by Ruby Jackson
The few hours spent relaxing with their childhood games were welcome breaks in their heavy schedules. At least they were for Millie and Sally, and Sally sometimes found herself thinking that if she had time to play Snakes and Ladders then surely she had time to write home. Sebastian behaved as if he were enjoying himself but then it was sometimes difficult to tell what Sebastian really thought – he was so polite.
Easter Sunday, 13 April, found the company being driven into Portsmouth where various units were pre-paring to go overseas.
‘We’re planning a send-off these boys will remember all their lives or, at least until they get home again,’ Max told his weary and rather grubby troupe after they’d endured a particularly long and tiresome journey. ‘Everyone, get cleaned up and into costume as soon as possible. Wish we had an Easter egg for every one of you but we’ll think of something, and the navy’s promised a hot meal as each act walks off-stage.’
No one particularly cared what would make up the navy’s idea of a hot meal.
‘Anything’s better than the cardboard sandwiches and cold tea we had for lunch.’ That complaint was heard from several dressing rooms.
Sally and Millie shared a shower, and then put on the underwear each would need for her first appearance.
‘I need to limber up, Sally. Sorry, but I’ll need all the space.’
‘No problem. I’ll pull on something casual and go and have a close look at the sea. It is the sea, isn’t it?’
‘Of course. You didn’t think those huge ships could be moored on a pond, did you?’
‘Very funny,’ said Sally as she saw Millie’s head ap-pearing out from between her knees. ‘I’ll leave you to your idea of fun.’
Sally looked at her watch and, aware that she did not have too much time, hurried out and tried to find a high point from which she hoped to be able to see the sea. She was hurrying down a neat path pointed out to her by a sailor when she heard a voice she recognised.
‘Miss Petrie?’
As she turned, her heart seemed to skip a beat.
‘Hello,’ was the only word she seemed capable of uttering. Her mouth had gone quite dry.
‘Sally?’ His voice was tentative.
She smiled a glorious smile that lit up her lovely face. ‘Yes, Jon, it’s me; I’m with the ENSA company.’
There was something different about him. He looked taller and, never heavy, he now seemed to be thinner. But few of the military personnel she had met were on the heavy side; probably all that exercise.
He walked towards her. Yes, he was thinner even than he had been a few months before. His face was rather pale and no, could that be a streak of silver in the thick, straight, brown hair?
‘May I say you look absolutely lovely?’
The lads in Dartford never gave compliments like that!
‘Thank you.’
‘With ENSA? When we met first I thought you were a student.’
The ring. He had suggested she sell it to make student life more comfortable.
Somehow she knew that he was not thinking about the ring. ‘I was and I wasn’t. When war was declared I was just about to start training and the school – a very minor one – closed. The owner, however, very kindly had me hired as – what are they called – the person who does whatever needs doing?’
After a few moments’ thought he suggested, ‘Slave,’ and they both laughed.
‘Have you time to chat? We could have coffee in the Officers’ Mess and you could tell me all about it.’
The Officers’ Mess. Something else to write home about, and to share with my three best friends. And we would meet when I’m in the most casual of clothes and am wearing absolutely no make-up. Yet he says I’m lovely.
‘Tell me everything,’ he ordered as soon as they were seated at a round table covered by a starched pristine white cloth. A tall slender vase held some daffodils, many still in bud. Coffee was served in what Elsie would have termed ‘best china’ and they drank the delicious brew as they chatted.
‘I have to get changed soon, Jon.’
‘I know, there’s never enough time.’ He reached over and touched her hand, which was resting on the table.
Every nerve in Sally’s body tensed. She looked up and blue eyes met brown. ‘Jon,’ she said and smiled. ‘Dear Jon.’
‘Sally,’ he said. ‘I’m memorizing everything I see.’
Now his hand held hers and the coffee cooled in the cups.
Time passed more quickly than either thought possible. Sally tried to compress all her experiences into a few interesting words and Jon made a carefully edited list of his. But the idyll had to end. At last they stood up to leave for the theatre and he looked down at her. ‘You never got to Dartford. It’s not too far away and if you’d been here yesterday I could have driven you home.’
