by Mary Gibson
And Bill interrupted ‘The music we’ve come for! Let’s hope it’s worth it.’
The basement room was warming up and Bill undid the top button of his collar. The more relaxed style suited him, but as he pulled at his tie, she wondered if he might be as nervous as she was. After all, the girls had assured her this was a date.
But then there was a pause in the shuffling and chatter. The dumpy figure of Dame Myra Hess crossed to the piano, and seated herself before it. May hadn’t at first realized who she was, but now she found herself digging Bill in the ribs. She and her father had often sat spellbound, listening to Dame Myra on the wireless, much to her mother’s disgust. She preferred her husband to play the old favourites on their upright piano, which had been bought, hire purchase, specifically for the purposes of impromptu parties after a night at the pub, or so her mother liked to think.
Bill pointed to the first piece on the programme and whispered, ‘My favourite.’
Dame Myra launched into Mozart’s Piano Concerto No 14, but it wasn’t till she reached a slow movement of such sweet, almost unbearable yearning that May became entranced. Something about the purity and lightness contrasted so starkly with the forced ugliness of their surroundings, and the music seemed to push the basement walls away, so that May felt they were listening under a clear blue, spring sky. But when the howl of the air-raid siren penetrated the depths of the basement, breaking through the purity of the tripping melody, something seemed to break in May and for some reason she saw again the tiny baby they’d rescued from the wreckage of its mother’s arms, all its years of innocence snatched away, and then she saw her brother’s face, shining, just as it had on the day he’d got engaged to Joycie.
She felt Bill reach for her hand. He gave her his handkerchief and May bowed her head.
After the raid and the concert were over they walked out into Trafalgar Square. She was still clutching Bill’s handkerchief.
‘Thanks, Bill.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll give it back… when it’s clean!’
‘Don’t worry, May. Were you thinking of your Jack?’
She took in a long breath. ‘Jack, yes, and our little baby’s mother and Emmy’s family and oh… there’s too many people gone already, Bill, and that music was so sad, it just made me think of all the wasted lives…’
As they sat on the top deck of the bus crossing Waterloo Bridge they watched the tawny light of the setting sun turn the Thames liquid bronze and, without speaking, Bill put his arm round her shoulders.
*
The following week she made her decision. Emmy was surprised when May called at Dix’s Place for her before work that day. It was something she never normally did – if she waited for Emmy to get ready every morning, she’d be docked half a week’s wages.
‘I’ve made up me mind, Em. Before Mum or Dad talks me out of it, are you coming to the labour exchange tonight or not?’ she said, a note of challenge in her voice.
‘What’s it going to be, the ATS?’ Emmy swallowed a last piece of toast, threw on her coat, then stopped to light up a cigarette in the courtyard. Blowing smoke into the billowing sail of someone’s eiderdown, flapping on the line in the early morning breeze, she narrowed her eyes. ‘If I go with you, you’d better not bottle out at the last minute!’
‘I won’t! But I think I can only go if you come too, Em.’ She grabbed her friend’s hand and squeezed it tightly.
Later, when she and Bill took their lunchtime walk, she told him her decision. His normal chattiness was silenced, and he walked for a few minutes beside her without comment, till she was forced to ask, ‘Well, what do you think?’
She was horrified to see that he looked hurt. ‘Why haven’t you mentioned it to me?’ he asked.
‘Well, you knew I’ve been thinking about it for long enough.’ she said, feeling that she was breaking some rule, knowing that whatever words came out of her mouth were not going to make this any less awkward. Not for the first time she found herself wishing she were more like Em and Dolly, who’d both already had a string of boyfriends.
The silence was horrible. She just wished that they could chat easily about this, as they’d grown used to doing about so many other things over the past months.
‘It doesn’t mean we can’t carry on being friends, Bill,’ she said, wanting only to see his face soften. ‘We can see each other on leaves.’
But as she said the words the reality hit her. It was Bill she looked forward to seeing every day, it was Bill she hoped would be on her fire-watching rota, it was Bill she wanted to tell about her days or her family dramas and, in the moment she suggested that seeing him on her leaves would be enough, she knew it wouldn’t be.
