Sam delivered the men in his charge to the redcaps and gave the army military police a full account of what he’d encountered. ‘This shower need a wake-up call. I think a week’s fatigues and doubling round the parade ground in full kit should do the trick.’
‘Righto, Corp,’ the MP said.
Sam completed his written statement and then went in search of his billet. Sometimes a Bombardier had to share a small, curtained cubicle, which gave him limited privacy, in the same hut that the men lived in. They had their own mess, that was the only privilege.
However, as he was about to be promoted to sergeant, he was given separate accommodation – not quite his own room, as he had to share with another senior NCO, but better than sleeping with the privates.
If he was an officer, he’d have an orderly to take care of him but he was happy with his lot. He was used to taking care of himself. The room was a decent size with two wardrobes and two chests of drawers, as well as hooks on either side of the door. No sink, so he’d have to use the ablutions like everyone else. The bloke he was sharing with was obviously like him and preferred his personal space tidy.
It might be a bit tricky sharing with a sergeant until he was actually at the same rank, but Sam was sure he’d have no difficulty as he considered himself an easy-going sort of bloke. He came across the greaseproof paper-wrapped parcel of food and tucked it into his pocket. All he needed was a cup of char to go with it and he’d be tickety-boo.
He was singing a Glen Miller favourite of his, ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’, but not loudly as he knew there could be people on nights trying to get some kip. He was a decent tenor and was always in demand when there was a sing-song in the local pub. He could also play any tune on the piano that he heard on the wireless. He was interrupted by the door bursting open without the courtesy of a knock first.
‘Bloody hell, you’re just the man I’m looking for. I’m Charlie Green, ENSA, the Entertainments National Service Association. We’re doing a show tonight at the officers’ mess and my lead singer has got the squits.’
Sam laughed. The men he’d met who travelled around the place entertaining service people were a law unto themselves. ‘Okay, I’m happy to help. I’ve only just arrived, as you can see, so I need to report before I can do anything else.’
‘Fair enough, I’ll come with you so you can’t escape. The Brylcreem boys will appreciate your sacrifice, although I doubt that your commanding officer will be as pleased.’ He beamed. ‘This is our last performance before we head out to entertain the troops overseas. We want it to be memorable for the audience and for us.’
Until Charlie had mentioned the RAF, Sam hadn’t grasped the fact that he was going to have to ask his new commanding officer for permission to leave the barracks when he’d only just arrived – even if the reason was a good one. There was intense rivalry between those in khaki and those in air-force blue and somehow, he doubted he’d be allowed to go and sing with the troupe when he’d just arrived.
‘How did you come to be prowling around my billet, Charlie?’
‘Good question, I was on my way to break the bad news to our troupe when I heard your dulcet tones through the open window and came at once to find you.’ He smiled hopefully. ‘I don’t suppose you play the Joanna as well.’
‘I do, but I don’t read music so unless I know the tunes or can hear them first, I won’t be any good to you.’
‘That’s the ticket – we’re rehearsing in your rec room. You go ahead and tell them you’re joining us for today and I’ll beetle off to speak to your CO.’
‘Good luck with that, my friend, I don’t envy you. I’m supposed to be getting my lads into shape, not gallivanting about the place singing songs to the boys in blue.’
Charlie rushed off and Sam wandered into the room that was usually peopled by off-duty NCOs and officers who didn’t want to spend time in the bar. He was surprised to find it empty of these NCOs and officers but brimming with members of ENSA. He quickly explained why he was there and they greeted him like a hero.
He didn’t want to tell them that their enthusiasm was misplaced as it was unlikely he’d get permission to join them even for an evening, but to his surprise and their delight, he was proved wrong.
‘Major Silverton’s going to be at the performance at the invitation of Wing Commander Reynolds and is only too happy to have one of his men make the performance viable.’
‘What about my duties here? Did he say anything about that?’
‘He said you can be spared from those but not from being part of our performance. Now – I’d better fill you in on the programme.’
* * *
At the end of the afternoon, Sam was fully integrated into the ENSA party. He’d drawn the line at dressing up in silly clothes but was quite happy to accompany those that did and sing lustily when required. The fact that he had two solos didn’t faze him and he was looking forward to the evening.
‘Okay, Charlie, I’m going to eat my scoff and find something hot and wet to wash it down with. Where’s the NAAFI?’
Sam found it easily and with a mug of strong stewed tea, he retreated to the far side of the noisy room, where there were a few empty tables. He nodded at the men and they nodded back. Only privates over here, the officers and senior NCOs seemed to sit on the other side of the NAAFI. He wasn’t sure about the etiquette of eating your own food but there was a war on, nothing must be wasted, even if it meant breaking some rule or other.
He was happily munching a squashed sausage roll when a grey-haired sergeant, with an impressive moustache, stomped over to his table.
‘I’m Tommy Hart. You’ve just moved into my room.’
The bloke didn’t seem too happy about this. Sam swallowed his mouthful and tried to look enthusiastic, although the prospect of sharing with this old bloke didn’t appeal.
