The Beantown Girls

by Jane Healey

  The sirens were so loud outside, I was amazed we hadn’t heard them. I brushed my hair back from my face with shaking hands. I had almost adjusted to the constant threat of bombs . . . but not quite.

  “Viv, darling, there you are.” Harry Westwood came up to us as we were waiting for the rest of the girls to file out. Viv gave me a sideways glance with her eyebrows raised.

  “I can arrange for your group to get a ride to where you’re staying on the back of one of the RAF trucks,” he said. “My apologies as it’s not exactly riding in style, but it will get you there safe.”

  “Okay, thank you; it’s about two miles from here,” Viv said. “There are eleven of us.”

  “Good,” he said. “Gather the rest of your friends and wait right here. I’ll be back.” He disappeared into the crowds.

  “Darling?” I said. “He doesn’t even know you.”

  “Who cares, he’s getting us home.” She paused before adding, “And yes, it is a bit forward, but you have to admit, with that British accent? Anything sounds delicious.” We both started laughing.

  Dottie and Blanche came out, followed by Frankie, Martha, the chatterboxes Ruthie and Helen, the Dixie Queen crew, and the rest of our group. We were looking for the RAF truck when Peter Moretti stepped in front of me.

  “Some of my guys have jeeps; we can bring you girls home,” he said. “They’ll be pulling up here in less than a minute . . .”

  “Our chariot has arrived,” Viv announced as a RAF pickup truck pulled up. Harry Westwood was in the passenger seat, and he jumped out and started helping all the girls climb into the back.

  “Oh, it looks like we’ve got a ride,” I said. “But thank you. It was kind of you to think of us.”

  “A RAF truck, huh?” he said, unmistakable annoyance in his voice. “Well, be safe and get home quickly. You’re pretty exposed in the back of that truck, so stay low. Get shelter if you hear a V-1 even remotely close by.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be okay,” I said. It was a total lie, and we both knew it. No one was ever sure.

  “I also just wanted to say I’m . . . I’m sorry if I offended you earlier. Again.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You know more about this war than I do.” I relaxed after his apology, not even realizing how tense I had felt.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Now I . . .”

  “Fi, come on, we’ve got to go now!” Frankie said, standing in the back of the RAF truck.

  “Thank you again,” I said.

  I climbed into the back of the truck with my friends. As it pulled away, I turned back to see Peter Moretti looking at me; he nodded and gave me a small wave before heading into the crowds.

  “Who was that, Fi?” Dottie asked as I sat down next to her.

  “Oh, he’s that captain with the Eighty-Second Airborne I met at Norman’s garage. He offered us a ride too,” I said. “But he’s kind of a grump.”

  “He can’t be all bad if he offered to get us a ride,” Dottie said.

  “I guess,” I said with a sigh.

  I didn’t feel like talking about my discussion with him earlier in the night, especially in front of all the girls in the back of the RAF truck. I was pretty sure Martha and Blanche had each had one drink too many because they were acting like it was a party on wheels. We were totally exposed, with no helmets, but they just kept laughing, yelling, and whistling at all the soldiers we passed.

  The sirens continued to blare as our RAF driver flew through the streets, which were packed with people and vehicles trying to get to safety. I couldn’t hear the now-familiar rumble of the buzz bomb, but there was an undeniable tension in the air. London knew what was coming.

  Chapter Ten

  We made it back to 103 Park Street in no time, and Harry Westwood and the RAF driver helped all eleven of us jump out of the back of the truck. We hurried inside to get our gas masks and prepare to sleep in the basement if necessary.

  “I’ll see you again soon,” Harry said to Viv, who was the last one out. He held her hand for a few seconds longer than was necessary.

  “I won’t hold my breath,” Viv said with a wink and a smile.

  When we entered the foyer, chatting and laughing, Miss Chambers and Liz Anderson were standing there waiting for us. We could hear footsteps and general chaos coming from the rooms upstairs.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. The rest of the group had gone quiet and seemed to have sobered up on the spot. Miss Chambers looked furious.

