by Ellie Dean
They shared a knowing grin. ‘I’m sure he and Ron will manage just fine, and of course you’ve got Cissy and the other girls to keep an eye on things.’
Peggy picked up the knitting again, the smile still playing on her lips. ‘Cissy has some news of her own, which I won’t spoil by telling you. But my two evacuees have left for pastures new, and the three nurses are either at the hospital or out on the tiles dancing the night away. I doubt they’ll be of much use to anybody.’
Rita was intrigued as to what Cissy had been up to, but no doubt she would soon hear all about it. Cissy was not one to keep a secret for long. ‘I’m sure your sister would be only too pleased to lend a hand,’ she teased, knowing full well that Peggy and the extremely snooty Doris could barely be in the same room together for more than five minutes without falling out.
Peggy grunted. ‘Doris would be about as useful as a chocolate teapot,’ she said, ‘and she’s the last person either Ron or Jim would want in the house.’ She looked up, caught the glint in Rita’s eye and laughed. ‘You are naughty,’ she scolded softly. ‘Poor Doris, she’s far too grand to roll up her sleeves and get stuck in here – and I doubt it would even cross her mind to do so. I just hope she never gets bombed out, because the thought of her moving in with us makes me shudder.’
They were both startled by the loud snore coming from the fireside chair. Mrs Finch had gone to sleep.
Peggy giggled and shook her head. ‘Poor old duck. She can go to sleep at the drop of a hat these days. But at least it means she sleeps through all the air raids. We’ve had to rig up her deckchair in the Anderson shelter with pillows so she doesn’t fall out of it.’
‘Will Jim and Ron be able to cope with her while you’re away?’
‘They adore her as much as she does them, and will look after her like cut crystal.’ Peggy grinned. ‘Actually, Mrs Finch has been helping with the cooking lately, and she’s doing a sterling job. I suspect the men will mostly leave her to her own devices as long as their stomachs are attended to.’
‘Hello, Rita.’ Cissy breezed into the kitchen looking refreshed and lovely, her blonde hair swept back from her perfectly made-up face in an elegant chignon, the fetching little cap placed just so over one finely plucked eyebrow. ‘What do you think?’ She gave a twirl to show off the neat WAAF’s uniform which enhanced her narrow waist and hips.
Rita gasped in admiration. ‘Since when . . .?’
Cissy giggled and gave her a swift hug. ‘I’m glad you’re suitably impressed.’ She carefully settled her pert bottom on the edge of a kitchen chair and crossed her long, shapely legs. ‘After the dancing troupe folded, Amy and I decided it was time we did something sensible for a change, so we enlisted a few weeks ago.’ She gave a delighted grin. ‘It’s ever so exciting, Rita. You should give it a go.’
Rita was infused with the other girl’s excitement. ‘What sort of work are you doing, Cissy?’
She shrugged and stirred her tea vigorously. ‘It’s only shorthand and typing, but there’s lots of other girls to chat to and have a giggle with, and of course we’re surrounded by all those lovely, lovely pilots.’ Her expression grew dreamy as she sipped her tea. ‘There’s the Poles and the Free French, the Canadians, the Aussies – and of course our own lovely boys. Amy and I are having the time of our lives.’
Rita regarded her friend with admiration. Cissy had always been a pretty girl, but now she was positively glowing. ‘You certainly look well on it,’ she murmured, feeling the teeniest bit jealous of the uniform. ‘But I’d be hopeless in an office, and they’ve already turned me down as a mechanic.’
‘But there’s other things you could do,’ said Cissy excitedly.
‘I think Rita’s got enough on her plate with the factory and fire-watching,’ interrupted Peggy sharply.
Cissy frowned. ‘But she’s been wanting to join up ever since the war started.’
‘Rita has other responsibilities,’ said Peggy, giving Cissy a warning glare. ‘Louise couldn’t cope without her for a start.’
Now it was Rita’s turn to frown, for she couldn’t understand why Peggy was putting a dampener on her and Cissy’s enthusiasm.
But Cissy was made of sterner stuff and obviously decided to ignore her mother’s warning. She turned back to Rita with sparkling eyes. ‘You won’t have to be stuck in an office, Rita,’ she began. ‘There’s a posting that would suit you down to the ground.’
