The Girls in Blue

by Lily Baxter

  Gloria slapped her on the back. ‘You’re a pal. I’ll do the same for you one day.’

  ‘Forget it. You’re doing me a favour.’ Miranda dropped her handbag and gas mask case on her bed, which was nearest the door. She had been the last to arrive at Henlow and it seemed that no one else had wanted to sleep in the draughty spot furthest away from the stove. Not that it mattered very much as she was generally so exhausted at the end of her shift that she could have slept on a bed of nails.

  She took off her peaked cap and stowed it on the top shelf of the wooden locker beside her bed, followed by her navy-blue serge overcoat. She glanced anxiously at the clock, realising that in a few short minutes Corporal Draper would emerge from her room at the far end of the hut to carry out her routine inspection. June Draper was almost as unpopular as Fishface, but it would be a serious mistake to underestimate her power to make their lives a misery, should she feel so inclined. June’s fiancé was supposed to have jilted her at the altar, and at the start Miranda had made allowances for her, but as time passed she began to think that the chap had shown a streak of good sense. Any man who married June would be doomed to live permanently in the doghouse.

  Miranda perched on the edge of her bed and peeled off her thick grey lisle stockings. She would have loved to step into a nice hot bath, even if there were only five inches of water in the tub, but a lukewarm shower was all that she had to look forward to, and that only if she was first in the queue at the washhouse next morning. She glanced round to make sure that no one was watching before she stripped to her brassiere and the hideous standard issue knickers, commonly known as blackouts. She knew that it was ridiculous to be self-conscious, but she had still not quite come to terms with the lack of privacy, or the ghastly underwear which would make the most gorgeous bathing beauty look a complete fright. She wondered how Rita was coping with such privations, and smiled to herself, thinking that Rita would have found a way round the regulations by now. She sighed.

  ‘What’s the matter, ducks?’ Audrey said, peering at her through a haze of cigarette smoke. ‘Have you got something that the rest of us girls don’t have?’

  Startled, Miranda slipped her dressing gown around her shoulders. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Don’t worry, love. You’ll get used to us common lot sooner or later.’ Audrey sauntered off to sit on her own bed.

  Miranda bit her lip. She never quite knew how to take Audrey’s jocular comments, but she had learned from experience that to allow her to have the last word was fatal. ‘What was that you were singing earlier? I could hear you from outside the hut.’

  ‘Are you trying to tell me that I got a voice like a foghorn?’

  ‘Yeah, she was,’ Gloria said, stubbing out her cigarette in a metal ashtray. ‘But she was being kind. I wouldn’t call it singing; it’s worse than the air raid siren.’

  The girls squatting on the next bed playing a hand of cards burst out laughing. One of them, a redhead by the name of Angela, turned to Miranda with a sympathetic smile as Audrey flounced off, the towelling turban on her head wobbling like a vanilla blancmange. ‘Don’t take any notice of her, old thing. She’s a touch sensitive and having been forced to endure her whole repertoire one can see why.’

  ‘I didn’t mean anything by it,’ Miranda said anxiously. ‘I wouldn’t be so unkind.’

  ‘Of course you wouldn’t, darling. I’d ignore her little tantrums if I were you.’ Angela winked and turned her attention back to her hand of cards.

  ‘Turn that bloody gramophone down,’ Audrey shouted, making a move towards it with a threatening gesture.

  Janice glared at her, pausing in the middle of a complicated dance step. ‘Shut up, Trotter. It’s better than the noise that comes out of your big fat gob.’

  ‘If you don’t turn it down I’ll vaccinate you with the bloody gramophone needle.’

  ‘Keep it down, ladies,’ Gloria said in a low voice, jerking her head in the direction of the corporal’s closed door. ‘She’ll have your guts for garters if you start a fight, Trotter.’

  Miranda could see that things were going to turn nasty as Janice clawed her fingers and Valerie squared up to Audrey. The situation was beginning to look dangerous, but Gloria reached out a long thin arm and tweaked the towel off Audrey’s head. ‘Calm down, love. They’re just having you on.’ She turned to Janice and Valerie with a frown. ‘And you two, leave the poor cow alone.’

