The War Girls

by Rosie James

  ‘What can I ever say to thank you both?’ Abigail said. ‘I shall feel like Princess Elizabeth or Princess Margaret Rose when I wear this.’

  ‘And you’ll look as good as either of them,’ Carrie said.

  Emily was in her usual place where she and Eileen’s mother had started colouring in one of the new books.

  ‘I hope you’re going to find room to keep all your presents, Emily,’ Gladys Matthews said, and Emily looked up, pursing her lips.

  ‘Well, I can keep some of them in your room, can’t I, Mrs Gladys?’ she said.

  ‘Of course you can, Emily,’ Eileen’s mother replied. ‘I’ll look after it all for you.’

  Eileen, pouring out second cups of tea for everyone, was feeling so happy her heart could have burst. To see her darling mother come so alive again, so interested in everything, and not nearly so aware of her health problems. When the weather had been fine in the autumn, she had even taken Emily down to the park once or twice in the afternoons, insisting that holding on to the pushchair with the little girl sitting in it acted as a support for the short distance.

  Eileen glanced across at the two of them sitting there at the table, intent on what they were doing, Emily chattering away, as usual. What a beautiful sight it was.

  Eileen put down the teapot for a second. How strange it had been last year, she thought, to have met Abigail and her daughter like that. They were such an unusual pair, and from what Abigail had told them, with a somewhat unusual life. And, somehow, they had arrived here and were living in Eileen’s family home. It was hard to explain or understand.

  Presently, they all sat down together for more tea and toast and marmalade. ‘No time for eggs this morning,’ Eileen said briskly as she glanced at the clock. ‘Or Carrie and I are going to be late for work. We don’t want to be given our cards on such a special day, do we!’

  Carrie finished clearing the table, while Abigail stood next to Eileen, wiping up the dishes. ‘I hope I’ll be able to concentrate at Blackwell’s later,’ Abigail said happily. ‘Emily has never had such a birthday before, and I’ve never been given a party dress before, either.’

  ‘Oh, it hasn’t finished yet,’ Eileen said. ‘Don’t forget the special tea we’re going to have later, with an iced cake and candles to blow out.’

  Abigail spread the tea towel to dry and hesitated for a moment. ‘There’s only one thing, Eileen,’ she said. ‘When am I ever going to have the chance to wear my beautiful dress? It’s far too good to wear at the shop.’

  Eileen squeezed her arm as she went past. ‘Don’t worry about that,’ she said. ‘I told you – Carrie and I have been plotting! You’ll get used to our wicked ways – Cinderella shall go to the ball!’

  It was late before Emily was persuaded to go bed, and presently, as she was being tucked up, Abigail said, ‘What a wonderful birthday you’ve had, haven’t you, Emily? What was the bit you liked best? Was it having all those presents, or blowing out the candles on the beautiful iced cake, or playing ring-a-ring-a-roses, or the farmer wants a wife, or oranges and lemons, or—’

  ‘I liked all of it,’ Emily said promptly. ‘I wanted it to go on for ever.’

  Abigail smiled. ‘And Eileen’s mother is lovely, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yep,’ Abigail said firmly. ‘We’re best friends.’

  ‘What do you know about best friends, Emily?’ Abigail said, tickling her daughter under the chin.

  ‘Best friends are people who you like being with all the time, and who like being with you,’ Emily replied, ‘and who are never nasty.’ She glanced up at her mother. ‘Mrs Gladys and I read about best friends in Enid Blyton’s stories. Don’t you know what best friends are, Mummy?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Abigail said quietly. ‘I really do, Emily.’

  Chapter 18

  The early weeks and months of 1940 would be mostly remembered for the atrocious weather which hit England. Heavy snowstorms came, one after another, making travel almost impossible, and an ice storm of freezing rain caused telegraph wires and poles to snap with the weight of the ice. The Thames in London froze over, and people were skating on the Serpentine. Fun for some, not so funny for most.

  As she sat reading all the details in The Times, Mrs Matthews could only shake her head in disbelief, but had to admit that the fact which made her most unhappy was that the wild birds could no longer fly because of the weight of ice on their wings. Helpless creatures, dropping to certain death.

