The Bomb Girl Brides

by Daisy Styles

  ‘We can only hope and pray,’ Julia said with a heavy sigh.

  They didn’t have long to wait. A few days later a grinning Emily knocked on the cowshed door. ‘Hiya,’ she said. ‘Where’s our kid?’

  Julia and Rosa gaped in amazement at Maggie’s older sister, who had the same colouring as Maggie and (if it were possible) even bigger blue eyes.

  ‘In the bedroom,’ Nora whispered. ‘Trying to do something with her burnt hair,’ she added, rolling her eyes.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ guilty Julia blurted out. ‘I should never have suggested waving it.’

  Recognizing her Southern accent, Emily said, ‘Are you the one who found the lovely frock for Maggie?’

  Julia nodded. ‘Yes, one good deed followed by a bad one,’ she groaned miserably.

  ‘Leave her to me,’ Emily said briskly, as she walked towards the bedroom door.

  The girls in the sitting room sat tensely, waiting to hear a shout or a sob or something being thrown at the wall, but all was strangely quiet. Inside the room, Emily sat on the bed beside her sister, who cried in her arms. Taking advantage of her position, Emily was able to peer down at Maggie’s singed crown.

  ‘I’m not going to lie to you,’ she said. ‘It’s a bloody mess.’

  ‘I know,’ Maggie wept. ‘Les will hate it.’

  Emily held her at arm’s length. ‘Les won’t see it,’ she announced.

  ‘What?’ Maggie spluttered. ‘You’re not suggesting I wear a wig?’

  ‘Don’t be so daft!’ Emily laughed. ‘Come on now, get me the wreath and veil.’

  Maggie rose and went to the wardrobe, where the veil hung, yards and yards of it trimmed with delicate lace.

  ‘Right, now stand up straight with your arms by your side,’ Emily instructed.

  Like a child being told what to do, Maggie got into position.

  ‘Head up,’ Emily commanded.

  Concentrating hard, Emily arranged the wreath of artificial blossom on the crown of Maggie’s bent head, then gently pulled the veil around it.

  ‘When you walk down the aisle, the veil will be over your face, like this,’ she said and smoothed down the veil. ‘After you’ve taken your vows, the veil will be thrown back and all that the congregation will see is your beautiful smiling face and your long, shining hair topped with a pretty wreath that completely hides all the burnt bits.’

  Maggie gazed into the mirror and slowly smiled. ‘That works if you move the wreath back a bit,’ she agreed. ‘But what about at the pub, when I’m dancing? I can’t keep the veil on, can I?’

  ‘No, but you can keep the headdress on,’ Emily explained as she released the wreath from the clips that held it to the veil and popped it back on Maggie’s head. ‘It looks charming, don’t you think?’

  Maggie stared at her reflection and nodded. ‘It does look nice,’ she said in surprise. Then she thought of something else; blushing she whispered, ‘What about later, when I’m in bed with Les?’

  At which point Emily burst out laughing. ‘Sweetheart, believe me, when you two get between the sheets it’s not your hair that Les will be looking at!’

  The sound of the sisters’ loud raucous laughter brought a smile to the faces of the girls waiting tensely in the sitting room. Nora gave a cheeky grin as she gave Churchill’s famous victory sign.

  ‘Looks like Emily’s cracked it!’ she whispered.

  Before Emily left, she eyed Nora, Rosa and Julia, who were all smiles now that Maggie was happy.

  ‘Promise me none of you will do anything daft before the eighth of May?’ she said firmly. ‘No mad diets, hair colouring, dodgy skin creams or tantrums,’ she said, emphasizing the last word as she winked at her kid sister. ‘See you on your wedding day, sweetheart. Stay calm,’ she added, and, blowing a kiss, she walked back down the hill to her mum’s house in town.

  Maggie sank on to the old leatherette sofa, where she lit up a Woodbine.

  ‘Stay calm,’ she laughed, as she remembered the government poster that was pinned up on the canteen wall: STAY CALM AND CARRY ON.

  33. Visitors

  Gladys had written to say that she and Reggie would be arriving on the seventh of May for the wedding and staying at Yew Tree Farm with Kit and Ian.

  I’m so excited, Mags – I wouldn’t miss your wedding for the world! First we’ll be going to Leeds – it’s time I introduced Reggie to my parents – but we’ll be with you on the eve of your wedding, in the cowshed, just like old times, so get the kettle on, sweetheart. Can’t wait to see you.

