While the girls served the men, the clearing up after the bombing raid went on – the priority as always was the landing strips. As dawn broke on a cold, clear morning, fires still burned, showing the devastation of the night. The Spitfires had landed at other airfields and it was late evening before they were able to return. Ethel found herself wondering about Duggie, who had now returned to his duties and had been one of the pilots attacking the German aircraft throughout the raid.
She stood beside Rosie as the planes landed and saw with relief that she pretended was for Rosie, that Duggie’s plane was among those safely returned. There had been losses, but already they had learnt not to comment on the numbers. In a Spitfire station as on all the others, grieving was a brief and very personal affair, there was no looking back, no time to share regrets or even dwell on the loss of good friends. Too much thinking about the dead could result in a lack of concentration and that could lead to more tragedy. The men had to push grief aside as firmly as they dealt with their fear; the fight went on.
Walter tried to comfort Ethel and Kate as they silently grieved for those who were missing, putting an arm around each of them and allowing his hands to wander. Ethel pushed him away angrily and Kate shouted loudly so that anyone near was aware of what was happening. Furiously, Walter left them, pushing Rosie out of his way as he went.
‘Why won’t he take no for an answer!’ Kate shouted.
‘I think we’ve made an enemy there,’ Rosie said. ‘I hope he doesn’t make things difficult for us.’
‘How can he? He isn’t that important!’ Ethel replied.
Replacement crews came with alarming regularity, taking the places of men who had lost their lives in the battles overhead or on the ground. Whenever there was a group of new faces, Ethel asked them if they had seen Wesley Daniels. She knew it was useless. The last she had heard of him she had been told he was serving on a ship not an airfield. She asked anyway.
At the end of January 1941, Ethel and Duggie were in the canteen after the others had gone. She spoke to Duggie about Wesley. ‘I sometimes feel closer to him,’ she told him. ‘Like now, I imagine him sitting somewhere unfamiliar and thinking about me.’
Duggie smiled and told her she could be right. ‘Thoughts travel without the use of trains and buses,’ he smiled. ‘Specially when there’s strong affection holding people together. Affection or love,’ he added, leaning over and kissing her, staying close, staring into her eyes. ‘I take thoughts of you with me every time I take off, Ethel. I imagine you sitting beside me, my good luck charm, keeping me safe.’ His voice was low, his lips so close and so tempting. Just inches between them. She leaned towards him and they kissed, this time a slow loving kiss, reminding her of her need to belong somewhere, to someone, a need to drive away the loneliness, at least for a while.
They were alone in the canteen. Outside it was cold with a few small, hard flakes of snow falling on to the frost-bound earth. There was only one light, a small lamp over the part of the bar that, after closing, Ethel used as a desk. Duggie moved closer and held her and she needed the warmth of another human being so badly she didn’t resist as his kisses grew more urgent. She felt herself succumbing to the desire that filled her body and her mind, she wanted so much to belong, to be loved. Then a vision of her father startled her and she pulled away. This was what he had warned her about.
‘It’ll be all right, nothing will happen,’ Duggie urged, kissing her, touching her secret places. ‘I know what to do, you’ll be safe with me. Trust me.’
Then she was overwhelmed with love for him, but feelings she had never imagined slowly subsided, joy and guilt battling within her. This was what her father had meant when he was convinced she would ‘go bad’. Had he recognized something in her that told him she would be weak? She knew that next time it would be harder to refuse.
She stayed outside for another hour before she dared to go back to join Kate and Rosie in case, like her father, they would know how weak she was. Surely it would show in her eyes? She couldn’t possibly look the same after such a wonderful awakening.
‘Where’s she been?’ Kate whispered as Ethel greeted them very hurriedly before scuttling into the bathroom. ‘Looks interesting.’
‘Only cashing up,’ the innocent Rosie frowned.
Kate shook her head. ‘From the look on her face it was something far more than that. I wonder if she’ll tell us?’
Ethel said nothing, just hid herself behind a book until the lights went out. When she slept she dreamed not of Wesley, whose image was fading from her mind, but of Duggie. Sweet dreams without a thought of an angry face, or a moment of guilt.
Wesley Daniels was fighting his own war, far from home and with only a lone photograph of Ethel for consolation. He heaved himself out of his hammock, folded it neatly away and stood on the deck, feeling through his feet the vibrations of the engines below him as they idled in preparation for departure. It was three a.m. on that cold miserable January morning and as he reached the small room where food and drinks were prepared for the ship’s company he saw that once again he was the first of the unpopular four o’clock shift to arrive.
There was only a slight uneasiness in his stomach as the ship slipped her moorings and moved slowly out of the harbour. Once outside the protecting arms of the harbour walls a stiff breeze hit her and she shook slightly. Wesley took the stance that would hold him steady and began to prepare tea and food for the watch who would leave their positions at four a.m.
