Brave Faces

by Mary Arden

  I felt a bit foolish having asked such an obvious question, and decided that I would keep my mouth shut and just watch from now on.

  A very tall sailor, whom the others called ‘Shorty’, then walked up to the helm. He leaned over to press a button and then the engine roared into life. As he took the tiller he explained that he had to reverse the boat away from the quay before heading out of the harbour. I asked him whether steering a boat was like driving a car, explaining that I’d had some driving lessons recently, and knew a bit about gears. Shorty smiled and then patiently explained that there were some similarities between steering a boat and driving a car, except when reversing, but that you have to be extra careful because the boat has a habit of going to port when you want it to go starboard.

  ‘Oh I know all about port and starboard,’ I said proudly.

  ‘I hope you know a bit more than that, Miss, otherwise you are not going to be much use to us as Boat Crew,’ he said seriously.

  I bit my lip and didn’t reply. Shorty, then said kindly, ‘Watch everything I do and I will explain what I am doing and why, as we go along, alright?’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said gratefully.

  An hour later, we had collected three loads of ship-to-shore passengers and I was beginning to understand what was required from a member of a Boat Crew.

  When CPO Brownlow came to see how I was doing, Shorty told him that he thought that I was now ready to take over the helm, as long as he was nearby.

  ‘Just in case Miss!’ he said smiling at me.

  As I began to reverse away from the quay, I came dangerously close to the harbour wall, the result of which was that the entire crew almost ended up on their backsides.

  ‘Sorry,’ I called out as I hurriedly corrected the tiller, and then vowed I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  I steered the liberty boat on two more trips before lunch without any mishaps, but when I attempted to climb onto the quayside from the boat, it was obvious that my legs weren’t long enough and I wouldn’t be able to jump that far without falling in the water. Thankfully two Naval Officers, who we were bringing back to shore, very kindly lifted me onto the quay.

  ‘Thanks awfully,’ I beamed, ‘I never would have managed on my own.’

  The crew took themselves off for an hour, leaving Chief Brownlow and me on our own. I offered the Chief one of my marmalade sandwiches and he gave me a cup of tea from his flask in exchange, and then puffed at his pipe.

  After lunch we set off again and did two more trips to take various personnel to their ships or bring some back to the harbour. As the afternoon progressed, the wind started to get up and at one point I got very wet; a kind Officer then mopped me down with his handkerchief. By the end of the day, I was really enjoying myself and starting to feel more confident again. When we tied up for the last time that day, the Chief thanked me for my hard work and for sharing my marmalade sandwiches with him. He promised to send in a good report of my day’s efforts but said, regretfully, that he didn’t think this category was a suitable one for me because I just didn’t have the strength required to do the job. Reluctantly, I had to agree with him, and accepted that I would have to apply for a different category. Oh well at least I had a go, I thought.

  The following day, I bumped into Elsie who invited me out for the evening with some of her other friends. She told me to put on my party skirt but nothing too smart because we were only going to the pub.

  ‘Don’t forget to bring yer purse, as we all go Dutch, an’ bring yer own fags unless you don’t mind smokin’ Woodbines,’ she told me, chuckling heartily, ‘and don’t bring that bleedin’ ‘silver thing’.’

  That evening we went to a very old and picturesque pub called the Blue Dolphin, which looked as if it had been built in Nelson’s day. The moment we stepped inside, a cloud of stale cigarette smoke hit us, so I decided that the only way to blot out the smell was to add more to it, and was very glad that I’d brought ample cigarettes to share with Elsie and her friends.

  ‘What’s yours’ sweetheart?’ a cheeky sailor asked me swaggering over to the bar as if he owned the place.

  I noticed that he was wearing an anchor on his sleeve and thought he must be a Leading Seaman, but I wasn’t sure as I’d only just worked out how to distinguish Commanders from Captains, and Lieutenant Commanders from Sub-Lieutenants, and hadn’t expected to be mixing with Other Ranks that evening.

  ‘I’d love a cider please,’ I replied handing him a shilling. ‘Will that be enough?’

