скачать книгу бесплатно
‘They’re scrambled, too – even inside Heronflete.’
‘Which only goes to show that something just might going on in there.’
She nodded towards the green baize door, all at once disliking it, because if the Army girls -herself included – were to be treated like a load of mindless morons who couldn’t be trusted to keep their mouths shut, then the sooner she was out of this place, the better! It made her think that maybe volunteering for service overseas might be the best way out – a new start, perhaps?
The bell buzzed again. She walked to the in-tray to pick up a signal, in code.
‘Right then, Morrissey – here’s one for you to send…’
It gave no clue; was merely prefixed Attention of C in CWA. A pencilled note attached with a paperclip instructed Send to LPL CWA.
The sergeant searched the route-map on the wall that gave all Army teleprinter stations. LPL CWA was not on it, but who damn-well cared!
Nan secured the signal to the holder in front of her, then began to tap the spacebar to alert Central Switchboard – wherever it was – that Heronflete had a signal for someone who was a Commander-in-Chief – that much she deduced without too much effort – but where LPL and WA were, no one was going to tell her.
It bothered her not one bit. Nan Morrissey was sending her first secretive signal; she was at war!
It made her glow with happiness. And for a bonus, she reminded herself yet again that tomorrow was pay day. How good could life get!
* * *
‘I’ll be doing the shift-run in ten minutes, Freddy,’ Carrie called. ‘You’ll have to wait for your tea till I get back!’
Pick up B-shift at Priest’s Lodge at 1350 hours, deliver them to the signals office, wait outside for A-shift – Evie and Nan – and drive them back to Southgate. It was a piece of cake, though it might make a change, she thought, if she were to get some real driving in. On proper roads.
Lenice and Ailsa made up B-shift. Lenice Cooper’s uniform was still in need of alteration but she vowed it would stay that way until she went on long leave when her uncle, a time-served tailor’s assistant, could make a proper job of it. Lenice, she had insisted, was not an unusual name at all, but the feminine of Leonard, which was her father’s name.
Ailsa Seaton was fair and pretty with a pink and white complexion. Carrie thought she seemed so fragile she should have been named Rose, or something delicately floral. Ailsa was Scottish and homesick for Edinburgh and hid behind Lenice’s forceful personality.
Carrie would not, she had quickly decided, cross swords with Lenice who was a bit Bolshie, and was glad the lord had been booted out of his dirty big house!
Yet it took all sorts to make a world, Carrie thought, and all sorts and shapes and sizes to make up the Auxiliary Territorial Service, which was beginning to have its good points.
She called a goodbye to Freddy and Norm who grunted from beneath the bonnet of the officers’ car, and thought about Jeffrey’s letter which had been cheerful and optimistic. Jeffrey’s draft chit into the real Navy – the pusser Navy, he called it – had come through and he told her not to write to Barracks again, and wait until she heard from him.
I know the name of my ship, but had best not tell you in a letter, or the censor will cut it out. Sufficient to say that by the time you get this I shall be on my way at last.
Thanks for yours, which arrived this morning.
In haste and high delight. Take care of yourself. I love you.
Jeffrey
Carrie tooted a goodbye as she left the stable yard. The afternoon was pleasant. September days were quite something; still warm, yet without the blazing heat of summer. A mellow time; a small Indian Summer before Autumn finaily gave way to winter. Which made her wonder how it would be when the snows came and they had to get from Southgate to the motor pool and the cookhouse and the ablutions. Would they be issued with gumboots, or would Sergeant James have got her way by then, and have them all in a more conveniently placed Nissen hut? With a coke stove, of course.
But she would worry about leaving Southgate when she had to. Right now it was a delight to be driving on the estate roads, making for Priest’s Lodge where, she hoped, Lenice and Ailsa would be waiting at the gate.
Carrie thought about Sergeant James who had been on duty since early morning and wondered how long her shifts would be and if they had managed to work out a meals rota. But that was up to the sergeant, whose dislike of the way things were at Heronflete plainly showed.
‘Nothing to do with you, Private Tiptree,’ Carrie said to the hen pheasant that ran across the lane ahead of her, then made cheerfully for Priest’s Lodge.
‘Have you eaten, then?’ she asked of B-shift as they climbed into the back of the truck.
‘Of course. At half-twelve, though it’s a heck of a trudge to the cook-house and back,’ Lenice grumbled. ‘Mind, it’ll be a whole lot worse when it rains, had you thought about that, Tiptree?’
‘N-no.’ Carrie stared ahead, deciding not to mention she had gone one better, and thought about snow! ‘But we’ve got our capes – we’ll be all right.’ Lenice had the makings of a barrack-room lawyer, Carrie frowned; one who always complained – often and loudly. ‘And it hasn’t rained yet. This far, the weather has been lovely. Looking forward to your first shift,’ she asked over her shoulder, turning right at Southgate, making for the huddle of buildings ahead.
