by Katie Flynn
Ellie looked confused. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Your dad, of course. What did you think I were talkin’ about?’
‘I’ve no idea. Mam told me that Dad left before she told him she was pregnant.’
The old woman’s wizened face flushed scarlet. ‘Oh, I – I …’ She paused briefly. ‘I’m so sorry, queen, I didn’t realise. I thought you knew.’
Ellie shook her head. ‘But why would she lie?’
Mrs Burgess shrugged. ‘P’raps she was worried you’d blame yourself, or think that he didn’t love you.’
‘So he knew she were pregnant, he just didn’t want to have a baby, is that what you’re tellin’ me?’
Mrs Burgess nodded ruefully. ‘That’s about the size of it, but if truth be told he was only a kid himself, so he got frightened and took off.’
Ellie looked calmly into the worried features of her hostess and shrugged. ‘That’s no excuse. Me mam were younger’n him but she held on to me. She loved him, but she still chose me.’
‘Shes always looked after you. Still does, I reckon.’
Ellie smiled appreciatively. ‘It’s a nice thought.’ From outside there came the sound of the privy door being slammed shut. Ellie looked sharply at the older woman. ‘Does Sid still live here?’
Mrs Burgess nodded. ‘He’s still in the room below your old ’un, and his temper’s not improved, especially since he’s lost half his tenants. All the young ’uns have joined up, so there’s only us old folk left.’ She held out a hand and started to tick the residents off on her fingers. ‘There’s old Pete Turnbull, Mr and Mrs Rogers, and me.’ She held up four fingers. ‘Four of us left is all, only o’ course to mek things easier, they’ve all moved in wi’ me. It meks more sense for us to split the rent between us.’
‘I bet Sid doesn’t like that! Where’s he gettin’ all his drinkin’ money from now? Serves him right!’ Ellie chuckled.
By the time Ellie left Lavender Court, dusk was starting to fall. It had been an interesting visit and Ellie had come away with a greater understanding of her own past. She did not feel anger towards her father for not wanting her, but she felt heartbreak and sorrow for the position he had put her mother in when he had asked her to choose between the two of them. How could anyone, she reflected, ask the person he loved to choose between himself and their baby? She shook her head. Men could not be trusted. A picture of Aidan and Connor appeared in her mind’s eye. I can trust them, she decided, but only because they don’t want anything from me except friendship. She thought back to Mrs B’s proposal that Ellie should tell Aidan how she felt about him and determined that this would be an even bigger mistake now she understood the workings of the male mind. Keep them at arm’s length, that’s the best way, she concluded. Don’t get involved and you can’t get hurt.
Rounding the corner into Blenheim Street, she hummed ‘I Wanna Be Loved By You’, a song that her mother had often sung to her as a child. A man coming from the other direction had to skip hastily round her.
‘Watch it!’ he snarled.
Ellie’s stomach lurched. It was Sid. With barely a moment’s hesitation she walked on, her breathing quickening as the anger began to rise. Suddenly, she turend on her heel, and had began to walk briskly after him, her fists clenched by her sides, when she suddenly became aware of the soft scent of lavender. She stopped in mid-stride, and watched the beast of a man disappear round the corner. It would have been foolhardy to confront him; he was far bigger than she and would have no qualms about hitting a woman. Turning back, she looked to see where the scent had come from, but there was no greenery in sight, let alone a sprig of her mother’s favourite flower. A faint smile forming on her lips, she jammed her hands deep into her pockets, and turned back in the direction of Bond Street. So Mrs B thinks me mam’s watching over me as some sort of guardian angel. She thought of Sid, and how the distraction of the lavender scent had stopped her from making a grave mistake. Slowly, she nodded her head. Guardian angel or not, someone was looking out for her, and she was pretty sure she knew who.
Chapter Five
It was still dark as Ellie and Arla boarded the train for Preston. The cold winter frost sparkled like diamonds under the light of the moon, and, not knowing where Preston was, Ellie hoped the weather might be warmer there than it was in Liverpool. Taking her seat opposite Arla in an empty carriage, Ellie rubbed her sleeve on the window and peered at the people still boarding the train. It would not get light for at least another hour, but, as she said to Arla, it would be nice to see the sunrise.
