‘Yeah, but before then we’ve got Aden. Two days off the boat! I can’t wait. I’m going to get in that water and swim and swim. Get all the sweat and dirt off me then lie on the beach.’
‘It’s one great big bleeding beach out there, mate.’
They both looked at the desert as it stretched out as far as the eye could see beyond the fringe of habitation by the canal.
‘As long as they let us off this ship, I’ll be happy. I’ve never been so bored in all my life,’ Jonathan complained.
The long days at sea were broken by nothing but drills and inspections.
‘Yeah, but look at it this way, mate. They’re paying us for doing sweet FA. That’s got to be good, ain’t it?’
‘Better than basic training,’ Jonathan agreed.
The basic training had been every bit as gruelling as he had been warned, but he had survived it and come out the other end to find himself posted to catering training. For a while he had harboured hopes of getting to the kitchens of the officers’ mess, as Monsieur Bonnard had said he should. A sergeant had spotted his ability and sent him on a B2 and then a B1 course, and all had seemed set for a recommendation for an A1 course, and promotion. But then some strange quirk of army organisation had come into play, and here he was on a ship bound for Malaya.
‘Anything’s better than that, mate.’
‘Oi, you two—’
Jonathan looked round. Three men sat in the shade of a lifeboat. One of them was shuffling a well-worn pack of cards.
‘Fancy a round of pontoon?’
‘Might as well,’ he agreed. After all, the scenery wasn’t that riveting. One camel was very much like another.
The two day break at Aden was over all too quickly, and then it was the long haul across the Indian Ocean. The days settled into a routine of inspections, drill, nasty food and long stretches of time playing cards and listening to the limited selection of songs played over the ship’s radio. After the ninety-ninth repetition, even Rock Around The Clock failed to excite them. Everyone slept a lot. And then at last they sailed into Singapore.
Jonathan had hoped that he might get another break there, and get a chance to look round, see the sights, maybe even get to the famous Raffles Hotel. Some of the men were sent to a camp outside the city, but his contingent were loaded into lorries and sent off for acclimatisation before jungle warfare training started.
The one bright spot was that, by some miracle, a letter from Scarlett was waiting for him. Not only had it got there before him, but the postal system delivered it right into his hands. Jonathan devoured her words. She had changed her job again, the landlady had had the worst leaks fixed but the flat was still damp, she and her friend Brenda had taken to listening to Radio Luxembourg together and singing along with all the latest records but what she really wanted was a record player. For a while he almost forgot the heat and the insects, and imagined himself back in the cold streets of Southend in winter. Best of all were the last few lines, where she told him how much she loved and missed him, and ended with a row of kisses across the bottom of the page. He folded the letter up and hid it at the bottom of his kitbag.
A few days later, he tried to reply. He had sent off all the letters he had written on the ship, but now there were his first impressions of Malaya to get down. He read through his letter to Scarlett, flapping with his hand at the insects flying round his face and crawling over his legs. It seemed a pretty feeble effort. It did not convey the excitement of all the new experiences he had been bombarded with this last week. The only thing that was familiar was the hut. Wherever you were in the world, it seemed, you lived in a standard British army hut. Otherwise, it couldn’t have been more different from Catterick or Aldershot. Outside, it was pouring with rain like he’d never seen before, straight down like stair-rods. You could hear it hammering on the roof of the hut. But it wasn’t cold, like the rain back home, it was warm, and made the air steamier than ever. He looked at the faces of the men sprawled on the adjacent bunks. They were bright red and running with sweat. He supposed he must look the same. The acclimatisation hadn’t yet worked. They were in a kind of limbo, strangers in this new land of humid heat and lush vegetation, yet so far away from home that sometimes it was hard to believe that it was still there. There was only his photo of Scarlett and the letter from her to remind him, a thin thread connecting his old life with this strange and fascinating new one.
Across the hut from him, another man was sitting with a notepad on his knees, sucking the end of his pen.