‘Suppose so. Anything to relieve the boredom, though why I let myself be inveigled into a capitalist war I’ll never know!’
Carrie almost told her it was to fight the Fascists, who were far more evil than capitalists, but instead she said,
‘Now you know political opinions are forbidden so if you don’t mind, Lenice, I want none of them in this truck whilst I’m in charge!’
They completed the journey in silence, then Ailsa whispered, ‘Thanks,’ as they got down.
It was the first word she had spoken and Carrie thought how awful it must be for her at Priest’s and it made her all the more glad that she shared with Evie and Nan who were absolute loves.
‘Had you thought,’ Nan said with relish, ‘Priest’s will be doing the early shift in the morning as well, and that Evie and I will be off till tomorrow, at two? Don’t know whether to get up for breakfast, or have a lovely lie in.’
‘Yes, but Priest’s will be free for a trip into Lincoln on Saturday. Norm told me there’ll be a transport laid on.’
‘So will you be driving, Carrie?’ Evie looked up from her bedmaking and the meticulous envelope corners she was tucking in.
‘No one has said anything to me.’ Now Norm had agreed to relieve her of the evening shift, Carrie supposed she might have no choice in the matter. ‘I’ll be available from two, so maybe I will. I’ll ask Sergeant James to sort it with Freddy.’ She had learned that orders came from above and you didn’t go over the head of anyone with rank up.
‘Did you see the notice in the NAAFI – a dance, on Friday night?’
‘What – here?’ None of the soldiers she had seen at Heronflete looked a likely dancing partner. Nan frowned.
‘No. At the aerodrome. Invitation to the Sergeant’s Mess. Dancing from seven till ten-thirty. Transport laid on. If we’re going, we won’t be back here till eleven, at least. We’ll have to put in for a late pass,’ Evie warned.
‘Then I’m game,’ Nan beamed, thoughts of a real night out pleasing her. ‘Will they have a decent band, do you think?’
‘They very often do, in the RAF. Should think it’ll be a good hop,’ Evie said.’ Before I came here, I went to quite a few RAF dances. They often lay on beer and sandwiches.’
‘And they send transport? But will it be worth their while,’ Carrie frowned, ‘for just the three of us, because I don’t suppose the sergeant will be going.’
‘They’ll probably pick up in the villages around – civilian girls, to make up numbers. Is Friday night on, then?’ Evie wanted to know.
And Carrie and Nan said it was, and had anybody realised it would be their first night out for ages and ages?
‘OK, then. Leave the passes to me,’ Evie said. ‘And I’m going to the washroom to press my best uniform and wash some stockings. Anybody coming?’
But Carrie said she had to write to her mother, and Nan said she was going to take off her collar and tie and sit outside at the back in the sun.
To think, she supposed, about how smashing it was at Heronflete, even if they were a bit of a funny lot. And maybe to give a little thought to the grave marker, and how she would be able to find it if they weren’t allowed up the drive, much less within a hundred yards of the house. Because that’s where they’d buried Cecilia, Grandad had said.
My word, but being in the ATS gave you a lot to sit in the sun and think about!
Nan lay on her bed, hands behind head, watching as Carrie put on her make-up. She was very lovely, Nan thought; a nose every bit as perfect as Hedy Lamarr’s and high cheekbones, like Lana Turner’s. And her hair was thick and fair – more honey-coloured than blonde. But of more importance than Carrie’s enviable beauty was the ring. On the third finger of her left hand.
‘I’ll wear it,’ she had said, ‘if we go dancing, or anything,’ and there it was, sparkling and flashing; three diamonds that must have cost every bit of twenty pounds.
‘Something the matter?’ Carrie met Nan’s gaze in the mirror and turned, smiling.
‘No. Was just thinking that’s a smashin’ ring.’
‘Mm. It feels a bit strange, wearing it again. Wonder where Jeffrey is.’
‘Maybe on his new ship. Maybe sailing off into the sunset.’
‘He could be, but I’m sure he’ll be with the Home Fleet. If his ship was going foreign, he’d have been given leave. And talking about leave, we’ll have got three months’ service behind us, soon, and you’re supposed to get leave every three months, don’t forget. Must ask Evie about putting in for it.’
‘You’ll be goin’ home, to Yorkshire?’
‘Yes, and I’m quite looking forward to it. Be nice to wear civvies again and sleep in, mornings – and see Mum, of course. She’s missing me a lot, and it’s going to be awful for her when the bad weather comes.’
‘Why?’ Nan watched as Carrie removed Kirby grips from her pin-curled hair.
‘Well, we’ve got a little car and up until now I’ve always done the driving. When petrol was rationed, we decided we could manage on foot or on bikes in summer, to save our petrol coupons for winter. And Mum can’t drive…’
‘Then you’ll have to give her a few lessons, when you go home.’
‘Might be a good idea, though if she’d wanted to drive, she’d have taken it up before now. Mind, if she feels confident, it should be all right. At least she won’t have to pass a driving test.’
