by Annie Groves
Sally felt as though the blood in her veins had turned to ice.
‘Seven o’clock, Saturday. Corner of Mitchell Street. Oh, and the Boss said to tell you that her favourite song is “Danny Boy”. I’ll let meself out …’
Five minutes, that’s all the time it had taken to fill her life with despair. Five minutes …
She leaned against the door she had just closed, her whole body shaking and her heart pounding with fear.
SEVEN
‘Sam, I feel sorry for little Mouse as well, but being glum isn’t going to do anyone any good,’ Hazel told Sam firmly as they walked back from the showers together. ‘At least she’s bucked up enough to say she wants to come to the Grafton with the rest of us this evening.’
‘That’s only because she’s afraid of being left here on her own,’ Sam felt bound to point out, guiltily aware that her lack of good spirits had as much if not more to do with what had happened earlier in the day when Sergeant Johnny Everton had seen fit to haul her over the coals for talking quite innocently to another woman’s husband. She might not be one of the pretty feminine girls who attracted men like bees to honey but that did not mean that she was the desperate, pathetic type who mistook a man’s pleasant good manners for something far more meaningful.
‘Well, she’s not the only one who needs a bit of fun to cheer her up,’ Hazel said so pointedly that Sam looked uncertainly at her. ‘I don’t normally believe in talking too much about one’s personal affairs, but since you’re bound to hear about it sooner or later, I may as well come clean and tell you straight out.’ She paused and sighed. ‘Lynsey told me earlier that it’s all off with her current beau so no doubt she’ll be on the lookout for someone to take his place tonight.’ A small shadow crossed her face, and Sam saw her look down at her bare left hand. ‘I wish I had her knack of getting proposals, or at least getting one. The thing is that I’ve been dating my chap for over six months now – he’s Senior Service, and down in Dartmouth at the moment on a course – and I’m getting a bit tired of waiting for him to tell me if we’re going to have a future together. After all, a girl can’t ask a chap outright what his intentions are, can she? He’s expecting to get a new sea posting soon; they’ve made up him to lieutenant,’ she told Sam proudly before sighing again faintly. ‘That’s going to mean I’ll see even less of him. And you know what they say about sailors, especially the handsome ones, which he is. Sometimes I think I’d be better off calling it a day and being fancy free.’
She looked so despondent that all Sam could do was shake her head and say stoutly, ‘I’m sure things will work out, Hazel.’
‘Well, yes, I’m sure they will, but I’d still like a hint of which way. Come on,’ she rallied briskly. ‘We’d better go and make sure that dress of mine will fit you.’
‘I don’t mind wearing my uniform, honestly,’ Sam tried to assure her, but she could tell that Hazel wasn’t listening. Perhaps busying herself with organising her for their night out might in part help Hazel to put her worries about her relationship to one side for a little while, Sam acknowledged. And that being the case, didn’t she owe it to the other girl to ignore her own self-consciousness about wearing a dress?
‘Oh, Sally love, you look a real treat,’ Doris commented approvingly when she arrived to baby- sit. ‘Mind you,’ she pursed her lips and put her head to one side, studying Sally’s slender silhouette in the dark blue satin frock that Molly had virtually remade for Sally from an old dress bought from the Red Cross, ‘you could do with a bit more weight on your bones. You don’t want to start looking haggard. Not that you’re likely to, a bonny young girl like you,’ she added fondly.
Sharp tears stung Sally’s eyes. She didn’t know what was the matter with her these days. Just the slightest thing seemed to set her off feeling all emotional, be it kind words or cruel ones. It was plain daft acting all soppy and silly at her age, especially when she was the mother of two boys. How were they going to grow up confident like boys should be with a mother who was spouting tears all the time? And how were they going to grow up with a father who gambled and got into debt? She mustn’t think like that, Sally told herself as she hugged Doris.
‘You’re all sorted out for your kiddies’ party now, are you?’ Doris asked.