  ‘Leave it out, Glo,’ Janice said, shrugging her shoulders. ‘We were just having a bit of fun. She’s so easy to wind up.’

  Audrey tossed her damp hair back from her face. ‘I was top of the bill in the summer concert party at Southend.’

  ‘Pity they didn’t throw you off the end of the pier,’ Janice said, grinning.

  Gloria caught hold of Audrey just as she was about to launch herself at her tormentor, but everyone froze as the door to the corporal’s room opened.

  Keeping a wary eye on June Draper, Miranda could not help noticing that she was looking decidedly peaky, and her eyes were suspiciously red-ringed as though she had been crying. Miranda felt almost sorry for her. Keeping control of a group of young women from widely varying backgrounds thrown together by the exigencies of war could not be an easy task.

  June wagged her finger at Janice. ‘I might have guessed it was you, Aircraftwoman Goodman.’

  Miranda hoped that for once Janice would keep her mouth shut, as the feisty Brummy had almost spent more time in jankers than she had in the plotting room, but there must have been something in June’s expression that had registered with everyone, even Janice, who cast her eyes down. ‘Sorry, Corporal.’

  June glanced round the room and no one moved a muscle. ‘I should put all three of you on a charge,’ she said in clipped tones, ‘but as this is my last night in hut five, I’m going to let you off.’

  Gloria, who Miranda had often noticed was rarely lost for words, cleared her throat. ‘Where are you going, Corp?’

  ‘I’m being posted nearer home,’ June said with a break in her voice. ‘My dad died this morning and I’ve got a few days’ compassionate leave before I report for duty.’

  A ripple of sympathy ran round the room and Miranda knew that had it been anyone else there would have been a rush to hug and comfort June, but they were all too well disciplined to let their emotions get the better of them. There was an awkward silence and Miranda realised that no one knew quite what to say. She stepped forward. ‘I’m sure we’re all very sorry, Corporal.’

  June’s cheeks flamed and she bit her lip. ‘Thanks,’ she said gruffly. ‘As you were.’ She retreated into her room, pausing for a moment in the doorway. ‘We’ll skip inspection tonight, and keep it down, girls. I’ve got a splitting headache.’ She went inside and closed the door.

  Gloria was the first to speak. ‘You heard the corp. I’m going to turn in and I suggest you lot do the same. Lights out in fifteen minutes, and no smoking in bed. If anyone does I’ll personally tip a jug of water over them.’

  After the quick trip to the ablutions block and the latrines, the girls scurried back to hut five and settled down for the night. Desultory snatches of conversation soon petered out as they drifted off to sleep, but Miranda lay on her hard mattress staring into the darkness. She had been away from home for what seemed a lifetime but she could not help worrying about all those she had left behind. She thought of her father and mother doing their bit for the war effort, and prayed that they were safe. She had received brief letters from her grandmother informing her that Jack was alive and well at the time of writing, but of course there was no mention of Raif or Isabel, and although their last meeting had been marred by his scathing comments about Jack, time had softened the memories and made her think that perhaps she had been too hard on both him and his sister. They were all victims of this beastly war, which seemed to be going on forever. Nowhere in the country was safe these days. German bombers had attacked the naval base at Portland and the torpedo works on the edge of the fleet as well as
residential areas. Where, she wondered, would it all end? She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.

  June’s replacement arrived next day but Miranda was on an early shift and did not meet her until she came off duty. She could tell immediately that she was not going to like Corporal Diana Fox, and the feeling seemed to be shared by the other girls. June, who had never been popular, had suddenly achieved the status of a saint and everyone was reminiscing about the good times they had shared. Personally, Miranda could not think of any, but when Corporal Fox told her that she had failed kit inspection and detailed her off to clean the ablutions, Miranda began to think they had misjudged June Draper.

  It was Saturday, and as she had been on late duty the previous day Miranda was free to spend the evening as she pleased. After emptying the chemical toilets in the latrine block and mopping the floors with disinfectant she was tired and feeling out of sorts. She would not have minded the punishment had she done something to deserve it, but Corporal Fox had picked on her for no reason – it was so unfair. Miranda flopped down on her bed and kicked off her shoes.

