four

A communal shower followed the physical training session. Bare breasts no longer amazed me. I joined in with the singing of the Gypsy song and learned a version of ‘She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes’ which I’d never heard before.

Back in uniform we attended a lecture on King’s Regulation. I paid little attention, my mind being occupied wondering what qualifications I would need to be a PTI. We smoked. Smoking was allowed. Smoking was allowed almost everywhere. Smoking was encouraged by a duty-free allowance of cigarettes.

The ATS officer was talking about privileges. I began to listen. Her voice sounded like Corporal Robinson’s and Bubbles. Bubbles came from Liverpool, Robinson from London, and probably the officer from some other part of England. It puzzled me the similarity of their voices. And I thought it wasn’t so in Ireland. Even the educated people you could still recognize their regional accent. No one would be described as talking as if they had a plum in their mouth.

‘You are entitled to food, accommodation, a certain amount of free laundry and facilities for cleanliness.’

An English girl put her hand up. ‘Ma’am,’ she asked when given permission to speak, ‘What about pay ma’am?’

‘That is also a privilege. It can be reduced or stopped for certain offences.’ And suddenly I remembered the allowance, the allowance for my mother. I had forgotten all about it. I whispered this to Marj. ‘Too late now cock. By the time this lot’s finished the Company Office will be shut. See about it in the morning,’ she whispered back.

* * *

We were getting ready to go to town. The atmosphere was charged with nervous excitement. Stubs of lipstick were borrowed. Bubbles, the only one with a bottle of scent generously dabbed it behind our ears. Advice and help was given on hairstyles and at which angle the flat cap would look the most becoming. Everyone was speculating as to how they would spend the evening. Edith, Marj and Bubbles elected to go to the public house. The idea tempted me. Mostly because I would have preferred their company to Deirdre’s, but also because I had never been inside a public house. In Ireland respectable young women might cross the threshold of one to present a jug discreetly to the barman who filled it with stout for your grannie or mother. But my mother didn’t drink stout. ‘It never passed my lips,’ she often proclaimed,’ not even when after my births I was ordered it by the Master of the Coombe Hospital.’ At Christmas, weddings and Christenings she would take a sherry or port. And I didn’t have a grannie so going into a public house appealed to my curiosity and a new found sense of freedom and daring.

‘I might come with you,’ I said to Edith, ‘if that’s OK.’

‘Do,’ she replied, ‘pubs are the best place for getting fellas.’

‘You will not. I made a promise to your mother. We’ll go to the pictures,’ said Deirdre.

Already I had found her tedious. Like a limpet she clung to me. She was too old for me. I never got a laugh out of her. But sometimes in the midst of so many country, Lancashire and Cheshire accents I found her Dublin one comforting. I appealed to Edith, ‘Deirdre could come to the pub as well, couldn’t she?’

‘I couldn’t care less who comes—it’s a free country,’ Edith said. I didn’t think it was the most welcoming of invitations. But I wasn’t surprised. Edith and Deirdre sniped at each other. Deirdre objected to being called Paddy. ‘I was christened and it wasn’t Paddy,’ she would remind Edith when accidentally on purpose she used the nickname.

‘I wouldn’t be found dead in one,’ Deirdre retorted pausing in the arranging of her lovely dark hair in sweeps before the mirror.

‘Suit yourself cock,’ said Edith.

‘And you’re not going either. You heard your mother on the station. I hope you haven’t forgotten I’m minding you.’

‘I haven’t forgotten,’ I said and thought of how well she had minded me on the boat, the smell of drink on her breath when she eventually came back and pretended to find me. ‘But I’d like to go and my mother won’t know,’ I argued.

‘You can’t anyway. You’re not twenty-one.’

‘I wasn’t going to drink,’ I feebly protested, ‘just to have a look.’

She threatened to write and tell my mother and I agreed to the pictures.

There was much speculation amongst us as to whether we might get off with Yanks. Would we be safe with them if we did?

‘They’re only men,’ Bubbles said reassuringly. But the majority of the Irish girls (including me) had never been out alone with a man. I didn’t count the one who had picked me up one night as I walked home late from a relation’s house. He was on a bike, slowed down and stopped when he came abreast of me. He said it was a grand night and I said it was. We walked along, him pushing his bicycle in the gutter. Passed the cemetery where my father was buried. I blessed myself and said a little silent prayer. And as we walked he told me he worked for a milkman. That one day he hoped to have his own round. I asked him if he liked being a milkman. He said it was a job but that he had wanted to join the British army and be a paratrooper. I asked him why he hadn’t. ‘Me ma didn’t want me to go, she’s a widow and I’m the only son. But in any case I have a disability so I don’t suppose they’d have taken me.’ I wasn’t sure what a disability meant and didn’t like to ask.