  “What’s going on is the city is under attack,” Miss Chambers said. “What’s going on is we’ve been waiting for you all to get back for over an hour. You’ll be leaving in your Clubmobiles tonight. Although I seriously question if some of you should be going at all.”

  She looked at me when she said this, and I started to stare down at the floor but thought better of it and just returned her gaze, unblinking. I would show her. We would show her.

  Meanwhile, everyone started asking questions, raising their voices as they tried to talk over each other. Liz Anderson raised her hand for quiet.

  “Let me explain,” she said in a calm, measured voice. She didn’t appear the slightest bit rattled by our late arrival. “With the reports coming in regarding the barrage of V-1s that may be raining down on the city at any moment, we think the safer option is to head out to the Midlands tonight. We’ll be meeting your assigned drivers at Camp Griffiss. I hope to God you’re already packed because you’ve only got twenty minutes to get changed and gather all of your gear. Keep your helmets near you. We’ll ring the bell if we all need to head to the basement.” She clapped her hands together. “Now get moving, and I’ll see you downstairs in twenty.”

  Frankie led us all in a mad dash up the stairs to our rooms. It was mayhem on the upper two floors as girls in various states of dress ran in and out of rooms, packing and getting organized. Footlockers, musettes, helmets, and gas masks were piled up outside some doors, all ready to go. You could feel the nervous anticipation, excitement, and fear in the air.

  Dottie kept running to the window in our dorm room to listen for the too-familiar sound of V-1s as we changed and gathered our things. Viv was not completely packed, so I helped shove the rest of her belongings into her footlocker.

  “Dottie, what did you say to Joe after I left you two?” I asked.

  “He said he really liked me. He thought I was so beautiful,” she said. “And I said, ‘Thank you for the compliment, but what were you saying about your girl back home?’

  “He thinks he loves her, had plans to marry her eventually. But he tried to convince me that since he’s going to be away from her a long time, shouldn’t we have fun in the moment because we’re two people that like each other? And then he tried to kiss me. I excused myself and asked that young kid to dance with me to end the conversation.”

  “You made that kid’s night,” Viv said, laughing.

  “I think I did,” Dottie said with a smile. But then her smile faded. “I still have a terrible crush on Joe. He’s handsome and so talented. And from the start, it was so easy to talk to him—you both know that never happens for me. But what kind of guy is telling his girl back home that he loves her while trying to kiss another one over here?”

  “Good point. You did the right thing,” I said. “And we’re leaving anyway.”

  “True,” she said with a sigh. “I can’t help thinking about what it would be like to kiss him, though.”

  “Plenty of fish in the war, Dots. Fish that don’t think it’s okay to be unfaithful to their girl back home,” Viv said.

  “Five minutes!” Miss Chambers yelled up the stairs. “Trucks arriving in five.”

  We gathered up all of our gear, and out of habit I reached down to feel the letter in the bottom of my musette bag. Except I didn’t feel it. I put my things down and opened the bag to get a better look.

  “Fi, come on,” Dottie said. “What’s the matter?”

  “The envelope with Danny’s last letter to me isn’t in my
bag,” I said, feeling frantic. “I don’t know where I could have put it. It’s not here.”

  Viv and Dottie dropped their things and started checking around the room, under the beds and in their own things. The letter was nowhere.

  “I can’t believe I lost it,” I said, blinking back tears. “It’s the last letter I have from him. How could I be so careless?”

  “Go easy on yourself,” Viv said. “We’ve been on the go since we left Boston. It’s hard to keep track of everything.”

  “Yes, but it isn’t like I lost a pair of socks,” I said. “This matters.”

  “Ladies! Our rides are here,” Liz called from downstairs.

  “We’ve got to go,” Dottie said, taking my hand. “You told me you hadn’t read it in a while because it made you too sad.”

  “I hadn’t read it since we were on the Queen Elizabeth.”

  “Ladies, what are you doing? You’re about to miss your ride.” Liz stood in our door, breathless. She looked at me. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I . . . I lost something, but maybe it’s stuffed in the bottom of my footlocker or somewhere else in my stuff.”

  “Well, come on, then,” Liz said, her impatience evident as she grabbed some of our gear and headed out the door.

