The Bomb Girl Brides

by Daisy Styles

  Using the naughty nickname they’d given the new girl, Maggie quipped, ‘I can as much see the Ice Queen ministering to the sick as Mr Featherstone giving us a week’s holiday!’

  When Rosa returned home late at night, they could all see a startling physical difference in her. Her already natural beauty was magnified by the happiness in her dark eyes; her skin glowed and a smile permanently lingered around the edges of her luscious pink pouty lips. Kit, who saw Rosa the morning after her tediously long journey home, was struck by the change in her. When the girls assembled as usual around their favourite corner table in the packed canteen, all eyes turned to radiant Rosa.

  ‘You didn’t say much when you got in last night,’ Nora said accusingly.

  ‘Heavens!’ Rosa laughed. ‘After twelve hours on a packed train that seemed to stop every five minutes, I was just about fainting by the time I walked into the cowshed.’

  ‘We could see that,’ said Maggie, as she eyeballed Nora for being abrupt. ‘That’s why we left you alone.’

  ‘But you do look different!’ unstoppable Nora blurted out.

  Julia stirred her strong dark tea, the local brew that she was trying to familiarize herself with, and idly wondered when Rosa’s friends would stop being so damn nosy.

  Kit, the more mature member of the group, turned to Rosa with a warm smile. ‘Did it go well?’

  Rosa’s smile said it all. ‘Everything went wonderfully!’

  On the point of exploding with curiosity, Nora cried, ‘So tell us all about it?’

  Feeling distinctly uncomfortable at the silly young girls’ constant questioning of Rosa, Julia scraped back her chair. ‘I’m going to get more tea,’ she announced. ‘Would anybody else like some?’

  Kit, Nora and Maggie, totally focused on Rosa, quickly shook their heads. ‘No thanks,’ they said in unison.

  ‘Roger and I had only one day together,’ Rosa started. ‘We spent the whole of it on a beautiful beach, walking by the sea, or in the woods close to the sea; we sat in the sand dunes and ate a picnic and we talked and talked and talked,’ she said in a dreamy voice.

  ‘Did he kiss you?’ cheeky Nora couldn’t stop herself from asking.

  Rosa’s eyes shone with love as she recalled Roger’s kisses, which had grown stronger and more passionate as the day progressed. ‘Oh, yes!’ she replied with a giggle.

  ‘It must have been awful leaving him,’ Maggie commiserated. ‘Just one day and it was all over.’

  ‘But what a day, a perfect day!’ Rosa exclaimed happily.

  When Kit and Rosa were briefly alone in the ladies’ toilets, Rosa volunteered more information.

  ‘I wasn’t at all sure that you’d go,’ Kit admitted.

  ‘I don’t deny I was nervous, especially when he took me into the officers’ mess,’ Rosa chuckled. ‘You’d think some of those men had never seen a woman before.’

  ‘They’ve probably never seen a woman as stunning as you, with your lovely Mediterranean looks,’ Kit said generously.

  ‘It was only the next day when we went walking on the beach that I began to feel relaxed,’ Rosa confessed. ‘Roger’s so funny and lovable and open and honest. I felt so easy with him.’

  ‘I’m delighted for you,’ said Kit. ‘I hope you get to see him again soon.’

  ‘Oh, so do I … so do I,’ Rosa said on a long dreamy sigh.

  9. Flora’s Visit

  Rosa’s return coincided with Edna’s daughter’s visit to Pendleton. Flora had only recently been reunited with her mother, who as a teenager had been forced to give up her baby for adoption. For many years she had kept her daughter’s existence to herself, until one day in a burst of passion she’d shared her secret with Kit. It was Kit’s solicitor husband, Ian, who against all the odds had helped track Flora down.

  To add to Edna’s joy, Flora had two little girls, Marilyn and Katherine, who’d been bridesmaids at her recent wedding to Malc on Christmas Eve.

  Flora’s visits with her little girls were golden days in Edna’s calendar; occasionally she had to nip herself just to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. She adored her new family and they adored their new ‘Mum’ and ‘Nan’.

  Edna had plans for Flora’s imminent visit; she’d saved her ration coupons so that she could make jam tarts with her grandchildren and she’d managed (thanks to Malc’s dubious connections with the local black market) to get a precious pair of nylons, a treat for Flora; plus she was planning to take them all to see The Wizard of Oz at the local picture house.

