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She walked to the counter. ‘Any ciggies,’ she asked of the ginger-haired assistant.
‘Any money?’ He dipped beneath the counter and brought out a packet. ‘A bob gets you ten!’
‘Oooh! Thanks, chum.’ Nan parted with a shilling and gave him a wink. ‘And there’s a rumour goin’ round that you might have makeup to sell.’
‘News to me,’ he shrugged, ‘but you’d better ask the lady when she’s on duty, tonight. She’ll know…’
Nan hurried back to Southgate. No lipsticks and suchlike in the NAAFI, but she had a date. Sunday, at seven, at the Black Bull! Quite a way to walk, but what the heck? If Chas was waiting there, it would be worth every step of the way. If. Oh, please he wouldn’t be flying? Not on her first date?’
With a frown, Carrie read what she had written. Just like her mother not to tell her she was ill; just like Jeffrey’s mother to make sure she knew!
Why didn’t you tell me you were poorly, mother? Please, please, phone Doc Smithson and ask him to call and give you a check-up. And ask him to give you a tonic, too.
There is not a lot of news. Jeffrey, as you will probably know has got a ship at last. HMS Adventurer – home waters, I hope. He sent a photograph. He looks very stern, in uniform.
Should she tell her mother about the dance at RAF Modeley and what a good time they had had? Perhaps not. It didn’t seem right to be enjoying yourself when your mother was ill -and alone.
Am going to get something to eat, now, before I take the late shift on duty and collect the earlies. This is just a short note to let you know how sorry I am you are not well, and to beg you to send for the doctor. In haste, but with much, much love.
Her mother – or Jeffrey’s mother – made her feel bad because she had joined up instead of getting married so she need not leave home to do her war work. But she had left home and would only be back to Jackmans Cottage for a week every three months for as long as the war lasted.
Quickly she addressed the envelope. She would post it when she went for her meal when it would have every chance of being on its way by tomorrow.
She looked out of the window and saw a flush-cheeked Nan hurrying up the path, doubtless with news of the utmost importance to tell! It made her wish she were nearly eighteen again, and going on her first real date. But she was twenty-one, or would be at the end of October.
She arranged a smile on her lips as Nan burst into the room and tossed her the cigarettes.
‘That’s a shillin’ you owe me, Tiptree, and guess what! I’m meetin’ Chas at the Black Bull on Sunday.’
There was just nothing to say in reply to such bright-eyed, breathless happiness, so Carrie said,
‘Thanks a lot,’ and gave Nan two sixpenny pieces without further comment, because she knew she had never felt that way on her first real date – nor on any of the many that followed.
‘Fingers crossed, mind – flying, and all that.’
Nan collapsed on her bed and lay, hands behind head, gazing at the ceiling as if, Carrie thought, Chas’s face were up there, and smiling down at her.
‘Nan,’ she said softly. ‘You know I’m very happy about you and Chas, but don’t get hurt, will you? There’s a war on, don’t forget?’
‘Don’t think I don’t know.’ Nan sat bolt upright, the contentment gone from her face. ‘And it looks like every date we have will depend on that war, damn and blast it! And he mightn’t even be there, on Sunday. He could be flying ops!’
‘So you’ll walk all the way to the Black Bull, and he mightn’t show – then walk all the way back? And it’s getting dark earlier now, Nan.’
‘It’s all I can do. If they suddenly tell them they’re off bombing, he can’t give me a quick ring, can he? Their switchboard shuts down. No calls out and no calls allowed in. Security, see?’
‘Oh, Nan Morrissey! Your love affair is going to be as complicated as mine,’ Carrie laughed. ‘You and Chas and me and Jeffrey trying to get together, I mean. But if Chas shows on Sunday, surely he’ll walk you home?’
‘Of course he will. Suppose, if I’d told him how to get here, he’d have met me at Priest’s. I was just so glad to be talkin’ to him that I didn’t think. But don’t worry about me, Carrie. I’m a big girl, now.’
