The Bomb Girls

by Daisy Styles

  ‘No idea, love,’ a spotty lad in uniform replied.

  Nevertheless, during her break times, heartsick Lillian paced the delivery area where Gary and his crew had previously drawn up.

  ‘They’ve been hanging around waiting for orders from the top,’ Agnes pointed out. ‘The orders must have finally come through.’

  Elsie nodded eagerly in agreement with Agnes.

  ‘That’s right. It’s not like it’s just Gary that’s disappeared; it’s all the other Yanks too,’ she said, earnestly hoping her words would comfort Lillian, which they didn’t.

  Lillian sadly shook her head.

  ‘He’d write and let me know. He’d never just dump me,’ she said with utter conviction.

  ‘Who says he’s free to write?’ Agnes asked. ‘If his squadron are on high alert they’ll be holed up in the middle of nowhere with no communication with the outside world.’

  Very quickly Lillian lost all pride and stooped to begging Malc for information. Looking at her gaunt grey face minus the usual glitzy make-up, he just shrugged.

  ‘Bloody Yanks have been posted elsewhere, that’s all I know,’ he said as he turned to walk away from her.

  Desperate, Lillian grabbed him by the arm.

  ‘Where? Do you know where, Malc?’

  Malc shook her hand off.

  ‘Do I ’ell,’ he snapped. ‘Bloody good riddance to the bastards!’

  CHAPTER 17

  London Weekend

  All the trainees were due a short break at the end of the week. They’d worked hard and many were looking exhausted.

  ‘Back 1200 hours, Monday,’ barked the Brigadier.

  Robin, Alice and several other Special Ops had started making plans to go to London when Emily’s letter arrived. Alice, thrilled at the thought of seeing her best friend so soon, immediately sent her a telegram with instructions on where to meet.

  The girls, overjoyed to see each other, booked into a cheap B&B just off Charing Cross Road then made their way to a nearby Lyons café, where Alice ordered tea and carrot buns whilst Emily picked up the menu and scoured it with a critical eye.

  ‘Lord Woolton Pie: leeks, swedes, turnips, parsnip and carrots – ugh! Murkey: mock turkey with sausage meat – no, thanks. Rabbit stew could be interesting. Kidneys fried with onions? That might be tasty …’

  After waiting patiently for well over a minute Alice gave her absorbed friend a nudge.

  ‘When you’ve finished rearranging Lyons’ menu I want to know why you were suspended.’

  Emily smiled an impish smile.

  ‘Lip!’

  ‘Oh, Em, that temper of yours will be the undoing of you,’ Alice cried.

  ‘I would have bottled it if you’d been around,’ Emily replied as she crumbled cake on her plate. ‘I miss you, Al. You’ve always had a steadying influence on me.’

  ‘Who did you fly at?’ Alice asked.

  ‘Malc.’

  Alice rolled her eyes.

  ‘God! You really pick ’em,’ she chuckled.

  ‘He was winding us up on purpose because he’s jealous of Lillian’s American boyfriend,’ Emily explained, then smiled as she continued, ‘She calls him Gorgeous Gary from Ohio!’

  A tired-looking waitress delivered their tea, which Alice poured as Emily inspected their carrot buns.

  ‘Erm, would have been sweeter and moister with a sprinkle of coconut,’ she said.

  She took the cup of tea Alice offered.

  ‘So when am I going to meet Gorgeous Robin from the BBC?’ she teased.

  ‘Tonight,’ Alice said excitedly over their second cup of tea. ‘He’s meeting us later on. He’s bringing an old school friend so you won’t feel like a gooseberry,’ she added with a smile.

  Putting on a posh voice, Emily asked, ‘Eton or Harrow?’

  ‘Harrow, actually,’ Alice laughed.

  Emily rolled her blue eyes.

  ‘Well, he’s not going to like me with my northern accent and cheap clothes,’ she answered.

  ‘He’ll like you well enough … as long as you don’t lose your temper,’ Alice giggled. ‘Talking of your foul temper, tell me what happened with Malc.’

  ‘He just kept on picking and picking, breathing down our necks, then he started talking about us not producing enough bombs for our boys on the front line.’

  ‘That sounds nasty,’ Alice said hotly.

