The Clippie Girls

by Margaret Dickinson

‘On a tram. I was going into town when the tram was caught in a bomb blast.’

  Edith gasped and put her hand to her breast. ‘Not the night of the blitz?’

  ‘Aye, the Thursday night.’ Terry spread his hands. ‘But, as you can see, not a scratch.’ His eyes darkened as he recalled the sights he’d seen that night and just afterwards. He was glad his parents and sister had been safe in the Anderson shelter they shared with the Thomases.

  ‘Luck of the Devil, you’ve got,’ Harry muttered. He was pretending to read his newspaper, but in fact he was listening to every word. He was mates with Percy, Mabel’s husband, but now Harry was beginning to see just how this might affect their two families.

  ‘I helped Peggy get the passengers out first and then I helped her. She’d got a cut on her forehead.’ He touched his own hairline.

  ‘Why did you need to help the passengers? Didn’t the rescue people come?’

  ‘She was the clippie, see, and her first duty – even before her own safety – was the care of her passengers. That’s the sort of girl she is, Ma,’ he added softly and neither his mother nor his father could miss the admiration in their son’s tone. They glanced at one another, but said no more as he bade them goodbye and left. But once he was out of earshot, Harry shook his paper and muttered, ‘Oh dear, Ma, I reckon we’re going to have problems.’

  Edith bent her head over her mending once more, wondering how she could avoid bumping into Mabel for the next couple of days until Terry was safely back at camp.

  Terry knocked on the door, wanting to hammer on it in his impatience, but knowing that wouldn’t go down well with the older generations. He smiled. It was a strange household and no mistake. He’d never encountered anything quite like it before. All these women of different ages and not a man to be seen. Still, perhaps it was just as well. He could charm most women of any age, but a man might be very different. Though he was wary of Rose. She wasn’t backwards at coming forwards, as the saying went.

  Peggy opened the door and there was no mistaking the pleasure in her eyes and in her smile, nor the pink that tinged her cheeks. ‘Oh! Hello. What brings you here?’

  ‘You, of course,’ Terry said, removing his trilby and giving her a courteous little bow. ‘I came to see how you are. I’m sorry I haven’t brought you any flowers. There don’t seem to be many about. There’s a war on, you know.’

  Peggy laughed. ‘Yes, I had heard.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in or has Rose forbidden it?’

  Peggy pulled the door open wider. ‘Don’t be silly. Rose has nothing to do with who I see.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ he said, as he stepped over the threshold. ‘Are they all at home?’

  ‘No – no, only me and Gran.’

  Terry was relieved: he was sure he could charm the old lady.

  ‘So,’ he asked again as Peggy led him through to the living room, ‘how are you?’

  ‘Much better. I’m going back to work tomorrow.’

  ‘And Bob?’ He felt compelled to ask and held his breath until she answered.

  ‘Doing well. He’s out of hospital, but he’s not going to be allowed back to work for a while yet. They’ve got to be sure he doesn’t get dizzy spells.’ She laughed wryly. ‘It wouldn’t do while you’re driving a tram.’

  Terry smiled as he stepped into the room, his glance going at once to the old lady in the chair by the fire. She was partially hidden behind the newspaper she was reading, but, at the sound of someone entering the room, without looking up she said, ‘The Australians have entered Tobruk.’ She chuckled. ‘There was no Union Jack available so they ran a bush hat up the flagpole. I like their style.’ As she looked up to see who had come in, to Terry’s relief, she smiled. ‘Here again?’

  He gave her a conspiratorial wink. ‘Just passing, you know, and thought I’d look in.’

  Grace smiled back. He didn’t fool her for a moment and the young man knew it too.

  ‘Are you all OK?’ he asked. ‘Mum said there’d been one or two more bombing incidents.’

  ‘Just a couple since Christmas. No one killed as far as I know,’ Grace said.

  Terry turned to Peggy. ‘I wondered if you feel well enough to come to the pictures with me?’

  ‘Oh – I don’t know if I should. I’m still officially on the sick list.’

  ‘Surely no one would mind? Besides, it’d be a bit of a test to see if you’re really fit enough to go back to work. Though what they’ll find for you to do, I don’t know.’

