The Code Girls

by Daisy Styles

  As Annabelle passed a large gilded mirror on the landing, she stopped to examine herself. Diana was right: she was a bit of an undistinguished English rose, and a bit on the plump side, but her pale blue eyes were pretty and she liked the way her fair hair curled softly around her heart-shaped face. Standing tall, she peered this way and that to check out her body. She was tall, with strong, athletic arms and legs, a full bust and curvy hips. She could easily drop a stone, as Diana had so bitchily suggested, but Annabelle made no secret of her love of good food and her passion for cooking. Her family frowned on it; women of her class did not lower themselves to cook, that was the job of the hired staff. Annabelle didn’t give two hoots about protocol! Why couldn’t she cook a meal, make a cake, bake bread? She’d cooked every weekend at boarding school, making teatime treats for her friends and fry-ups on Sunday mornings; she’d always cooked at her friends’ houses, begging them to allow her the freedom of their kitchens, where she was in her element, putting together a Sunday roast or a great big creamy meringue. Why was she denied the pleasure of her own kitchen? The answer that came back was always the same: ‘It’s not the Walsingham way.’

  The fact that she had no interest in or enthusiasm for clothes, fashion, balls, being a deb, grand houses, hunting, cocktail parties and seeking out an eligible husband incensed her family and further alienated Annabelle from them. The happiest years of her life so far had been at Cheltenham Ladies’ College, where she had excelled at maths, statistics and physics. Annabelle had wanted nothing more than to study maths at university, but her father had declared that her expensive education had so far left her radicalized, political and far too independent for a woman of her class, and he wasn’t going to shell out another penny on her.

  ‘So what am I going to do?’ Annabelle had asked. ‘Waste away my life, waiting for some chinless wonder to propose to me – is that what you want?’

  ‘I’d certainly like somebody to take you off my hands,’ his lordship had retorted. ‘Though what man in his right mind would want a rebellious young woman like you?’

  Her mother had introduced her to endless wealthy young men, who’d shown no interest in the plain, bespectacled younger Walsingham daughter. When Lady Caroline’s ghastly ‘Get Together’ evenings loomed, either in London or Norfolk, Annabelle went out of her way to make herself as frumpy and unattractive as possible. She would frizz up her hair or purposely cut her fringe too short; she would apply her make-up badly, smothering her cheeks with rouge so she looked like she was running a fever. She purposely wore clothes that emphasized her wide hips and podgy tummy. The overall look was deeply unattractive and caused any potential beau to fall by the wayside, which was exactly what Annabelle hoped for. If she ever had a relationship with a man, it would be a man of her choosing; she wasn’t prepared to be paraded in the marriage marketplace just to appease her family.

  When female conscription was announced by Ernest Bevan, Minister for Labour in the Churchill government, Annabelle was the only Walsingham daughter who was excited; her angry sister refused to enlist, but Annabelle, desperate to get away from her family and serve her country, was prepared to do anything! Her mother had insisted that she couldn’t do common war work, like herding cows or filling shells with cordite; that would ruin the family name.

  ‘Who cares?’ Annabelle had asked. ‘It doesn’t matter what I do as long as it’s something that will bring this awful war to an end.’

  Diana had rolled her eyes at Annabelle’s passionate patriotic outburst. ‘Spare us the drama,’ she’d mocked.

  ‘A nice little job in the War Office would be more suitable,’ Lady Caroline suggested. ‘You never know, you might meet an eligible young man there. Wouldn’t that be perfect?’

  This time, it was Annabelle’s turn to roll her eyes. Would her mother ever see her as anything other than marriage material? Restless and fuming with impatience, Annabelle had remained at home, waiting for the ‘right job’ to show up, quite unlike her dilettante brother and sister, who seemed to be drifting through the war as if it wasn’t really happening.

  Walking down the ornately carved wooden staircase that gave on to the Great Hall, Annabelle slowed her steps when she heard a male voice ringing out from down below. Crouching behind the shadowy balustrade, Annabelle peeped out and saw a group of trainees listening to a military-looking chap in a tweed suit. Leaning forward, she strained her ears to catch what he was saying.

  ‘Welcome. I’m Brigadier Charles Rydal and, standing next to me, is your senior tutor, Miss Cox.’

