The Bomb Girl Brides

by Daisy Styles

Malc wasn’t oblivious to the strains the new girl was under; he’d gathered from Kit she was pleasant enough but rather withdrawn. As far as Nora and Maggie were concerned, Julia was ‘too posh’, but Malc gleaned more from observant Rosa, who knew all about heartache brought on by homesickness.

  ‘She’s a hard worker and a loner, and she doesn’t volunteer much information about her personal life, but I quite understand that,’ Rosa said, as she recalled how shy and withdrawn she had been when she first arrived at the Phoenix from Germany. ‘As I told the girls, these things take time.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I think I should have a little word,’ Malc insisted.

  ‘Be subtle,’ Rosa warned. ‘Julia’s a very private person.’

  ‘Trust me, I’ll be so subtle she won’t even notice I’m there!’ Malc joked. ‘Haven’t you heard I have a winning way with the ladies?’

  Rosa wagged her finger at him, ‘I’ll report you to Edna for flirting,’ she teased.

  ‘Bloody ’ell!’ Malc chuckled. ‘Don’t do that – she’ll be after me with her rolling pin.’

  One morning, as Malc was passing Julia’s bench, he caught sight of her wiping a dirty stained hand across her tired face.

  ‘Are you bearing up, kiddo?’ he asked cheerily.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ Julia answered politely.

  ‘Not missing your family down South?’ he inquired.

  Julia shook her head. ‘I hardly saw my family even when I lived with them – we were always so busy, dashing about at the oddest hours. Occasionally we’d bump into each other on the way in or out,’ she said with a distracted smile.

  After Malc wandered off, pushing his trolley stacked with fuse cases, Kit, who’d grown up with a brother and a sister in a squat, peat-thatched cottage where privacy had always been impossible, turned to her new workmate. ‘Is that right?’ she asked incredulously. ‘That you didn’t see so much of your family even when you were all living together under the same roof?’

  Julia gazed into Kit’s deep, dark eyes; she was so tempted to open up to her new workmate, who was honest, genuine and kind; it would have been a relief to be able to tell somebody just how much she missed London and the comforts of home, and her family too, but, scared that she’d come across as a spoilt brat, Julia said with a shrug and a dismissive laugh, ‘It wasn’t that we weren’t fond of each other – we just lived very independent lives and worked odd hours too.’

  How could she possibly tell Kit that her father was a major in the British Army and spent all his days massing troops for battle? Or that her brother did something mysterious in the Ministry of Information that he wouldn’t even talk to her about? Kit, who was no fool, paused in her work when she saw an awkward expression hover over Julia’s face.

  ‘I know what it’s like to be an outsider here,’ she murmured softly. ‘I was one miself for quite some time. I had a secret, you see, that I didn’t dare share with anybody; it took time until I knew who I could trust, if you get my meaning?’

  Feeling like Kit was reading her mind, Julia blushed. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll remember that.’

  ‘Never be afraid – I’ll always understand,’ Kit concluded, and with a sweet smile she returned to her monotonous work that was only lightened by the dreamy voice of Vera Lynn singing ‘The White Cliffs of Dover’ followed by ‘We’ll Meet Again’ on the factory loudspeaker.

  A few hours later, standing in a queue at the canteen counter, Julia smiled to herself as she realized with surprise that she was salivating at the sight of the meat-and-potato pie and mushy peas – a meal she would have turned up her nose at a mere month ago. Maybe eventually she would get used to chip butties after all, she thought ruefully.

  During the afternoon, in between bursts of song from Joe Loss, Glenn Miller and the Andrews Sisters, Kit startled Julia by returning to the subject of her family. With no hidden agenda, Kit deftly filled one fuse case after another as she chatted.

  ‘So what is it you and your family do in London that keeps you all so busy?’

  Choosing her words carefully, Julia said, ‘My father’s in the army and my mother’s a volunteer driver with the Red Cross.’

  Kit, who’d read a great deal about the work of the Red Cross during the Blitz, looked impressed. ‘Are you after telling me your ma drives an ambulance around the city as bombs are raining down?’ she cried.

  Feeling rather ashamed that she’d always taken her mother’s war work so much for granted, Julia nodded. ‘Yes, she’s been an ambulance driver since the start of the war.’

  Kit quickly crossed herself. ‘She’s a braver woman than me, that’s for sure,’ she announced.