‘I used to love watching the sun come up after we’d finished milking. Me and Aidan would go to the top of Coin Meadow if there was a clear sky, and watch it from there.’ She sighed wistfully.
Arla grimaced. ‘I’d rather be in me bed. Do you reckon they’ll make us get up before the crack of dawn? I bet they do. Probably have us doin’ star jumps in the dark.’
Ellie chuckled. ‘Not regretting your decision already, are you? Just think of all those lovely officers; that should make early-morning exercise more bearable.’ Outside, the conductor waved his green flag and blew his whistle loudly. She turned to Arla. ‘No goin’ back now. Looks like we’re off, but at least we’ve got a nice roomy carriage to ourselves.’
But as the train drew out of the station, the door to the girls’ compartment slid open and Ellie was disappointed to see that their roomy carriage was about to be crammed full of various servicemen and women. Even before any of the newcomers had a chance to sit down the carriage door slid back once more and yet more passengers entered, this time a grumpy old woman followed by two sullen-faced children.
Pushing past everyone else, the old woman sat down heavily in the seat one over from Arla’s and slammed a weathered hand on the seat between them, snapping impatiently at the children. ‘Stop muckin’ around and gerrover ’ere afore some bugger teks your seat. And find summat to wipe your nose on, our Davey. It’s mekkin’ me feel woozy lookin’ at that thing hangin’ outta your snout!’
Ellie giggled as Arla, a look of horror on her face, scrunched up as close to the window as she could get. The Waaf who had been about to sit in the seat between her and the older woman looked relieved that she had not done so, and quickly sat down next to Ellie.
The old woman unfolded her arms. ‘For goodness’ sake, Davey …’ She rummaged around in a large canvas bag and produced what looked like an old grey flannel from its depths. ‘’Ere, use this, and mek sure you give it a good blow.’
The occupants of the carriage watched on as Davey, taking the flannel, blew his nose loudly. The door to the carriage slid open once more and two men in air force blue looked in briefly before deciding to move further down the corridor.
Arla, who would have much preferred to be seated next to any of the serviceman, looked gloomily at Ellie as Davey’s little sister, who could not have been more than three, tried to squeeze into the nonexistent space between Arla and her brother and the two instantly started a tug of war over Davey’s colouring book.
The journey to Preston involved several changes, and after suffering Davey and his little sister for the best part of an hour the girls quickly learned that being first in a carriage was not necessarily the best idea. It was far better, in fact, to be the last on and search for a carriage that was filled with servicemen, who would always give up their seats when young women appeard.
Stepping out on to the platform in Preston, the girls heard a sergeant shouting, ‘All those for the barracks, over here if you will, and trotted towards him. ‘We’re for Preston,’ Ellie said, trying to peer at his clipboard. ‘I’m Ellie Lancton and this is my pal Arla Winthorpe.’
Holding his clipboard close to his chest, the sergeant scowled at them both. ‘There’s two trucks waitin’ outside. Go and get yerselves on board either one, and be quick about it. I ain’t got all day.’
Outside, the girls headed towards the first of the two large lorries. Ellie, who was used to climbing on to Spu
d’s cart, boarded with ease, but Arla found it difficult to maintain what she considered to be a ladylike stance whilst lifting her leg on to the floor of the lorry. The driver of the vehicle, who had come round to give them a hand, chuckled at her efforts. ‘Give it some welly, gal. We ’aven’t got all day.’
Arla, red with exertion and embarrassment, scowled at him. ‘I’m doin’ me best, but these things weren’t built for women wi’ short legs, and this bloomin’ snow’s just makin’ everything so slip—Gerroff!’ Ellie smothered a giggle as Arla shot into view, the private’s hands leaving her rump as she hastily smoothed her skirt back down. ‘I was managin’ fine on me own, thank you very much, and I don’t remember askin’ for no assistance neither.’
The man grinned. ‘No problem. Always ready to lend a hand.’