Tests had been suspended for the duration, which was very convenient, Carrie thought. All you did, now, was to apply for a licence, then start driving, which her mother would refuse point blank to do. She knew it! She already hated the blackout; driving a car in it when winter came wouldn’t even be considered. But it was too late now to worry about her mother living in an isolated village miles away from shops of any size; it was only one of the things she hadn’t taken into account in her haste to leave Nether Hutton.
‘Hi, folks!’ Evie’s bedroom door opened. ‘Got your war paint on, then, ’cause we’ll have to get a move on. The transport is picking us up at Priest’s at seven. Aren’t you putting your lipstick on, Nan?’
‘Haven’t got one. The Queer One didn’t allow make-up. Said it was common.’
‘Why do you call your stepmother The Queer One?’ Carrie asked as they walked towards Priest’s Lodge. ‘Hasn’t she got a name?’
‘Yes. It’s Ida. She said I was to call her mother, but it wasn’t on.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because she wasn’t my mother. And she didn’t like me and I didn’t like her. It’s why I shoved off when dad died. No way was I stoppin’ with that one, and when I’m due for leave I’ll go to Auntie Mim’s, even if I have to sleep on the parlour sofa. Mind, I just might ask for my travel warrant to be made out to Edinburgh. Always wanted to go to Scotland…’
The possibilities, thought Nan, were heady and endless.
The RAF transport they shared with five civilian girls came to a stop at the guard room of the RAF bomber station.
‘Five civvies and three Army girls,’ called the driver, who was a member of the Womens’ Auxiliary Air Force – an aircraftwoman, or a WAAF, Carrie supposed – envying the skill with which she handled the large transport. ‘For the Mess dance.’
The red and white barrier was lifted and behind them, as they drove through, they could see outlines of huge hangars, wooden buildings and rows of Nissen huts. They stopped outside one of them.
‘Here you are, girls! Sergeants’ Mess. And they aren’t on ops tonight, so there’ll be plenty of partners,’ the driver grinned as she let down the tail board. ‘Sounds like it’s already started.’
They walked towards the sound of the music and drum beats, then pushed through the thick blackout curtain that covered the door to be met with wolf whistles of relief, Evie thought, at the arrival of eight more partners, because, apart from the WAAFs and three land girls already there, women were outnumbered by two to one. There would be no wallflowers here tonight! They threaded through the dancers to find empty chairs where a lone sergeant sat.
‘Hi!’ Nan beamed. ‘Smashin’ band you’ve got.’
‘Er – y-yes.’ The sergeant blushed, then stared ahead. ‘G-good…’
The band was playing very professionally. Shouldn’t wonder, Nan thought, if some of them had been musicians in civvy street. Her feet began to tap and she smiled at the airman at her side, wishing he would ask her onto the floor.
The music ended with a roll of drums, the couples returned to the chairs that lined the hut.
It wasn’t much of a place, Nan thought, hoping that Sergeant James never got her heart’s desire. The windows were already thickly curtained, cigarette smoke hung lazily beneath the curved tin roof.
‘Is this your billet,’ she asked the man beside her.
‘’N-no. Our m-mess hall, actually.’
‘I live in a gate lodge,’ Nan confided. ‘Real cute.’ She dropped her voice, leaning closer. ‘At Heronflete Priory.’
‘Mm. Know it. F-flown over it loads of – of t-times. B-big place, like a castle. And sorry for the imp – imp…’
‘Stammer?’ Nan offered.
‘Y-yes. But only when I t-talk to girls.’
‘Why? Girls don’t bite.’
‘I blush, too. It p-puts them off.’
Nan turned to gaze at him. Young, like herself. Fair-haired and blue-eyed. And tall. Good to look at, really.
‘Well, it hasn’t put me off, so you’d better tell me your name.’
‘Charles Lawson, though most of the blokes call me Charlie.’
‘Hm. No. Charles is too stuffy and Charlie makes you sound a real – well you know…Think I shall call you Chas. And I’m called Nancy Morrissey, though I prefer Nan.’
‘Hi!’ He offered a hand, which Nan took. ‘N-nice to meet you.’
‘Likewise. And I think you’d better ask me up to dance when the music starts, ’cause if you don’t, somebody else is goin’ to ask me, and I want to talk to you.’
‘You do, Nan? You really do?’ His cheeks were bright red. ‘I’d love to, but I can’t d-dance…’
‘Why ever not! Don’t you like dancin’?’
‘I’d like to try it, but I can’t pluck up the courage to ask. By the t-time I’ve said I’m sorry, I can’t dance but would they like to t-try one with me some other bloke has nabbed them.’
‘But you’re talkin’ to me, and what’s more you and me’s havin’ the next dance, OK? I mean, you’re never goin’ to learn, are you, if you never set foot on the floor.’
‘You’ll be sorry!’ He smiled for all that, and it was a lovely smile, Nan thought. Nice, white teeth and even, like a film star’s.