As always he worked in silence, ignoring the chatter of the other men with their stories about girls they had met and pretended to love while on shore leave. His love was Ethel Twomey and he had let her down. He had walked away and left her to her father’s anger, beaten and bruised by the man who had lashed out at his daughter and wife, and who had punched and kicked him until he was hardly conscious when he had tried to intervene. He should have stayed, made Ethel and her mother come away from the man, but to his eternal shame and humiliation, he had made his escape and left them. He had called the police, but hadn’t gone back. He told himself the reason had been fear of worse reprisals on Ethel and her mother. But, if he were honest, hadn’t he really been afraid for himself?
Dai Twomey was notorious and had regular appearances in court for causing an affray and for fighting. He had served two prison sentences, one for grievous bodily harm which had run close to being attempted murder. He was a gigantic and dangerous bully and Wesley was no match for him at eighteen years old and weighing little more than nine stone. How could he have stopped him? He only knew that he would never forgive himself for not trying.
The ship steamed through the darkness of the early morning, making its way to the convoy with which it would travel for the next few days. Wesley tried not to think of the U-boats waiting for them below, and the German airforce above, both determined to send every British ship to the bottom of the sea. He was a coward and his strongest fear was failing the other members of the ship’s company when they met trouble, as they certainly would. Sooner rather than later.
When the men had eaten their fill and settled in the mess room for an hour of relaxation before sleep, Wesley told the other men on duty with him that they could go for a smoke. Alone with his melancholy thoughts he began the cleaning and restacking that was more important on a ship than on a shore base. A storm or an attack could mean utensils flying about and causing unnecessary injuries if they weren’t firmly fixed in their places. He worked fast but efficiently, taking no short cuts, doing as thorough a job as was possible, in fact far more than was necessary, treating himself harshly, punishing himself for his failures. Always these days he played two roles, accuser and accused, victim and villain.
George Morgan who had landed so unceremoniously on Rosie in the trench, was a Welshman. Small, dark, fast moving and efficient. His brown hair was always falling across his deep brown eyes, half disguising their merriment. Always cheerful, he soon became popular with the men and the Naafi girls as he was so full of energy and always willing to help. He was not tall, at five foot five, and, looking about four years younger than his nineteen years, he quickly earned the name of ‘Baba’ Morgan, reduced to Baba. He didn’t mind, believing that openly used nicknames were given only to the most popular people.
As soon as things had calmed down after the raid, he was deeply apologetic for his dangerous arrival, and explained that he’d thought the slit trench was empty. To make up for his gaffe, he helped them with some of their heavy work during his free time. From the moment they untangled themselves and introductions were made, Kate and Rosie could see he was attracted to Ethel.
Kate could also see that shy little Rosie had been bowled over by him. She clearly thought him the most wonderful person she had ever met. It was painful for the confident Kate to see the way Rosie blushed, stuttered and, whenever possible, avoided Baba when he came into the canteen.
She knew Rosie wanted to talk to him very much, but her shyness prevented her from trying. She understood Rosie’s conviction that she would look and feel unworldly and innocent. Innocent is not how a young woman wishes to appear to a man like Baba. Better to do as she, Kate, did, and convey a confidence that was not, in fact, backed up by experience, something the guileless Rosie could never do.
Concert parties came to the camp sometimes to entertain them. Many, including well-known entertainers, gave their time to help entertain the forces. The group would arrive with their van or a lorry which contained all they needed to put on a show. Lights, curtains and costumes plus a few pieces of scenery which would be painted and repainted to suit whatever they planned to perform.
On other occasions an impromptu concert was presented, with men and women on the station doing whatever they could to add variety to the evening. Unrehearsed, depending on one or two people able to play the piano or, failing that, accompany the acts with a mouth organ – usually the only other instrument available – they sang the popular songs of the day. Some even ventured into comedy or magic acts, laughter at their failures kindly meant, amicably received, and adding to the fun.
Hearing Kate and Ethel singing one evening as they finished cleaning the canteen and putting everything ready for the following day, Duggie tried to persuade Kate to take part.
The day of the camp concert arrived and Kate, flattered by Duggie’s praise, agreed, persuading Ethel to sing with her.
‘And Rosie,’ Ethel insisted firmly.
Rosie refused, promising to scrub floors for ever if they let her off, but with their promise to sing loud enough for her as well, and not expect her to make a sound, they persuaded her to go with them. What had finally convinced her to give it a try was the promise of make-up that would disguise her completely.
‘I’ll only be there to make up the number, mind, you promise me?’ she said nervously.
They hid behind the temporary stage knocked up by the camp’s chippies. A few drapes were found, left behind by earlier concert parties. If they were daunted by the high standard of some of the earlier acts, they said nothing, each gathering strength from the apparent sang-froid of the rest.
Some of the performers had been semi-professionals before the war had interrupted their careers, and even those who hadn’t been on a stage before volunteering for the concert party included many who, now they had tried it, were considering making it a career once the war finally ended. Ethel, Kate and Rosie were nothing more than impertinent amateurs.
Hands crossed behind their backs, wearing a large quantity of Kate’s treasured make-up, the three friends had dressed themselves like Tyrolean dolls. Hiding behind the disguise helped them all but particularly Rosie, who surprised them by singing a chorus with her unexpectedly sweet voice, rather than miming. Sadly her voice was not powerful enough to reach even the front row.