  But this time when Flora arrived with her daughters, Malc noticed a change in the tall slender young woman who had her mother’s auburn curls and startling green eyes. She looked tired and had dark circles under her eyes; and though she chatted and laughed as she always had, Malc was aware of a difference in her. Normally sensitive, Edna would usually notice such things, but with her thoughts on baking with Marilyn and Katherine, and singing the songs in The Wizard of Oz, Edna was in a happy world of her own that Malc had no intention of spoiling.

  Malc pushed his anxiety aside as he peeled and chopped potatoes for the next dinner-time opening along with Marilyn and Katherine in the shed in the backyard. The little girls loved watching Malc pull the metal lever of the chip chopper and seeing slender slices of potatoes pour into a bucket underneath the hand-operated machine.

  ‘Daddy was home from the war last week,’ little Katherine, the younger of the sisters, chirped up.

  Malc quickly tried to hide his surprise; he’d gathered from Edna that Flora hadn’t seen her husband in a long time, so why hadn’t she mentioned to her mother that he was home on leave?

  ‘That must have been nice,’ he said, as he continued chopping potatoes.

  Glancing up, he saw the girls look at each other before shaking their heads.

  ‘It wasn’t nice,’ Katherine blurted out.

  ‘And why’s that, then?’ Malc asked as casually as he could manage.

  Marilyn, a bright, sensitive seven-year-old, replied, ‘He was grumpy.’

  ‘We thought he was grumpy ’cos he was fed up with killing Germans,’ Katherine added.

  ‘Mummy told us he was just tired,’ Marilyn added.

  Careful not to interrupt their innocent childish chatter, Malc didn’t say a word.

  ‘But then he kept shouting at Mummy till she cried,’ Katherine said sadly.

  ‘We were frightened,’ Marilyn confessed.

  Wanting to put their fears at rest, Malc said, ‘I’m sure they had a good chat when you two were fast asleep. Now then,’ he said cheerfully as he stood up, ‘let’s get these spuds into a bucket of cold water for Nana to cook later.’

  After the children had run off, Malc sat for some time thoughtfully smoking a cigarette; there could be only one explanation as to why Flora hadn’t mentioned her husband’s leave to her mother and that was because she didn’t want to talk about it, which in itself was worrying. Especially given what the girls had said. Edna had never met her son-in-law – he’d been fighting with the Lancashire Regiment since the war started – but Malc hadn’t heard a bad word said about him. Stubbing out his Pall Mall, Malc determined he’d have a private word with Flora before she and the girls returned to her family home in Penrith.

  Malc’s chance came the next day when they were all out walking on the snowy moors with Edna ahead, singing ‘Follow the Yellow Brick Road’ at the top of her voice.

  ‘More, Nana!’ cried the giggling little girls, skipping along beside her.

  ‘You two will have me hoarse!’ Edna laughed, as she started up again with the catchy chorus. ‘Follow the Yellow Brick Road!’

  Flora smiled fondly at the sight of her mother and her daughters running along the snowy path together.

  ‘They love her so much,’ she sighed.

  ‘And she worships them,’ Malc said fondly. Seeing the unexpected tears in Flora’s eyes, he gently caught her by the arm. ‘Marilyn and Katherine were telling me about their dad coming home on leave, sweethea
rt.’

  Flora’s face clouded. ‘I asked them not to mention it,’ she said quickly.

  ‘You know what kids are like – nothing’s a secret long,’ Malc retorted with a smile; then, coming straight to the point, he added, ‘Can I ask why you didn’t want them to mention it?’ When his question was met with silence, he probed further. ‘The little girls told me that your husband was grumpy.’

  ‘Is that what they said?’ Flora asked sharply.

  ‘Aye, and that he made you cry,’ Malc added boldly.

  Flora swiped away the tears welling in her eyes. ‘He came back in a bad mood, that’s all,’ she said, trying to sound dismissive.

  Malc was increasingly aware that he was stepping on eggshells, but he couldn’t end the conversation until he knew more. ‘Poor little buggers said they were frightened of him,’ he told Flora. ‘And they were frightened for you too.’