  Janice looked up from the magazine she had been reading. ‘I don’t reckon much to that new corp,’ she whispered. ‘That wasn’t right what old Foxy did to you. Are you okay?’

  Miranda nodded. ‘I’m fine. Just a bit fed up to tell the truth.’

  ‘Val and me are going to the village hop this evening. D’you want to come too?’

  ‘I – well, that’s very kind of you, but …’

  ‘No buts, love. You’re coming and that’s final. You need a bit of cheering up, and I think a few of the lads from the aerodrome might be coming along tonight. We might meet some of the boys we’ve known only by their call signs. I think they owe us a trot round the dance floor and a drink or two.’

  ‘I don’t know, Janice,’ Miranda said doubtfully. ‘It’s jolly nice of you, but I’m not sure I’m in the mood.’

  ‘“In the Mood” – I love that tune,’ Janice said dreamily. ‘I’d like to meet Glenn Miller and tell him how much I enjoy his music.’

  ‘You go with Val and have a lovely time, Jan. I think I’ll spend the evening in the priory library, curled up with a good book.’

  Janice threw her magazine on the floor and leapt from her bed. She dragged Miranda to her feet. ‘No you don’t, miss. You’re coming with us if Val and me have to carry you there. Now get your glad rags on and let Val do something with your hair.’ She tossed her slipper at her friend, who was staring into her compact mirror and plucking her eyebrows. ‘Hey, Val. Can you give this woman a proper hairdo? She can’t go dancing with it scraped back in a bun.’ She tweaked a couple of hairpins from Miranda’s hair and loosened it with her fingers. ‘You’ve got lovely blonde hair. It’s all right looking prim and proper in the ops room but we’re going to have a good time tonight.’

  Despite her protests, Miranda’s hair had been washed and persuaded into a shining pageboy style with the aid of curling tongs heated on the top of the stove. She would have been quite happy to put on a cotton blouse and skirt and go as she was, but the girls had other ideas. Val went through Miranda’s locker like someone possessed, tossing the garments on her bed with exclamations of dismay. ‘You can’t wear this. That one would make you look like a schoolgirl, and this one would suit my gran.’ She threw up her hands in despair. ‘Have you got anything, Janice? The kid can’t go to a dance looking like flaming Judy Garland in The Wizard of Oz.’

  ‘No, really,’ Miranda said, deciding that this had gone far enough. ‘Please don’t bother. I’ll wear this.’ She snatched up the white crêpe de Chine with the floral print that Rita still coveted. ‘With my lovely new hairstyle this will be fine.’

  Janice angled her head. ‘I suppose so, but you need some mascara.’ She delved in her handbag. ‘Here, use my Rimmel one and a touch of lipstick. It’s fine being a natural blonde, but you’re a bit pale.’

  ‘Thanks, but it wouldn’t be fair. I know makeup is hard to come by these days.’ Miranda rarely used anything apart from a dash of lipstick, but Rita’s letters had read like a wish list – Things I would like for my birthday – followed by a catalogue of virtually unobtainable cosmetics.

  Janice thrust them into her hand. ‘Nah! Share and share alike, ducks. Isn’t that right, Val?’

  Valerie nodded vigorously. ‘Stop yapping and get on with it, Miranda. We’ve got to get ourselves glammed-up and that takes time.’

  Walking a mile in high heels along a narrow country lane in total darkness was not something that Miranda would have chosen as the start of a night out, but Janice and Val tottered along, singing at the tops of their voices. The thin reedy beam of their torches gave just enough light for them to avoid the worst of the potholes, but the ground was already coated with ice and very slippery. In the end there was nothing for it but to link arms and hope that nothing was coming, as it was almost impossible to see oncoming vehicles now that headlamps had to be masked, shedding just a sliver of light onto the road surface. Miranda was worried that by singing so loudly they might drown out the sound of an approaching car engine, but she did not want to spoil their mood.

  They were cold and breathless when they finally arrived at the hall, but inside it was warm, smoky and very noisy as the pitch of voices rose in competition with the music on the gramophone, which was turned up to full volume. The dance floor was crowded with couples wrapped in each other’s arms moving very little as there was quite a crush. Miranda could see that being an expert in the foxtrot or the quickstep mattered very little when there was barely any space to perform, not that it seemed to be affecting the dancers’ enjoyment. Janice and Val had already shed their outer garments and hung them on a row of wall pegs, and Miranda followed suit. She was beginning to regret her decision to forgo an evening huddled in a leather wing-back chair in the library. The smell of musty books and the draughts whistling though the casement windows seemed like a haven of peace and quiet compared to the hubbub in the church hall.