‘Yes, thanks to you and Molly,’ Sally smiled. ‘Daisy came over earlier and said that she’d make up a couple of plates of sandwiches for the kids. She said she’d let me have a tin of fruit as well. I thought I’d put it in a jelly – I can make it go a bit further that way. Molly’s dad said he’d paint up them toy soldiers your Frank gave me – I’ve told Molly I’ll make sure she gets them back if this new baby is a boy.’
‘It’s hard on the kiddies having to grow up in this war, bless ’em,’ Doris said quietly.
‘I’ve got to go,’ Sally told her, calling over her shoulder as she hurried down the hallway, ‘I’ll be back around half twelve as usual.’
No, she shouldn’t think badly of Ronnie, not with him being where he was, she told herself fiercely as she stepped out into the street, her heart thumping. Sometimes she missed him so much she could hardly bear her longing to see him, whilst at other times she felt so angry with him that she couldn’t bear the thought of ever seeing him again. One thing she did know was that he wouldn’t have meant to leave her with all this mess, but he could be such a softie, for all that he was a soldier.
The continual dull ache of her anxiety for him since she had been told he had been taken prisoner when Singapore had surrendered, which she had banked down as best she could, unexpectedly burst into a surge of panic and fear. No one wanted to talk about it openly but everyone had heard the horribly graphic reports coming out of the Far East of the way the Japanese treated their prisoners. She had read about it herself in Picture Post, and only the other day another woman had broken down on her shift and said that she almost wished her son had been killed outright rather than her having to think about what might be happening to him.
Sally broke into a faster walk. Sometimes there were things it just didn’t do to think about.
Hazel’s rueful, ‘Oh dear’ as she finished fastening the last of the white buttons, which ran from the square neckline of the cornflower-blue and white floral frock she was loaning Sam to just short of the hem of its flared skirt, confirmed all of Sam’s own worst fears. She obviously looked every bit as dreadful in the dress as she had feared, despite the fact that it was very pretty, and should have suited her fair colouring.
‘Lynsey, May, come and look at this,’ she called without taking her gaze off Sam. Obediently the other girls came over and, like Hazel, stood in front of Sam and frowned.
‘It’s me,’ Sam told them desperately. Her face was so hot she felt sure it must be the colour of a tomato. ‘I’m just not frock person. They don’t suit me.’
‘It’s the waist, that’s what it is,’ Lynsey announced, totally ignoring Sam. ‘She’s a lot smaller than you, Hazel. Put a belt round her waist to pull it in a bit and it will be fine, won’t it, May?’
‘Have you got a belt, Sam?’ Hazel asked. ‘A white one would be best.’
Sam shook her head.
‘I’ve got one,’ Mouse suddenly piped up, surprising them all. ‘I’ve got a cousin who used to work in a dress shop before the war and she gave it to me.’
‘Let’s have a look at it then, Mouse,’ May encouraged.
When Mouse handed over a wide white patent leather belt she had all the girls oohing with envy.
‘I can’t wear that,’ Sam protested. Somehow the belt epitomised everything she knew she could never be. It was made to encircle the waist of someone dainty and pretty, with curls and dimples, not a girl like her, but it was no use her protesting. Hazel was already cinching the belt around her waist.
‘My heavens, will you just look at that,’ May breathed.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ Sam demanded tensely.
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ Lynsey told her, ‘excepting that nearly
every other girl at the Grafton tonight will be wanting to kill you for having such a tiny waist, you lucky thing.’
‘Lynsey’s right, Sam,’ Hazel agreed. ‘That belt sets the frock off perfectly and it pulls in the loose fabric on the waist.’
‘But maybe Mouse wanted to wear her belt herself,’ Sam pointed out, struggling to get used to the odd sensation of both the belt and the skirt.
‘Not with that skirt and blouse she won’t,’ Lynsey pronounced firmly. ‘It won’t go with them.’
‘Sam, stop arguing, you look terrific, and put these shoes on,’ Hazel ordered. ‘If we don’t get a move on we’re going to be late. All you need now is a bit of lipstick. You’ve even got a lovely tan on your legs.’
