Wartime with the Cornish Girls

by Betty Walker

  ‘Oh my goodness!’

  ‘Hush,’ Lily told her sister with undisguised horror. ‘Keep your mouth shut, would you? There are people listening!’

  ‘Yes, no need to wash our dirty linen in public, Alice,’ Violet said quickly, though she also gave the girl a hug as though to show there were no hard feelings. Over the girl’s head, she threw Hazel a desperate look. ‘If you could help us, love, even if it’s just to find a bed for tonight, I’d be so grateful. I’m at my wits’ end. I don’t know what to do. I’d manage on my own, I’m sure … But I’ve got these girls to think of.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m sorry for calling you out of work. I hope you won’t get into trouble for it. But you’re the only other person I know in the whole of Cornwall.’

  ‘It’s all right, I’ll cope.’

  Hazel could imagine how it would feel to be stranded in some strange part of the country, with no money or anywhere to stay, and with Charlie to look after. But that didn’t help her know what was for the best. After all, she was just one of the domestic staff. And with everything so top secret around here, she guessed it wouldn’t be easy for three strangers to walk up and demand a job. Not at Porthcurno.

  ‘Thing is, it’s not up to me. Or I’d say yes right away. You’ll need to speak to Mr Cotterill. He does all the hiring of staff.’

  ‘Mr Cotterill,’ Violet repeated, handing her coat and bags to the two girls, and then tidying her hair with obvious determination. ‘And how do I find him?’

  ‘He’s right here,’ a voice said behind Hazel.

  It was George, coming down the slope to the gatehouse with a cool expression. He did not look at Hazel, as though still offended by her rejection of his help and determined not to make eye contact. He nodded to the guard instead, and then took a moment to study the three visitors.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said to Violet in a civil enough tone, his gaze skimming the younger two. ‘I’m Cotterill. What seems to be the trouble?’

  ‘No trouble at all, sir,’ Violet said quickly, her London accent even more out of place in the warm Cornish sunshine than when Hazel spoke to her in the farmhouse kitchen. ‘I’m just after a job. Three jobs, in fact. For myself and my nieces.’ She gave him a broad smile, showing neat white teeth. ‘We’re hard grafters and won’t make no trouble.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re all excellent workers,’ George told her. ‘But I’m not sure we have any domestic positions free at the moment.’

  Hazel looked at him in surprise but said nothing. She had only just complained to him about the sheer amount of work being heaped on her shoulders, with several domestic staff off sick, and some kind of tummy bug raging in the camp … And here he was, turning away three able workers?

  ‘Could you make sure, then?’ Violet asked, and one of the listening soldiers chortled at her cheekiness. She gave the man a fulminating glance, then turned back to George, wringing her hands. ‘Sorry to be so forward, Mr Cotterill. But there ain’t no point beating about the bush. If you turn us away, odds are good we’ll be sleeping under one tonight.’

  George frowned. ‘Under what?’

  ‘A bush.’

  The soldier lounging by the guardhouse laughed again. This time it was George who shot him a stern look, and the young man straightened to attention, his grin fading.

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ George seemed impatient to be back at his post. ‘Why would you want to sleep under a bush tonight?’ He scanned their faces. ‘Are you evacuees? Didn’t you have a home appointed to you?’

  ‘We come down together of our own choice. Nobody took us in official-like. The girls are just out of school, and I’m looking after them, see?’

  Violet explained her situation briefly, though Hazel could tell from her hesitations and uneasy smiles at her nieces that she was leaving plenty out. Certainly, she failed to mention the attack on Lily. Her story was that she had fallen out with her aunt and uncle at the farm, and all three of them had been thrown out after a ‘family row’. Now they were homeless and penniless, and would be grateful for any employment that would enable them to buy their fare back to London.

  George’s eyebrows had risen during her account. It was clear he too had spotted her omissions, though was too polite to suggest Violet was lying. But at this last admission, he seemed almost shocked.

