The Bomb Girl Brides

by Daisy Styles

  ‘I suppose congratulations are in order?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Rosa replied, as she hung up the towel and prepared to leave the room.

  ‘I hope you’ll be happy,’ Julia added, with a small frown clouding her face. ‘But, I’m sorry – I have to say this as nobody else has – I do believe you’re being rather hasty. You yourself have said more than once, you barely know the chap.’ Having said her piece, Julia (wondering if she’d done the right thing) hid her rather flushed cheeks with a flannel, with which she busily scrubbed her face.

  Stung by her sharp words, Rosa paused by the door; she’d always known that Julia was acerbic but she’d never imagined she’d speak so harshly to her on such an intensely personal subject. Feeling rattled, Rosa could do nothing but stare at Julia, who could not even bring herself to look her in the eye after her outburst. It was only in the privacy of her own bedroom with the door firmly closed that Rosa gave vent to her wrath.

  ‘The cheek of the woman!’ she seethed. ‘All this time I’ve been defending her to the other girls and now Miss High and Mighty’s trying to ruin my happiness – so much for gratitude!’ Rosa dived into bed, where she tossed and turned in fury. ‘She’s gone too far this time – how bloody dare she?’

  12. Good News/Bad News

  Rosa wrote to her uncle and aunt in Manchester, asking if she might visit them soon. With no days off due, Rosa could only make the journey after an early shift, which meant she was exhausted even before she caught the bus into Manchester. Rosa sleepily watched the sun glance off her engagement ring; mesmerized by its wine-dark colours, she wondered about the first woman who’d worn it, Roger’s grandmother. ‘How strange,’ she mused. ‘Years have passed and now it belongs to me, the woman who loves her grandson – time has come round full circle,’ she thought.

  As the bus rumbled towards Manchester, Rosa suddenly felt butterflies in her tummy; whilst she’d been living in England her aunt and uncle had stood in place of her parents. Should she have asked them for permission to marry Roger before she accepted his proposal?

  ‘It’s too late now,’ she thought to herself but she was anxious that her impetuous actions might show a lack of respect.

  The winter sun that had shone down in Pendleton disappeared as she approached Manchester, where thick black plumes of smoke belched out from dozens of mill chimneys. Looking out over the bleak landscape lined with row upon row of poor terraced houses stretching right up to the mills, Rosa was glad that she’d been sent to work in Pendleton. As the bus rumbled past bombed-out tenement blocks where children in rags scrambled around in the rubble, Rosa realized how lucky she was to live on the edge of the moors, where she was able to breathe in clean, fresh air every day. When she was working inside the factory, she felt cooped up; but through the factory windows she could still see sunbursts of light after a rainstorm, or a flock of geese honking their way home, and on a late shift there were tiny silver stars pricking the night sky – all precious gifts of nature which she would have struggled to find in industrial Manchester.

  When she reached her uncle’s semi-detached in Fallowfield to the south of the city, Rosa gently touched the mezuzah by the front door, then kissed the hand that had touched it; the next second she jumped when her aunt flung open the front door and caught the slender girl in a warm embrace.

  ‘Child!’ she exclaimed in delight, as she took her hand and led her into the sitting room, where her husband was reading the newspaper.

  ‘Welcome, Rosa,’ he said, rising to kiss her on both cheeks before beckoning to her to sit close to him. ‘How are you?’ he inquired.

  ‘I’m well, Zio,’ Rosa replied, as she took the black tea and slice of cake her aunt offered her.

  ‘You look tired,’ her aunt fretted when she saw the bags under her niece’s beautiful dark eyes.

  ‘I am,’ Rosa admitted. ‘I’ve just finished a shift, but I’ll be better after a slice of your delicious seed cake, Zia,’ she said gratefully.

  ‘You must have something important to tell us,’ her uncle said knowingly. ‘If you’ve come all this way to see us straight after work?’

  Rosa wiped crumbs from her lips and laid aside her plate. ‘I do have some news, Zio,’ she confessed. ‘I’m engaged!’ she blurted out. ‘Look,’ she added and held out her left hand to show them the ring.

  Her aunt and uncle exchanged a look of complete surprise. There were hardly any eligible men around these days – who could their niece have met up on the lonely moors where she worked? Seeing their puzzled expressions, Rosa hastily explained, ‘He’s called Roger Carrington and he’s a pilot in the RAF. I met him in November when we both showed our paintings at the art gallery in Salford.’