  Annabelle peered out further and saw a smart middle-aged woman, who then took over from the brigadier.

  ‘The government urgently needs trained women to work in administration, messaging, signalling, information, encoding, decoding and transmitting.’

  ‘We’ll turn you out in six months’ time, ready to do vital war work,’ the brigadier added.

  ‘You’ll find your timetables and dorm assignments pinned up on the bulletin board. Our operational rooms are in the south wing. You’ll meet your fellow trainees over supper, which is served at six thirty, prompt,’ Miss Cox added.

  Smelling fragrant cherry tobacco smoke drifting up the stairwell, Annabelle stood up and looked down at Brigadier Charles Rydal, who was puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. Hearing the stairs creak, he quickly looked up and saw a pretty, fair-haired girl gazing down on him.

  ‘Can I help?’ he called out.

  Annabelle didn’t reply. She slipped back into the shadows and so failed to see the brigadier addressing a pale-faced Maudie, who was still in a state of deep shock. Instead, Annabelle skipped back up the stairs, smiling to herself; for sure Charles Rydal could help. This was exactly the work that she wanted to do; exactly what she’d been waiting for. It was a pity that the training took place in her own home, but that wasn’t going to stop Annabelle from formulating a bold escape plan.

  As she slipped into her bedroom on the first floor, Ava was setting tables in the elegant dining room, which had been transformed into a large canteen with Formica-topped tables and metal chairs. Stern portraits of long-dead Walsinghams glared down at Ava as she laid out cutlery for supper.

  ‘The new occupants should have you lot rolling in your graves!’ Ava muttered irreverently.

  She’d overheard the brigadier’s welcome to the latest recruits, and she’d had to force herself to stop being envious; she knew that cooking below stairs was her war work, at least for the time being, and she was determined to do it well, but every so often she couldn’t help but yearn to swop her cook’s black dress and pinafore for a tweed skirt and twinset, an outfit much favoured by the eager trainees. A hand gripping her arm made Ava jump sky-high.

  ‘Ow!’ she yelped.

  ‘Sorry, Ava,’ spluttered a red-faced Ruby. ‘You’ll never guess what Timms has done now.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come and see for yourself!’

  Ava hurried after Ruby, who was now dashing breathlessly downstairs to the kitchen, where acrid smoke and the smell of burnt meat made them both gag.

  ‘God almighty!’ cried Ava, as she dragged the burning pan off the Aga. ‘I left this simmering only ten minutes ago – what happened?’

  ‘Don’t look at me!’ Ruby retorted indignantly. ‘It’s that old cow Timms, she must have put the pan on the hotplate while I was in the laundry room. By the time I smelt burning, it was too late.

  ‘It’s ruined!’ Ava fumed.

  ‘We can’t turn our backs on the old bitch for a second!’

  Swearing furiously under her breath, Ruby caught sight of Timms watching her. The housekeeper’s expression was evidence of her vindictive delight.

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ Ava hissed under her breath. ‘Don’t give her any more reason to gloat.’

  The two girls held her gaze and Timms turned and left the room. Only once they were alone did Ava let out a loud groan, ‘What the hell are we going to serve for supper now?’

  ‘With a bit of l
uck, only the bottom will be burnt,’ a bold voice rang out.

  Ava and Ruby looked up in surprise; standing in the kitchen door, wearing a cook’s uniform, was a tall, young woman with blazing auburn hair.

  ‘We can make shepherd’s pie with the good bits,’ she said. ‘I’m Maudie – c’mon, I’ll help you peel some spuds!’

  Ava and Ruby instinctively took to Maudie. Over the next few days, it became clear that she would shoulder the burden of working downstairs with humour and determination. There were, however, a few awkward moments when Maudie felt like she was in the way. Ava and Ruby had been working in tandem for weeks now and had their own routine. It was all new to Maudie. Sensing her discomfort, Ava had a quiet word with the self-conscious newcomer.

  ‘I know we rush about like headless chickens,’ she said one day as she poured tea for them both. ‘With only two of us down here, we’ve got used to hitting the ground running every morning, which must make life difficult for you, when you don’t know what’s coming next.’

  Maudie smiled shyly. ‘It is a bit like that,’ she confessed. ‘It’s hard to know where things are, this place is a Victorian warren. I got lost somewhere between the sewing room and the pantry the other day!’ she admitted with a laugh.