Most of the audience failed to recognize them at first, with eyelashes drawn halfway up their foreheads and down their cheeks on faces dotted with the most unlikely-looking freckles. There were precise circles of rouge on their cheeks and lips drawn in bright red lipstick to almost cover them from chin to nose.
When they left the makeshift stage they dashed back to their hut to remove their make-up before returning to find Baba and Duggie and to modestly accept their praise. Baba kissed them all, which made Rosie run out into the cold night to cool her flaming cheeks.
Rosie was so excited by her achievement and Baba’s kiss, she couldn’t sleep. She opened her nan’s latest food parcel and they had a midnight feast as in all the best schoolgirl stories they remembered reading. Understanding how much the evening had meant to her, Ethel and Kate talked until exhaustion finally silenced her.
‘By the time this damned war ends, our Rosie will be a different person. I wonder what her family will think of her then?’ Ethel whispered.
‘What family?’ Kate replied. ‘There’s only a grandmother. Her father is dead, remember, and her mother left when her new boyfriend told her to choose between Rosie and him.’
‘Poor lonely little kid.’
‘Not any more she isn’t. She’s got us.’
‘I hope we can stay together if we move from here,’ Kate sighed.
‘So do I, but it might not be possible. Nothing stays the same for long. Don’t you know there’s a war on?’ she joked.
‘I do think they could give us a posting together if they tried. That won’t help Hitler, will it, you and Rosie and me staying together?’
‘Perhaps we could flatter the stupid Walter and persuade him to help?’ Ethel murmured sleepily.
‘What’s it worth?’ Kate chuckled.
‘Not a thing! He’d get his reward in heaven.’
‘Fool that he is, it might work. Will you do the persuading or shall I?’
There was no reply and Kate smiled and settled to sleep for the few hours left before reveille.
As punishment, the men were sometimes sent to help the girls with some of the heavy cleaning. Washing walls and cleaning windows were unpleasant tasks in the cold of the winter. So was giving the cold fire ovens a thorough cleaning before lighting them. The men agreed that ‘jankers’ was not so bad when Ethel, Kate and Rosie were there. They were generous and the men on punishment duties always managed to hide from Walter the fact that they were given food and extra cups of tea as well as the opportunity for a quick fag.
Baba Morgan was one of the ground staff involved with the servicing and maintenance of the vehicles used around the airfield. Whenever possible, he was the first to arrive in the morning to help whichever of the girls was responsible for opening up and lighting the fire. When it was Rosie’s turn, she rose early and already had the kettle humming ready to make him a cup of tea. He came in, humming or whistling, wearing a smile that warmed her for the rest of the day. He checked on the supply of sticks, cut any that were needed into the correct size and stacked them to dry beside the cooker. Between Duggie, Baba and the rest, the coal bins were constantly refilled and the water carried from tap to heater and tap to tea-urn.
For Baba the best mornings were when Ethel arrived first.
‘How did we manage without you, Baba?’ Ethel sighed one morning as he handed her a bar of chocolate and her first cup of tea.
‘If you want to thank me,’ he grinned, ‘how about the dance on Saturday, my treat if you’ll come? I’m a good dancer, small but neat, that’s Baba Morgan!’
‘I don’t know. I think Kate and I are going into town. It’s our weekend off.’
‘And you aren’t going home?’
‘I don’t want to, there’s nothing there for me, and Kate isn’t going because she can’t afford the fare. She doesn’t want to keep asking her mam and dad for money. Ever so generous they are, but they’ve only got a small grocer’s shop and they aren’t wealthy, specially now with food rationing limiting what they can sell.’
‘What about Rosie, isn’t she going with you?’
Ethel shook her head.
‘You aren’t leaving her here on her own, are you? Can’t have that.’
‘Why don’t you ask her to the dance?’ Ethel suggested with fingers crossed. She’d seen the look in Rosie’s eyes when Baba Morgan appeared. ‘She might like to go with you,’ she said trying to sound offhand.
‘I don’t think she’d enjoy dancing, she strikes me as a quiet type.’
‘Right. Yes. You couldn’t imagine her singing on stage, could you,’ she said pointedly. ‘There’s more to our Rosie than people think!’
‘I couldn’t believe you three singing and dancing and all dressed up. How did Duggie persuade you?’
‘He asked us nicely, that’s all. Now, about Saturday. Kate and I want to go into town together and we’d appreciate it if you’d take her off our hands,’ Ethel lied.
‘Why? You two got a heavy date then?’
‘No, just the pictures, but it’s one Rosie doesn’t want to see.’
Walter overheard their discussion and offered to drive Kate and Ethel into town.
‘I have to go in to pick up some stores,’ he explained.
Forgetting any idea of flattering him into helping with any future posting, Ethel told him with an exaggerated smile that they’d rather walk in bare feet.
Rosie was hesitant about accepting when Kate told her of the possible invitation from Baba. She’d make a fool of herself, say all the wrong things, forget the dance steps and make him run a mile every time he saw her from then on. ‘I don’t fancy it,’ she said. ‘I planned a quiet evening listening to the wireless.’
