Dolly's War

by Dorothy Scannell

  *

  Possibly my father was one of the ‘foreigners’ who taught the locals to lock their doors. We had persuaded my parents to come away from the bombing and Mother was so thrilled to be with us again. Our cottage was in a row of identical unnumbered residences. One night my father had been to the local pub. It was pitch black when he came home and he fell into the cottage next door, saying, ‘God, it’s bloody dark! Have you gone to bed already, Mother? Never mind I’ll find my way up.’ Unfortunately in the cottage next door lived an ancient lady, and she was sitting by her fire in the dark when my father burst in. Her screams and yells alerted the neighbours and my father was more terrified than she was for she was mumbling all sorts of terrible things about him. Ever after when she saw him she would point and yell, ‘That’s him, bor, that’s him.’

  It would have been the easiest thing in the world for me to remain, for the whole duration of the war, in my blessed state of chastity – no belt needed where Dolly was concerned – for in my teen-age years, my twenties, and now my thirties, few male heads turned at my approach or passing. For the sake of Marjorie and various girl-friends, unable to attend dances unaccompanied, I had sat for hours on various types of uncomfortable chairs, little gilt affairs, wooden kitchen chairs, and benches. I achieved over the years that pride-saving air of nonchalant aloofness. Indeed the very role of wallflower caused me to take up smoking, for something to occupy my hands, which are ever the most awkward parts of a wallflower’s makeup. I sometimes cursed the waste of time, but it would have been tempting providence to take knitting or crochet to a dance. Who knows, there might be one male who saw a lusting luscious siren curled up inside my facade of motherliness?

  I had never been without male companionship before marriage, but mainly because Marjorie and friends, always inundated with invitations to dance, brought their partners back to introduce them to me and make a social group for the evening. By a bit of sharp repartee I often gained a male companion but lost a girl-friend. I doubt if my husband would now admit it, but at the time of our meeting he was enamoured of a beautiful creature.

  I always had a way with children, and they never failed to gravitate towards me, so perhaps it was the small boy in most men which finally made them admirers. But it was all so unsatisfactory and I longed for that startled look of joy from a man when he first set eyes on me. However it was too late in life for me to expect love at first sight so it was quite easy to live the life of a nun whilst Chas was away. I was safe by nature! When the matrons of the village gossiped about the ‘goings on’ between ‘women who should know better’ and the British Tommy, or American G.I., I remained silent. I would have been a hypocrite to join in the castigation, for I was not sure at that time that I would have been quite so upright should the right G.I. affirm his intentions. It would have been difficult to break loose living as I did with Marjorie, always the noblest Roman of them all, and with Chas’s relations surrounding us.

  One day I was taking the children blackberrying when I met an old schoolfriend. Her husband, too, was in the forces abroad, she had been bombed out from London and was staying in a cottage in a nearby village. Her children, two boys, were older than my daughter and they had cycled over to our village for a picnic. The years forgotten, we chatted excitedly and she persuaded me to come the following Saturday to the weekly dance which was held at the nearby American airfield. She would ask the driver of the transport vehicle to come through our village and pick me up and then bring me home at the end of the evening. She assured me I would ‘have the time of my life’, for she added, ‘You were always such a lad, Dolly Chegwidden.’ I was surprised at her description of me, for in my memory I was always intensely serious and proper at school.

  Marjorie said she would baby-sit for me, and I began to prepare excitedly for this grand occasion. The great day came and I waited like a bird of paradise in my unusual plumage. I had raked out a forgotten evening dress, ankle-length, sleeveless, low-necked black velvet, which I had been steaming all the afternoon, making the kitchen like a Turkish bath. Fortunately Marjorie had gone visiting and I just had time to dry the windows and open the doors before she arrived home. I had dyed some white satin shoes black, they were still a bit smelly with the strong dye, and Marjorie sniffed distastefully, but this didn’t really perturb me for she always has gone around smelling smells other people are unaware of. My elbow-length gloves were pristinely white and Marjorie, in a moment of sisterly love, fetched her little gold stole for me.

