by Jane Healey
“You’re hilarious, Fi,” Viv said, unamused. “I’ve already got the shakes just from hearing that damn siren. And I can’t believe I can’t smoke in class.”
“I need coffee. And I’m never going to get used to the sirens,” Dottie said, trying to glance out the windows as we climbed the staircase.
We found the classroom on the second floor. It was a lecture hall that had rows of chairs facing a lectern and chalkboard. As we worked our way over to three empty seats in the front, we waved and said hello, chatting with different groups of girls as we passed. I looked around for Blanche, Martha, and Frankie but didn’t see them.
Ten minutes later, the door opened and Judith Chambers walked in holding some files, followed by two other women in Red Cross uniforms and two army officers. The hall quieted down as Miss Chambers took to the lectern. One of the women with her started writing on the chalkboard:
CLUBMOBILE TRAINING
AIR RAID PRECAUTIONS
ANTI-GAS PRECAUTIONS, TREATMENT, AND RESPIRATION DRILLS
FIRST AID REFRESHER
AMBULANCE WORK AND STRETCHER BEARING
GMC TRUCK DRIVING (INCLUDING BLACKOUT DRIVING) AND BRITISH DRIVER’S LICENSE TEST
DOUGHNUT AND COFFEE MAKING
“Good morning, ladies. A warm welcome to your first day of training in London,” Miss Chambers said in a booming voice, smiling out at us. “The sirens are due to what we’ve dubbed the ‘eight o’clock express’ buzz bombs. They’re hoping to catch military personnel on their way to breakfast or work. But not to worry. Someone will come to notify us if we have to be evacuated to the basement.”
“Oh, swell,” Dottie whispered to me. “At least if they ship us out to the country, there will be fewer buzz bombs, right?”
“I have no idea,” I whispered back.
“We have a lot to pack into eight days of training, not to mention other required administrative tasks like dispensing your battle dress trouser uniforms, ration cards, and other necessities,” Miss Chambers continued. “I’m going to break you up into—”
Just then, the door flew open, and a few girls jumped up in panic, no doubt thinking we had to evacuate. But it was Blanche, Martha, and Frankie. Blanche and Martha looking slightly disheveled and bleary-eyed. It was possible they had slept in their uniforms. And Blanche’s alabaster complexion had a distinctly greenish hue.
“Oh boy, did either of you hear them come home last night?” Viv whispered, giving us an amused look. Dottie and I both shook our heads.
“Ahem.” Miss Chambers gave them a tight smile as they all murmured apologies for being late. “Nice of you to join us, ladies.”
Heads down, they hurried over and took seats a couple of rows behind us. Miss Chambers cleared her throat and gave them a pointed look before she began speaking again.
“Before I break you up into groups for training, now is a good time to discuss a few of the requirements of being a Red Cross Clubmobile girl. This is, as you know, a prestigious assignment, and you all went through a rigorous selection process. After completion of your training here in London, you will be out in the field, working very much on your own with the military except for check-ins by your section captain. And I will also be stopping by to evaluate on occasion to make sure things are shipshape in each group.
“In regard to your behavior, we hold you to the highest standards, and you all must abide by the rules of the Red Cross and the army, laid out to you in the guidelines you received in DC. Some of the most important guidelines to remember are, number one, follow the army’s requests and regulations. And number two, adhere to a midnight curfew, unless special permission is granted. Number three? Always be on time. The army waits for no one. And being late in a war zone? That can put you in harm’s way, or even get you killed.”
She said this last part while looking directly at Martha, Blanche, and Frankie, who were all sitting low in their chairs, trying to hide under their caps. I turned and caught a glimpse of Frankie’s face; she looked furious.
Other girls in the room started to squirm in their seats, whispering to each other. Viv glanced at me and rolled her eyes, fiddling with an imaginary cigarette. Dottie refused to look our way. She was a rule follower, and the buzz bombs had really gotten to her. Her olive complexion was pale, and she looked straight at the front of the room. Miss Chambers picked up every cue from her audience.
