The Very Thought of You

by Mary Fitzgerald

  Godfrey nodded eagerly, but Beau said, ‘Perhaps we’ll leave the schnapps till the end of the show. Don’t want to wreck our voices, do we, Godfrey?’ He gave the tenor a hard look. ‘Now, Colonel, our pianist and I will look at the stage, if you don’t mind, and then we’ll see about setting up the mikes.’

  In the distance, they could hear the boom, boom of cannon fire, a sound that they’d almost forgotten about, and Robert asked how far away it was.

  ‘Oh, ten, fifteen miles, I should think,’ said a fresh-faced young lieutenant, keen to be part of the conversation. ‘We’ve cleared them out of here, and they are retreating. But they are determined buggers. You have to admire their guts.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Robert coldly. ‘If you’d seen what I’ve seen, you wouldn’t admire anything about them.’

  The officer blushed to the roots of his gingery hair, and the colonel frowned. It was obvious that he didn’t like his men being told off by this visiting officer. He turned to the girls. ‘There’s nothing to worry about, ladies: if we don’t get them, the RAF will. As soon as the weather clears, the spotter planes will be up, and then they’ll send in a light bomber.’

  ‘We’re not worried, Colonel,’ said Della, giving him a flirty look. ‘We’ve been bombed before. None of us turned a hair.’

  Catherine and Frances, remembering how frightened Della had been when they were last bombed, looked at each other but said nothing.

  ‘Let Hitler do his worst. We can take it,’ Godfrey’s voice boomed out, almost as loud as the cannons.

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ the colonel laughed, before taking Beau and Tommy outside to inspect the stage area.

  The young lieutenant organised tea and biscuits. He was still embarrassed, but Robert said, ‘Sorry, Lieutenant. That was clumsy of me. No hard feelings,’ and he thrust out his hand.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ the lieutenant said, and Della gave him a wink, which made him blush even more. But the atmosphere improved markedly and the other officers chatted animatedly with the Players, while one of them offered Godfrey a nip out of his hip flask.

  ‘You’re a gentleman, sir,’ roared Godfrey, and begged a drop more to put in his tea.

  Robert caught Della’s arm. ‘I thought you’d like to know. Your Dr Tim is at the field hospital where we’re going after the show. They’re providing the overnight accommodation, so you’ll have time to be with him.’

  ‘Oh!’ She looked at him with glistening eyes. ‘Thank you, Robert.’ And she turned to the others and said, ‘Did you hear that? I’m so thrilled.’

  She sounded thrilled too when she opened the show with ‘Happy Days Are Here Again’ and tap-danced across the improvised stage of boards over oil drums. The audience loved her, especially as, despite the cold, she had stepped out of her uniform skirt to reveal her tiny red shorts and fishnet tights. They whistled and cheered, and were still cheering when Colin came on stage complete with wig and spangled cape over his uniform to do his act.

  Godfrey sang ‘I’ll Walk Beside You’, his few belts of schnapps making him very emotional, and tears rolled down his cheeks as he got to the last line, ‘I’ll walk beside you to the land of dreams.’ He wasn’t the only one in tears. Hardened soldiers wept, and even the young lieutenant blew his nose.

  Only Beau stared critically at him. ‘He’s been on the drink again,’ he grumbled to Catherine.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she whispered from where they were standing at the side of the stage. ‘He never forgets the words, and look at them.’ She nodded to the audience. ‘They love it.’

  After that, nobody wanted to listen to Eric and Captain Fortescue – the mood was wrong – and he came off stage to polite applause and in a filthy temper.

  ‘On you go, Catherine,’ said Beau urgently. ‘Get them back, for God’s sake.’

  Going over to Tommy, she whispered, ‘Let’s do something they all recognise,’ and when he played the opening bars of ‘Blue Moon’, there was an instant ripple of applause, which increased tenfold when she got to the end. ‘More!’ they shouted, and she sang ‘Long Ago and Far Away’. When the cheers at the end were so great that she couldn’t leave, she beckoned Frances and Della onto the stage and they sang ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’, which they’d been practising hard to get the harmony right and it worked. Oh, it worked so well that the audience of weary soldiers joined in and swayed in time to their singing. When they’d finished, and the camp erupted in shouted ‘bravo’s and ‘hurrah’s, the girls looked at each other in delight. What a triumph.