  Oh, he’s clever, Grace thought. She’d give him that. She lowered her glance, pretending to concentrate on her paper again.

  ‘They’ve repaired a lot of the track already,’ Peggy was saying. ‘Several of the routes are running again. The system’s steadily getting back to normal, though some of the repairs to track and overhead cables are taking longer than others.’

  They both stared at each other remembering their shared experience of that dreadful night. ‘So?’ He smiled, changing the subject and trying to divert her thoughts away from terrifying memories. ‘Are we going?’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ Peggy said. ‘I’ll just get ready. If I’m quick, we should catch the first house.’

  As she hurried upstairs to change, Terry sat down on the opposite side of the fire to Grace. He was about to start a conversation with her, but at that moment the back door opened and Myrtle called out, ‘I’m home, Gran.’

  Terry’s heart sank. He’d hoped they’d get away before any other members of the family arrived home. But he thought the schoolgirl wasn’t much of a challenge, just so long as Rose wasn’t with her.

  Myrtle came into the room. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise when she saw him. She nodded curtly in greeting and then turned to her grandmother. ‘I got all the shopping, Gran, but the meat’s a bit pathetic. Scrag end. It’s all I could get.’

  ‘It’ll do, love. Your mam’s getting to be a dab hand at making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.’

  At that moment Peggy ran lightly down the stairs and entered the living room. Myrtle’s eyebrows reached her fringe this time as she saw that her sister was dressed for an evening out. She smirked as she asked pointedly, ‘Going to see Bob, are you?’

  Peggy flushed as she stammered, ‘No, no, I – we’re going to the pictures.’ Her blush deepened as she saw Myrtle’s disapproving glance go from her face to Terry’s and back again. Then the younger girl shrugged and turned away, but not before Peggy had seen the gleam in her eyes. Peggy shuddered as she realized that the moment Rose stepped through the door, she’d hear about Peggy going out with the soldier.

  And no doubt, not long after that, Bob would know too.

  Twenty-One

  ‘She’s gone out with him.’

  Rose closed the door, pulled the blackout curtain across it, switched on the hall light and turned to face her young sister. ‘Give us a chance to get in the house, our Myrtle. What are you on about?’

  ‘Him. Terry What’s-his-name. Peggy’s gone to the pictures with him.’

  Rose stared at her for a moment before saying tartly, ‘Has she indeed? We’ll have to see about that, then, won’t we, Myrtle?’ And Myrtle smirked.

  ‘Do Gran and Mam know?’

  ‘Mam’s not home till eight, but Gran knows.’

  ‘And?’

  Myrtle shrugged. ‘She doesn’t seem bothered.’

  Rose snorted and marched into the kitchen. ‘’Lo, Gran. You all right?’

  ‘Fine. Your tea’s all ready. Keeping hot in the oven.’

  ‘Thanks.’ There was a slight pause before Rose added, ‘What’s this about Peggy going to the pictures with the soldier?’

  Grace glanced up. There was no mistaking the belligerence in Rose’s tone. Grace raised her eyebrows. ‘No harm in it, is there? He seems like a nice lad.’

  ‘No harm in it, you say? ’Course there’s harm in it, Gran. Or could be. She’s supposed to be Bob’s girl. What if he finds out?’

  Grace eyed h
er granddaughter over her steel-rimmed spectacles. ‘He’s unlikely to – unless, of course, you tell him.’

  Rose reddened. It had been in her mind to do just that, but now she said lamely, ‘Someone from work might see them and tell him.’

  ‘They easily might,’ Grace said. ‘But not many of them would run tittle-tattling to Bob, especially – ’ she added pointedly – ‘whilst he’s still recovering from the accident. Leave it be, Rose, there’s a good lass. Things have a habit of working themselves out for the best without any meddling from others.’

  Her tea forgotten, Rose sat down slowly in the chair opposite her grandmother, while Myrtle stood near the table, listening intently. She kept quiet. For once, it seemed, she might be privy to a family discussion instead of being sent out of the room. If she just kept quiet, the other two seemed to have forgotten about her.

  ‘So he’s charmed you an’ all, has he?’ Rose said softly.