  I knew it was gone. But maybe Dottie was right. The letter had been like a weight, heavy in my musette bag, sadness and grief emanating from its tear-stained pages. If I was going to do this job right, maybe it was time to lighten my load a little. At least I still had the photograph of him.

  We looked around our dorm room one last time, but I knew we had to leave. I bit my lip to hold back tears as we headed downstairs.

  The three of us stood in front of our Clubmobile, the Cheyenne, with all of our gear, listening to the incredible snoring coming from the vehicle’s cab. It was loud and nasal, punctuated by an occasional snort. Jimmy English, our designated British driver, was sound asleep, slumped over the steering wheel.

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard someone snore that loud,” I said.

  “I could hear my father from three rooms over, but this man is worse,” said Dottie. She tsk-tsked. “His poor wife.”

  We had arrived at Camp Griffiss minutes earlier with the rest of the girls. In addition to the eight Clubmobiles in Group F, there were two cargo trucks for supplies and a jeep and driver for Liz. We had just said our good-byes to Blanche, Martha, and Frankie as they drove away in their Clubmobile, the Uncle Sam, with their driver, a short, chubby fella named Trevor.

  The air raid sirens were still blaring, and you could hear the occasional sounds of the ack-ack. We hadn’t come close to any buzz bombs yet, but that didn’t mean we wouldn’t. I wanted to get out of the city as fast as we possibly could, which meant waking Jimmy English or driving the Clubmobile myself. I climbed up so I could reach into the window of the driver’s side and tap him on the shoulder.

  “Mr. English, hello? Time to wake up,” I said in his ear. He responded with a loud, rumbling snore that reeked of alcohol.

  “Oh God, he smells like he bathed in a tub of whiskey,” I said, making a sour face at Viv and Dottie.

  “You’re joking,” Viv said. “He’s passed out drunk? That’s fabulous. He’s going to be in great shape to drive us over a hundred miles in a blackout.”

  “We’re the last Clubmobile here,” Dottie said, as we watched the seventh Clubmobile drive away. “What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to get the hell out of here somehow,” I said. This time I stepped up to the cab, grabbed his shoulder, shook him, and in a very loud voice spoke directly into his ear. “Jimmy. Hello, Jimmy! Wake up, time to go.”

  He opened one eye and looked at me with a frown.

  “What the hell do you want?” he said, in a Cockney accent like Norman’s.

  “We want to get out of London. Tonight. Don’t you hear the air raid sirens? I’m Fiona, this is Dottie and Viv, and you’re our driver.”

  “What time’s it?” he asked, sitting up and rubbing his face. He had a spiky black forest of hair and at least three days of stubble on his face.

  “It’s time to leave. How long have you been passed out?” Viv asked, lighting up a cigarette.

  “Give me a fag, will ya?” he said, looking at Viv’s pack of Chesterfields. I jumped off the truck so he could open the door and get out. Viv handed him a cigarette and her book of matches. He was a lean, wiry guy with a compact build. From the lines around his eyes, I guessed him to be in his late forties.

  “Ain’t we leaving in the mornin’?” he said, looking at all of our gear on the ground. “What happened?”

  “If you thought we were leaving in the morning, why were you sleeping in the truck now?” Dottie asked.

  “Me mate dropped me here after the pub,” he said with a shrug. “Already packed. Got no reason to go home if I got to be here at dawn.”

  “So you didn’t even know about the decision to leave tonight?” I said.

  “Red Cross lady came by. Is that what she was sayin’, then?” he said, referring to Liz Anderson. “I was knackered. Didn’t hear a word of it.”

  “You were dead asleep,” I said. “And yes, we’ve got to leave tonight. Like now. We’re the last ones here. Can you drive? Sounds like you’ve been at the pub.”

  “Smells like he was at the pub,” Viv said under her breath.

  “’Course I can drive,” he said, standing taller.

  “If you can’t, we all took driving lessons,” I said. “We have our British licenses. I can . . . I can try to drive us instead.”

  Viv and Dottie looked at me like I had lost my mind. I stared back at them, silently warning them not to contradict me. Truth was, I was terrified at the thought of driving, but careening through the countryside with a drunk Jimmy English was just as scary.

