Ambulance Girls Under Fire

by Deborah Burrows

  I thought about it. ‘I hope not,’ I said, very seriously. ‘I’m fairly sure I’m not. I enjoy the company of everyone at the station and I certainly don’t think any less of any of them because of their accents or schooling or anything.’

  ‘Then why would you not go to the Paramount?’

  ‘I suppose I feel that I’d not fit in there.’

  ‘Come with me. In a group, I mean. I’m free next Thursday night. You choose the group.’

  ‘I can’t stay up late. I’m on duty at seven-thirty the next morning.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be a late night. You could leave by eleven or so.’

  ‘I don’t know anyone to ask,’ I replied feebly. Me, at the Paramount?

  ‘I’m sure you can find others to come. What about that tall dark-haired girl at your station. Halliwell, is it?’

  ‘Maisie Halliday. She’s a dancer. A real dancer, a professional dancer.’

  ‘All the better.’

  ‘I don’t think Kitty and Joan would be pleased to see you turn up with two females.’

  ‘Invite a man as well, then. Or, even better, a couple of men. They’d be pleased about that.’

  ‘I don’t know any single men. Or … I suppose Purvis is a single male. He’s the station’s conscientious objector. Rupert Purvis.’

  ‘Invite him. Anyone else?’

  I laughed. ‘There’s Armstrong. But he’s not even eighteen yet.’

  ‘Is he the one who watches you with a face like a whipped puppy.’

  ‘Oh, he does not.’ I laughed at Simon’s expression. ‘Well maybe he does. But he looks at Halliday that way, too. I think he’s at the age where he looks like that at any young woman because he’s too shy to do anything about it.’

  ‘Invite him along. Give the boy a thrill.’

  I thought about the people I knew. ‘There’s Pam Beresford – you met her yesterday – she has a flat in this building. She and that young pilot, Gerald Wilde, they seem to be quite smitten with each other.’

  ‘The more the merrier.’

  ‘You really think I should?’

  ‘Goodness, woman, take pity. You don’t expect me to turn up to the Paramount alone, do you? If I don’t arrive in a group I’ll be fair game for Kitty. And to be frank, she terrifies me.’

  I gave a bark of indignant laughter. ‘Oh, you’re impossible.’ I made my voice gruff, in an approximation of Simon’s deeper voice, ‘“What’s the matter, Celia? Surely you’re not a snob?” And it’s all a plot to get company for your blinking Paramount expedition.’

  I threw a cushion at him and he ducked it with a yelp that made Leo and Bobby turn away from the window to look at us.

  ‘God Save the King,’ said Bobby. ‘Simon Levy.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Simon, standing up and holding the cushion like a shield. ‘As monarch appointed by parrotic decree, I expect to be treated with appropriate dignity.’

  He lobbed the cushion back at me and I ducked it with a laugh as Leo gave his soft giggle. Then Bobby opened his beak and gave voice to an ominous roaring whistle, exactly like the sound of a dive-bombing Messerschmitt. Simon cringed in an exaggerated fashion at the noise, hit the floor and held up his hands as if facing bullets.

  Leo’s laughter became louder. ‘Bobby,’ he said to the bird, ‘Du bist ein … aeroplane.’

  ‘A scary aeroplane,’ said Simon and frowned at Bobby. ‘Bad bird.’

  That caused Leo to dissolve into a fit of giggles. His shaking shoulders meant that Bobby’s perch had become precarious and he stepped on to the pile of books on my bookcase. From there he surveyed us with a dignified air, opened his beak and squawked, ‘Bloody hell.’

  I fell back on to the sofa, laughing uncontrollably. Leo’s giggles intensified and he joined Simon on the floor, rolling around and holding his stomach. He looked so much like a normal, happy eight-year-old boy that I was exhilarated. I exchanged glances with Simon and I knew he felt exactly the same.

  I wasn’t really sure why, but as I was showing them to the door, I asked Simon, ‘Why isn’t Miriam Rosenfeld part of this Paramount expedition?’

  In reply I received a slight enigmatic smile. ‘So Lore has been telling you about Miriam, has she?’

  ‘She says you two are close.’

  ‘That’s one word for it.’ As he helped Leo into his coat he said, ‘Miriam will be at the airfield all week, but who knows? Perhaps she could get away to join us. Actually, it’s a splendid idea. I’m meeting her tonight and I’ll ask her.’

