Wartime with the Cornish Girls

by Betty Walker

  ‘Vi,’ Eva repeated blankly.

  ‘Violet, I mean,’ she said, then added hurriedly, ‘Violet Hopkins.’

  Eva smiled in return, hearing the slight awkwardness in the woman’s voice. She knew how it felt to be nervous and in a strange place.

  ‘That’s a Cockney accent.’

  Violet laughed, apparently a little bolder now. ‘That’s right. I’m from Dagenham.’

  ‘I love the East End!’ Eva could not help gushing, suddenly nostalgic for the life she’d left behind in London. ‘How long have you been down here?’ Belatedly, she recalled the message still clutched in her hand. ‘Oh, but look, I don’t have time for a proper chat now. How about later? I get lunch at noon, maybe meet you out on the front lawn if you’re free? I’d love to chat about London.’

  Violet grinned. ‘That would be smashing.’

  ‘I’m Eva Ryder, by the way.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you.’ Violet tried to shake her hand while holding a bucket and a mop, but couldn’t quite manage it.

  ‘Lovely to meet you too, Violet. Sorry, got to dash!’ Eva squeezed between the two women, shooting the Cornishwoman a quick, encouraging smile too. ‘Good to see you again, Hazel.’

  She noted that Hazel was looking pale and a little unwell, and hoped the dreaded tummy bug hadn’t spread to her too. But she had not seemed particularly happy the other day either. Perhaps all she needed, like Eva herself, was a pick-me-up.

  Hurrying away, she called cheerily back over her shoulder, ‘You and I still need to organise that dance, remember?’

  The noisy echo of her heels on the concrete floor drowned out Hazel’s reply. Which was a pity. Eva couldn’t wait to spin and twirl on the dance floor again, even if it was only in a tiny parish hall. But however desperate she was to organise a local dance, and hopefully cheer both herself and Hazel up in the process, there was no time now to waste on such idle chit-chat. Not when the message in her hand could be a matter of vital national importance.

  As she burst out of the dark tunnel like an avenging angel, the corporal on guard duty in the sunshine jumped to attention, a lit cigarette in hand. No doubt, he had just settled down for a crafty smoke.

  Swiftly moving the barbed wire barrier back for her to pass through, the soldier asked curiously, ‘Everything all right, Miss?’

  ‘I need to speak with Professor Templeton urgently,’ she said crisply, using the authoritative voice her father used when speaking to his men. ‘It’s a matter of grave importance. Is he still having his tea break?’

  ‘As far as I know, Miss.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Sure enough, she found Templeton on the sunny front lawn, a cup of tea and plate of biscuits by his side, along with several of his young male trainees, all of them smoking. The trainees looked round at her with disapproval as she approached them, for not all of them had yet been allowed to man the machines underground, despite weeks of training, while she had been whisked in there double quick.

  She could see the customary accusation in their eyes.

  Favouritism!

  She was the colonel’s daughter, after all.

  But although that could not be excluded as a possibility, Eva preferred to think of her promotion as a reward for natural aptitude. Besides which, most of these boys were too young even to shave. The older lads had mostly all gone off to war by now, so she supposed Templeton’s pool of trainees must be increasingly restricted.

  ‘Might I have a word, Professor?’ She hesitated, not wanting to discuss potentially top-secret information in front of these boys. ‘I’ve found something that might be of interest to you.’

  ‘Spit it out, then,’ he said.

  Eva raised her brows in surprise, and saw him blink. Perhaps he was used to talking to his male trainees in that peremptory tone, but he would have to be a damn sight more polite if he wanted to keep in her good books.

  Templeton stood up, knocked out his pipe in the ashtray, and gave her an uncertain smile. ‘Perhaps if we walk towards the sea a little way?’

  Eva nodded and followed him.

  ‘What’s all this about, then?’ he asked as soon as they were far enough from the house that others couldn’t overhear them. His brow furrowed as he studied her face. ‘You look flushed. I hope you’re not unwell.’

