by Mary Gibson
*
It had taken all her courage to meet him this morning and Emmy had tried to persuade her not to come. But May knew that her hard-won confidence was leaching slowly away, Doug had robbed her of something, and it wasn’t her virginity – it was the new self that had been slowly growing since she’d left home. Now, she knew the braver thing to do was to confront him. She wouldn’t stay cowering in the hut, while her friends fended him off for her. Before last night, she and Doug had already agreed to meet up in Barkingside at the pub where he was staying. If the weather stayed fine, they’d planned a picnic near Hainault Forest.
He was waiting for her outside the pub, looking at his watch. So he was still expecting her. She hadn’t bothered to change into civvies and when he spotted her he grinned. ‘Why the uniform? Don’t tell me your leave’s cancelled.’
She stared at him, briefly grateful that her uniform didn’t include a gun.
‘I’m in uniform because you tore my dress, didn’t you?’
He raised his eyes, ‘Oh, for God’s sake, May, I only wanted a bit of fun. I could be dead tomorrow. And who was that clown who knocked me out? Have you been seeing someone else?’
She had expected at least an apology, however insincere. She hadn’t imagined his anger would be directed at her. And now her own anger, which had been absent all through the long wakeful night she’d spent imagining what she’d done to encourage him, burst forth.
‘Don’t you dare insult me with that one! That clown, as you call him, is someone from home and he’s worth ten of you! And whether I’m seeing anyone is none of your business. I’m packing you in.’
‘What do you mean? We’re finished?’
Doug’s freckles had disappeared in the red flush spreading up from his neck. ‘All because of a little fumble round the back of the NAAFI? You need to grow up, May!’
‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m grown up enough to see what type of bloke you are.’
May turned abruptly and dashed across the road, leaping on to a bus going back to base. She didn’t look back.
*
At dinner in the canteen the girls gathered round, eager to hear what had happened. They broke into a spontaneous cheer when she told them about Doug’s demise.
‘Well, darling, you’re well rid of him,’ Bee said, ‘You deserve nothing less than a gentleman!’
‘Oh, she had one of them and let him slip through her fingers,’ Emmy said, and May shot her a warning look.
‘Who’s that, her gallant rescuer of last night? We’re intrigued…’ And Bee leaned forward, elbows on the table, pushing her plate to one side.
May felt their keen eyes on her and blushed.
‘That was her Bill, but he’s engaged,’ Emmy added.
‘I can speak for myself thanks! And he’s not my Bill…’
‘Not at the moment he’s not, but I had a letter from my sister Ethel, the one that works at Atkinson’s, and she reckons his fiancée’s got a roving eye… GIs. It’s all over the factory – if you want nylons, chocolate, cigarettes, Ethel says, you only have to go to Iris.’
May felt her heart tighten. She couldn’t share Emmy’s glee.
‘Oh no, poor Bill. But are you sure you’ve got the right person?’
If it was all over the factory, surely Peggy would have heard? But Emmy gave her a long look and nodded slowly.
‘I’d get in there quick, gel, she’s getting ready to give Bill the elbow.’
‘Well, darling, it sounds like the poor chap might need rescuing just as much as you did,’ Bee said, and the others laughed, all except Pat, who mercifully changed the subject.
‘Well, now I’ve got you lot together, let’s talk about my wedding. I want you all to come and be my guard of honour!’
They strolled back, the six of them linking arms, heading for the field behind the hut where they’d posed for their photographs yesterday. May thought of the dress. It had felt strange to go out wearing another person’s clothing, the fit and the style not quite right. And perhaps that was what she’d learned with Doug: with men, as with dresses, she would in future be sure that the fit and the style were hers. And so any talk of Bill would have to be quashed; a romance with him would surely be like wearing someone else’s clothes.
They sat on the grass outside the hut, continuing their discussions about Pat’s wedding. She was planning to have the ceremony at the village church on the hill above Moreton-in-Marsh.
