Home Front Girls

by Rosie Goodwin

  ‘Don’t look now,’ she hissed, ‘but there’s a chap heading this way and he isn’t half-bad. I think he’s coming to ask me to dance. Watch and learn.’ She straightened her skirt and gave him a simpering smile as he stopped at their table.

  ‘Good evening, ladies,’ he said politely, and then leaning towards Lucy he asked, ‘May I have this dance, please?’

  Annabelle’s face fell a foot as Lucy gaped up at him, but then Dotty nudged her and she self-consciously got to her feet and followed him onto the dance floor, glancing over her shoulder as if imploring her friends to rescue her.

  ‘Actually he wasn’t that nice-looking when he got up close, was he?’ Annabelle said peevishly as she lit another cigarette.

  All three of them were asked to dance on numerous occasions as the night progressed, but the first chap who had asked Lucy to dance commandeered her whenever he could.

  Lucy began to look more and more flustered, particularly after he had taken her onto the dance floor for a slow waltz.

  ‘That chap has got more hands than an octopus,’ she complained towards the end of the night. ‘I’m going to say no if he asks me to dance again.’

  Annabelle grinned. ‘Well, at least he’s keen,’ she commented.

  Lucy crossed her arms and scowled, and sure enough, minutes later her admirer turned up yet again.

  ‘Sorry, I was just about to go to the ladies powder room,’ Lucy told him, snatching her bag and standing up.

  ‘Then perhaps I could wait for you to come back,’ he responded cheekily.

  Ignoring his comment, Lucy put her nose in the air and began to sail past him, but he made the mistake of trying to take her elbow and she rounded on him furiously.

  ‘Why don’t you just leave me alone!’ she said as he backed away. ‘Go and find some other poor girl to maul. She might enjoy it, but I certainly don’t!’

  ‘All right, keep your hair on,’ he said, looking acutely embarrassed, and turning on his heel he slammed away through the tables.

  ‘Crikey, that was a bit of an overreaction, wasn’t it?’ Annabelle said in amazement, aware that people were staring at them. ‘The poor chap was only trying to be friendly.’

  ‘Perhaps I don’t want to be friendly,’ Lucy retaliated. ‘What gives him the right to maul me about? All blokes are the same, that’s the problem, and I don’t want any of it. And now if you don’t mind, I’ve had quite enough of this shop window. I’m off.’ And with that she marched towards the ladies cloak room leaving Annabelle and Dotty no choice but to pick up their bags and follow her. Lucy had always seemed such a placid girl that they could hardly believe the outburst they had just witnessed.

  Lucy didn’t even look at them as she handed in her ticket and collected her coat. The girls hastily got their coats too and ran after her, but by the time they reached the outer door, Lucy was already striding furiously away.

  ‘Here – hold up there! Where’s the fire?’ Annabelle struggled into her coat and set off at a trot with Dotty hot on her heels. Lucy had nearly reached the end of the road by the time they caught up with her, and grabbing the sleeve of her coat Annabelle panted, ‘Whatever’s the matter with you? That poor chap looked like he wished the ground would open up and swallow him.’

  ‘Serves him right,’ Lucy spat bitterly, but she did slow down a little and the other two girls fell into step beside her. They glanced at each other and frowned, but wisely held their tongues. Lucy was so angry she was like a powder keg waiting to explode and they didn’t want to start her off again.

  Eventually it was Lucy who broke the silence when she said meekly, ‘I’m sorry about that. I just lost my temper, but I didn’t mean to show you up.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Dotty, ever the peacemaker. ‘Didn’t you like him?’

  ‘I don’t like any men . . . except Joel,’ Lucy answered. ‘They’re all only after one thing and they’re not going to get it from me! I shan’t have a boyfriend or get married – ever!’

  ‘Blimey, that’s a bit strong, isn’t it?’ Dotty was shocked. ‘You’re bound to meet someone you like and fall in love with eventually. You’re far too attractive to stay single.’