  ‘I ’spect so darling, and if not, I’ll get the rest when I come back with your drink.’

  Elsie ordered a port and lemon, something my father would have had a fit about had he known, as port to him was like Holy Communion wine and one didn’t add lemon to it – ever.

  I listened to the men talking to each other about football and their families, and realised just how important these two things were to them. Their lives seemed far less complicated than those of the men who had escorted me to dances during the season, and I soon found myself chatting comfortably with them. As I lit another Woodbine, I wondered what my mother would have thought if she had seen me sitting there smoking the cheapest cigarettes available and talking to young men I hadn’t been formally introduced to. I think she would have had a fit!

  I now turned to one of the sailors who was showing a photograph to one of his friends and asked him if it was of his girlfriend. The others at the table all burst out laughing, and when I looked the photo I understood why, it was a photo of his pet dog.

  After a few beers the talk got a rather bawdy, which made me feel uncomfortable, so I just sat quietly and said nothing hoping that the jokes wouldn’t get too rude. We had a couple more drinks and a few packets of crisps and then it was time to leave. As we were leaving the pub, Elsie whispered to me that I shouldn’t get upset about the rude jokes, as these sailors were just having a bit of schoolboy fun and wouldn’t talk about things ‘below the belt’ when ladies were present. I felt relieved, but also a bit out of my depth, as I was still so innocent and unworldly in anything connected with sex. I told Elsie that I had a bit of a headache and asked her how she planned to get us back to the barracks, ‘Are we getting a lift with your friends?’

  ‘No, they are going in a different direction, but don’t worry, there will be lots of transport coming and going, so we’ll thumb a lift,’ Elsie said.

  ‘Thumb a lift?’ I asked. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Watch and learn, Mary,’ Elsie replied.

  She then stood in the middle of the road and gestured with her thumb the direction we wanted to go. A jeep slowed down and stopped next to us. When Elsie told the driver that we were trying to get back to HMS Vernon, he told us to hop in and we were on our way. That was my first lesson in how to thumb a lift and I thought if that’s all it takes, then I would try it next time for myself.

  The lorry dropped us just outside the guardroom gates, where we showed our passes, before going through the gate.

  ‘Thanks for taking me with you Elsie,’ I said. ‘I had a lovely time and it certainly took my mind off failing to become Boat Crew.’

  ‘That’s all right luv, are you ’oping to be a driver now instead then?’ she asked.

  ‘I hope so, I’ll find out tomorrow.’

  ‘In that case you’d better get yerself orf to bed then. Good night Mary,’ she said as she turned and went towards her billet.

  ‘Good night,’ I called back as I started walking towards my Nissen hut.

  ‘And good luck!’ I heard Elsie call out.

  I must have fallen asleep the moment my head hit the pillow that night, as the next thing I heard was, ‘Wakey-wakey! Rise and shine!’

  That morning I ate my usual cooked breakfast, and just in case it was necessary to miss lunch to attend my interview as a potential driver, I also made a sausage sandwich from the breakfast rations.

  Square bashing that morning involved learning how to salute the Navy way, which meant squ
ashing my thumb tightly into the palm of my hand so that only the outside of my four fingers would show before raising it to my forehead. My fellow trainees and I were just getting the hang of it when my name was called over the loudspeaker, asking me to go directly to the transport unit at 14:00 hours.

  I rushed back to the billet before lunch and changed into my trousers, and then collected everything I thought I might need for the afternoon and put it in my gasmask case, hiding my gasmask under my knickers like all the other girls did, and saying out loud to myself, ‘To hell with it, if I get caught, tough luck!’ I was beginning to realise that if I wanted to survive my time in the Wrens I would have to bend the rules like everyone else.

  I arrived at the transport unit promptly at two. The Chief Petty Officer of transport looked me up and down with a stern, unsmiling face: ‘You’re a bit small to drive a lorry,’ he observed.

  ‘I’ll manage,’ I told him cheerfully, ‘when I was learning to drive, I put a cushion behind my back and moved the seat forward, and that made all the difference.’

