Christmas with the Bomb Girls

by Daisy Styles

  ‘Of course I don’t mind!’ Gladys exclaimed as she settled Myrtle back on her pillows, which she’d plumped up. ‘It’s a privilege, and I enjoy spending time with you,’ she added tenderly.

  Seeing the tears well in Myrtle’s tired eyes, she added with a cheerful smile, ‘Now how about a nice cup of tea?’

  As Gladys hurried off to make it, Myrtle admired the girl’s long, brunette hair swinging around her slender shoulders and the sway of her shapely hips. ‘Ah, to be young,’ she sighed.

  Tears stung her eyes as she recalled happier times when Gladys had been driven by her vision of an all girls’ swing band, which, by sheer force of will, she’d brought to fruition, with Myrtle, the oldest by far, playing the piano. They’d been wonderful days. Even with a war raging and rationing getting ever harsher, she had never been happier in her life.

  ‘How we used to laugh!’ Myrtle said as she and Gladys drank their tea.

  Gladys smiled as she remembered too. ‘We would never have got anywhere without you,’ she said appreciatively.

  ‘Nonsense,’ Myrtle remonstrated. ‘We all brought our different talents.’

  ‘You really helped Nora with her trombone playing; it was you who gave her the confidence to play,’ Gladys reminded Myrtle.

  ‘Poor child,’ Myrtle sighed as she remembered how she’d taken Nora under her wing after the tragic death of the girl’s mother. ‘Promise you’ll keep an eye on Nora when I’m gone,’ she asked softly. ‘She’s as innocent as a babe and needs so much mothering.’

  Gladys’s eyes filled with tears; the thought of Myrtle considering her own death was unbearable. Seeing her sad, Myrtle reached for her hand. ‘As I’ve told you before, I have no fear of death; in fact I welcome the Lord coming for me.’

  ‘Please, don’t say things like that,’ Gladys begged as she fought back more tears.

  ‘I need to talk about it, if you don’t mind, Gladys?’

  Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Gladys nodded.

  ‘I have no family,’ Myrtle started. ‘I lived alone before war broke out, in Harrogate.’ Taking a deep ragged breath, Myrtle continued. ‘I’d like you to sell my house when I die and share the proceeds among all of you girls, Rosa included, as you really are like the family I never had.’

  At this point Gladys could no longer hold back her tears. ‘Oh, Myrtle, no!’ she cried.

  ‘You would be doing me a huge favour, not to mention putting my mind at rest,’ Myrtle assured her. ‘I shall write all this down in my will of course, as long as I have your permission to act on my behalf?’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ Gladys promised.

  ‘Oh, and I’d like you to share all my jewellery amongst the girls,’ Myrtle added with a wry smile. ‘Jewellery was always my one luxury, and I hope it will always remind you of me.’

  Gladys smiled as she recalled Myrtle’s wonderful collection of pearls, necklaces, earrings, brooches and bracelets. ‘We don’t need jewellery to remind us of you,’ she assured her friend, who by this time was weak and pale with exhaustion. ‘But it’s a lovely thought, Myrtle – I’m sure the girls would treasure any gift from you.’

  ‘Good, so that’s all agreed,’ said Myrtle as she closed her eyes and sank back on to her pillows. ‘Now dear, before you go would you mind reading me another chapter of Jane Eyre? It sends me off to sleep nicely.’

  Gladys took the bookmark out of the page where she’d stopped reading the night before and continued with the story of the lonely governess struggling to make a living on the wild Yorkshire moors. As she read, she saw Myrtle’s eyelids droop with fatigue and within five minutes she was sleeping peacefully. Closing the book, Gladys bent to kiss her friend goodnight and as she did so she wondered how many days would be left before the Lord came to claim His faithful servant.

  14. Romance

  When Maggie and Gladys heard that Les was coming home on leave, they were both happy for very different reasons. Maggie couldn’t wait to hold her boyfriend in her arms, to kiss and cuddle him as she’d dreamt of doing every night since he left. Whilst Gladys, though obviously excited for herself, was also deeply relieved that Les had at last got leave, as her highly strung mother had been making herself ill worrying about her son. Gladys was also looking forward to having time on her own with Les: she needed to talk to him about the changes at work and what she should do next. Knowing she wouldn’t have five minutes’ peace with Les when Maggie was around, Gladys hoped they’d be able to have some time to themselves when they were alone in the cowshed. So she reacted with some surprise when Maggie asked if she could utilize the spare room in the cowshed whilst Les was on leave.