‘To talk to Maudie?’
He laughed. ‘No, but she is a darling. She was my nanny; actually the only member of my family – if I can claim her as family – still alive. I had telephoned to ask her to give you my name and address.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We must go, Sally, or you’ll be late.’
They left the Mess and half walked, half ran to the theatre, where he stopped at the door. ‘Do you ever have time to write letters? I’d love to hear about the theatre and when I may expect to see you with Olivier or, even better, Gielgud?’
She had no need to think. ‘I have time, Jon.’
He took a white card out of his pocket. ‘That’s my military address. You write first and I’ll answer whenever I can and when you will know where the company is likely to be.’
For a moment there was a silence as if time itself stood still. Then he stooped and kissed her very gently, his lips soft on hers. ‘I can’t stay for the performance, my so very dear Sally; this is a busy night for me. Goodbye, my dear. Write to me.’
She stood and watched him stride off and then, as if there might be some sign, she touched her lips. It was as if he had never been. But there was the card. She looked at it for a long moment. His name, his rank, his ship but no address. Then, very carefully, she put it in her bag for safety.
She almost jumped when Sebastian somehow materialised before her.
‘I didn’t know you had a friend in the Senior Service? None of my business, of course, but Sybil is looking for you everywhere. She wants to teach you a few moves so that you can work with Millie.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘No. The management is a tad worried that Millie might not manage and so a young, tall, statuesque vestal virgin, suitably undraped, of course, will be there to help her out.’
‘You’re not joking; you’re simply out of your mind, and Sybil has lost hers completely. I’m the fairy guard, remember, with two left feet and as for en pointe …’
She had no time to say what she had been about to say about professional dancers thinking nothing of humiliating amateurs by asking them to do something of which they were totally incapable, for Sybil, looking as innocent as if she could not possibly have overheard Sally, had joined them.
‘Sally, do leave the logistics to your elders and betters. I want you on stage in rehearsal mode before I’ve finished talking to you.’
Sally almost, but not quite, made it.
‘Right, stand on that chalk mark. Seb, you on that one. If Millie gets through, and we hope she does, that’s all you’ll do, Sally, apart from hold up a few rather elaborate urns. Seb, you are about to enter the world of classical ballet.’
Both Sybil and Sally laughed at the horrified expression on Sebastian’s face. ‘You told me I’d be a statue.’
‘Dear boy, of course you’re a statue but at one point, the statue will allow the ballerina to hold his hand while she executes some rather nifty turns. Just wait, Sadler’s Wells will be calling out for you at the end of hostilities.’
‘Very funny, I’m sure. Now what will happen to my urn if I have to hold it and a tiny but astonishingly well-muscled young woman at the same time?’
Sybil aw
arded him an extremely frosty look. ‘I sent the naval engineers a rough drawing and those boys made urns any theatre in London would be proud to own. And don’t worry, Sally, they may look like the real thing but there isn’t an ounce of metal in them; they weigh less than nothing.’
Millie arrived wearing a top, a rather short skirt, and ballet tights, apparently made of a tightly knit cotton, like but somehow very unlike the rather thick stockings Sally’s mother wore. Strangely enough they had no feet but stopped at her ankles as if they were glued there. Sally noticed that Sebastian’s eyes, like the tights, appeared to be glued to the perfect body revealed by the unusual clothes.
Millie carried two pairs of ballet shoes, one pale blue and the other black, and two knitted tubes that closely resembled the sleeves of a large woolly jumper.
‘Right, we’ll start. The commander’s lending us a pianist as Sam isn’t too familiar with the music.’ She waved and a young naval rating appeared. ‘This is Josh Fitzwilliam and, Josh, this is our cast.’
Millie looked at the young man. ‘Dear Lord, can you sight-read Tchaikovsky, young man? You don’t even look old enough to be in the navy.’