  Ava laughed, too. ‘I was just the same. If it weren’t for Ruby, I’d never have made my way around the place! Look, lovie, we’re all in this together. Whenever you don’t know something, just ask.’

  Looking relieved, Maudie poured them both a second cup of tea. ‘Thanks, Ava. I’ll do just that!’

  After a few weeks of getting to know her surroundings, both upstairs and downstairs, Maudie visibly relaxed and, as she became more comfortable in the company of her new friends, she entertained them by irreverently mimicking people she’d met in the hall.

  ‘Who’s this?’ she said, and struck a tense, formal pose and said in a clipped voice, ‘I’m trying to hide it, but I’m secretly in love with Brigadier Charles Rydal!’

  ‘Miss Cox!’ shrieked Ruby, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

  ‘And this?’ Maudie challenged, flinging back her shoulders and striding like a man across the flagged kitchen floor, booming, ‘That’s all I can find at this time o’te year, missus, sprouts, carrots and a lobster from yon marshes!’

  ‘Peter!’ howled Ava, as she rocked with laughter.

  ‘Do Timms. Please do Timms,’ Ruby begged.

  Maudie thought for a few seconds, then drew herself up to her full height, pinched in her mouth and nose, scowled and peered around the kitchen before saying in a high, whining voice, ‘I wouldn’t lift a finger to help any of you shameful hussies. I work for her ladyship, and I’ll work only for her ladyship till the day I die!’

  The kitchen rang with shrieks of laughter, cut short by the appearance of Timms.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ she snapped.

  Ava, Maudie and Ruby, covered their mouths to smother their giggles.

  ‘We’ve just been chopping onions for supper,’ Ruby lied. ‘It’s brought us out in floods of tears.’

  The three new friends couldn’t have looked more different: dark-haired, blue-eyed Ava, with her direct, straight-talking, honest manner; green-eyed, clever Maudie, with her flaming auburn hair and strong political views; and small, slim, dark-eyed Ruby.

  Her new friends’ opinions often took Ruby aback. ‘We women are Churchill’s secret army,’ Maudie said one day as they were rolling pastry for a dozen stringy-mince-and-onion pies. ‘We’re not allowed to fight with guns, but we can drive buses, work on the land, assemble planes and fill bombs. We’re a force to be reckoned with,’ she finished proudly.

  The longer they worked together, the more Maudie’s politics challenged the status quo that Ruby had previously accepted

  ‘Why should we accept a master-and-slave society?’ Maudie asked one day, as she mopped the flagstone floor. ‘All men are born equal,’ she said, repeating her father’s favourite quote. ‘And women, too, I always tell him!’

  Ava looked up from scrubbing the slop sink with Vim. ‘If this sodding war proves anything, it’s that class ‒ middle, lower or upper ‒ isn’t worth that!’ She snapped her fingers together with a loud click.

  Ruby could feel a creeping sensation under her skin when Ava and Maudie spoke out so boldly; their words affected her so much, goosebumps appeared on her arms. Although she came from from a long line of Walsingham servants, she liked what Ava and Maudie had to say about equality. Added to which, the war was forging new ideas. Society was changing, established roles were being challenged by the millions of women who were now stepping into dead or absent men’s shoes. Ruby realized she’d never been happier in her life. Below stairs had become a whole new world full of laughter and teasing, combined with endless hours of talk and discussion as they prepared one meal after another, day after day, seven days a week.

  ‘You two should be running the government. You could put Winston Churchill out of a job!’ Ruby laughed. She loved the chemistry that flowed between Ava and Maudie.

  ‘I thought, thanks to female conscription, I had a job right here,’ Maudie half joked.

  ‘You have,’ chuckled Ruby. ‘It’s just not the job you applied for!’

  ‘I fancied myself as a code-breaker, yet here I am, stretching out ration coupons to feed trainees.’ Maudie sighed.

  ‘Well, as you know, I had no such expectations,’ Ruby said bluntly.

  Feeling embarrassed, Maudie and Ava exchanged a guilty look.

  ‘Sorry, Ruby, no disrespect,’ Ava apologized. ‘It’s not like we’re moaning –’

  ‘Oh, we are!’ Maudie cried.

