Izzy's War

by Isla Dewar

  No, Elspeth didn’t think. Freddie Tait was small, with crooked teeth, wiry sandy hair, a drooping lower lip and small eyes. But Elspeth supposed love was blind, anyone could be beautiful in the eyes of their beloved.

  It was three o’clock in the afternoon. Duncan had reluctantly let four of the girls away from work early to have tea with Lady McKenzie. ‘To let these gels know how grateful we are for their valiant effort in doing difficult work in difficult times,’ she had said. ‘How many of them do you have?’

  ‘Over forty,’ Duncan had said.

  There had been a black silence as Lady McKenzie took this in. ‘Too many. Send me four. I’ll do four, that’s enough when it comes to sandwiches and a few cakes. Pick me four of your best gels.’

  Naturally, Duncan had chosen Elspeth, who’d picked Lorna. He’d had to select Dorothy, as she was lead girl, and Tricia had managed to push herself forwards, smiling, daring him not to choose her.

  The four had washed in cold water, changed out of their dungarees and into their uniforms and were now making their way to Lady McKenzie’s large country house.

  Dorothy and Tricia surged ahead. This was grand, time off work and chance to see inside the enormous house they passed on their way to the village for their weekly treat of the cinema, fish and chips and a hot, sweaty stomp of a dance in the local hall. Plus, there might be tea with actual milk and sugar. There might be cakes.

  ‘This is the best thing that’s happened to me in two years since I came here,’ said Tricia.

  ‘Me, too,’ said Dorothy. ‘Pathetic, isn’t it?’

  They pedalled furiously. Then Dorothy said, ‘We better slow up. We don’t want to arrive looking too eager and dripping with sweat.’ She turned and, with a sweep of her arm, urged the two lagging behind talking about love to hurry up.

  Elspeth shouted that they were coming, then turned to Lorna. ‘Are you going to get married, then?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Soon as the war’s over. I’m going to Newfoundland. We’ll live in his cottage overlooking the sea and we’ll have four babies, two of each kind and I’ll make bake apple pie, whatever that is.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,’ said Elspeth.

  ‘We have.’

  The road was lined on either side with trees. Six or seven bombers thundered overhead. In the distance a skein of geese clanked and keened, heading south. ‘Soon they’ll be gone,’ said Elspeth. ‘They just carry on like always, arriving for winter, leaving when spring comes. Do you suppose they know there’s a war on?’

  ‘No,’ said Lorna. ‘They just do what they do.’

  Elspeth remembered a time when she just did what she did. She’d been a piano teacher, she hadn’t made much money, but she’d been happy – happy enough, anyway. Certainly, there hadn’t been anybody blowing whistles telling her when to stop work and when to start again. And she’d been warm. The winter had been cruel; she thought the cold had entered her soul. She felt chilled inside, a thick ache in the joints of her fingers, her elbows and her knees. Mornings, there was pain thudding within her, and it took a slow walk to the ablutions hut to ease it. She knew she would suffer for the rest of her life for these years working in the forest, the days spent running back and forth leading the horse, the time chopping branches and twigs from felled trees, hours and hours outside in snow, rain and wind.

  ‘I hate Hitler for what he’s done to my knees,’ she said.

  Lorna said she that if he hadn’t started this stupid war, she’d still have ten fingers.

  They turned into the drive and rattled towards the house, legs splayed out because it was downhill and they didn’t have to pedal.

  Tricia and Dorothy were already at the door, their bikes lying on the ground beside a gleaming Bentley.

  ‘Crikey,’ said Lorna. ‘Posh car.’ She peered into it. ‘All polished on the inside, too.’

  Lorna banged the giant knocker. They stood in a neat row, waiting, listening to footsteps coming nearer and nearer from a long way off. They giggled.

  A maid opened the door, welcomed them in and led them down the hall into a large drawing room. ‘Lady McKenzie will be with you soon,’ she said and left.

  There was a lot to look at in the room – portraits on the wall, a scattering of chairs, a long well-plumped sofa, a huge polished dresser, ornaments, a fire crackling in the grate.

  Once, Elspeth would have been at home with all this opulence. But she’d been removed from it for such a long time, she, like the other girls, was overwhelmed. She was unnerved by the luxury. She realised she’d become a Forestry girl, comfortable only in the company of other Forestry girls and used to cold-water washes, communal dining and dormitory sleeping. She’d forgotten what it was like to be civilised. She joined the others in looking down.