  ‘Why?’ Gladys asked bluntly.

  Maggie coloured before she blurted out, ‘I don’t want to spend all my time with Les at home with Mam watching our every move.’

  Gladys bristled. ‘So what do you plan on doing alone in the cowshed?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘Don’t go getting all suspicious,’ Maggie replied hotly. ‘Les is only here for a few days, and I don’t want it spent in my house talking about how terrible the war is and how bad rationing is getting.’

  Gladys appreciated what Maggie was saying, but she knew Maggie too well; she was always the one who would turn the situation to her advantage. Determined not to be manipulated, Gladys added, ‘I’ll check it’s okay with Rosa; after all, she lives in the cowshed too.’

  Maggie looked sulky. ‘I know you don’t want me there because you don’t trust me to be on my own with your brother,’ she muttered mutinously.

  ‘Stop being so judgemental, Maggie,’ Gladys exclaimed. ‘I want our Les to have a good time whilst he’s on leave – God knows he deserves it after serving so long on the front line – but I also hope he’ll spend time at home with Mum and Dad, who worry themselves sick when he’s away.’

  ‘I’ll see that he does,’ Maggie replied in a proprietorial manner that irritated Gladys.

  ‘Good,’ said Gladys, before adding, ‘I’d better go – Myrtle’s expecting me this morning.’

  Maggie watched Gladys disappear over the misty moors. Cross as she was with her friend, she couldn’t help but admire her tall, slender body and the swing of her glorious, dark hair. Turning towards the Phoenix, Maggie thought to herself, ‘I don’t care what anybody says: I want Les all to myself for at least some of the time he’s home on leave.’

  Gladys, striding over the heather that now lay dull and flat under her feet, scowled irritably. Maggie was a little minx! She never stopped going on about how gorgeous Les was, and who was she, Les’s devoted sister, to argue with that? There was nothing wrong with their having a serious kiss and cuddle in private, but, knowing Maggie as she did, Gladys doubted how strong her willpower was. What would happen if Maggie fell pregnant? Her parents would blame Les, Maggie would be disgraced, and her own parents would be devastated. Gladys kicked a pebble out of her way, and her scowl deepened. But who was she to judge anybody? On those balmy nights in the Bay of Naples, singing under the stars with Dr Lloyd’s eyes burning into her, she’d felt her body go limp with desire. Her girlfriends in the ENSA troupe fell in and out of love every other week, but she’d remained unaffected by the eager sailors’ amorous advances. Only one man had turned her head; but, waiting like the good little girl that she was for Dr Lloyd to make the first move, Gladys had missed her chance altogether. ‘I should have been more forthright,’ she chided herself, then laughed out loud at the irony. ‘Just like Maggie!’

  The war put everybody’s emotions into a whirl: fear, insecurity, longing, passion and desperation conflicted with each other and former values suddenly seemed empty. What was the point of ‘saving yourself for marriage’, as the old saying went, when your lover might be blown to bits in an air attack or shot by the enemy? No wonder there were so many war brides, suddenly married with a baby in their arms. Maybe a baby was the best you could hope to be left with when you’d lost the one you loved? Making love was natural, but the consequences of one pass
ionate moment could be disastrous, and that’s what she was worried about when it came to leaving Maggie on her own for too long with Les.

  It was a relief to reach the sanatorium, though she was soon alarmed to find poor Myrtle gasping for breath. ‘She’s had a bad night, poor soul,’ the nurse on duty told Gladys. ‘She’ll be happy you’re here,’ she added with a smile.

  Gladys quickly sat down on the chair beside Myrtle’s bed. ‘Poor darling,’ she murmured, as she took her friend’s cold hand and gently stroked it. Too breathless to answer, Myrtle turned her dark-brown eyes on Gladys, who could see the fear there. ‘I’m here, lovie, shssh, don’t worry,’ she whispered.

  When Myrtle was calmer, Gladys sat and chatted to her in as normal a voice as she could muster, telling her of everyday occurrences, which always comforted and amused the older woman. ‘So Les is coming home and Maggie’s counting down the days,’ she said. ‘Of course, Nora’s nose is out of joint because she’s not got a fella.’ Myrtle smiled knowingly as she listened to Gladys; she knew exactly how fed up gauche Nora would be – no matter how hard she tried to find a boyfriend, no man seemed interested in the raw-boned, pale-faced, freckled girl with big teeth.