  ‘It was!’ Emily retorted. ‘And the person he hurt most was sweet little Elsie, who’s not heard from Tommy since their honeymoon. She ran out of the factory sobbing her heart out and I … I just lost it.’

  ‘Sounds like Malc was being a pig,’ Alice said.

  ‘And to Elsie of all people. You know how fond he is of her,’ Emily added. ‘From the look on his face when she ran out, he knew he’d gone too far.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘I was marched off to Featherstone’s office and given a bollocking for insubordination then suspended until my case has been considered,’ Emily concluded.

  ‘Then we’d better make the most of it,’ Alice said with a smile.

  Emily looked Alice straight in the eye.

  ‘I’m keen to meet this Robin fella; I want to see if he’s up to scratch.’

  ‘He’s more than up to scratch,’ Alice enthused. ‘He’s wonderful!’

  ‘Good, so at least one of us won’t finish up on the scrap heap,’ Emily joked.

  Alice gazed into her friend’s lovely face, which was dominated by her big blue eyes and framed by a mass of tumbling auburn curls.

  ‘I think the scrap heap is the last place you belong, Em!’

  As they walked back to their cheap digs, Emily nodded at the barrage balloons, which were like huge silver worms blocking out the sky.

  ‘Why are they everywhere?’ she asked.

  ‘They’re supposed to confuse the enemy,’ Alice replied. ‘Come on,’ she said as she tugged at Emily’s arm. ‘Don’t dawdle or a warden will have us down an air-raid shelter for the night.’

  The thought of being stuck in a bomb shelter for the night made Emily sprint down the pavement.

  ‘We’ve got better things to do than sit in the dark, singing “Roll Out the Barrel”!’ she giggled as they raced along the street together.

  Back in the dingy B&B, with the blackout blinds pulled firmly down, the girls dumped their gas masks on the bed and for a few hours forgot about war-weary London right outside their window.

  They shared a tepid bath then tried on each other’s clothes in preparation for going out that evening. Emily, inches taller than Alice and curvier too, couldn’t fit into her friend’s tweed suit but she swanned around in her new military hat.

  ‘You’re so stylish, Alice,’ she said, with a hint of envy in her voice.

  ‘Mum kitted me out before I left Pendle,’ Alice explained. ‘Otherwise I’d still be wearing my old blue suit and cream blouse.’

  ‘As soon as I get back home I’m going to take up the hems on all my skirts,’ Emily said.

  ‘We could make a paper pattern then Lillian could kit out all the Canary Girls with short skirts,’ Alice laughed.

  After doing each other’s hair and borrowing each other’s make-up they set off, threading their way along bombed streets, past unoccupied houses with gaping windows and blasted gable ends. Unable to believe the level of devastation, Emily lingered to stare at the mountains of rubble and row upon row of bomb-shattered terraced houses.

  ‘People lived here,’ she said sadly. ‘It makes me realize how lucky we are in Pendle,’ she said as she hurried after Alice. ‘Manchester and Liverpool get it bad but we’ve had an easy time of it. Thank God!’ she added earnestly.

  They went to the Astor Ballroom, which was dark and smoky. Gilt chairs and tables were grouped around a dance floor, and on a raised stage the Tommy Dorsey Big Band were playing ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’. Keen to dance to the fabulous swing music, Emily and Alice left their coats in the cloakroom, where the attendant was a girl wearing a v
ery short dress and a very low top.

  ‘It’s like being on another planet,’ Emily giggled as they clinked their fluted glasses of pink gin.

  ‘Here’s to the Bomb Girls!’ Alice replied.

  Emily took a long, luxurious drink.

  ‘You know, we’ve been building bombs for so long we’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young.’

  Alice nodded as she too sipped her gin.

  ‘Remember when we used to go dancing every Friday night at the local palais?’

  Filled with the happiness of the moment, Emily pushed back her chair and grabbed Alice’s hand.

  ‘Come on, Al, let’s dance!’

  Laughing with the sheer joy of being alive, Emily and Alice clasped hands and almost ran onto the ballroom floor.

  ‘It’s like being young again,’ Alice laughed as they jived under the spinning silver balls to ‘It Don’t Mean a Thing if it Ain’t Got That Thing!’ followed by one of their all-time favourite tunes, ‘Woodchopper’s Ball’.

  ‘Oh, Al,’ Emily shouted over the orchestra. ‘Were we ever young?’

