The Beantown Girls

by Jane Healey

  It was our last day with Norman, and we were finally sitting for the written part of the driving exam, proving our newfound knowledge in these areas. It was a fifteen-question test that I felt confident we would all pass, and for the hundredth time I wished that was all we needed to get our British driving licenses.

  After the written exam, Norman was going to take us on the driving test required to receive our licenses. I prayed he would pass us. Despite his best efforts, the three of us remained terrible drivers. Maybe if we had another week to learn, but our time was up. After doughnut training over the next couple of days, we would be on our way to the Midlands, ready or not. At least we would have a driver while we were in England.

  We had spent the last three days driving the roads in and around Bushy Park. Dottie had proved to be way too nervous. She would freeze up and hesitate at the wheel, with a load of army vehicles beeping behind her. Viv had constantly gunned the engine and slammed the brakes, no matter how many times Norman yelled at her. Of the three of us, I was probably the best, which wasn’t saying much. Driving the enormous truck felt awkward, and I didn’t yet have a real sense of control at the wheel.

  “Almost done?” Norman came into the tiny office in his garage, where the three of us were sitting at a small wooden table, finishing up the written exam. I was queasy from nerves, and the strong smell of petrol that permeated the building only made it worse.

  “Done, Norman,” I said with a smile, handing him my exam.

  “All right, Fiona, you’re the first to go, then. You ladies stay and finish,” Norman said to Dottie and Viv.

  “Wait, right this minute?” I asked.

  “Yeah, we only got the morning before your lot have to head back to Grosvenor Square. Let’s go,” he said, already walking out the door.

  “Good luck, Fi. You’ll do fine,” Dottie said.

  “Yeah, definitely don’t screw up,” Viv said. “You’re our best hope.”

  “Gee, thanks, Viv,” I said with sarcasm.

  I walked out to find Norman talking to the boxer turned army captain, Peter Moretti.

  “She’s all set for ya now. You’ll find her round back, keys in the ignition,” Norman said. “New carburetor, new battery, checked the spark plugs. That jeep ain’t going to give you no more trouble under the bonnet.”

  “Let’s hope so. Thank you for getting it done so quickly. Oh, hi.” Moretti nodded to me, guarded and so serious. He was more mature, not like so many of the younger soldiers, who gave us huge, easy smiles and tripped over themselves to befriend some newly arrived American girls.

  “Hello,” I said. “Driving test this morning, for my British license. Pretty excited.” I was doing that nervous thing, talking to fill the air. Pretty excited? Shut up, Fiona.

  “Oh, I guess that’s good,” Moretti replied, clearly not excited for me.

  “Good if she passes,” Norman said, raising his eyebrows. “That’s a big if right now if I’m bein’ honest with ya.”

  “Jeepers, thanks, Norman. You’re worse than Viv,” I said.

  Moretti just shook his head and, almost to himself, said, “Women aren’t meant for war.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” I said, lifting my chin indignantly and looking up at his face, realizing he must be over six foot four. He was giving me a look somewhere between disapproval and skepticism.

  “Women aren’t meant for this. No offense, but you aren’t built for war,” he said.

  “Honestly? Is any civilized person meant for war?” I said. “And lots of women are doing their part. What about the Land Army girls here, or the WAAFs? There are plenty of us working in the war, built for it or not.”

  “Yes, but your work isn’t like those jobs,” Moretti said, frowning at me, his tone tense. “At least the jobs those women do are actually necessary. You’re here to serve doughnuts. And for officers, you’re just another problem for us to worry about.”

  I felt my face grow hot, furious that he viewed us that way. Unnecessary. And of course, I was insecure. How many other officers viewed us as a nuisance they had to deal with?

  Norman was watching this exchange, not hiding the fact he was entertained.

  “Well, I’m . . .” I tried to retain my composure. I didn’t want to give away just how upset I was. I breathed and crossed my arms in front of my chest.

  “I’m really sorry you feel that way, Captain Moretti,” I finally said. “I think we’re going to prove you wrong. And if you and I do happen to be anywhere near each other in the countryside, I promise you my Clubmobile group will never be a problem for you. We’ll stay out of your way.”