  Lots of love,

  Glad

  xxx

  Maggie grinned as she folded the letter. ‘Good job you’ve started on that Italian soup, Rosa. We’ll have a lot of mouths to feed.’

  Her friend grinned back as she sliced potatoes and carrots into chunks before throwing them into the bubbling mixture on the stove.

  ‘Zuppa di fagioli, cara,’ Rosa corrected Maggie, who raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes.

  ‘Zuppa di fagioli!’ she mimicked Rosa in a perfect Italian accent. ‘It smells good whatever it’s called,’ she added, coming closer to sniff the soup. Rosa had soaked dried beans overnight, picked fresh thyme from the moors and used all the vegetables that Nora and Maggie could spare from their allotment. ‘Will there be enough there for everybody who’s coming for supper tonight?’ she asked anxiously, as she peered into the depths of the big pot Rosa had borrowed from the Phoenix canteen.

  ‘I could do with more vegetables,’ Rosa admitted before quickly adding, ‘But I don’t want to take any that you’ve set aside for the wedding breakfast.’

  ‘We’ll be picking salad and veg from the allotment later,’ Maggie told her. ‘There’s bound to be some stuff left over.’

  ‘I hope there’ll be enough,’ Rosa fretted. ‘There’ll be quite a crowd later on.’

  Rosa’s thoughts strayed to Roger, who’d been granted twenty-four hours’ leave to attend the wedding and would be arriving later that day.

  ‘He’s probably on his way,’ she thought nervously. ‘Driving up the A1 in his old Morgan, battered by the wind and the rain.’

  Blissfully unaware of Rosa’s anxious thoughts, excited Maggie babbled on about the domestic arrangements. ‘Kit’s promised to bring a batch of her freshly baked bread to go with the soup, and I’m going to collect a big apple pie from Mum’s – there should be plenty, especially if Ian turns up with some damson wine,’ she laughed.

  Happiness zipped through the cowshed as the girls busied themselves with their tasks. Nora insisted on doing all the prepping for the wedding breakfast.

  ‘Peter’s getting the bus over from Wrigg Hall to help me,’ she told Maggie with a ring of pride in her voice. ‘I’ve already told the landlord of the Black Bull that we can lend a hand preparing the roast if he’s short staffed.’

  At the mention of ‘the roast’ both girls exchanged a secretive smile.

  ‘I’m glad we’re not eating Polly!’ Maggie confessed with a cheeky wink before she hurried off to pick up the apple pie her mum had prepared.

  After the Lauren Bacall burnt-hair disaster, Julia hadn’t volunteered her services again, so when Maggie asked her to iron her wedding gown, Julia was a complete bag of nerves.

  ‘I don’t know why Maggie even asked me,’ she confessed to Rosa in a frantic whisper. ‘After what I did to her hair imagine what I could do to her dress?’

  ‘She thinks because the dress came from your friend in London, you’ll know best what to do,’ Rosa assured her.

  ‘I thought I knew best when I waved her hair,’ Julia answered drily.

  ‘Keep the iron on a cool heat and don’t take your eyes off it for a second,’ Rosa advised.

  With everybody busily dashing back and forth, Rosa stayed in the kitchen stirring the zuppa. As the steam from it clouded her vision she let a terrible, heinous thought enter her head. ‘I’d be so much happier if Roger wasn’t coming to this wedding!’

  Before she could let
the vicious thought take root, Rosa laid down the wooden spoon and lit up a cheroot, which she inhaled deeply as she gazed out of the kitchen window at the rolling moors that changed in colour, the wild, blustery sky turning constantly from blue to grey and back again.

  ‘What is wrong with me?’ she raged at herself. ‘Why can’t I behave normally and look forward to seeing my fiancé like any other woman would?’

  Even though the girls could have accommodated Roger at the cowshed, what with Maggie away on her honeymoon night, Rosa had booked him into the Black Bull. It wasn’t just about giving him some privacy, which is what she planned to say to him when he arrived; the truth was her passion had cooled considerably after the visit to his parents. She also vividly recalled Arthur’s advice after she’d poured out her troubles to him in private on his last visit.

  ‘And what would you like?’ he’d asked.