  ‘I suppose she is brave,’ Julia admitted. ‘I’ve never thought about it that way before.’

  ‘Glory be to God and all the saints!’ shocked Kit cried. ‘Your ma could have copped it every day she drove an ambulance, and it never crossed your mind she could be hit by a German bomb!’

  Now feeling positively guilty, Julia recalled how she and her mother, both clutching their obligatory gas masks, would breeze past each other most days, barely exchanging more than a polite greeting.

  ‘Everything all right, darling?’ her mother would always call out.

  ‘Everything’s fine, Mummy,’ Julia would quickly reply over her shoulder as she dashed off to meet a friend or go to the library.

  When Julia compared the strong bonds the Phoenix women had with their friends and families, she realized that, though she loved her parents very much, her relationship with both of them was distant. She briefly wondered if going away to school had forged a more independent relationship with her mother, and indeed her father too.

  Kit interrupted her line of thought. ‘Have you any brothers or sisters?’

  ‘An older brother, Hugo,’ Julia replied. ‘He used to fly fighter planes in the RAF.’

  Kit raised her eyebrows. ‘That’s what I call taking your life into your own hands.’

  ‘He took a hit after a successful raid over Berlin – he lost a hand,’ Julia added, managing to damp down as she always did any emotion when she spoke about the tragic accident. ‘Thank God he survived.’

  Kit held a hand to her mouth. ‘Poor soul! Did he have to leave the RAF?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Julia said with a sad smile. ‘Although he insisted until he was blue in the face that he could fly perfectly well with his right hand he was finally discharged.’

  Completely fascinated by Julia’s family, who seemed like altogether another race compared with her own, Kit couldn’t stop asking questions.

  ‘So what does your brother do now?’

  ‘Oh, something in the Ministry of Information,’ Julia said vaguely.

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ well-meaning Kit thought to herself. ‘It’s like getting blood out of a stone talking to this one.’

  Julia’s mind flew back to her last meal with Hugo, just before she left for Lancashire. Hugo had taken her to a Hungarian restaurant, almost hidden by banks of sand bags, in the West End. They’d had a rich goulash with spicy dumplings and thick wedges of seeded brown bread. Over pudding, sweet pancakes laced with cognac, Julia had interrogated Hugo about his new posting.

  ‘You’re so secretive these days,’ she’d teased. ‘I’m really beginning to think you’re a spy.’

  ‘Trust you, Jay,’ Hugo had mocked. ‘Always the over-imaginative one.’

  ‘Well, don’t leave it to my imagination,’ she’d insisted. ‘Tell me the truth!’

  Hugo glanced around the crowded popular restaurant. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, sis,’ he’d whispered. ‘You’re the daughter of a major, you know damn well we’re all sworn to secrecy, so stop pushing for a story.’

  ‘I don’t believe you’re shuffling papers all day.’ she scoffed.

  Seeing his sister’s mutinous expression, Hugo knew she wouldn’t be happy until he threw her a bone.

  Dropping his voice, Hugo muttered, ‘My department is responsible for radar mapping – now, do
es that satisfy your overactive imagination?’

  Disappointed, she’d retorted, ‘Sounds boring – you were made for finer things.’

  Hugo held up the stump of his left hand. ‘Something got in the way – now buck up or I won’t take you out to dinner again.’

  Kit roused Julia from her reverie. ‘Your family all seem to be doing their bit for the war effort,’ she said. ‘And so are you! Coming up here and joining us Bomb Girls takes guts.’

  Fingering the gunpowder, which she could now deftly trickle into the shell case, Julia shrugged. ‘It’s not exactly like we’ve got any choice, is it?’ she said candidly. ‘You go where you’re sent.’

  Taken aback by Julia’s throw-away response, Kit said passionately, ‘I never cease to thank God for sending me here to the Phoenix: it’s the first real home I’ve ever had and the people here are like a family – they took me in and made me feel welcome,’ she said, stifling a grateful sob. ‘I’ve never known anything like it in my life,’ she admitted.

  Julia marvelled at Kit’s statement; she couldn’t ever imagine feeling like that about the windswept Phoenix high on the Pennine Moors, or about any of the workers, who were as alien to her as Martians on a distant planet.