  ‘I am sorry, but the Navy don’t provide cushions!’ he replied smiling. ‘Did you bring one with you?’

  ‘No, Chief.’

  He struggled to put the seat as far forward as it would go, saying that this was the smallest transport lorry in the yard, and then told me to get in while he went to find an empty sack, which he then rolled up and placed behind my back. I could only just reach the pedals, because either the seat was too high or my legs were too short.

  ‘Perhaps I could drive a car instead?’ I suggested eagerly, ‘My brother said that he thought I’d be really quite a good driver given another half-dozen lessons.’

  ‘You could do that, Miss,’ the CPO replied, ‘but the trouble is, in the Navy, you have to drive a lorry before you’re put on cars, unless you’re an Officer and already hold a driving licence.’

  ‘Couldn’t you make an exception for me?’ I begged. ‘I really will work hard, I promise.’

  The Chief’s face broke into a grin as he said, ‘Regretfully, rules is rules and it wouldn’t be fair to give you privileges that the other girls didn’t get as well; anyway, the senior officer Wren wouldn’t allow it.’

  He then asked me if I’d tried any other category, so I explained that I’d been out the day before as Boat Crew, but that I obviously hadn’t passed or I wouldn’t have been told to report here.

  He then asked to look at my hands, and seeing my well-manicured fingernails shook his head and said, ‘I thought I might be able to use you as a mechanic, but seeing your delicate hands, I don’t think you’d have the strength to use the tools required for this sort of manual work.’

  ‘Oh dear, it looks like I’ll end up having to do typing and shorthand in a stuffy office all day,’ I told him sadly.

  When I caught up with Elsie later that evening, and told her about my failure earlier in the day, she joked, ‘Yer might be the wrong ‘eight, but you ain’t the wrong shape, I saw how them boys were looking at you last night.’

  ‘Well there isn’t a category for models,’ I replied, giggling with her. ‘So what am I going to do next?’

  Just then, I noticed Elsie spooning copious amounts of sugar into her tea, and my mother’s request for extra sugar, came to mind, so I took the opportunity to ask Elsie if it was possible for her to get me some sugar from the kitchen, which I would pay for of course.

  ‘Can’t ‘elp love, sorry,’ Elsie replied, ‘they watch the store cupboards as if they’d ‘idden the bleedin’ crown jewels inside, but tell you what, I’ve seen lots of the girls take their tea ration lumps of sugar and stuff ‘em in a bag, and they don’t save it to eat it like an ‘orse later neither, but they takes what they’ve collected ‘ome to their families on their forty-eights.’

  ‘What are forty-eights, Elsie?’ I asked puzzled.

  ‘It’s a pass. You know, you gets in the train, goes ‘ome and comes back again forty-eight hours la’er,’ she explained.

  ‘Of course,’ I exclaimed laughing, ‘how stupid of me.’

  From that day on, I saved the two sugar lumps we were allowed to take at every meal and put them away in a paper bag to save up for my next visit home.

  Back at the hut, I found an official note on my bed telling me to report at First Officer Smitherson’s office at 09:00 hours the following morning. I presumed that she’d suggest that I do a typing course, or even decide to send me home.

  When I arrived at the First Officer’s office a little before nine, she confirmed that I hadn’t been considered suitable as either Boat Crew or Driver because of my small stature, and then seeing how upset I was, she said kindly, ‘I will try to arrange for you to have a typing test tomorrow to see if that would be a more suitable category for you.’

  The next morning I returned to the First Officer’s office expecting her to send me to another hut to do my typing test, but when she greeted me she said, ‘There has been a slight change of plan, and I think I may have found the perfect category for you. It’s called a Night Vision Tester.’

  My job, which was a fairly new category, would be to teach the young pilots how to use their eyes differently when flying at night. I would have to learn how to use specialised equipment to teach the pilots how to take off and land on their aircraft carriers more safely in the dark. This important category came under the authority of the Special Ophthalmic Unit, attached to HMS Daedalus at Lee-on-Solent in Portsmouth. The person in command of this department was Surgeon Commander Timpston, who had come up with the idea in order to reduce the amount of accidents pilots were having at night.

