by Jenny Holmes
But Dorothy pestered and chivvied until he was ready to go. ‘I knew you ought not to have left it until the last minute. Why do you always cut it so fine? Honestly, Cliff; you’re the limit!’
‘Have a nice time,’ Bernard called after them as Dorothy succeeded at last in getting Cliff out of the house and Brenda closed the door with a firm click. The dress was decidedly too short and the neckline left nothing to the imagination but it needed a mother to advise on that score, Bernard thought. Anyway, Dorothy wasn’t a child any more. He sighed as he took up his newspaper and looked ahead to a rare evening of peace and quiet.
It was the uniform that did it; or rather the material it was made of. The RAF kitted out their boys in smooth, air-force-blue worsted, not the rough khaki cloth that the army used. The jackets were tailored to be nipped in at the waist, with epaulettes that squared the shoulders. It created the perfect, manly shape, Dorothy thought admiringly, when she saw twenty pilots step out of their lorry with musicians Ernie and Malcolm in the vanguard.
She beamed as they approached the hall.
‘Brrr – someone will catch their death,’ Malcolm remarked when he saw her standing in the doorway in her short, sleeveless dress. The goosebumps on her plump, pale arms proved his point. ‘Come inside and show the lads where to set up their instruments.’
‘This way; follow me.’ The tree looked glorious, even without its fairy lights, and the paper chains were now set off with multicoloured balloons – a last-minute touch, courtesy of Emma Waterhouse. Sprigs of holly lined the window sills.
Brenda had been waiting inside for the RAF to arrive. She pointed out the lamps to Ernie and explained the reason. ‘Will there be enough light for you to read your music by?’
‘Plenty,’ he assured her as he set his sheets on the piano stand then played a couple of scales. ‘Anyway, we know most of it off by heart.’
As the hall filled up with eager trainees, their faces boyish, their hair trimmed into regulation short back and sides, Brenda felt herself relax. She reminded herself that it was coming up to Christmas and, despite recent events at Dale End, this was a night to be enjoyed. Hettie’s death had weighed heavily this past week, with Brenda expecting to hear news about the funeral, only to be disappointed. It seemed now that it might not happen until after the twenty-fifth; perhaps even into the New Year.
Am I being disloyal to Hettie’s memory? she’d wondered as she’d chosen what to wear for the dance. Ought I to stay away? But the temptation to meet up with her old Fieldhead friends had proved too strong. And now here she was, greeting the Royal Air Force, showing them where to bring their hampers of sandwiches, explaining again about the lack of electricity, smiling and laughing as she told them that the Land Army was due any time now and they’d better hang on to their hats because, make no mistake, the girls were a force to be reckoned with.
‘In what way?’ One of the trainees who had brought in the food hampers looked apprehensively towards the door as if expecting to be steamrollered by a gang of girls.
Brenda winked at two of the others. ‘Let’s just say that the door will be locked after the music starts and the key will be well hidden.’
The man closest to the entrance glanced outside at the sound of a vehicle arriving. ‘Crikey!’ he said as half a dozen Fieldhead girls piled out of the van, sporting frills and high heels and bursting with excited chatter. They surged towards the porch. ‘I see what you mean.’
‘Elsie, you forgot the pork pie!’ Kathleen’s voice rose above the rest.
‘Where is it?’ came the reply.
‘Where you left it; in a Jacob’s Cream Cracker tin under the back seat.’
Brenda laughed out loud at the flash of alarm in many of the young trainees’ eyes. ‘It can’t be worse than facing Jerry’s Messerschmitts, surely to goodness?’
‘Ten times worse!’ one insisted as the women burst through the door.
‘Colin – Douglas – Albert – Joe.’
‘Kathleen – Elsie – Pat – Joan.’
Names were exchanged and immediately forgotten amidst a hubbub of coat-taking, the tuning of instruments and setting out of refreshments. The tree was admired; a bunch of mistletoe was hung in a prominent position inside the porch.
Malcolm, the thickset violinist, collared Brenda as she passed by. ‘Tell Mae West over there that we’re ready to start whenever she is.’
‘You mean Dorothy?’ Brenda grinned at the cheeky reference to the busty blonde film star. ‘She insists on waiting until half past on the dot.’