‘Cissy.’ Peggy’s voice was low and warning.
Cissy hesitated before ploughing on. ‘I just thought Rita might be interested in becoming a motorbike dispatch rider,’ she said defiantly.
Rita felt a thrill of hope. ‘Really? They have them in the WAAFs? Do you think they’d take me on?’
Peggy butted in again. ‘I don’t know that your father would want you haring about on that bike – not up at the airfield. It all sounds very dangerous, if you ask me – and I doubt very much if they’d take on a slip of a girl like you.’
Rita’s hopes plummeted.
‘Actually, Mum,’ said Cissy fearlessly, ‘they are recruiting women of all ages. Rita would be perfect.’
Rita looked at Peggy, waiting for her approval – longing for her to give her blessing for this miraculous chance to do something extraordinary.
‘It will probably mean having to leave Cliffehaven for several weeks to be trained,’ Peggy said with rare asperity. ‘Would Louise be able to cope without you?’
Rita tamped down on the sliver of doubt. ‘She’s working now, and much happier. I’m sure I wouldn’t be away for long – after all, I could handle a bike by the time I was ten, so I wouldn’t need that much training.’
Peggy gave a deep sigh, her face still etched with worry. ‘It’s obvious you’ll go ahead and apply no matter what I say,’ she murmured. ‘So I suppose I’ll have to give this madness my blessing. But I don’t like it, Rita – I really don’t.’
‘Then that’s settled,’ said Cissy. She clapped her hands in delight. ‘What fun. You, me and Amy, all in the WAAFs. Who’d have believed it?’
‘It strikes me that the RAF have enough problems without scatterbrained girls cluttering up the place,’ muttered Peggy, her lips twitching with a reluctant smile.
Rita’s eyes were shining and her cheeks were flushed with hope and excitement. She’d never even considered such a thing as becoming a motorbike dispatch rider – but now she could, she realised it was a job she was born to do. ‘Do you think they’ll let me take my own bike?’
‘I expect so. You’ll have to ask at the recruitment office.’ Cissy glanced at the sleeping woman in the chair and stood, smoothing the neat blue serge over her slender hips. ‘Come on, let’s go upstairs and I’ll tell you all about life in the WAAFs and the brilliant time you’ll have. I’ll even let you try on my spare uniform if you promise not to get it creased.’
‘You’ve got a letter from Joe Buchanan,’ said Peggy, still out of sorts at having been defeated by her garrulous daughter. She retrieved it from amongst the litter of ration books and lists on the mantelpiece above the range and held it out.
Cissy studiously ignored her mother’s disapproving expression as she took it. ‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll read it later.’
Rita followed her friend upstairs to the top floor and made herself comfortable against the pillows on one of the single beds as Cissy perched on the dressing stool. The room was decorated with dainty sprigged wallpaper, the pale pink bedspreads and quilts matching the heart of each little flower perfectly. The same material covered the padded stool and fell in pleats around the kidney-shaped dressing table, which was smothered in make-up, cheap jewellery and perfume bottles. It was an intensely feminine room and a world away from the rather austere, damp and untidy surroundings Rita slept in back at home.
Cissy noticed her surveying the room. ‘It’s heaven not having to share with Anne any more,’ she said, carelessly dropping the letter in amongst the debris on her dressing table then turning her attention to her smudged, l
ipstick. ‘I have plenty of room for all my things, and it doesn’t matter if I come in late when I’m on leave, or keep the light on half the night while I catch up on my magazines.’
‘You don’t seem terribly keen on reading your letter,’ said Rita. ‘I thought you and Joe Buchanan were sweethearts?’
‘We are – or at least, I thought we might be.’ Cissy opened the window, offered a cigarette to Rita, who refused it, and lit one for herself. ‘You’ll have to learn to smoke if you don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb in the WAAFs,’ she said, watching herself blow smoke in the mirror. ‘Everyone smokes – it’s quite the thing, you know.’
‘I won’t be able to smoke and ride a motorbike at the same time,’ said Rita reasonably, ‘so I’ll pass on it for now.’ She eyed Cissy, who was puffing smoke out of the window as if she was in a Hollywood film. Peggy had always banned smoking in the bedrooms, and for all Cissy’s sophistication and devil-may-care attitude, she was still in awe of her mother’s rules. ‘You were telling me about Joe Buchanan,’ she prompted.