  As I closed the door behind them I turned to Bobby, who watched me with his fathomless gaze.

  ‘So I’m off to the Paramount,’ I said to the bird. ‘However did he get me to agree?’

  ‘Leo Weitz,’ said Bobby. ‘God save the King.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ‘I can’t understand why they’re not here,’ said Pam, as she walked into my bedroom the following Thursday evening. I presented my back and she zipped me up. My green frock seemed wrong, somehow. I hadn’t worn it for almost a year and it hung loosely on me. I’d lost weight.

  ‘They’ll come,’ I said.

  ‘Well, they didn’t last night. Or the night before. I can’t sleep when they don’t come. It’s too quiet.’

  ‘I think the weather’s been too bad for night raids,’ I said.

  ‘And so they inflict daylight raids on us instead. Just as I’d popped out at lunchtime today the siren sounded. Then the guns started up and I had to dodge shrapnel. And when I was on my way back to Australia House after lunch, a raider swooped out of a cloud and began machine-gunning the street. No one got hit, but everyone was really angry and I laddered my stockings when I hit the ground. It was so annoying. How do you like my outfit? It’s an old dress, but Katherine jazzed it up for me.’

  She gave a twirl and the red fabric flared out around her knees.

  ‘She did a marvellous job. You look lovely.’

  ‘So do you,’ she said.

  I frowned at my reflection, wondering if I looked scrawny, and whether I’d made too much of an effort with my outfit, hair and make-up. I didn’t want Simon to think that I cared about this evening at the Paramount. In fact, I wasn’t entirely sure why I had taken such trouble, other than that I so rarely went out nowadays it was a special occasion for that reason alone. I had heard that the West End still buzzed with people determined to have a good time, despite the Blitz, but I was too tired with my ambulance duties and then Bloomsbury House to make an effort to socialise with the few friends I still had.

  ‘You look like Rita Hayworth,’ said Pam. ‘I know he’s bringing his girlfriend, but I don’t think your doctor will be looking at anyone but you.’

  Annoyed, I snapped, ‘He’s not my doctor.’

  She gave me a cheeky smile. ‘Yes he is. He treated you, didn’t he?’

  I had to laugh. ‘Yes. He treated me when I was ill. And that’s all.’ The memory of Simon’s urgent kiss in Park Lane, and my fevered response, came into my mind. I looked away, hoping I hadn’t coloured.

  ‘I loved her in The Lady in Question.’

  ‘What? Who?’

  ‘Rita Hayworth. She has a new one out, Angels over Broadway. Gerald is taking me to see it next week.’

  ‘I do not look in the least like Rita Hayworth,’ I said, with a touch of petulance.

  Pam shrugged. ‘Well, Rita has red hair, and so do you.’

  ‘I don’t believe she’s a real redhead. Do you compare everyone you meet with motion picture stars?’

  She looked hard at me, head over to the side, frowning. ‘On second thoughts, you are absolutely right. Not Rita Hayworth, but Greer Garson. She’s also red-haired and you look a lot more like her than Rita. You’ve a very English look.’

  ‘I am English.’

  ‘And you look it. Yes. Definitely Greer Garson. I think her eyes are green, though, and yours are that dark blue. I loved her in Goodbye Mr Chips. I wept buckets when she—did you hear? She’s going to star in t
he new Pride and Prejudice with Laurence Olivier. Gosh, I dote on him. Don’t you think that Gerald looks a bit like Laurence Oliver?’ This last sentence was uttered in a dreamy voice.

  I shook my head, thinking Pam could be rather trying sometimes.

  ‘No? Well, I suppose I’ve looked at him more closely than you have. I definitely see Olivier in him. Definitely. He’s so nice. Gerald, I mean. He said he’d come to the shelter with me on Saturday. It’ll give the shelterers a thrill to see a Spitfire pilot. And I thought it was a good way to spend more time with him.’

  Pam volunteered as a shelter officer at the big Gloucester Road public shelter twice a week. As such, she was responsible for up to a thousand people a night. Nanny would have called her a flibbertigibbet, but Pam could be very level-headed and conscientious when required.

  ‘I think we won’t have a raid tonight,’ she said firmly. ‘I think the All Clear at five was the last we’ve seen of them for today.’

  ‘It’s only eight o’clock. Plenty of time for a night raid.’

  ‘You sound as if you want one.’