‘I’m Sam Johnson, but I’m assuming you already know that. Pleased to meet you, Sarge.’
‘I’m having you relocated. Being asked to share with a new sergeant was bad enough but I’m certainly not sharing with a yet-to-be-promoted whippersnapper like you.’
‘Hardly worth the effort, Sarge, as I’m only going to be here a few days before I go on the sergeant’s cadre. I should think you’ll probably have retired by the time I return as your equal.’ This was hardly conciliatory, but he wasn’t going to be pushed about by anyone and certainly not going to allow Hart to turf him out of his room.
Sam was waiting for the outburst, for the direct order to move his stuff, but to his astonishment the old codger smirked and pulled out a chair.
‘Well said, my boy, I’m not prepared to share with any mealy-mouthed little bugger. We’ll get along famously. What’s this I hear about you cosying up with those ENSA poofters? Hope you’re not a shirt-lifter yourself?’
Sam choked on his tea. He spluttered for a few moments before he was able to reply to this outrageous remark. ‘The lads in ENSA are decent chaps. I don’t appreciate your crudeness, Sarge, and if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to finish my meal in peace.’
This time he’d really offended his roommate, but it couldn’t be helped. Prejudice of any kind wasn’t acceptable.
The remark didn’t go down well. Hart slammed back his chair with such force it clattered over and attracted unwanted attention. ‘You’ll regret talking to me like that, Johnson. I’m going to make your life a misery. You’ll be begging for a transfer by the time I’ve finished with you.’
Sam ignored this outburst, didn’t look up and continued to eat his crumpled sandwiches and drink his tea as if Sergeant Hart was invisible. He waited until he was alone before calmly getting up and replacing the chair. He looked up and nodded at those staring in his direction. He wasn’t reassured when they all looked away.
He had a nasty suspicion he’d poked the hornet’s nest and was going to regret this incident. There was nothing he could do about it and he wasn’t a man to worry about things he couldn’t change – if the old bastard wanted to make his life difficult then so be it. He’d had worse when he was in basic training and survived.
* * *
Ruth enjoyed Jill’s company and knew she’d be a good friend, but perhaps not as close as Grace was. After their impromptu tea, Jill kindly washed their irons – which was what they called their cutlery and mug – whilst she wrote her first letter of what she hoped would be many to Sam.
There wasn’t a lot to tell him apart from having met a new friend and having to sleep on an unstable ancient bunk bed. She was surprised that some of the girls had left the base and didn’t return until curfew. One of them told her that they’d found a dance hall about three miles away and had walked there and back as well as dancing every dance.
‘I suppose I can’t really go off base until I’m given the all-clear. If I’m fit enough to walk six miles and whirl around a dancefloor then really I should be participating in the physical aspects of our course.’
‘While I’m quite happy to give it a miss, I don’t want to dance with anyone but my fiancé. We can play cards and board games as well as write letters – we won’t be bored and will certainly be less exhausted than those that have just got back,’ Jill said as she collected her wash bag and prepared to go to the ablutions and latrines before turning in.
‘At least my arm’s not in plaster so I can take it out of the sling to wash and so on.’
They’d left it late to avoid the rush and when they went out in the dark, glad they’d remembered their torches, they realised they didn’t know exactly where these blocks were.
It was much further than they’d expected and when they eventually discovered what they were looking for it was the men’s block.
Luckily, they hadn’t approached near enough to be seen.
They were met by a flustered corporal. ‘My word, I should have explained to you that these are the men’s blocks – ours are directly behind our hut.’
The poor woman was so upset that Ruth took pity on her. ‘It was our fault, Corp, we could have asked one of the other girls but most of them are now safely in bed.’
‘Did the girls who left the base get back?’
‘Yes, all six of them are fast asleep.’
Having the necessary washrooms and lavatories so close was a bonus and as Ruth climbed gingerly into her bed, she decided that all in all it had been a highly satisfactory day.
* * *
After breakfast – not served in mess tins as it had been at the other barracks where she’d trained – they paraded, their names were called out and the men and girls were formed into sections and then marched away in different directions.
Ruth was shocked that they had to drill at the same time as the three other squads. Each one was being drilled by a regular army sergeant who for some reason stood a considerable distance from his men or women. This caused a lot of yelling and swearing by those calling instructions as more often than not, one or other squad followed the orders from the wrong instructor.
While the other groups were on the gun park, Ruth’s was going to be in a lecture room. There were going to be lectures on discipline, security, defence and aircraft recognition.
‘Goodness, it’s like being back at school,’ Jill said as she looked around the large room. ‘Blackboards, and rows of tables and chairs.’
The men naturally wore battledress and had heavy boots on and they looked quite old – possibly in their thirties and she hoped that wouldn’t be a problem. The men avoided looking directly at the girls but were taking surreptitious glances whenever they could. She wondered if they were surprised at how young the ATS girls were. Certainly, too young to be the girlfriends of the men who could almost be their fathers.