‘Rot!’ Ethel said. ‘You’re going and that’s that! Anyone who can stand on a stage dressed daft and sing to this lot can’t be afraid of a thing! Kate and I won’t leave for town until we see you meeting Baba all dressed up and ready to knock him senseless with lust.’
Reddening profusely, Rosie laughed. ‘Now you’ve made me feel even worse,’ she said. ‘I won’t be able to look him in the face!’
Thinking of it as a favour to Ethel, Baba did invite Rosie and, walking as though floating on a cloud in a romantic dream, she told the others about the invitation. At once Kate took out her cache of make-up and began discussing the best colours for Rosie to wear. Ignoring Rosie’s protests, she and Ethel set her hair and made up her face, softly, in pale colours that added to her charming look of innocence.
As Baba and Rosie were passing through the guard room on their way to the dance, they heard a burly, aggressive-sounding man asking about Ethel Twomey. Baba, ever anxious to help, called across and asked, ‘Did I hear you say you were looking for Ethel Twomey?’
‘No, don’t tell him,’ urged Rosie, pulling on his arm in panic. ‘Please, Baba!’
Quickly reacting to her alarm, he added, ‘Ethel Tovey, did you say? Tall, leggy, Scottish girl, is she, with blonde hair and a lisp? Sings well? Would that be her?’
The man lumbered across and thrust a photograph towards him. It was Ethel, there was no doubt about it. ‘No, sorry. That’s nothing like the Ethel Tovey we got here,’ he said, handing the photograph back. ‘Nothing like her, is it, Rosie?’
Without a thank you, the man walked angrily away to where a motorbike stood on the roadside. Rosie stood beside Baba, her hand still on his arm as the motorbike roared away. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Wrong description and wrong name. That was quite a performance.’
‘What’s the trouble? A family row, is it?’ Baba asked. ‘God ’elp, don’t tell me that ferocious-looking animal is her father.’
‘Well, yes, I think he is, but I can’t explain. You’ll have to ask Ethel.’
‘I won’t bother to ask. If she wants to tell me she will,’ he replied without curiosity. ‘Now are we going to the dance or shall we have a dance of our own here on the field?’ He took her in his arms and they did a crazy waltz in time to his singing as they waited with others for the bus.
A mile up the road the motorbike stopped and the man walked slowly back to the nearest point to the camp entrance. His information was that his daughter had two friends and one of them was called Rosie.
He sat near the turning, his collar turned up, a cap pulled down on his head. It was bitterly cold and the air had a feel of imminent snow. It was too dark to see the time on his watch and he was afraid to shine a torch. The camp was well guarded. Guns were carried and were only the movement of a finger away from being fired.
Rosie didn’t think she could ever be happier than now, dancing in the arms of the very athletic and accomplished Baba. She knew from shy glances around the packed room that she was the envy of many. Yet she had to leave before the end. Unwilling to give up the precious time in Baba’s arms, she delayed as long as she dared.
‘Sorry, Baba, I’m having a wonderful time but I want to leave early. I need to find Ethel and warn her about the appearance of her father.’
‘How can we find her?’ he asked, slowing their steps and guiding her to the edge of the dance-floor. ‘She and Kate are at the pictures.’
‘Would you mind if we leave early and make sure we’re there when they get back?’
‘’Course I don’t mind if that’s what you want. I’ve enjoyed it though. Perhaps we’ll do it again, is it?’
‘Please,’ she smiled. ‘I’d love to.’
‘How d’you plan to get back before her?’ he frowned, looking at the big wall clock. ‘We’ll be on the same bus. They aren’t that frequent and I don’t think there’s one now until the last one to pass the camp.’
‘Isn’t there a way to get there first? You can surely think of a way.’ She looked at him in complete confidence.
‘Only if we walk. Or… come on, Baba has a wicked plan.’
Dai Twomey knew the men and women had to be back in camp before eleven and the hours dragged slowly past as he waited. The cold air seeped into his clothes and deadened all feeling in his feet but he didn’t move. His blue eyes stared into the darkness broken only by the occasional passing of a bicycle, the hooded lights barely visible. It was with relief that he heard the low rumble of a bus and the sound of voices as people began returning from their various nights out.
He had to get Ethel back home before further harm was done. His family was already twice cursed with a birth and a death. There had to be no more.
Rosie and Baba waited near the entrance to the camp after making themselves known to the guards on duty. He put an arm around Rosie to help stop her shivering. The night was excruciatingly cold with the stillness that accompanies a deep frost. In the short time they had stood there it had eaten into their bones. They had spent only two hours at the dance, Baba surprised and pleased with the nimble-footedness of Rosie. Ethel was right, Rosie had a few surprises for anyone willing to look for them. They had arrived ten minutes before, having stolen a couple of bicycles to get them home before the last bus. They propped the bikes against the fence near the entrance where they would be found the next day. They weren’t the first to take a bike and use it in this way. It was such a regular occurrence that any person finding theirs missing would look first around the periphery of the camp before bothering to tell the police.