  ‘Never better.’ Eva held out the crumpled message, and he took it, frowning as he unfolded the narrow slip of tape. ‘This just came through. Marked top secret.’ She bit her lip at his grave expression. ‘I hope I didn’t break any rules by bringing it out of the room. Only there was nobody else there, you see. Tea break. I didn’t know who to show it to. But it seemed important. So I thought …’

  ‘No, you did the right thing.’ Professor Templeton read the message again, and then looked up, meeting her eyes with a worried smile. ‘Thank you, Miss Ryder.’

  ‘Eva,’ she reminded him.

  ‘I’ll deal with this.’

  A little disappointed, though not showing it, she asked, ‘Is it important?’

  He hesitated, pushing the note into the top pocket of his jacket. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t give you any details.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘But, yes, it’s incredibly important. This message will save lives.’

  She exhaled, nodding. ‘I’m so glad.’

  ‘Jolly good show, Miss Ryder.’ To her astonishment, he clapped her on the back as though she were one of his male trainees, so hard she rocked on her heels, blinking. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to get this information to the colonel straightaway.’ Then he left her without so much as a backward glance. ‘Mum’s the word!’

  He meant she shouldn’t say a word, of course.

  As if she would!

  Eva gave a silent inward groan as she stood there alone, gazing down the narrow tree-thick valley towards Porthcurno beach. The sun sparkled on the sea, a slight breeze tipping each wave with charming white flecks. It was an idyllic scene.

  There was something intriguing about the professor. Something different and worth pursuing, she decided. She was not a shallow person, or at least, she hoped not. Deep inside, she was still aching for Max, the pilot who had so bravely put her life before his own.

  She would never forget Max Carmichael.

  Never.

  But when bombs were falling and people everywhere were in danger of losing their lives, it was vital to stay alive and follow the promptings of the heart.

  What else was there to live for in times of war?

  Professor Templeton was going to be tough work though. She could see that now. She’d thought from his warm smiles earlier that he had finally seen her as a woman. But just now, when she gave him that message, she might as well have been a tree. Eva winced, sure she could still feel the imprint of his broad hand between her shoulder blades. He had practically walloped her! Hardly the kind of contact she had hoped for from the gorgeous professor.

  She was going about this all wrong, she thought, suddenly inspired. What she needed was a chance to whisk those spectacles off his handsome face, and have him look at her more closely. Close enough to see she was a woman, and not one of his male protégés.

  She walked back towards the house with renewed energy.

  Templeton and the other trainees had vanished back inside, and the lawns were empty, tea break over. But Hazel appeared, peering out of the doorway to Eastern House, one arm crooked to shield her eyes against the bright sunshine.

  ‘Miss?’

  ‘Are you looking for me, Hazel?’ she asked, surprised.

  ‘Sorry,’ Hazel said breathlessly, as though she’d been running, ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt your break. Only you went and forgot this.’ She was holding up Eva’s purse, which she must have left on her desk in the listening room. ‘Thought you might need it.’

  ‘Thank you.’ With a grateful smile, Eva went up the steps and retrieved the purse. ‘That’s very sweet of you, Hazel. But please, call me Eva.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t
, Miss. You’re the colonel’s daughter.’

  ‘Never mind that.’ She drew Hazel to one side, her mind already working swiftly. ‘Look, did you get a chance to find out if we could hire a local hall for that dance? I’m going crazy here. I need to do something.’

  Hazel bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder into the house. ‘I can’t talk now, Miss … I mean, Eva. It’s Violet’s first day, and I’ve left her alone with all them machines.’

  ‘Three minutes, that’s all I need.’ Eva gave her an encouraging smile, linking arms with the Cornishwoman. She didn’t buy that shy, uncertain act. Not one little bit. Something about Hazel told her the woman had a core of steel. And what she needed right now was someone she could depend on to get things done. ‘Come on, have you got any good news for me?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Violet finished mopping up the mess on the concrete floor, head down, trying not to look at the fearfully complex click-clacking machines all about her. The noise they made left all her nerves jangling. She had never been good with technology, and still hated the telephone. But Hazel had told her these telegram machines saved lives, carrying all them messages from across the Atlantic and right round the world, so she guessed they were worth protecting in these underground tunnels.