‘Mm. Old enough to take the King’s shilling so I reckon you’re grown up enough to go on dates without Evie and me watching over you like mother hens. Sorry, love.’
‘Don’t be sorry, Carrie. I like being fussed over. It’s nice when somebody cares about you – honest it is. And I’m going to give this place a good turn out, so you’d better get yourself back to the stab-leyard. And if you see Evie in the washroom, tell her not to hurry back.’
She wanted Southgate to herself, Nan thought; wanted to think about and sigh over Chas. And if it meant getting into her horrible brown overall and sweeping and mopping and dusting the place, then it would be worth it, because Chas was very nice to think about, and sigh over. And oh, please, let him be there at seven tomorrow night, and not flying into danger in a bomber?
‘I’m pushing off now to get some supper,’ Sergeant James said to Evie. ‘There isn’t a lot of traffic – you can manage without me, Turner, till the end of the shift.’ It was more of an order than a question. ‘I’ll be back before ten, to hand over to the night man.’
‘We’ll be fine,’ Evie smiled, wondering how much longer Sergeant James could keep up her long working day – six in the morning until ten at night, with only breaks for meals. Soon, maybe, she should talk about her having more time off. After all, Evie reasoned, she did have a stripe up and more than able to cope with anything the people behind the green baize door might throw at her. ‘See you about ten.’
‘So you’re in charge,’ Nan said when the sergeant had left for the cookhouse.
‘Yes I am, and since you don’t seem busy, how about putting the kettle on?’
Maybe then, Evie thought, they could have a chat about tomorrow night, and was Nan really thinking of walking the mile back alone, if her boyfriend didn’t show up, and to keep to the side of the road if she heard anything coming and not stick her thumb out for a lift. That was just asking for an accident. Things like that happened all the time in the blackout with motors only allowed dim lights to drive on.
She stared at the switchboard and thought, soberly, that soon they would have dark nights to endure; blackouts to be in place, in November, by late afternoon, and not one glimmer of light to be shown until next morning. Not even the lighting of a cigarette, out doors. And then there would be winter, and freezing billets and frost patterns on the insides of windows. It made her wonder if they dare light a fire at Southgate and if, on moonlit nights or nights bright with stars, anyone would notice the smoke puffing from the chimney.
‘Y’know,’ she said absently, ‘I was thinking that when the cold weather comes and we’re on late shift, we could boil up the kettle and fill our hot-water bottles.’
And Nan said it would be a good idea, but she didn’t have a hot-water bottle and surely Evie knew there were none in the shops, now that rubber was a commodity of war, and anything made from it non-existent, almost.
‘Well, next time I go on leave I shall bring mine – and the little camping stove and kettle. I’m not looking forward to winter, Nan.’
‘Who is?’ Nan blew on her tea. ‘But what I’m more worried about is tomorrow night – that Chas will be able to make it, I mean.’
‘Yes – but if he doesn’t, you will be careful walking home on your own?’ Evie seized the opportunity. ‘Keep to the side of the road, because it’ll be getting dark, don’t forget.’
‘Don’t worry – I will. But I don’t even want to think that he mightn’t be there.’
‘You’re very taken with him, aren’t you Nan?’
‘We-e-ll, he is the first feller that’s asked me out. And he’s not a bit common and he talks luv’ly. He’ll be smashin’ when I’ve taught him to dance. He gets a bit scared talking to girls, so he’s never plucked up the courage.’
‘But he asked you!’
‘Nah! It was me asked him. I told him that if he didn’t get up on the floor with me, then some other feller would ask me – and I wanted to dance with him.’
‘Nothing if not direct,’ Evie laughed.
‘It’s the way us Liverpudlians are. Straight to the point. No messin’. I had a great time.’
‘I know. I was there, don’t forget! But you will be careful, Nan? You know what I mean?’
‘I think I do. And don’t worry. I didn’t come down with the last fall of snow, you know!’