It was sheer good fortune on Ethel’s part that her father didn’t see her. Moving forward to see more clearly, he suddenly felt an arm on his shoulder and turned to see two military police, one aiming a gun towards his heart. A signal was given and two more men appeared silently out of the darkness. With one on either side of him and one behind and in front he was marched towards the gate.
As Rosie and Baba found her, Ethel heard his protests and recognized his voice as he was marched towards them under arrest. She began to shake with fright.
Kate put an arm around her. ‘What is it? What’s happened, are you ill?’ she asked in concern.
‘It’s my father. He’s found me. Now I’ll have to apply for a transfer.’
Walter was on the bus, having intended to travel home with Ethel and try to talk to her. He hadn’t succeeded. He quickly realized what was going on and stared at the big angry man, marvelling that this could be Ethel’s father. He took careful note of the licence plate of the powerful motorbike now being pushed in through the gate by one of the guards. You never know when that sort of information would come in handy. And a chat with the men in the guard room wouldn’t be a bad idea either.
Ethel didn’t sleep much that night and Kate and Rosie sat up for most of the hours of darkness to keep her company and reassure her that they would take care of her.
With some trepidation the three of them went to open the canteen the following morning and as soon as they unlocked the door, Baba appeared. Duggie was with him.
‘He’s my father and he’s violent,’ Ethel said succinctly as the two men waited for an explanation.
‘Enough said,’ Baba told her.
‘You don’t have to tell us any more.’ Duggie turned and disappeared across the still-dark field towards the Nissen hut where he slept. Twenty minutes later, a warrant officer came to talk to Ethel. He assured her that the man had been escorted from the area with a warning and having received no information about personnel. He also told her that the police had been made aware in case of any threatening behaviour in the future.
‘I still don’t feel safe,’ Ethel said when the officer had left. ‘I’ll be too scared to step outside the camp.’
‘That’s great,’ the ever-optimistic Baba smiled. ‘There’s a talent competition on Saturday and you three are entered again.’
Among protests and jeers of derision, he persuaded them that he would sing with them, be their coach and also boasted that he was a ‘dab hand’ at dancing. It was not Ethel’s intention to take part but she was glad of the diversion from her wildly fearful thoughts.
‘Like Duggie, I’ve got three sisters, see,’ Baba explained, ‘and we’re always singing and larking about. You’ll have to take their place. Miss ‘em I do. You can be my deputy sisters, Baba’s girls. Lucky Baba Morgan.’
‘Hush up, Baba, or they’ll be expecting the Andrews Sisters and we’ll be a disappointment!’
‘You could never disappoint anyone.’ His eyes travelled from one to the other but lingered longest on Ethel.
Walter offered to take Kate into town to buy the few oddments they needed for their act. ‘I have to go in to collect fresh stock,’ he explained. ‘Take it or leave it, I don’t care either way.’
Kate accepted, feeling mean for the way they used him between firing insults at him. They planned to dress as gypsies, this being an easy dress to make from second-hand clothes, the cheapest way of making costumes.
‘Going shopping for yourself?’ he asked as they went through the gate.
‘I wish I were. But I don’t have any money,’ Kate sighed.
‘I can help any time you’re short,’ Walter promised. ‘Just between you and me, any time, just ask.’
Rosie’s Nan placed the last bar of chocolate into the box which she was sending to her granddaughter. With a cake made with the butter she had saved from two weeks’ rations and a small bag of home-made toffee, and some gloves she had just finished knitting, she couldn’t fit anything else in. Her letter she placed on the top before tying the string around the box and writing the address on the top.
She had replied to Rosie’s most recent letter and added news of the people she knew. The other letter stood on the mantelpiece sending out waves of guilt. How could she tell Rosie about that one? She finished wrapping the parcel, then picked up the letter and put it in the drawer with all the rest.
Ethel and Duggie rarely had a chance to meet in private. He was a pilot and most of the time either in flight or waiting for the call to scramble, sitting in the smoke-filled room where men sat and tried to read or write letters home while expecting every moment to hear the siren that meant they were needed. Then would come the rush to their plane, grabbing what they needed, fastening their clothes as they ran, and the frantic activity as the planes took off.
Eyes would follow them until the planes were no more than dots in the sky and the hours would be counted until they returned.
Albert Pugh came at intervals to check on the canteen but had no cause to complain. When he was there, Ethel usually managed to find an excuse to spend some time with him and she began to look forward to his visits. At the same time she still thought of Wesley and wondered where he was. ‘Dad was right,’ she told the other girls jokingly. ‘I’m a tart and I love them all.’ She hadn’t mentioned just how much she loved Duggie.
Nicknames abounded in the camp, but Walter never became anything other than Walter. He pretended it made him superior. ‘They wouldn’t dare use anything but my proper name and title,’ he boasted, but he knew he was not popular. Keeping a very tight hold of the provisions and insisting on a certain amount of money coming in for every allocation he provided, had given him a reputation for meanness that was not undeserved. He also annoyed many of the girls by touching them more than was necessary, leaning against them as he passed, bending over them when he had cause to speak to them, hands under their arms as he moved them aside. He had hinted repeatedly that he was prepared to offer favours if there was something for him in return. He was blissfully unaware that for Ethel, Kate and Rosie his nickname was The Creep.
