The band played a Benny Goodman tune – ‘Let’s Dance’ – to get the evening off to a lively start. It was a lindy hop – a mixture of jazz, tap and charleston.
Pamela stood apart from the throng, reluctant to attempt the energetic American craze. Connie and Lizzie managed it perfectly – kicking, turning, jumping and swinging with the best of them. They’d invited Pamela along at the last minute and she’d scarcely had time to get ready, let alone tell Fred where she was going. She’d left a message with her mother – ‘Tell him I’ll be at the Harbourmaster’s with Lizzie and Connie if he fancies joining us’ – then dashed on along the prom to meet the Harrison sisters in the queue outside the large modern pub designed to attract day trippers from Leeds and Sheffield in the decade leading up to the war. The lines of the white stucco building were reminiscent of the Queen Mary – sleek and curved, with large, metal-framed windows. The flat roof was even bordered by a low steel railing, which added to the ocean-going effect.
Excitement had been in the air since the moment the girls had stepped through the doors. They’d found that all the tables and chairs had been removed from the large main bar and the carpet taken up to reveal a polished wooden floor – ideal for dancing. A three-piece band, consisting of piano, clarinet and saxophone, had set up on a small platform at the far end of the room. Connie had headed straight for the bar to order drinks while Lizzie and Pamela had deposited their handbags on a window sill and waited eagerly for the music to start.
As the first notes had struck up, two local lads had rushed over to invite Connie and Lizzie to dance. Pamela had turned down the invitation from a third with a shy, ‘I’ll sit this one out, thanks.’ She was regretting it now, feeling that she stuck out like a sore thumb: the only girl not entering into the spirit of things.
But what a daring dance it was! She watched Lizzie’s partner lift her clean off her feet then quickly bend forward and roll her over the back of his hips, catching her as she landed. Then they joined hands and rocked back and forth – step to the side, feet together, step to the side once more, then walk, walk, walk before high-kicking and beginning all over again.
Across the floor, Connie was in her element. She kicked the highest and her skirt flared out the most as she twirled. Pamela caught a glimpse of her friend’s stocking tops amid a blur of red and white polka dots and a flouncy, white lace petticoat.
At the end of the dance, Lizzie and Connie returned to base, their faces flushed and foreheads damp with sweat.
‘Why didn’t you join in?’ Connie wanted to know.
‘I’ve never learned the lindy hop,’ Pamela confessed.
Connie took a sip of her pale ale. ‘There’s nothing to it – you just relax and let yourself be swung around, that’s all.’
‘You’ve done the jitterbug, haven’t you?’ Lizzie enquired. ‘This is easier – there are fewer steps to learn.’
So when the band struck up the next tune – another swing number, this time ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy’ by the Andrews Sisters – Pamela said yes to a small, dapper man with a dark moustache.
‘I’m Reggie,’ he announced as he swept her on to the floor.
‘Pamela,’ she replied.
‘“He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way.”’ A girl singer had taken to the stage, her hair curled under and in a side parting like Vera Lynn. Her sleek, silver lamé dress glittered under the overhead lights.
‘I had a bet with my pal Sid that I could get you to dance. I said it wasn’t right for a stunner like you to stand on the sidelines.’
Feeling the pressure of the stranger’s hand against the small of her back, Pamela blushed and smiled.
Reggie led his partner through a series of bouncing steps, ending in a low kick. Then he spun her around and rocked her back and forth. ‘See – easy as pie.’
Relaxing into the rhythm, Pamela started to enjoy herself. She smiled at Lizzie as she swirled by with her partner: a tall, serious-looking fellow in a dark blue blazer and open-necked white shirt.
‘That’s my pal Sid that I mentioned,’ Reggie told Pamela. ‘We’re new in town.’
‘Ah, you’re in charge of the LZs,’ she said, putting faces to the names that Fred had mentioned.
The tempo quickened and Reggie swung her more energetically. ‘News gets around,’ he said with a wink.
The pace of the dance took Pamela’s breath away and when the number ended Reggie drew her into a quick clinch before boldly planting a kiss on her left cheek.
‘Ta very much,’ she said as she broke away and rushed back to her corner.
‘Goodness!’ Lizzie joined her. ‘I don’t know about you, but I need a breather.’
Lizzie refused her next invitation, but Pamela was led on to the floor by Arthur Dixon, owner of the builders’ merchant next to the Gas Street sector post. The woman in the silver gown crooned the words to ‘In The Mood’ – ‘“Baby, won’t you swing it with me?”’ Smooth words, smooth steps, tight embraces. Girls flashed lipstick smiles while men held the women’s perfumed bodies close and forgot their wartime worries.