‘Has your mum finished the cake?’ Pat wanted to know. For May’s mother had spent weeks saving up the major’s and her own rations of dried fruit and sugar.
‘She’s finished it, but there’s only enough ingredients for one tier. Mum’s hiring a cardboard cake from the bakers and hiding the fruit cake in the bottom!’
Pat seemed happy enough with the idea. These days nobody expected layers of icing, but at least there’d be a slice of cake for everyone.
‘And what about the dress?’ Ruby asked. ‘Are you wearing a white one?’
Pat shook her head. ‘Can’t get hold of the material. I’ve got a suit.’
But May had other ideas. ‘You’ve got to have a proper wedding dress! Our Peggy’s still got hers – you can borrow that!’
‘Well, she won’t be wanting that back, will she?’ Emmy said. ‘No happy memories there, not after he’s chucked her out.’
The girls’ attention was immediately diverted from the wedding to Peggy’s marital problems, and May could see they expected details.
‘She’s had to go and live with my dad in our old house.’
‘But I thought it was a ruin? Surely there’s somewhere else she could go? She’s about to drop the kid, after all!’ Bee said.
‘There’s nowhere else,’ May answered. ‘And you’re right, Em, I don’t suppose she will want the wedding dress back, not even when Harry comes home from Africa.’
‘If he comes home,’ Mac said sadly, no doubt remembering her own brother who had died in North Africa, blown up along with his tank.
But their talk was interrupted as a bicycle slewed round the corner of the hut and came to a halt in front of them. The uniformed rider leaped off and wheeled the bike deliberately towards them.
‘I’ve come to see May,’ he said, as though this were the only explanation necessary, and waited, one hand gripping the handlebar.
May didn’t think Bill noticed the appreciative looks that passed round the circle of seated girls, but she did. He looked good in his uniform.
‘Hello, Bill.’ May sprang to her feet.
‘Introduce us then!’ Ruby broke the silence and May introduced Bill to her friends as if they’d never heard of him, let alone been only five minutes ago in deep discussion about his love life. He let the bicycle fall to the ground and sat down on the grass next to May. If he’d been captured in enemy territory he couldn’t have undergone a more thorough inquisition. The girls quizzed him on everything from his mother to his piano playing; it was of course Emmy who brought up the subject of his love life.
‘Have you got a sweetheart?’ she asked with a smile and May stiffened, her hands clenching tufts of grass, praying that nothing would be said to betray her.
Bill laughed good-naturedly at the question. ‘I’m engaged to a girl back in Bermondsey. Her name’s Iris.’
‘Oh, Iris what?’ Emmy said. ‘I might know her. Where does she work?’
May was desperate to change the subject, but to jump in now would be too obvious.
‘Iris Bostle, she’s at Atkinson’s.’
‘Oh! I know her now, yes, our Ethel works with her?’
Bill seemed delighted at the coincidence and May was staring fixedly at Emmy, her heart thudding and her glare, she hoped, blistering. If she said anything to Bill, May would never forgive her. It was at this moment that Bill chose to share the gift he’d brought with him. He got up and drew from his saddlebag a carefully wrapped flat package.
‘I brought this for May, but she won’t mind sharing, will you?’
He smiled as he peeled back the wrapping to reveal a large box of chocolates. There were gasps and the girls dived forward to inspect the contents, which might as well have contained gold bars, they were so precious.
‘Oh thanks, Bill, but I can’t take these! There’s two months’ rations worth there,’ May said.
‘No, he’s got them from Iris,’ Emmy said excitedly, and May saw Bill’s face freeze.
‘No,’ he said uncertainly. ‘They’re out of my own points. What makes you think they’re from Iris?’
The other girls had gone quiet and the box of chocolates sat untouched, until Emmy retrieved the situation. ‘Oh, it’s only that our Ethel said they had some going round the factory… under the counter. She said they was almost sick of the stuff, they got so much.’
May thought that was a detail too far as no one in the sweet-starved world could get too much chocolate, in her opinion.