He had a plan for the lovely Kate. Twice she had come to him to borrow money, and in his experience anyone who couldn’t manage money was vulnerable. He needed someone to help him make a little extra. He had heard it said that this war would make some people very rich. He intended to be one of them.
It was early April 1941 when Ethel’s birthday was near that Kate went to Walter again to borrow money. ‘Just five shillings until pay day,’ she said. ‘I want to buy her something nice, like a scarf she saw in town last week. She really liked it and I know she can’t afford it.’
‘Neither can you,’ he teased.
‘No, but Mam promised to send me five shillings next week and I’ll gladly spent it on Ethel. A scarf and tea in town, she’ll love that.’
‘You’re too generous, Kate. If you were less kind to your friends you wouldn’t need to keep borrowing money. You could do with an extra income if you can’t change your ways.’
‘I don’t want to change my ways,’ she told him seriously. ‘What I have I like to share. I could do with a second income though, the wages are awful.’
‘Put a box of margarine outside when you lock up tonight, in another box next to the rubbish,’ he said, staring at her quizzically. ‘A shilling or two for you at the end of the week if you can do a few favours like that.’
‘What? Steal, you mean? I couldn’t!’
‘You never know how much you have in stock, I see to that. Who would miss it? I can easily revise the books.’ He could see she wasn’t convinced. With butter, margarine and cooking fat rationed, as well as sugar, tea and bacon, he knew he would have no difficulty finding customers for whatever he could get out of the camp. He could also see she was tempted. He took out a ten shilling note. ‘Take this ten bob, double what you asked me for. Let’s say you needn’t pay it back, shall we?’
With ten shillings, plus the money her parents had promised, she would be rich! More than enough to treat Ethel to the pictures and buy the scarf. Uneasily, she nodded.
It wasn’t easy to be the last one out at night. There was always so much cleaning to be done that the three girls always stopped to share the work no matter who had been given the task. During that evening, Kate somehow managed to hide the margarine in a second carton and put it with the rubbish which was ready to be placed outside before they left. She insisted on putting the rubbish outside, dealing with the job herself, and placed the box of margarine beside it. She walked away imagining guilt written across her face and on her back, her shame visible from every direction.
The ten shillings seemed to burn her through the pocket in which she had hidden it.
Ethel’s birthday arrived and Kate’s mother’s money didn’t. A bomb had damaged the sorting office and if it survived at all, it was unlikely to turn up for a while. Walter’s ten shilling note burned against her fingers as she touched it. She swallowed her guilt and invited Ethel and Rosie into town for tea and cakes to celebrate the birthday. The café she had in mind was an expensive one and perhaps the scarf would have to wait.
‘Just tea and cakes?’ Baba said. ‘Is that the best you can do for Ethel’s birthday, then?’
‘I wanted to buy her a scarf that she liked, but it’s two shillings and sixpence and if I buy it I might not have the money for bus fare and tea. I couldn’t bear the embarrassment if I couldn’t pay the bill.’
Baba put a hand in his pocket. ‘Here, take this half-crown, get the scarf and tell her it’s from you and Rosie, she’ll be pleased about that.’ He went off whistling. He had nothing now until pay day, but it wasn’t long, he’d manage without his visits to the Naafi for a few days.
Ethel and Duggie managed to meet quite often, although it was difficult to keep their affair a secret from Kate and Rosie. She regretted not telling them about their first date. Now the secret was stretching into weeks and it was becoming more impossible to explain her secrecy. It was Duggie who told them. One night he had told Kate and Rosie that he wanted to take Ethel home to meet his family. ‘It’s her birthday soon and I want her to celebrate it with my family.’
‘Interesting,’ whispered Kate.
‘The trouble is, I don’t think she’ll come. I want you two to persuade her.’
Excited at their inclusion in his secret plans, they set about reminding Ethel that to live for today was important. She agreed wholeheartedly but refused to go home with Duggie.
She loved him, she had never been surer of anything than that, but she was afraid for him. He was a pilot and everyone whispered that their days were numbered when they had flown so many times. Every day he went up in his small plane with eighty and more gallons of fuel practically on his lap. Life was too precarious to give in to love and start dreaming about that golden future.
Kate went out with a young man occasionally and she and Rosie sometimes made up numbers when a group of men and women went into town, but Rosie always refused an invitation to go out with one of the airmen alone. She hadn’t looked at a man with even the slightest interest since the dance with Baba. She held on to the hope that he would ask her to go with him again.
Since the visit from her father it was difficult to persuade Ethel to go into town, and she refused to go any further than the café near the bus stop so she didn’t have to walk along the streets. At every turn she expected to see her father, even though nothing had been heard since his arrest and subsequent removal from the camp.