  ‘It’s not that long ago,’ Alice replied as she spun under Emily’s arm. ‘Only three years since the war started.’

  Three years, Emily thought. So much had happened in so short a time, including her break-up with Bill.

  Alice boogied around her.

  ‘Em, if you don’t lighten up I’m going to have to find another partner,’ she teased.

  The girls danced themselves into a fantasy world of pleasure and escapism where hardship, hunger, grief and rationing were briefly replaced with laughter, excitement and fun!

  Breathless and giggling after dancing non-stop for well over half an hour, Emily and Alice returned to their table to find Robin and a very smart man with short, thick brown hair and a neat little moustache were waiting for them.

  ‘Darling!’ cried Alice as she rushed to kiss her boyfriend. ‘You should have told us you were here.’

  Robin smiled adoringly at Alice.

  ‘And interrupt the two most stunning dancers on the floor? I don’t think so,’ he laughed.

  Robin’s friend drew out a chair for Emily and, as she settled into it, Robin introduced him.

  ‘This is my old school friend Rodney, or, to be more precise, Flight Lieutenant Rodney Harston-Binge.’

  ‘Pronounced Bing, not Binge as in excess!’ guffawed rather goofy Rodney as he kissed an astonished Emily on both cheeks. ‘I’ve been told that northern girls are beauties but you, my dear, are the living proof!’

  In the dim candlelight, sipping champagne as Tommy Dorsey’s band played one great big-band hit after another, the four of them laughed and chatted about the girls’ life and work in the north.

  ‘It sounds frightfully exciting,’ Rodney said as he leaned over to speak exclusively to Emily, who giggled at the idea of the Phoenix being ‘exciting’.

  ‘Believe me, it isn’t. It’s mucky work,’ she said bluntly.

  Rodney smiled at her strong Lancashire accent.

  ‘I love the way you say that,’ he murmured as his eyes roved over her face then lingered on her full smiling lips.

  Unused to excessive flattery, Emily couldn’t help but giggle again.

  ‘Nobody’s ever said anything like that to me before,’ she replied.

  ‘That’s because you’re a rare northern bloom that’s never travelled further south than Sheffield,’ he teased.

  ‘You’re right there,’ Emily retorted. ‘Down south’s another country!’

  Pushing back his chair, Rodney rose and bowed to Emily before taking her hand.

  ‘May I?’

  As they took to the floor, Emily saw in the rotating light of the silver balls hanging from the ceiling that Rodney was tall and well built; he was confident too, holding Emily close to his chest, with his left hand hovering dangerously near her bottom. He swept her into an expert foxtrot followed by a tango then a jive, a dance she excelled in and he didn’t. To the syncopated beat of drums and brass Emily was in her element. Spinning, smiling and flirting in the middle of the Astor Ballroom, she felt like she was a star in a Hollywood musical.

  ‘You have a passion for life,’ Rodney observed.

  ‘I’m enjoying myself,’ Emily replied giddily. ‘I’ve never drunk champagne in a London nightclub before.’

  ‘You mean you’re not swept off your feet every night?’ he teased.

  Emily threw back her head and laughed out loud.

  ‘Not exactly. Believe me, there’s little time for dancing, apart from in the canteen when we’re listening to Music While You Work!’

  Rodney gripped her close as they spun into another foxtrot.

  ‘Alice failed to tell me how enchanting you are.’

  Emily wriggled away.

  ‘We’re all beautiful at the Phoenix factory,’ she joked.

  ‘Then maybe I should come and visit you in your Pennine hideaway?’ he said.

  By now a little tipsy, Emily was taken aback but didn’t want to be rude.

  ‘Of course. Any time, Rodders!’

  Back at their table, Emily tried to learn more about what Robin and Alice did at their training school in Cornwall.

  ‘Are you a French expert too?’ she asked Robin.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied with a sweet smile. ‘Though my French is not up to Alice’s high academic standard. I’m more BBC Home Service.’

  Alice leaned over to kiss his cheek.

  ‘Don’t believe a word he says, Emily; he’s way too modest,’ she said adoringly.

  Emily pushed on with her questions.

  ‘Do you know where you’ll go next, Robin? Alice says she’s no idea.’