  ‘Cooee,’ Janice called, waving her hand to a young man in civvies who was leaning nonchalantly against the tea bar. His face creased into a broad grin and he started towards them, weaving in and out through the gyrating couples. ‘That’s Cyril,’ Janice said coyly. ‘He’s ever such a good dancer, and before you ask, he works for the gas board so he didn’t get called up.’

  ‘He looks nice,’ Miranda murmured as Cyril drew closer. ‘You kept him quiet, didn’t you?’

  ‘He’s just a dance partner,’ Janice said airily. ‘I never said it was serious.’ She moved towards Cyril with her arms outstretched. ‘Hello, darling. How’ve you been?’

  Valerie patted her long dark hair into place. ‘Do I look all right? I’d go to the ladies’ but I don’t want to miss anything.’

  Miranda glanced round the hall. There seemed to be plenty of girls without partners and not very many unattached men. ‘Is it always like this?’

  ‘Sometimes, but the boys from the aerodrome should be here soon, that’s if they haven’t been scrambled. I forgot to ask Gloria how things were going when I saw her briefly in the mess.’

  Miranda edged out of the way as a couple more girls breezed in on a gust of ice-cold air.

  ‘Let’s have a cuppa, I’m parched, and we won’t look so desperate if we’re doing something.’ Valerie headed for the tea bar, manned by two formidable-looking matrons wearing floral pinafores and felt hats. ‘Two teas, love.’

  The woman who served her picked up the large teapot. ‘Haven’t we forgotten something?’

  Valerie grinned. ‘Milk and sugar?’

  ‘Very funny, young lady, but I meant the little word that’s most important.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘That’s better, but there’s no sugar. There is a war on, you know.’ The woman filled two cups. ‘That’ll be tuppence, please,’ she said, putting the emphasis on the last word.

  Valerie raised an eyebrow. ‘Daylight robbery.’

  Miranda took her purse from he
r bag and extracted two pennies. ‘Thank you,’ she said, placing them in the woman’s hand. ‘I’m sure it’s a lovely cup of tea.’

  ‘At least someone round here has manners.’ With a scornful glance in Valerie’s direction the woman moved on to serve someone else.

  Valerie took a mouthful of tea and pulled a face. ‘Stewed. I knew it would be. They must make it an hour before the doors open.’ She moved away to sit on one of the wooden chairs set out along the wall. ‘Sit down, love. You’re making the place look untidy.’

  Miranda took the seat beside her and sipped the lukewarm brew. Val was right, the tea had a metallic taste and was quite bitter, but it was better than nothing and she drank slowly, still wishing that she had stuck to her original plan. If she had followed her own inclinations she could have been ensconced in the oak-panelled library now, reading a book that would take her mind off the wretched war. Instead of which, she was now an official wallflower and it was not a comfortable feeling. She felt even more out of place as she cast a sideways glance at the girls who were waiting patiently for someone to claim them for the next dance. Without exception, they were done up to the nines, their faces powdered and rouged, their eyelashes bristling with mascara and their lips painted scarlet. Miranda could not help wondering how they managed to get hold of makeup when it was so scarce in the shops, but she felt suddenly underdressed and dowdy. She decided to wait until Valerie had a partner and then slip away unnoticed.

  Someone had changed the record and Janice and Cyril were now jiving quite expertly to Benny Goodman and his orchestra’s rendition of ‘Sing, Sing, Sing (With a Swing)’ and the other couples were attempting it with varying degrees of success.

  Valerie put her cup and saucer under her chair. ‘Hurry up and put in an appearance, chaps,’ she murmured, folding her arms and tapping her feet. ‘I don’t want to sit here all evening like a lemon.’

  Almost before the words had left her mouth the doors opened and a group of RAF officers entered to warning cries of ‘Remember the blackout and keep that door shut’ from the ladies behind the counter.