by Lynn Austin
“Just shut up and leave her alone!” Eve bellowed at the worst offender. “She’s doing her bit like the rest of us, isn’t she?”
“Thanks for standing up for me,” Audrey told Eve later.
“You could do it yourself, you know.”
“I don’t know how. I didn’t know how in boarding school, either, and those girls were all from the gentry. Remember how miserable I was? This is even worse.”
“It’ll get better. Once we survive basic training, we’ll have something useful to do.”
Audrey wasn’t certain she would survive. In the past seven days, they had stripped her to the bone of everything familiar and comforting, everything that told her who she was. Physicians poked and prodded her during humiliating medical examinations. The screaming sergeant major bullied and harassed her until she dreamed of “left-right, left-right” in her sleep. She wouldn’t have made it this far without Eve.
“You’re much better at adjusting to change than I am,” Audrey said when they’d finally collapsed onto their narrow cots that first night. They slept in the former dormitory of a bleak boys’ preparatory school. Eve had to show Audrey how to put sheets on the bed. The scratchy fabric felt like sacking. The ugly Army-issue pajamas would fit a girl twice Audrey’s size. Prison must be like this.
“The only reason I can adjust to poor conditions is because I’ve been poor all my life,” Eve had replied. “At least you can go back to your posh life after the war ends.” Audrey wanted to assure Eve that her life would also be better after the war when she married Alfie, but neither of them truly believed that Eve’s romance would have a happy ending.
For now, Audrey’s only reminders of her former life were the civilian clothes she’d worn to the training center, now stowed inside the locker by her bed, and the framed photograph of herself and Alfie on top of that locker. The picture had been taken on board the Rosamunde the last summer she and Alfie sailed together, the sun in their faces, the wind blowing their hair. Eve also had a photograph of Alfie on her locker, looking handsome in his uniform, a carefree grin on his face. The ATS had stripped everything else from Audrey, including her own underwear and brassieres. The Army-issue ones were ghastly.
“These frumpy old things look like something our grannies would wear!” one of the girls said, holding up a baggy pair of the long-legged underpants.
“Our grannies wouldn’t be caught dead in those knickers!” someone else shot back. Every girl in the dormitory received the same-size brassiere, whether they were plump or thin, well-endowed or flat-chested, and was told to make it fit. The girls joked about sharing the surplus or stuffing the cups with socks. As the other girls stripped without a care, the lack of privacy humiliated Audrey. It was one of the things she’d despised about boarding school.
The food in the dining hall of the former boys’ school required another adjustment. “I can’t even guess what kind of meat this is, can you?” she asked Eve as she sawed into a rubbery brown lump.
Eve shrugged off her concerns. “I don’t care. I’m eating a lot better than my flatmates and I did before I enlisted. None of us had time to stand in queues all day with our ration coupons. All the meat would be sold by the time we got home from work.” Audrey had lost weight, not only from the inedible food but from the endless marching, day after day, and the requirement that they run from place to place rather than walk. Her blistered feet spoke of how unaccustomed she was to such rigorous exercise—and of the awkwardness of her clunky Army-issue shoes. She remembered how gracefully Eve had skipped barefoot across the rocky stream the day they’d first met, and how she’d climbed down from the tree as if she’d been born to do it. Yes, Eve fared much better in the Army than Audrey did.
Now she sat on her bed in the few remaining minutes before lights-out, using her regulation sewing kit to alter her brassiere and various other items in her uniform kit—jacket, skirts, pullovers, slacks, shirts, and ties. The sleeves and hems were miles too long for her and Eve’s petite frames. The thick stockings resembled the ones her housekeeper wore. Everything needed to be labeled with her name and number. And she still had to shine her shoes and uniform buttons before she went to bed. They’d issued her a cleaning kit for each task, and Audrey hadn’t known what they were for. Her shoes and clothing would appear in her wardrobe at Wellingford as if by magic, clean, polished, ironed, and brushed. Audrey had never sewn in her life, and now she sucked blood from the latest prick to her finger. Yes, Army life required a bigger adjustment than she’d ever imagined. How had Alfie endured it?