  With a frown creasing her lined forehead, Zia said, ‘Is there a reason why you agreed to marry this man in such a hurry?’

  ‘You needn’t worry, Aunt: nothing you would disapprove of has taken place,’ Rosa reassured her with a knowing smile. ‘I know I love Roger, and that’s enough for me.’

  ‘How many times have you seen this man you intend to spend the rest of your life with?’ her uncle asked in a deep growly voice.

  Hoping her relatives wouldn’t tick her off in the same way that Julia had done only a few nights previously, Rosa answered with a tell-tale blush. ‘Just twice: once in Salford and recently when I visited his base in Norfolk. But after spending a short amount of time with Roger, I realized how strong my feelings for him are, so when he proposed I accepted.’

  An ominous silence fell as Zio lit his pipe and took several long thoughtful puffs on it.

  ‘Is he a good man?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Zio.’

  ‘Is he a Jew?’

  ‘No.’

  A long pause followed, which her aunt broke. ‘Would your parents have approved of your choice?’ she asked pointedly.

  Rosa’s voice wobbled as she thought of her mother and father. ‘I’m sure they would have liked Roger.’

  ‘Even though you have religious differences?’ her uncle remarked.

  In the past Rosa would never have considered consenting to a proposal of marriage without having first consulted her parents – but times had changed. Five years of war had skewed everything.

  Zia examined the impressive garnet on Rosa’s wedding finger. ‘He has good taste,’ she said with a smile. ‘I would like to meet this fiancé of yours.’

  Zio was not quite as effusive. ‘I would also like to meet him and ask him how he intends to support a wife,’ he said huffily.

  ‘I promise you will meet him soon,’ Rosa assured her relatives. ‘Though as a fighter pilot he gets hardly any time off at all.’

  After her aunt refilled their cups with hot tea, Rosa’s Zio turned to her with a sombre expression on his face. ‘My dear, we have news too.’

  Rosa started, nearly spilling her tea. ‘Gabriel?’ she asked, her voice cracking with a mixture of emotion and hope.

  Her uncle nodded but his expression brought terror rather than the joy she’d hoped for to Rosa’s heart. ‘Tell me, Zio?’ she begged.

  Zio nodded grimly. ‘We know from our sources that your brother escaped from the German prison camp where he was held,’ he started.

  Relief so sweet and intense flooded through Rosa’s body; she felt like a metal band had been removed from her heart and she could breathe freely for the first time in months. ‘Thank God,’ she murmured fervently; then, suddenly confused, she asked, ‘But why do you not look happier?’

  ‘Rosa, this isn’t new news. We heard it two months ago,’ her aunt replied.

  ‘Two months! Why didn’t you tell me?’ Rosa gasped.

  ‘Because we’ve been hoping and waiting to hear more before we spoke of it,’ Zia said bleakly. ‘But no one has heard a word from Gabriel since he got out.’

  ‘As I understand from our sources, the plan was to get Gabriel into a safe house from where he would be aided by our collaborators,’ Zio shrugged. ‘But he never reached that safe house.’
<
br />   Rosa’s pulse began to race and her cheeks flushed as she imagined her brother trying to fend for himself, all alone in enemy territory.

  ‘So we have no idea where he is?’

  ‘No. Maybe he abandoned his collaborators for fear of putting them in danger – who knows?’ her uncle murmured. ‘All we know is they lost track of him.’

  ‘Knowing Gabriel, he could have come up with an alternative plan, a better plan, Zio,’ Rosa insisted. ‘He could be safe.’

  ‘Pray God he is safe, child,’ Zio agreed earnestly.

  ‘But to go so long without making contact …’ Rosa murmured.

  ‘It would be dangerous to do so if he was on the run,’ Zio pointed out.

  Racked with guilt, Rosa considered what she’d been doing in the last two months; she’d been preoccupied, not with Gabriel but with the events of her own life, something she would never have done a year ago. She’d pursued her own happiness whilst Gabriel was in all kinds of danger. Burying her wet, tear-stained face in her trembling hands, she sobbed as she scourged herself with morbid thoughts.

  Her uncle reached for the bottle of brandy he kept in the sideboard cupboard. ‘Drink this,’ he urged, handing her a generous shot. Rosa stubbornly shook her head, but Zio insisted she swallow some of the spirit, which slowly steadied her erratic breathing.