  Of course, the smell of sick in an enclosed space had not helped Hazel’s condition, and Violet, spotting her wan face, had found an excuse to send her friend out into the fresh air again. ‘Oh look,’ she’d said quickly, pointing, ‘Eva’s left her purse. You should take it to her before she misses it.’

  Hazel had gratefully accepted the mission, but had not come back yet.

  It made Violet a little nervous, being here on her own.

  A top-secret underground room!

  But she had to admit to being curious too, finally plucking up the courage to peer at a few of the machines nearby and read some of the important notices on the wall, though they meant nothing to her.

  Young men started to come down the tunnel into the listening room, chatting and laughing with each other as they came back off their tea break. Some in shirt sleeves, others in flannel jackets, they looked posh, fresh-faced with floppy hair, and most were very young, less than twenty years old by her guess. A few glanced at her with little interest before heading for their stations further into the tunnels. The others paid her no mind at all, striding past as she shrank against the rough tunnel wall, dripping mop in hand.

  It was like being blooming invisible.

  Posh types were like that though, weren’t they? A woman with a mop in her hand wasn’t anyone important to them. She could be a German spy, and they wouldn’t take no notice of her. Not even if she was creeping about, reading their top-secret bleeding messages.

  ‘You there, what are you doing?’

  Violet jumped guiltily, turning to see a soldier in his forties with one of those twirly handlebar moustaches, glaring at her like she really was a spy.

  That would teach her to stand about daydreaming instead of doing her job!

  ‘I was just cleaning the floor.’ Violet turned red despite herself as heads turned all over the room, the young men staring round at her in silent accusation.

  The soldier with the big moustache jerked his head back towards the entrance. ‘Right, well, you appear to have finished now. So, on your way.’

  ‘Yes, all right.’ She gathered up both her own bucket and mop and those that Hazel had abandoned, and struggled away down the corridor, metal buckets clanking together, the two dripping mops leaving behind a trail of soapy water. ‘Oops … Sorry.’

  The soldier folded his arms and watched her go, clearly unimpressed.

  At the barbed wire barrier, she met a flushed and harassed-looking Hazel.

  ‘Here’s your mop and bucket,’ Violet told her breathlessly, handing them over once the grinning soldier had moved the barrier to let her pass. ‘I wish you’d come back a bit sooner. Left me in the bleedin’ lurch, it did.’

  Hazel stared. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Some bloke threw me out. Seemed to think I was up to no good.’

  ‘Oh no, and on your first day too! I’m sorry it took so long.’ Hazel showed her round to the back of the house. There was a small yard back there, and a covered area with a drain where they could ditch the dirty water and prop the wet mops. ‘I tried to get back as soon as I could. But Eva – Miss Ryder – she wouldn’t let me go. She’s got some mad scheme. I don’t know what to do about it.’

  Violet leant against the back wall in the sunlight and pulled a packet of fags from her apron pocket. ‘Is it our break time yet?’

  ‘Not even close.’

  ‘I’m having a smoke anyway. Two minutes, all right?’

  Hazel hesitated, then shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’ She glanced at the back door. ‘Frobisher shouldn’t see us back here, not at this time of day. He’ll be too busy in the kitchen. First luncheon sitting’s at noon, and he likes everything prepared and set out on the tables in good time.’

  ‘Wonder how my nieces are getting on.’ Violet made a face. ‘Poor little mites. I wouldn’t change places with them, not for the world. He looks a bit of an ogre, that one.’

  ‘Oh, he’s not so bad.’ Hazel shook her head when Violet offered her a cigarette. ‘No thanks, I don’t smoke.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Violet took a long drag and blew a smoke ring, watching it dissolve as it drifted upwards in the sunny air. ‘Keeps me going, a smoke between jobs. And stops me thinking about food.’

  ‘Oh, food!’ Hazel clutched her tummy. ‘I’m so hungry these days.’ Then her face fell, as if she had suddenly remembered about her pregnancy. ‘When I can keep the stuff down, that is.’