  Grace shook her newspaper. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rose. Get your tea else it’ll be dried to a cinder.’ She glanced up. ‘Myrtle . . .’

  The girl held her breath. Here it came; Myrtle, go to your room. But instead, Grace said, ‘Get your sister’s tea out of the oven.’

  Myrtle scuttled to do as she was asked, but left the door between the living room and the kitchen open so that she could still hear what was being said.

  ‘You know very well what I’m talking about, Gran,’ Rose spat.

  Grace frowned. ‘Don’t take that tone with me, my girl. This is my house and I’ll say who comes into it and who doesn’t.’

  ‘And don’t we know it,’ Rose muttered.

  ‘What did you say?’ The two women, two generations apart, glared at each other, neither willing to back down.

  Rose was heartily sick of having the fact that they were living in this house by Grace’s charity rammed down their throats. They were never allowed to forget that they owed the roof over their heads to her. And in her turn Grace had often longed to have her home to herself. But now they both knew they were trapped in a situation that was unlikely to alter. And they both knew the reason, though it would never be voiced aloud.

  Grace was getting old. Whilst she was still active and well able to care for herself at the moment, now was not a good time for the family to leave and seek a place of their own, even though, with three wages coming into the house, they could probably afford to do so. Besides, both Rose and Grace were thinking exactly the same thought: Mary would never hear of such a thing.

  Rose was the first to drop her gaze. ‘Nothing, Gran.’

  Grace pursed her lips and said no more, though she’d heard what her ungrateful granddaughter had said. There was nothing wrong with her hearing, even if they all thought she was in her dotage.

  Myrtle came back into the room, carrying the hot plate carefully. She set it on the table. ‘Come and get it, Rose, while it’s still hot.’

  With a sigh, Rose got up. ‘Well, I think it’s wrong anyway. And I shall tell our Peggy so when she gets home.’

  Grace laughed wryly. ‘I’ve no doubt you will. But just remember, Peggy’s of age. She’s twenty-two next month. She can do what she likes and none of us can stop her.’

  There was a pause before Rose said slyly, ‘But like you’ve just said, Gran. This is your house and you could stop him coming here – if you wanted to.’

  ‘But I don’t.’

  ‘So – what about Bob?’

  ‘Ah, so now we’re coming to it. Just tell me something, Rose. Is it your sister you’re concerned about? Or Bob?’

  Rose, her knife and fork suspended momentarily in midair, stared at her grandmother for a long moment. Then, without answering, she bent her head and began to pick at the meal in front of her.

  All of her sudden, her appetite had deserted her.

  When Myrtle realized that the conversation was at an end – for the moment – she went up to her bedroom to start her homework. But half an hour later, when she heard the front door open and close and knew her mother had come home, she slipped quietly down the stairs and sidled into the room, trying hard not to be noticed.

  ‘Did you know?’ Rose demanded before her mother had taken off her coat and hung it on the clothes pegs in the hall.

  ‘Just let me get near the fire, Rose love. I’m freezing.’ As she moved into the living room, Mary added, ‘Know what, love?’

  ‘About Peggy and the soldier?’

  Mary blinked and stared at her daughter. ‘Rose, what on earth are you talking about?’

  Impatiently, Rose said, ‘Terry. He’s been here – again – and they’ve gone to the pictures.’

  Mary frowned. ‘I see.’

  ‘No, I don’t think you do. What about Bob? Nobody seems to care about Bob and how he’s going to feel.’

  ‘You seem to care enough for all of us,’ Grace muttered.

  Rose swung round on her and opened her mouth, but closed it again when she felt her mother’s warning touch on her arm.

  ‘I’ve told her,’ Grace went on, pretending not to have noticed Rose’s reaction, ‘that Peggy’s a big girl now and she can do what she likes.’

  Rose bit her lip, stemming another outburst, promising herself that she wouldn’t tell her mother everything that Grace had said; Mary had already had to put up with remarks about her and her family living in Grace’s house for years. Rose wouldn’t add to that burden. But she’d reckoned without Myrtle.

  ‘Like Gran always says,’ the girl said softly, ‘it’s her house and she’s the one to say who comes into it and who doesn’t.’