  ‘Carpets,’ she said. ‘God, carpets. I’d forgotten about them.’

  They’d been walking on wooden floors and duckboards for so long, the luxury of something soft underfoot had slipped from their minds. Lorna leaned down and stroked it. ‘Gosh, it’s lovely. I could lie down and sleep on it.’

  Elspeth dug her fingers into the pile. ‘Axminster or Wilton, or maybe something posher. And there are rugs on top of carpet.’

  The carpet was deep blue, the rugs, probably Persian, were an elaborate mix of pinks, reds and browns. Tricia knelt down and put her cheek on one of them. ‘Lovely. I’m going to have something like this as soon as I get away from the Forestry. I’ll have carpets everywhere, up the walls and everywhere.’

  They didn’t hear Lady McKenzie enter the room. They didn’t see her stand behind them looking bemused as they fondled her carpets. ‘Good afternoon, gels. Isn’t this lovely, a tea party?’

  The four, abashed, turned and agreed, ‘Yes, lovely. Thank you for inviting us.’

  Nobody mentioned the carpets.

  Lady McKenzie said, ‘Well, sit.’ She waved them towards the sofa, while she opted for one of the chairs by the fire. ‘Tea will be with us in a moment.’ She beamed round at them. ‘So, what is it you do?’

  ‘Work in the forest,’ said Lorna. ‘Chopping down trees and such like.’

  The beam did not falter. ‘Yes, but before you did that, what did you do?’

  Lorna said she’d worked in a chocolate factory, Dorothy said she’d been training to be a teacher but had got married. ‘And they don’t let you teach if you’re married, so I left. Then my husband got killed at Dunkirk, so I joined up to do this. I needed to get away, couldn’t bear to be alone in the house and see his things all round me.’

  The other girls stared at her. They hadn’t known that.

  Lady McKenzie said that was tragic. ‘Such a waste of life, this war.’ She turned to Elspeth. ‘And, you?’

  ‘I was a piano teacher, private pupils.’

  Lady McKenzie clapped her hands. ‘Splendid. You must come and give us a recital. I’ll arrange it with Mr Bowman.’

  Elspeth protested that she hadn’t played in some time. ‘I haven’t been near a piano since I came up here. I’m rusty.’

  ‘Nonsense, it will be delightful. We need all the entertainment we can get during these dark times.’

  Tea arrived. Two maids, one with a tray bearing a teapot, hot-water pot, cups, saucers, milk jug and sugar bowl; the other maid with a platter of sandwiches and a laden cake stand.

  Lady McKenzie offered to be mother, and pour the tea. Tricia said that she’d worked in Woolworths but was hoping to be a dancer, since nobody had asked her.

  ‘How lovely,’ said Lady McKenzie. ‘Milk? Sugar? Anyone?’

  They all nodded. Tea with milk and sugar, what a treat.

  They ate fish-paste sandwiches, scones and jam and were allotted a cream cake each. The conversation was stiff, banal. The heat of the fire, the comfortable seat and the food had an effect on the girls. Their eyelids drooped, they yawned. Sleep was taking them. At half past four Lady McKenzie stood up, said it had been a wonderful afternoon and they must do it again sometime and the girl
s were ushered out.

  Cycling back to camp, Tricia said she felt nauseous. ‘Carrot sandwiches have ruined my stomach. I can’t be doing with cream cakes, now. They’re too rich, it’s not fair.’

  Lorna stopped, dug into her pockets and drew out two scones. ‘Stole them for Freddie.’

  They were dripping jam, sticky and had a fair amount of lint clinging to them.

  ‘He’ll be delighted,’ said Elspeth, looking at them in horror.

  ‘Just whipped them on the way out. Nobody was looking,’ said Lorna.

  Elspeth said, ‘Good ploy. You might have pinched one of the ornaments, they looked antique. Worth a bit.’

  Lorna shook her head. ‘She’d have noticed.’

  ‘I think she’ll also notice the missing scones,’ said Elspeth. ‘I don’t think anything gets past her.’

  Lorna said, ‘Crikey.’ She climbed back on her bike and pedalled furiously, looking back in case Lady McKenzie was thundering after her in her Bentley. ‘She’ll be coming for me, tooting her horn, shouting, “Scone thief”. Maybe she’s phoned the police.’