  When Rosa finally stopped crying, she realized to her dismay it was getting late. ‘I have to go,’ she said urgently. ‘But if you hear anything, anything,’ she beseeched her relatives, ‘please tell me right away, whether it be good or bad.’

  ‘We can only hope and pray,’ Zia soothed as she hugged her niece tight.

  ‘Hope and pray!’ Rosa muttered under her breath, as she ran all the way to the bus stop in the pouring rain. ‘I intend to do a lot more than that!’

  None of Rosa’s friends failed to notice the change in her over the next few days.

  ‘She must have had bad news when she went to Manchester,’ Nora whispered to Maggie, as they brewed tea in the cowshed kitchen.

  Seeing the two whispering girls, Julia sharply intervened. ‘I think out of respect for Rosa’s privacy it might not be a good idea to start questioning her right now.’

  Nora and Maggie glared at the interfering new girl. Ignoring their indignant expressions, Julia added briskly, ‘I’m sure she’ll talk when she’s ready.’

  After Julia had walked out of the kitchen, both Nora and Maggie pulled rude faces behind her back.

  ‘What does she think we’re going to do?’ Maggie seethed. ‘Get the thumb screws out and force the truth out of Rosa?’

  Nora went red in the face before she exploded with fury. ‘That woman is one of the rudest people I have EVER met!’ she declared.

  But Rosa showed no sign of opening up; if anything, she became even more withdrawn. She seemed to have no interest in her wedding plans and barely wore the ring she’d been so proud of. Kit, like the other girls, kept a respectful distance, but, as time went by and Rosa grew increasingly pale and gaunt, Kit’s heart ached for her. One afternoon she simply couldn’t stand the tension a moment longer, and when the hooter sounded for a tea-break Kit held back and laid an arm around her friend’s shoulders.

  ‘Darlin’, for the love of God what’s happened to you?’ she said in her soft lilting Irish voice. ‘Have you cold feet about getting married all of a sudden?’

  Rosa stared into Kit’s solemn trusting eyes and finally her resolve broke. ‘It’s not that – it’s Gabriel, my brother. Two months ago he escaped from the Nazi camp where he was being held,’ she blurted out as her tears flowed unchecked. ‘Nobody has seen or heard from him since.’

  Taking the sobbing girl in her arms, Kit held her close and tenderly stroked the long dark curls that had escaped from Rosa’s turban. ‘That’s awful news, Rosa. No wonder you’re so worried. But listen, darlin’, I don’t know your brother, but if he’s at all like you he’ll never give up,’ she whispered.

  Rosa slowly withdrew from Kit’s embrace and stared at her. ‘You’re right,’ she said with a tremulous smile. ‘As long as he’s got breath in his body, my Gabriel will never give up.’

  ‘And neither must you,’ Kit urged. ‘It’s wrong to lose hope when he could be out there, somewhere – pray for him,’ she implored. ‘We’ll all pray for him. If he’s alive, he’ll hear your prayers, and if he isn’t … well, he’ll need your prayers wherever he’s gone.’

  Though the hooter had sounded sombre, Rosa automatically resumed stuffing gunpowder into the fuses lined up before her. ‘The time for crying’s over, now the fighting begins,’ she muttered defiantly under her breath. ‘I will find my brother – dead or alive I’ll find him – even if it kills me.’

  13. Dig for Victory

  As the weeks went by, Maggie became increasingly frustrated when most of her hoped for wedding plans turned to ashes.

  ‘Nothing’s up to scratch!’ she moaned as she stood side by side with Rosa and Nora on the cordite line.

  The relentless rattle of the rolling shells, combined with a Glenn Miller number blaring out from the factory loudspeaker, didn’t stop her friends from picking up on the petulance in Maggie’s voice.

  ‘Nothing will ever be up to scratch as long as this war continues,’ said Nora realistically.

  Maggie threw up her hands as she cried out in loud frustration, ‘If anybody else mentions the war, I swear to God I’ll throw one of these bloody shell cases at them!’

  Malc, who was supervising the cordite line, couldn’t help but overhear her angry comment. ‘I wouldn’t go talking like that,’ he said reprovingly.

  Maggie blushed. ‘Sorry, Malc, it was just a manner of speaking, nothing more than that,’ she replied apologetically.