  Unable to staunch the tears that began to course down her tired face, Flora murmured miserably, ‘John never used to be like this – he never drank nor swore – but now …’ Her voice broke into a sob. ‘When he’s home on leave, which isn’t very often, thank God, he drinks all the time and shouts and swears in front of his little girls.’

  ‘And does he ever turn on you, lovie?’ Malc gently inquired.

  Flora slowly nodded. ‘Just the once.’

  Malc took a deep breath to steady his rising temper. ‘They say army life changes some men,’ he said diplomatically.

  ‘These days I dread him coming home,’ Flora whispered. ‘Please don’t tell Mum,’ she added urgently. ‘The last thing I want is her upset too. I’m sure it’ll get better.’

  Malc nodded. ‘I won’t mention it, though I can’t vouch for your two little chatterboxes not spilling the beans,’ he said with a smile.

  Anxious that her mother shouldn’t see her upset, Flora quickly wiped away her tears. ‘We’ll be leaving tomorrow, so hopefully Mum won’t find out.’

  Before she hurried off to catch up with her girls, Malc detained her a moment longer. ‘Flora,’ he said softly. ‘Promise you’ll tell me if things should, er …’ He paused awkwardly. ‘Take a turn for the worse. Edna would never forgive me if she knew you’d shared your secret with me and I’d never tried to help you, so promise, please?’ he pleaded.

  Looking uncomfortable, Flora nodded. ‘I promise, but I’m sure it’s not necessary, Malc,’ she prevaricated.

  ‘Nevertheless, if you need help, contact me – any time, day or night,’ Malc insisted.

  Flora gave Malc a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, then ran off to join her daughters, who were now throwing snowballs at Edna.

  The next day, when Edna waved her family off at Clitheroe Station, she had no idea what dark secret lay behind her daughter’s cheerful smile.

  ‘Bye, Nana,’ the girls cried, as they waved goodbye.

  ‘Come back soon!’ Edna called out, and the steam train pulled out of the station. ‘Love you!’

  After the train had sped away, Edna took a clean hankie from her handbag. ‘I’m a soft old bugger,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘I hate saying goodbye to them.’

  Putting a comforting arm around his wife’s shoulder, Malc led her down the empty platform. ‘Don’t fret yourself, lovie: they’ll be back soon,’ he assured her.

  10. Volunteers

  Edna read more news about the local volunteers’ call-up in the evening paper and made sure that everybody she saw that night, when she drove her mobile chip shop to the Phoenix dispatch yard, knew all about it too.

  ‘Anybody who’s interested in helping out at Wrigg Hall has to report there this Thursday,’ she said, as she shovelled chips into paper bags, then handed them out to her hungry customers.

  ‘Have the wounded arrived?’ one of the girls asked, as she doused her hot chips in salt and vinegar.

  ‘Not yet, according to the paper,’ Edna replied. ‘The Red Cross are busy preparing the Hall for their arrival, which is why they want to know how many volunteers might be available to help them out.’

  Some of the workers said, rather shamefacedly, that they simply couldn’t take on anything else.

  ‘I’m dead on mi feet at the end of mi shifts,’ one woman said bluntly. ‘I’d be neither use nor ornament to anybody at Wrigg Hall if I couldn’t keep mi eyes open.’

  Rosa told Edna in confidence that she might consider volunteering later on. ‘To be honest, I can’t even think straight at the moment,’ she confessed with a guilty blush.

  ‘Did your visit to Norfolk addle your brains that much?’ Edna teased.

  Rosa nodded. ‘I don’t know whether I’m on my head or my heels,’ she giggled.

  Pregnant Kit, with a toddler at home, had no choice but to decline, and Julia never even mentioned volunteering.

  ‘Typical!’ sniffed Nora, who was getting increasingly niggled by the snooty, remote newcomer.

  ‘Leave her be,’ Edna chided. ‘Malc said she’s a good worker, just keeps herself to herself.’

  ‘That’s putting it mildly,’ Nora grumbled. ‘It doesn’t cost owt to smile occasionally.’

  When the day came, Nora and Edna took the bus to the Wrigg Hall stop, then walked along a cobbled lane, until reaching what had originally been a grand Tudor mansion. The front was decorated traditionally – black timber frames and white stucco – while a large redbrick extension had been tagged on at the back at a later date.