  Mary turned her gentle eyes on her youngest daughter, guessing exactly what had been said.

  ‘Haven’t you got homework to do, Myrtle?’ Rose snapped and then turned back to her mother, patting her hand. ‘I’ll get your tea, Mam.’

  Myrtle trailed back upstairs, wishing she’d kept quiet. Now she wouldn’t hear any more. But she needn’t have worried; the subject as far as the three women downstairs were concerned was closed, yet it lingered in each of their minds.

  Just what was Peggy thinking of?

  Peggy was thinking how nice it was to have Terry’s arm around her shoulders. They were sitting in the back row of the darkened cinema, amongst all the courting couples, the only light coming from the flickering screen. Very slowly she turned her head to look at him and found him staring at her. The cinema was only about a quarter full, most unusually for a Saturday night. They’d made their way through the unlit streets, clinging to each other as they stumbled over bomb-damaged paths. Grotesque shapes loomed in the darkness; half a building left standing, furniture teetering drunkenly on sloping floors and the house next door reduced to a pile of rubble. Fitful moonlight illuminated the scene briefly and Peggy couldn’t recognize the streets she’d known so well that she could have found her way around the city centre blindfolded. But not any more. Not since Hitler’s bombers had paid them a visit. They’d headed for a cinema they’d heard was still open and now they were sitting close together in the darkness, hardly aware of the fictional romance being played out on the screen.

  ‘You’re lovely, Peggy,’ Terry whispered. ‘Do you know that?’ He traced the outline of her face with his finger and then leaned closer. His kiss was gentle and endearingly hesitant, not bold or demanding. Her heart felt as if it was doing somersaults in her breast and her knees trembled like a young schoolgirl experiencing her first kiss. It was not the first time Peggy had been kissed, but it was the first time she had felt like this. Now she understood what all the romantic novels talked about, what the lovers on the screen portrayed. It was the feeling she should have when Bob kissed her, but she didn’t. She had never in her life felt like this before.

  Peggy put her arm around Terry’s neck and kissed him in return.

  ‘I won’t come in. I don’t think I’ll be very welcome.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Of course you will.’

  They were standing outside the front door of Peggy’s h
ome. The night was pitch black and because there were no streetlights, not even a chink of light showing from any of the houses, they were safe from prying eyes.

  ‘Not by Rose. No, darling, I’ll go.’

  They’d walked home through the blackout, stopping every so often to kiss and hold each other close. Words were unnecessary between them; they both knew they were falling in love and there was nothing they could do about it, even if they’d wanted to. And they didn’t.

  Terry kissed her again gently and then with a growing ardour. He drew back and chuckled. ‘I really had better go.’

  ‘Oh, please, not yet, just another five minutes.’

  He groaned and buried his face against her neck. ‘I don’t want to go at all, Peggy, but I must. I have to go back to camp tomorrow.’

  ‘You’ll write, won’t you?’

  ‘I’m not much of a letter writer, Peg. Sorry, but I hated school and bunked off as much as I could. So my learning’s not up to much.’

  They lingered over their last kiss, touching hands to the very last minute until he had to go, swallowed up by the black night and leaving her bereft and feeling so alone as she turned at last to enter the house and face the recriminations of her family. His final words to her were, ‘I’ll be back, Peggy darling. I promise I’ll come back. Don’t ever doubt that, will you?’

  Twenty-Two

  The house was silent, the fire banked down for the night and all the lights turned off. Peggy crept upstairs to the room she shared with her mother, undressed in the darkness and slipped into her own single bed. She lay there, staring wide-eyed towards the ceiling reliving every moment of her evening with Terry. His face was in her mind’s eye; his dark hair, cut to army regulation shortness, his dark brown eyes, so soft and loving – yes, loving – and the way his whole face seemed to light up when he smiled. She could still feel his arms around her and the touch of his mouth on hers.

  Sleep, when it came at last, was restless and filled with dreams of the handsome young soldier.

  No one spoke at breakfast. Myrtle was a long time finishing her cereal, glancing around the table as if waiting for someone to speak, but no one did. Then she asked for a piece of toast.