  He looked at me for a second, still serious, but then his mouth turned up in that lopsided grin.

  “Yeah, we’ll see,” he said with a shrug. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I know I am,” I said, snapping back a little too harshly.

  “Okay,” he said with a wave good-bye. “I’ll let you get to your test. Thanks again, Norman.”

  “Ta, Captain,” Norman said. “Stay safe.”

  “I will, my friend,” Moretti said. As he walked to retrieve his jeep, he turned around and added, “And Fiona?”

  “Yes?” I said, still fuming. And surprised that he remembered my name.

  “If we do run into each other again? You can call me Peter.” He disappeared behind the back of the garage before I had a chance to answer. I stood there with my mouth open, still angry, and too late to have the last word.

  Norman climbed into the passenger seat, which, to my American brain, was on the wrong side of the car. I was relieved we would have a driver in England. The opposite side of the road and the car had already proved too stressful.

  “He’s one of the best, ya know,” Norman said. “Comes across as gruff, but those Eighty-Second boys . . .”

  “I know, I know. The Eighty-Second Airborne is the best, top-notch, blah, blah,” I said, my face burning when I thought of how dismissive Captain Moretti had been. “He didn’t have to insult my entire reason for being here.”

  “You ain’t got no understanding of what he’s been through,” Norman said. “I told youse, the Eighty-Second was over in Normandy for four weeks without relief. They lost so many blokes. And the things they seen . . . seeing their brothers blown up? You ain’t got no idea what that does to a man. He’s been beaten down by this war, he has. All he wants is to keep the men he’s got left alive, and he don’t want nothin’ to distract him from doing that.”

  I looked at Norman, my anger receding. He was right, but I still hoped I didn’t run into Captain Moretti . . . Peter . . . again.

  “Now, ya ready, then?” Norman asked as I buckled in.

  “Do I have a choice?” I said, feeling like I was going to throw up.

  “Nah. Let’s get on with it.”

  It was a humid, drizzly day, so of course I was already sweating from the warmth and nerves as I put the truck in gear, gassed the motor, and drove straight ahead. We drove by a group of GIs playing football in an open field, and they started cheering me on, whistling and calling out things like, “Yeah, Red Cross, you can do it!” It did nothing to calm my nerves, but I couldn’t help but laugh.

  We reached a hill, and I crossed my fingers that I didn’t have to shift again to make it over the top, so of course I had to. The gears didn’t mesh, I forgot to press the gas pedal at the right time, and there I was with Norman, stalled out, ten minutes into my test. I gave him a sheepish look and started to apologize, but he calmly grabbed the hand brake and said, “Relax. And remember to double clutch right away if you need to climb a hill like this one.”

  I nodded and took a deep breath. My dreams of confidently acing my driving test shattered, I stomped on the starter, the engine roared, and we took off once more. We went by barracks and huts and the mess hall. I was feeling better as we headed out toward the tank course and up over a hill, when a tree seemed to sprout up in the middle of the road as we came down the other side. I turned sharply to the right, cursi
ng as we veered off the road, down through some bushes, surprising a couple of deer grazing. I managed to hit the brakes just before we ended up driving straight into a pond covered with camouflage netting.

  I closed my eyes and heard Norman let out a long sigh.

  “You think you’re pioneerin’ or somethin’, Miss Denning?” he said, and I was relieved to hear amusement in his voice.

  “I’m so sorry, it was just that tree . . . ,” I said.

  “Back it up now, turn it around,” he said. “You can do that, can’t ya? There’s an actual road to the left, round that tree. Downshift in order to slow down without them brakes.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” I said, wiping away the sweat dripping down my forehead.

  As I backed up, I glanced over at the deer, who were looking at me as if to say even they could do better.