He seemed to pull himself together. ‘Yeah, ’course we can, it’s just that I’ve got fond of… us, you know, stringing along together.’ Then came that wry smile of his, and she knew how truly disappointed he really was.
‘I’ll miss you too, Bill. It’s hard to go, but—’
‘I know,’ Bill interrupted. ‘You’ve got no choice.’ He looked away. ‘I’m sorry for making you feel bad about it.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It’s not fair, seeing I’ll be doing exactly the same.’
‘What’s that?’ she said.
‘I’ve got my call-up papers from the RAF,’ he said.
‘Oh, Bill, why didn’t you tell me?’ Now it was her turn to feel hurt.
‘I kept thinking there’d be a better time...’
And she realized they had both, stupidly, being trying to protect each other from the inevitable parting.
As the factory came into sight, Bill took her hand. ‘May, let’s promise to keep in touch. Let me know when your first leave is, won’t you?’ The muscles of his face were taut and his grip strong, and when she said, ‘Yes,’ it was a promise she fully intended to keep.
And it was a promise that echoed in her mind when that evening after work she, Emmy and Dolly took their places at booths in the white-tiled labour exchange. As she signed her name, May thought of Bill and tried to imagine what it would be like, seeing him only on leaves, or perhaps never again if the worst happened. But who could predict anything in this war? She banished the thought and took the oath.
8
Leaving
March 1941
It happened too quickly. Somehow she thought she’d have time to get used to the idea of leaving everything behind her. But only two weeks after signing up, her notice to join had arrived. Now she lay in her bed, eyes wide open, the pitch-black of the room weighing heavily upon her, like a palpable shroud. She knew that outside the moon was shining, for she had peeked through the heavy blackout curtains earlier, but now firmly fastened, they refused to let a sliver of its brilliance into the room. At least they would be free of a raid tonight. Whatever the rumoured inaccuracy of the ack-ack guns, the German planes would never risk the light of such a moon, as it washed the Thames with a light almost bright as day. Though the prospect of a night spent in her own bed instead of the damp bunk of the Anderson shelter would normally have filled her with relief, tonight there was none. Her heart matched the darkness of her room.
Why had she done it? She asked herself, pretending not to know the answer. Neither Emmy pressurizing, nor the guilt-inducing government posters, could ever have persuaded her. It was for Jack; it was for her home. The constant bombardment of streets she’d grown up in, the school she’d attended, the factory she worked in, the church she’d been christened in – it was a destruction she couldn’t leave unanswered. But it wasn’t until tonight that she felt the reality of it.
She was leaving home for the first time. Going away from all she knew and she wished fervently that she was not. What made it even harder was that she was going alone. All the time she’d imagined it would be like Garner’s but in a different place, because Em and Dolly were coming too. But when they got their notices to join, her friends had been ordered to report to a different station, on a different date, and in fact the two girls had left already. She felt her
cheeks burn with the shame of her terror at leaving: in this world where the prospect of death on her own doorstep was so real, it seemed such a small thing to be frightened of, yet in the loneliness of the night it felt greater than the barrage of bombs she’d faced for the last six months. All that was familiar and certain would be left behind, and perhaps she would never find it again. She curled up with the wet handkerchief balled into her hand and tried to stifle her sobs.
‘Are you crying, May?’ Her mother’s soft voice came from the open bedroom door.
‘No, ’course not,’ she choked.
‘Oh, love, you don’t have to pretend to be brave, not with me.’ She sat on the bed and May sat up, and let her wet cheek rest on her mother’s shoulder.
‘It’s only natural, you’re sad to be going away.’ Her mother gently stroked her hair.
‘I wish I could change my mind and stay home.’ May sniffed, grateful to be able to whisper her true feelings.
But her mother knew as well as she did that there was nothing to be done now. May had received her orders to report and all her mother could do was to soothe her fears, kissing the top of her head. ‘You’ll be all right, darlin’, you’ll find out you can cope with almost anything,’ she whispered.
‘That’s what Granny Byron said.’