‘He’s lovely and I adore him, I really do, but I wonder now if we weren’t just caught up in the moment – he was leaving, you see, and we only had that last day together. But it’s terribly difficult to keep up any romance with someone who isn’t even in the same country, and there’s an awful lot of distraction at the base. It’s hard for a girl to make up her mind about what she wants.’
Rita had heard all about the quietly spoken, handsome Australian soldier who’d turned up at Peggy’s with two of his mates, and a coat full of chickens. He’d sounded really nice. ‘I can see it must be a bit of a dilemma,’ she murmured, ‘but if you’re having doubts, you really should write and tell him.’
Cissy forgot she was supposed to be emulating Bette Davis and puffed furiously on the cigarette before grinding it out in a glass dish on her dressing table. ‘I know. But he’s right in the middle of things, and I don’t have the heart to let him down.’ Her smile was uncertain as she looked at Rita. ‘Those “Dear John” letters are ghastly, Rita. I’ve seen what they can do to a chap.’
‘Then I suggest you just keep the letters light and friendly and promise nothing,’ said Rita, who knew nothing about romance other than what she’d read in books and magazines or been told by May, who was inclined to exaggerate. She fidgeted on the bed. ‘Now, come on, Cissy. I want to hear all about the WAAFs, and I especially want to hear about these motorbike dispatch riders. What do they do exactly?’
‘I don’t know a lot about it, to be honest,’ Cissy confessed. ‘I see them rushing about, of course, but what they actually do is a mystery.’ Her face brightened, ‘But I can tell you all about the fun we have. Those fly boys are always up for a party, you know, and . . .’
As Cissy happily prattled away, Rita’s thoughts drifted. Louise was settled at the factory and they only spent the occasional night together when they were not doing night shift or fire-watch. The recruitment office was in the High Street, so surely it wouldn’t hurt to go and ask for a form? She could get one for May, as well, and they could have them filled in and returned before tomorrow.
She tuned back into Cissy, who was in full flow about the car one of the Poles had borrowed, so they could get into town for one of the many dances. ‘Of course it was all highly irregular,’ she said happily, ‘and we all got a terrible ticking off. But that’s half the fun, isn’t it?’
Rita nodded, but she had no real idea, and would probably never have the chance to find out. Not many boys would be interested in a girl with dirty nails and smears of engine oil on her face. Roberto wouldn’t have minded, of course, but then he was just like an older brother and didn’t really count. ‘Do you really think they’ll take me on?’ she persisted. ‘I mean, they are recruiting girls – you’re sure about that?’
Cissy’s eyes widened. ‘I said so, didn’t I?’ She gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘Honestly, Rita. Don’t you ever think about anything but machines?’
‘Not often,’ she admitted, and grinned. ‘You said I could try on your spare uniform.’ She waggled her hands. ‘My nails are clean – I won’t get muck on it. I promise.’
Cissy giggled and gave her a hug. ‘You are a caution, Rita Smith, but it’s lovely to be friends again – quite like old times.’ She opened the wardrobe to reveal acres of dresses, skirts and suits. The floor of the cupboard was littered with shoes and handbags, and the shelf above the hanging rail was stuffed with hat boxes.
Rita stared at this bounty in amazement. Cissy could have opened a shop, and it made her own paltry collection of worn clothes fade into further insignificance. But then Cissy had always loved clothes – it was probably why she’d gone on the stage. Rita smiled fondly at her friend, glad that they were so different – glad that they’d found each other again, for life had become far too serious of late, and Cissy was injecting fun back into it.
Cissy finally found what she was looking for and held it out. She puckered her lips as she eyed Rita thoughtfully. ‘It’ll probably be far too long in the skirt, and the jacket will swamp you. I’d forgotten how tiny you are.’
‘All the best things come in small packages,’ Rita retorted as she pulled off her jumper and trousers and almost reverently stepped into the lovely blue serge skirt.
It swam at her waist and fell almost to her ankles, and she and Cissy burst out laughing. ‘Here, put on the jacket and I’ll hold it at the back so you can get a good idea of what you’ll look like when you have your own.’
The sleeves covered her hands, sagged at the shoulders and poked at the front. Cissy did a great deal of judicious pulling and tugging and then they looked in the dressing-table mirror to see the effect.