And now they were back to snow again, Evie thought. And winter and sleeping with your undies under your pillow, to keep them warm.
‘I wonder,’ she said, ‘when Sergeant James will get the leave-roster going? I’m not due leave for two months yet, but you and Carrie and the two at Priest’s should be thinking about it before so very much longer.’
‘They told us when we first joined that leave was a privilege and not a God-given right.’
‘Yes, but you always get it, Nan. They like to throw rules and regulations at you, just to show you who’s boss. And someone,’ she grinned as a small round disc dropped, ‘is alive and kicking at the big house. Thought they must have gone into town tonight, to the flicks.’
She picked up a plug, pushed it in and said, ‘Switchboard.’
And Nan hugged her mug which was thick and white and shaped like a chamber pot and willed one of her teleprinters to shift itself and click out a signal.
‘I think,’ Evie said, ‘that it’s going to be one of those nights. There are times, I’ve found, when the war seems to take a breather for some peculiar reason. Ah, well, roll on ten o’clock…’
At ten minutes to ten, the green baize door opened and the Yeoman said, ‘Evening, ladies.’ He was dressed in his usual night rig and carried a notepad and pen, his tin-lid ashtray and a packet of cigarettes. ‘Busy?’
‘Nah. Boring, actually,’ Nan shrugged. ‘In fact, we decided that most of your lot must be out on the town, it bein’ Sat’day night. Packed up for the weekend, have they?’
‘Wouldn’t know. The high-ups don’t tell me anything. I’m not that important.’
‘Civilians, are they?’ Nan asked.
‘Some of them.’
‘So tell me, Yeoman, why don’t they have their own people looking after the teleprinters and switchboard? Why do they seem to need Army people to do it?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine, young lady,’ he said, walking into the kitchen. ‘Either of you want a cup of tea – and where is your sergeant, tonight?’
‘She’s here!’ They heard the door bang, then Monica James emerged from between the thick curtains covering it. ‘And why wasn’t this door bolted behind me when I left?’
‘Good evening, Sergeant. Tea?’ asked the Yeoman.
‘No thank you.’ She walked, shoulders stiff, to the switchboard. ‘Everything OK, Lance-Corporal?’
‘Fine. Nothing to report Sergeant.’
‘Transport’s waiting outside. Get your jackets on and off you go, then. And goodnight, Yeoman. See you at six…’
‘Night, then – but couldn’t we all be a little less formal. We’re all fighting the same war, after all. Couldn’t you and I throw caution to the winds and call each other Sarge and Yeo?’
He smiled, and it crinkled his eye corners and made him look much less serious, she thought. But still she said,
‘No thank you. As you said, we’re here to fight a war, so what would be the point in it? See you tomorrow – and bolt the door, please?’
Then she tugged her jacket straight, tweaked the peak of her cap and went to sit beside Carrie.
‘Well! The Navy’s laying on the charm. Call me Yeo, he said! But it isn’t on and don’t any of you forget it.’ She turned in her seat to glower at Evie and Nan. ‘They made it quite clear from the onset. Their lot doesn’t fraternise with our lot, so if they want to play cloak-and-dagger and treat us like we’re not to be trusted, then it’s OK by me!’
‘But Sergeant,’ Evie protested, ‘he is rather nice and he’s only trying to be friendly.’
‘Yes, an’ if we got to talking to him, maybe we’d find out what that lot are up to,’ Nan added.
‘They’ll tell us, if they want us to know. Now, do any of you want to stop off at the NAAFI for a hot drink?’
‘No thanks. We’ve been drinkin’ tea all night. An’ we’re on early shift, tomorrow. Best be off to bed. Thanks all the same,’ Nan said.
Nan Morrissey could not wait for tomorrow to come and for her shift to be over. Only then could she wash her hair, press her best uniform and polish her buttons. Then she would have a quick bite in the cookhouse and be off in the direction of Little Modeley and the Black Bull. And Chas, of course. Would be hell though, if he wasn’t waiting when she got there.