As soon as the dance was over, Connie, Lizzie and Pamela reconvened in the girls’ corner – Connie fresh from an encounter with Sid. ‘Boy, where did those RAF erks learn to dance?’ she said as a more sedate number began and the floor emptied, leaving only established couples to show off their skills. The crowd at the bar jostled and called out their orders.
‘Time to powder our noses?’ Lizzie suggested, picking up her handbag and leading the way.
Inside the ladies’ cloakroom the three friends inspected their reflections in the long mirror above the washbasins. Connie reapplied her lipstick – bright red to match her dress – while Lizzie ran a comb through her hair. Pamela frowned at her flushed cheeks.
‘Here.’ Lizzie dipped into her bag and handed over her compact.
‘Ta.’ Pamela patted cool powder on to her face.
‘This dance is just what the doctor ordered.’ Eager to rejoin the fray, Connie was the first to exit the cloakroom, while Lizzie brought Pamela up to date with the day’s main event.
‘You’ll never guess what – Bill and Tom have bought a fishing boat,’ she said. ‘It needs a lot doing to it, but they hope to have it shipshape before the wedding.’
‘That’s marvellous news.’ Pamela held the door open for her friend and they emerged to admiring glances from the gang of men gathered by the main entrance – Lizzie in her pale blue halter-neck dress that skimmed her knees, Pamela in a short-sleeved lilac one that was nipped in at the waist and flared out into a gored skirt.
Trim figures, good legs, hips that sway as they walk; the whole package – the men enjoyed watching Pamela and Lizzie re-enter the bar.
Holding her head high and making a point of ignoring them, Lizzie was surprised to feel a light tap on her shoulder. She turned to see Reggie grinning at her and inviting her to dance the jitterbug with him.
‘Come on,’ he cajoled as he wrapped his arm around her waist. ‘You know you want to.’
Sid was close on Reggie’s heels and he corralled Pamela without even asking whether or not she wanted to dance. ‘The night is young,’ he insisted in his sing-song Midlands accent. ‘And so are we.’
As the dance began, Lizzie found there was no holding Reggie at a decent distance. He had arms like an octopus’s tentacles, pulling her close then swinging her out and drawing her back in again, tight against his body.
‘You’re a proper little Ginger Rogers.’ The compliments flowed as the tempo increased. ‘Light on your feet and with a sparkle in those lovely brown eyes. It beats me why you haven’t been snapped up already.’
‘Actually, I have,’ Lizzie retorted, quick as a flash. ‘Been snapped up, that is.’ Lifting her left hand, she waved it ostentatiously across Reggie’s line of vision to show off her sparkling engagement ring.
‘Fair enough.’ Reggie didn’t miss a beat. ‘Plenty more fish in the sea, eh?’
‘That’s a nice dress you’re wearing,’ Sid told Pamela meanwhile, during one of their energetic clinches. His right hand gripped hers as he swung her out to arm’s length. ‘I bet you have boys swarming around you like bees around honey.’
The cheesy comparison brought a blush to her face. She glanced around the crowded floor, planning a quick getaway at the end of the number.
The music stopped and the pianist announced a pause in proceedings – a short interval would give the musicians time to slake their thirst.
‘How about a drink?’ Sid asked Pamela in his overfamiliar way. His height, together with his deep-set eyes and long, square jaw, somehow gave the impression that he was used to getting his own way. Before she knew it, Pamela was swept along towards the bar.
Across the room, Lizzie had managed to escape from Reggie, who instead made a beeline for Connie and offered to buy her a drink.
‘I’ve just been given the brush-off by the little girl in blue.’ Reggie gestured towards Lizzie. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s missing.’
‘That little girl in blue happens to be my sister.’ Connie looked him in the eye. He was a cocky sort, to be sure. ‘Her fiancé will be here any minute. Look – here he is now.’
‘Bill! Tom!’ Lizzie spotted them across the crowded room – how could you miss them? They were both tall and they lit the place up with their open smiles and easy way of threading their way towards the bar, exchanging greetings with everyone they knew.
‘Sorry,’ Connie told Reggie as she left him in the lurch, ‘that drink will have to wait.’
A buzz of excited voices filled the silence. Dozens of flushed faces, perspiring brows and aching feet retreated into quiet corners or sought chairs for a brief sit-down. Lizzie, Connie, Bill and Tom gathered at the bar while Pamela did her best to keep Sid at bay.