Rita’s eyes widened. ‘Gosh,’ she breathed. ‘Don’t I look different? All sort of grown-up and posh.’ She shot Cissy a grin and put on her plummiest voice. ‘A bit like you, Corporal Cecily Reilly – all glamorous and terribly, terribly sophisticated.’
They burst into gales of laughter and it was a few minutes before order was restored and the uniform was put carefully back into the wardrobe.
‘Come on, Rita. It’s time to make you look gorgeous.’ Cissy pushed her down on the dressing stool. ‘You’re far too serious about everything. You simply can’t go about without make-up and a decent haircut. Sit still and I’ll show you just how lovely you can look.’
‘But I don’t like wearing make-up,’ Rita protested.
‘All girls like make-up,’ retorted Cissy as she flung a towel round Rita’s shoulders and picked up her scissors.
‘What are you doing?’ Rita gasped.
‘Taming this mop,’ she replied, and without further ado, began to snip at Rita’s curls.
Rita closed her eyes. With a mixture of dread and excited anticipation, she listened to the snip of the scissors and felt the scrape of the comb. ‘Just don’t cut it too short,’ she pleaded, ‘or I’ll look like a half-witted pixie.’
‘Keep your eyes closed while I do your make-up,’ murmured Cissy as the scissors clattered onto the glass top of the dressing table.
Rita tried to relax and sit still as Cissy smoothed cream on her face, dusted it with powder, and began to brush something on her eyelids and lashes. She could smell Cissy’s perfume and feel her warm breath on her face as she carefully applied lipstick and gave her hair a final tweak. It was an intimate moment, reminding her of their childhood when Cissy had insisted upon dressing her and May in frothy frocks and bejewelled tiaras so they could be princesses to Cissy’s queen in her little plays.
‘There,’ sighed Cissy. ‘You can look now.’
Rita opened her eyes and stared at her reflection. Her unruly curls had been tamed into a side parting, the thick sweep of hair carefully brushed back from her face to enhance the cheekbones she never knew she had. Her eyes looked enormous and very dark brown against the dusting of blue eyeshadow and black pencil, the lashes were long and curled with mascara, her lips a deep scarlet. ‘I can’t believe how different I loo
k,’ she breathed.
‘But do you like it?’ Cissy’s face was anxious.
Rita nodded. ‘I look just like the photograph of my mother,’ she murmured. ‘I never realised . . .’
Cissy seemed satisfied, and she whipped off the towel, shaking the hair out of the window. ‘That’s no bad thing,’ she said. ‘From what I can remember, your mother was a beauty.’ She rummaged about in the mess on her dressing table, picked out powder, eyeshadow, rouge, eyebrow pencil and lipstick and pressed them into Rita’s hand. ‘Keep practising,’ she said. ‘You’ll soon get the hang of it.’
‘I can’t take these,’ Rita gasped. ‘They’re far too expensive.’
Cissy pressed her beautifully manicured hands on Rita’s shoulder. ‘Of course you can,’ she replied. ‘Think of them as an early birthday and Christmas present.’
Rita slipped the gifts into her trouser pocket and had to blink back the tears as she gave her friend a hug. ‘Thanks, Cissy. Thanks ever so.’
Cissy waved away her thanks and tried to look stern. ‘Don’t you dare cry, Rita Smith. You’ll spoil the effect.’
Rita took another long look at her reflection and smiled ruefully. ‘I’ll spoil it the minute I put on my helmet and goggles.’ She glanced at her watch and gasped. ‘I’d better go if I’m to get to the recruitment office before lunch.’
Cissy laughed and gave her a hug. ‘It’s been so lovely, Rita, and I wish you the very best of luck with enlisting.’ She too glanced at her watch. ‘Goodness, I didn’t realise how late it was. I’d better spend some time with Mum before I have to be back at base.’ She blushed prettily. ‘Someone’s coming to give me a lift in a couple of hours, and I won’t see Mum again until the New Year.’
Rita noted the blush. ‘Think about what I said about Joe,’ she said softly, ‘and take care of yourself. I’ll need a friendly face when I come to the airbase.’
‘I’ll make sure to look out for you – and don’t worry, Rita. You’ll sail through the interview and training. I just know you will.’