  The children were asleep when the ‘transport’ came. My first shock. It was the largest lorry I had ever seen, simply enormous. It had stopped outside our cottage and the driver, in American uniform, knocked on our cottage door. There was no time to draw back now, and the object of curious eyes, it seemed to me all the lace-curtains in the village were twitching, I followed the driver to the back of the lorry. There, to my utter horror, was a very long ladder for me to climb. Another G.I. was in the lorry at the top of the ladder and I negotiated these rungs and climbed into the darkness with his help. The vehicle was crammed full with giggling, screaming girls, but the noise ceased at my entry as though someone had turned off a switch. Here was Dame Nellie Melba in person. All the other girls were clad informally. Little cotton frocks or jumpers and skirts, flat-heeled or wedge-soled shoes. There was no sign of my friend. What a fool I had been, I felt like a prize cow amongst a herd of cattle. I thought perhaps I could find a place at the dance where I could hide myself until the lorry returned later that night. I might even be able to get transport home right away. I was furious that I hadn’t made some excuse when the lorry called, but it had been so high that I couldn’t see the type of load it was transporting.

  We arrived at the air-base, an enormous place with rows and rows of barracks, but no sign of planes; I supposed they were in another part of the ’drome. Like a guard of honour lined up, we were met by happy smiling servicemen, and most of the girls were soon pounced on and led off to the dance floor. I could hear the strains of music in the distance, and never never had I seen so many men before. The driver called out, ‘Leaving at midnight, ladies,’ and drove away. I was left alone. I had five hours to wait. I have never had any sense of direction and I thought I should be afraid to leave the spot where the lorry had left us for I might have been unable to find it again in the dark. I realised suddenly that the girls on the lorry had assumed I was an ‘entertainer’ for they used to have visiting singers and such like at the camp dances.

  Suddenly from among a nearby group of airmen I heard one say, ‘O.K. then, I’ll take the Duchess,’ and a tall good-looking serviceman approached me and said, ‘Take my arm then, Duchess.’ He had obviously been drinking and so had his companions. ‘I’m waiting for the Duke,’ I replied, and trying to take a quick note of my bearings I walked in the direction of the music. The dance was held in a sort of hangar. It was a mass of jigging couples, not dancing at all in the way Marjorie and I had been used to. I found a seat and sat down in a corner, willing the next five hours to fly. An air-force sergeant came up and I went on to the ‘floor’ with him. Cheek to alcoholic cheek we ‘danced’, me struggling with Marjorie’s stole, my evening bag, and his hands, which seemed to be so tired they could only rest on my bottom. At last the music stopped. The sergeant looked at me, gazed at my outfit, and said, ‘Gee, you’re a real classy dame, I bet you don’t come from these parts.’ ‘No,’ I said, pleased that the dance had stopped, ‘I come from London.’ He looked as though he’d been presented with the Purple Heart for he said delightedly, ‘Anywhere near Piccadilly or Ly-cest-er Square?’ ‘Oh, no,’ I said, wondering why he had picked on that area. ‘Come and have something to drink,’ he said. Pleased not to be asked to dance again I went with him to the refreshment room. He seemed disappointed I only wanted Coke but he looked nicer now he was off the dance floor, and as he also had a Coke I began to think I was mistaken in thinking he had been drinking, for he began to speak so sensibly. He was a Texan, married, very happil
y, it seemed and he had two children. I began to relax; the next few hours would pass safely in the company of this happily married man, and I would never have to come to a camp dance again.

  It was dark now, but the weather humid, and when Carl, for that was his name, invited me for a walk to cool off before we resumed dancing, I agreed. Heads did turn as we walked through the hall, for Carl was one of those tall, well-built Texans, and he had that sinuous easy glide such Texans have. It is true I am short, but all done up in velvet and mock diamonds, we were certainly an outstanding pair.