  Violet closed her eyes, letting the sun play against her lids. She could get used to this new life, outdoors so much, and this bright Cornish air, the smell of the sea …

  Suddenly homesick, she wondered what everyone was doing back in Dagenham. How her mum was, and their neighbours, and the café. Every night at bedtime she prayed that the bombs would miss everyone she knew, and named them all, and even mentioned her mother’s little café where she had worked for so long.

  She wasn’t a fool, though. She knew perfectly well that everyone in the East End must be praying the same thing, and not everyone got spared, did they?

  Still, she always stuck her hands together and muttered the words all the same, because what was there to lose? Nothing, except a few minutes every night before her head hit the pillow. Maybe God was listening, maybe he wasn’t. Maybe there was no God, as many had begun to mutter since the bombing started, because if there was a God, why would he let so many kids die, or leave them orphaned and alone? But it was worth the effort, praying.

  She took another drag on her ciggy, pushing her fears away. But there was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t heard from her mother since moving into Hazel’s place, when she’d posted a quick note back home to let Mum know where she was. That didn’t mean anything, though. Mum might have written back, but the letter could have been lost. Post Offices and depots were bombed too, weren’t they?

  Or more likely, her mother was busy and hadn’t known how to reply to her letter.

  Violet bit her lip. She hadn’t gone into much detail about what had happened, not feeling it right to put such an embarrassing fact into a letter where anyone might read it. Especially when it was about her niece, who was still so young and innocent. It wouldn’t be fair for Lily to be marked out in some way by what her uncle had tried to do. But that was what happened when scandalous stories like that did the rounds, wasn’t it? The girl suffered while the man got away scot-free. It was the way of the world, and she knew it, but it still wasn’t right.

  ‘You all right?’ Hazel asked, peering at her, which was when Violet belatedly realised she had been talking about the necessary evils of rationing, and how much she and Charlie missed some of the foods they couldn’t get hold of anymore, not for love nor money. ‘I don’t think you�
�ve been listening to a word I’ve said.’

  ‘Too much sun, that’s all,’ Violet replied shortly, then dropped her fag and ground it out under her heel. ‘I’m not used to it.’

  ‘I hope you’re not going to get sick too. You look a bit peaky.’

  ‘So do you, love.’ Violet couldn’t resist giving her friend a quick nudge. ‘But that’s not surprising, given your condition.’

  ‘Shush!’ Hazel looked about herself, horrified. ‘Keep your voice down!’

  ‘Oops, sorry.’ Violet realised too late that several windows were open above them. She had forgotten that Hazel probably wouldn’t want her pregnancy to be widely known. Once people knew, she would lose her job here, for starters, and then Violet might lose her own too, not to mention the girls. ‘My effing mouth! It just slipped out.’

  ‘Please be careful.’

  ‘I will in future, cross my heart and hope to die.’

  ‘Thanks, though I’d rather you didn’t!’ But Hazel was still frowning. ‘Look, Violet, are you sure there’s nothing bothering you? You really don’t look too clever.’

  Violet hesitated, about to tell her friend what was wrong, but then abruptly changed her mind. She wasn’t ready to share her fears about her mum back in Dagenham. Hazel might mention it in front of Lily and Alice, and then they’d get upset for no good reason. Until she heard to the contrary, she had to assume everyone back home was safe and well. Just as they were, even if things hadn’t quite worked out as planned.

  ‘I’m just feeling a bit dicky, love. Best get back to work though.’ She shot Hazel a falsely cheery smile, and winked. ‘Come on, let’s see what them girls are up to in the kitchen, shall we? Bet they’ve got that old bloke in a right stew by now.’

  But as she hurried back into Eastern House, Violet stopped suddenly, her eyes widening in shock.

  Right behind her, Hazel bumped into her back. ‘Watch out!’

  ‘S-sorry.’ Violet put a hand to her heaving chest. ‘Clumsy me, eh? Told you … It must be a t-touch of sunstroke.’

  But it wasn’t too much sun that had made her stop dead, and she knew it.