  ‘But we’ve got to bite the bullet,’ Ava quickly added. ‘The brigadier was desperate for cooks, and we ticked the box.’

  ‘Thank God!’ Ruby laughed. ‘Otherwise, it’d be me and Timms battling it out to the bitter end.’

  ‘Well, seeing as I’m stuck down here in the bowels of the kitchen with just you two for company,’ Maudie said with a cheeky wink, ‘I suggest we use our versatile female brains to work out a more streamlined way of working.’

  Ava threw up her arms in frustration. ‘There is so much to do!’ she cried.

  ‘Exactly!’ Maudie exclaimed. ‘Which is why we’ve got to save on time and energy.’

  Ruby frowned as she asked, ‘How can we change things? People have to eat.’

  Picking up a notepad and pencil, Maudie grinned at her friends. ‘Sit,’ she said, nodding towards the large, scrubbed kitchen table.

  Pushing aside a basket of shallots and tomatoes Peter had dropped off earlier, Ava and Ruby obediently sat down on either side of Maudie, who started to write in her notebook.

  ‘Four meals a day for twenty-five girls, two staff, the gentry upstairs and however many RAF officers might turn up,’ she muttered, as she scribbled.

  ‘We cook for just over thirty most days, and there’s never anything left over,’ Ava said.

  ‘Breakfast’s not such a problem since we went self-service,’ Ruby remarked.

  ‘It’s dinner and supper that are the problem,’ Ava groaned. ‘There’s just not enough time between clearing one meal and starting another.’

  Maudie, who’d been drawing doodles of bread and cakes in the margins of her notebook, said, ‘We could do a self-service tea, just like breakfast. Fresh seeded rolls with fish- or meat-paste spreads ‒ that wouldn’t gobble up the ration coupons.’

  Ava smiled and nodded.

  ‘Show of hands, ladies!’

  All three shot their right hand up into the air.

  Maudie turned a page of her notebook. ‘On to lunches and suppers.’

  ‘Soup and a main, or main and a pud, for lunch,’ Ava said.

  ‘Same for supper, but failing on account of never having enough time,’ Ruby added.

  ‘So we should go for a single-course supper,’ Maudie suggested. ‘Macaroni cheese, Spam fritters, veggie pasties – stodgy stuff that fills everybody up.’

 
‘One course would make life so much easier,’ Ava agreed.

  Fired up now, Maudie urged her friends on. ‘Come on, comrades, let’s work out some daily menus based on our ration coupons and whatever we get free from the estate.’

  ‘The estate deliveries are a bit hit and miss, depending on the time of the year,’ Ruby pointed out. ‘There’s always plenty of veg and milk and fruit in the summer; we get some eggs, but not a lot, occasionally cheese. There’s rabbit and pigeon all year round, sometimes herrings and crab from local fishermen. We’re lucky compared to others.’

  Ava and Maudie nodded in agreement.

  ‘We’re luckier than most,’ Maudie echoed.

  ‘But we’ve got plenty of mouths to feed, four times a day, from now till the end of the war.’

  ‘Let’s make a start,’ Maudie said, pen poised once more. ‘Monday?’

  ‘Shepherd’s pie with loads of root veg and Oxo stock, stewed fruit and custard for lunch; cheese-and-potato bake for supper,’ Ava promptly replied.

  ‘Tuesday?’ Maudie regarded a thoughtful-looking Ava.

  ‘Potato hash, rice pudding. Beans on toast for supper.’

  ‘Wednesday?’

  ‘Split-pea soup, mince-and-onion pie,’ Ruby chimed in. ‘And macaroni cheese for supper.’

  ‘May I make a suggestion for Thursday?’ Maudie asked.

  Ava and Ruby nodded.

  ‘Cheese-and-tomato flan and apple strudel for lunch; Spam salad for supper.’

  Ruby smiled and licked her lips.

  ‘How do you make apple strudel?’

  ‘I’ll show you,’ Maudie promised. ‘Friday?’

  ‘Fish!’ they all chorused.

  ‘Fish cake and mash for main, and any veg that we can stick in a soup,’ laughed Ruby.

  ‘Fish paste on toast for supper,’ Ava concluded.

  ‘Saturday?’ Maudie asked.