  She recalled her own words too. ‘I can’t set a date until I know about Gabriel’s whereabouts; obviously I’d want him beside me on my wedding day.’ Her face flushed, not as a consequence of the steaming soup but because she knew in a few hours’ time Arthur would be with them and darling baby Stevie too. How could her reactions be so different? It should be Roger whom she was excited to see, not Arthur. Her fiancé was kind, considerate, and he adored her – so he was a bit of a traditionalist, but she’d known that when she agreed to marry him. But the truth that was dawning on her right now was that she really did wish Roger was driving South, away from her, not North towards her.

  In the sitting room Julia, who was breaking out into a nervous sweat, spat on the iron to check it wasn’t too hot before holding her breath as she slid it over the glistening satin that was so white it momentarily blinded her. Gaining confidence Julia ironed out the creases in the long train and the full-waisted skirt, before turning her attention to Nora’s pretty pink dress. As she was carefully pressing the fitted sleeves, Nora came and stood beside her.

  ‘Isn’t it lovely?’ she sighed.

  ‘It’s gorgeous,’ Julia agreed. ‘Mrs Yates did a wonderful job.’

  ‘I just can’t wait for Peter to see me wearing it,’ Nora admitted. ‘He’s never seen me dressed up in something as posh as that,’ she said with a modest blush.

  ‘He’ll love you in it,’ Julia assured her, as she swept the dress off the ironing board and carried it into the girls’ bedroom, where she carefully hung it on the back of the door beside the freshly ironed bridal gown. ‘Now,’ she said as she turned to Nora with an excited smile, ‘what’s next?’

  ‘It would be great if you could help with the veg,’ Nora suggested.

  ‘Rightio, lead the way,’ laughed Julia.

  As Julia marched down the cobbled lane to the allotment with Nora chattering at her side, she realized how very happy she was; a month ago she would have willingly packed her bags and walked away from the cowshed and everybody in it. Now she was giddy with excitement about the forthcoming wedding; she’d even been nominated official wedding photographer. She was the only person with a camera (bought by her generous father whilst she was at boarding school); but she loved sharing what she had with her friends. She loved their company, their humour, their individuality but, most of all, now that she’d got to know the different ways of each of the girls, she just loved them. The thought that after months of waiting and planning, weeping and fretting, Maggie’s big day was about to happen filled Julia with joy; she couldn’t wait to see her walking down the aisle arm in arm with Les.

  After returning with an enormous apple pie, Maggie finished packing her trousseau into a small brown suitcase: it consisted of her only pair of nylons, a new nightie, which she’d saved coupons to buy, a light cotton frock and a warm cardigan, all neatly folded and ready for her brief honeymoon in a smart hotel in Grange-over-Sands. Every time Maggie thought about the moment she would be alone with her husband, her legs went weak and her pulse raced; what would it be like making love to Les for the first time after all these frustrating months of waiting?

  ‘Only one precious night,’ she thought. ‘Better make the most of every precious minute, kiddo!’

  Rosa and Maggie were so preoccupied with their own thoughts that they never heard Gladys and Reggie drive up in the car he’d borrowed for their long journey North.

  ‘Anybody home?’ Gladys called, as she stepped into the sitting room.

  On hearing her voice, Maggie came bolting out of her bedroom and threw herself headlong into Gladys’s open arms.

  ‘Sister of the Groom!’ she said with a happy laugh. ‘I’m so glad to see you!’ Gazing into Gladys’s lovely face, she was vividly reminded of Les: brother and sister had the same sparkling smile and dark-blue eyes and the same rich dark-brunette hair. ‘Rosa! Rosa!’ she called. ‘They’re here.’

  When Rosa came hurrying out of the kitchen to greet them, Reggie was astonished at the change in her demeanour.

  ‘Good to see you again,’ he said as he shook Rosa warmly by the hand.

  ‘And you too, Reggie,’ she said with genuine pleasure.

  ‘How were your mum and dad?’ Maggie asked eagerly about her future in-laws.

  ‘Very excited about the wedding,’ Gladys replied. ‘They’ll be driving over tomorrow first thing in the morning.’

  ‘And Les …’ Maggie asked with a quaver in her voice. ‘Does anybody know when he’s arriving?’

  ‘He’s already here,’ the voice Maggie loved most in the world sounded softly behind her.