‘What do you do for a living, Pamela?’ The cheeky junior aircraftman thrust a Dubonnet and lemonade at her, then took a deep swig from his pint glass. ‘Let me guess – you work in a hairdressing salon. Isn’t that the posh word for them?’
‘Wrong,’ she countered, aware that the thin fabric of her dress clung to her thighs due to a combination of heat and energetic movement.
‘All right, then – you don’t have to work at anything. Your daddy’s rich enough to look after his little girl in the style to which she’s accustomed.’
‘Do you mind!’ At this latest guess, Pamela felt her hackles rise. ‘I work as a secretary, if you must know.’
‘Keep your hair on, I’m only kidding.’ Sid laughed then drank again. Reggie joined them and the two men compared notes – the local shindig was better than expected: pretty lively, music not bad, girls you wouldn’t chuck out of bed.
Pamela took a deep breath then placed her glass on the bar. ‘Please excuse me.’ She sounded stiff and snooty – just like her mother, for heaven’s sake! ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you two to talk.’
‘You haven’t finished your drink,’ a disappointed Sid called after her.
‘Very tasty.’ Reggie appraised Pamela’s back view. ‘Could do with a bit more meat on her bones, but classy and far too good for you, Spot.’
‘Give me strength!’ Pamela was still annoyed when she joined her friends.
Lizzie smiled at her exasperation. ‘Take no notice. They’re not worth getting worked up about.’
‘Who? What? When? Where?’ Bill wanted to know.
‘She means Sid and Reggie, the two new erks who are billeted with Fred at Sunrise,’ Connie explained.
‘A pair of terrible flirts,’ Lizzie added. ‘Especially the smaller one – he really gets on my nerves.’
The music struck up again and, within seconds, Arthur Dixon’s son Alan had asked Pamela to dance the cakewalk with him.
‘You’re in safe hands there,’ Connie reassured her as a large circle formed around the perimeter of the dance floor. Each pair paraded arm in arm to a jazz number led by the clarinet player, backed by saxophone and piano.
‘Do you fancy it?’ Tom asked Connie, who naturally leaped at the chance to join in the rapid, prancing performance.
‘Yes?’ Bill offered Lizzie his hand and they too joined the procession.
The dance was an opportunity to hop and kick, wave and stamp; the more swaggering the better. Dancers unapologetically bumped into nearby couples and trod on each other’s toes. When the song finished, the trio onstage slid seamlessly into a foxtrot – slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. The circle disintegrated and couples turned to face each other – Tom smiling warmly and embracing Connie, Bill happy to get into hold with Lizzie. Shy, fifteen-year-old Alan Dixon mumbled his excuses and left Pamela stranded in the middle of the floor.
‘We can’t have that, can we?’ As if by magic, Reggie was there, offering to take the boy’s place. Before Pamela knew it, he had his arm wrapped around her waist and was guiding her smoothly across the floor. ‘I’m sorry if I overstepped the mark earlier. I never meant to upset you.’
‘I wasn’t upset.’ Pamela fell short of the airy insouciance she was aiming for. Her blushing cheeks betrayed her yet again.
‘Anyhow, I came on too strong and I apologize.’
‘Apology accepted.’ Pamela did her best to keep up with her partner, who was surprisingly light on his feet.
Reggie foxtrotted her around a knot of couples in the centre of the floor. ‘I know I can go at things like a bull in a china shop – it happens when I’m nervous.’
‘You – nervous?’ Her rising intonation conveyed disbelief.
‘Yes, a bag of nerves – that’s me.’ His serious expression cracked into a broad grin. ‘OK, I’m kidding.’
‘I was about to say!’ Pamela’s skirt swung out as they rapidly changed direction to find more space. Her partner was an infuriating tease, but he was funny too – she was forced to admit that his quick-fire energy held a certain attraction.
Reggie drew her closer. ‘Between you and me, it’s a relief to be stationed up here in Kelthorpe for a while. My squadron’s lost four pilots in the last month – two over Essen and two over Lübeck. The youngest was only nineteen, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Yes, I can see why you’d rather be here.’
‘Looking after barrage balloons is a doddle in comparison.’ He briefly released her hand to tap his forehead – touch wood. Then he seized it again and put in a couple of complicated turns. ‘That’s right, twinkletoes – let’s show ’em how it’s done.’