  ‘Poor girl,’ Myrtle wheezed.

  Myrtle’s spasms of acute breathlessness terrified Gladys more than she would ever let on. There were times when she thought she’d lose her, but, thank God, so far she’d managed to soothe and assure her through the attacks. Not that Myrtle’s breathing was improving; if anything, it was rapidly deteriorating, and Gladys dreaded the day when no matter how hard she and the nursing staff worked to alleviate her symptoms, Myrtle would no longer be able to draw breath. Banishing the terrible thought from her mind, Gladys suggested they have a cup of tea, which they drank in peaceful contentment.

  ‘How are your hands healing?’ Myrtle enquired with some effort.

  Gladys held her hands up for her friend to examine. ‘It’s taking time,’ she said with a grimace at the red skin, which, though no longer oozing, nevertheless looked raw and painful. ‘I feel so guilty not working but’ – she gave Myrtle a cheeky smile – ‘if I was on the cordite line, I wouldn’t be here drinking tea with you.’

  ‘And for that I am most grateful,’ Myrtle said with a faint shadow of a smile.

  Les returned on a packed troop-train and immediately went home to Leeds, where he was welcomed with great joy and celebrations. Gladys held back until Les had hugged and kissed his sobbing mum before throwing herself into his arms. ‘Glad, oh, Glad, am I happy to see you,’ he murmured, rocking his sister in his arms and kissing her cheek. After releasing Gladys from his bear hug, Les turned to his father, who was moved to tears by the sight of his son, who looked a lot thinner than when they’d last seen him.

  ‘Son,’ Mr Johnson said as they embraced. ‘Good to have you home.’

  ‘Good to be home, Dad – now, where’s our tea?’ laughed irrepressible Les. ‘I’m bloody starving.’

  Mrs Johnson, who’d been saving ration coupons for months, laid on a spread for a warrior’s return: sandwiches with meat and fish paste, jelly and stewed apples, corned-beef rissoles and a potato-and-onion flan, which Les demolished in no time.

  ‘Delicious, Ma,’ he said contentedly, as he leant back in his chair and lit up a Capstan. ‘I’ve not eaten so well since I last sat round this table with you,’ he assured his mother, who glowed pink with happiness. After they’d finished tea, Mr Johnson volunteered to wash up.

  ‘Mebbe you two young uns can play us some music,’ he said with a meaningful look at his daughter. ‘Just like you used to do in the old days, before you both went away.’

  Gladys went upstairs to her bedroom, where her alto sax lay where she’d left it, under the bed in its case, untouched since her return from Naples. Les, who’d collected his trumpet from his own bedroom, looked surprised when he saw Gladys standing empty-handed. ‘What’s up, our Glad?’

  In answer, she gave him an awkward shrug. ‘Don’t fancy it these days,’ she said dismissively.

  Taking her by the hand, Les guided his sister to her single bed, where he firmly sat her down. ‘What’s up?’ he demanded. ‘Out with it, our kid.’

  Knowing Les would never take no for an answer, Gladys kept her voice as quiet as possible. ‘Music got me into trouble in Naples.’

  Les visibly stiffened. ‘A fella?’ he asked sharply.

  Fighting back tears, Gladys nodded.

  ‘Did he try to, you know …?’

  Knowing Les would kill anybody who so much as laid a finger on her, Gladys carefully downplayed the event. ‘He tried to,’ she lied.

  Gladys shuddered; she really didn’t want to take this conversation any further. ‘Anyway,’ she said abruptly, ‘the whole thing put me off playing.’

  But Les was not to be fobbed off. ‘How could playing the alto sax get you into trouble?’ he persisted.

  Gladys sighed as she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. ‘The man who’ – she searched for an appropriate word – ‘bothered me first saw me performing on stage, and after that he wouldn’t leave me alone.’

  Balling his fists, Les leapt to his feet. ‘I wish I could get mi hands on the bastard, I’d smash his face in!’ he snarled.

  Gladys smiled. It would have given her the sweetest pleasure to see Captain Miles with a bruised and bloody face; as it was he’d got away scot free. She was just, Gladys was sure, another woman in a long list of many.