  The First Officer told me that the reason she had been contacted by the Commander was because he was considering the idea of training a younger girl to help with the tests in the hope that the pilots might be more willing to attend this additional training if there was an attractive girl present.

  ‘He needs someone who the pilots will find easy to talk to, someone who’s a bit nearer their own age,’ the First Officer explained, ‘so I think you would be suitable for this new category, but I must warn you that the work will involve sitting in total darkness with six young men at a time while their eyes adapt to the dark. I suspect that some of the boys might play up a bit and flirt with you. Would you feel uncomfortable about that?’

  ‘Not a bit. I am used to boys, and will just treat them all like my big brothers,’ I replied.

  The First Officer told me that I would have to go for an interview and that she would let me know when and where later. As she dismissed me, she said how pleased she was that there was now a category that was more suited to my capabilities and stature.

  ‘I hope I haven’t been too much trouble for you, and thank you for putting me forward for this new position. It sounds much more up my street,’ I said happily.

  ‘I think so too,’ she replied.

  Later that evening, I rang home and reversed the call. My father answered, and I told him as calmly and quietly as I could about the interview I was to have the following day as a Night Vision Tester.

  ‘It’s a relief that I’ve been given this chance as it sounds so much more interesting than just typing,’ I told him. ‘Keep your fingers crossed for me, Daddy.’

  ‘My darling daughter,’ he chuckled, ‘you’re a very capable young girl although you don’t seem to realise that yet. I’m sure that given the chance, and if this is right for you, then you’ll be accepted. Try not to chatter too much at your interview though, and make sure the interviewer does most of the talking!’

  I felt too nervous to face a cooked breakfast the next morning, so just had a small bowl of cornflakes and a cup of tea before heading off to find the transport that had been allocated to take me to the ferry terminal, where I was supposed to catch the ferry to Gosport.

  It was great fun crossing the Solent on the green passenger ferry from Portsmouth. During the crossing I kept my eyes skinned hoping that I’d catch sight of Chief Brownlow’s liberty boat, so that I could wave to
him, but there were so many boats coming and going that it was hard to tell one from another, so I just waved to them all.

  When I arrived at Gosport, I looked around for any naval transport to take me to HMS Daedalus, but all I could see were two official-looking cars, both of which had smartly dressed drivers standing beside them. I was starting to fret, as I didn’t want to be late for my interview and I was beginning to wonder whether I ought to try and walk, but thought better of it as I had no idea how far away HMS Daedalus was from the port.

  To my relief, I spotted a seaman tying up a boat on the quayside and hurried over to ask him if he knew where I could catch a bus.

  ‘No buses here love,’ he replied, shaking his head.

  ‘A taxi perhaps?’ I suggested hopefully.

  ‘Have to be ordered ahead of time, Miss, sorry,’ he said shaking his head again.

  I’ll just have to do what Elsie did the other night then, I thought, and thumb a lift from a passing car. The trouble was that there didn’t seem to be any passing cars. Just then I saw three young sub-lieutenants coming towards me, and then two navy cars drew up in the yard. The officers immediately hurried towards the first car, which sped off so quickly I didn’t have time to ask for a lift. Then I noticed an older man with gold braid on his sleeve walking slowly towards the second car, and without thinking too much about it, I walked quickly towards him and said, ‘Excuse me, but I’m ship-wrecked and need help.’

  The Captain looked at me and said smiling, ‘It sounds like you have missed the naval transport that usually meets the ferry, so can I assume that you are requiring a lift?’

  ‘Well yes Sir, you assume right, as I’m on my way to HMS Daedalus for an interview with Surgeon Commander Timpston, so I don’t want to be late,’ I told him.

  ‘Hop in, we will make sure you get to your interview on time,’ he said kindly.

  Once we were both in the car, the Captain ordered the driver to take us to the sick bay on the sea front, and when we arrived he said, ‘I shall keep my fingers crossed for you, young lady. Good luck!’