Soldier Girl

by Annie Murray

  The words pierced into her, but she would not let him see. She managed to speak less harshly. ‘It’s no good, Len. You’ve got the wrong idea about me. Just go away – please.’

  There was a silence. He drew his gaze from her down to the floor, defeated, and at last stood up slowly and picked up his cap. ‘Christ.’ He looked at her with revulsion, as if she was a stranger he had just met. ‘That’s it – go on. Door’s in the usual place.’ Without turning back he left the room. She heard the front door open and slam, his footsteps along the quiet street. Only then did she realize she was limp and shaking all over.

  The next afternoon, the sun was shining and Molly rode against a brisk wind along the cliff overlooking Dover-court Bay. She had cycled fast, past the Cliff Road Hotel and all the elegant houses, and turned into the village, pushing down as hard as she could on the pedals to relieve her feelings, until her chest was tight and her eyes filled with tears. She stopped, gasping for breath, and wiped her eyes. In front of her was the village church, and she wheeled the bicycle to the gate, propped it up and went in.

  To her relief, the graveyard was deserted and she was glad of the sanctuary of a quiet, green place out of the wind. She went and sat at the foot of a tree, from where she could see the church’s square tower and the rows of silent, sun-warmed gravestones. The dead seemed to offer company, without comment or judgement, all their loves and mistakes now past and gone. She became aware how quiet it was, so that she could hear bees butting against the flowers and the breeze moving among the leaves. In the distance, someone was striking something, a metallic chink-chink which broke into the silence.

  Molly sat with her knees drawn up, her ATS skirt pulled over them. The tears soon came, had been waiting there to be shed since last night, when there were too many people about, the others full of questions when they heard her shouting and Len slamming out of the house. For a few moments she put her hands over her face and gave way to weeping, then wiped her face and sat in the calm shade, wrung out and exhausted. The things she had said to him, much worse than he deserved: she’d been awful! She’d really let rip! But it was his words that echoed in her head. ‘I was all right ’til I met you . . .’ She knew she was right to tell him to go, that he had only come back to her as a last resort, and in truth she didn’t want him. But if he had never met her, wouldn’t he have remained the straightforward, confident boy she had first known? Would Sheila have rushed into the arms of her conscientious objector, or wouldn’t they be marrying this spring instead, keeping things the way they ought to have been until she, Molly, came into the situation and poisoned it?

  She had felt alone for most of her life, but never more so than now. She was cutting the threads of her life, one by one: home, family, men – for she was not good for them, nor they for her – until what remained? There was Em of course, from a distance. There were friendships, comrades. And there was the army. Without that, she would be floating loose through the world with no one, nothing. It was a love affair in itself.

  Soldier Girl

  Forty-Six

  Molly wrote the date at the top of the sheet of paper, ‘July 20th 1944’, then seemed unable to write any more. For some time she stared out from her bedroom at the grey sky, then continued: ‘Dear Em . . .’

  Em seemed so far away now. In her mind she had cut off from Birmingham and almost everything there. But Em was a true friend – she must keep in touch. Who else was there to go back to when the war was over? The thought of the war ending filled her with emptiness and desolation. Where would she go, who could she be if there was not the war to be a part of?

  She wrote:

  Sorry I’ve not written and thanks for your postcard. Things keep changing here and it’s been very hectic. First of all things went quiet. Then, that day in June, everyone disappeared. It felt ever so queer. We saw it coming, but then again, we didn’t. All the Yanks were here and everyone, all the trucks, everything busy – and then they all vanished, just like that. It was a real shock in one way. We all had friends who’ve gone and are now wondering what happened to them all. Poor Cath is in a terrible state because of course her Dutch boy was part of it and she hasn’t heard from him.

  She paused. D-Day, June 6th. It had been the strangest time. None of the American boys had breathed a word. Maybe they hadn’t known anything to tell. Funny markings had appeared on the roads, trucks parked on them. Then, the sudden silence and emptiness once they’d gone. That night, they’d sat round the wireless, absolutely silent, she and Cath, Jen, Nora and the others, looking at each other with awed faces, drinking in the news of the landings on the Normandy coast. Cath had put her hands over her face, distraught.

  ‘He won’t come back – he won’t,’ she sobbed. She wrung all of their hearts. ‘I know it. I knew it was too good to be true!’

  Course, we’d hardly recovered from that when the Doodlebugs started coming, the horrible things, so it’s all Action Stations again now. I don’t suppose it’s affecting you all much up there. We’re busy enough but I’m glad we’re not further south, poor things.

  I’m glad you are all OK and Robbie is getting on so well. I hope you’ve heard from Norm. Any more news of K O’Neill?

  This time Molly sat for a while staring at the page, thinking there ought to be more she could say. But she couldn’t think of anything and signed off.

  12th August 1944

  Dear Molly,

  I can’t even remember the date! Shows what a state I’m in! Not much news really. I’ve been so busy worrying about Norm that I’ve hardly been sleeping or taking much notice of anything else. I knew he was in the hospital and then that was that, nothing. I thought the place must’ve been bombed or something else terrible. It wasn’t like Norm to be so quiet. But I had a letter yesterday at last. He’s been very poorly, he says, caught something in the hospital. I suppose if you want to stay well you stay out of a hospital! I wish he’d let me know before – even just a line. I feel quite cross with him although I’m so glad he’s better.