“Now, I know this all sounds harsh,” she said, gripping the lectern and scanning the room, trying to make eye contact with as many of us as she could. “But understand that you have just arrived at the doorstep of a war you’ve only experienced in newspapers. In less than two weeks, you’ll know more than ever what being close to the front lines of this conflict is like. This job is a privilege, but I promise you, it will challenge you more than anything you’ve ever done. You’ve got to be prepared. That’s what the guidelines are for; that’s what the training this week is for.”
Nobody was whispering anymore. The room was silent while the sirens outside blared on.
“If it appears you cannot abide by the guidelines,” Miss Chambers said, “or if we decide that you are not up to the assignment, understand that the Red Cross reserves the right to send you home immediately.”
I held my breath at that comment. The atmosphere was tense and uncomfortable as we all looked around at each other, very uneasy now. Nobody here wanted to go home. It wouldn’t happen to us. I would make sure of it.
“Um, didn’t we volunteer for this? And she’s threatening to send people home on the first day? Way to boost morale, don’t you think?” Viv said under her breath.
“Not exactly,” I said. “But I’m not worried about being sent home.”
Despite the warning, I still felt confident that Viv, Dottie, and I had the whole package. We had education, personality, and talents. Though Dottie was shy, I was sure she’d make up for that with her musical gifts. We would be fine.
“Fiona? Fiona, pay attention. They’re breaking us up into groups for training,” Dottie said, grabbing me by the arm. “We’re in air raid precautions first. Let’s go!”
“Jesus Christ, now I’ve seen everything!” Corporal McAllister bellowed as he walked over to Viv. She had her gas mask on and had pulled out a compact, arranging her curls fetchingly around the gray rubber. A bunch of us started laughing.
“There, that’s better,” Viv said, voice muffled behind her mask as she snapped her compact shut and put it in her pocket.
“Are you finished, miss?” McAllister asked. He was standing in front of her with his hands on his hips, chest puffing out, bald head shining in the afternoon sun. He had the weary look of a teacher who had lost all patience.
Viv gave him two thumbs up, which for no real reason made us all start giggling more. After spending the day in a first aid training refresher course and an air raid precaution lesson, we had just arrived by bus for our final session of the afternoon.
We were thirty minutes outside of London at the US military base Camp Griffiss in Bushy Park, the second largest royal park in London. In peacetime, I was sure the park was lovely, but now much of its eleven hundred acres had been transformed for the war. Its ponds and fountains had been drained and covered with camouflaged netting to hide any topographical markings from the enemy. A landing strip for small aircraft had been built, as well as multiple tank courses, and there were anti-aircraft or “ack-ack” batteries everywhere you looked.
Feeling slightly ridiculous, two dozen of us stood in a muddy open field ripe with the smell of horse manure, as we attempted to put on our gas masks. We looked like alien creatures when we finally succeeded.
It had rained the night before, and the air was so muggy my clothes were sticking to me. The corporal had us take off the masks and put them on half a dozen more times to make sure we all knew how to wear and adjust them correctly.
Two jeeps full of GIs drove by the field. When they spotted us, the soldiers leaned out the windows and started whistling and hollering.
We waved and blew kisses back at them with our masks on, which made them start cheering even more.
“Settle down, ladies,” McAllister said with a grunt.
Dottie and I were watching now as the exasperated corporal helped Viv adjust her gas mask correctly for the sixth time.
“Driving lessons this week should be interesting,” I said, as I tried to pull the tangled strands of hair out of my gas mask, “given that I’ve driven, oh, three times in my life.”
I took a deep breath. Driving was the one thing that I was nervous about in all the training. I was a city girl and didn’t even have a license.
“That’s three more times than me,” Dottie answered.
“The country girls will have had much more experience than us,” I said.
“Yeah, Martha drives tractors,” Dottie said. “And she’s not the only one.”
