An Army of Smiles

by An Army of Smiles (retail) (epub)

  ‘I won’t bother to ask. If she wants to tell me she will,’ he replied without curiosity. ‘Now are we going to the dance or shall we have a dance of our own here on the field?’ He took her in his arms and they did a crazy waltz in time to his singing as they waited with others for the bus.

  A mile up the road the motorbike stopped and the man walked slowly back to the nearest point to the camp entrance. His information was that his daughter had two friends and one of them was called Rosie.

  He sat near the turning, his collar turned up, a cap pulled down on his head. It was bitterly cold and the air had a feel of imminent snow. It was too dark to see the time on his watch and he was afraid to shine a torch. The camp was well guarded. Guns were carried and were only the movement of a finger away from being fired.

  Rosie didn’t think she could ever be happier than now, dancing in the arms of the very athletic and accomplished Baba. She knew from shy glances around the packed room that she was the envy of many. Yet she had to leave before the end. Unwilling to give up the precious time in Baba’s arms, she delayed as long as she dared.

  ‘Sorry, Baba, I’m having a wonderful time but I want to leave early. I need to find Ethel and warn her about the appearance of her father.’

  ‘How can we find her?’ he asked, slowing their steps and guiding her to the edge of the dance-floor. ‘She and Kate are at the pictures.’

  ‘Would you mind if we leave early and make sure we’re there when they get back?’

  ‘’Course I don’t mind if that’s what you want. I’ve enjoyed it though. Perhaps we’ll do it again, is it?’

  ‘Please,’ she smiled. ‘I’d love to.’

  ‘How d’you plan to get back before her?’ he frowned, looking at the big wall clock. ‘We’ll be on the same bus. They aren’t that frequent and I don’t think there’s one now until the last one to pass the camp.’

  ‘Isn’t there a way to get there first? You can surely think of a way.’ She looked at him in complete confidence.

  ‘Only if we walk. Or… come on, Baba has a wicked plan.’

  Dai Twomey knew the men and women had to be back in camp before eleven and the hours dragged slowly past as he waited. The cold air seeped into his clothes and deadened all feeling in his feet but he didn’t move. His blue eyes stared into the darkness broken only by the occasional passing of a bicycle, the hooded lights barely visible. It was with relief that he heard the low rumble of a bus and the sound of voices as people began returning from their various nights out.

  He had to get Ethel back home before further harm was done. His family was already twice cursed with a birth and a death. There had to be no more.

  Rosie and Baba waited near the entrance to the camp after making themselves known to the guards on duty. He put an arm around Rosie to help stop her shivering. The night was excruciatingly cold with the stillness that accompanies a deep frost. In the short time they had stood there it had eaten into their bones. They had spent only two hours at the dance, Baba surprised and pleased with the nimble-footedness of Rosie. Ethel was right, Rosie had a few surprises for anyone willing to look for them. They had arrived ten minutes before, having stolen a couple of bicycles to get them home before the last bus. They propped the bikes against the fence near the entrance where they would be found the next day. They weren’t the first to take a bike and use it in this way. It was such a regular occurrence that any person finding theirs missing would look first around the periphery of the camp before bothering to tell the police.

  It was sheer good fortune on Ethel’s part that her father didn’t see her. Moving forward to see more clearly, he suddenly felt an arm on his shoulder and turned to see two military police, one aiming a gun towards his heart. A signal was given and two more men appeared silently out of the darkness. With one on either side of him and one behind and in front he was marched towards the gate.

  As Rosie and Baba found her, Ethel heard his protests and recognized his voice as he was marched towards them under arrest. She began to shake with fright.

  Kate put an arm around her. ‘What is it? What’s happened, are you ill?’ she asked in concern.

  ‘It’s my father. He’s found me. Now I’ll have to apply for a transfer.’

  Walter was on the bus, having intended to travel home with Ethel and try to talk to her. He hadn’t succeeded. He quickly realized what was going on and stared at the big angry man, marvelling that this could be Ethel’s father. He took careful note of the licence plate of the powerful motorbike now being pushed in through the gate by one of the guards. You never know when that sort of information would come in handy. And a chat with the men in the guard room wouldn’t be a bad idea either.