‘Difficult, isn’t it?’ Jonathan said to him. ‘I mean, how can you tell them what it’s like here? It’s just so different from home.’
‘Just say it’s like bleeding Tarzan, mate. But no bleeding Janes, worse luck.’
It was like a Tarzan film, the jungle thick with huge trees, exotic greenery, hanging vines and stinging insects. He’d not seen any monkeys yet, but you could hear them calling from the trees, and when they lit the lamps in the evening, huge moths fluttered round them, as big as his hand.
‘You writing to your girl?’ someone asked.
‘My mum,’ Jonathan lied.
The men around him snorted in disbelief.
‘No use trying to hang onto a girl when you’re out here, mate. They’re not going to wait for you, are they? They’re not going to stay in of a Saturday night. They’ll be off out on the pull, all dolled up to the nines. No, mate, you want to give her the push, whoever she is. Once we’re through with this jungle training lark, get yourself fixed up with a nice little native girl. Plenty of them keen enough to have a British soldier for a boyfriend.’
‘I thought the Malays wanted us out of here. Isn’t that why we’re here—to fight the guerrillas and protect British property?’ Jonathan said, keeping well off the subject of girlfriends being unfaithful.
‘That don’t mean the girls don’t like us. We got money, ain’t we? Give ’em a few little presents and they’re putty in your hands.’
All around the hut there were guffaws and boasting as the men imagined what the girls might do for them. Jonathan looked at the date on the letter he was trying to write. It was nearly Scarlett’s birthday! Seventeen. Back in cold, wet Southend, Scarlett was about to be seventeen. She’d been more beautiful than ever when he’d seen her before being posted. Surely nobody could look at her without wanting her as much as he did? The other men’s words of warning echoed in his head. How could he keep the other boys away from her from this distance? There was nothing he could do but tell her he loved and missed her and hope that she continued to feel the same.
He need not have worried. Back in Southend, his only rival was Elvis Presley. Scarlett had taken a day off from working at the corner shop so that she and Brenda could go to the record shop in the High Street and listen to him. They stood in the booth and requested Heartbreak Hotel until they were told to buy it or go. Brenda bought it.
‘But you haven’t got a record player,’ Scarlett pointed out.
‘No, but Tony at work’s got a radiogram.’
‘You don’t like Tony at work.’
‘I never said that. I just told him I wasn’t going out with him. But maybe I’ll change my mind.’
Scarlett never could understand Brenda when it came to boyfriends. As long as she had someone on the go, she didn’t seem to mind who it was.
‘He’s creepy,’ Scarlett objected.
‘He’s not!’
‘I wouldn’t be seen dead with him.’
‘Oh, you, you’ve got eyes for nobody but your flaming Jonathan. That’s daft, if you ask me. Fancy waiting around for some boy who’s out in wherever-it-is when you could be going out and having fun with somebody here.’
‘I don’t want anyone else,’ Scarlett told her.
‘That’s what I mean. Daft.’
They were never going to see eye to eye on that one.
Scarlett had noticed that Brenda’s mum was putting on weight. She didn’t think much of it until she started
wearing a maternity smock. Then she just had to raise the subject. She waited till one evening when she and Brenda were listening to Radio Luxembourg on the brand-new radio that Scarlett had saved up for. It was her pride and joy, far clearer and more modern-looking than the old thing they had brought from the Red Lion.
‘I thought you said your dad had left ages ago and you never saw him,’ she said.
‘Yeah, he did, and we don’t.’
They both nodded their heads to Why Do Fools Fall in Love? Brenda sang along.
‘But…your mum…well…she’s wearing a smock.’
Brenda stopped singing. She gave Scarlett a hard look. ‘Yeah, what of it?’
‘So—is she having a baby?’
‘Yes, she is, as it happens. Anything else you want to know?’
What Scarlett really wanted to know was—who was the father, if it wasn’t Brenda’s mum’s husband. But the look on Brenda’s face stopped her from asking. You had to be careful with Brenda.