  When the volunteers arrived at the top of the driveway, Red Cross vans were being unloaded by drivers aided by VADs, an acronym that Edna had to explain to a muddled Nora.

  ‘VAD stands for Voluntary Aid Detachment.’

  ‘Are they properly trained staff?’ Nora asked.

  ‘Oh, aye, from the British Red Cross and St John Ambulance too – they do valuable work at home and abroad,’ Edna replied.

  ‘So who’ll be training us?’ Nora puzzled.

  ‘Well, I’m hoping the VADs will – but if they’re short of staff they might chuck us in at the deep end and see how we survive,’ Edna joked.

  ‘Don’t say that, Edna!’ Nora fretted. ‘We need to be told what to do when there are lives at risk.’

  Changing the subject, Edna nodded towards a growing line of girls and women converging on the Hall. ‘Looks like a fair number have showed up – come on, let’s follow the crowd.’

  The volunteers were directed into what would once have been a grand entranceway, with elegant staircases sweeping off both sides. The beautiful old tiled floor was covered in mud and grass stains, which grew worse as burly delivery men manoeuvred metal hospital beds around the growing crowd in the packed hallway.

  ‘Welcome, ladies!’ an imperious voice called over the clattering din.

  The volunteers turned to see a formidable middle-aged woman wearing a nurse’s uniform, which was almost covered by a large white starched apron with an enormous red cross emblazoned on the front of the bodice. She wore black stockings and sturdy black shoes, and on top of her iron-grey hair, which was caught up in a tight bun, was a crisp white cap. ‘Follow me, please.’

  Leading the wide-eyed volunteers into what must have been the library but was now completely bereft of books, the lady in charge wasted no time introducing herself. ‘I’m Matron,’ she announced. ‘On behalf of the staff here at Wrigg Hall I’d like to welcome you and say how extremely grateful we are to you all for taking the trouble to come here today. Now, if I may, I will explain to you the kind of voluntary help we’re urgently in need of.’

  She briskly unfurled a homemade chart which she stuck on to a free-standing blackboard – then, tapping the chart with a long stick, Matron continued.

  ‘An operating theatre has recently been established in the cellars; it will be staffed by trained surgeons and a nursing team experienced in pre-operative and post-op care. Patients will be nursed at ground level, here in the library and in most of the other rooms on this floor. We are expecting patients with wide-ranging needs.’ Turning to t
he chart, she swiftly ran down the list written in large, bold capitals. ‘We shall be treating patients suffering from shell shock, burns, gas poisoning, malnutrition, exhaustion and gangrene. There will be amputees in need of convalescent care and physiotherapy; patients traumatized by shell shock and loss of memory will require counselling and psychiatric help; and there will be others who will need feeding up and restoring to health before they’re well enough to be sent back to the front line.’

  There was a general murmur of sympathy from the assembled women. ‘Poor sods, just as soon as they can stand on their own two feet they’re sent back to fighting the Hun!’ one older woman said over-loudly.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s an inevitable aspect of war,’ Matron said curtly.

  Edna was the first to speak up, asking the question on everybody’s lips. ‘Where do we fit in if we’re not qualified?’

  Matron gave a brief smile and turned a page on her chart. ‘We need cleaners, drivers, cooks, tea ladies, librarians, typists, chemists, stretcher-bearers, stewards, postal workers and women who will sit alongside a dying man and pray with him,’ she said. ‘Our aim is to send our patients away from here hale and hearty; however, the deaf, the blind, the mentally ill and the crippled who need long-term specialist care may be transferred to more appropriate convalescent homes.’ Turning from the blackboard, she pointed to some forms that had been left on tables around the room. ‘Please fill in the forms with your name and contact details and whatever skills you might have to offer – and, please, don’t say you have no skills: the very fact that you’re here means you have something to give. If you have a St John’s certificate please make that clear on your form.’

  As the volunteers made to move off, Matron called over the growing chatter, ‘Finally, I’d like to thank you all again for coming here today.’

  Nora and Edna took some time in filling out their forms. ‘I’d be happiest hiding behind the tea trolley,’ Nora whispered nervously to Edna.

  ‘Then write that down,’ Edna advised.

  ‘What have you put?’ Nora asked, as she peered at the form Edna was busily filling in.