  ‘You intend to return to London? During these bombing raids?’

  ‘I don’t have no choice, sir. If I can’t feed these girls and keep a roof over our heads, I’ll have to take ’em back.’

  George sighed. ‘I don’t know …’ he began dubiously, but Hazel interrupted him, rather more boldly than she had intended.

  ‘I’ll vouch for her,’ Hazel told him. ‘Her name’s Violet Hopkins and she was very kind to me when I fell off my bicycle.’

  He turned his head, considering her. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Violet took me into the farm kitchen and saw to the cuts on my knee.’ Hazel saw his gaze flash down to her legs, and felt a little wobble inside. Which was wrong of her. Truly wrong. She had determined to keep George Cotterill at arm’s length, and instead all she could think about was getting closer to the man. She continued more firmly, ‘Also, she looks strong and capable, and I could definitely do with another pair of hands about the place.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Several pairs of hands, in fact.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, and turned back to Violet, giving the woman a long searching look. ‘We’re very careful who works at Eastern House. You have up-to-date identity papers with you?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir.’

  ‘And these young ladies?’

  Violet introduced her nieces as Lily, the eldest, and Alice, the one who had spoken out of turn earlier. ‘They’re both good girls, and willing to work hard. We’ve all been pulling our weight on the farm, so we’re used to early starts and long hours.’

  ‘Very well,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ll need to check your credentials first, though. And check your story with your aunt and uncle. I know Mr and Mrs Chellew, so that won’t take long. But it could take a day or so to verify your identities, I’m afraid. You’ll need to give me your details, then come back later.’

  ‘But we’ve nowhere to stay. I thought if we could start work today, we might get a small advance on our wages, just a few bob for a shared room nearby.’

  ‘I doubt there are any rooms currently available in Porthcurno. This whole area is under military control, and we’ve billeted most of our personnel hereabouts. But I can give you a letter for the evacuees officer in Penzance. He should be able to find you temporary accommodation in one of the outlying villages, where there’s less chance of bombing.’

  ‘I’d rather not live that far away, thanks,’ Violet said frankly. ‘We can’t afford the bus fare to and from Penzance every day.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I know it’s not ideal. But it’s the best I can suggest until all the formalities have been completed.’ George managed an apologetic smile. ‘Better than sleeping under a bush, surely?’

  Looking downcast, Lily picked up her bag and hoisted it onto one shoulder, wincing as she did so. ‘If we have to walk all the way to bloody Penzance, we’d better start soon,’ she told Violet in a low voice. ‘Unless His Nibs is planning to lend us the bus fare.’

  Hazel couldn’t bear the unhappy looks on the two girls’ faces. She tried to imagine how she would cope if it was her and Charlie in the same position, and felt awful.

  ‘You can stay with me,’ she said impulsively. ‘At my cottage.’

  Everyone stared round at her in astonishment. Especially George, whose frown told her instantly that he thought it was a bad idea.

  These three were complete strangers to them, it was true.

  But there was a war on, as everyone kept reminding her. And in wartime, you had to make sacrifices. And help others worse off than yourself.

  ‘It’s a small
house – we don’t have much room,’ she admitted. ‘But my Charlie would give up his room for you and your two girls, I’m sure, and sleep downstairs on the sofa. Bit of a squeeze, but better than hiking all the way to Penzance and ending up miles away.’

  ‘You mean that?’ Violet asked.

  ‘Now, why wouldn’t I?’ Hazel drew a breath, ignoring George’s hard stare. ‘If you can wait about here another couple of hours, you can all walk home with me. My bicycle’s off the road, you see. But it’s not too far.’

  Over the barrier, Violet gave her a brilliant smile. ‘Oh, bless you, bless you,’ she said breathlessly. ‘We’ve our own ration books with us. So no need to worry about extra food.’ She hugged her nieces hard, who both squealed and giggled. ‘You hear that, girls? We’ve got a home to go to tonight.’