‘I just wondered, that’s all. It’s going to be a bit crowded at your place, isn’t it? I mean, there’s eight of you already, all jammed into your prefab.’
‘Yeah, well, with a bit of luck we might get a proper council house. They’re lovely, them council houses. Loads of space. Mind you, I’m still getting out as soon as I can. I’m fed up of living at home and looking after the little ’uns. It’s always me as has to see to them, and now with this new baby, Mum’s going to be more tired than ever. Just as soon as someone asks me to marry them, I’m off.’
‘What—anyone?’ Scarlett asked.
‘Anyone decent. Rich would be nice. Handsome would be nice. But as long as he can get me away from that lot, that’s it.’
‘What, even Tony?’
Brenda made a rude noise. ‘Oh, him! I’m fed up with him. I’m chucking him next time I see him.’
‘Good idea,’ Scarlett said. That at least was something they could agree on.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SCARLETT put Jonathan’s latest letter safely in her pocket. It was no use, however hard she tried she couldn’t picture his world, beyond its being very hot and very different. It had been bad enough when he was in Paris, but at least then he had only been across the Channel. Malaya was so far away. Just trying to imagine the climate was impossible. But at least he was safe. Instead of being sent into the jungle to fight guerrillas, someone had realised that he was in the catering corps and he was now running the kitchen at an army hospital.
Here in Southend it was summer, but she still needed a cardigan over her blouse and skirt when she cycled to work in the mornings. Jonathan spoke of being boiling hot in the middle of the night, and things rotting from the damp. It sounded more like a different planet than a different country.
The work she was doing didn’t help. There was nothing about it to engage her mind at all. It was similar to her very first job, and involved riveting bits of electric plugs together. Sometimes she felt so bored she wanted to scream or attack someone or throw something into a machine and wreck it. All the petty dislikes and rivalries that seethed in practically every place she worked were due to the grinding sameness of the days. Having a feud with someone made for some drama. Getting one over on them made a point to the long featureless days. What made it even worse was not having a television. Everyone discussed what they’d seen the evening before and she couldn’t join in. She couldn’t see that she and her father would ever be able to afford a set. It was difficult enough paying for the essentials plus her new radio, without finding enough for TV rental and licence.
At least today she was going to Brenda’s for tea, which was something to look forward to. They could have a good chat and watch TV there. In spite of having no husband bringing in wages, Brenda’s mother still managed to have a TV set.
‘I’m fed up,’ she told her friend as they cycled home at the end of the day.
‘You’re always blooming fed up.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You are. And I’m getting fed up of you being fed up. You’re no fun at all.’
‘Oh.’
That really jolted Scarlett. Thinking about it, it was hard to remember when she’d last had fun, apart from having a laugh with Brenda and the girls at work, or with Brenda and her new boyfriend Chris, though that was always a bit uncomfortable since she was the gooseberry all the time. Everyone seemed to have a boyfriend and they all went out on Friday and Saturday nights while she stayed in. Jonathan, on the other hand, seemed to be having a whale of a time. Every week at his hospital there seemed to be a party. Leaving parties, twenty-first birthday parties, beach parties. Any excuse, it appeared to her, to get together and have a knees-up. And, of course, being a hospital, there were lots of nurses, so it wasn’t just the lads having a drink. There was dancing.
‘I don’t mean to be,’ she said. ‘Bet you don’t dare do this!’
She took both hands off the handlebars and steered by shifting her body weight from side to side. The road sloped downwards, not quite a hill, but enough to get up a fair speed. Scarlett spread her arms out and shrieked with fear and excitement as she hurtled towards the main road at the bottom. Behind her, she could hear Brenda screaming at her to stop. At the last minute, she grabbed the brakes and skidded to a halt, just as a lorry went by. Brenda almost crashed into her. Laughing and gasping, she turned to her friend. The blood was coursing round her body. She felt alive again.
‘That fun enough for you?’ she asked.
‘You’re mad, you are,’ Brenda told her. ‘You nearly got yourself killed.’