I told him where I worked, that my father was dead, and that I had a brother and sister. He had a nice manner and I enjoyed talking to him. We exchanged names.

I didn’t notice at the time that he never turned his head to look me full in the face. Just kept talking and pushing his bicycle along the gutter.

Just before we came to a junction in the road. He said, ‘I was wondering if you’d come to the pictures on Saturday night, there’s a good one in the Savoy.’ I didn’t know how to refuse. He seemed nice anyway and I’d be able to boast in work that I had a fella and was going with him to the Savoy. So, I said, ‘’Thanks very much that’d be grand.’ We arrived at the junction and he said, ‘This is where’ll I’ll have to turn off. See you on Saturday,’ and still without turning to look at me swung his leg over the saddle and rode off.

I wasn’t sure if I’d recognize him amongst all the men waiting outside the cinema. But he called my name and came towards me and I nearly died of embarrassment. He only had one eye. Not one and a glass one: one eye and an empty socket. All I could think of was someone I knew from work seeing me with him. A fella with only one eye. But I didn’t have the nerve or maybe it was the heart to walk away and leave him. He had bought good seats and chocolates for me. I kept praying for the lights to go down. But even in the dark I kept thinking of the time when they’d come up again.

I lied and said it was a smashing picture though I had watched almost none of it. We crossed the street to where he had left his bicycle. He never spoke about the eye that was missing, and I thanked God that no-one I knew had been around. He asked if I’d meet him again, same place, same time next week, and I agreed not knowing how to refuse but knowing that I wouldn’t turn up.

I made a joke of it to the girls in work. Everyone including me laughed about ‘my blind date’. For a while I was racked with guilt and never walked home from my relation’s the way I had when I met him. And fervently hoped I’d never about the city bump into him again.

* * *

I took a long look at myself in the full-length mirror before leaving the barrack room and decided that in spite of the pressing, primping and titivating I looked awful. ‘Oh, God I hate these stockings, they’re like an old woman’s, and look at my collar, it’s curled up already.’

‘Stop moaning,’ said Edith who was beside me. ‘During the week buy the fully fashioned ones in the Scotch Wool Shop. You can afford the coupons being Irish.’

‘We only get the same number as you,’ said Deirdre.

‘Aye, but your clothes in Ireland are not as strictly rationed as ours. And in any case I was talking to Paddy. She’s got gorgeous legs. Not like some,’ and she let her eyes travel the length of what was to be seen of Deirdre’s which in Ireland would have been described as ‘beef to the heels like a Mullingar heifer’.

When I was little my mother used to tell me that I had fine limbs while forcing cod liver oil and Parish’s food down my throat. The nuns in the school told me I wore my dresses too short and one pinned a paper hem around my fine limbs. But no-one had remarked on my legs since I had grown up. The compliment lifted my spirit. And I told myself I would buy the fully fashioned stocking even though other ranks were forbidden to wear them. And send my collars to the Chinese laundry which made them stiff and shiny.

* * *

All my life I had believed that everywhere in England was beautiful. That unlike Dublin there were no slums and no poor people. My mother had read me The Old Curiosity Shop and I cried over Little Nell and her grandfather. But that was a story about the olden days. My views of England had been formed by my father’s descriptions of Brighton, Hove, Beachy Head and London. I had seen the Pathé News of the Coronation. Read Angela Brazil. Stories of girls in boarding schools, midnight feasts, tennis and lacrosse.

And for final proof there were many people from our neighbourhood who went to work in England and prospered. They came home for holidays dressed to the nines with pockets full of money which they lavishly spent. Talked about the grand houses or flats they lived in and praised England whenever they spoke of it.

So my first sight of an English town was a bitter disappointment. Even the glorious sunset could do little to enhance the grimy buildings, the run-down houses. Small houses. Little shops. Low-sized people poorly dressed. And everywhere a smell of smoke. But as Deirdre and I walked on towards the town and I paid more attention to the passing people rather than buildings, many smiled at me, some commented on the fine evening. They were friendly and welcoming. They reminded me of Dubliners, many with humorous faces and laughter in their eyes.