“I would like to see the girl they designed this uniform to fit,” Eve said. She sat on the bed across from Audrey as they sewed. “She would have to be six feet tall, with arms like a chimpanzee and a huge bosom. One size does not fit all!”
“It’s such an ugly uniform too,” Audrey said with a sigh. “What are all these pleated pockets for? And the belted jacket makes everyone’s bottom look enormous. We should have joined the Wrens. The famous fashion designer Edward Molyneux designed their uniforms.”
“Spoken like a true aristocrat! You obviously never had to wear a scullery maid’s uniform. Believe me, this is a huge improvement.”
“I can’t help who I am, Eve. You don’t have to rub it in.” She sucked her injured finger, still oozing blood.
“You can still change your mind about enlisting, you know. I don’t think it’s too late. Joining up was my idea, not yours.”
Everything in Audrey longed to quit, but Mother’s taunting voice—“Oh, for pity’s sake, Audrey”—strengthened her resolve. She vowed to continue, to measure up to the standards expected of her, just as she’d been doing all her life. They weren’t Mother’s expectations that she must live up to now, but her nation’s. And Audrey also longed to please God. “I’m not going to quit,” she replied. She would stow away her personality and individuality for the duration of the war and become like everyone else, right down to her Army-issue toothbrush and hairbrush. She resumed sewing.
One of Audrey’s biggest tormentors, a loudmouthed girl named Irene who didn’t seem interested in making her uniform fit, roamed the room looking at the framed photographs on the other girls’ lockers. Audrey bristled when Irene picked up Alfie’s photo. She was about to ask her politely to put it down when Eve kicked her foot, then held a finger to her lips.
“Hey, have a look at this, girls,” the bully said to the others. “Tweedledee and Tweedledum over here share the same boyfriend!” Everyone looked up as if something interesting was about to happen.
“Handsome fellow, isn’t he?” Eve said calmly. She continued to sew.
“He sure is!” Irene replied. “I wonder how many other girls have his picture. Maybe I could get one.” She got what she was after—mocking laughter.
Eve kept her voice even. “Look a little closer, Irene. He could be Audrey’s twin, right? He’s her brother—and my boyfriend.”
“You’re having me on! You’re never stepping out with the posh girl’s brother!”
“Cross my heart and hope to die if I’m lying,” she said, making the sign over her chest.
“Didn’t your mum warn you that the gentry’s sons want only one thing from girls like us? And it isn’t marriage.” There was more laughter.
Eve didn’t seem perturbed. “Think whatever you like,” she replied. “I know the truth.”
Irene stared at the pictures for another moment, then seemed to lose interest. She set them down none too gently and moved on to her next victim. Audrey released the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
Eve slid off her own bed and stood over Audrey. “You okay?” she asked.
“I suppose. Although I’m not getting anywhere with this sewing. I keep knotting the thread.”
“Let me,” Eve said, taking it. “I’ll finish your sewing if you polish my shoes.”
“Thanks.” Audrey found it much easier to polish shoes than to try to sew. “How did you learn to handle the taunting?” she asked Eve.
“The boys in school used to torment us girls all the time. I learned that if I didn’t react, they’d lose interest.” She snipped the sewing thread with her teeth, then added, “And the ones who didn’t lose interest found out that I could hold my own in a brawl.”
Audrey smiled. “You’re my hero, Eve.”
“Listen,” she said, leaning closer to whisper. “I know how you can win over Irene and all the other bullies.”
“How?”
“I’m told our pay packets come with a chit for cigarettes from the canteen. You don’t smoke but Irene does.”
The tiny measure of power helped Audrey sleep soundly that night.