“Hey, Boston.” Frankie came up behind us, whipping off her gas mask like she’d been doing it all her life. Her curls were sticking up in all directions.
“Frankie, what happened last night?” I asked.
“Honestly, I was ready to leave when you did, but Blanche and Martha begged me to stay,” Frankie answered, rolling her eyes. “And then we were dancing, which was fun, but, shame on me, I completely lost track of time. Would you believe that club is open around the clock? We got three hours of sleep. And did you see the look on Miss Chambers’s face? She was not happy with us. I’m still so mad at myself for agreeing to stay; I knew I should have left. I told those two that’s the absolute last time I’m ever getting on Miss Chambers’s bad side. I will not get kicked out. It’s bad enough I was rejected from the WASPs.”
“I’m not surprised Blanche wanted to stay,” I said.
“Of course she did,” Frankie said, shaking her head. “I swear the only reason that girl is here is to flirt with officers.”
“But Martha’s the one that surprises me,” I said. “I didn’t think the farm girl had it in her.”
“Oh, Martha can dance,” Frankie said. “She’s not as good as that Adele Astaire, but she was knocking it out. Where do you even go to dance in Orange City, Iowa? In the cornfields? Every guy in the place wanted a chance to jitterbug with her. Anyway, we have rooftop duty tonight, Fiona. You ready for it?” Frankie asked. I had forgotten she had volunteered me.
“Sure, Frankie,” I said, aggravated. Do I have a choice?
“All right, I want you eight,” the corporal said, picking out me, Dottie, Frankie, and Viv along with four other girls. “You’ve all been chatty; you seem ready to be the first to go through the drill in the tear gas chamber.” He pointed to the small wooden shack a hundred yards away.
“Right now?” Doris, a proper Southern girl from Alabama, said, frowning at the shed. “In our dress uniforms?”
“Yes, right now in your dress uniforms,” McAllister said, imitating her voice, Southern accent and all. “You can’t exactly take them off.”
We trooped over to the sad-looking, windswept shack as he gave us the final instructions for the tear gas test. He led us inside, and we fumbled with our masks as fast as we could, holding our breath for as long as possible. In less than thirty seconds, the corporal led us out of the other side of the shed.
Choking, gagging, shrieking, and laughing, we stumbled out of the shed and tried to remove our masks.
“Now get down low to the ground and smell for gas before removing your masks,” he said to us.
We were standing in a huge slick of mud behind the shed. We looked around at each other in our dress uniforms and just nodded to him. Nobody wanted to get too low.
“No, get down, WAY DOWN! Now!” he screamed.
The scream startled all of us, and I squatted with Viv and Dottie as Frankie, Doris, and the other three girls flung themselves down in the mud. I felt it dripping from my cheeks.
“What in God’s name are you doing?” McAllister asked them.
“You said lay down!” Frankie looked up at him. “I’m doing what you said, I’m laying down.”
“I said way down, not lay down,” McAllister said.
“Well, from under the gas mask it sounded like lay down,” Frankie said, exasperated, as she tried to push herself up out of the mud.
McAllister was red-faced, his thin mouth a tight line. But this time his stern expression started to crack. “I said . . .” And then he couldn’t hold it. He had been biting his lip, but he broke into a smile and started to laugh, turning around and walking away to compose himself. That was all it took for the group of us to start howling with laughter.
Dottie was laughing so hard, she wobbled and fell back from her squatting position and went legs up, her bottom half fully soaked in mud and her glasses covered in so much muck we couldn’t see her eyes. I looked over at Viv as she was trying desperately to extract herself from the mess and stay clean, but it was far too late; her skirt was splattered, and her shoes were barely visible. She was laughing so hard, tears streamed down her muddy face.
“Making doughnuts and driving has to be easier than this,” I said to Dottie as Viv and I tried to pull her up, all of us still giggling.
“It better be,” Viv said. “Look at what today has done to my nails. I’ve got to repaint them when we get back.”
Dottie and I just looked at each other and rolled our eyes. If Viv’s manicures survived the war, it would be a miracle.