  Jimmy burst out laughing. He stumbled back and kept roaring with laughter like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

  “What?” I said, crossing my arms. “What’s so funny?”

  “You? Driving this? In a blackout with only the cat-eye lights?” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “That’s brilliant. Norman told me all about youse three.” He pointed at me with his lit cigarette. “You wouldn’t make it two miles, would ya?”

  “Yes, we would,” I said.

  “No, we definitely wouldn’t,” Viv said.

  “Quiet, Viv,” I said.

  “But she’s right, Fi, we need him,” Dottie said. “We need you, Mr. English.”

  “But he’s still drunk,” I said, pointing to him. His dark eyes were glassy and bloodshot. “You do realize that, right? And I don’t think you’d disagree, would you, Mr. English?”

  “Ain’t gonna deny it,” he said with a nod. “But I’m bettin’ I’m a much better driver drunk than your lot is stone sober.”

  I was about to disagree when I heard it. And we all looked to the sky at the sound of the low rumble. It was getting louder by the second.

  “That’s it. That’s them doodlebugs comin’ in, isn’t it?” Jimmy said, stomping out his cigarette. He sprang into action, grabbing our gear and loading it into the Clubmobile. “Ain’t got no more time to argue, ladies.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I said in a whisper as we loaded up all of our things. “We’re really going to let this man drive us?”

  “What choice do we have?” Dottie said. “We only passed our driving exams because Norman gave us a break, and I’m ready to stop shaking from buzz bombs. I want to get out of here.”

  “Amen, Dots,” Viv said. “Time to go.”

  We climbed into the front, four across—it was tight but not terrible. I peeked through the small window into the back, at the tiny kitchen and all of our gear piled up. I suddenly saw a flash of movement and orange fur, and I jumped as it came leaping through the window right at us. Viv screamed.

  “Whoa, kitty. Where in the world did she come from?” I asked. She had jumped onto Jimmy’s lap.

  “Oh
yeah, that’s me cat, Vera Lynn,” Jimmy said as he fired up the Clubmobile. “Had to bring her too; ain’t got no one to care for her.”

  Vera was a scraggly orange cat; her left ear was nicked at the top, and one of her green eyes was partially closed like another cat had punched her.

  “You named your cat after Vera Lynn, the singer?” I said, eyebrows raised, not able to hide my amusement.

  “What’s the deal with Vera’s eye?” Dottie asked.

  “Oh no. No. I hate cats,” Viv said, covering her mouth. In a muffled voice she added, “They steal your breath. Also, Vera needs a bath.” She was sitting next to the window on the opposite side of the cab, and she moved like she was going to open the door and jump out. The cab of the Clubmobile smelled like cigarettes, whiskey, and stinky feline.

  “Keep ’at door shut, miss. We’re goin’,” Jimmy said in a firm voice. I think the incoming buzz bombs had sobered him up, at least I hoped so. He kissed Vera on the head and threw her in the back as she meowed in protest.

  Starting up the Clubmobile, Jimmy hit the gas so hard we all had whiplash. We drove out of the base into the pitch-black night, going easily over seventy miles per hour. Our semi-drunk driver navigated the roads and drove at a breakneck pace, as if the buzz bombs might make a direct hit on us. I said a silent prayer, terrified that if the buzz bombs didn’t get us, Jimmy’s driving surely would.

  Chapter Eleven

  July 31, 1944

  Leicester, England

  My eyes were still closed when I heard the sound of a rooster crowing right outside the window next to my bed, and I remembered we weren’t in London anymore.

  For the entire ride to Leicester the night before, I had gripped the door of the cab with white knuckles, certain we were going to crash into a cow or fence or oncoming car. By some miracle, Jimmy had managed to deliver us safely to our destination. We were billeted near one of the villages on the outskirts of the city of Leicester, in a stone farmhouse owned by a lovely widow named Mrs. Tibbetts. At three in the morning, we had finally stumbled into her home, sleepy and hungry. She greeted us at the door with a smile, fed us some savory tarts and tea, and sent us straight to bed.