  ‘LES!’

  Maggie spun round and there, framed in the doorway, was her beloved fiancé. ‘Oh, Les!’ she cried, and, running into his arms, she burst into floods of tears.

  ‘I wanted to surprise you, sweetheart, not make you cry,’ he said, as he kissed away her tears.

  ‘How did you get here in such good time?’ Maggie sobbed.

  ‘I drove up with Glad and Reg,’ Les said, then added with a cheeky wink, ‘I hid in the back of the car so you wouldn’t see me.’

  Leaving the rapturous lovers locked together, Gladys, Reggie and Rosa made a strong pot of tea, which they carried into the sitting room just as Julia and Nora returned from the allotment, hot and streaked with mud. Dragging themselves away from each other, Maggie and Les joined the happy group round the wood-burner, where Maggie simply couldn’t take her eyes off Les. If she had, she might have seen a gold band glinting on Gladys’s wedding finger, but it was Rosa who spotted it first.

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’ she gasped.

  Gladys gaily waved her left hand in the air. ‘We got married a week ago!’ she cried.

  ‘You got married?’ Maggie gasped. ‘Without telling anybody?’ she added incredulously.

  ‘We knew we wanted to get married,’ Reggie explained with a proud smile. ‘But with our shifts and the long hours we keep, we never seemed to have a moment to arrange it.’

  ‘We were walking past the local register office after work one day,’ Gladys giggled. ‘Actually we were on our way to Lyons Café, and I said to Reggie, come on, let’s go and see how long the waiting list is.’

  ‘Can you believe it?’ Reggie laughed. ‘They’d had a cancellation and said they could marry us right there and then.’

  ‘We had no ring, so we used my engagement ring, and no witnesses either, so one of the secretaries stood in,’ Gladys told her friends, who were hanging on her every word.

  ‘Ten minutes later we were standing outside, man and wife,’ Reg said, completing the story with a triumphant smile. ‘Best thing I ever did,’ he added, as he put his arm around his radiantly happy wife.

  Maggie, who’d been meticulously planning her wedding for months, couldn’t believe that anything could be so simple.

  ‘What did your parents say?’ she asked Gladys.

  ‘They only met Reg yesterday when we drove up from London. Obviously they were shocked, and I think Dad was a bit disappointed not to give me away,’ she admitted. ‘But Les turning up took their mind off everything else and knowi
ng that tomorrow is his wedding day made up for us not having one.’

  Still incredulous, Maggie continued, ‘You really didn’t mind not having a white dress and bridesmaids and a big do with all your friends and family?’

  It was perfectly clear from the joy on both their faces that Reggie and Gladys didn’t mind at all.

  After drinking their tea and smoking several cigarettes the newlyweds drove over to Yew Tree Farm, where they were staying, whilst Maggie and Les, arm in arm, walked out on to the moors with eyes only for each other. Nora packed her bicycle basket with the veg and salad she’d picked with Julia, then set off down the hill to the Black Bull, where she’d arranged to meet Peter.

  Left alone, Rosa went into the kitchen to check on the soup, but her heart skipped a beat as she heard the unmistakable sound of Roger’s old Morgan sports car clanking and popping as it made its way along the cobbled lane.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she muttered. ‘He’s here already.’

  Trembling, Rosa took a deep breath, then walked to the door to greet her fiancé. She was struck by how different this reunion was from the one she’d witnessed only an hour ago, when Maggie had laid eyes on her beloved for the first time in months. Unlike utterly rapturous Maggie, Rosa felt tight and edgy, and she had to take another deep breath to steady her jangling nerves.

  ‘Darling!’ Roger cried, as he vaulted over the driver’s door and rushed towards her. ‘It’s so good to see you.’

  Swinging her round in the air, he pressed his lips to her rich dark hair that fell in waves to her waist, then reluctantly set her back down on the ground, where, dizzy and disorientated, Rosa swayed for a few seconds.

  ‘Roger,’ she said rather breathlessly, fighting down the feeling of panic that was threatening to overwhelm her, ‘how was your journey?’ she managed.

  ‘Excellent!’ he boomed as he followed her into the cowshed. ‘For two hundred miles I thought only of your face, your voice, your smile waiting for me here.’

  ‘You must be hungry,’ Rosa prevaricated. ‘Sit down by the fire whilst I make you some tea.’