Dolly's War

by Dorothy Scannell

  I felt, at first, a bit of a traitor working for the Americans, even though they were our allies. I felt I should really be working for the British forces, not only because I was receiving the British rate of pay, but because the British soldier was hard up compared with the Americans, and that hardly made for good relations between the two sides. Not that there was any open hostility, but there was no real social mixing at first between them. Indeed among the natives it was said of the Americans, ‘Overpaid, Oversexed and Over here’, but I was always their staunch defender, although I understood how ‘our boys’ felt. For one thing the feminine choice veered towards the Americans; one might say, they had so much more to give.

  Milton J., my American, was a huge man with dark curly hair and an intensely shy manner. He hadn’t been married very long and was very proud of his bride back in the States. I worked in a very hot Nissen hut with about sixty service men and Milton J. The first day I took dictation from him he signed some of the letters and was then called away. As all the letters he had signed had been word perfect, I assumed it was in order for me to sign the rest on his behalf. I was very pleased with myself for translating them so well for he had a strong American twang and dictated at great speed.

  The next morning when I entered the Nissen hut to start work I was greeted by sixty American soldiers barking, whining and howling like dogs. The noise was incredible. I had heard them the day before discussing another soldier, saying, ‘Gee, he’s a wolf,’ and here was I faced with sixty wolves. Milton J. wasn’t in the hut when the telephone rang. I lifted the phone, gave the name of the department, and there was actually another dog crying, barking and howling on the other end of the line. Then Milton J. arrived, laughing. At the end of all the letters I had signed I had typed what I thought Milton J. had dictated in his American twang ‘Towser’. It was perfectly obvious to me it was a code name to fox the enemy. Apparently it should have been E.T.O.U.S.A. (European Theatre of Operations, United States Army). Hence the howling. What an army I had got myself into. For ever after I was called Towser, but I had, through my innocent mistake, gained the reputation of having a great sense of humour, and from then on any remark of mine was greeted with more hilarity than I sometimes felt it deserved.

  Marjorie and I once went for a walk with two G.I.s to meet the children from a party the troops gave for the local children. We weren’t quite sure of the route and at one time thought we were lost. ‘You couldn’t get lost in a little country like England, Dee,’ said Marjorie. ‘No,’ I countered, ‘but we might get DElayed for a couple of days.’ Neither Marjorie nor I found this funny but the men were in hysterics and this remark was repeated all over the camp.

  To add to my notoriety I was voted the girl ‘with the most terrific gams’ on the camp. I honestly don’t think there was much competition and since the prize for the winner was a week-end in ‘Cole-Chester’ with the G.I. of my choice, I thought it was hardly worth winning. However, I’ve often wondered since what I missed by refusing such a prize!

  News of my famous ‘gams’ having spread, the office was continuously visited by ‘messengers’ coming to the ‘wrong’ department bearing the wrong messages. Milton J. thought they were coming to compare the merchandise with Betty Grable, and he decided the Nissen hut should be made into a private office for us so that we could get on with our work. Unfortunately, or perhaps unfortunately for some, war-time economy allowed only half walls and doors to Major J. and his secretary’s sanctum so that I thought it looked a little bit like a large French lavatory. The walls came down only to my knees so that my gams were open for inspection all day long without the major knowing. Although outwardly modestly disdaining my premier position legs-wise, I was secretly a little bit pleased and took to wearing nylons to enhance my prancing legs, and there was no shortage of these. It was almost an admission price to the hospital.

  As I gained an unsought-after reputation, by accident, I also gained a reputation for efficiency. After all, a new typist, doing unusual work, who could cope with everything, and still crack an unexpected joke, she must be extra-efficient, or so they thought. But one evening, as I was leaving, the Major hurried after me. I was detailed, the next morning, to take a shorthand report at a Court Martial. I could hardly sleep that night, there was no point in praying that the official military recorder would return, he was abroad on an urgent mission. My shorthand was adequate, but I was no Court reporter. I prayed that the prisoner might escape, and I had nightmares when I thought of the muddle I had got into in my single life at a court of enquiry as to a fire at a London bus depot. But that seemed simple now for I had had someone to help me sort it all out afterwards. Here I would be with American Brass Hats. How could I ask them, ‘What did he say then?’ I could have stayed home with a bilious attack but a jeep was to call for me. Perhaps I would be arrested if I failed to appear.

