locked away since Tony was killed. She had responded – there was no denying that – she hadn’t been able to help it. Len was lovely, he was everything she could want, now that she had mourned Tony and time had passed. He was no match for Tony – no one could be – but he made her feel safe and wanted. And the way he looked at her and had kissed her! And God help her, she had kissed him back. But he was engaged, he belonged to someone else. So why was he messing about with her?

  Anger boiled up in her so suddenly that she didn’t care who else heard. The crowded compartment was treated to a dose of her wrath.

  ‘Don’t you dare ever do that again!’ she erup
ted. ‘What the hell d’yer think you’re playing at? What about Sheila? Or had you forgotten about her all of a sudden?’

  Molly was dimly aware that everyone in the compartment was looking studiedly elsewhere in embarrassment, except for a little freckle-faced girl who stared with blatant curiosity at this unexpected form of entertainment.

  Len put his hand on hers as if to quieten her, but she shook him off. ’Don’t touch me!

  ‘Molly, please . . .’ He was blushing, speaking in a soothing way, as if to a wayward horse, which did nothing to make Molly feel less annoyed. ‘Not here – I can’t talk like this in here.’

  ‘All right,’ Molly hissed back, glaring at him. ‘When we get off then. But you’d better’ve got your story straight by then.’

  The rest of the journey was an agony of bad feeling. By the time they were released into Clacton Station, both of them were weary and miserable. Len drew her to one side amid the busyness around them, his eyes full of emotion.

  ‘We can’t go back – not ’til we’ve had this out.’

  ‘I should bloody think so,’ Molly began, but her heart was no longer in a quarrel. ‘Look, Len, it’s no good. You’ve got Sheila and you shouldn’t be playing about with me – and I should never’ve let yer.’ She looked up at him. ‘Let’s just call it a day. I thought we could just have a bit of fun together while it lasted, just be friends and that, but it’ll never be like that, will it?’

  Len seemed lost for words. His eyes searched her face as if he was afraid to speak.

  ‘I just—’ He turned away in confusion for a moment, then looked back desperately at her. ‘When I’m with you, Sheila seems so far away. Part of a different life. I mean, I love her, I do – but—’ He turned back to her. ‘I don’t know – it’s just how it was. Sheila and me were sort of childhood sweethearts. We were always going to get married one day and that was that. Sheila’s always just been there, sort of waiting for me. We never thought of anything else, I s’pose. But God help me – I love you, girl! I knew it was happening, that it shouldn’t be, but I couldn’t seem to stop it. You’ve sort of opened my eyes. Everything’s changed and I don’t know what to do.’