To Sally’s surprise, the pianist bowed to Millie. ‘A great honour, madame, and trust me, I’ll manage.’ He smiled, went over to the piano and softly and surely began to test it. For a few minutes while the ‘dancers’ took their positions, his hands wandered delicately over the keys or furiously chased each other up and down the keyboard. Sally stood transfixed, her weightless urn on her left shoulder. Never had she heard music like that before.
‘Intro,’ ordered Sybil, and the music changed. It was soft and gentle as April rain, and Sally felt soothed and comforted as somehow it appealed to some basic human need.
And then Millie was there, floating, drifting thistledown. She seemed to leap in graceful bounds across the stage. Next she was on her toes, spinning here and there, finishing in front of Sebastian, who stood like a guard outside the King’s palace. Possibly she had whispered to him, for he held out his free hand, which she grasped as, perfectly balanced on one toe-block, she bent over, stretching her graceful arm towards the stage while her free leg rose behind her, higher and higher, straighter and straighter, until her toes pointed to the sky. In a second she had straightened, both feet were on the ground, and she skipped off the stage.
There should have been tumultuous applause but this was a rehearsal and, apart from, ‘Wow, fabulous,’ from ‘the water carriers’, there was nothing.
Millie returned, pulling the sleeve-like tubes over her legs to keep the muscles warm. She pulled on a much-stretched grey cardigan as she walked to the piano. She looked furiously angry, ignored everyone but the pianist, who was looking over some of the other music on the piano, and shouted, ‘What the hell are you doing in the navy?’
Josh Fitzwilliam stood up. ‘My duty, Mrs Burgess. I simply obeyed the call-up,’ he answered gently.
‘Your duty is to give the world your music.’
‘Oh, but I will one day. I’m twenty years old and have been studying music since I was three. I promise you I won’t forget such training in a few years. Perhaps, even as a sailor, I will have opportunities like this again; I promise you that I’ll look for them. You have joined ENSA, madame, and so you know how important it is to take music, beauty and laughter to serving men and women. Much better than pills, don’t you agree?’
‘You are a fool,’ she said, and ran from the room.
‘Explain, Sybil,’ ordered Max, who had just joined them.
And Sybil did.
Josh did not appear to be either surprised or shocked. ‘I had heard rumours and am deeply sorry for her, madame. I appreciate her concern but I know what I have to do.’
‘See if wardrobe can find you tails for the performance.’
‘No, madame.’ His tone of voice told Max and Sybil clearly that he would not change out of his naval rating’s uniform. ‘I prefer that the audience notice only the dancer –’ and then he smiled naughtily at Sally – ‘and the beautifully moulded statue.’ He bowed and was gone.
‘That kid will go far,’ said Sebastian.
‘Pray God, it’s not to the bottom of some ocean.’ Sybil picked up the urns and, her eyes full of unshed tears, walked quickly off stage where she immediately began to rehearse the next part of the programme.
‘You’re awfully quiet, Sally,’ said Millie much later that evening as they sat together enjoying the delicious hot meal the navy had prepared for them after their performance. Sebastian, for once, had joined a men-only group in the Officers’ Mess.
‘Nice to be without our mother hen,’ said Millie. ‘Didn’t you think the entire crew had ramped up tonight? And that lovely boy could be onstage at the Albert Hall instead of risking his life like this. But, young men … The best have ideals, don’t they?’ She straightened her spine as if determined never to allow it to droop again. Already she had spent too much time weeping over brilliant lives cut short. ‘Weren’t you pleased with the overall performance?’
Sally, who had managed to avoid thinking of Jon while the show was going on, was now full of worry. They had met again, but oh so briefly. They had agreed to keep in touch. And now he was gone. His ship, a battleship, was going to war – somewhere. The card gave only his name, his rank and the name of the ship. How would a letter find him?
‘Sally?’
‘Sorry, Millie, my mind wandered; so rude.’
‘My mind used to wander like that too,’ she laughed and, in spite of her own unhappiness, Sally was thrilled to hear it. Had Millie laughed even once since she had joined the company?