Arla smiled sarcastically. ‘If that’s the case you can get up early and do all me exercises.’ She looked gloomily round at the snow-covered forecourt. ‘How long’s it been snowin’ ’ere? There’s nowt back ’ome. I hope they got a burner where we’ll be sleepin’.’
The driver raised his brow. ‘Blimey, don’t want much, do you? Still, with a pretty face like yours, at least I expect it is when you’re not scowlin’, you’ll find a whole host of willing volunteers, includin’ me, only I won’t be tekkin’ your jabs. I hates needles, and you’ll be like a pincushion by the time the army have finished with you.’
Arla’s smile faded and she absentmindedly rubbed the top of her arm. ‘What do I need jabs for? There’s nowt wrong wi’ me. I’m as fit as a fiddle!’
‘That’s not the half of it. You’re gonna have doctors and nurses proddin’ and pokin’ you till you’re black ’n’ blue. They’ll check your ’air, your teeth,’ he shuddered, ‘and places you never knew you ’ad. It’s like bein’ one of them ’osses what runs the National.’
Arla, who did not believe a word of what the driver told them, smiled wryly. ‘If that’s the case then quite frankly I’m surprised you got in.’
Not seeing the irony in Arla’s comment, he shrugged. ‘They tek all sorts ’ere, so you’re bound to pass. Once you’re settled just you come an’ see me, and if I’m not too busy I’ll tek you out and show you the sights.’
‘Private Struthers! Stop your incessant yapping and help this lot on. As soon as you’re done you can move out.’
Private Struthers jumped to attention and threw his cigarette into the snow, burying it with the toe of his boot. ‘Right you are, Sarge!’ He turned to face the women who were slipping and sliding their way towards the rear of the lorry. ‘C’mon, ladies, let’s be ’avin’ you.’
Closing the tailgate, he grinned at his passengers. ‘A lorry full of lasses … All those who get travel sick, sit down this end.’ He slapped the side of the vehicle with the palm of his hand. ‘It’s a bit of a bumpy ride, especially for those of you who’ve never travelled in the back of a lorry before!’
The lorry lurched, bumped and swerved its way to the training camp which was, to the women’s collective relief, a mercifully short distance away. Looking out of the back of the vehicle, Ellie could see the huge snowdrifts that lined the side of the road. She turned to Arla. ‘You know you asked Private Struthers how long it’d been snowin’?’ Arla nodded. ‘Since last Christmas by the look of it. In Connor’s last letter he said as how we’d be runnin’ round the exercise yard every mornin’, doin’ press-ups and all sorts, not to mention marchin’ till we got dizzy.’ Ellie grimaced as a large lump of snow, too heavy for the branch on which it had gathered, slid on to the road behind them.
Arla glanced at her. ‘Ever think you’ve made a mistake?’
It had been a whole week since they had begun their initial training and so far Ellie found she was quite enjoying army life, although she had to admit she wasn’t so keen on the endless queues, or the intrusive medical examinations, which, just as Private Struthers had stated, had included what they called the free from infection inspection, which involved a thorough search of the scalp.
The girl in front of Ellie had cupped her hand over her mouth and hissed, ‘If I had nits I’d die of shame, wouldn’t you?’
Ellie had declined to answer. Having nits was considered to be a normal part of life for those who grew up in the courts. Mothers would spend hours combing through their children’s hair in a bid to ‘get rid of the little buggers’. You could always tell those who had fallen prey to an infestation, not just by the incessant scratching but by the cries and yelps of those who had inadvertently been stabbed by the unforgiving steel comb, or, worse still, had a knot ripped out by the over-enthusiastic groomer.
She had been given so many injections that she had quite forgotten what half of them were for, but none of these things was feared more by Ellie than the visit to the dentist. She could not remember the last time she had sat in the dreaded chair, and despite her pessimism was relieved to hear that she had been given the all clear.
They had queued for clothes, bedding and food, as well as making a trip to the store in order to purchase such things as soap, toothpaste and boot polish. Ellie had never owned so much stuff in all her life. Other women in her hut had grumbled at the stiff and unfashionable ATS uniform, but apart from the things she had borrowed from Cassie, the uniform was the best clothing Ellie had ever possessed.