‘Right you are.’ Malcolm went on tuning his violin while speaking to his fellow band members about the order of play. ‘Let’s kick off with “Kalamazoo” followed by “Chattanooga Choo-Choo”.’
Meanwhile, new girls Joan and Pat admired the decorations while Elsie and Kathleen, dressed up to the nines in purple and scarlet, set out food on the tables in the annexe. Colin or Douglas fell over himself to help. Joe or Albert took over from Brenda in the coat-collecting department.
‘Where’s Cliff?’ Dorothy bleated when she found out from a pilot named Mouse that only half of the radiators were turned on.
‘We just saw him going into the Cross Keys,’ Joyce reported as she and Evelyn entered the hurly-burly.
‘Trust him.’ Dorothy turned helplessly to the nearest raw recruit. ‘Mouse, what’s your real name?’
‘Erasmus, after my great-granddad, Erasmus Jackson.’ It was a burden the poor bloke had carried for nineteen years. ‘But I generally go by Mouse. Will you dance the first dance with me?’
Albert shouldered him aside. ‘Sorry, pal; I beat you to it.’
‘The second dance then?’ Mouse called after her.
Dorothy was too busy to answer. ‘Vicar!’ She raised her voice above the busy hum. ‘What’s happened to the radiators? Half of them are cold.’
Walter Rigg had popped in to supervise the start of proceedings. He had Emma with him but there was no Alan, who, for some undisclosed reason, had been sent to bed in disgrace. The two village elders stuck out like sore thumbs among the uniformed youths and brilliantly decked girls – round-bellied Rigg with his dark suit and dog collar and stick-thin Emma whose heyday, if she’d ever had one, had been back in the 1890s when hems had touched the ground and leg-of-mutton sleeves were all the rage.
The vicar placed a hand on the nearest radiator. ‘Stone cold,’ he muttered with a displeased frown before sending Emma to find Cliff.
‘He’s in the Cross Keys.’ It was Evelyn’s turn to report his whereabouts. She stood aside from the hubbub, trying to hold her nerve for the night ahead. What if Cliff snubbed her in public as he had been doing ever since Colonel Weatherall had been taken off to hospital? Should she react by giving her fiancé a taste of his own medicine, cold-shouldering him in return and making a great show of dancing the quickstep and tango with an array of RAF boys? At present men outnumbered girls by almost two to one so there would be no shortage of partners.
‘Can I have the first dance with you?’ Mouse sidled up to prove her point, attracted by her free-flowing auburn locks. She wore an eye-catching halter-neck dress made of shimmering silver-grey satin that showed off her smooth shoulders, slim hips and long limbs to their best advantage. ‘You don’t mind me asking?’
‘Of course I don’t mind.’ Evelyn accepted the invitation with a smile.
‘No Alma, I see?’ Brenda took Joyce aside.
‘No, I couldn’t persuade her.’ Joyce shook her head. ‘She’s still getting over the shock of a second visit from her aunty. Anyway, even though she’s missing out tonight, I really think she’s slowly coming out of her shell—’
‘Thanks to you,’ Brenda put in quickly.
‘No,’ Joyce corrected. ‘Alma is doing this all by herself. But coming to the dance was definitely a step too far.’
‘Maybe next time,’ Brenda murmured as they watched the hall fill up. They saw Emma return with Cliff, who listened to what the vicar told him about the rad
iators then went around adjusting knobs on the defective ones. He stopped to say hello to Joyce and Brenda then, as the band struck up with ‘Kalamazoo’, he moved on to where Evelyn stood by herself.
‘Blimey, Evelyn, you could have made a bit more effort,’ he said with a wink that acknowledged how stunning she looked. Her hair was pinned back on one side but cascaded loosely to her shoulder on the other. He was about to slip his hand around her waist and lead her on to the dance floor when an over-eager, gangly RAF lad stepped in.
‘Ready?’ Mouse held out his hand and Evelyn took it.
‘I’ve got a gal in Kalamazoo …’
Cliff turned away abruptly and felt in his jacket pocket for his cigarettes. But before he could light up, Dorothy whirled by with her partner, Joe. She whipped the packet away and pointed in wallflower Elsie’s direction. ‘Dance with her!’ she ordered. ‘Don’t leave the poor girl standing there!’