It was no use protesting, Sam could see that, and besides, she didn’t want to spoil the evening for the other girls, who were all obviously very eager to go dancing. Even Mouse seemed to have forgotten that she had originally flatly refused to go, but then poor Mouse would probably rather have done anything than be left here at their billet on her own with the warrant officer.
‘Here’s our stop. Lord, will you look at the queue,’ May said as the bus pulled into the kerb.
A long wide queue of various groups of girls, young men in uniform, and couples had formed untidily in the street outside the dance hall. The most famous and the best in Liverpool, so Sam was informed by Lynsey, who, as Hazel remarked drily, was something of an expert on such matters.
‘Well, and why not? That’s what I say,’ Lynsey replied unabashed. ‘Work hard and play hard, that’s my motto. And thanks to the blinking ATS we certainly have to do plenty of hard work.’
‘Oh, yes? Then how come I saw you painting your nails this afternoon when you were supposed to be typing all them memos for the War Office?’ May asked her.
‘What memos? I never saw no memos,’ Lynsey gave the others a wink.
The ATS had been formed to train young women to take over the more mundane military support ‘chores’, such as cooking and general kitchen and domestic duties, typing, general paperwork, and sometimes driving military personnel or acting as messengers, in order to free up enlisted men for active duty.
‘Lynsey, you really are the limit,’ Hazel protested. ‘There is a war on, you know.’
‘Of course I know it!’ Lynsey replied, digging her elbow into May’s ribs. ‘Get a look of them lads over there, May. Canadian fly boys, they are, all on their own, a long way from home. Need a bit of female company to cheer them up, they will, what with there being a war on and all.’
‘Lynsey, really, you can do what you like but the rest of us don’t want tarring with the same brush,’ Hazel warned her, ignoring May’s giggles.
‘Oh, come on, Corp, we aren’t in uniform now,’ Lynsey grinned. ‘Where’s the harm in relaxing a bit and letting our hair down? I reckon that chap of yours won’t be staying in, crying into his cocoa down in Dartmouth because you aren’t around. What the eye doesn’t see, remember, and if I was you—’
‘Well, you aren’t me, are you?’ Hazel rounded on her.
‘Oh, touched a sore spot, have I?’ Lynsey asked. ‘If I have you want to ask yourself why it is sore. If I were in your shoes—’
‘But you aren’t. Besides, he’s only there on a course, and I’ll be going down to see him soon.’
‘Queue’s moving – the doors must have opened at last,’ May announced, determinedly moving forward.
‘Lynsey really is the limit at times,’ Hazel told Sam, falling into step alongside her and Mouse.
‘She’s fun, though, isn’t she?’ Mouse said unexpectedly, sighing as she added, ‘I’d love to be fun, wouldn’t you, Sam?’
Would she? It depended on what your idea of fun was, Sam decided. Certainly she liked a good lark and some jolly laughter, but fun for her did not include getting fresh with young men. The very thought made her shrink a little and withdraw into herself. But there was no denying that Lynsey’s comments had brought Mouse out of herself and cheered her up a bit.
The interior of the Grafton wasn’t at all what Sam had been expecting. For some reason she had thought it would look a bit like a church hall but it was unexpectedly elegant, even if a bit war shabby, with red walls and dim lighting.
‘A proper dance hall, this is, with a really good sprung floor,’ Lynsey informed her, seeing her amazement. ‘Copied it from some Russian ballet theatre, the owner did, so I’ve bin told.’
‘They get some really good bands playing here as well. The lot that are playing tonight have these girl singers. Ever so good, they are; good enough to be on the wireless,’ May chipped in.
‘Huh, I dare say I could sound just as good if I were dressed up in one of them frocks they wear,’ Lynsey informed them sharply.
‘You? Don’t forget I’ve heard you singing in the shower,’ May laughed.
They had reached the top of the stairs, and were having to raise their voices above the noise generated by the people filling the dance hall.
Somehow they managed to find a vacant table not too far from the band or the dance floor.
‘Right, what’s everyone having to drink?’ May demanded as soon as they were seated.
‘Mine’s a port and lemon, May,’ Lynsey answered. ‘What are you going to have?’ she asked Sam and Mouse.