And then coming towards us were Yanks. I recognized them from the films I’d seen of American soldiers. They were so clean, so well groomed in uniforms that appeared to have been made to measure. Such a contrast to the soldiers we had seen in Belfast and on the train and platforms we had passed on our way to Cheshire. English soldiers in hairy khaki battle dress either too tight or baggy.

The Yanks said ‘Hi,’ smiled, chewed gum. Real Americans talking in voices we had only ever heard at the pictures.

They passed by. Deirdre and I began to talk. ‘From America,’ she said, ‘real Americans. From the same place as Clarke Gable, Frank Sinatra. And did you see the two-tone uniforms? The lovely olive green tunic and pinky beige trousers. Some of them might even be film stars.’ ‘They’re gorgeous.’

‘But don’t forget they’re supposed to be fast,’ Deirdre said. ‘I’d never go out with them. I’d be afraid of my life.’

She sounded so genuinely fearful I wondered if perhaps I had imagined the scene on the deck. Or could the girl with the white swagger hoisted above her waist have been someone else. White swagger coats weren’t uncommon.

We were nearing a railway bridge and could hear a train. We leant over the bridge to watch the train and hadn’t been there long when two American soldiers came and stood beside us. They seemed very old to me. About thirty I guessed. They bid us ‘good evening’ and when the train had passed under the bridge introduced themselves as Lewis and Paul, both from Philadelphia. They asked what branch of the Services we were in. Deirdre did all the talking. Her face became vivacious as she answered their questions, smiling, her eyes with a light in them that I didn’t remember seeing before. She told them our names, that we were from Ireland. Paul laughed and said he guessed as much. I was tongue-tied until Lewis suggested we might like to walk a little way with them and have a drink or coffee.

‘We can’t. We’re going to the pictures.’ Nervousness wouldn’t let me stop. ‘To see State Fair. Judy Garland’s in it. It’s supposed to be very good.’

‘We could take you,’ Lewis said. ‘It’s a great film.’

And off I went again. ‘Oh, no. Thanks very much. What I meant to say is that we were thinking about going. It all depends on what time the picture finishes. D’ye see we have to be back in barracks by ten-thirty. That’s when we have to check in. If we didn’t we could be on a fizzer, that’s a charge, you know.’

Deirdre was looking daggers at me. Lewis suggested that we could walk to the cinema and check when the performance finished. And my minder, the Judas, said she thought that was a great idea. I could tell by the excitement in her voice, in her eyes, in how she moved her stout body, pushing out her chest, tilting her head to one side, that she was determined to go along with the Yanks and if I refused I’d be dumped in a town where I knew no-one. So I went with them. Dreading the thought of being with two Americans in a dark picture house. Wishing I had gone to the public house with Edith and the crowd.

Deirdre walked ahead with Paul who looked younger than Lewis. As we followed them Lewis asked questions about Dublin, about the town we were in. What was its population, its main industries? Later in my experiences with Americans I found that many asked the same questions. |Using the slang I was picking up, I replied ‘I haven’t a clue.’

He offered me a cigarette. I smoked very little then and never in the street. I refused and when he lit up thanked God that I had. For it smelled like no cigarette I had ever smelled.

My mother’s warnings sounded in my mind. Drugged cigarettes and drinks, rape and white slave traffic. I longed to be safe in Dublin, in the barrack room. Anywhere but approaching the picture house with an American I had just met. Deirdre and Paul reached the cinema before us and were reading the times of performances and looking at the stills. Paul said ‘It’s OK. Finishes at quarter of ten.’ Deirdre was all smiles. She squeezed my arm as we went into the foyer. And when the Yanks came from the box office, took the cigarettes they offered. That smell again and the name, Camels, conjuring up a desert scene, sheikhs and dancing girls, slaves, white girls abducted and sold into slavery. But I kept telling myself, ‘So long as you eat nor drink anything they offer you’ll be alright’. I answered myself, ‘You won’t be drugged but supposing in the dark they try other things. I’ll scream the place down so I will.’