Cliff did as he was told. After all, two could play at Evelyn’s game.
The jaunty tune put smiles on everyone’s faces and energy into their steps.
‘Zoo zoo zoo zoo zoo …’
Spare men stood at the side of the room discussing their favourite tipple or football team, eyeing the girl they would move in on for the next dance. All the Land Girls twirled and turned under patriotic clusters of red, white and blue balloons.
So far, so good. Walter Rigg was satisfied that, for the time being, decorum would not be breached. He would call back in an hour. On his way out with Emma, he made sure to pile a plate high with sandwiches and sausage rolls and take them to the vicarage for his supper.
‘Good evening, Geoffrey,’ he said as the vet and a man he didn’t recognize arrived. They stood aside to allow his exit. ‘Everything is in full swing, as you can hear.’
Geoff and his companion smiled and nodded.
‘“Once more into the breach”,’ Giles quoted with a grin as they entered the hall.
It wasn’t until the fifth number of the evening that Cliff finally managed to corner Evelyn. He’d already danced with Elsie and Kathleen, then Joyce and Brenda, while she had been snapped up by a variety of RAF boys, all eager to impress with their waltzes and foxtrots. One had launched into a modern jitterbug number with her, clearing a space in the centre of the floor and teaching her the moves as they went along. They’d bounced along on the balls of their feet to a rhythm set by the saxophone, holding hands and dipping their shoulders then leaning right in, with him using his weight to send her backwards, arms extended before swinging her around.
Dorothy was the first to applaud the exhilarating spectacle. ‘How about that! Come along, Geoff; let’s give it a go,’ she called across the room when she saw the vet standing idly by. Leaving her current partner in the lurch, she ran to seize him by both hands.
Geoff shrugged apologetically at Giles then joined her. ‘Are you sure? This is a new one on me.’
‘Me too.’ She seized his hands and started to imitate Evelyn and her partner. Of course it ended with a totter and a squeal then a collapse in a heap on the floor. Ever gallant, Geoff put her back on her feet and escorted her giggling towards Giles.
The second the number ended, Cliff stepped in to claim Evelyn at last. Her face was flushed after her up-tempo exertions and a wisp of damp hair stuck to her cheek. The words ‘making a show of yourself’ were on the tip of his tongue but he bit them back. Instead, he wound an arm around her waist for a slow waltz. ‘About time too,’ he murmured into her ear.
‘It serves you right,’ she whispered back.
‘What do you mean?’
‘That’s what comes of keeping secrets. People suppose I’m single and fancy-free. Anyway, where were you last night?’
‘I went to bed early – why?’
‘Your door was locked. I tried knocking.’
‘Sorry, I must have been fast asleep.’ He held her closer and put his cheek against hers. They threaded their way between other couples to the sound of soaring violins. ‘Anyway – we’re here now.’
‘Together at last.’
He drew his head away and threw her a quizzical look. ‘Are you having a go at me?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted.
‘Trying to teach me a lesson?’ His arm tightened around her waist.
‘Yes – you deserve it,’ she insisted, before giving in to the feel of his body close to hers.
The waltz ended and Cliff kept hold of her hand as he walked her towards Dorothy, Geoff and Giles. The band began a Percy Grainger number while Cliff decided to persuade his sister to sing.
‘Oh no, I couldn’t!’ she protested in a way that meant the opposite. ‘No one wants to listen to me.’
‘Of course they do.’ He slipped his arm around Evelyn’s waist. ‘Dorothy can hold a tune, can’t she, Geoff? At parties we always get her to sing us a song.’
While Geoff added a word of encouragement, Dorothy blushed and smiled then gave in.
‘There’s no time like the present,’ Cliff insisted as the dance ended and the couples on the floor broke up. He crossed the hall for a quick word with Ernie, who listened then nodded.
‘Yes is the answer,’ Cliff announced when he returned.
It was settled; Dorothy would sing ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow’ from The Wizard of Oz.
The dance floor emptied as Dorothy took her place by the piano and Ernie struck up the first chords. Joyce and Brenda watched from the doorway into the annexe, noticing the difference between this Dorothy with her plunging neckline and the original on-screen Dorothy in her girlish gingham dress and white ankle socks.