  At least, I thought, I shall be well garbed. When I had worked as an insurance agent I had become friendly with one of my customers, a middle-aged, ruddy-looking woman, cockney, hail-fellow-well-met. She had invited me in for a cup of tea. She was making a bread pudding, a gigantic affair, using the washing-up bowl for the bread from which she was squeezing the water. Every now and then she would remove a long hair from the mixture! She asked me if I liked bread pudding and my answer was gently negative. Now she said she had always admired my classy manner and could tell I was from a nice home, like a clergyman’s. (Perhaps that is why my old Dagenham neighbour was sure I should have a piano, or an organ!) She had, she said, a Harris tweed costume which was ‘just me’. It was only £3. She brought out this costume, which was new, and genuine Harris tweed, one of those gingery ones that blue-blooded ladies used for country walking or shooting in. Clothes coupons being very tight I bought the suit, thinking it a bit strange when she advised me to ‘hide it somewhere’ because of the neighbours. On my next call in addition to a marvellous brown pinafore-dress in wool georgette she had a quantity of real shantung blouses, and a dark-haired young man whom she introduced as ‘her lodger’. He was very handsome and very sleepy.

  Now I began to be worried. I took the pinafore-dress and a lovely shantung blouse, but told her I could not have anything else because I had to send all my money into the country for my baby. I felt dreadful, my husband was fighting and his wife was acting against the war effort. I began to wish the lady would move, but one day she called me in for advice. She was pregnant! Was it the handsome young lodger, or her husband? I was astounded that the handsome young lodger could have desired my client, but she said it only happened because she had gone into the sitting-room straight after her bath! I can’t remember advising her to ‘come clean’ and confess to her husband but within a few weeks lodger, lady, children and husband were gone from the district, and sadly I heard they were killed in an air-raid.

  I would wear the brown pinafore-dress and shantung blouse to the Court Martial. There were a few wolf whistles as I went into our Nissen hut the next morning to collect my pad and pencil. A Sergeant sharpened it at both ends for me. I asked him if a man was guilty of a serious crime whether he was shot in war-time, if he was not at the battle-front. ‘Oh, yes, Towser,’ he said. ‘You’ll be in at the shooting so be careful what you take down.’ My colleagues laughed as I left the hut and I arrived trembling at the Court. It was held in a building attached to the main hospital. There were two American guards on the door; no one could enter without their credentials being closely scrutinised.

  If my nyloned entry and my being a female, made any impression it was difficult to tell, for all the brass hats looked so severe, it was terrifying for me and must have been torture for the prisoner, who was standing to attention in the dock. He was a tall good-looking young man something like Clark Gable. I had no idea what he was charged with and I hoped I would be able to take shorthand fast enough or legibly enough to discover his crime, for by the looks on the faces of the prosecutors he must have been a heinous fellow.

  At the other end of the room w
ere double doors with a brass bar across each one, like the cinema doors which the attendants open with a clatter to let the audience out. There were no guards on this door and I assumed in a vague way that it was locked and guarded.