  Robin and Alice exchanged a quick look, then Robin replied, ‘Afraid we’re both in the same boat on that subject. We’ll be assessed at the end of our training then, depending on the level of our expertise, we’ll be allocated a post, probably somewhere abroad. That’s all we know.’

  ‘It’s all very mysterious,’ said Emily suspiciously. ‘And it’s not clear what you’re training for. What if you’re split up?’ she teased. ‘How will Alice live without you?’

  ‘I’ll survive,’ said Alice as she pulled Robin to his feet. ‘Come on, darling, let’s dance.’

  As they waltzed off, Rodney slid an arm around Emily’s shoulders.

  ‘Shall we dance again?’ he murmured thickly in her ear.

  Rather fed up with his smarmy advances, Emily rose from her chair and shook her head.

  ‘Not right now. I must pop to the Ladies.’

  It was difficult to get away from Mr Harston-Binge, and the drunker he got the more determined he was to get Emily into bed. Finally, at about two in the morning, Robin carted him off in a taxi, but not before putting Emily and Alice in their own separate taxi.

  ‘Night, darling,’ he said as kissed Alice goodbye. ‘It’s been a great pleasure meeting you, Emily.’ Doffing his soft brown trilby, he said, ‘I do hope we meet again soon.’

  Emily leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek.

  ‘Promise you’ll look after Alice,’ she said as the cab dimmed its lights and drove away in the blackout.

  ‘Promise!’ Robin called after her.

  Once back in their B&B Emily, now rather drunk, was not taking no for an answer.

  ‘After seeing you with Robin tonight I think you’re not telling me the truth about what you’re training for,’ she said as Alice sat before the dressing-table mirror removing her make-up with blobs of Pond’s cold cream.

  ‘Oh … and what’s that?’ Alice asked as she studied Emily in the mirror’s reflection.

  ‘Well …’ Emily said slowly as she worked it out for herself. ‘Whatever it is, it’s very specialized – all this intense training in a place where visitors aren’t welcome.’

  ‘I never said that!’ Alice retorted.

  ‘No, but you did say it would be difficult to see you in Cornwall because of the security checks,’ Emily reminded Alice, who nodded
her head but said nothing.

  ‘Then there’s the French, translating documents and stuff from English to French, French to English.’ Emily sat on the edge of the dressing table so she could eyeball her best friend. ‘Put all that lot together and it’s clear you’re not training to be a teacher.’

  Alice flushed under Emily’s penetrating gaze.

  ‘You’re working for the government on something top secret that involves translation. Come on, Al, it’s obvious …’ She hesitated before she asked the question she dreaded the answer to: ‘Are you a spy?’

  Alice went white. She jumped up and hurried to open the door; she looked into the hallway from left to right, then quietly came back into the room and locked and bolted the door.

  ‘Well … ?’ Emily persisted.

  ‘Something like that,’ Alice told her as she sat down on the double bed.

  ‘I knew it!’

  ‘Emily, you must keep your voice down,’ said Alice as she patted the bed, indicating that Emily should sit down beside her. Dropping her voice to a whisper she said, ‘I’m swearing you to secrecy, Em.’

  Goggle-eyed, Emily quickly nodded.

  ‘It’s Special Ops training,’ Alice explained. ‘Breaking codes, translating and surveillance. It’s not quite spying but it’s top-secret war work, hence all the cloak-and-dagger stuff.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Emily whispered back.

  ‘Because I’m not allowed to. It really is as simple as that.’

  A shiver of fear slipped down Emily’s back like a shard of ice.

  ‘Oh, Al, it sounds dangerous,’ she said softly.

  Alice took hold of her hand and squeezed it hard.

  ‘I chose this, Em. Nobody pushed me or persuaded me. I could have said no, but I didn’t want to. I actively wanted to train in Special Ops. I want to dedicate myself to fighting the enemy undercover.’

  ‘Special Ops …’ Emily repeated under her breath. ‘Oh, my God!’ she said as she remembered numerous war films she’d watched at the Phoenix. ‘Will they send you to work with Resistance fighters?’

  Alice put a finger to her mouth.

  ‘Will you please keep your voice down, Em?’ She took a deep breath then continued in half a whisper. ‘We’re being trained to work in enemy territory, intercepting and breaking encrypted coded messages. It’s nothing as dramatic as you think,’ she said modestly.