With food rationing in force, the availability of decent cakes was seriously reduced. So they were delighted to find that the café Ethel had chosen promised luxuries like warm freshly-made doughnuts, and pancakes spread with lemon curd. Fresh lemons hadn’t been available for months. They were in uniform so the manageress of the café made sure they had extra helpings. In celebratory mood, they set off to make sure Ethel had some fun.
Ethel loved the scarf, and Kate told her it had been a present from Baba, aware of Rosie’s forced smile. She hid her dismay philosophically, telling herself it was no surprise that Baba found Ethel more interesting than herself, but she knew her feelings for the lively fun-loving Baba would never change.
Walter was waiting for them when they got back in time to open for the evening session at five o’clock.
‘Enjoy the birthday party?’ he asked Ethel. To Kate, he whispered, ‘Ten pounds of sugar, Saturday night, usual place.’
Kate was first out of the canteen the following night and if Ethel and Rosie wondered why she didn’t stop to help, they said nothing. Going back to the hut at eleven thirty, they expected her to be asleep. She was in bed, but not asleep; she was crying.
It wasn’t long before they persuaded her to tell them the reason for her behaviour. What Walter was doing horrified them. Taking money from the Naafi was something they couldn’t tolerate.
‘We have to report him,’ Ethel said firmly.
‘But if I do, I’ll have to admit giving him margarine and being paid ten shillings,’ wailed the terrified Kate.
‘Not if we go about this properly.’ Ethel opened her purse and poured the contents on to her bed. She encouraged the others to do the same and they found ten shillings and fourpence. Exchanging the money for a ten shilling note was easy and with the money to pay back, and Walter caught, Kate would almost certainly be in the clear.
‘Albert is coming tomorrow, I overheard the others talking about it. Report it to him and tell snake-in-the-grass Walter that what he asked for will be put out the following night.’
‘He’ll kill me!’
‘After this I don’t think he’ll be around long enough to cause us any trouble, do you?’
Albert Pugh was still rather difficult to approach. A quiet, solemn man, he never spoke to anyone other than the minimum necessary for the business of running the canteen and net bar. Supplies for the net bar were sometimes difficult to restock. It was Walter who arranged for their stock to be replenished from the bulk stores and one of his responsibilities to make sure they didn’t run out, but now Ethel discussed the intended theft with Albert.
Ethel had sometimes used this side of the job as an excuse to talk to him but it was never easy. Since their first conversation, attempts to discuss more personal things resulted in failure. He had the habit of walking off whenever anyone tried to intercept him, refusing to even slow down as he listened to their comments or complaints, at the same time promising to deal with them.
She didn’t know why she tried, it certainly wasn’t sexual attraction, specially now when Duggie was so much a part of her life. But there was something about him that intrigued her. ‘He seems so beaten down with unhappiness,’ she tried to explain to the others. ‘I can’t tell you why, but I want to help him. I don’t want to pry exactly,’
‘Oh yes you do,’ Kate laughed. ‘Stop pretending your attraction for him is innocent and pure. You like him, he attracts you, what’s wrong with that? You’re not serious about Duggie, so you’re fancy free. Dreams of Wesley are long forgotten, aren’t they?’
‘I suppose it’s sympathy I feel.’
She had often talked to Kate and Rosie about Wesley, but had scarcely mentioned him recently. Thoughts of home didn’t seem relevant to her life any more, her father’s violence had ended a stage of her life and it would be pointless to drag it with her into the next. Now there was Duggie and an intriguing attraction for the taciturn Albert Pugh.
Ethel was coming out of the canteen on her way to check the post room for Kate, who as usual was waiting for money to arrive and help her survive until pay day. She saw Albert walking across the field in the direction of one of the hangars, where Kate was apparently struggling with a trolley, taking the mid-morning snacks, her blonde hair shining like gold in the sun. She smiled to see that the trolley was immediately surrounded by willing helpers.
She called across to Albert, who waved a sheaf of papers and walked on.
This time Ethel refused to be brushed aside. Time was running out for their trap to be sprung. She ran after him, touched his arm and insisted he stopped to listen. He looked at her quizzically but stopped, folded the papers he was carrying and pushed them into a briefcase and stood waiting to hear what she had to tell him. Even though he had stopped, there was still a look of impatience about him, a desire to be off.
‘There’s been some pilfering,’ she began.
‘Stealing,’ he corrected firmly. ‘It’s stealing and calling it something else does not make it any better.’
‘All right, stealing. We know who it is and we’ve set him up so you can catch him.’
‘How kind of you to do my job for me,’ he said, sarcasm in his tone, disapproval on his face.
‘All right, so you don’t want to know. That’s fine by me. Just don’t ask for our help when you find out we’re telling the truth.’ She turned to go and it was his turn to touch an arm. He gripped her elbow firmly, walked with her and slowed her angry footsteps to a halt.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘You should really lighten up a bit, Albert. We’re all on the same side, aren’t we? Or are you fighting this war with your own private army of one?’
To her relief he smiled and led her slowly back to the canteen.
Afraid of being overheard, she lowered her voice and began telling him about the intention to rob the stores. Then someone called and he moved away, telling her to put the complaint through the usual channels. ‘But Albert…’ she called after him. She was late for duty but this was important.