She rose early the next morning for a day that began like all the rest, scrambling to get everything in order for “kit parade.” She must lay out her belongings on her properly made bed, the blanket folded just so, jacket buttons and shoes polished to a shine. Audrey stood at attention at the foot of her bed, not daring to move, praying she would pass inspection. Failure meant scrubbing the latrine floor on hands and knees. With Eve’s help, Audrey always passed. After inspection, they quick-marched to the parade ground to practice drilling until the sergeant major was satisfied. Audrey couldn’t see the point of inspections or understand how she could serve her country by marching in perfect squares. “Are we ever going to start driving?” she whispered to Eve as a misty rain began to fall.
“Let’s hope so. I know they’re desperate for ambulance drivers.”
“All right, listen up,” the sergeant major barked when the drilling ended. “Before you begin your driving courses, everyone must pass the gas drill.”
“This doesn’t sound good,” Eve mumbled. She had confided her fear of enclosed spaces to Audrey, her dread of being buried alive. Even donning her cumbersome gas mask made Eve feel trapped. It was the only fear Audrey had ever known her to admit.
“Everyone must suit up in her gas mask,” the commander explained. “We’ll go into that hut over there and the gas will be turned on. When the red light flashes, take off your mask and wait until it stops flashing. Then make your way to an exit door and run out.”
“Just don’t panic, Eve,” Audrey whispered as they pulled their masks from their cases and slipped them on. “Obviously, the gas won’t be lethal.”
“It’s this mask that’s terrifying!”
“Whenever I need to stay calm, I recite the Lord’s Prayer. You can do this, Eve.” The role reversal was new to both of them.
With her mask in place, Audrey crowded into the windowless hut with Eve and sat down beside her on one of the benches, noting where the two exits were. She took Eve’s hand as the lights went out and the room filled with an eerie gray fog, so thick she could barely see her hand in front of her face. Her fingers ached from Eve’s grip. Hours seemed to pass before the red light flashed, painting the fog with its glow. Eve released Audrey’s hand and ripped off her mask. Audrey did the same, fighting the urge to inhale a panic-stricken breath. The light flashed forever. Audrey feared her lungs would burst. She heard one of the other girls cry out. Several began to cough. The moment the flashing stopped, Audrey grabbed Eve’s hand and towed her through the pushing, shoving mob toward the nearest door, grateful in the pitch-darkness that she’d noted where it was. She found the latch and flung open the door. The chilly rain felt wonderful as she lifted her face to the sky and breathed.
“We passed!” Eve said with a shaky grin. But it took several minutes for the color to return to Eve’s face and for Audrey’s heart to slow down. A corporal rounded up the choking, weeping girls who’d failed the test, including the bully, Irene.
Afterwards, the corporal assigned Audrey and Eve to a squadron of twenty-five women. “For the next few weeks,” their new leader explained, “your training course will consist of vehicle driving, vehicle maintenance, first aid classes, anti-gas drills, and map-reading tests.”
“Driving will be easy for us,” Eve predicted with her usual confidence. Audrey thought so, too. But neither of them had counted on the difficult double-clutching that the lorries and ambulances required. The practice vans were mounted on blocks so students could learn to handle the transmissions without moving anywhere, and Audrey ground through a lot of gears on the vehicles before getting the hang of it.
As if the uniforms weren’t bad enough, they were issued ugly gray dungarees to wear for the vehicle maintenance classes, taught in garages so cold Audrey feared her fingers would freeze off. She and Eve learned to change tires and perform routine maintenance and repairs on their ambulances. Map reading taught them to navigate in their assigned districts without signs. They learned to travel on the worst types of roads, at night, with hooded headlamps, in the pitch-dark of the blackout. Through it all, Audrey was bullied, insulted, shamed, and—once in a while—praised.
“We’re fighting for our homes,” their instructor reminded them after a particularly discouraging day when everything went wrong. “There’s no time to cry for your mum.” Audrey risked a glance at Eve as she blinked away tears, wondering if Eve would shout that they’d both lost their mums, thanks to Hitler’s bombs. But Eve remained stoic.