  ‘I don’t think we can better this,’ panted Frances.

  ‘Oh, wait and see,’ Della giggled. ‘I’ll think of something.’

  The sleety rain had stopped by the time the show finished and the heavy clouds had rolled away, but at half past four it was already getting dark.

  A couple of planes flew over the camp and disappeared to the east. ‘Spotters,’ said the colonel. ‘I said they’d be along. Now, ladies and gentlemen,’ he grinned, ‘I insist that you have a drink with us.’

  Reluctantly Beau agreed, but looking pointedly at his watch, warned that they could only stay for one because they had to get on to the field hospital for an evening show. The boys needed no further encouragement and led the charge into the officers’ hut, followed by Della and Frances. They were keen to get out of the cold.

  ‘Do have a drink,’ said the young lieutenant, offering the bottle of schnapps, and Godfrey didn’t need to be asked twice. By the time the bottle had done the round, he’d drained his tin cup and was holding it out for more.

  ‘You were wonderful,’ said Robert, getting Catherine on his own for five minutes. They stood at the edge of the camp, where the dark trees dripped freezing raindrops onto the muddy ground. He stood close to her so that his hand was touching hers but not actually holding it, and when he gazed down at her, he murmured, ‘I’m like a callow boy. D’you know, I wanted to shout out to everyone that the beautiful girl on stage has said she loves me.’

  ‘You could,’ Catherine laughed. ‘I wouldn’t mind. I’m so proud of you.’

  Suddenly Robert looked up. In the distance came a sound. Not of the cannon fire, which had continued off and on all afternoon, but something different. It was a low, throbbing noise, like that of an engine, and was slowly moving towards them.

  ‘It’s the colonel’s bomber,’ he said. ‘It’s on its way. I think we’d better go.’

  ‘Is it dangerous?’ asked Catherine, looking over to where Della and Frances were signing autographs and posing for photographs.

  ‘No, not here, if it’s been given the right coordinates, but, well, you never know.’

  She followed him across to the lorry, where the boys were being encouraged to get on board.

  The colonel stopped her. ‘Miss Fletcher, you were terrific. I’d love to hear you sing again.’

  ‘Well,’ she smiled as she shook his hand, ‘if you’re in London, try the Criterion, or the Ritz – I’m often singing there. With Bobby Crewe’s Melody Men.’

  ‘I certainly will,’ he said. And then clinging on to her hand, he asked, ‘Are you really “Miss” Fletcher?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ she smiled, looking over to Robert, who was herding Frances and Della towards the truck while keeping an eye on her. ‘I’m married.’

  ‘To someone in show business? Perhaps one of this company?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘My husband is a paratrooper.’ The words came out slowly and she wondered how long she would be able to say them. Sometime soon she would make the decision to admit to being a widow.

  ‘Catherine, come on.’ Robert strode over to her, and saluting the colonel, he led her away.

  ‘Were you jealous?’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes,’ he growled, but grinning. ‘Wildly.’ He left her at the truck, where Frances was urging the Players to get on board, and then hurried round to the Jeep, where Beau and Baxter were waiting for him.

  The noise of the bo
mber was louder. Soon it would be overhead and they all looked up to see if it was visible. It was, a black spot against the western sky, and getting closer.

  Trevor started the engine of the truck. The boys were already inside, and Frances and Catherine got in beside them.

  ‘I think we should put on our tin hats,’ said Frances.

  ‘Why?’ asked Tommy, who was already shuffling the cards.

  ‘Because Beau said we must.’

  ‘Alright,’ they all grumbled, but did as they were told.

  Catherine and Frances sat by the back flap and called to Della. She was still giggling with the soldiers and blowing kisses. ‘If you don’t hurry up,’ yelled Frances, ‘we’ll leave you behind and you’ll never see Dr Tim.’

  Overhead, the bomber was nearly upon them. It was flying quite low and the reverberations from the engines was making the ground shake. ‘Bloody hell,’ said Della, scrambling onto the truck, ‘what a racket.’