Bill nodded his head, seemingly satisfied, and passed round the box. The girls took the chocolates with exaggerated delight, but May could see pity in their eyes and her heart went out to Bill. To be so open and generous-hearted and to be so in the dark – he didn’t deserve to be in such a position. But the truth could not come from her.
She walked back to the gates with him when the time came for him to leave.
‘Thanks for coming, Bill, it was kind,’ she said, when her friends were out of earshot.
‘I was worried about you. Have you heard from him?’
There was a moment’s silence as she wondered how much to tell him. ‘I saw him this morning, packed him in.’
‘Thank God.’ Bill let out a breath. ‘You deserve better, May.’
May thought silently, and so do you.
24
‘I’m Looking For An Angel’
Early Summer 1942
May began to live her life from one Saturday night to the next – not that she would admit to going to the dances for the sole purpose of seeing Bill. She went with her pals, danced with whoever asked her, and in the intervals she talked to Bill.
Most Saturdays he was there, playing the piano in the RAF band, unless he was on night duty, and on those occasions the world seemed leached of colour. It was the difference between watching a film in vibrant Technicolor or grainy black and white. Tonight the tones were definitely grey, the piano was empty and, though she would have a good time with the girls, her disappointment was too strong to conceal.
‘Looks like he’s on duty again,’ Pat whispered, as they slipped out of their coats and circled the edges of the dancers.
‘He wasn’t due to be,’ May said, scanning the room in case he’d arrived late. Then out of the corner of her eye she spotted him, hurrying in from backstage. Suddenly there was colour in the room, the WAAF singer was sheathed in emerald satin, the bunting around the room was sky blue and ivory, the stage curtains shimmering gold. The band was already in full swing and she saw the conductor raise his eyes as Bill took his seat at the piano. May thought he looked flustered, but he quickly picked up his place in the number – which didn’t surprise her as it was his old favourite, ‘I’ll String Along With You’.
The WAAF in glamorous mufti sang along with the band:
You may not be an angel, ’cause angels are so few
But until the day that one comes along, I’ll string along with you
I’m looking for an angel, to sing my love song to
And until the day that one comes along, I’ll sing my song to you.
May sat out the song, preferring to listen, and just as it came to an end she caught Bill’s eye. He attempted a smile, but something was wrong. He looked miserable. His eyes, normally a deep-sea blue, had turned cloudy, and when the interval came she was glad when he came straight to her.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked abruptly. It was the way she’d got used to talking to him, in their days at Garner’s. Back then, with only a brief hour to spend together each day, they’d developed a shorthand way of communicating that seemed to suit them both.
‘I had a phone call from Iris. I was going back home next week to see her, been saving my leave, and now she’s cancelled. Says her mum’s ill and she’ll be busy with looking after her, so…’
‘That’s a shame, Bill, but it can’t be helped. You’ll just have to wait till her mum’s better.’ May tried to sound sympathetic, but there was no denying her heart had leaped at the idea he would be here, rather than in Bermondsey.
‘Suppose so. Oh, I don’t know… it’s not the first time this has happened.’ Bill rubbed at his forehead. ‘Shall I get us a drink?’
May found a table and when he came back with a pint for himself and a gin and bitter lemon for her, she asked him, ‘What did you mean, “it’s happened before” – is her mum ill a lot?’
‘No – I meant, Iris making excuses, putting me off. You know, May, I’m beginning to wonder if she’s found another chap.’
May fought a powerful impulse to enlighten Bill. Perhaps knowing about his fiancée’s GIs would free him from his sense of obligation, but what if he truly loved Iris? He did seem really cast down by not seeing her. Discovering the truth would devastate him. And if May truly loved him, how could she be the one to inflict such a blow?
‘Well, you ought to talk to her about it.’
‘How can I do that? I wouldn’t insult her with the question.’
‘Is asking any more of an insult than thinking it?’
Bill smiled at her over his pint glass. For the first time tonight, she could see the colour of his ocean-blue eyes. ‘You never did let me get away with much, did you? I’ll do it. I’ll take my leave anyway, and I’ll ask her straight out. Thanks for the advice, May.’