  We’re all all right. Sid’s getting married next month. Connie’s all right. I think we’ll get on. Robbie’s chattering away – I wish you could see him. I cut his hair this week and he looks a proper little man now, and he’s wearing shoes. Frightening how fast they grow up.

  I haven’t heard any more about Katie O’Neill. Not a thing.

  Are you ever going to get any leave? When are you going to come and see us in good old Brum? Come soon!

  No other news.

  Love for now,

  Em. X

  Three days after Em’s letter arrived, quite early in the morning Molly was still in her room when a scream pierced through the house.

  Oh God, she thought, running to the stairs.

  Jen was also on her way down. ‘Was that Cath? Oh God, that sounds like bad news!’

  They saw Cath in the hall by the front door, Nora already beside her. Cath had something pressed to her face, over her nose and mouth, and was making incoherent squealing sounds while Ann clucked beside her. Molly’s heart was pounding.

  ‘What’s up, Cath – what is it?’

  Cath started jumping up and down, pulling the sheet of paper away from her lips and at last managing to choke out the words. ‘He’s alive! It’s from Dirck, my lovely Dirck! He was wounded, but he’s alive!’

  All of them went to her, and by the time they’d finished hugging and screaming with her, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. The casualties on the days following D-Day had been massive – huge losses among the Dutch alone. But Dirck had survived.

  Cath’s lovely face was blotchy with tears and lit up with joy. ‘Maybe I’m not cursed after all! Maybe he’ll make it!’

  ‘Oh Cath – that’s fantastic!’ Molly cried, and seeing Nora and Jen’s watering eyes, she found she wanted to sob with relief, happiness, release of tension and pure joy for Cath. There had been so much grim news all through the summer – at last something good!

  ‘He’s alive!’ Cath was
dancing round the hall now, hysterical with joy, waving the sheet of paper. ‘He’s alive and I love him so much! Oh thank you, life – thank you!’

  Forty-Seven

  December 1944

  In the past months, the situation in Europe had changed fast. Allied forces had moved across France and into Belgium. Paris, Brussels and Antwerp were wrested from German occupation, but a terrible price had been paid by the Allies at Arnhem. Now, as a bitingly cold winter was setting in, fighting was focused in the Ardennes. Slowly, agonizingly, Europe was being reclaimed.

  One morning, made all the more viciously cold by a Siberian wind, Molly and the others were gathered in a requisitioned hall. There was a room full of khaki uniforms, a loud buzz of excitement, and the voices, both male and female, of the gathered ack-ack batteries who were defending the port of Harwich.

  Molly leaned round and nudged Jen. ‘Anything from Nora?’

  ‘No – I’d tell yer if there was, wouldn’t I? She won’t’ve come round yet.’

  All of them looked pale from lack of sleep. In the middle of the night, Nora had been overtaken by terrible pains and had been carted off to hospital with appendicitis.

  ‘Poor thing,’ Cath said. ‘She looked dreadful. And she’s missing all this.’

  One of the high-ups at the front banged on the table and all fell quiet. Everyone stood to attention as a tall, slim officer, her blonde hair caught up elegantly under her ATS cap, walked in briskly and took up her position before them.

  ‘Stand easy – take a seat!’

  Everyone watched, awed. She introduced herself as Chief Commander Lucinda Mossfield. As she spoke, greeting them all and praising them for their work in coastal defence, especially for having faced the new menace of V1 and V2 rockets, her severe expression softened a little.

  ‘As you know, the war is progressing and things are changing. Because of our gains in Europe, we are standing down most ack-ack batteries and transferring personnel to other trades. But we have already sent a number of batteries across to the European mainland. There is still work to be done, and work at which you are now rich in experience.’

  She looked round the room. Molly watched her, rapt, in deep admiration. The woman spoke so well, had such command over herself. If only she, Molly, could be like that!

  ‘We are looking, in the first instance, for volunteers. I would like you to consider offering yourself for service overseas, for what we foresee will be the remainder of the war. You will be a new battery under new leadership. We shall need to know quickly, and you must make your decision firmly. The first port of call will almost certainly be Belgium. After that, who knows quite how things will progress? So – think for a moment among yourselves. You can let your Commanding Officer know your decision.’ Molly turned instantly to Cath. They met each other’s gaze, their eyes shining with such enthusiasm that there was no need to speak. Oh yes, they were keen all right. They would go – and they would go together.

  To their surprise, Jen said she wasn’t going to volunteer.

  ‘I don’t really want to leave the country,’ she said sadly. ‘I’m a home bird really and I’m already far enough away from where I come from. My mam’s got her hands full and – I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right. I’ll go into the Pay Corps or something boring like that, back up north. But I’ll miss you crazy lassies.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘You’d damn well better come back and get in touch with me – even if I do live way up there!’

  Molly and Cath promised fervently that they would. It was a strange, sad time in some ways, with partings and separations. Nora was not well enough to volunteer, and of the little group of them, Cath was the only person going who Molly knew very well. But Cath was her best friend – so what could be better?

