by Ruby Jackson
‘Not a thought, lass. It’s something I know. Now, let’s go into the kitchen and have a cuppa and you can tell me all about the ATS. I don’t even know what that means.’
An hour or so later, Rose left, having promised to be at the Christmas Eve service and to ‘pop in’ again before she returned to camp.
‘I’m not going myself – a bit too late for me – but Mr Tiverton’ll say the same nice words about Stan tomorrow at the Christmas Day service.’
Rose walked away, feeling the old lady’s eyes on her until she turned the corner, and there, walking towards her, was her twin sister, accompanied by their friend Grace, and, tall and distinguished-looking in air force uniform, Tomas. The sisters ran into each other’s arms. Rose and Grace hugged too, and Tomas greeted Rose with a chaste kiss on each cheek, reminding her of the other sad loss, Francesca’s grandfather. But this was time for joy and happiness, not dwelling on sadness.
‘This is going to be a wonderful Christmas,’ said Daisy as she smiled up at Tomas. ‘We have some shopping to do, Rose. Want to come along?’
Rose would have enjoyed shopping with them, but it was so obvious that they were happy together and, since they did not see each other very often, she would go home and leave them alone.
‘I’d love to,’ she said, ‘but I have a few presents still to wrap. I’ll walk along to the crossroads with you.’
‘You’ll never guess what’s happened to the Luciana Billiard Room,’ Daisy said.
Rose looked puzzled, as if, in the months that she had been away from home, she had forgotten her home town. Tomas merely held Daisy’s hand and listened to their chatter.
‘The Luciana, Rose, you know, just off the High Street; it’s now one of those British Restaurants. You’ve seen the slogan, “Good food at reasonable prices”. Many elderly residents are eating there, and refugees. More and more refugees are arriving because of all the ghastly things happening in Europe.’
She looked up at Tomas, remembering perhaps that he had left his home in Czechoslovakia in order to join the Royal Air Force and fight for freedom for all.
‘Christmas Eve, ladies,’ he said. ‘For a few hours we will think of peace and goodwill to all men.’
When the shop closed late that night, Tomas asked Fred for a moment of his time and the family waited on tenterhooks in the front room, listening to the latest Christmas song from the United States, ‘White Christmas’, while they tried to arrange all the favourite Christmas decorations, especially the silver chains.
‘Do we have to sit through this with you too, Sam?’ asked young George, which made them all laugh – even Grace, who blushed furiously.
‘Seems this young man wants to ask our Daisy to marry him, Flora,’ said Fred when they came upstairs. ‘Seems to me he’s a good lad so we’ll leave them to it.’
Grace and Sam looked across the room at each other, sharing some unspoken communication, and stood up. ‘Time to get ready for the service, Mum,’ said Sam, ‘or we’ll never get seats together.’
Flora and Fred could not help feeling very proud of their children as they all stood and sang together during the lovely candle-lit service. They had been aware, as always, that two of their number were missing: Phil, whom they worried over endlessly, and poor young Ron who had given his life for his country. Flora’s eyes misted over but already she was counting Grace and Tomas as part of her beloved family. Her mother’s heart went out to the tall, courageous, lovely Rose who had bowed her head to hide her tears as Mr Tiverton had spoken of the loss to the community of several serving men, among whom was Private Stanley Crisp.
Father Christmas can’t bring back my dear Ron. I wish he would bring Phil; that would be a lovely Christmas present. Her thoughts went on. But I know what I really want for Christmas, a lovely man for my lovely daughter. She looked at Tomas and smiled. And if he’s as nice as Tomas, I don’t care where he comes from.
ELEVEN
North-East England, January 1943
Rose gritted her teeth, at the same time straining every muscle in an attempt to remain in control of the lorry as it hurtled its weaving way down the snow-covered road. She was losing the battle to stabilise the heavy lorry’s direction and so could not even attempt to slow it down. Should she push the brake, she knew the vehicle would jump the barrier onto the verge and carry on, faster and faster, down the slope towards who-knew-what. She could see nothing ahead but blackness.