He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. May heard instruments tuning up and silently cursed them, for they signalled Bill’s departure from her side. He drained his beer. ‘Duty calls!’ he said and she was left sitting at the table alone.
But her encounter hadn’t gone unnoticed and she was immediately pulled up on to the dance floor. It was Emmy, who grabbed her hands.
‘Come on, love, I’ll lead. Who needs a feller?’
And before she could protest, Emmy had launched into a frenetic quickstep, punctuated with military-style orders, which left May breathless and giggling.
‘Running eight!’ Emmy shouted in her ear in a sergeant-major roar. ‘Elevate, elevate!’ she ordered, charging through the crowd of dancers, who parted, applauding in their wake. Emmy might have the ability to put her foot in her mouth on occasion, but on the dance floor her feet were like wings and by the end of the dance, May had to agree.
‘You’re right, Em!’ she gasped, holding the stitch in her side. ‘Who needs a feller?’
*
The next morning May was on maintenance duty at the gun site, dressed in dungarees, boots and leather jerkin, for it could be a messy job. As team leader it was her responsibility to make sure the predictor machine was ready for action, and after parade and breakfast her team assembled at the gun emplacements. They polished the black metal predictor till it shone, then, with each of the girls in their places round the machine, checked that the calibration of the dials was spot on. The accuracy of their calculations was all important, for it was the predictor that determined when the fuse on the big guns was to be lit, and a fraction of a second could be the difference between a miss and a direct hit. After they’d finished at the instrument bunker they walked thirty yards across the field to where the big guns stood in their concrete pits, pointing skyward. Here, their next job was to polish the shells and check the fuses were in working order. The guns were becoming, if not old friends, then at least tamed beasts, dangerous yet familiar. It was May and her battery’s job to know their quirks and foibles, anticipate their oddities. Did they fire low or high? Were they slow to respond or quick? Each gun had its personality, likes and dislikes, and sometimes May wondered if she could ever explain to anyone not involved how much she’d learned to use her instinct
in her work.
Granny Byron might understand, and would probably have been proud of her, for it was May’s job to predict the future. Where would the plane be, supposing it carried on at the same height and speed, and taking into account the time it took to ram home the shells and set the fuse? When would the gun need to fire in order to hit the target? Her dial told her the exact spot, then she would shout to the gunnery sergeant: ‘Fuse – one oh!’ He would shout back: ‘Fuse set – one oh! Target!’ and she would shout: ‘Fire!’ But she had noticed there was always the smallest fraction of a second before she allowed herself to respond, when she would wait for an inner silence amidst the blaring gunfire. Only in that moment of stillness would she shout: ‘Fire!’
‘Good work, Lance Corporal Lloyd,’ the gunnery sergeant said after inspecting their work.
‘Thank you, Sergeant. Permission to return to the hut.’ Sometimes, if the job was done quickly and well, he would allow them time off.
‘Not so quick, Lance Corporal. We’ve got a little surprise for you lot today.’
The words were hardly out of his mouth when the nerve-shredding screech of the klaxon alert echoed around the gun park. After a second’s hesitation, she sprang forward, calling, ‘A-team, action stations!’ Grabbing the tin hat slung across her back, she clamped it on to her head, and hurtled back to the instrument bunker. She could hear Ruby puffing behind her, but long-legged Bee was already outstripping them.
‘Bloody practices!’ Emmy panted, catching her up. ‘Don’t we have enough of the real thing!’
They scooted to a halt at the bunker. May, leaping over the sandbags, shouted: ‘Positions, everyone!’ And in seconds their heads were down, peering through the eyepieces. May checked her screen, ready for the height-and-range-finder girls to call the approaching plane’s position to them. Soon she heard the distinctive hum of a practice plane, trailing its billowing scarlet drogue across a cloudless sky. May always thought the pilots of these practice planes deserved a special medal, their lives in the hands of often novice ack-ack girls.