  ‘I won’t!’ Lucy was adamant. ‘If you only knew . . .’ Her voice trailed away then and she clammed up. They were approaching the bus station by now and all Lucy wanted to do was get back to the safety of her little rented house. The whole evening had been a mistake. Going to the pictures with the girls was one thing, but going to a dance was a different thing entirely and she was determined she would not do so again.

  ‘Look, I’ll see you both at work on Monday,’ she said lamely. ‘And I’ll bring all your clothes with me too,’ she assured Annabelle.

  Annabelle shrugged. She wasn’t overly worried about the clothes that Lucy had borrowed. She had plenty more. ‘Whenever, there’s no rush.’

  She and Dotty watched Lucy head for her bus-stand then, and once she was out of earshot Dotty asked, ‘What do you think brought that on? And what do you think she meant when she said, “If you only knew . . .?” Do you think she’s had a bad experience with a boy or something?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Annabelle said truthfully. ‘But that’s my bus just pulled in over there so I may as well get home. The night is ruined now anyway. Goodnight, Dotty.’

  ‘’Night,’ Dotty responded as she stood there thoughtfully chewing on her lip.

  Chapter Sixteen

  On 13 May 1940, Mr and Mrs P and Lucy huddled around the wireless to listen to the Home Service news as Winston Churchill addressed Parliament. He could offer little hope to the nation as Hitler’s devastation continued, and he spoke of ‘blood, toil, tears and sweat’. Yet still his determination that they would not be defeated shone through. He admitted that there would be no easy solution and did not deny that the country faced ’an ordeal of the most grievous kind’, but he maintained that whilst every man and woman worked together and stayed firmly behind him they would achieve victory and survive. He somehow managed to make the people feel that they were all in it together and told them, ‘I take up my task with buoyancy and hope . . . I feel entitled . . . to claim the aid of all and to say, “come then, let us go forward together with our united strength”.’

  Once the broadcast was over Mr P switched the wireless off and began to stuff tobacco into his pipe.

  ‘He’s a good man,’ he said quietly. ‘We’ll not go far wrong wi’ him to lead us.’

  Lucy and Mrs P were thinking of all the ships that were being sunk in the Channel and of Joel and Freddy, and could only pray that Mr P was right.

  On the following Sunday Winston Churchill again addressed the nation, and once more Mr and Mrs P and Lucy huddled around the wireless. He called the Nazis ‘the foulest and most soul-destroying tyranny which has ever darkened and stained the pages of history’. But he ended his speech by saying, ‘Together we shall win!’

  Only days later, the papers reported that France and Belgium had begun to fall as the Germans swept through to the Channel coast. Boulogne had been evacuated, Arras had fallen and Amiens had been taken. As Lucy read it, a cold finger raced down her spine. The British Army had been forced to retreat to the beaches.

  ‘What will happen to them?’ Lucy sobbed. ‘There’s nowhere else for them to go now. They’ll all be slaughtered like lambs.’

  ‘I dare say they’ll send ships to try and bring back those that are still alive,’ Mrs P answered, her thoughts full of her son. Was he even now at the mercy of the Nazis, or taken prisoner, or worse still, lying injured or even dead somewhere?

  ‘Do you think this might be the start of the invasion?’ Lucy asked tremulously and Mrs P hugged her wordlessly. Could they have known it, even as they spoke ships and boats of all shapes and sizes were setting off across the Channel to bring back the living and the wounded. There were tugs and ferries, small private yachts, larger ships, fishing boats – almost anything that could float, in fact.

  *

  Over in
Cheylesmore, Annabelle’s mother was reading the same newspaper report and she too was distraught.

  ‘The last time I heard from your father, he was in Belgium,’ she said in a wobbly voice.

  Annabelle was sitting on the rug in front of the fire painting her toenails and she glanced up to say, ‘Well, I’m sure he’ll be all right.’

  Something in Miranda snapped then. ‘Don’t you ever worry about anyone other than yourself?’ she barked.

  Annabelle was shocked. Her mother had never raised her voice to her before and she didn’t like it at all.

  ‘I was only passing a comment.’ She sniffed indignantly. ‘Isn’t anyone allowed to have an opinion around here? Perhaps you’d rather hear me say I’m sure he won’t be!’