  And yet – still no actual signs of war in their city. No bombs, no air raid warnings, so what they were left with was a deep, hidden anxiety that this was merely a waiting game. And only yesterday, Gladys Matthews had learned from her neighbours that they all wanted to build an air raid shelter in the plot behind the back gardens.

  ‘Would there be room?’ she’d asked them doubtfully, but they’d brushed any negatives aside. Their personal shelter was going to be built because they were going to need it. ‘Make no mistake,’ someone said firmly. ‘Hitler has us in his sights and we’re going to be ready for him!’

  And what about Mark, dear Carrie’s young man? Eileen’s mother thought now as she folded her newspaper. They all knew that Carrie was deeply worried because she’d only had one letter from him this year where he’d said he could not tell her what was happening, because it was all hush hush.

  ‘I hate not knowing where he is,’ Carrie kept saying, ‘and I keep having nightmares that he’s not coming back and that I shall never see him again.’

  Very soon, Carrie’s worst fears were to be realised, because at the end of May, the British Expeditionary Force which had been operating across the Channel, fighting to support the French, had been forced to retreat. The German army had advanced at speed and had been about to surround and cut off the British army, which, if captured, would have ended their term of duty in a German prisoner of war camp. The only option had been to get out.

  Dunkirk, the tragedy, the ignominy of Dunkirk.

  But it would also be known as the miracle of Dunkirk because thousands of fighting soldiers had been rescued from that beach and brought back to safety – much of it thanks to the resilience and bravery of private boat owners and small fishing vessels ready to be alongside the British ships waiting to pick up stranded men.

  But for Carrie, the pain of her anxiety at hearing nothing from Mark was made even worse by seeing groups of disheartened soldiers later roaming the streets. ‘I cannot believe it,’ she would repeat to her parents over and over again. ‘I just cannot believe that we have been defeated so soon into this war. It feels like the end of the world. Those poor men – they must feel so utterly pointless. And where … where … is Mark? Why no news?’

  And despite every effort to console and reassure her, Carrie was convinced that Mark had obviously been in France and was one of the many who did not make it back home.

  ‘There! I knew you’d easily pick it up, Abigail!’ Eileen exclaimed, going across to change the record on the gramophone. ‘Carrie and I told you – there’s nothing to ballroom dancing as long as you’ve got rhythm, and you’ve certainly got that! Are you sure you’ve never done any dancing before?’

  It was quite late on a Saturday evening. Emily had gone to bed long ago, and the three girls were in the kitchen practising some dance steps. Eileen had suggested this because she’d known that Carrie was becoming almost inconsolable, even though Eileen had kept insisting that ‘no news is good news!’ And true to type, she’d come up with what she hoped would be a cheerful diversion.

  ‘I told you,’ Abigail said, ‘the only thing we were taught at school was the Polka, and some folk dancing.’ She looked away. ‘And I – we – never learned ballroom dancing. Certainly nothing like you’ve been trying to teach me.’

  ‘We’ve not only tried, we’ve succeeded,’ Carrie said firmly. ‘And of course, the polka and the waltz are similar so it’s no wonder you could do that straightaway.’

  ‘I think I like the quickstep best,’ Abigail said, go
ing over to sit down, ‘but it’s going to take me longer to get the hang of the foxtrot! It seems a bit devious to me.’

  Eileen grinned as she passed around glasses of orange squash. ‘We’ll have a breather, and then we’ll see if you find the palais glide more to your taste.’

  Abigail gazed at her friends as she sipped at her drink. She hadn’t been as happy as this for so long – despite that deep, personal guilt which was a dead weight in her heart. And despite the fear and dread which everyone was feeling.

  But it did no good to sit and imagine what fate might await them all. The only sensible thing was to live one day at a time.

  If only Luke were here, too, Abigail thought, trying to stem that longing for him that never went away. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he thinking about her? And what would he think of his darling daughter? Their Emily Grace? Well, what could he think – other than with love and pride?

  ‘A penny for them,’ Carrie said. ‘What are you thinking about to cause that unusual frown?’