  As they walked back up to Eastern House from the checkpoint, George touched Hazel’s arm. ‘That was a very kind gesture,’ he said quietly. ‘Especially given your situation.’

  Hazel found it hard to breathe. What on earth did he mean by that?

  ‘What situation?’

  ‘There’s not really room for so many people in the cottage, is there?’

  She almost sagged in relief. For one terrible moment, her heart thudding violently, she had feared George knew about her pregnancy. Which was impossible. She had only just discovered it herself.

  ‘It’ll be fun,’ she said defiantly. ‘We’ll all bunk up together.’

  ‘I’ll contact the evacuee officer anyway, make sure you get proper remuneration for your generosity. And don’t forget to use those ration books she offered you. With three more people in the house, you’ll need all the help you can get.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  His eyes met hers. ‘You’re sure about this, Hazel? Three strangers …’

  ‘She was desperate. And those poor girls. Did you see their faces?’

  ‘I did.’ George was frowning though, as though something else was fretting him. ‘You’re a good woman. I only hope you won’t regret it.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Hazel said, with more confidence than she felt. Then added, with a touch of desperation, worried that he could see how much she liked him and eager to put him off the scent, ‘And the three of them will be company for me and Charlie, won’t they? What with Bertie off with his regiment …’

  George looked away and did not reply.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Professor Templeton gestured for Eva to follow him out of Eastern House. ‘Now, would you like to see where you’ll be working?’

  ‘I certainly would,’ Eva said promptly.

  ‘It’s all underground, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I don’t mind that.’

  Eva felt excited, the skin tingling on the back of her neck, and not just because this handsome man was standing so close. This was the kind of war work she relished!

  They were permitted through the barbed wire barrier, showing the guards their special passes, and they walked out of brilliant sunshine into a shady tunnel entrance. Templeton had already explained that the tunnel led deep underground, to rooms so shrouded in mystery that even the guards on the barrier were not sure what lay within.

  A short walk further on, there was a second entrance, covered by a vast studded metal door with another guard posted in front of it. It was a blast door, she was told, meant to protect those inside in the event of a bombing raid.

  ‘What I’m about to show you,’ Professor Templeton announced, halting outside the closed metal door, ‘is strictly classified information. Everything within these fortified underground chambers has been declared top secret, by order of the government. Not to be disclosed to anyone outside a need-to-know-only basis, in other words. I cannot stress enough how important this is. You have now signed the Official Secrets Act and are therefore bound by its strictures. Failure to follow these instructions as I have explained them to you could mean imprisonment or even death …’ He stopped, regarding her gravely. ‘Are you even listening to me?’

  Eva looked up with a guilty start. Realising he was merely repeating the dire warnings her father had already drummed into her, she’d become bored and started studying her fingernails instead, one of which was looking distinctly ragged. She could hardly tap out good code with a wonky fingernail, after all. But she realised he might not understand such niceties, so thrust her hands hurriedly behind her back.

  ‘Of course,’ she said coolly. ‘You were threatening me with imprisonment or even death if I blab about what I’ve seen. Is that about right?’

  ‘That’s it precisely.’ He nodded to the uniformed guard waiting a few feet away at the metal door. ‘Sergeant?’

  ‘Right you are, Professor.’ The soldier touched his cap badge in a kind of quasi-salute, then operated the heavy door, which rolled open with a slow, majestic motion, making a grating sound. Once it was fully open, he nodded them inside. ‘Watch your step now, Miss. Wouldn’t want you to fall over in those heels.’

  She flashed the sergeant a sharp look, aware of amusement in his face. ‘I shall be careful, Sergeant. Thank you so much for your concern.’

  The space beyond the metal door was dimly lit and claustrophobic, its ceiling slightly rounded, strongly reminiscent of the underground tunnels in London, except without the rushing air from the passage of trains.