After weeks of the most grueling work she’d ever accomplished, Audrey and the others faced a final test—driving their ambulances at night down an assigned route, wearing a gas mask and full gas-protection gear. Eve clearly grew increasingly nervous with each piece of equipment she donned. When she peered at Audrey through her gas mask, Eve had fear in her eyes. “You can do this,” Audrey said, though she wondered if Eve even understood her with her mask-garbled voice. They studied their maps a final time, then each drove away on their assigned routes.
Audrey’s eyes strained to the limit as she drove. She wouldn’t think about all the disaster stories she’d heard—crashing into cows or vehicles in the dark, driving off the road into swamps and fields. Seated beside her, the instructor gave no hint of how well or poorly Audrey was doing until they came to a final stop back at the training center.
“Very good, Miss Clarkson. You may remove your mask.” The instructor made no move to get out of the vehicle as she scribbled on a form, so Audrey didn’t either. “Of course, you realize, Miss Clarkson, that this isn’t your final test.”
Audrey’s perfect, inbred posture failed her for a moment as her shoulders slumped in disappointment. “It isn’t?”
“No. You won’t know if you’ve passed the real test until you’re called to a disaster site for the first time. That’s something we cannot simulate, nor can we truly prepare you for it. Do you think you can handle the sight of severed limbs scattered around a bomb site or dead bodies burned beyond recognition?”
Audrey swallowed, searching for a reply. “I couldn’t say. One would be foolish to speculate. I hope to keep my mind on the fact that I’m there to do my job and transfer the living to hospital.”
“I wish you luck, Miss Clarkson.”
“Thank you.” Audrey ran her hand through her sweaty hair, matted and itching from the gas mask. She no longer resembled the girl who’d grown up in Wellingford Hall, the debutante who’d had an audience with the queen. That Audrey was gone. It was just as well—she never liked her much anyway.
“I noticed that you signed up for the same postings as Eve Dawson when you leave.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She wondered how Eve had survived the confinement of her gas suit.
The instructor gave Audrey a hard look. “Wouldn’t you rather partner with someone from your own class?”
The question startled her. “Um . . . No, ma’am, I wouldn’t. I would much rather partner with Eve Dawson.”
The woman opened her door with a sigh as if to convey to Audrey that she was making a terrible mistake. “If that’s what you wish. I hope you won’t regret it.”
JANUARY 1941
Eve awoke to the sound of distant explosions. Bright flashes like lightning pierced the edges of the blackout curtains. The Nazis were bombing Liverpool again. The roar of destruction fill
ed the night even though the ATS ambulance base where she and Audrey were posted was several miles from the city. Eve sat up and peered at the watch Alfie had given her. Two thirty in the morning. She rose and put on her uniform and a warm jersey, knowing they would surely be called out into the cold night. Audrey rolled over and squinted at her.
“What are you doing? What time is it?”
Eve held up her hand. “Listen . . .” The rumbling was continuous, like an unending thunderstorm. “The Nazis are bombing Liverpool. It sounds bad. They’ll be calling us any minute, so we’d better get dressed.”
Audrey rubbed her eyes, then stood to put on her clothes, as well. They shared the former hotel room with two other girls, who also climbed from their beds to get ready. The knock on their door came a few minutes later. “Oh, good. You’re all ready,” the night supervisor said when she saw them. “Let’s go.”
Eve had driven on several ambulance runs in the two weeks since she and Audrey had qualified as drivers. So far, their work involved evacuating civilian patients from Liverpool hospitals to safer ones outside the city. Judging by tonight’s powerful explosions, this run would be different.
“No wonder they made us run all the time at the training center,” Audrey said as they jogged from the hotel to the vehicle garages. The streets were empty except for drivers and medical orderlies racing to their ambulances. Inside the call center, telephones shrilled incessantly and volunteers hurried to copy down urgent assignments.
“I have a feeling this is going to be bad,” Eve said. “Are you ready, Audrey?”