  We walked round the camp, Carl put my arm in his, and all was quite pleasant, minutes ticking away easily for me, until we rounded a tall hedge bordering the lawn of a garden. Suddenly Carl’s arm went round me and he began to bite my neck. He didn’t expect my kick on his shin and as he reeled back I kicked off my high-heeled shoes and began to run like mad towards the lights of the Camp. When I was nearing the safety of the dance hall I looked back and saw my Texan walking quickly in my direction. A jeep was outside the dance-hall, the driver just getting in. I said to him breathlessly, ‘Is it possible you can give me a lift, I’ve just had an urgent message from home.’ Whether it was my phantom-of-the-opera-like appearance or the hint of tragedy in my urgent message I don’t know, for Army and Air Force personnel do not give lifts to anyone, especially civilians, without chitties or some official permit, but to my delight he agreed, and I arrived back to the blessed haven of our cottage. My missing shoes puzzled Marjorie for a long, long time. I should have realised a casual ‘Oh, I forgot I had them on,’ would not be an acceptable explanation to her.

  The dances at the American hospital were very different and pleasant social evenings. The G.I.s had an old-fashioned courtesy and charming manners. Our special group were young men from the laboratory, only one of them, Felix, was married. Marjorie taught them the English ballroom dancing and we had pleasant if uninspired Saturdays. Until the Saturday Felix suggested we take a turn round the grounds between dances. There was no worry of neck-biting or anything untoward with Felix, he was a typical specimen of clean-living American manhood, the sort of fellow I would one day like for a son. Suddenly he said, ‘I saw the M.O. today.’ ‘Oh, I am sorry, Felix,’ I said. ‘Anything serious?’ ‘Oh, no,’ he said, ‘Nothing medically wrong, it’s just that when a man has been married and is then separated from his wife for a long time, it can affect his health.’ I was silent, embarrassment beginning to creep over me; how stupid I am, I thought, Felix obviously wants to talk to me as a mother-figure. ‘There is no solution, though, is there, Felix?’ I said. ‘Well,’ said Felix, ‘there is. The Doctor knows you very well and he knows you too are separated from your husband, and that the separation will be a long one. He knows, too, that you are a clean-living girl and he thought it would be a good idea, not hurting anyone, for we both love our partners, if you and I could form some sort of association, and be faithful to each other. In that way, we’d be happy, and not be hurting anyone else.’ I was silent, seething because the Doctor’s diagnosis was, to me, a real insult. He was a real dish and lately had been making special trips to the office, or on Saturdays at the dances, to chat with me. I thought he had ‘fallen’ for me and I was toying with the thought in my mind, would I, should I, if he approached me. So that’s why he had been gazing at me, summing me up as a sort of pill, a tonic, a prescription for one of his patients. Then I looked at Felix, he was looking so pleadingly at me that although I felt cross with him I also felt sorry for him; perhaps it was worse for a man than a woman. But as for the other matter, good God, I was his friend, his confidante, I felt old enough to be his mother, why I was ten years, no, six years older than he. ‘Well, Felix,’ I said, ‘I am sorry that if you love your wife you cannot be strong-willed enough to be faithful to her. I could never ever be unfaithful to my husband, for any man.’ I kept my fingers crossed as these words of near-mendacity issued from my lips. ‘Please don’t stop being friends with me, Towser,’ said Felix. ‘I knew you would say no, but the Doctor said approach the matter from a humanist point of view.’ I had no idea there was such a word as ‘humanist’ and I assumed it should have been ‘humane’. On Monday morning the Doctor came into the office. The Major was not there. ‘Did you see Felix at the dance on Saturday?’ he asked, adding, ‘I saw him across the parade-ground, but he kept on walking.’ ‘Oh, like his namesake,’ I said, still typing. This feeble joke was obviously lost on him for he suddenly jumped back from me, startled. ‘Do you feel all right?’ he asked. ‘Yes, of course I do,’ I replied. ‘Well, I don’t want to worry you, my dear, but you look jaundiced, to me.’ ‘Jaundiced!’ I screamed, thinking he was crazy, but as he was a good medical man, I was a little perturbed. ‘Look here,’ he said, ‘I’ll give you a pass, go to the laboratory and have a check-up, it’ll only take a minute.’ He put a form on my desk and left the room hurriedly for he saw my Major approaching. ‘What did he want again?’ asked the Major. ‘He says I’m jaundiced,’ I said, ‘and he suggests I have a test at the lab.’ ‘Come here, Towser,’ he said, walking to the window. ‘Well,’ he said, after gazing closely at my face, ‘I can’t see any change in you.’ Then he added, ‘You’ve got those tawny sort of eyes and freckles, they go with your colour of hair. Why is he so interested in you all of a sudden?’ I was much too shy with the Major to tell him that the Doctor wished to make a prescription of me. Soon the whole hut was in examining ‘Towser’ and all came to the same conclusion, the Doctor was wrong. But I went to the laboratory just to prove he was wrong. The boys there too were interested, Eddie, Bill and Gerry, our Saturday-night friends. The test was O.K. I was not jaundiced, well not medically or physically so, but temperamentally I was extremely jaundiced with the Doctor.