And May could only hope they were both right, for by this time tomorrow she would be in the ATS.
King’s Cross Station was crammed with servicemen. May tripped over kitbags and sleeping soldiers, as she searched around for her contact. Her father had accompanied her this far, but at the station entrance she stopped him.
‘No, Dad,’ she said, taking the case from him. ‘I’d better get used to doing things for myself.’
‘But Mum give me orders, said I’ve got to see you on the train.’
They tussled with the case, but when she wouldn’t release her grip, he let go.
‘All right, you win. But don’t tell your mother.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘My little homing pigeon, never thought I’d see this day.’ He held her tight enough for her to feel his beating heart and when eventually he let her go, she could see tears welling in his eyes.
‘Bye, Dad, tell Mum I’ll write, soon as I get a chance.’
She heard the tremble in her own voice and turned quickly, before her tears betrayed her. As she walked into the station alone, conscious of her father’s eyes on her back, she knew it was for the best. Her goodbyes at home had been tearful enough, and her face was already puffy. She wanted to maintain at least some illusion of adulthood.
Where would she be travelling to? She had no idea. All she knew was that she was heading for ‘Basic Training’, but that seemed painfully vague. If only they’d given her a destination. She swallowed hard and forced herself to stand still. Then she spotted them, a huddle of girls looking anxiously about them, clutching cases and holding join-up cards, just like her own. May was relieved to see that they all looked as lost as she felt. She walked up to them.
‘Oh, another one of the lost little lambs. Come here, sweetheart!’ A young woman, with a strong Kent accent, a round face and brown curls, pulled her into their circle before she could say a word. She was older than May, perhaps twenty-five.
‘I’m Ruby, from Ramsgate,’ she said. ‘We’re waiting for the welfare officer.’
‘Are we all going to the same place?’ May asked, and another girl nearer May’s age shrugged her shoulders.
‘Gawd knows. I just hope they tell us soon. I’ve been awake half the night and I’m looking forward to a kip on the train!’
The girl introduced herself as Eileen, and by the sound of her accent May guessed she was from Bermondsey too. But the shrill whistle of a departing train drowned out the name of a third girl, who was tall and rather elegantly dressed. A troop of tin-hatted soldiers carrying full kit marched past, forcing the girls to flatten themselves against the platform gate.
‘Do you think we’re in the right place?’ May asked Ruby, just as an ATS officer stepped up smartly, holding a clipboard.
‘You’re my lot, I think,’ she said, calling out their names and ticking them off when they answered.
‘All right, girls, fall in and follow me. You’re off to Pontefract!’ she said in a jolly voice, as though they were going on a works beano.
But May discovered soon enough this journey wouldn’t be anything like a beano. For a start they had no silly hats to wear, and there was definitely no beer on board. After the officer had gathered together several more recruits, she took them to a mobile canteen that had been set up near the ticket office. They were each given a packet of sandwiches and told to make them last all day.
‘All day!’ Ruby hissed into May’s ear. ‘How far away is bloody Pontefract? These won’t last me half an hour!’
Clutching their cases and sandwiches, they followed the officer through milling crowds to the platform. With no train in evidence, the officer peered along the tracks, as if she could materialize one by the intensity of her glare.
‘Damn! All right, girls, make yourselves comfortable while I go and see where our train’s got to.’
May copied the others and sat on her case, watching the officer disappear along the platform. Steam billowed across from trains pulling in and out, and from high above the station roof came the faint drone of a plane. May hoped there wouldn’t be a daylight raid. She clenched her hands, so that her nails dug into her palms. She desperately wanted to get the journey started. There was still a part of her that hadn’t let go and, so long as she was still in London, she feared her homing instincts might ignite some irrational bolt back to Bermondsey.
May stood up and began to pace up and down in front of the other girls.
‘Sit down for gawd’s sake,’ said Eileen. ‘Your arse is making buttons!’
After half an hour the officer returned with the news that their train had been requisitioned for troop transport. There was nothing for it but to wait, so May sat, watching with envy whenever a train departed. As the morning wore on Eileen’s eyes drooped and her head fell on to Ruby’s shoulder; soon she was snoring softly.