‘Well, that’s Private Morrissey on her way!’ Evie giggled. ‘Bless the girl, she was in a real dither. It’s her first real date.’
‘I know it is. She told me so. But – well – I wonder if I could have a word with you,’ Carrie hesitated.
‘Surely. I’ve written to Bob. Just got my bed to make up, then I’m all ears.’
‘It’s sort of – personal, Evie. About being married. Y’see, I can’t talk to my mother about it.’
‘Girls rarely can, I believe – talk to their mothers about things. So what’s bothering you? Getting wedding jitters?’
‘No. In fact I said to Jeffrey that I wouldn’t mind us being married in our uniforms – especially if it turns out to be a winter wedding. But it isn’t that, Evie. It’s what happens after that I’m worried about – and if you’d rather not talk about something – well – so personal, I’ll understand.’
‘Your wedding night, you mean? But haven’t you and he talked it over, yet? About whether you want children right away, or do you both want to wait till the war is over – things like that?’
‘I never even thought. Just don’t seem to be able to get past the when-it-happens-bit.’
‘You mean you’re worried about it? Oh, but you shouldn’t be. It’s wonderful, Carrie!’
‘Is it? Well, I didn’t think so…’ Carrie looked down at her hands.
‘So you and Jeffrey have been lovers?’
‘Lovers! Is that what you call it? And yes, we did it. He wanted to, so I let him. I just laid there, Evie, and looked at the ceiling, and when it was over I felt sick.’
‘Hey, come on now – don’t get upset. And remember, you don’t have to talk about it, though I think it’s best you do. Because loving, between two people, can be – should be – nothing short of breathtaking. It makes me go peculiar just thinking about it, and what I wouldn’t give right now to be somewhere with Bob for just an hour. And if it’s any comfort, Bob and I didn’t wait for our wedding night, either.’
‘Yes, but I bet you wanted to, Evie, and I didn’t…’
‘But why didn’t you talk to him about it, afterwards – tell him how you felt?’
‘What would have been the point?’ Red-cheeked, Carrie walked to the window, staring out, arms folded. ‘You don’t criticise Jeffrey. He’d throw a sulk. And anyway, I wanted him out of the house – before my mother got back, I told him. But all I wanted to do was wash myself all over.’
‘Well, the way I see it is that it’s a rum do if you can’t discuss things calmly and sensibly with the man you want to spend the rest of your life with – have his children, too. Was it really so awful, Carrie?’
‘No. Just not enjoyable, I suppose. I used to think that being able to do that whenever you wanted to must be really nice. But I suppose, if you want children – and I do – I’ll have to put up with things the way they are.’ She blew her nose loudly, then drew the curtains over the window. ‘Sorry if I embarrassed you, Evie. Tell you what – let’s nip up to the NAAFI – maybe have a half of shandy, or something? My treat?’
‘No thanks, Carrie. You and I need to talk and it’s best we do it here! Because you don’t have to put up with anything, you know. It should be an act of loving between you – and not you putting up with it. Sorry, love, but I have to say this – in my opinion, that kind of a marriage will be nothing short of a misery, for both of you! So let’s you and me have that talk, and then I suggest you write to Jeffrey and tell him what’s bothering you and how you can both put it right.’
‘Whaaat! And have someone here censor my letter – Sergeant James, maybe? Not on your life, Evie!’
‘So you’ll wait to talk to him when next you are on leave? Is that wise?’
‘Suppose not, especially since everybody expects we’re going to be married when we can manage to get leave together. My mother – Jeffrey’s mother -the entire village thinks it. Be a bit late for talking, won’t it?
‘And Evie, since you are acting in loco parentis, sort of, I think I’d better get the whole lot off my chest! I didn’t have to volunteer. I needn’t have joined up till I registered. And my age group hasn’t come up, yet. I really think,’ she rushed on, eyes on her hands, ‘that I joined up on purpose.’