  We got back on course, and the rest of the trip was mercifully without incident. I drove through a few bomb craters, lots of mud and ditches, and we finally made our way to the smooth and steady roads around Camp Griffiss. I stopped the truck a few hundred feet away from the garage. If Norman wasn’t going to pass me, I wanted to hear it from him out of earshot of Viv and Dottie. I wondered how many Clubmobile girls before me had flunked the driving test. I leaned on the wheel, my head resting against my hands, holding my breath for the verdict.

  “Well, wasn’t a complete disaster, was it, then?” Norman said, emphasizing “was it” with the now-familiar-to-me British inflection. He rubbed his hand over his face.

  “Look, none of you are very good, are you?” he said, and I started cracking my knuckles, waiting. He paused for what felt like an eternity, looking out the windshield before finally adding, “But you’ll get along all right if you have to.”

  “Yes!” I said, and without thinking about it, I leaned over and gave Norman a hug. “Thank you, thank you so much, Norman.” When I pulled away, he was blushing but smiling.

  “Promise me,” he said, “you’ll keep practicin’. You ain’t ever going to get better if not. And you have to be if they ship you to France. You’re the best hope of the lot, though Dorothy is pretty good under the bonnet—she’s got that part figured out. Viviana is rather hopeless, isn’t she? Used to fellas driving her round, maybe.”

  “Maybe,” I said, feeling my stomach knot up again. “Are you . . . Do you think they’ll pass too?”

  “I think if they don’t crash into nothin’, yeah, they’ll pass,” he said. “Despite what the captain said, the army needs you girls too much for them not to. Now let’s go get you that British license, then.”

  I wanted to hug him again, but I knew one hug was more than enough for our kind old British mechanic.

  The next morning, the three of us were newly licensed despite ourselves as we reunited with a bunch of our Clubmobile friends for the final training session: doughnut and coffee making.

  “Well, this will be much better than yesterday,” I said to Viv as we walked into a cavernous garage where there were multiple stations set up with doughnut-making machines.

  “Again, as long as it doesn’t mess with my manicure, everything will be fine,” Viv said.

  “Hey, gals, Dottie says you’re going to the Paramount Sunday night to see some music. Can some of the other girls and I join you?” Blanche said as she walked up behind us with Dottie.

  “Of course,” I said. “We’re going to make Dottie look particularly glamorous that evening.”

  “Oh no, you don’t really need to do that. It’s fine,” Dottie said, but it was clear she wasn’t over her crush on Joe Brandon.

  “Gather round, gather round, girls,” Miss Chambers’s distinct voice echoed off the walls when she called out to us from one of the stations at the opposite end of the garage.

  “Very exciting, your final days of training before you head off,” she said when we were all in a semicircle around the station. “In front of me is one of the machines loaned to the Red Cross by the Doughnut Corporation of America. The good news is they can produce massive amounts of doughnuts in a short period of time—forty-eight dozen an hour. The bad news is that they are delicate, temperamental, and filled with hot oil. We just had to send a girl home because of severe burns, so you must be extremely careful operating them.”

  “Lovely,” I whispered under my breath.

  “The whole process requires attention and skill and three people to keep it all going. Now pick a station with your crew, and we’ll get started.”

  We took a station next to Blanche, Martha, and Frankie.

  “Hey, gals, how were your driving exams?” Frankie asked. “Martha here was an ace—all that tractor driving, even the GIs were impressed. Blanche and I did okay in the end; we all passed easily. I saw you stalled out on that hill at Griffiss yesterday, Fiona, and I wanted to come over to help; I felt so bad. Did your instructor pass you?”

  “Yes,” I said. Just at that moment, Miss Chambers walked by, checking our machines to make sure the heat switch was on, and I saw her take note of this comment. I tried to shush Frankie with my eyes, but of course she was so busy fiddling with the doughnut machine, she didn’t even notice.

  “And Dottie told me about how you went off the road and almost hit a deer?” Frankie said, cringing. “You’re so lucky he still passed you. Thank God you won’t need to drive unless you’re shipped to the Continent. Sounds like you’re going to need some more practice before that.”

  Miss Chambers had moved on to other groups, but I was sure she had heard that too.

