Daisy's Wars

by Meg Henderson

  ‘Ssh!’ Dotty hissed, turning and heading back to the hut, the others at her heels. ‘What are you? Military police?’ Then, when they reached a patch of darkness, she almost bent double. ‘My hand!’ she shrieked, hopping about. ‘I think I’ve broken every bone in my hand!’

  The others watched her, bemused. ‘So what really happened then?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘You won’t tell anyone?’

  ‘Oh, get on with it!’ Violet said impatiently. ‘It’s obvious you clocked him one, he looked a dicey character to me anyway.’

  Dotty was still hopping around, holding her right hand by the wrist and waving it about. ‘I knew him before, he went to school with my brother. Had the bloody cheek to ask for his ‘officer’s perks’, his ‘home comforts’. I said I didn’t know what he meant, though I did, of course, I was just giving him the chance to be joking. Then he said everyone knew WAAF duties were to keep the men of the RAF happy, that it was the only reason to let women into the RAF.’

  ‘Bloody cheek!’ Violet shouted.

  ‘You think he’s the only one who thinks that?’ Celia said. ‘I had one erk say to me that he’d never go out with a WAAF because everyone knew we were no more than prostitutes.’

  ‘What did you say?’ Dotty asked.

  ‘I said his problem was that he was bitter at being turned down by some sensible WAAF and he couldn’t get it even if he did pay for it.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Dotty smiled painfully, ‘but I didn’t expect it from someone I actually knew.’

  ‘So why did you go outside with him?’ Celia asked.

  ‘He was an officer!’ Dotty said, shocked. ‘I couldn’t whack an officer in full view of everyone, could I? Whose word would they have taken, his or mine? I’d have been on a charge and chucked back to civvy street.’

  ‘And you just whacked him one under cover of darkness, then?’ Daisy laughed.

  ‘Landed a damned good right hook, if I do say so myself. Floored the erk!’

  ‘Only he’s not an erk, is he?’ Violet said. ‘He’s an officer. And where did you learn to deliver right hooks anyway?’

  ‘From my older brother, of course. He boxed at school. If he tries to make trouble I’ll just have to tell Freddy. He’s a pilot,’ Dotty replied proudly.

  ‘And we’ll all have to swear blind that we saw him slip and Dotty trying to help him up then, won’t we?’ Daisy said. ‘Those leather soles can catch anyone out.’

  ‘Oh, I say,’ Dotty cried, ‘would you girls do that for me?’

  ‘Course we would!’ Celia laughed. ‘We’re all in this together. Right, girls?’

  ‘Right!’ they shouted in unison, then they fell about laughing and stumbled back to the hut.

  Dotty stood about five feet four, attractive with a lovely figure that was much the same shape as Daisy’s but less pronouncedly so, a pretty brunette with bright, brown eyes. When Celia and Violet moved out, Dotty moved to the bed on Daisy’s right, joining Daisy’s already-existing alliance with Edith, though it would be Daisy who would hold their friendship together.

  Edith was from Norwich, the daughter of a doctor who had worked his way up to become one of the best-known consultants of his time. What he had really wanted was a son to carry on his name and his work, but Edith was an only child and so she carried his hopes by default. ‘He says it all the time,’ Edith said dolefully. ‘ “I’ve worked hard to get where I am today.” What does he want – a medal?’ Edith’s father wanted Edith to take his ambitions further, which meant going to university, but Edith had side-stepped his plan by nipping into the WAAFs instead.

  ‘He sees that as the height of respectability,’ Edith mused. ‘ “My doctor daughter”,’ and she shook her head.

  ‘So what do you want to do, when this is over, I mean?’ Daisy asked her.

  ‘To not be a doctor,’ Edith replied wearily. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ Daisy replied. ‘I’m like you, I just wanted to get away from where I was. What about you, Dotty?’

  In the dark they heard Dotty sigh. ‘I think the only thing I can say is “Snap”,’ she said.

  Dotty, they had always known, came from a rich family. Because her uniform was specially tailored in the finer air-force material used for officers’ uniforms, she had never had any need of Daisy’s skills with needle and thread. This was disapproved of, though tolerated by the WAAF hierarchy, none of whom seemed to notice that all the girls had their uniforms tailored to a degree, thanks to Daisy.