For the first time ever, her favourite lorry had refused to obey her instructions. It had, in fact, been unable to do so, since the terrifying and totally unexpected blow-out of the left rear tyre.
Rose and Gladys were taking a platoon of ATS personnel and equipment to a military camp near Stamford Bridge. It was very dark but there was scarcely any traffic, and for that Rose had been grateful. She could, she decided, get to the camp in less than an hour. With any luck, the girls would get a few hours’ sleep before they began their exercise next morning.
And then, out of nowhere, a loud bang, followed by terrified screams from the women in the back, and an unfamiliar flapping noise that she later recognised as burst rubber bouncing on the road.
‘Hold on to your hats, girls, I can’t stop the damned thing. Just pray there isn’t a river down there.’
‘Can’t you brake, Rose; at least slow us down?’
Rose, every muscle tense, unclenched her teeth again and said, as calmly as she could, ‘Braking is dangerous, Gladys.’
Her mind was working furiously. ‘Never brake in a skid.’ That was Sam’s voice.
‘Step on the accelerator, just for a second; sounds insane but it works’ – Corporal Church.
‘A blow-out will make your vehicle pull violently, so gently, gently, counter-steer to try to stay in lane.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Rose in reply to Warrant Officer Starling’s voice replaying in her head.
Gladys was clearly anxious. ‘Accelerating wasn’t a good move.’
Rose knew that if she gave in to panic, there would be no hope for any of them. ‘Trust me, it was a good move.’
Nothing had worked and the lorry’s weight and the terrain were in charge. All Rose could hope was that they were not sliding towards the edge of a cliff.
‘What can I do?’ whispered Gladys through chattering teeth. ‘Dear God, can I do anything?’
‘Praying’s good. Or try to calm the girls.’
But it was terrified screams that accompanied the lorry on its self-destructive careering down the slope to what…?
‘Oh God, there’s a—’
The information Gladys was about to give was lost for ever as the front wheels of the military vehicle hit the edge of whatever barrier lay before them. Accompanied by the shattering of glass, the scraping of metal and the hysterical cries of several young women as they were thrown around under the canvas cover at the back, the vehicle turned almost gracefully onto its side and began to sink slowly into…what?
Initially, Rose lay stunned but she recovered quickly, only to discover that she was firmly wedged against the door, her nose and mouth squashed against the window. She tried to move but the not inconsiderable weight of Gladys was on top of her and still from the back came moans and groans and occasional feeble cries for help.
‘Anything hurt, Gladys – really badly, I mean?’
She felt Gladys move. ‘No, don’t think so, and I’m able to move. I’ll try to get off you but I’m completely disorientated; I’ve got to get out to those girls somehow, and I’ve no idea where I’ll land. It’s so bloody dark.’
‘Tut, tut. You were praying a minute ago, Gladys.’ Rose thought quickly. ‘Auxiliaries,’ she called in her most authoritative voice, ‘everyone all right?’ She listened for a moment but stopped as something very cold and wet lapped against her face. She sniffed and tried to wiggle her hand under her but could feel nothing. How am I going to get these girls out of here? Her feelings were ambivalent: gratitude that the liquid was not petrol but concern that a great deal
of cold water was entering the cab. They had stopped but now they were sinking – but into what?
‘Girls,’ she called, ‘can anyone hear me?’ There was no answer.
‘Think they’ve jumped out the flap, Rose. Didn’t you feel the back end lift?’
‘Hard to feel anything with you on top of me. Call again, Gladys. Is anyone left in the back?’
The sound of murmuring and some hysterical weeping from outside assured her that the new ATS recruits had managed to get out. She hoped no one was hurt but now was not the time to find out. ‘Try to shout out to the girls, Gladys. Why on earth isn’t anyone trying to open the damned door?’ She felt Gladys tentatively attempt to turn.
‘I can see faces, Rose; the girls are having no luck in opening the door.’
Cold water filled Rose’s mouth and she choked and spluttered. ‘Pray they do before I drown. What’s this damn river? I must be well off the route as I don’t remember a river.’
Gladys moved again. ‘Thank God, Rose, I’ve got my feet free, but I’m stuck on the gear lever, and why did I decide to wear my new skirt? Damn thing’s ruined and it’s around my waist.’