  Dottie looked at me, apologizing with her eyes. She was about to speak when Blanche, lowering her voice, said, “Um, Frankie, honey, I think Fiona is too polite to tell you to shut your trap.” She put a hand on her shoulder. “She doesn’t want Miss Chambers hearing anything that will keep her from getting to the Continent at some point, you know?”

  Frankie dropped the doughnut tongs she was holding, and her hand flew up to her mouth.

  “Oh, Fi, I’m so sorry. I was just going to offer to go driving with you, to help you if I could,” she said, and I knew she felt terrible. “But I don’t think she heard me.”

  “No, she was only two feet from you. Of course she didn’t hear,” Viv said, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

  “It’s fine, Frankie,” I said, my voice tight. “And I don’t need you to go driving with me. Thanks anyway.” After our talk on the roof, I understood why Frankie was so gung ho, but I couldn’t help but be annoyed by the driving critique right in front of Miss Chambers. I was sure she had heard every word.

  “Now, ladies, first mix the dough in the large metal cylinder bowls on your station,” Miss Chambers said, standing at a doughnut station at the front of the room again. “To turn the premade mix into dough, you must weigh the doughnut flour and water carefully and take the temperatures of both. There’s instructions at your stations, so let’s get started.”

  “Wait, so we’re in the field, there are four hundred GIs waiting in line for doughnuts, but we have to weigh and take the temperature of the water and flour every time? Is she serious?” Dottie said this to us in a soft voice as we placed the flour on a tiny scale.

  “I know, that seems crazy,” I said.

  “Water that’s too cold will make the doughnuts absorb too much fat,” explained Miss Chambers, as she walked around the room. “Water that’s too warm will make them even worse, so you’ve got to get it just right. Once you’ve got the measurements and temps right, you can start mixing.”

  “Um, Miss Chambers?” Viv said, smiling sweetly at our instructor.

  “Yes, Viviana?” Miss Chambers answered, walking over to our station.

  “We’re ready to pour everything in the cylinder bowl, but I don’t see anything to mix with. What should we use?” Viv said.

  “You’ve got six hands between the three of you. That’s what you mix with,” Miss Chambers said, amused.

  “Oh no, there’s got to be a better way,” Viv said, stepping back from the bowl in horror.
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  Miss Chambers shook her head. “No other way,” she said. She pointed to the sifted flour and water. “Now mix them together with your hands. Go ahead, I’ll walk the group through it.”

  “Me?” Viv asked. “Mix it by hand?” She was appalled at the thought as she looked at Miss Chambers and then down at her perfectly manicured crimson nails.

  “Go ahead, Viv,” I said, biting my lip to keep from laughing.

  “Yeah, Viv, go ahead. Show us how it’s done,” Dottie chimed in, also trying too hard to remain serious.

  “Yes, dear, let’s go,” Miss Chambers said, growing impatient at Viv’s hesitation.

  Viv grimaced as she poured the water and flour together. She stared into the mixture with dread, took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and plunged her beautiful hands in. Dottie and I could not even look at each other because we were both about to burst into laughter. Poor Princess Viv.

  “That’s it, really get in there,” Judith Chambers said, towering over Viv as she peered into the bowl. “Those lumps that you feel? That’s the sugar and eggs in the mix that make a good doughnut. You’ve got to work those lumps out of the dough.”

  “Work them out, Viv,” Blanche said, and I realized she, Frankie, and Martha were also enjoying the show.

  When Miss Chambers was satisfied with the job Viv was doing, she moved on to help the other groups. As soon as she walked away, we all burst into laughter.

  “Yeah, yeah, have a good laugh. You gals all happy now?” Viv said, scowling at us with dramatic flair. “You better watch out, or I’ll throw a lump at one of you. I cannot believe we have to do this in the field. I can’t believe I have to do this to my nails.” She pulled one of her hands out of the bowl. It was a gooey mess. “Oh my God! Look at this; it’s totally stripped my nail polish already. These doughnuts are going to be chock-full of bright-red nail polish chips.”

  “And made with love by a Clubmobile girl,” I said, as we all continued laughing.