‘Oh, I … just lemonade for me,’ Mouse told her timidly.
‘Have a port and lemon, Sam. I’m going to, and if we all have the same it will make it easier to share the bill,’ Hazel suggested sensibly.
Sam agreed.
‘I’ll go to the bar to give May a hand with the drinks,’ Lynsey offered, standing up.
‘Give May a hand – that’s rich. The only reason she’s going to the bar is so that she can eye up the men,’ Hazel told Sam wryly, waving to a group of girls from one of the other dormitories, who had just come in.
‘Heavens, virtually the whole of the billet must be here,’ Sam commented in the general chaos and bustle of exchanging names, and the newcomers getting seats and then drinks,
‘Almost,’ a lively-looking brunette agreed as she sat down. ‘Apart from Toadie and her favourites.’
Sam saw the way Mouse shivered and wished the other girl hadn’t mentioned the warrant officer. ‘Don’t worry about her, Mouse,’ Sam whispered.
‘I can’t help it,’ Mouse responded. ‘I know it must be hard for someone like you to understand, Sam, but she scares me so much, she and Captain Elland.’ She gave a small shiver. ‘They’re just like my aunt, both of them. I thought it was going to be different in the ATS, that things would be better for me once I’d got away from her, but instead …’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I feel so afraid sometimes, Sam, that I’ll never be able to escape from her; no matter what I do and that wherever I go, she’ll make sure that there’s someone there just like her to—’
‘What tommyrot,’ Sam stopped her firmly, sensing that she was on the point of hysteria. ‘Toadie’s a bully, I know, but if you ignore her she’ll soon start leaving you alone, don’t you worry.’
She could see that Mouse wasn’t convinced, but before she could say any more, May leaned over and said, ‘Put a sock in it, you two. They’ve just announced that the singers are coming on and I want to listen to them.’
It was always like this for her in those last few minutes before they went on to sing, Sally acknowledged as she felt the familiar mixture of exhilaration and apprehension gripping her insides, and yet she knew that once she was out there and actually singing the singing itself would be all that would matter. Even as a little girl she had loved to sing. When she felt unhappy all she had to do to make herself feel better was to sing. Somehow when she was singing there was no room in her heart for misery or worry, or at least there hadn’t been. When she sang she could become another person, a person who had the confidence that her normal self did not. But tonight she was finding it hard to think about anything other than her anxiety over the debt collector’s visit and the message he had given
her.
She knew her neighbours on Chestnut Close, even those as kind as Molly and her mother-in-law, would be horrified at the thought of being in debt. She was afraid that they might be so horrified that they wouldn’t want anything more to do with her. Being in debt was so very shameful, not the kind of thing that happened to decent respectable people. Her neighbours would, she knew, feel she was bringing disgrace on the Close and lowering its tone, and the inhabitants of Chestnut Close were very proud of their status, situated as they were right at the top end of Edge Hill, and so close to Wavertree that they could almost claim to be living there. She couldn’t bear the thought of anyone accusing her of lowering the tone of the neighbourhood.
A sharp dig in her ribs from Shirley brought her back to her surroundings, as she hissed, ‘Come on … we’re on!’
An enthusiastic burst of clapping welcomed them as the band leader introduced them. ‘And here they are, ladies and gentlemen, the Waltonettes, Liverpool’s own trilling larks.’ One by one he introduced the girls by name and they each gave their audience a small teasing curtsy. Although in her normal life this kind of behaviour was something Sally would have shunned, here on the stage it was different. She was one of the Waltonettes, and it was all part of what the audience expected. The men wanted to feel that the girls were singing especially for them and the girls wanted to imagine themselves up on the stage, sparkling with confidence and singing that special song for their special man.
Sporting wide professional smiles, the girls clustered round the microphone ready for their first number, a slightly provocative breathy version of ‘My Heart Belongs to Daddy’, which always went down well with the audience, especially the men. Later on in the evening they would sing some lively upbeat numbers and then later still, everyone’s favourite sentimental songs.