  ‘Put your tin hat on,’ instructed Frances, and Della, one leg in and one leg over the back board of the truck, reached over to get it. Suddenly Trevor let in the clutch and the truck lurched into action, sending Della flying out of the back, where she landed with a sickening thump on the muddy ground.

  ‘Stop,’ screamed Frances to Trevor, and at that moment the plane let go of its cargo and the bomb whistled down.

  It was if the world had exploded.

  The pressure wave sent the Players in the truck screaming and tumbling onto the base boards, where they ended up a tangle of arms and legs, their heads bashing against the box used as a card table. Shrapnel and debris peppered the canvas sides like a hail shower, some pieces, sharp as knives, penetrating the fabric.

  Frances was the first to move, slowly and painfully dragging herself off the floor of the truck and sitting up. She’d managed to bite a hole her lip and blood was trickling from her mouth, but as far as she could feel, nothing else was damaged. Catherine was moving too, heaving herself upright until she was sitting on the bench against the canvas side. She had a deep cut below her eye where she’d come in contact with the brim of Colin’s tin helmet, and she looked dazed.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Frances, her voice sounding hollow in her ears. She looked around vaguely inside the truck, where the boys were moving slowly upright, and then outside to the camp, until her eyes fixed on a figure on the ground. ‘Oh my God,’ she gasped. ‘Della!’

  By the time Frances and Catherine had scrambled out of the truck, Robert and some of the soldiers had reached her. She was lying in the mud, eyes closed and her arms and legs flung out like a broken doll. A pool of blood was staining the ground beneath her, where a spear of wood, ripped out of the forest in the explosion, had pierced her thigh.

  ‘Is she …?’ Frances screamed.

  ‘She’s alive,’ said Robert, who was kneeling beside her. Then he looked up and yelled, ‘Medic! For God’s sake, medic!’

  Even as he shouted, the medical orderly was on his way. Catherine and Frances stood clutching each other as the medic rapidly strapped a tourniquet round her leg and, biting the cap off a needle, plunged a syringe full of morphine into her arm. He drew a capital ‘M’ on her forehead with an indelible pencil.

  Della’s eyes opened and she gazed at the soldier medic, who was gently pulling the shard of wood out of her flesh. ‘Hello, darling,’ she whispered. ‘Who the hell are you?’

  Catherine and Frances moved as one to kneel beside her. ‘Thank God, you’re awake,’ said Catherine, tears coming to her eyes, and Frances kissed Della’s cheek, then said, ‘I told you to bloody well hurry up. Why will you never do as you’re told?’

  ‘Stop nagging,’ whispered Della, and then looking at her friends, said, ‘What happened?’

  ‘You fell out of the lorry and then a bomb dropped,’ said Catherine. ‘You’ve hurt your leg.’

  ‘I know.’ Della gasped with pain. ‘It hurts like hell. So does my chest.’

  The medic pushed aside Della’s jacket and felt her chest. ‘You said she fell out of the lorry first?’ he asked, looking up at Catherine.

  She nodded.

  ‘Then as well as a compound fracture of her leg, I’m pretty sure she’s got broken ribs, and Christ knows what else besides. She has to get to the field hospital, immediately. I’m going to call up the ambulance.’

  A group of shocked soldiers had gathered around, staring down at Della, and Frances began to take off her greatcoat to cover her friend, who had now started to shiver. But another orderly ran up with some blankets, and then the colonel arrived.

  ‘Bloody fly boys,’ he raged. ‘Couldn’t read a coordinate if you paid them in gold coin.’ He looked down at Della and the colour drained out of his face. ‘Will she be alright?’ he asked the medic, who shrugged.

  ‘I’ve called up the meat wagon, sir. Shouldn’t take long.’

  ‘What about the rest of you?’

  Robert had got to his feet and looked at the cut underneath Catherine’s eye and the tear on Frances’s lip. The boys, who were standing in a nervous huddle beside the truck, appeared not to have been damaged at all.

  ‘They’re not bad, sir. Suffering from shock. What about your men?’

  ‘About the same, Major. Cuts and bruises, and the cook spilt a bucket of boiling soup over his feet, but nothing as bad as this young lady. Fortunately for us, the bomb landed in the trees. If it had hit the camp, it would have been quite a different story.’