  To the others it was a curiosity that anyone would spend money buying a uniform, as even specially tailored it was far from the height of fashion, but Dotty herself was regarded with affection, partly because of her ever-cheerful disposition, and partly because of her father’s generosity. Pa Bentley despatched the family Rolls carrying the family butler to the railway station at West Drayton every fortnight, with strict instructions that the hamper he carried should be left there for Dotty to uplift. Dotty didn’t want the Rolls to come to the base gate where it would be seen by the others, or the guards would pass the word around. However, Dotty’s ploy had no chance of working because the guards said instead that a Rolls had dropped the hamper off at the station.

  The hamper contained cake, sweets, bacon, hams, butter, and eggs which were subsequently boiled in an illegal kettle, as well as tinned delights that Dotty happily shared with the rest of the hut. When asked what her father did for a living, Dotty became slightly flustered and explained, apologetically, that he had inherited a farm from his father. Hence the abundance of treats in the fortnightly hamper.

  Some of the others in the hut came from farms, too, and had their suspicions: which they kept to themselves, they were all sharing in the bounty, after all. What Daisy quickly became aware of, though, was that Dotty knew the places to go in London, where her name opened doors. If there was a party, Dotty and her friends were welcomed with open arms, and they never had to rely on the YWCA for accommodation either.

  The first ‘wizzo do’ the three girls went to was at the Savoy Hotel – to mark the posting abroad of some titled youth, Dotty said, though Daisy and Edith quickly learned that no excuse was actually necessary. The three girls arrived in their WAAF uniforms to be met with unbearable shrieks of delight by Dotty’s non-service friends, and much over-the-top hugging and kissing – the normal mode of welcome, it seemed.

  ‘Bit, um, well,’ Daisy whispered to Edith, ‘much?’

  ‘I was thinking insane, actually,’ Edith said, as another wave of emotion engulfed Dotty.

  ‘Yes,’ smiled Daisy, ‘that too.’

  ‘But darling,’ a male voice yelled from the crowd around Dotty, ‘your uniform is absolutely divine!’

  ‘Almost makes one want to join up!’ a female screamed in reply.

  Edith and Daisy exchanged looks.

  ‘You must meet my friends,’ Dotty said. ‘This is Daisy, and this is Edith. Girls, this is Rupert.’

  ‘My God, darling,’ the same male voice said in a hushed tone, as the owner looked Daisy up and down. ‘This one’s uniform’s even more divine!’

  ‘It’s not the uniform, silly,’ Dotty squealed, ‘it’s Daisy! She fills it out better than the rest of us!’

  ‘I’ll say!’

  ‘You’ve already said,’ Daisy added calmly.

  ‘But it bears repeating, my dear!’

  ‘And it’s been repeated.’

  ‘Feisty one, this,’ he said to Dotty. ‘How delicious!’

  ‘Too rich for your palate, that’s for sure,’ Daisy remarked.

  Dotty screeched loudly at her side. ‘You’ll get nowhere with Daisy, Rupie, she’ll eat you alive!’

  ‘And my God, wouldn’t it be worth it?’ he grinned.

  Creep, Daisy said to herself. Erk would have been too much; Daisy didn’t do RAF slang and swore she never would.

  They then discovered that it wasn’t just the welcomes that came at ear-shattering levels; it was the only kind of commu
nication anyone in the suite seemed to understand. Daisy and Edith had expected a gramophone, but what they found was a jazz band in dinner suits, as were most of the male guests, though some wore uniforms bearing higher insignia than the girls normally consorted with. The females all wore amazing evening gowns that Daisy identified as coming from the best designers, and more jewels than she had ever seen in her life. There was a great deal of wild dancing that grew wilder with the limitless alcohol on offer. They watched one gorgeous girl being gleefully thrown about like a rag doll.

  ‘That’s an actual dance, is it?’ Edith asked.

  ‘Damned if I know,’ Daisy replied, ‘but if it is it must be the jitterbug, that’s exactly what she looks like.’

  The girl stopped mid-jitter to push a handful of pearls into Daisy’s hand, saying, ‘Be a dear and hang on to them for me, darling, damn things have almost had my eye out a dozen times,’ before jumping back into action.

  Daisy looked at the string of pearls. ‘I think they’re real,’ she said to Edith.

  ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘Oh, there must be ways, don’t you bite them or something? Shall I try?’ She raised the necklace to her mouth, laughing.

  ‘Why don’t you just slip them into your pocket, then you, me and the pearls can slip out of the door?’ Edith giggled back.

  ‘Don’t think we could. Don’t know how she can walk wearing them never mind throw herself about like that, they’re enormous!’

  Just then two men approached them, bearing a huge bottle of champagne and two extra glasses, announcing themselves, and hoping for a favourable reaction by doing so, as diplomats from the American Embassy.

  Daisy felt a wave of panic rising up. She didn’t want any man to approach her, couldn’t bear the thought of him leaning towards her, leering at her, and the idea he might touch her made her feel so instantaneously sick that she swallowed quickly. So she bristled just enough to put them on notice that they were not automatically welcome, in her company at least; but Edith, who wasn’t used to familiar behaviour from men, American men in particular, showed fear rather than reserve by stiffening up completely.

  Oh God, Daisy thought, she’s turned into a rabbit. She watched one of them taking advantage by sitting beside Edith and slipping his arm around her shoulders, while ‘Daisy’s’ kept a respectful distance as he poured champagne for both girls. Daisy gave a serene nod of the head and took a sip. It was like fizzy cider, she decided, another illusion gone, though her expression didn’t change.

  ‘So, tell me, sweetness,’ the American said, ‘what’s your story?’

  ‘I don’t think I have one,’ Daisy replied coolly.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he laughed. ‘Mine is Walt.’

  ‘Well, Walt,’ Daisy smiled back, ‘my name is Daisy.’

  ‘Well, don’t tell me then,’ he winked back at her, ‘you little minx!’

  Daisy tried to exchange a wry glance with Edith, but Edith remained stiffly transfixed, staring straight ahead.

  ‘So what are you?’ Walt persisted.

  ‘A WAAF,’ Daisy said.

  ‘But are you a Lady or an Honourable somebody?’

  ‘I’m an honourable lady, if that makes things any clearer.’

  Walt guffawed loudly and slapped his sides, the bottle still in one hand.

  ‘You’ll hurt yourself doing that,’ Daisy said, looking around the room disinterestedly, then turning to look him in the eye as he moved closer and tried to slip an arm around her shoulder. ‘And I’ll hurt you if you do that,’ she said icily.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked in a thick voice. He waved the hand with the bottle in the air, indicating the room, wine spilling out in a wide arc. ‘Look, honey, everybody’s doing it.’

  And they were. A group of four were perched precariously on the piano, to the anxiety of the pianist, swaying madly as they sang out of tune, drowning out all but the beat of the music. Of the others, those not dancing wildly or conversing loudly were lying about on top of each other, while those carousing, dancing and conversing continued as though they hadn’t noticed.

  ‘Yes,’ Daisy replied, ‘but perhaps I’m just choosy, or maybe not drunk enough.’

  ‘We can soon fix that,’ Walt chuckled, lifting the bottle to pour her more wine, but Daisy had already placed her hand across the rim of her glass. ‘Make that just choosy then, Walt,’ she smiled sweetly.

  Afterwards she thought about how she had handled herself and took stock. She hadn’t planned any of it, she had simply taken a deep breath and launched herself into an act, becoming an ice-maiden with a glib turn of phrase. Joan Johnstone had been right: life was all a question of choosing your part and performing it with confidence – even if you were quaking inside. She had wanted to keep Walt at a distance and it had worked. She had got away with it without doing a Dotty, so there was no reason why it shouldn’t work just as well in future. She had discovered a means of taking back control.

  Not that all Dotty’s soirees were like that. Some were held in private apartments in Knightsbridge or Pimlico, but there was always some degree of bodies lying on top of each other, it had to be said, and always some male or other trying his luck. It was an attitude that had spread worldwide, though. By all accounts the outbreak of war had prompted a steep decline in morality both inside and outside the services, and across the social barriers, too, for that matter. As Daisy’s male-deflecting act developed, it was becoming the one everyone accepted, and she was increasingly regarded as a bit of a character. Mae West they called her, and soon everyone knew that it would take a pretty special male to get past her guard.

  Not that it stopped them trying, of course. It was in the nature of the beast, but the last thing they wanted was to be humiliated in front of their friends, so the first rebuff, however humorous, usually sufficed.