That night, back at Park Street, after a cold shower and a hot meal, I met Frankie up on the roof. I wouldn’t have seen her sitting in the far corner on a wooden crate if not for the end of her cigarette glowing in the darkness. There was a nice summer breeze, and also that familiar acrid smell, a reminder that war was all around us.
“Hi,” I said, walking up to her, still clutching the unopened letter that had been waiting for me when we got back from training.
“Hey, I found two crates to sit on,” she said, motioning to a second one.
“Thank you. Any action so far?” I asked.
“Nah, quiet tonight. It looks so eerie out there—not a light in sight.”
“Someday I’m going to return to London when the lights are back on.”
“I was thinking the same,” Frankie said.
“Where are you from anyway?” I asked. If we were going to be sitting there all night together, I figured I should get to know her better.
“Chicago, Illinois, only the best city on earth,” she said. “Huge Cubs fan, of course.”
“You’re the second person I’ve met from Chicago. What did you do there?” I asked.
“I worked at Marshall Field’s, the department store?” she said. “I was a salesgirl in their shoe department. I loved it, and I was so good at it. I was one of the top salespeople every month.”
“Why does that not surprise me? So why leave to do this?”
“Well, I’m not a nurse, and they wouldn’t let me fly,” she said. “I needed to do something in the war. This job is the closest I can get to real combat.”
“Why in the world would you want to be in actual combat?” I asked.
She was quiet for a moment. Even when she was sitting, her knee bounced up and down, constantly in motion.
“Ever since my husband, Rick, died in the war two years ago, I’ve been wanting to fight back,” she said.
I peered over at her; she was observing the dark city. For a moment, I was at a loss for words.
“Frankie, I . . . I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” I said. She was a war widow. I squeezed the letter tightly.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I thought Blanche had told you—she tells everyone everything.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t okay for a long time. Rick was a bombardier in the US Army Air Corps, killed in North Africa in July of ’42.” She sighed. “I was so angry about it in the beginning. So angry. But you can’t keep feeling that way, or it will drown you.”
She paused for a minute, taking a drag of her cigarette.
“But th
e cliché is true, time heals—at least it’s started to heal for me. And being here? It’s exactly what I needed.”
“I understand that,” I said in a soft voice. We were both quiet for a minute, watching the sky. “Did Blanche tell you about my fiancé, Danny?”
Frankie nodded, looking me in the eye. “’Course,” she said. “The not knowing must be torture. You must wonder all the time—where is he? Did he get out? Is he in Germany? Is he—” She stopped herself.
“Is he gone?” I said, finishing her thought. “It is torture.”
I took a deep breath of the chilly night air before I started talking again. Now I understood Frankie’s commitment to our role here in a way I hadn’t before.
“I still have his last letter from October. I keep it in the bottom of my musette bag. I haven’t read it in a while, because I practically have it memorized and it just makes me too sad. He always ended his letters ‘I’ll be seeing you . . .’ Like the song.”
Frankie nodded. We were part of a club nobody ever wanted to be a member of. But it was an immediate bond, one I was grateful to have here.
“Thank you for telling me about Rick. It’s nice to talk to someone who understands. Viv and Dottie have been so supportive, but . . .”
“But they don’t really get it,” she said.
“No, and I hope they never do.” I looked down at the envelope in my hand.
“Is that a letter from home?”
“Yes,” I said. “From my family. And I’m dying to open it because I miss them so much, but I’m almost afraid to open it because they might have news about Danny. It’s from my three younger sisters.”
“You’re really that afraid to open it?” she asked, holding her hand out. “Do you want me to do it?”
I thought about it for a second. “Would you? Please skim it to see if there’s news of him, so I know.” I handed her the envelope.
Frankie carefully opened it and held the letter up close to her face to read it in the glow of her cigarette. I caught a glimpse of my sisters’ three different handwriting styles and the silly pictures they had drawn down the sides of the stationery.