  ‘Sometimes you’re just impossible,’ Miranda retorted with tears trickling down her cheeks, and she left the room with the newspaper firmly grasped in her hand.

  Annabelle shrugged before returning her attention to her toenails. She was sick and tired of the whole blasted war, and when she thought back to the carefree life she had led before it was declared, she felt like crying too.

  Meantime Dotty was in a public phone box at the end of her road talking to Robert in London, who was telling her that her stories were proving to be a great success with his readers.

  ‘I’d like you to come to see me again – and this time I want to look at the novel you’re writing,’ he told her.

  Dotty shivered with excitement. ‘If we could make it on a Thursday, I wouldn’t have to ask for time off work,’ she suggested and he was only too happy to agree.

  ‘What about next week then? I could meet you off the train at Euston if you let me know what time you’ll be arriving.’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ she said shyly, and they then went on to speak of some of the ideas she’d had for some more stories.

  When she finally set off for home, she was tingling with happiness. Robert was such a genuinely nice man and he was taking a real interest in her. It was a lovely feeling.

  When the girls all met up again at work the next morning the atmosphere was gloomy throughout the whole store. Everyone was worried about the latest war reports and one poor woman from Dotty’s department was absent following a telegram saying that her husband was missing.

  ‘Poor Elsie,’ Dotty said during their morning break. ‘She’s such a nice woman and she and her husband had only been married for three years. They have a baby girl, I believe, whom her mother looks after while she comes to work.’

  Lucy’s thoughts instantly turned to Mary, whom she was missing more than she could say. Thankfully it appeared that she had been placed with a lovely couple in Folkestone, who had written to Lucy shortly after they had taken Mary in. Lucy carried the letter around with her in her handbag and she had read it so many times that the paper was almost falling apart.

  Dear Miss Ford,

  I am writing to you at the first opportunity to tell you that your sister is well. My husband is the vicar of this parish and Mary is now staying with us at the vicarage until such a time as it is deemed safe for her to return home to you. We also have another little girl staying with us from the East End who has very much taken Mary under her wing. Mary is healthy and eating and sleeping well, and I am putting my address at the top of the page so that you may write to her or visit her whenever you wish. Mary is a delightful child and as good as gold, a real credit to you. I understand how hard the separation must be for you, my dear, but rest assured that Mary is being very well cared for.

  Yours sincerely,

  Susan Manners

  Whenever Lucy thought of Mary now, which was often, she would touch the letter, which somehow brought Mary a little closer and gave her comfort – not that there was much to be felt today. Everyone was thinking of poor Elsie and the handsome young husband she had lost. War truly was a terrible thing.

  The girls decided to get some fresh air during their lunch break that day and wandered around the city centre, enjoying the feel of the warm May sunshine on their faces after the harsh winter they had just endured. They were now all allowed to serve the customers in their various departments and felt as if they had been working at Owen Owen forever.

  ‘I’m going to London again on Thursday,’ Dotty told them casually after a time and Annabelle winked at Lucy mischievously.

  ‘Oh, are you now?’ she teased. ‘And are you still writing to each other?’

  ‘Of course we are. How else are we supposed to discuss my work when I’m not on the phone?’ Dotty answered defensively. Every time they passed a newsagent’s she had to stop herself from rushing in and buying every copy of Woman’s Heart she could find. She doubted she would ever get over the thrill of seeing her name in print each month.

  ‘Well, I would have thought it would be just a matter of posting them a story off each month and waiting for the cheque to arrive. But never mind about that – what are you going to wear? You can’t wear the same outfit again.’

  ‘Mm, I hadn’t thought of that.’ Her London outfit, as she now thought of it, was the only decent one Dotty owned, but Annabelle did have a point. The trouble was, there wasn’t much choice in the shops any more.

  ‘You could always borrow one of my blouses and wear it with your suit skirt,’ Annabelle offered. ‘At least it would give it a different look. What about the blue one with the Peter Pan collar that you like? You could wear my string of pearls to go with it too.’