  Ethel didn’t sleep much that night and Kate and Rosie sat up for most of the hours of darkness to keep her company and reassure her that they would take care of her.

  With some trepidation the three of them went to open the canteen the following morning and as soon as they unlocked the door, Baba appeared. Duggie was with him.

  ‘He’s my father and he’s violent,’ Ethel said succinctly as the two men waited for an explanation.

  ‘Enough said,’ Baba told her.

  ‘You don’t have to tell us any more.’ Duggie turned and disappeared across the still-dark field towards the Nissen hut where he slept. Twenty minutes later, a warrant officer came to talk to Ethel. He assured her that the man had been escorted from the area with a warning and having received no information about personnel. He also told her that the police had been made aware in case of any threatening behaviour in the future.

  ‘I still don’t feel safe,’ Ethel said when the officer had left. ‘I’ll be too scared to step outside the camp.’

  ‘That’s great,’ the ever-optimistic Baba smiled. ‘There’s a talent competition on Saturday and you three are entered again.’

  Among protests and jeers of derision, he persuaded them that he would sing with them, be their coach and also boasted that he was a ‘dab hand’ at dancing. It was not Ethel’s intention to take part but she was glad of the diversion from her wildly fearful thoughts.

  ‘Like Duggie, I’ve got three sisters, see,’ Baba explained, ‘and we’re always singing and larking about. You’ll have to take their place. Miss ‘em I do. You can be my deputy sisters, Baba’s girls. Lucky Baba Morgan.’

  ‘Hush up, Baba, or they’ll be expecting the Andrews Sisters and we’ll be a disappointment!’

  ‘You could never disappoint anyone.’ His eyes travelled from one to the other but lingered longest on Ethel.

  Walter offered to take Kate into town to buy the few oddments they needed for their act. ‘I have to go in to collect fresh stock,’ he explained. ‘Take it or leave it, I don’t care either way.’

  Kate accepted, feeling mean for the way they used him between firing insults at him. They planned to dress as gypsies, this being an easy dress to make from second-hand clothes, the cheapest way of making costumes.

  ‘Going shopping for yourself?’ he asked as they went through the gate.

  ‘I wish I were. But I don’t have any money,’ Kate sighed.

  ‘I can help any time you’re short,’ Walter promised. ‘Just between you and me, any time, just ask.’

  * * *

  Rosie’s Nan placed the last bar of chocolate into the box which she was sending to her granddaughter. With a cake made with the butter she had saved from two weeks’ rations and a small bag of home-made toffee, and some gloves she had just finished knitting, she couldn’t fit anything else in. Her letter she placed on the top before tying the string around the box and writing the address on the top.

  She had replied to Rosie’s most recent letter and added news of the people she knew. The other letter stood on the mantelpiece sending out waves of guilt. How could she tell Rosie about that one? She finished wrapping the parcel, then picked up the letter and put it in the drawer with all the rest.

  * * *

  Ethel and Duggie rarely had a chance to
meet in private. He was a pilot and most of the time either in flight or waiting for the call to scramble, sitting in the smoke-filled room where men sat and tried to read or write letters home while expecting every moment to hear the siren that meant they were needed. Then would come the rush to their plane, grabbing what they needed, fastening their clothes as they ran, and the frantic activity as the planes took off.

  Eyes would follow them until the planes were no more than dots in the sky and the hours would be counted until they returned.

  Albert Pugh came at intervals to check on the canteen but had no cause to complain. When he was there, Ethel usually managed to find an excuse to spend some time with him and she began to look forward to his visits. At the same time she still thought of Wesley and wondered where he was. ‘Dad was right,’ she told the other girls jokingly. ‘I’m a tart and I love them all.’ She hadn’t mentioned just how much she loved Duggie.