‘I do agree with you about tonight. Being with someone more gifted or capable tends to make people perform better. I found that at school. Perhaps we instinctively try harder when we’re forced to perform beside someone who is so much more talented. I loved the ballet, by the way. You looked like my favourite scrap when I was a little girl. A fairy with gossamer wings and a dress made of bluebell petals. Tonight you were the fairy but without the wings.’
‘Sweet thing to say, Sally, but dancers of the ballet, men and women, do have wings.’
Sally looked at her in some confusion.
‘We call them legs.’
They both laughed. Another natural laugh from Millie, thought Sally.
‘That’s it; you looked as if you were flying; it was so beautiful. I kept thinking how much my mother would have loved it. My family don’t know anything about ballet or great music or any of that stuff. Now I wish we did.’
‘Hear me preach, Sal. That’s what’s so wonderful about the Arts; they can be enjoyed and appreciated at any age. I’m glad Sybil forced me to dance; it brought beautiful memories – horrible ones, too – but the good outweigh the bad. Ballet looks so incredibly beautiful but there are real sods in the ballet world as well as everywhere else. Patrick was totally without guile, though. I loved him so much. I thought I would die when I heard that he had been killed. I prayed to die. How could I live without him? But it got worse because …’ She stopped for a moment, too distraught to carry on. Then, making a visible effort, she continued, ‘It got worse because it was a mistake. Patrick was never at Dunkirk. He was stationed at the UK Forces Headquarters at a place called Arras in the north-east of France, a few miles from the Belgian border and, as it happens, not too far from the port of Dunkirk. It was almost his first posting and he had been there no more than a few months when the German army retook the area just before the retreat from Dunkirk. I’m praying that Patrick was interred where he died because there is no doubt at all about it, my friend, my beautiful Patrick died at Arras. I have his identification tags and a few of his personal belongings, including the last letter he received from me.’ She was silent for a moment as her hand rested lightly on her breast. ‘I keep it with me always, Sally; it’s stained with his blood.’
What could she say? Sally tried desperately to find just the right word but nothing perfect occurred.
&
nbsp; Millie seemed to sense her feelings of inadequacy. ‘I’m sure it was chaos, dead and dying everywhere, but surely, probably, someone would have dealt with the bodies, wouldn’t they? They wouldn’t just leave them as they fell, would they?’
The picture Millie had painted in her mind was so frightening that Sally rushed on, ‘How could that have happened, Millie – that you don’t know where Patrick is buried, I mean? I’m so sorry.’
‘It was all explained to me. After all, it was a ferocious battle; the place was overrun. Sensible to care for the injured first, I know that, or getting the able soldiers out of danger. I don’t know whether they retreated or fled or what happened; they may have been among the men who sought safety at Dunkirk. Real life isn’t like at the pictures, Sal, is it? But nothing is really, is it?’
‘You’re right, Millie, films are just stories, made-up dreams. But we’ll get to France; that’s your dream and we’ll make it come true. Trust me, somehow we’ll get there.’
Millie’s eyes filled with tears but they were not tears of sadness. ‘You and Seb and, yes, Max, Lal and Sybil, too, have all helped me, Sally. Patrick was with me tonight, I could sense him. Do you think I’m crazy?’
Sally had no idea what to say. Did Sally mean that her husband had come back from the dead? That was impossible, wasn’t it? Or had Millie experienced a vision? Words came eventually. ‘I don’t think you’re crazy. I was brought up to believe in something or someone greater than we are. Who knows what He can do?’
‘You two are in trouble. Why aren’t you both in bed?’ Sebastian, the mother hen, was there and he was angry.
‘We were late having dinner, Seb, and we did justice to it, as I’m sure you did to yours.’
‘Of course I did, but we are leaving for Southampton at four thirty tomorrow morning. It’s after eleven now and all these men have to clean up and get to bed too.’
‘Sorry, Sebastian; sorry everyone,’ Sally called across to the dining-room staff.
‘Any time, ladies, sling your hammocks here any time you choose.’
Sebastian gathered up his charges and, still apologising profusely, Sally and Millie were practically marched out in front of the grinning kitchen crew.