‘The river, Gladys?’ Rose was gathering her strength in an attempt to push the corporal off into the small space between the seat and the windscreen.
‘There’s no river. I checked the map carefully before we left. It’s got to be a ditch or one of them ha-ha things.’
The sobs and weeping outside stopped abruptly and the two trapped in the cab heard male voices accompanied by excited cries from some of the girls: ‘Yanks, Yanks, the Yanks are here.’
‘Well, lookee here, Sergeant. Isn’t this the prettiest little nest of birds you ever did see?’
An American accent, a very distinctive one, seemed to be coming from above her. As a child, Rose had learned to love that particular sound and even to imitate it while sitting entranced in the projectionist’s booth at her local cinema in Dartford. For a fraction of a second she wondered if she was dead, and then Gladys shrieked.
‘Pardon me, ma’am –’ the accent was American but different from the first one – ‘Master Sergeant Bradley Hastings at your service. We are about to pull your truck out of the ditch. The other young ladies have exited the vehicle and are quite safe. I’m afraid I can’t get this door open and if you ladies are not injured it’s possibly better to lift the vehicle with you still inside. Otherwise, we’ll need to smash in the door. Ma’am?’
‘Gladys, why did you scream?’
‘Nothing. Really stupid.’ Why on earth did Gladys sound embarrassed? ‘I felt something like a hand on my thigh…this damned skirt.’
‘Maybe it was a fish.’
‘No, ma’am, I apologise,’ the more authoritative voice said, but with just the hint of a smile, ‘Private Arvizo was merely groping, sorry…reaching for the handle through the shattered window. But don’t worry, we’ll get you out on a wing and a prayer.’
A wing and a prayer. Isn’t that something from an old film? ‘Lift the truck, Sergeant,’ came the strangled sound of Rose’s voice. The water was still seeping into the cab and she was scarcely able to breathe as Gladys continued to crush her against the thankfully unbroken side window.
They heard orders being given in that same pleasant but businesslike voice, some male laughter quickly quietened and then, with an unpleasant sucking sound, everything changed. They felt the lorry being lifted, carried a few feet and then turned right way up, before being set down on blessedly firm ground. They fell back against the seats.
‘My God, how many of them are there?’ asked Rose, but there was no one to answer.
A uniformed arm reached in – and the door opened. Gladys, her skirt still riding higher on her thighs than she’d have liked, almost fell out into a circle of smiling concerned faces, both male and female. Rose, conscious that she had lost her cap, allowing her long blonde hair to escape from its restraints and cascade over her shoulders, tried to maintain some dignity as she edged along the seat.
The same strong arm reached in and a tanned hand was offered. ‘Let me help you, Miss Venus rising from the waves.’
He spoke so quietly that Rose was sure that only she had heard his remark. Startled, she looked up into smiling eyes of a most unusual shade of blue, almost lilac. For a moment they stayed looking at each other. Rose recovered first. ‘Thank you, Sergeant, I can manage.’ She swung her long legs out of the lorry and onto the ground.
The girls who had been thrown around in the back of the lorry were now proving that they had sustained no serious injuries by making friends as quickly as possible with the group of American soldiers.
‘I’ll have some mechanics check the vehicle, ma’am,’ the sergeant offered, ‘but I think it might be safer to tow it to your base.’
He had addressed Rose, probably assuming that she was senior, but Gladys, of senior rank, being a corporal now, answered him.
‘You’re very kind, Sergeant, but several of us are qualified mechanics, including Lance Corporal Petrie here. I would, however, be very grateful if you could shine some light on the lorry while they check it.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said the sergeant, who saluted before walking off to give his platoon their orders.
The examination, watched by the Americans and interrupted by occasional intelligent suggestions from them, proved that the vehicle was unfit to drive.
‘The rear offside wheel is shredded, ma’am; needs to be replaced. Arvizo, radio ahead and explain the situation.’ The sergeant turned again to Gladys. ‘I think, if you’ll permit, ma’am, we’ll tow you to your base.’