  ‘You’ll be in the dock pleading guilty, and you’ll get six months in jail.’

  ‘That’d be fine. I’d lie in my cell all day and sleep.’

  The camp was hushed when they arrived. The girls who hadn’t been invited to the tea party trooped in, axes over their shoulders. They all looked over at Lorna, and said nothing.

  ‘What’s wrong with them?’ said Lorna. Then, a flush of guilt. ‘Do you think they know about the scones?’

  ‘Just jealous,’ said Elspeth. ‘They wanted to go have tea at the big house.’

  Lorna said, ‘Tough luck.’ She propped her bike against the hut, and went inside to put the precious scones in her locker.

  Duncan Bowman called on Elspeth, beckoned her over with his finger. ‘A word.’

  For a moment she thought it was the scones. Lady McKenzie had phoned and complained.

  Duncan was never very good with words. Delivering bad news was beyond him. He put his hands in his pockets, frowned, looked at Elspeth, looked away, jerked his head in the direction of the hut. ‘Your friend’s boyfriend’s dead.’

  Elspeth said, ‘Freddie?’

  ‘Yes, him. Tree fell on him.’

  ‘How could that happen?’ said Elspeth. ‘Surely someone would have called “timber”.’

  ‘They did. But the stupid idiot was standing watching the bombers go over, couldn’t hear a bloody thing for the noise. Tree crashed down on him, broke half the bones in his body.’ He jerked his head towards the truck. ‘He’s in the back. Taking him down to the morgue at the hospital.’ He jerked his head back at the hut. ‘You better go tell your friend.’

  As Elspeth walked back to the hut, she heard Lorna howl. A scream of anguish. Wood pigeons in trees nearby panicked, took off. The whole camp stopped. Someone had already given her friend the news.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Dirty Secrets

  SKIMPTON HAD FILLED up with Americans. They were camped along the riverbanks and on the village green. Children followed them singing ‘Got any gum, chum.’ They started collections of empty Lucky Strike packets they found in the street. They made money doing the chip run – fetching fish and chips from the shop and taking them back to the camp. Twice the pub ran out of beer. There were fights about that since locals thought the owners of the pub should save the alcohol for them. ‘We’ll be here long after them Yanks have gone.’ When it was overflowing with customers, and the glasses ran out, beer was served in jam jars.

  Every day the soldiers in training ran through the village, and beyond, carrying full kit, wearing camouflage pants and vests. Mr and Mrs Brent made a point of watching the show.

  ‘Them Yanks have nice bodies,’ said Mrs Brent. ‘Fifty years ago, I’d have allowed them a few cuddles.’

  ‘Fifty years ago I’d have fought them for you,’ said Mr Brent.

  ‘Fifty years ago I’d have been worth fighting for,’ said Mrs Brent.

  ‘Yer worth fighting for now,’ said Mr Brent. ‘But fifty years ago you were a bit of a lass.’

  She took his arm and said, ‘Happy days.’

  When Izzy skimmed by on her bike, going home, soldiers hooted, whistled and clapped. She was usually too tired to notice or care.

  ‘There won’t be a virgin left in the village,’ Julia said.

  Diane said she doubted there had been many left before they arrived.

  Morning and they were in the mess waiting for Edith to bustle in telling them the chits were up.

  Izzy was, as usual, spread out over two chairs and in a semi-snooze while watching Dolores, back after two days’ leave, hold up her left hand, fingers spread.

  ‘Hey, you guys, I’m married.’

  Julia snorted. ‘I knew she was after Alfie.’

  Diane said, ‘Well, good for her.’

  ‘I’ll be Lady Meyers,’ said Dolores. ‘But you can still call me Dolores.’

  ‘We plan to,’ said Julia.

  ‘We did it yesterday. Just me and Alfie and Mr and Mrs Ramsay.’

  Diane asked, ‘Who are they – friends of yours?’

  Dolores shrugged. ‘A couple who were passing by. We asked them to be witnesses. Anyway, we just snuck off and married. Big celebrations on Saturday night.’ She held her arms out wide, indicating the bigness of the celebrations. ‘Party at our place, everyone’s invited.’

  ‘Our place,’ said Julia. ‘Five minutes married and she’s calling Alfie’s home our place. It’s been in his family for centuries. I’m not going to the party.’