  Forcing himself to calm down, Les sat down on the bed, where he slipped a strong arm around Gladys’s drooping shoulders. ‘You can’t let a man like that take away your natural talents.’

  ‘That’s exactly what my friend Myrtle said,’ she retorted.

  ‘Come on,’ Les coaxed, as he moved away from her to pick up his trumpet. ‘Remember this?’

  After blowing into the mouthpiece and readjusting the valves, Les played their old favourites: Judy Garland’s ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’, followed by Bing Crosby’s ‘You are My Sunshine’ and Gracie Fields’s ‘Sing as We Go’. It was physically impossible for Gladys to sit primly on the bed whilst her brother’s music filled the room, and, though not yet ready to reach for her alto sax, Gladys sang the lyrics, clicking her fingers and swaying to the rhythm of the music whilst Les’s fingers flew over his trumpet, which he’d played since he was a child in the Salvation Army. When they had finished, they both fell breathless on to the bed, which sagged under their joint weight.

  ‘It’s good to hear you sing again, Glad,’ Mr Johnson said as he tapped gently on the bedroom door. ‘I’ve waited a long time but I knew if anybody could get you going, it’d be our Les,’ he added with a happy, knowing smile.

  ‘So we’ll do it again soon, eh, Sis?’ Les teased, as he pulled Gladys to her feet and spun her round as if they were jiving.

  Dizzy and giddy, Gladys laughed as she replied, ‘All right – if you say so!’

  Les returned to Pendleton with Gladys, who, on the bus journey over the moors, spoke of her concerns about Maggie.

  ‘She’s young and impetuous – and mad about you,’ she started.

  ‘Who could resist me?’ Les teased as he gave her a saucy wink.

  ‘You’re going to have to take responsibility, Les,’ Gladys replied. ‘Maggie’s a hot-headed girl who might finish up doing something she’ll regret.’

  Les sighed. ‘God, my battalion’s not seen hide nor hair of a female in months. Some of the chaps go crazy for a woman out there; they even sleep with prostitutes when they get the chance, and suffer the consequences,’ he added darkly.

  Gladys gulped uncomfortably. She was now beginning to regret she’d brought up this touchy, sensitive subject. ‘I sympathize, Les, I really do, we’re all human,’ she said hurriedly. ‘All I’m saying is don’t return to the Front leaving the girl you love in the family way.’

  Seeing his sister’s flushed, earnest face, Les took hold of her hand and squeezed it hard. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he promised. ‘But if Maggie turns those
big baby blue eyes on me, I’ll struggle.’

  ‘And so will Maggie if she finds herself pregnant in a month’s time,’ Gladys concluded.

  When Maggie saw Les waiting for her outside the factory gates, she all but flew into his arms. ‘Les! Les! Oh, Les!’ she cried as he swung her around in a wide circle before giving her a long, lingering kiss on the lips.

  ‘Good to see you, sweetheart!’

  Burying her flushed face against his warm chest, Maggie was in ecstasy. ‘Did you miss me, darling?’ she murmured into his ear.

  ‘Course I did, every day and all night,’ he murmured back.

  As the young couple strode away with eyes only for each other, Rosa caught sight of Nora’s sad, wistful face. Slipping an arm through hers, Rosa said confidently, ‘Your turn will come soon, my sweet.’

  ‘It’s a long time coming,’ Nora replied with tears in her eyes. ‘I think I’ll finish up a spinster, living with mi dad till I’m an old lady.’

  ‘Ridiculous!’ Rosa scolded. ‘A young man out there will come looking for you one day.’

  ‘He might come looking, but when he sees how plain and stupid I am,’ poor Nora lamented, ‘he might turn around and walk right away.’

  ‘Silly girl!’ Rosa said fondly. ‘Come home to the cowshed and have a cup of tea with Gladys and me,’ she urged.

  After Nora had downed several cups of tea and smoked some of Rosa’s strong cheroots, Gladys suggested that she visit Myrtle with her. ‘I know she’d love to see you.’

  Nora blushed as she avoided eye contact with her friend. ‘I can’t, Glad,’ she muttered. ‘I can’t bear to see her gasping for breath, and in so much pain. I love her so much,’ she said as she burst into floods of tears.

  ‘I understand, it’s hard, but you’re like a daughter to Myrtle and she misses you.’

  Nora’s eyes opened wide in disbelief. ‘You know, I’ve never thought about it like that,’ she confessed.