‘Gladys, did you hear what that American said when he helped me out?’
‘You certainly made a conquest there, Rose; it’s that glorious hair. Mind you, he’s a bit of all right. Love the voice and the eyes. In fact he looks like one of them movie actors.’
‘Yes, and I just bet any one of those silly girls out there has told him so.’
Rose turned from the mirror, which she had been using to try to see the bruises on her back and shoulders. ‘What did he say?’ she asked nonchalantly. ‘Something about Venus.’
‘Beware of men who compare you to paintings of naked goddesses.’ Gladys looked at her second in command. ‘It’s an Italian painting, ask Fran or her mum. I think it’s called The Birth of Venus. She’s starkers, standing on a shell, and her crowning glory is long enough to cover the naughty bits.’
‘Is it nice? I mean, have you seen it?’
‘Oh, yes, we pop over to Italy every bank holiday.’ Gladys watched Rose’s face. ‘God, Rose, you believe me. Too naïve for your own good.’
Rose smiled quietly. She was more than secure enough to know that, no matter what anyone said, she was not naïve. She had grown up in a loving family with three older brothers and a twin sister and had worked for several years in a munitions factory – impossible, she felt strongly, to be naïve in these circumstances. She sat down to pull on her stockings. ‘I’ve never met a Yank before, Gladys. They were nice fellows, don’t you think?’
‘When I recover from Arvizo squeezing my thigh, I’ll tell you.’
The two women laughed.
‘He was looking for the handle,’ spluttered Rose.
‘Like hell he was. Door handles are on doors, not an arm’s length into the vehicle. Naïve Rose, Auntie Gladys is really going to have to look after you.’ Gladys finished brushing her hair, took out a lipstick refill that had less than a quarter of an inch left and lightly applied it. ‘Let’s see if there’s anything edible left in the canteen.’
The two women, one tall and slender, and the other of slightly less than average height and a little on the heavy side, pulled on their Teddy Bear coats, which were generously proportioned, and long and wide enough to fit round almost any woman. ATS personnel, especially those who, like women in other branches of the services, had had to do without a greatcoat for more than a year, loved them. One or two of the younger and better-dressed recruits ha
d objected to the coats, but Gladys had pointed out the advantages.
‘Picture yourself in nothing but a skirt and tunic and your God-knows-what, and probably ninety denier, sludge-green stockings at two o’clock on a freezing January morning, dismantling an engine with your tiny frozen fingers, and you’ll thank God for your Teddy Bear. You can pull on every jumper you own under it, and nobody will know but you – and me.’
Now all the girls were in the canteen telling everyone who would listen, and several who would prefer not to, all about their exciting afternoon, and especially about their rescue by the American platoon.
‘Muscles? You wouldn’t believe it. The sergeant is straight out of a film; gorgeous eyes – well, he just told some of them to stand on one side of the ditch, some on the other and they picked up the lorry with Lance Corporal Petrie and Corporal Archer inside; carried them like babies in a cot and set them down so gently on the grass. I almost wish I’d stayed in the back waiting for rescue.’
There was a great deal of laughter and much excited chattering as there had been rumours for some time that the Americans were expected.
‘Warrant Officer Starling offered them tea,’ one of the girls who had been in the lorry hurried to tell her audience, ‘but Sergeant Hastings refused – very nicely – and explained that they had to return to base. They’ll “drop by” sometime, Sergeant Hastings said. Won’t it be wonderful? And, by the way, what’s a Master Sergeant?’
‘A sergeant with points,’ laughed Gladys. ‘They have all sorts of non-coms in the US Army, but master’s pretty good.’
‘And don’t get too excited about them popping in for a cuppa, Marge,’ Rose cautioned. ‘They say Americans are all very well-mannered and I’m sure he meant it, but there is a war on.’
Marge almost skipped with excitement. ‘That’s why they’re here. People say they bring everything with them from America, even their food.’
Gloomily, Gladys and Rose looked at their Spam fritters. ‘Even after three thousand miles of ocean, I bet it tastes better than this,’ said Gladys. ‘Come back, Arvizo, all is forgiven.’