Back in camp, Ethel explained their dilemma to Duggie.
‘I’ll have a quiet word with some of the lads,’ he said.
That night, Kate put the sugar outside as she had promised Walter, and hid herself with Ethel, Rosie and a willing Duggie inside the canteen building.
They grew colder as they waited in the now unheated hut. At half past midnight Ethel was beginning to think their plan would fail when the almost inaudible sound of feet walking through the longer grass around the edge of the field met her ears. She touched the shoulders of the others to alert them and tensed for action.
It wasn’t Walter. Much to their disappointment, it was a young airman with one of the other canteen assistants and they had sought the shadows for a loving interlude. Afraid to step out and move them on, Duggie gave a slight cough. The shadowy figures stiffened, murmured softly, then moved away.
‘Thank Gawd for that,’ Duggie whispered. ‘Voyeur I am not. Prefer the real thing I do,’ he added, his fingers stroking Ethel’s cheek in the darkness.
‘Hush,’ Kate murmured.
It was an hour later when Walter appeared, a mere shadow moving towards them, bending to search through the rubbish before picking up the box containing the sugar and moving off. Silently, cautiously, they followed, using the buildings for cover. He made his way to the perimeter fence, waited for the guard to pass, then dropped the box where it could be collected with comparative ease through a weakened stretch of wire.
Whistles pierced the night’s silence, Walter froze, then looked around him in disbelief as four men appeared, their teeth visible in the darkness as they smiled in satisfaction. Other men ran up to the intended recipient, approaching the spot on the outside of the fence. Walter’s customer had arrived on a carrier bike which was in the hedge, covered by a piece of sacking.
Walter at once began to bluff his way out of the situation.
‘It’s young Kate you have to blame for this, setting her up I was, she’s the one you need to question, I was only doing my duty!’
The morning was taken up with interviews during which Kate was accused. The cold hard expressions on the faces of the Military Police terrified her. Knowing she had been guilty, however briefly, didn’t help, but she stuck to the story she and the others had rehearsed, not deviating by an iota, and eventually they let her go.
The others supported her and explained that she had taken money from Walter in the past but had always paid it back. The most recent ten shilling note was in Duggie’s possession and his words more than any others convinced them that the girls were doing what they considered their duty.
They were heroes for a few days when the news got out. Baba was so pleased he kissed Kate, then Ethel and then a flustered Rosie.
They were called into the supervisor’s office a few days later, after being told that Walter had been sent to another station and given a more menial job. They half expected more praise but in this they were disappointed. In harsh words they were warned that never again should they deal with such a matter on their own. ‘What d’you think you have people like Albert Pugh for? It’s his job to deal with things like this and I want you to remember that. Any problems, you put them in the hands of your superiors, do you understand?’
‘Lucky we didn’t deal with our superior this time, sir, or Walter would have been very pleased, wouldn’t he, sir?’ said Ethel with a sickly smile.
‘I’ll ignore that this time, Miss Twomey, but please remember your position,’ the man growled.
‘And you remember that we depend on you to give the right people the right job,’ she retaliated. ‘Accused we were, treated like criminals, just like you’re doing now! And all because you gave a job of trust to a man not to be trusted. Sir.’
‘That’s right,’ Kate said in support. Rosie nodded vigorously, wide-eyed with conviction, unable to open her mouth, her jaws locked with nerves.
The following day, at eleven a.m., as they had finished with the trolleys and were opening the canteen, Ethel, Rosie and Kate were told to be packed and ready to leave at six that evening. They were being transferred to another station.
They dealt with lunch and spent the afternoon giving the place a thorough clean. They were saddened to go, but did not regret the complaint that had caused them to be moved on.
Duggie was away from the station and Ethel left him a note, unable to tell him where to find her as they wouldn’t know themselves until they arrived. As they stood near the guard room with their small suitcases beside them, Baba came across the field. ‘Rumour is, there’s been a crash just outside the town,’ he told them. ‘Your replacements have been injured. I don’t think you’ll be going after all.’ He winked, gave the thumbs up sign and hurried on to disappear inside one of the hangars to talk to one of the fitters about repairs to his radio mike.
Sure enough, after standing there for another hour, the solemn-faced Albert came to tell them to return to their billet and resume duties. ‘I have to tell you that you’re still down for transfer,’ he told them. ‘You can’t get away with saying what you think. Your behaviour will remain on your records.’
‘Pity for us,’ Ethel snapped. ‘I don’t know how I’ll sleep, do you, girls?’
‘Ruined my life that has,’ Kate sighed prettily.
Rosie just nodded, rapidly and repeatedly, to show her support.
When they were unpacking their cases and hastily preparing to open up for the evening session, Kate said thoughtfully, ‘I think I might apply for an overseas placing, how do you two feel about that?’
Thinking about Duggie but not admitting it, Ethel shook her head. ‘No, let’s stay and annoy this lot for a while longer. Perhaps later, if we get transferred to somewhere really unpleasant.’ She wondered what could be more unpleasant than being transferred away from Duggie.