  The young lieutenant came running up with a bottle of schnapps and some tin cups. ‘I thought for the shock, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Good idea,’ said the colonel, ‘and issue a ration to the men.’

  Catherine felt as though everything was happening in slow motion. People moved around her, talking and in some cases laughing, the sort of laughter that comes after a fright, but she couldn’t join in. She squatted beside Della, holding her hand and listening to Frances, who was whispering soothing words to their friend. She noticed that Della’s eyes were closing and looked up to the medic in alarm.

  ‘It’s the morphine,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry.’

  When the green military ambulance came, the girls stood aside as two Queen Alexandra nurses, in combat uniform, jumped out of the back and efficiently manoeuvred Della onto a stretcher and then into the ambulance.

  ‘Anyone else?’ asked the older nurse. ‘What about you two?’ she said, looking carefully at Catherine and Frances with their cut faces.

  ‘We’re alright,’ said Frances. ‘We’re just concerned about our friend.’

  Robert, who’d been standing talking to Beau, stepped forward. ‘We’ll be following you,’ he said. ‘We’re due at your hospital, anyway, although whether the Players are up to performing, that’s another matter.’

  ‘That would be a shame,’ said the nurse, getting into the ambulance to join her colleague, who was bending over Della. ‘The men have been looking forward to it.’

  Night had fallen when they arrived at the field hospital. The weather was bad again, with flakes of snow dancing around, looking erroneously pretty against the arc lamps that lit the duckboards between the long tents. The company was taken into the canteen, where a sergeant cook poured large mugs of tea for them and then proceeded to put plates of fried Spam and eggs in front of them, with a platter of thick pieces of bread and margarine. The boys fell on it as if they hadn’t eaten for a week, but Catherine, after drinking a gulp of the dark brown tea, said, ‘I don’t think I can eat a thing.’

  ‘You can,’ said Frances. ‘Try.’ And to her surprise Catherine found herself gobbling down the Spam and eggs, and even having a go at the bread.

  ‘Shall we go and find Della?’ said Frances when they’d finished.

  ‘Yes,’ and the two of them got up and went outside into the snowy night.

  Robert was walking towards them. ‘We’re looking for Della,’ said Catherine, going up to him. ‘D’you know where she is?’

  ‘I do,’ he said. And he suddenly put
his arms around her. ‘Oh God,’ he said. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that for hours.’ He turned to Frances and put one arm around her too. ‘Alright, Fran?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re alright,’ she said, speaking for both of them. ‘Shocked but alright. Where’s Della? Can we see her?’

  ‘She’s in the operating theatre. And I’m told she’ll be in there for a while. I’m afraid her injuries are quite serious.’

  The girls’ faces dropped and Catherine whispered, ‘I can’t quite believe it. One minute she was blowing kisses, and the next she was …’ Her voice choked and Robert tightened his grip on her.

  ‘We’re at war, dear girl. This is how it is.’ He walked them back to the canteen, and in a moment Beau limped up behind them.

  ‘We’ve been asked if we can put on some sort of show,’ he said. ‘They know we’ve had a terrible shock, but the men were looking forward to it, and it will do them good.’ He paused, looking round the weary faces of his company, who wouldn’t look him in the eye. ‘I shall quite understand if you’re not up to it.’

  Nobody spoke for a moment, and then Catherine said, ‘Of course we’re up to it. We are the Bennett Players, wartime entertainers, and if this is what wartime means, then that’s what we signed up for. I’m even prepared to change into my performance clothes if you’ll give me five minutes.’

  The others nodded and started getting out of their seats.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Beau. He almost looked as if he was going to burst into tears and, not for the first time, Frances thought that this was a man living on the edge.

  ‘Good girl,’ she whispered to Catherine, and saw that Robert was looking at her as though his heart was about to burst.

  They put on as good a show as they could manage. Instead of Della opening with her usual upbeat number, Catherine and Frances went on and sang ‘Don’t Fence Me In’, complete with cowboy hats and a lasso that Della had found somewhere at the chateau. The performance missed Della’s verve, but the audience didn’t notice that and cheered.