  Abigail smiled quickly. ‘Sorry – why should I look anything but happy when I’m with you two – who are still speaking to me even though I’ve been treading on your toes for the last couple of hours!’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ Eileen said, pretending to limp as she went to search for another record. She glanced across at Abigail. ‘Now, we are going to demonstrate our very favourite dance. You can watch for just a few seconds, then join in with us. It’s easy – once you get the idea. The record I’ve chosen, “Doing the Lambeth Walk”, is just perfect for this one.’

  As she sat watching the other two, Abigail’s momentary disquiet disappeared, the lively music automatically raising her spirits.

  ‘Now, watch!’ Eileen commanded. ‘We start, side by side, with our arms around each other’s waists. Then, on the first down beat, everyone moves first with right foot forward, then brings left foot to join it. Then right foot back, and left goes to join it, with everyone moving all the time to the left. Then the left foot moves forward, right foot joins it, now all moving to the right. See? You sway with the rhythm and move slightly forward all the time, either to the left or to the right so that you’re travelling onwards.’ She glanced back at Abigail. ‘Anyone can join in – you don’t need to have come with a partner, just hook in at the end of a row and then the whole room becomes rows and rows of dancers moving forward together in time to the beat. The palais glide can be done with any number of people,’ she went on enthusiastically, ‘and sometimes at a dance eight or more will do it together. But the three of us as a little team will be perfect. Come and have a go.’

  Although slightly doubtful, Abigail could see that this was not going to be particularly difficult, and soon they were moving forward and backward and onward together, and all singing powerfully in time with the record.

  Eileen and Carrie seemed to know all the words as they sang along, and soon Abigail began to join in, finishing lustily with the last line, ‘doing the Lambeth Walk – hoi!’

  Abigail’s spirits soared with the music as it went on and on. This was glorious, innocent, happy fun!

  The record finished playing, and they all flopped down, laughing. Even Carrie had managed to hide her distress for an hour.

  ‘I told you there was nothing to it,’ Eileen said. ‘And it’s obvious that you’re a natural on the dance floor, Abigail.’

  Abigail smiled. ‘Well, I don’t think we’re ever going to prove that,’ she said lightly.

  Just then the door opened and Mrs Matthews came in. ‘Ah – the dancing girls! Sorry to spoil the fun,’ she said, ‘but I fancied a cup of cocoa.’

  Eileen immediately got up to heat a saucepan of milk. ‘Come in and sit down, Mother,’ she said. ‘I hope we haven’t been making too much noise, but we’ve been teaching Abigail some dance steps.’

  ‘Yes, I gathered something like that was going on,’ Gladys Matthews said, ‘and I was joining in with you when you were singing “The Lambeth Walk”.’

  ‘Were you, Mother?’ Eileen said. ‘It’s a long time since you’ve done any singing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s impossible not to sing that particular one as I hear it on the wireless all the time,’ Gladys Matthews said. She turned to Abigail. ‘Do you enjoy dancing, Abigail?’

  ‘As I told the others, Mrs Matthews,’ Abigail replied, ‘I was only ever taught the polka at school, but Eileen and Carrie have somehow managed to get me doing the waltz and the quickstep. And the last one, the palais glide, which I love best of all, is such fun! And it was surprisingly easy to learn. But I’m afraid there’s not likely to be a time when I will ever put my newfound ability to the test.’

  Eileen and Carrie exchanged glances.

  ‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong,’ Eileen said, going across to give her mother the mug of cocoa. ‘Because you, Abigail Wilson, and Carrie and I are all going on a date!’

  Abigail was confused. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Eileen has decided that we’re all going to a Tea Dance at The Berkeley,’ Carrie said. ‘It does have a lovely dance floor, and it’s surrounded by a low balcony where people can sit and relax and have afternoon tea, and then get up and dance to the gramophone music if they feel like it. They’re holding one of these affairs next Saturday and Eileen and I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to introduce you to Bristol high life!’

  Eileen burst out laughing. ‘It’s hardly the high life, Abigail, just a very pleasant afternoon occasion to have nice cakes to eat and then get up and jig around a bit.’ She smiled. ‘Carrie and I have been before and we usually dance together, but sometimes a gentleman might come over and offer a hand to join him. We don’t care, one way or the other,’ Eileen added, ‘because it’s quite usual for girls to dance together.’