  Diane called her a sourpuss. She congratulated Dolores and shouted that she’d definitely come to the party. ‘I love a party.’ She turned to Julia. ‘You’re a fool. Alfie throws a wonderful party. And have you seen his wine cellar? It’s vast. Stretches for bloody miles, a huge labyrinth. That’s where all his money’s gone. Wine and the horses. Even counting the amount they swig every night, there’s bound to be lots left for us.’ She leaned forwards, face close to Julia’s. ‘When did you last have a decent glass of Margaux?’

  Julia thought about this. ‘I can’t remember. Actually, Walter might like to go. I could introduce you.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Diane. ‘Introducing your young man to your friends, this must be getting serious.’

  Julia shrugged. ‘A little. Anyway, he’s not young. He’s even older than you.’

  Diane smiled and said, ‘Pour soul.’ She turned to Izzy and asked, ‘Going to the party?’

  Izzy said she was working on Saturday. ‘I’ll be tired.’

  ‘Nonsense. You can come with me. We’ll sweep in together and take the place by storm. Then we’ll get filthy drunk and tell each other our dirty secrets.’

  ‘I don’t have any dirty secrets.’

  ‘Well, get some by Saturday. I want to hear them.’

  Edith stuck her head round the door, said, ‘Chits are up,’ then disappeared. There was the usual scramble, elbowing and jostling and Edith shouting for order.

  Julia was duty pilot today, flying the taxi Anson. She dropped Izzy and Diane off at Preston, where they were to pick up Spitfires to deliver to Elvington. Izzy said she’d see Wanda.

  ‘Good-oh,’ said Diane. ‘I’d like to meet Wanda.’

  ‘He’s actually Jean-Louis, but he’s stuck in my mind as Wanda.’

  ‘Well, as long as he doesn’t mind,’ said Diane.

  ‘He only became Wanda so he could fly. Anything to fly, I suppose.’

  ‘The things people do for a thrill,’ said Diane.

  The planes were ready. Izzy climbed in, did her cockpit check and thanked the ground crewman who helped her into her harness. She put on her helmet, taxied to the end of the runway and, when she got a green light, took off. Diane followed, five minutes behind her.

  By now, Izzy knew the countryside into Yorkshire well, and barely had to look at her map as she headed towards York. Cows in fields didn’t look up, but sheep, sh
e noticed, still scudded in all directions, tiny hurtling white bodies, as she skimmed overhead.

  She was in the air so much these days, she even flew in her dreams. Not the lovely flying dreams she had when she was a little girl. This dream was full of the thrum and throb of being in an aeroplane. She’d wake up surprised to find she was in bed. No matter what she did, what perfume she might put on or how many baths she took, she still felt she smelled of petrol and hot metal.

  She landed, taxied to the delivery bay, went through the ground routine – tail wheel unlocked, gills open, gauges check, flaps up. She powdered her nose, fixed her lipstick, ran her fingers through her hair and climbed out. Diane was now coming in. She went through the same routine. Together they went to get their chits signed. Then, in the mess, they looked for Wanda.

  ‘He’s small,’ said Izzy scanning the faces in the mess. ‘Smokes all the time.’

  ‘Well, that could be anybody,’ said Diane.

  Izzy remarked on how quiet it was.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Diane. She knew that kind of quiet when she heard it. And she’d often heard it. It was the stunned hush that fell on a squadron when they’d suffered heavy losses. She went to the counter to fetch their tea. She thought Izzy might need a cup, she doubted Wanda was going to be around today.

  She turned, saw Izzy sitting at a table, hand over her mouth. She’d been told about her friend.

  ‘Over France,’ said Izzy. ‘Two nights ago. Nobody saw him bale out.’

  Diane put her hand over Izzy’s. For a while neither of them spoke. Then Izzy said, ‘He was a frightful lech. All he thought about was flying and sex.’

  Diane said she’d met the type. ‘But you liked him?’

  ‘Oh, enormously. He was fun. Julia would say he’s been bumped orff.’

  ‘It’s only her way of dealing with things. We all have our own way of coping. I’ve decided to wait till the war’s over, then I’m going to lock myself in my bedroom and cry for days and days. I’ve lost a lot of people.’ She caught Izzy’s look. ‘Starting with my husband. He went down in the Battle of Britain somewhere over the English Channel. I’m not over it. I just try not to think about it. Not for now, anyway.’ She held up her cup. ‘Tea today, tears tomorrow.’