  As the metal door closed behind them, Eva felt a little apprehensive, as though she was entering a wormhole headed for the centre of the Earth. But she refused to be cowed. She followed the professor down the corridor without hesitation, studying everything closely as she passed, information boards covered in sheets and posters, and flickering lights set into the wall. The tunnel twisted and narrowed, soon opening into a large, airless room filled with desks and rows of cabinet-like machines, glass doors revealing strange coiled instruments inside, many of them whirring and clicking. Other machines were spewing forth ticker tape at a phenomenal rate, seemingly disregarded by those working nearby.

  After the relative peace of the Cornish countryside, the noise underground was quite incredible, echoing off the tiled walls and ceiling. Eva had to resist an urge to clap both hands over her ears. She might have been inattentive and answered a bit flippantly when Templeton delivered his stern warnings, but in truth, she didn’t want them to think her unfit to be down here, doing a man’s job.

  But that was not what caught her attention. The room housed about twelve personnel, at a guess. Some of them were the very young trainees she had seen hanging about Eastern House, others were silver-haired men in suit trousers and clipped-up shirt sleeves, bustling to and fro between the desks.

  Two or three looked round as they entered, and at least one young man gave a silent whistle and nudged his friend, who also stared in her direction.

  Obviously, they did not see women down here very often.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ Professor Templeton announced loudly, straining to be heard above the clack and whirr of machinery, ‘this is our newest recruit to the training programme, Miss Eva Ryder. Yes, Ryder. She’s the colonel’s daughter and has been granted clearance to work on certain instruments.’ He cleared his throat as everyone stopped work, turning to stare. ‘I trust you will extend her every courtesy.’

  ‘Hello,’ Eva said breezily, raising a hand.

  Nobody answered.

  After a brief silence, all but one went back to what they had been doing before. One of the older men came over and shook her hand, introducing himself as Willie Topping, and offering to help Templeton show her round the place.

  ‘I can manage, thanks,’ Professor Templeton told him, and Willie did not comment, but headed back to his seat with a shrug and continued with his work.

  Oh well, not a very friendly lot, then. But she was used to getting the cold shoulder. In the club, some of the other girls had looked on her with dislike, saying she’d been born with a ‘silver spoon’ in her mouth. But she had never let their distrust stop her doing what she wanted and enjoying herself whenever possible.<
br />
  Certain instruments?

  ‘What do all these machines do?’ she asked Professor Templeton in a whisper, burnt up with sudden curiosity.

  ‘You don’t need to know. You won’t be expected to take on a full role here. Just send and receive Morse code messages in that room there.’ He pointed down a corridor.

  ‘But can the enemy intercept any of these messages?’

  ‘Not the ones that come through our underwater cables. Those are impossible to intercept, always have been. They’d have to have a spy in the room for that.’

  She shuddered. ‘What a horrible thought.’

  ‘That’s why we’re so careful to hand-pick everyone who comes through those blast doors and into the listening post.’

  She stared about herself, entranced. ‘There are so many machines down here. And they’re so noisy! Goodness, what does this one do?’ They were passing a large metal machine, whose cogs seemed to be rotating wildly. Beside it, another machine had some kind of spinning disc. ‘Or that one? Am I allowed to know?’

  ‘I suppose it won’t do any harm. You are the colonel’s daughter, after all.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘That’s an Interpolator. The other one is a Synchroniser. It regulates the pulse rate of messages coming through the Interpolator. And that odd-looking box on the end, with all the wires and cables sticking out, is an aerial patch panel. For hooking the listening machines up to an aerial, so they can send and receive messages. Then there are the wavemeters …’ He laughed at her bewildered expression. ‘Never mind. You’ll get the hang of this place eventually.’

  Turning on her heel, she caught sight of a large black box covered in dials and switches, with headphones attached, and suddenly knew she’d seen something like it once before, with her father back in London.

  ‘I know this machine. It’s a receiver, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well done, yes. That’s an AR88 Receiver. Standard listening equipment. You’ll probably get a chance to use one later on,’ he said, then added carefully, ‘assuming you show any aptitude for the job, that is.’