‘Better than being bored to death.’
‘No need to get bored to death. Come dancing with me on Friday night.’
Scarlett scooted across the road before the next car came along, closely followed by Brenda.
‘I don’t want to play gooseberry to you and Chris, thank you very much,’ she said.
‘You don’t have to. I’m giving him the elbow,’ Brenda told her.
They cycled along side by side.
‘You’re joking! Last week you said he was the love of your life.’
‘Yeah, well—maybe he wasn’t. I just sort of looked at him last night and it was like…like the lights had been turned off, you know? And I thought to myself, what am I doing with him? He’s not good looking and he’s not clever and all he talks about is motorbikes. It wouldn’t be so bad if he had a motorbike, but he hasn’t. He just talks about them. So I’m not in love with him any more.’
Scarlett shook her head. She could no more stop loving Jonathan than she could fly. Missing him was a constant ache.
‘But you wanted to marry him.’
‘I know. Mad, ain’t it? Lucky escape. So—I’m a free woman again. You going to come dancing or not?’
Scarlett had always refused before, but in her pocket was Jonathan’s latest letter, full of those parties.
‘I’ve got nothing to wear,’ she said, which was true.
‘That’s easy. Borrow something of mine,’ Brenda offered.
‘Could I?’
‘’Course! What’re friends for?’
‘Brenda, you’re a darling!’
Once decided, she found she was really looking forward to it. By Friday evening she was in a fever of excitement.
‘You’re very cheerful. What’s up?’ Victor asked, as she sang and danced while getting the tea ready.
‘Aren’t I always cheerful?’ Scarlett said.
‘Well—not like this, all of a twitch. You going out somewhere?’
Scarlett was surprised. She hadn’t realised that he noticed her changes of mood.
‘I’m going to the Kursaal ballroom with Brenda.’
‘Oh—’ Victor nodded slowly, turning it over in his mind. ‘Well, you be careful. How are you getting home? Don’t go accepting any lifts from men in cars.’
Scarlett was touched. He did care. It might seem sometimes as if he hardly noticed she was there, but he still loved her as much as he ever had.
‘We’ll get a bus, or walk.’
‘But it’ll be late at night.’ Victor put down his cup of tea and looked at her as she tucked into her beans on toast. ‘I worry about you. You’re a young woman now. You got to be careful.’
Scarlett felt a spurt of impatience.
‘You worry about me! What about you? Look at you—you look ill. And you know why? It’s because you drink too much and don’t eat enough.’
Anger clouded Victor’s face.
‘I only drink what I need, right? And it’s not your place to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. I’m your father—you should listen to me. You watch out for yourself this evening. I know what young men are like, I was one myself once. They’ll all be after you, pretty girl like you.’
For once, Scarlett backed down. He was thinking of her, after all.
‘I’ll be all right. I’m used to fending off the boys at work. Brenda and I are just going for the dancing. I’m not looking for a boyfriend.’
Bored with the conversation, she swallowed down the last of her toast and started chivvying Victor into getting off for work.
Once he was out of the way, she could concentrate on getting herself ready. Rushing up and down to the bathroom and in and out of the two rooms of the cramped little flat, singing bits of her favourite songs and practising dance steps, she set about transforming herself from factory girl to dream dance partner. She put on powder and a new bright red lipstick, brushed her hair up into a fashionable style and pulled on new stockings, making sure to get the seams dead straight up the backs of her legs. Then came the clothes—a scoop-necked white blouse of her own that fitted her figure perfectly and a bright green circular skirt of Brenda’s with a can-can petticoat underneath. The layers of gathered net in the petticoat made the skirt stick out and swirl round her when she turned, emphasizing her small waist, which she cinched with a wide elastic belt.
She studied the finished effect, turning this way and that in an effort to see herself in the small mirror. She was amazed. How sophisticated she looked! She patted her hair, put her hands to her waist to make it even smaller, puffed out her chest. Yes, she looked the part. This was going to be fun.
Bye Bye Love Page 14