  * * *

  Nicknames abounded in the camp, but Walter never became anything other than Walter. He pretended it made him superior. ‘They wouldn’t dare use anything but my proper name and title,’ he boasted, but he knew he was not popular. Keeping a very tight hold of the provisions and insisting on a certain amount of money coming in for every allocation he provided, had given him a reputation for meanness that was not undeserved. He also annoyed many of the girls by touching them more than was necessary, leaning against them as he passed, bending over them when he had cause to speak to them, hands under their arms as he moved them aside. He had hinted repeatedly that he was prepared to offer favours if there was something for him in return. He was blissfully unaware that for Ethel, Kate and Rosie his nickname was The Creep.

  He had a plan for the lovely Kate. Twice she had come to him to borrow money, and in his experience anyone who couldn’t manage money was vulnerable. He needed someone to help him make a little extra. He had heard it said that this war would make some people very rich. He intended to be one of them.

  It was early April 1941 when Ethel’s birthday was near that Kate went to Walter again to borrow money. ‘Just five shillings until pay day,’ she said. ‘I want to buy her something nice, like a scarf she saw in town last week. She really liked it and I know she can’t afford it.’

  ‘Neither can you,’ he teased.

  ‘No, but Mam promised to send me five shillings next week and I’ll gladly spent it on Ethel. A scarf and tea in town, she’ll love that.’

  ‘You’re too generous, Kate. If you were less kind to your friends you wouldn’t need to keep borrowing money. You could do with an extra income if you can’t change your ways.’

  ‘I don’t want to change my ways,’ she told him seriously. ‘What I have I like to share. I could do with a second income though, the wages are awful.’

  ‘Put a box of margarine outside when you lock up tonight, in another box next to the rubbish,’ he said, staring at her quizzically. ‘A shilling or two for you at the end of the week if you can do a few favours like that.’

  ‘What? Steal, you mean? I couldn’t!’

  ‘You never know how much you have in stock, I see to that. Who would miss it? I can easily revise the books.’ He could see she wasn’t convinced. With butter, margarine and cooking fat rationed, as well as sugar, tea and bacon, he knew he would have no difficulty finding customers for whatever he could get out of the camp. He could also see she was tempted. He took out a ten shilling note. ‘Take this ten bob, double what you asked me for. Let’s say you needn’t pay it back, shall we?’

  With ten shillings, plus the money her parents had promised, she would be rich! More than enough to treat Ethel to the pictures and buy the scarf. Uneasily, she nodded.

  It wasn’t easy to be the last one out at night. There was always so much cleaning to be done that the three girls always stopped to share the work no matter who had been given the task. During that evening, Kate somehow managed to hide the margarine in a second carton and put it with the rubbish which was ready to be placed outside before they left. She insisted on putting the rubbish outside, dealing with the job herself, and placed the box of margarine beside it. She walked away imagining guilt written across her face and on her back, her shame visible from every direction.

  The ten shillings seemed to burn her through the pocket in which she had hidden it.

  Ethel’s birthday arrived and Kate’s mother’s money didn’t. A bomb had damaged the sorting office and if it survived at all, it was unlikely to turn up for a while. Walter’s ten shilling note burned against her fingers as she touched it. She swallowed her guilt and invited Ethel and Rosie into town for tea and cakes to celebrate the birthday. The café she had in mind was an expensive one and perhaps the scarf would have to wait.

  ‘Just tea and cakes?’ Baba said. ‘Is that the best you can do for Ethel’s birthday, then?’

  ‘I wanted to buy her a scarf that she liked, but it’s two shillings and sixpence and if I buy it I might not have the money for bus fare and tea. I couldn’t bear the embarrassment if I couldn’t pay the bill.’

  Baba put a hand in his pocket. ‘Here, take this half-crown, get the scarf and tell her it’s from you and Rosie, she’ll be pleased about that.’ He went off whistling. He had nothing now until pay day, but it wasn’t long, he’d manage without his visits to the Naafi for a few days.