  ‘Might be better than attending the Paramount Dance Hall.’

  She laughed. ‘You’re the one who arranged it.’

  ‘No. I was manoeuvred into it by the very sneaky Simon Levy.’

  ‘It’ll be fun.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘He’s probably downstairs by now. We’d better go and meet him and … Miriam, isn’t it?’

  Simon had offered to drive us to the Paramount. There were few private cars left on the streets but, as a doctor, Simon was entitled to a small petrol allowance. At the dance hall we were to meet Gerald Wilde, Maisie Halliday and Rupert Purvis. I was looking forward to meeting Miriam Rosenfeld, Lore’s daughter, who ‘wanted a Levy boy’ and who had adored David, although I felt mildly annoyed on Simon’s behalf that he should be seen as second best to his brother.

  At the door I paused. ‘Who do you think Simon looks like? Which movie star, I mean.’

  She laughed. ‘Errol Flynn. Definitely.’

  ‘He does not,’ I said sharply. Errol Flynn was not one of my favourite actors, because I had always thought that Cedric rather resembled him.

  Pam seemed surprised at my vehemence.

  ‘Simon doesn’t have a pencil moustache,’ I said by way of explanation.

  She screwed up her face as if she was trying to visualise either Flynn or Simon. ‘Well, obviously Simon doesn’t have a moustache, but neither did Errol Flynn in The Sisters. But I really think Simon does look like Errol Flynn. He has a lovely smile and nice even teeth, and a dent in his chin, just like Flynn has. And there’s something about Simon’s manner—’

  ‘His manner?’

  ‘He’s fun and easy-going.’ She smiled. ‘You know, Simon could almost be an Aussie.’

  ‘The highest praise imaginable.’

  ‘No need for sarcasm. You did ask.’ She turned to me in the doorway and said, with a cheeky smile, ‘Want to bet the girlfriend doesn’t turn up?’ I ignored the comment.

  We joined Simon in the lobby. ‘You look lovely,’ he told Pam and she gave him a mock curtsey.

  When he turned to me I thought his smile looked a little ironic. ‘As do you. The Paramount won’t know what has hit it.’

  ‘You make us sound like bombs,’ said Pam, laughing.

  ‘Not bombs, bombshells,’ he countered, visibly relaxing. ‘They’ll think you’ve come to the Tottenham Court Road straight from Hollywood.’

  ‘Hah,’ said Pam, now obviously flirting. ‘Via Tasmania, in my case. Mind you, isn’t Merle Oberon supposed to be from there? Not that I believe it. Tasmania’s a small place and we’d know if she was a local girl.’ She touched her nose and flashed me a look. ‘Errol Flynn, now, he’s definitely from the Apple Isle. He’s as Aussie as they come. True blue, dinky di, as they say.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we be going,’ I said. ‘Is Miriam meeting us there?’

  ‘She’s busy. Attending a training course somewhere in the country.’

  ‘What a shame,’ I said, ignoring Pam’s wink.

  We emerged from St Andrew’s into a pungent fog that enveloped everything like a thick blanket, and made it difficult to breathe.

  ‘It’s no wonder we had a day raid,’ said Pam. ‘They can’t come over at night in this sort of weather.’

  The mist swirled around Simon’s Baby Austin, which Pam eyed critically. ‘It’s not exactly roomy,’ she said.

  ‘Runs for miles on a mere sniff of petrol,’ said Simon.

  Pam shrugged. ‘I think I’d better go in the back. I’m smaller than Celia.’ She clambered into the back seat and I sat beside Simon. He pressed the starter and we headed off into the foggy darkness.

  ‘I hear you’re quite the dancer.’ As Pam leaned forward to talk to Simon I felt her hair brush my face.

  ‘I used to be,’ he said, without turning his head. He was concentrating on the thin line of headlight on the road. It wavered in the fog and seemed to be sucked away before it could assist Simon to avoid potholes. As usual, the journey was made longer and more roundabout by the detours into side streets.

  ‘I’ve never danced the jitterbug,’ said Pam.

  ‘You’ll love it,’ said Simon. ‘Be sure to save me a dance. Or is your card only for Spitfire pilots?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll dance with anyone.’ She laughed. ‘That came out wrong. I meant, I’d love to dance with you. Especially if you know how to jitterbug properly. Do you really?’