  5. Maggie’s Grand Plans

  As Julia became familiar with her work and the rotation of her twelve-hour shifts, she grew less exhausted; instead of falling asleep straight after tea or even during her dinner-break, she was able to take in some of the conversations going on around her. One such conversation was Maggie’s favourite subject: her forthcoming marriage.

  ‘I can’t afford to have my wedding invitations printed,’ she said during their tea-break one dark February afternoon. ‘So I thought I’d get them typed out.’

  Nora burst out laughing, ‘Bomb Girls don’t have typewriters!’ she scoffed.

  ‘Mebbe Mr Featherstone’s secretary would let you borrow hers?’ Kit joked.

  Everybody knew that Mr Featherstone’s granite-faced secretary, Marjorie, guarded her boss and his belongings like a Rottweiler guards a bone.

  ‘She’d sooner part with her right arm than let anybody near her bloody typewriter,’ Nora said realistically.

  ‘Back to the drawing board,’ said Maggie with a long sigh.

  ‘You could try sending your invitations by mi dad’s carrier pigeon!’ Nora joked. ‘He’s got loads of the bally birds in the pigeon loft in our backyard.’

  Maggie shot Nora a furious look that curtailed any further dark humour at her expense.

  ‘Why don’t you just write them?’ Rosa asked. ‘Surely it would be simpler?’

  ‘Because I’m trying to be different,’ Maggie answered with her typical honesty.

  As a moody silence fell, Julia said in an embarrassed rush, ‘I’ve got a typewriter.’

  The girls around the table gazed at Julia in disbelief; not because she’d got a typewriter, but because she was actually joining in their conversation. The minute the words were out of her mouth Julia regretted them.

  ‘Stupid!’ she seethed to herself. ‘Now you’ll have to explain why you’ve actually got a bloody typewriter in a munitions factory!’

  Adopting a careless manner, Julia said with a shrug, ‘I don’t know why I brought the wretched thing.’ She certainly wasn’t going to admit that she’d stupidly thought that during her stay in Lancashire she’d have plenty of time on her hands to knock out a few novels! ‘I thought I might use it to write letters home.’

  No longer despondent, Maggie looked excitedly at Julia. ‘So could I have a go at typing out my wedding invitations?’ she asked incredulously.

  ‘I suppose so, if you’d like to?’ Julia answered lamely.

  Ignoring her rather less than enthusiastic response, Maggie grinned. ‘I’d love to – can we start tonight?’

  Julia’s polite smile hid her unkind thoughts; now she’d have to spend all night drinking strong tea and inhaling other people’s tobacco smoke whilst she typed out wedding invitations for Maggie. ‘Bloody fool!’ she crossly chided herself. ‘Next time keep your big mouth shut.’

  After tea Julia dutifully produced her typewriter from the bottom of her wardrobe, where she’d kept it since her arrival.

  ‘Here we are,’ she said, as she carried it into the sitting room, where Maggie, Nora and Rosa were gathered around the wood-burning stove, smoking cigarettes and drinking strong tea, just as Julia had glumly anticipated.

  ‘I’ve got some typewriting paper to practise on,’ she told the girls, who nudged up so that Julia could sit beside Maggie on the battered, old mock leatherette sofa. ‘Where shall we start?’ Julia asked, as she deftly wound paper into the typewriter.

  Maggie, usually so forthright, suddenly seemed nervous and uncertain. ‘What do people usually write?’

  In a hurry to get the tiresome task over with, Julia said briskly as she started to type, ‘Usually it would go something like …’ – Julia read out the words as she quickly typed them – ‘Mr and Mrs Yates request the pleasure of your company at the wedding of their youngest daughter, Margaret.’

  Maggie interrupted her: ‘Margaret Mary Sybil is my full name,’ she said.

  ‘What’s your fiancé’s surname?’ Julia continued.

  ‘Leslie Gordon Johnson – and he lives in Leeds,’ Maggie told her.

  Julia dutifully typed in the groom’s details, then looked up to ask, ‘Have you set a date?’

  ‘Yes, eighth of May, my birthday – if Les gets leave,’ Maggie told her.

  ‘That’s a bit hit-and-miss!’ Nora giggled. ‘Don’t put any ifs on the invite – nobody’ll come if they think the groom’s gone missing!’

  Seeing Maggie looking cross, Rosa gave Nora a gentle nudge in the ribs. ‘Stop interrupting, cara,’ she said softly.