  Cath was jubilant. ‘I’ll be nearer to Dirck!’ she said. ‘I mean, I don’t know where he is, but I just feel I’ll be closer. And it’ll be exciting, going somewhere new.’

  Molly felt the same; ready for anything the army could offer her. She, little Molly Fox, was going abroad to a foreign country. When in her life had she ever expected that before?

  The members of the new battery were given papers and inoculations and instructions in preparation for their departure just before Christmas. There was already snow on the ground when one morning they were gathered outside, huddled in their greatcoats, for an inspection by their new subaltern.

  Molly and Cath stood side by side, toes and fingers frozen, eyes watering in the cutting wind. A car drew up, with an ATS driver at the wheel. Molly glanced at it as their sergeant bawled, ‘Attention!’

  A second later she was further distracted by it and couldn’t help turning her head to look. From the passenger seat someone emerged in a bulky greatcoat, a sturdy, determined figure.

  ‘Fox – eyes front!’ The sergeant approached, almost yelling into her face.

  But Molly felt excitement and expectation rising in her and had to try to contain a smile that would not stop breaking across her face, however much yelling she came in for. They received the order to be ready for inspection, and their new subaltern proceeded along the rows. She stopped at each of them, looking them over appraisingly. Cath, who had a cough, couldn’t help clearing her throat. ‘Nasty cough, Private,’ she said to her when her turn came. ‘Get that seen to.’ And then Molly was face to face with Phoebe Morrison.

  No words were exchanged, but looking directly into Subaltern Morrison’s brown eyes, Molly saw a glimmer first of surprise, then of warmth. And then the senior officer moved on. The smile on Molly’s face escaped and spread. Luckily no one was looking.

  ‘Come in – stand easy.’

  Subaltern Morrison sent for her the next day, in her office in a graceful requisitioned house. The room looked over the sea, though today it was a murky grey, and the view could not be admired by Molly, who was standing with her back to it. She waited while Phoebe Morrison walked ponderously round behind her desk, then stopped, positioned herself squarely and looked across at her. Her expression was neutral at first, seeming to be weighing things up with professional detachment. She made a small, involuntary movement with her right hand, as if to bring a cigarette up to her lips, but she controlled it. Then she smiled. Molly was startled. She had never seen the woman smile wholeheartedly before: it lit up her face with kindly energy. The smile warmed Molly to the core.

  ‘So, Fox. Here we are again.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am, so it seems,’ Molly said, smiling back.

  ‘I’m glad to see you’re still here. The army appears to have suited you.’

  ‘Oh yes!’ Molly said enthusiastically. ‘It has.’

  ‘Good. I’m glad. It was dashed hard to tell at the beginning how things might turn out.’

  They both laughed a little, Molly blushing at the memory of her first ATS weeks.

  ‘It seems that changing trade was a good idea.’

  ‘Yes. Very, thanks.’

  ‘You’re an intelligent girl and it appears you have been well able to take responsibility. I have good reports.’

  Molly blushed again. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Well I haven’t asked you here just for idle chit-chat. I want to give you another fresh start as we go across the water. I’m promoting you, Fox. To Lance Corporal. If that goes well – onwards and upwards! We’ll see.’

  ‘Me?’ Molly burst out, laughing incredulously. ‘Why me? Why not . . . ?’

  ‘Because I think you are fit for the job,’ Phoebe Morrison said briskly. ‘If you have no other questions, that will be all.’

  But she was unable to suppress her amusement at Molly’s astonished reaction, and with a twinkle in her eyes she held out her hand. Even more amazed, Molly took it, for a handshake over the desk.

  ‘Welcome aboard, Lance Corporal Fox.’

  Molly walked back in such a daze that she scarcely noticed the cold wind whipping her cheeks. She stopped, looking out over the steely sea, reflecting equally heavy cloud, but her own spirits could not have been l
ighter. Soon they would be crossing that stretch of water, she and Cath and her other companions, in the big family that the army had become for her. She could leave home far away, Mom drunk in her bed, Bert rotting in his condemned cell, the past with all its pain and shame. She was becoming someone new, capable, trustworthy, she, little Molly Fox, from the back streets of Birmingham, and she knew there was so much more she could do. She was a soldier girl, that’s what she was. She was being given a chance, such a chance. Onwards and upwards! We’ll see.

  Soldier Girl

  ANNIE MURRAY was born in Berkshire and read English at St John’s College, Oxford. Her first ‘Birmingham’ novel, Birmingham Rose, hit The Times bestseller list when it was published in 1995. She has subsequently written thirteen other successful novels, including, most recently, A Hopscotch Summer. Annie Murray has four children and lives in Reading.

  ALSO BY ANNIE MURRAY

  Birmingham Rose

  Birmingham Friends

  Birmingham Blitz

  Orphan of Angel Street

  Poppy Day

  The Narrowboat Girl

  Chocolate Girls

  Water Gypsies

  Miss Purdy’s Class

  Family of Women

  Where Earth Meets Sky

  The Bells of Bournville Green

  A Hopscotch Summer