When they first entered the hut, each girl had claimed either the top or the bottom of one of the twenty bunk beds. Arla had strolled over to the bed beneath Ellie’s and held up a straw item. ‘What are these cushions for?’ she asked the room in general.
One of the girls giggled. ‘They’re not cushions. They’re called biscuits and they’re your mattress.’ She was laying hers down on the hard base of her bed as she spoke. ‘My sister’s in the WAAF and she said they’ve got the same there. They’re horrible to sleep on, ’specially when a bit of straw pokes through and stabs you.’
Arla shrugged. ‘At least I won’t have three others girls diggin’ their sharp toenails into me whilst I’m tryin’ to sleep.’
The girl who had spoken stopped laying her sheet down and turned to face Arla. ‘Did you just say four of you slept in the same bed?’ she asked incredulously.
Arla spread the biscuits on her bed and sat down. ‘Five when Ellie comes round,’ she said, prodding the bunk above her head with her fist.
Ellie leaned over the side. ‘Pack it in! I don’t reckon it would take much more than a sharp breeze to have this thing on the floor!’
The girl who had addressed Arla leaned forward, her hand outstretched. ‘I’m Mary Dingle, from Norwich. You?’
‘Arla,’ said Arla, ‘and her upstairs is Ellie. We’re from Liverpool, and we’ve been bezzies all our lives.’
Mary smiled up at Ellie. ‘Must be nice comin’ in with a friend. I reckon it must get pretty lonely for some.’ Lowering her voice, she added, ‘I bet there’ll be a few who get homesick, poor blighters.’
Ellie nodded. ‘It’s good comin’ in with a pal, but ’cos I’m Lancton and she’s Winthorpe we’ve been nowhere near each other most of the day.’
Mary frowned, then, as realisation dawned, she nodded. ‘Of course, they do everything in alphabetical order here.’ She yawned noisily. ‘I’m whacked. I wonder what time lights out is, and reveille, come to that.’
‘What’s reveille?’ Ellie slid from her bunk and sat next to Arla. ‘Has Connor mentioned it in any of his letters? He hasn’t to me.’
Arla opened her mouth to reply but Mary was already providing an answer. ‘It’s like an alarm call. They blow a trumpet, and when you hear it you’re to get up and at ’em.’
At first the girls worried that they would forget their new routine, get an instruction wrong, or turn up late only to find they ought to be somewhere else, and in truth for the first couple of days this did happen quite regularly, but after a week of continually repeating the same routine things soon started to come naturally.
Every morning as reveille sounded, Ellie’s feet would hit the floor before
the last note died. Arla too would be standing up beside her bunk, ready for the day ahead. At first they’d had a few collisions, until Arla came up with the idea of getting out on opposite sides of the bed.
Both girls had expected training on gun sites to begin immediately and were disappointed to find that instead of learning how to work the instruments they spent their days peeling potatoes, cleaning the ablutions or scrubbing floors.
‘I can see why they call ’em fatigues: it’s all I can do to keep meself from fallin’ asleep, they’re that borin’. When are we goin’ to start real army work?’ Arla moaned to Ellie, as they stood next to a mountain of unpeeled potatoes. ‘I can’t see what any of this has to do with ack-acks, can you?’
Ellie tossed a freshly peeled potato on to the small pile beside her. ‘I dare say they didn’t ask us to join up so’s we could spend the entire war peelin’ spuds. They just want us to get into the swing of things first, get used to obeyin’ orders an’ that, no matter how borin’ it may be.’ She paused as she picked up a large dirt-encrusted potato and methodically began peeling it with the small army-issue knife. ‘We’re bound to start soon. Let’s face it, there can’t be that many spuds left in Britain.’
Unbeknown to the girls their corporal was standing by the door to the storeroom. ‘I’ll have you girls know that “real army work”, as you put it, Private Winthorpe, is peelin’ spuds and the like. An army can’t march on an empty stomach, so don’t you go thinkin’ that jobs like these are beneath you.’
‘I didn’t mean to …’ Arla began, but the corporal continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