  Abigail sat back, shaking her head. ‘So, this is why you’ve been putting me through my paces this evening,’ she said slowly. ‘Is it one of your plotting exercises?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Eileen said smugly.

  Abigail thought for a moment. ‘And was it the reason you bought me my beautiful dress?’

  ‘But of course!’ the others exclaimed. ‘Because we knew that in it, you would be belle of the ball!’

  Mrs Matthews broke in. ‘It certainly did suit you, Abigail, when you tried it on for us to admire,’ she said. ‘And the Berkeley Tea Dance will be a lovely opportunity for you to let your hair down and just go and enjoy yourselves. Emily and I will be very happy here because we’re never short of interesting things to do.’

  Abigail was suddenly excited at the thought of going somewhere special, doing something special that she’d never done before. The prospect was making her feel free as a bird and young again! Young again? But after all, she was only twenty. Shouldn’t she be allowed to be free and young?

  She stood up, holding out her hands to Eileen and Carrie. ‘Come on – if I’m not to make a complete fool of myself next week, I’d better go on practising! And can we start with the palais glide?’

  The day arrived, and Abigail woke early, feeling ridiculously excited to be going dancing. Such a thing had never entered her head and, luckily, Emily had accepted the fact that she would not be going too, especially as they were all having a fish and chip supper together later.

  At two o’clock with Emily in close attendance, Abigail began to get ready. The event was to start at 3 p.m. and Jonathan Waters had very kindly offered to take the three girls to The Berkeley in his car.

  The dress, freshly pressed, was hanging up on the wardrobe door, and Emily went over to gently hold out the skirt to its full width. ‘You are going to look like a princess, Mummy,’ she said. ‘And in a minute, I shall do your hair and brush it out until it shines.’

  Abigail smiled, slipping her arm around Emily’s waist. ‘One day, Emily, you will be the one going dancing,’ she said. ‘And I will have to brush out your hair – if I can possibly untangle all those curls.’

  Finally, after smoothing a little Pond’
s Cold Cream on to her cheeks and adding a touch of Tangee lipstick to her mouth – additions which the others had recommended she try a little while ago – Abigail led Emily downstairs and into the kitchen where Eileen and her mother were waiting.

  ‘Well,’ Gladys Matthews said, ‘that dress seems to have been made for you, Abigail! It’s such a perfect fit, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, I should hope it is,’ Eileen said, smiling all over her face. ‘Carrie and I spent a long time searching for the right thing, and you know what she’s like … it had to be absolutely what she wanted in every way or we weren’t buying it. She is such a pernickety shopper!’

  Just then the sound of two gentle hoots from the car outside made them all leave the house, and there was Jonathan Waters standing with the passenger doors open for Eileen and Abigail to get in beside Carrie.

  ‘Have a wonderful afternoon, my dears,’ Gladys Matthews said. ‘Emily and I will be expecting to hear full details when you get back.’

  They arrived at The Berkeley, but instead of going in at the restaurant entrance as usual they turned left into Berkeley Square and were dropped off at the back, which was where resident guests and those attending special functions entered the hotel. As they went into the foyer Abigail gazed around her. Everywhere was richly carpeted, a huge display of fresh flowers stood on a small table in the centre, and huge, glittering chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Almost at once a uniformed attendant approached them, and Carrie spoke up. ‘We have a table booked for three in the name of Waters for the Tea Dance,’ she said, and he nodded, smiling.

  ‘Follow me,’ he said.

  The room into which they were shown would stay in Abigail’s memory for ever. As Carrie had already described, the large, circular dance floor was in the centre, and from it, at intervals, three or four shallow, carpeted steps led to the low balcony above. Set discreetly apart were the tea tables all the way around, and as the girls took their places it seemed to Abigail that she was living in a dream. The balcony rails were covered in gold plush matching the seats and backs of the ornate elegant chairs, the subdued lighting just perfect to make out what was going on around them. On every small, round tea table in the room there was glistening silver tableware, dainty china cups and saucers and plates. Gentle background music was already playing on the gramophone.