  The Court was in session. I was called upon to swear under the flag. Now I could understand patriotism, for the sight of the Stars and Stripes sent a tingle down my spine. The Prosecutor began. One point on my pencil broke, it seemed like a pistol-shot in that solemn room. Grateful to my Sergeant, I turned my pencil round. I must be careful not to press so hard, I thought. I was not worried that I couldn’t get the prisoner’s army number down, I knew I’d be given that afterwards and I began to keep pace with the case. I was rather startled that they kept calling the prisoner A. Wall, for I was sure that wasn’t his name in the beginning and they seemed to say his name in the strangest places that didn’t make sense. The pace hotted up and I had forgotten everything except my shorthand, when suddenly there came a heavy crash at the end of the room. The ‘cinema’ doors opened with a mighty blow and in came ‘Dirty Gertie’ with the very latest in cleaning equipment, a monster vacuum-cleaner. She was a civilian employed by the British Government to clean parts of the hospital. She had been bombed out from London, her name was Gertie and I don’t know where the ‘Dirty’ came from or indeed why this appellation was tacked on to her name, possibly because the words rhymed. She was a large, fat, peroxided woman who always wore the latest fashions, which looked incongruous on her. She had thick wedged-heel shoes which she seemed to have difficulty in lifting from the floor, and the dog-end of an American cigarette hanging from her mouth. The whole Court gazed at Gertie in a stupor. She ignored everyone as though we were invisible to her, and plugged in her new electric invention which made an unholy noise in that place of legal severity. The President of the Court recovered first and began shouting loudly at Gertie above the noise. Finally she realised her attention was being sought but without turning the cleaner off she mouthed, ‘You’ll have to shout, I can’t hear you above this noise.’ Finally one of the guards pulled the plug from the wall and the President said quite calmly, as though Gertie was an alien he had to placate, ‘Can’t you do that when the court rises?’ Said Gertie laconically, ‘Needs must when the devil drives!’ and plugging in again, she resumed her conscientious cleaning. I was wondering what would happen when she reached us humans proper, I was sure she’d say, ‘Mind out of my way! I have to work even if you lot have got nothing better to do than sit around staring at each other.’ Perhaps she thought we were all rehearsing for a Camp concert. However, she was at last unplugged and marched off by the guards, her last remark being, ‘Well, you can get your wives to soil their hands. I can’t come back and clean this afternoon.’

  The Court assumed its previous severity but I wondered if I imagined the wink from one of the brass hats. Possibly I did for I was now in a state of hysteria, trying to control my giggles.

  The hut were convulsed when I acted out the case for them on my return. I completely forgot I had been sworn to secrecy and they were convinced that ‘Towser’ had stage-managed Gertie’s entry. A few weeks later I saw the prisoner at a Saturday night dance. ‘Oh, they didn’t shoot you then,’ I said. ‘Gee, ma’am,’ he said, ‘For being absent without leave?’ Of course, A. Wall was AWOL (absent without leave) and the poor dear had simply been tempted by a lady he met in Colchester.

  Chapter 9

  The Prescription

  We had marvellous lunches at the American hospital. No shortage of food there. Steaks, fruit etc., all beautifully cooked. The typists used to lunch in the officers’ restaurant, although we had a table of our own. Music played, mostly classical, and Eileen, another girl there, taught me a lot about classical music so that I began to have a great appreciation for it. The first piece of music she ‘explained’ to me was Fingal’s Cave, and ever after, although it sounded the same, it had a different meaning for me and I could follow the various changes of theme.

  I had never been a large eater and now with all this rich food, which appeared richer because of our sparse rations, I suppose I should have tucked in and enjoyed my lunch-time as the other girls did. My thoughts, however, were on Marjorie and the children. What would they be having for lunch in the cottage in the village? How could I possibly eat and be merry? Then, too, the Americans had pineapple with their steaks. To me that was two meals, so I began to bring with me linen serviettes from home. I’d place my steak in one serviette and my fruit in another, and eat what was left on my plate, such as vegetables etc. The other girls thought this a good idea, but as there seemed so much food on the serving-tables they not only ate their portion but took extra to take home to their children. There was, too, on the top table, always a huge mound of oranges and the girls would casually take one as they left although really they were for diners who didn’t want the dessert on the menu. However, as my father would have said, ‘Someone always gets too greedy’ – the kitchen staff were having to cook more and requisition for more because of the Mother Hubbards and so the lunches became chargeable instead of free and we had to be served individually from a hatch instead of helping ourselves. Of course the single girls then took a dim view of mother-love!

  As a secretary to an American officer a jeep would call for me each morning and the driver would salute me when I opened the door at his knock. As Marjorie and I also had transport to and from hospital dances the local villagers, I am sure, thought we were fast ‘Lunnon’ women, especially as we had the army personnel home to tea. For one thing they were so generous with their food. They would come loaded up with things for the children, but we only ever invited the men and boys who were homesick for their mums and wives and children, whatever anyone else liked to suspect. We were lonely for our menfolk too and the visitors would play with the children and then when they were in bed play cards with us and have a really homely time. In any case Marjorie always saw the red light, if I may put it that way, before I did and the amorous ones were definitely not asked again.