  ‘I’ve danced it once or twice, but very badly, I’m afraid. I was there at the Paramount for the first British jitterbug competition in 1939, before all this madness.’ He laughed. ‘Now that was madness. But in a good way.’

  ‘I sort of know how it goes,’ said Pam, ‘the jitterbug, I mean. It does look mad, though. Aren’t girls thrown over their partner’s shoulder?’

  Simon laughed again. ‘That’s not required.’

  ‘What about you, Celia?’ asked Pam. ‘Are you willing to give it a go?’

  ‘Sounds a little too lively for me,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t worry, Grandma,’ said Simon, ‘I’ll go easy on you.’

  Music spilled out from the ballroom as we entered the lobby of the dance hall. It was a lively dance number and Simon tapped his foot in time as we stood together, trying to find our friends among the crowd. Pam gave a muffled cry of delight when she caught sight of her Spitfire pilot and she pushed her way through to capture him. As she brought him to us I looked carefully at Gerald Wilde. He was a little below average height and very slender, and his long face reminded me more of Fred Astaire than Laurence Olivier. I snuck a look at Simon. Maybe he did look a little like Errol Flynn. He caught me looking and I turned away to scan the crowd.

  ‘I don’t see Maisie or Rupert Purvis,’ I said.

  ‘We’re a little early. I don’t see Joan or Kitty, either. They were on the tea car Monday night and I mentioned we’d be here.’

  ‘Are you really intending to jitterbug?’ I asked him. ‘The way they do in those American films?’

  He took my arm and we followed Pam and Gerald into the ballroom. ‘I’m really intending to try to jitterbug,’ he said teasingly. ‘Game to give it a try?’

  ‘I’m not a confident dancer.’

  ‘You danced perfectly well at the Dorchester. It’ll do you good to try something different. We all need to be shaken up every now and again.’

  Inside the ballroom was a sea of people of all shapes and colours, in uniform or in their best clothes. Simon led us to a small table and Pam, Gerald and I sat and watched the organised mayhem on the dance floor as he went off to order our drinks. The music was lively and the dance was livelier. Dancers seemed to throw each other away and swiftly come together again, as if magnetically attracted. The actual steps were quite simple, but improvisation thrived as dancers kicked their legs, extended their arms and almost distorted their bodies in a shivering ecstasy.

  ‘Want to give it a go?’ asked Pam to Gerald. He smil
ed, nodded and they rose and entered the fray. Gerald was up to the challenge, gamely trying to swing Pam around in the crowd. She lost her footing a couple of times, but they didn’t seem to mind and were laughing together.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ The voice was sharp and angry and familiar. I turned to see Eddie Hollis standing behind me. A lit cigarette clung to his bottom lip, and his upper lip was lifted in a sneer.

  ‘Hullo, Eddie,’ I said pleasantly. I did not want a scene, and so I was determined to meet Eddie’s rudeness with politeness. But I looked around furtively for Cedric. Although I doubted he’d come to the Paramount dance hall, I wasn’t sure of anything about him any more.

  Eddie repeated his question: ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m here because I am intending to dance.’ Cedric was nowhere to be seen, so I replied calmly, but with a note of irritation that I hoped would serve as a warning.

  ‘It’s not your sort of place at all.’

  I attempted to freeze him with a look. ‘Well, obviously it is my sort of place, because I’m here.’

  He moved closer to my chair. ‘You’ve never been here before.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed. ‘It’s my first visit.’

  ‘Mr Ashwin won’t like it.’

  I raised an eyebrow and tried to register cold annoyance at the statement. That had no effect at all on Eddie.

  ‘He won’t,’ he repeated. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

  My patience and politeness fled. ‘It’s really none of Cedric’s business. Nor is it yours. I can go anywhere I wish.’

  ‘Of course you can,’ said Simon, who was now standing beside the table, holding a tray of drinks. ‘It’s still a free country.’ He put the tray down and remained standing, watching Eddie with a slight smile as Eddie glared at him.

  ‘Push off, won’t you,’ Simon told him airily. ‘Let Celia enjoy her drink in peace.’

  Eddie wheeled around and left in a frenzied haste, rudely thrusting people aside as he did so.

  Simon sat down and picked up his glass. ‘Your good health,’ he said as a toast, and took a swig. ‘I really don’t like that man.’

  ‘Well, neither do I, and I think he’s taken a dead set against us both. He’s a follower of Cedric’s,’ I said, by way of explanation.