A young lieutenant and an older sergeant strode in, and they were called to attention. It sounded like machine-gun fire as the men’s metal-studded boots clattered on the boards. It became clear immediately that their officer wasn’t happy about having a mixed section, but he told them he’d had no option and was going to make the best of it and so should they. This was hardly encouraging and Ruth vowed to prove him wrong.
‘You’re C section 453 – Heavy Anti-Aircraft Battery of the Royal Artillery. There are four sections in a battery and these man two gunsites. One of the sites will be your HQ – your headquarters. When you finish your training, you’ll be posted to defend an airfield, dockyard or an arms depot.’
He stared around the room to make sure every eye was fixed on him and taking in his every word. Ruth certainly was.
‘Each site has 43.7 guns with possibly smaller Lewis guns or Bofors as well. No doubt you ATS are not familiar with any of those, but I can assure you by the end of your training you will be.’
As he talked, he tapped his cane to emphasise a point but there was no need to do that as he was a riveting speaker.
‘Gunners are to treat the ATS as equals in everything. Regardless of sex, you have a job to do and that’s to win the war and to defend Britain from the air. You will have to work together, live together and quite possibly die together.’
A ripple of what could have been fear, but Ruth thought was excitement, went around the room. She exchanged a glance with Jill and her new friend nodded. This was more like it – once she’d completed this training, she would be on an active site doing something tangible for the war effort. The fact that she was the only girl, as far as she knew, who was already trained in another skill didn’t matter. She was just thrilled to be there.
As they left the lecture, the ATS were inspired by the talk and especially the fact that this young lieutenant had given them equal status with the men. A different corporal, less flustered and more efficient, marched them all, men included, to the gun park.
‘I expect the men will have seen the guns before,’ Ruth said to Jill as they marched side by side. Unlike during basic training, they didn’t have to sort themselves into alphabetical order before they went anywhere, which made things simpler.
‘I’ve seen them; don’t forget I’ve been working on a practice gunsite for the past few weeks,’ Ruth replied.
‘As have I, you can’t fail to miss them if you spend time in London.’
They spent an hour examining these massive weapons of war and Ruth was aware that one or two of the girls looked less than enthusiastic. They all had to pass every aspect of the course or they’d be sent back to be retrained for something else. If anyone was going to fail, it would be the nervous ones, but at least if she didn’t pass muster she could go back to her original job.
* * *
Over the next two weeks, C section shaped up and became a force to be reckoned with – in Ruth’s opinion the best of the four groups that were being trained. Lieutenant Rush was, according to those that knew him, the best officer in the battery and they were lucky to have him knocking them into shape.
There were lectures, practical demonstrations, and every day they trained as a team. The fact that Ruth couldn’t participate in a lot of the physical work was a serious disadvantage, but she excelled at the things she could do and prayed that would be enough for her to pass the course.
The first letter from Sam arrived on the day that she was due to find out if she would be declared fit for duty. She also received a letter from Grace, which she read immediately, inviting her to the blessing of her wedding and a memorial for her brother who’d been shot down in France. Ruth hadn’t even known her friend had got married so suddenly and was sad it wouldn’t be possible to attend as she would be in the middle of her cadre to be promoted to bombardier. This would finish on 15 October and the memorial and wedding blessing would be on the 9th.
She arrived at the medical centre nervous, expecting to be snarled at, but the grumpy doctor was charming this time and greeted her with a friendly smile.
‘You’ve done well, Lance Corporal, I’ve been hearing good things about you. I don’t think the fact that you’ve been unable to participate in everything will make the slightest difference. If you weren’t already marked for promotion, you would be now. I expect you to be a sergeant before the new year.’
‘Thank you, sir, that’s wonderful news. I just wish I’d chosen this trade first as it’s exactly what I wanted.’
‘Don’t overdo things with this arm, but you don’t need to have it in the sling. Your officer’s aware of the circumstances and won’t ask you to lift anything heavy.’
She saluted smartly and almost skipped out. She headed for the hut, knowing it would be more or less empty, as half the girls had trekked to the dance hall and the rest would be in the rec room.
Jill was writing a letter at the table and Ruth joined her. ‘I’m pronounced fit and can now do everything. Thank goodness I’ve been able to do what the spotters have to do with the binoculars and the small telescope. I now have to get proficient on the predictor and height finder.’
‘After what you had been doing previously, I’m sure you’ll pick it up first time.’ Jill gestured with her pen at the letter Ruth was holding. ‘Is that from your Sam? I’ve got one too and I’m just replying.’
‘It’s the first and I was beginning to think he wasn’t going to answer as I sent mine two weeks ago. I’m a bit nervous about opening it.’
‘It looks as if it’s got more than one sheet of paper so he’s not brushing you off – that would only require a single piece, wouldn’t it?’
Ruth carefully opened the letter. Jill was right. It was a two-page letter. It had seemed bulkier because he’d included a snapshot of himself. She took out the photograph, happy to have it – she must send him one as soon as she was able to. With a smile, she sat down and prepared to learn what had delayed his response.