‘What’s in a name, eh?’ Brenda said under her breath.
‘Yes; coincidence or what?’ Joyce murmured.
But they were silenced as Garthside Dorothy tilted her head back, opened her mouth and sang wistfully about a land that she dreamed of,
‘Once in a lullaby’. Her voice was deep, sweet and pure, full of longing. It transported her listeners from a grey world of rationing and blackouts to a magical place beyond the rainbow where golds, blues and greens dazzled the senses, scarecrows came to life and a girl in sparkling red shoes sang her way along the Yellow Brick Road.
‘Blow me down – she’s not bad!’ Kathleen was among the spellbound.
Elsie came in from the annexe to listen and look. A few couples drifted back on to the floor and held each other close in a slow waltz.
‘Shall we?’ Cliff asked Evelyn, who nodded.
They joined the dancers. The violinists and saxophonist faded then fell silent, leaving Ernie’s piano to accompany Dorothy’s silky voice.
Bluebirds flew over the rainbow. Judy Garland in pigtails raised her eyes to the heavens and yearned to follow them.
A young woman walked in through the main door. She was dressed in sober outdoor clothes: a straight grey coat with a black velour hat and black gloves, a dark red silk scarf showing above her collar. Her face was pale and serious.
‘When happy little bluebirds fly …’
Cliff danced cheek to cheek with Evelyn. He turned slowly on the spot until he faced the door.
‘Hello, Cliff,’ the woman said in a loud, clear voice.
He stopped and let go of Evelyn.
‘Hello,’ the woman said again, as she strode towards him. ‘I knew I’d track you down in the end. It was only a matter of time.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dorothy sang on, oblivious. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back as she reached the final chorus. ‘Why, oh why, can’t I?’
The dancers parted to allow the woman in the grey coat through.
Cliff darted forward to intercept her. He seized her by the arm then whirled her round and marched her out of the door, leaving Evelyn stranded in the middle of the floor.
‘What’s going on?’ Dorothy opened her eyes, expecting applause. Instead, there was an uneasy silence. She caught sight of Cliff leaving with a woman she didn’t recognize. While the musicians turned the pages of their sheet mu
sic, she dashed up to Brenda, demanding answers.
Brenda shook her head. ‘Search me.’ A woman had arrived out of the blue. Cliff had got the shock of his life – that was as much as she knew.
Determined to find out more, Dorothy brushed against Evelyn as she ran across the room in hot pursuit.
It was almost time for the interval so Ernie smoothed over the awkward interruption by striking up the opening chords to the tune that would round off the first half. Bing Crosby’s ‘White Christmas’ tempted dancers back on to the floor, while Evelyn stood rooted to the spot.
Brenda took her hand and led her gently to the side of the room. ‘Sit down,’ she told her when Geoff brought her a chair.
‘No. I don’t need to sit.’ She took a deep breath and clenched her fists. ‘There’s been some sort of misunderstanding.’ Perhaps Cliff owed the woman money. There was an outstanding debt and somehow she’d discovered where he lived. By the look of things she was hell-bent on getting her cash. ‘Cliff’s landed himself in a tight spot over money and the silly idiot will have to get himself out of it,’ she told Brenda and Geoff in a strained, defiant voice.
Brenda pressed her lips together. Why now? Why, at nine o’clock on a Saturday evening a week before Christmas, would a woman come all the way out to Shawcross to collect a debt?
‘I think you should sit down.’ Geoff saw Evelyn sway slightly. He was concerned that she might faint. ‘Giles, fetch her a glass of water, quick as you can.’
His friend hurried off to the annexe, threading between couples and returning almost straight away with the drink.
‘I might have guessed that money problems were behind his bad moods,’ Evelyn went on. Tracked him down; that’s what the woman had said; as if Cliff was a fugitive. Only a matter of time until she caught up with him.
‘Are you sure?’ Brenda ventured. No, she thought; this has nothing to do with pounds, shillings and pence.
‘Definitely. Cliff is hopeless when it comes to money. All he cares about is keeping his car on the road and having enough left over for the odd night out.’
Less than a minute after Dorothy had run out into the darkness, she reappeared with a dazed expression. Her face was pale under the carefully applied make-up and she seemed breathless.