  Ethel and Duggie managed to meet quite often, although it was difficult to keep their affair a secret from Kate and Rosie. She regretted not telling them about their first date. Now the secret was stretching into weeks and it was becoming more impossible to explain her secrecy. It was Duggie who told them. One night he had told Kate and Rosie that he wanted to take Ethel home to meet his family. ‘It’s her birthday soon and I want her to celebrate it with my family.’

  ‘Interesting,’ whispered Kate.

  ‘The trouble is, I don’t think she’ll come. I want you two to persuade her.’

  Excited at their inclusion in his secret plans, they set about reminding Ethel that to live for today was important. She agreed wholeheartedly but refused to go home with Duggie.

  She loved him, she had never been surer of anything than that, but she was afraid for him. He was a pilot and everyone whispered that their days were numbered when they had flown so many times. Every day he went up in his small plane with eighty and more gallons of fuel practically on his lap. Life was too precarious to give in to love and start dreaming about that golden future.

  Kate went out with a young man occasionally and she and Rosie sometimes made up numbers when a group of men and women went into town, but Rosie always refused an invitation to go out with one of the airmen alone. She hadn’t looked at a man with even the slightest interest since the dance with Baba. She held on to the hope that he would ask her to go with him again.

  Since the visit from her father it was difficult to persuade Ethel to go into town, and she refused to go any further than the café near the bus stop so she didn’t have to walk along the streets. At every turn she expected to see her father, even though nothing had been heard since his arrest and subsequent removal from the camp.

  With food rationing in force, the availability of decent cakes was seriously reduced. So they were delighted to find that the café Ethel had chosen promised luxuries like warm freshly-made doughnuts, and pancakes spread with lemon curd. Fresh lemons hadn’t been available for months. They were in uniform so the manageress of the café made sure they had extra helpings. In celebratory mood, they set off to make sure Ethel had some fun.

  Ethel loved the scarf, and Kate told her it had been a present from Baba, aware of Rosie’s forced smile. She hid her dismay philosophically, telling herself it was no surprise that Baba found Ethel more interesting than herself, but she knew her feelings for the lively fun-loving Baba would never change.

  Walter was waiting for them when they got back in time to open for the evening session at five o’clock.

  ‘Enjoy the birthday party?’ he asked Ethel. To Kate, he whispered, ‘Ten poun
ds of sugar, Saturday night, usual place.’

  Kate was first out of the canteen the following night and if Ethel and Rosie wondered why she didn’t stop to help, they said nothing. Going back to the hut at eleven thirty, they expected her to be asleep. She was in bed, but not asleep; she was crying.

  It wasn’t long before they persuaded her to tell them the reason for her behaviour. What Walter was doing horrified them. Taking money from the Naafi was something they couldn’t tolerate.

  ‘We have to report him,’ Ethel said firmly.

  ‘But if I do, I’ll have to admit giving him margarine and being paid ten shillings,’ wailed the terrified Kate.

  ‘Not if we go about this properly.’ Ethel opened her purse and poured the contents on to her bed. She encouraged the others to do the same and they found ten shillings and fourpence. Exchanging the money for a ten shilling note was easy and with the money to pay back, and Walter caught, Kate would almost certainly be in the clear.

  ‘Albert is coming tomorrow, I overheard the others talking about it. Report it to him and tell snake-in-the-grass Walter that what he asked for will be put out the following night.’

  ‘He’ll kill me!’

  ‘After this I don’t think he’ll be around long enough to cause us any trouble, do you?’

  Albert Pugh was still rather difficult to approach. A quiet, solemn man, he never spoke to anyone other than the minimum necessary for the business of running the canteen and net bar. Supplies for the net bar were sometimes difficult to restock. It was Walter who arranged for their stock to be replenished from the bulk stores and one of his responsibilities to make sure they didn’t run out, but now Ethel discussed the intended theft with Albert.

  Ethel had sometimes used this side of the job as an excuse to talk to him but it was never easy. Since their first conversation, attempts to discuss more personal things resulted in failure. He had the habit of walking off whenever anyone tried to intercept him, refusing to even slow down as he listened to their comments or complaints, at the same time promising to deal with them.