Not far away, Connie was tripping the light fantastic with Tom. Aware that they made a handsome couple – he with his height and strength, she in her bright dress and with her glossy, dark hair pinned up – they brimmed with confidence. Connie waved at Lizzie and Bill as they passed by. Despite his quiet, steady nature, Tom came alive on the dance floor. Connie had always known that he was musical and had a singing voice second to none. But once she’d discovered that he could dance as well as he could sing, she’d seized the opportunity for them to waltz and foxtrot, swing, samba and jitterbug their way around every dance hall in town. ‘Lizzie looks like she’s having a good time,’ Connie remarked as Tom whirled her around.
‘Bill too. He’s on top of the world because we’re due to start proper work on Annie May tomorrow. Be warned, we’ll be up to our eyes in wood shavings and sawdust for the next few weeks.’
‘You don’t think you’ve bitten off more than you can chew?’ Since setting eyes on the dilapidated trawler, Connie had had plenty of time to think things through.
‘Let’s hope not.’ Privately, Tom had his doubts about Bill’s timescale – making the old boat seaworthy before the wedding seemed ambitious, but then again, where there was a will there was a way. ‘Don’t get me wrong – I’m as keen as he is to be out casting our nets again.’
‘Lizzie and I will give you a hand whenever we can,’ Connie promised as the foxtrot ended and couples drifted from the floor. ‘I’ll be the dogsbody, fetching and carrying, hammering or screwing down anything that moves. Lizzie’s more use than me – she knows about engines.’
Tom smiled as he drew her towards the bar. ‘You’ll both be busy in the bakery,’ he pointed out. ‘And you work for the ARP three or four nights a week.’
‘We’ll fit it in.’ Connie beckoned for Lizzie and Bill to join them at the bar.
On another part of the floor, Pamela tried to extricate herself from Reggie’s grasp. ‘Thanks very much,’ she said. ‘I enjoyed that.’
As the music started up again, Reggie held on to her hand. ‘One more,’ he pleaded. ‘Come on – don’t be mean.’
Pamela pulled away. ‘I’m all in,’ she protested. ‘I could do with a breather.’
‘This is a good one – listen!’ Reggie mouthed the words to the Judy Garland song that the band was playing. ‘“You made me love you …”’
‘No, really—’
‘“I didn’t want to do it.”’ Reggie grinned away.
Pamela feared that if she carried on resisting there would be a scene. Anyway, what would be the harm? So, she gave in and was once more swept away in her partner’s arms.
Holding her close, Reggie turned and turned until Pamela grew dizzy. If he let go of her, she was sure she would fall down, so she clung on.
‘“Give me, give me, give me what I cry for …”’ Reggie crooned the words into her ear.
The lights began to spin and the floor to tilt beneath her feet.
‘“You know you got the brand of kisses that I’d die for …”’
Fred entered the room at the moment when the music reached a crescendo. He saw Pamela in someone else’s arms, and that someone was Reggie Nolan, damn it. What the hell was the airman up to, spinning her around like that? Feeling a sharp stab of jealousy in the pit of his stomach, Fred took a quick intake of breath.
Connie rushed to greet Pamela’s sweetheart, then shoved him forward. ‘Quick, Fred. It’s time for you to ride up on your white charger.’
He jerked into action. Bloody hell, Nolan was the limit, grinning like an idiot as he held Pamela upright and led her off the floor!
‘Someone could do with a nice refreshing drink,’ Reggie murmured in Pamela’s ear before feeling a heavy hand on his shoulder.
‘I’ll take it from here, thank you.’ Fred was grimly formal – taller than Reggie, he was able to look down on the other man as he slipped his hand into Pamela’s.
She took a deep breath and willed the lights to stop spinning.
‘Oh, will you now?’ Reggie adopted the air of a prize fighter. He didn’t quite put up his fists and challenge the interfering bastard who’d stepped in between him and his girl for the evening, but that was the impression he conveyed. ‘Says who?’
‘Fred Miller – you remember me?’ Fred’s gaze was steady, though he had to clench his teeth in an attempt to bite back his irritation.
Pamela took another deep breath and had just enough time to regain her balance as Reggie looked quickly from one to the other, read the situation, then backed off.
‘Right you are.’ Reggie held up his hands in surrender. ‘No offence, I hope?’
‘None taken.’ Clipped in his speech, precise in his movements, Fred put his hand around Pamela’s waist and led her away.
‘You win some, you lose some,’ Reggie told Sid later as they walked back to Sunrise together. ‘Not that I’m giving up without a fight, mind you. There’s no ring on this one’s finger so she’s still fair game as far as I’m concerned.’