‘Lucky little bugger,’ Ruby said. ‘Wish I could drop off anywhere.’ May too wondered at how the girl could sleep so peacefully. The station was a swirling maelstrom of bodies on the move. Soldiers with kitbags, clambering on to their trains, women with platform tickets, running along the carriages, hoping to wave off sweethearts. Groups of evacuee children, swamped by over-large boxes and cases, many clutching the hands of weeping mothers. May pressed her back against the tiled station wall, feeling dizzy and sick. Suddenly Ruby’s elbow nudged her.
‘Aye aye, Madam Butterfly’s back again, looks like we’re off.’
The officer scanned them, perhaps making sure none of her charges had thought better of it and wandered off back home. ‘All present and correct?’ she asked unnecessarily. ‘We’ve got four minutes to get to platform six. Chop chop.’ And she dashed away.
Ruby pushed Eileen awake. ‘Whaa?’ The girl stood up, zombie-like, grabbing blindly for her case.
‘Train’s leaving.’ May set off at a half-sprint, following the officer, and before long they were all squashed into one carriage. The officer didn’t get on the train with them, and May was disconcerted to realize that she was leaving them.
‘Someone will be there to collect you from Pontefract Station and take you to the barracks. Good luck, girls, you’re in the army now!’
With a grin and a jaunty salute, the woman strode away. The new recruits tried to make themselves comfortable, but with ten of them in the carriage, together with their bags, it wasn’t easy. May had no idea where Pontefract was, just that one of the girls had said it was ‘up north somewhere’. To May, it sounded like the ends of the earth.
They had wasted half the morning already and May felt herself relax as the train pulled out of the station with a scream from the whistle and a belch of steam. She leaned forward, eager to begin her journey and, with her head resti
ng against the windowpane, she took in the last of London as a golden afternoon light bathed the war-scarred city.
The sandwiches ran out at Potters Bar. They’d all complained about them, but hunger had won out in the end. They were made of the vile grey national loaf and filled with what tasted like salmon paste, which Ruby said was actually mashed swede. ‘That’s all you get in the bloody army, you know, swedes and spuds and tea, that’s what my sister told me.’
Eileen, who came from a family of ten in Dockhead, was disappointed, saying she’d only joined up for the three square meals a day. No one could tell them why, but they’d been shunted into a siding. As afternoon dwindled to dusk, they waited in the dimness of the unlit, crowded carriage with very little to do but eat and smoke. May felt like a smoked kipper, so when Ruby said she was getting up to stretch her legs, May followed her. They tumbled out of the carriage, on to the track, lighting up before the blackout came into force. Suddenly a little cheer went up, as a band of uniformed WVS ladies came into view, trundling tea urns on trolleys.
‘My God, I do hope those char wallahs are destined for us!’ The cut-glass accent caught May’s attention and she turned to see the elegant young woman who had joined them at King’s Cross. She’d seated herself by the corridor in their carriage and they hadn’t yet spoken. Immaculately dressed in a trouser suit, with a gabardine coat draped over her shoulders, she stood as though on the deck of a moving ship, feet spread wide, with her hands shielding her eyes. Catching May’s eye, she stuck out her hand. ‘How do you do, Phoebe Fanshawe, call me Bee.’
They gathered round the tea urns, drinking mugs of steaming tea and eating rock cakes, until it was time to set off again. They had just settled back into their cramped carriage as the train chugged out of the siding, when out of nowhere a thunderclap burst above them – a thunderclap that shattered every window, showering them with slivers of stinging glass. May was heaved out of her seat, and tumbled, impossibly, into the luggage rack above her. She knew it couldn’t be happening, yet she found her face pressed against the ceiling of the carriage. Shoving at it with all her strength, she pushed herself away, while what felt like a giant’s foot crushed the carriage roof, buckling and creasing it, till she felt she herself was folded and squashed in its metallic embrace. The screech of crumpling metal deafened her. Suddenly screams pierced the darkness and May realized they were her own.