  In the week he invited me to dinner and the theatre, and I thought this would be the opportunity for me to ‘have it out with him’. I knew I looked nice when I met him and we had a marvellous evening, with drinks after the theatre, so that, more relaxed, I took up the matter of Felix. He had told Felix what Felix had told me, but was indignant that Felix should have chosen me for his physick. He hadn’t even mentioned my name, indeed he would not; why, he wanted me for himself. I could see this was true, and indeed he was an attractive man. The night was balmy, and so must I have been, for I was sure I would end up in some grassy buttercupped meadow by the side of a scented hedge. It was three miles from the theatre to my cottage, we started walking. With my companion’s arm round my waist, my head on his shoulder, we fitted perfectly, and walked happily to what might just prove to be our mutual resting-place.

  Suddenly, just as we had decided to turn off from the road, an American Staff car stopped. The driver got out, saluted smartly, and said, ‘May I give you a lift back to Camp, Sir?’ In the back of the car was my Major. He opened the door and said, ‘We can drop Towser first.’ There was nothing for it, the Major was like a watch-dog. The Doctor could not blemish my reputation by saying he wouldn’t be going straight back to Camp and he knew that the Major knew that I lived in the village with Marjorie and the children. Obviously that was where I had seemed to be going and the car would save me a walk.

  I got in the car as the Doctor said under his breath, ‘Dammit, I could spit.’ The Major asked, ‘Was the play good?’ I started to laugh, which started the Major and the driver off, but not the Doctor. He remained silent. Next day he was transferred and was sent to Italy.

  *

  The G.I.s were always cheerful and there was much teasing and friendly rivalry between us as to the merits of our respective armies. The Americans thought our press very strange in its reports of the war. I was greeted one day with, ‘Towser, you’re doing well, your Monty’s a marvel. Do you know he’s actually gained an “inch” of territory from the Germans today?’ The headline splashed across the paper, read, ‘Monty’s troops inch forward.’ They brought a foot ruler to impress on me how well Monty was doing.

  But of course I had my own back. One of my duties was the typing of the pa
yroll for the incoming wounded. Always a rush job and sometimes I would stay late in the evening to complete it. On the pay parade-morning the walking wounded would come in in ones or twos, in dressing-gowns, or perhaps just pyjamas, casually collect their money from the Major, and saunter out. After a most bloody battle in Germany, a trainload of British wounded were temporarily accommodated over-night at the American hospital and the Major and I worked late on the payroll for the Tommies. Next morning in came the English wounded and I could hardly stem my tears. Many of the men were badly wounded, yet their clothes were tidy, there was no slouching and they all managed a salute -a most disciplined and military payroll parade. All was quiet in the Nissen hut after the last Tommy had left. But the next payroll day the poor wounded G.I.s must have wondered what had hit them for Milton J. had them ‘marched’ in with a sergeant and they all saluted. As the last American left Milton J. looked at me and said, ‘Maa,’ just as we did when we were children and of course we both laughed. ‘I didn’t know it showed,’ I said. But we both knew it wasn’t the saluting or the spit and polish which counted, for one could not but admire the Americans’ spirit and buoyancy and I never ceased to be amazed at their talent for efficient organisation. The whole camp ran on oiled wheels without the superfluous intrusion of bureaucracy or red tape. They were kind and generous people (and I’m not thinking of the Simnel cake episode) and extremely outgoing.