  My in-laws had moved down to a cottage not far from us so Susan still had grandparents who entertained her and Marjorie’s ma-in-law and sister-in-law, both bombed out from London, lived next door, so we were a large happy family and hardly in a position to become Lilli Marlenes. One day we were walking home with two of my office colleagues who were coming to tea with us when we saw my lovely ma-in-law. She smiled and I waved and I said to my companion, ‘That’s my mother-in-law.’ ‘Jeeze,’ he gulped, ‘where I come from any ma-in-law would have dashed straight into the house and come out shooting.’ ‘But she knows me,’ I said. ‘That’s as maybe,’ he replied. ‘But the mothers-in-law we have back home would have shot first and asked questions afterwards!’ I thought he must have come from primitive territory.

  Marjorie’s small son Richard was now able to start school and through the influence of the Major she began to work in the PX store at the hospital. She could have had an exciting time socially because she was very attractive and there were so many American males dying to be ‘comforted’, but the brain-washing we had received from my mother from an early age as to the way ‘decent’ women conduct their lives, had made Marjorie as nun-like as I tried to be. What with working all day, looking after the children, the household chores, and writing to Chas at night, I had neither the inclination nor the energy to cope with an amorous interlude, but I often wondered, whether, had I lived on my own during the war, I would have refused all the wonderful ‘opportunities’ which endlessly presented themselves.

  In one way I suppose Marjorie kept me on the straight and narrow. One sergeant in my office received a fabulous cake from home, I think it was a Simnel cake. It was covered with cherries, marzipan, nuts, and angelica. The sight of it was enough to take one’s breath away in those days of austerity. The Sergeant said, ‘That’s for you, Dorothy, if I can have a cup of coffee with you one day.’ ‘Indeed, you’d be very welcome any time,’ I said delightedly. I took the cake home and watched the children�
��s faces. The cake was as marvellous inside as it was out. I have never tasted anything like it and Marjorie said, ‘What a generous man he must be, Dolly.’

  At ten p.m. the next night came a thunderous banging on the cottage door. We had no bell or knocker. Before the war and before the ‘foreigners’ invaded the village no one seemed to lock their doors. I popped my head out of the bedroom window. There was the Simnel cake sergeant and he was shouting, ‘I’ve come for my cup of coffee, Towser.’ I was absolutely terrified. What would the neighbours think? ‘Hush,’ I called down in a hoarse whisper, ‘You’ll wake the children up.’ Still he wouldn’t go but kept calling, ‘Towser, Towser, you promised me.’ Finally Marjorie called down to him, ‘If you don’t go away we’ll call the police.’ In the end he went off into the darkness and I heard him say, ‘Bloody dames, they’re all the same, lead you on, take all you’ve got and give you nothing.’ We lay in bed in the darkness. I was full of remorse that we had eaten the cake, but Marjorie felt me very stupid not to have realised ‘what sort of man’ the Sergeant was, which annoyed me and didn’t help my ego. Surely I was worth more than a Simnel cake?

  The next day as I passed the Sergeant’s desk he gave me a look so malevolent that I said, ‘I’m very sorry but you did call rather late at night for coffee, especially in a small country village.’ ‘You led me on,’ he shouted so viciously, that in front of the listening G.I.s, all agog at the Sergeant’s frustrated rage, I felt not only nervous but acutely embarrassed. ‘When I gave you the cake,’ he went on chokingly, ‘you said, any time it would be your pleasure.’ So he had been deceived by my polite expression. I went hot under the collar, then I became very angry and I said distantly, ‘Well I am very sorry that we have eaten your lovely cake and I am more than sorry we have been talking at cross purposes. I assumed that because of your yearning for coffee so late at night you were some sort of coffee addict.’ This seemed to cause great amusement to the rest of the hut and for weeks afterwards one or other of the G.I.s would make some casual remark about coffee. They’d say, ‘Oh, gee, I had a smashing cup of coffee last night,’ or they’d being me a box of tea-bags and say, ‘Towser doesn’t like coffee’ or ‘You know, Towser, if you once tasted coffee die American way, you’d love it;’ but of course, never when the Simnel cake sergeant was present for he never got over the shock of its loss.