They had bought the most expensive seats. Our row filled up and before the lights went down I saw the other rows were also full. Some Yanks, but many civilian men and women. And told myself they would come to my rescue if anything terrible happened. Nothing did. Not a hand brushed near me. Gradually I relaxed and soon was lost in the picture. Lost so completely I never even glanced at the cinema clock. But Lewis did and whispered, startling me, ‘It’s nearly over and you’re OK for time’. They walked us back, stopping only to buy us a dozen doughnuts each from the American Doughnut dug-out. It was almost dark and the street lamps lit when we turned into the road leading to the barracks. It was surrounded by a high brick wall which ran for a considerable length. Yanks and ATS girls were in passionate embraces almost cheek by jowl with the next couples. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Never in my life had I seen such a thing. People kissing in public. Not pecks on cheeks but lips on lips and bodies close to each other.

‘They’ve got no shame,’ said Deirdre in a scandalized voice. While I hoped the spectacle along the wall wouldn’t put ideas into Paul and Lewis’s heads. It didn’t. Very politely they thanked us for our company and bid us goodnight.

Clutching our bags of still warm doughnuts we reported to the guardroom, were marked in and proceeded to the barrack room. On the way Deirdre said, ‘Oul’ fellas they were. I wouldn’t have gone out with them again not if they’d gone down on their bended knees. But let on they asked and we refused.’

Edith , Marj and Bubbles were already in, giggling and in high spirits. And regaled us with the good time they’d had in the public house. ‘It were smashing, Pad. You should have come. Bubbles got off with a Yank and me and Marj …’ Deirdre interrupted. ‘So did we, two officers. Wanted to take us to Chester for the weekend. But we said no. The pictures is one thing but a weekend is another.’

‘They bought us these.’ I held out the doughnuts. Twelve to a bag. One for each of us. Everyone was ravenous. Late at night we always were. Our sweet ration was already gone, eaten on the day we got it. Tea had been served at five o’clock. As it was a camp run by women the cooks sometimes managed to put up a meagre supper from the daily rations. A few spam or bully beef sandwiches and cocoa. It was first come first served and most nights during our training we went to bed hungry. As a consolation Edith had warned us that when we were posted out, if it was a camp where men were in charge of catering we’d go hungry every night. No supper in a male cookhouse. The men were all on the fiddle. Single cooks sold any surplus and married ones took it home.

The doughnuts were devoured. The last grain of sugar licked from our fingers. We got ready for bed. And talked about tomorrow, drill, me about going to the office to apply for the dependant’s allowance. And I said about the Yanks and girls along the barrack wall. Bubbles said it was commonplace now wherever there were Yanks and now the English chaps were copying them. Everyone was in bed by lights out.

Talking continued for a while. I could hear Deirdre saying her prayers. Hail Mary’s, Our Fathers and a litany of prayers for the dead. ‘Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on my father, my grannie, Auntie Mary and Maggie, Uncle Jack, Mrs Behan.’ On and on and on until she must have run out of names or fallen asleep. In a low voice someone far down the room hummed bars of Meet me in Saint Louis, Louis, ‘Meet me at the Fair’, the theme song from the film. Then it was all quiet.

It was a warm night, the moon shone through the curtainless windows. I thought of how happy I was. How much I liked the Forces. Sleeping in a barrack room. How the horrible uniform didn’t matter, for soon I would be a Physical Training Instructor. Then faraway I heard the sound of a train. A lonely sad sound and suddenly I too was sad. Overwhelmed with a longing to be at home, sitting round the table in our kitchen with my mother, brother and sister. The green-painted dresser with some of my mother’s cracked and stitched antique plates on it. They’d be drinking tea and eating dark crusted bread well spread with butter. Now and then my mother giving orders for the wireless to be turned up if she was about to ballyrag the neighbour who she believed could hear every word because she had removed several bricks from her wall for that purpose. They’d argue, my sister contradicting my mother, but most of all there’d be a lot of laughter.

I wondered if they’d talk about me. Were they missing me? Wishing I hadn’t gone away. Only once before in my life had I been parted from them. I loved them so much. I missed them so much. Tears ran down my face. And then I remembered my mother’s preparations for the night. The hearth had to be swept in, and the floor. For the house was infested with mice. Not a crumb must be left to encourage them.

In the bedroom within her hand’s reach she kept a supply of old shoes which when the light was out and the mice emboldened to creep from their holes she hurled in their direction making a growling noise at the same time.

How during the night getting up to go to the lavatory she’d forget about the strewn shoes, stub her toes or fall over them. Curse the mice to Hell’s Gates and if she had forgotten to anoint us with Holy Water do so as we were falling asleep for the second time as she liberally showered our faces with the Blessed Water and asked God to protect her children and bring them safely through the night. I was probably smiling when I fell asleep.