  ‘She’s fed up ’cos nowt’s going according to plan for her wedding,’ Nora yelled over the racket.

  Maggie glared at her friend. ‘Thanks, Nora!’ she snapped. ‘Now everybody on the cordite line knows my problems!’

  ‘Weddings!’ Malc exclaimed as he recalled his own recent one to Edna. ‘You can make ’em simple or you can make ’em complicated.’

  ‘Maggie’s is right complicated!’ Nora assured him.

  Maggie scowled at her friend, who added, ‘It’s true! You’ve barely stopped moaning since you got engaged!’

  Before a full-blown row erupted, Malc turned to Maggie. ‘What’s happened now?’

  Maggie’s shoulders slumped. ‘I was hoping to serve a proper roast to my wedding guests, meat, gravy, roast potatoes, veg –’

  ‘Stop!’ Malc begged. ‘You’ll have me drooling down mi shirt front if you go on any longer,’ he joked.

  ‘But when I booked the Black Bull for our wedding breakfast, the landlord said that fresh meat is right out of the question,’ she continued, before turning to Nora. ‘Don’t say it! I know there’s a war on – but I am allowed to be disappointed!’

  ‘You could do a mock goose with parsnip legs?’ a woman down the line suggested.

  ‘Or a Lord Woolton Pie,’ another called out.

  Maggie rolled her eyes as she chanted off some of the war-time recipes she was desperately hoping to avoid. ‘Yes, or devilled fish, scotch broth, beef hash, roast heart, tripe and onions, liver and bacon. I’ve had ’em all up to here,’ she said, pointing to the top of her head. ‘I just want to serve something special, something everybody will remember – what’s so wrong with that?’

  Rosa, who’d been quiet throughout the entire conversation, suddenly spoke up. ‘When I was at home in Italy, our neighbours always kept a pig to fatten up for their feast days; being Jews, we didn’t of course, but we kept ducks and geese. Oh, I wish we could find a goose for your wedding, cara.’

  ‘Find what?’ Maggie giggled. ‘A flock of geese like the Goose Girl in the fairy-tale?’

  The very idea reduced Maggie and Nora to helpless hysterics.

  ‘Ooh!’ gasped Nora. ‘I can just see you waltzing down the aisle trailed by honking geese!’

  ‘
You’re missing Rosa’s point, yer daft sods,’ Malc said good-humouredly. ‘You could fatten up a pig for your wedding breakfast!’

  ‘Fatten up a pig?’ Maggie gasped.

  ‘Folks have been doing it for years,’ Malc retorted. ‘Surely you’ve had a cut of pork from your local pig?’ he inquired.

  Maggie nodded. ‘Yes, we got cuts and they were good too. I used to take the slops down to the allotment where the pig was penned in; he was the neighbourhood pet until mi dad turned up with a butcher’s knife and slit his throat … poor bugger! But where on earth would I find a pig these days?’

  ‘You could check all the local allotments – you never know your luck – you might find a runt that’s not been spoken for,’ he added with a wink. ‘You’ve enough time between now and your wedding day to fatten it up.’

  Maggie’s summer-sky pale-blue eyes opened wider and wider. ‘Do you really think it’s possible?’ she asked incredulously.

  ‘Course – you just need to keep your eyes and ears open in these parts. It’s always been word of mouth: you know, a quick backhander and Bob’s your uncle!’ said Malc knowingly. ‘There’s no harm in trying. Eh, and whilst you’re at it you could grow your own veg too.’

  Maggie smiled as she quoted one of the popular government slogans of the time. ‘Dig for Victory!’ she cried. ‘You know, I’d never thought of that.’

  A few days later the girls gathered as usual in the canteen so they could catch up on each other’s news. They all knew by now of Rosa’s heartache; they’d been told by Kit. Julia, hidden behind the daily paper so she wouldn’t get caught up in any of the ongoing conversations, was immensely relieved to hear Kit advising caution to Nora and Maggie.

  ‘Rosa’s got a lot on her mind right now, so take it easy, girls.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll call off her engagement?’ wide-eyed Nora asked.

  ‘No,’ Kit replied. ‘Though I do think she should talk to her fiancé.’

  ‘Rosa gets a letter from him nearly every day,’ nosy Nora said. ‘I don’t think she writes to him as much.’