  Unperturbed, Nora added a defiant, ‘You can’t get wed if your fella’s not there!’

  After many interruptions Julia finally finished the first draft, which she removed from the typewriter.

  ‘Take a look,’ she said, as she handed the sheet of paper to Maggie.

  ‘Oh, it does look smart,’ the bride-to-be enthused.

  ‘If you pasted the invitations on to pieces of card, I could decorate them with little painted flowers and lovebirds,’ Rosa generously suggested.

  Maggie’s eyes glowed with pleasure. ‘Thank you,’ she exclaimed as she flung her arms around Rosa. ‘My wedding is going to be so stylish!’

  Feeling relieved that Maggie hadn’t hugged her too, Julia got to her feet. ‘I’ll leave the typewriter for you to play around with,’ she said, as she smothered a yawn. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I think I might go to bed and read.’

  ‘Oh, rightio,’ said Maggie, sounding just the tiniest bit disappointed that the fun was over. ‘Thanks for your help.’

  ‘Pleasure,’ said Julia. ‘Night,’ she added as she left the room.

  The minute they heard Julia’s bedroom door click shut, Nora whispered naughtily, ‘Goodnight, Ice Queen!’

  ‘Shhh!’ hissed shocked Rosa. ‘She was very kind lending Maggie her typewriter.’

  ‘I’m not saying she wasn’t,’ Nora continued in a whisper. ‘It’s just that every time you think she might drop her guard, she takes herself off as if she can’t stand the sight of us.’

  ‘I’m quite sure it’s not like that, cara,’ Rosa said diplomatically, as she rolled a cheroot.

  ‘I’m quite sure it is!’ naughty Nora muttered mutinously.

  Before Nora could make another comment, Maggie whispered, ‘It is disappointing, though, you must admit, Rosa. Not only was Julia kind and helpful for once, but she really got into the swing of things – then ping! It’s like a light goes out and she’s had enough.’

  ‘People react differently to different situations; you have to accept that,’ Rosa said smoothly. ‘I like Julia,’ she added staunchly.

  ‘I’d like her a lot more if she’d just come down from her bloody high pedestal,’ Nora concluded crossly.

  Maggie
’s ambitious plans for a stylish wedding certainly didn’t end with the invitations. She announced the next day, when they were joined by Kit in the canteen, that she wouldn’t settle for anything less than a white silk wedding dress, a long veil and a bouquet of red roses.

  ‘Darling!’ Kit exclaimed. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’

  ‘I am not!’ Maggie answered defiantly. ‘You had what you wanted, Kit,’ she hotly pointed out.

  Kit nodded as she recalled how lavish her wedding had been, thanks to Ian’s family’s generosity and her husband’s determination that she would be dressed like a princess on their wedding day.

  ‘I’d willingly lend you my entire outfit, but unfortunately I’m six inches smaller than you.’

  Seeing Maggie’s sweet sky-blue eyes cloud over, Rosa quickly changed the subject. ‘Have you chosen your bridesmaids yet?’

  The word ‘bridesmaids’ brought a smile back to Maggie’s lovely face. ‘Nora,’ she announced with a grin. ‘And I’ve asked Kit if Billy can be my page boy.’

  Modest, undemanding Nora, who expected nothing much of life, gaped at Maggie in astonishment. ‘Me! Why me?’

  ‘Because you’re my very best friend,’ Maggie replied fondly.

  Overcome with emotion, Nora’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘I hope I don’t show you up,’ she muttered humbly. ‘I’ve got two left feet and a big gob!’ she reminded Maggie, who was still fretting over her wedding plans.

  ‘I’ve no idea what any of us are going to wear,’ she cried impatiently.

  ‘You’ve got plenty of time,’ Kit soothed. ‘Something will turn up, for sure.’

  Julia, with her head bent over the daily paper, coolly considered Maggie’s wedding plans, which in her opinion were wildly overambitious. In her circle, wedding invitations were sent out at least six months before the ceremony, and the church and wedding reception were booked even before the mailing. Clearly Bomb Girls went about arranging their nuptials in a very different manner from what she was accustomed to.

  ‘One of her friends should have the guts to tell her she’s daydreaming,’ Julia thought crossly, but she wisely kept her thoughts to herself.