  After her disappointment at her first sip of champagne, Daisy decided alcohol wasn’t for her. As a child she had seen how much damage it could do, and at the London parties she saw how it lowered the resistance and inhibitions, and she wanted to keep both. One thing the Dessie escapade had taught her was to always be alert; to learn how to spot situations before they got out of hand. She realised that everyone else was too intent on how much fun they were having to notice how little she was drinking, so she accepted a glass of whatever was on offer and kept it by her side, unconsumed, for the duration. When top-ups were offered she would indicate her full glass. It worked, because everyone was more interested in themselves.

  After champagne there were other disappointments to come. Caviare was disgusting, she discovered, though Dotty assured her it was an acquired taste and she should persevere, which she didn’t. Truffles, on the other hand, were quite nice, really, which was more than could be said about anchovies; while smoked salmon and scrambled eggs was pretty amazing, considering the salmon hadn’t even been cooked first.

  Soon, though, these forays consisted of just Dotty and Daisy, Edith having decided none of it was for her. Edith was a serious-minded girl who saw little value in small-talk and so had never perfected the art. She was acutely aware that this was a handicap, even if she had no wish to change it. She just wasn’t made for parties, certainly not on Dotty’s level.

  Daisy, on the other hand, had some experience of the landed gentry in her years at Fenwicks and was better equipped to deal with almost any company, so she adapted effortlessly, though with her own rules. At the beginning of her healing time, when she had needed calmness and quiet, Daisy had been closer to Edith, who was capable of sitting for hours in silence reading a book. But now she was recovering and re-grouping mentally, putting what had happened to her behind a closed door in her mind and trying to find a way of going forward.

  Edith remustered as a Radio Telephone Officer and moved to Langar along with Violet and Celia, so it was natural that Daisy and Dotty became closer. At first Daisy had seemed, on the surface like just another girl away from home, a bit anxious but trying her best to learn as much a
s she could; but underneath the turmoil of her escape from Newcastle had raged. She had struggled to make sense of the rape and come to terms with why she had let it happen to her, as though it had been her fault. She’d become full of a guilt and anger that had nowhere to go. As she made those first steps forward it seemed that every attempt to put her old life behind her was caught up in her dreams as she slept, jumbled up with details of her new life, twisted and mixed up together, reminding her of what she wanted to forget.

  Being in the company of females helped, even if they were all in view of males every day. The men had so many girls to choose from that she could hide in the pack, to a certain extent anyway: there was safety in numbers. However, men still noticed her in this new life, her outward appearance hadn’t changed for the worse, and the airmen pointed her out to each other. Crossing her arms and determinedly not walking in the way her hips tended to guide her didn’t disguise anything, and gradually she was coming to terms with the attention. It was boring going around all the time thinking of ways not to look the way she looked, there were more pressing matters to dwell on, so she was trying to devise a plan of survival.

  Slowly Daisy was taking control of the situation, finding within herself the ability to rise above the whistles and the winks, and to deal with them whenever and wherever they came at her, and her closer friendship with Dotty had helped her with the next steps along that path.

  10

  In July 1940, Joan Johnstone’s latest letter to Daisy carried various bits of news. First of all, her father had been taken off night shift at the pit.

  ‘He isn’t happy about it, I can tell you,’ Joan wrote, adding gleefully, ‘he says it’s because he’s Irish! I don’t think he’ll ever accept that he isn’t the only one being messed about by the war. At least he’s there at nights now to look after your mother, whose health isn’t good, I have to be honest, Daisy. She loved the picture of you and your friends in uniform, made her eyes sparkle for a bit. And Spiller’s old factory has been bombed, it’s just standing there like a skeleton, though everyone says the High Level Bridge was the real target, not that the Spiller’s people will find much comfort in that. The next bit of news is in two parts, good and bad. Kay’s husband has gone abroad with his regiment, so it’s good riddance to bad rubbish there, but the bad news is that he got leave before he went and Kay is now expecting baby number three. Yes, I know, my dear, it’s terrible, but there’s nothing you can do about it, you have worries enough with what you’re doing. In fact I wasn’t sure whether I should tell you, but I thought you’d want to know, so forgive me if I’ve upset you.