  ‘I think I’d be too afraid of losing them,’ Dotty answered. ‘But I will take you up on the offer of the blouse, if you’re sure you don’t mind?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have offered if I did, would I?’ Annabelle said in her usual forthright way. They were at the steps of St Michael’s Cathedral by then, and on the spur of the moment Lucy suggested, ‘Why don’t we go in and light a candle and say a prayer for all the people who we’re missing?’

  Annabelle shrugged but followed the other two into the enormous cathedral just the same. After stepping out of the bright sunshine the interior was gloomy and they all blinked as their eyes adjusted to the light, but then the cathedral worked its magic on them and they all stared up in awe at the beautiful stained-glass windows. Dotty and Lucy had visited the cathedral many times, and it never failed to move them. It was so peaceful within that it was hard to believe that even as they stood there, men and women were fighting to save their country and magnificent buildings like this. Even Annabelle was silenced for a time. Eventually they approached the altar, where they each took candles and lit them, then they sat on the hard wooden pews, bowed their heads and said silent prayers for the loved ones from whom they were parted.

  Strangely enough, they all felt a little happier and more optimistic as they made their way back to work.

  Lucy slumped onto the sofa when she got home from work. She was shattered and had just started to drop off when there was a tap on the door and she opened it to find Mr P standing on the step.

  ‘Oh, I was going to pop round when I’d had something to eat and—’ Her voice stopped abruptly as she noted Mr P’s red eyes. He looked as if he had been crying and was shuffling from foot to foot uncomfortably.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ A cold hand closed around her heart and she knew that she was going to hear bad news.

  ‘I er . . . I were wonderin’ if you’d come round an’ see the missus?’ he said miserably. ‘We’ve had bad news, see. A telegram.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Lucy’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Is – is it young Freddy?’

  He nodded. ‘They say he’s missin’, and I can’t do a thing wi’ our gel. Would yer come, love? I’d appreciate it. She thinks the world o’ you an’ yer might be able to stop her cryin’. I certainly bloody can’t.’

  ‘Of course I’ll come.’ Lucy ran back into the kitchen and turned the kettle off, and seconds later she was following Mr P across the shared yard to his back door.

  She found her neighbour sitting clutching the telegram with tears streaming down her face. />
  ‘Look, love, young Lucy’s here,’ Fred told her, but for a while Mrs P didn’t even seem to hear him. She was locked away in her own little world of grief.

  ‘See what I mean?’ he muttered brokenly as his own eyes brimmed with tears. ‘She don’t even seem to know that I’m here.’

  ‘Mrs P?’ Lucy said gently, but she got no reaction whatsoever. It was only when she tried to take the telegram from the woman’s hand that she suddenly rounded on her. ‘’Ere, gerroff, will yer,’ she yelled. ‘That’s my telegram tellin’ me about me lovely lad.’

  Then slowly her eyes seemed to focus and she fell limply into Lucy’s arms as sobs shook her big body. ‘Eeh, me lovely boy’s gone.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Lucy said soothingly as she rocked her to and fro. ‘The telegram says that he’s missing – and unless you hear otherwise you have to hold on to that. He’s most probably alive somewhere. It doesn’t say he’s dead, does it?’

  Mrs P’s sobs subsided as she looked at Lucy hopefully. ‘Do yer really reckon that might be the case?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Lucy nodded firmly. ‘You must never give up hope. He might have been injured and be in a hospital somewhere, admittedly, or he might even have been taken prisoner, but either of those options are better than being told that he’s dead, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yer right,’ Mrs P said, clutching at straws. ‘An’ when they find him they’ll let me know, won’t they?’

  ‘Of course they will,’ Lucy said with an assurance she was far from feeling. ‘So it’s all the more important that you don’t give up on him, isn’t it? And now I’m going to make you and Mr P a nice strong cup of tea and I’m going to put a drop of brandy in it. Do you have any left over from Christmas?’

  ‘Aye, it’s in that cupboard over there. That’s a good idea, love,’ Mrs P said in a croaky voice. She was still badly shaken up but at least Lucy had given her a glimmer of hope. She hated to think of Freddy hurt or captured by the enemy, but anything was better than being told he was dead, and the war couldn’t go on forever, could it?