At the end of January 1941, Ethel and Duggie were in the canteen after the others had gone. She spoke to Duggie about Wesley. ‘I sometimes feel closer to him,’ she told him. ‘Like now, I imagine him sitting somewhere unfamiliar and thinking about me.’
Duggie smiled and told her she could be right. ‘Thoughts travel without the use of trains and buses,’ he smiled. ‘Specially when there’s strong affection holding people together. Affection or love,’ he added, leaning over and kissing her, staying close, staring into her eyes. ‘I take thoughts of you with me every time I take off, Ethel. I imagine you sitting beside me, my good luck charm, keeping me safe.’ His voice was low, his lips so close and so tempting. Just inches between them. She leaned towards him and they kissed, this time a slow loving kiss, reminding her of her need to belong somewhere, to someone, a need to drive away the loneliness, at least for a while.
They were alone in the canteen. Outside it was cold with a few small, hard flakes of snow falling on to the frost-bound earth. There was only one light, a small lamp over the part of the bar that, after closing, Ethel used as a desk. Duggie moved closer and held her and she needed the warmth of another human being so badly she didn’t resist as his kisses grew more urgent. She felt herself succumbing to the desire that filled her body and her mind, she wanted so much to belong, to be loved. Then a vision of her father startled her and she pulled away. This was what he had warned her about.
‘It’ll be all right, nothing will happen,’ Duggie urged, kissing her, touching her secret places. ‘I know what to do, you’ll be safe with me. Trust me.’
Then she was overwhelmed with love for him, but feelings she had never imagined slowly subsided, joy and guilt battling within her. This was what her father had meant when he was convinced she would ‘go bad’. Had he recognized something in her that told him she would be weak? She knew that next time it would be harder to refuse.
She stayed outside for another hour before she dared to go back to join Kate and Rosie in case, like her father, they would know how weak she was. Surely it would show in her eyes? She couldn’t possibly look the same after such a wonderful awakening.
‘Where’s she been?’ Kate whispered as Ethel greeted them very hurriedly before scuttling into the bathroom. ‘Looks interesting.’
‘Only cashing up,’ the innocent Rosie frowned.
Kate shook her head. ‘From the look on her face it was something far more than that. I wonder if she’ll tell us?’
Ethel said nothing, just hid herself behind a book until the lights went out. When she slept she dreamed not of Wesley, whose image was fading from her mind, but of Duggie. Sweet dreams without a thought of an angry face, or a moment of guilt.
* * *
Wesley Daniels was fighting his own war, far from home and with only a lone photograph of Ethel for consolation. He heaved himself out of his hammock, folded it neatly away and stood on the deck, feeling through his feet the vibrations of the engines below him as they idled in preparation for departure. It was three a.m. on that cold miserable January morning and as he reached the small room where food and drinks were prepared for the ship’s company he saw that once again he was the first of the unpopular four o’clock shift to arrive.
There was only a slight uneasiness in his stomach as the ship slipped her moorings and moved slowly out of the harbour. Once outside the protecting arms of the harbour walls a stiff breeze hit her and she shook slightly. Wesley took the stance that would hold him steady and began to prepare tea and food for the watch who would leave their positions at four a.m.
As always he worked in silence, ignoring the chatter of the other men with their stories about girls they had met and pretended to love while on shore leave. His love was Ethel Twomey and he had let her down. He had walked away and left her to her father’s anger, beaten and bruised by the man who had lashed out at his daughter and wife, and who had punched and kicked him until he was hardly conscious when he had tried to intervene. He should have stayed, made Ethel and her mother come away from the man, but to his eternal shame and humiliation, he had made his escape and left them. He had called the police, but hadn’t gone back. He told himself the reason had been fear of worse reprisals on Ethel and her mother. But, if he were honest, hadn’t he really been afraid for himself?
Dai Twomey was notorious and had regular appearances in court for causing an affray and for fighting. He had served two prison sentences, one for grievous bodily harm which had run close to being attempted murder. He was a gigantic and dangerous bully and Wesley was no match for him at eighteen years old and weighing little more than nine stone. How could he have stopped him? He only knew that he would never forgive himself for not trying.
The ship steamed through the darkness of the early morning, making its way to the convoy with which it would travel for the next few days. Wesley tried not to think of the U-boats waiting for them below, and the German airforce above, both determined to send every British ship to the bottom of the sea. He was a coward and his strongest fear was failing the other members of the ship’s company when they met trouble, as they certainly would. Sooner rather than later.
When the men had eaten their fill and settled in the mess room for an hour of relaxation before sleep, Wesley told the other men on duty with him that they could go for a smoke. Alone with his melancholy thoughts he began the cleaning and restacking that was more important on a ship than on a shore base. A storm or an attack could mean utensils flying about and causing unnecessary injuries if they weren’t firmly fixed in their places. He worked fast but efficiently, taking no short cuts, doing as thorough a job as was possible, in fact far more than was necessary, treating himself harshly, punishing himself for his failures. Always these days he played two roles, accuser and accused, victim and villain.
* * *
George Morgan who had landed so unceremoniously on Rosie in the trench, was a Welshman. Small, dark, fast moving and efficient. His brown hair was always falling across his deep brown eyes, half disguising their merriment. Always cheerful, he soon became popular with the men and the Naafi girls as he was so full of energy and always willing to help. He was not tall, at five foot five, and, looking about four years younger than his nineteen years, he quickly earned the name of ‘Baba’ Morgan, reduced to Baba. He didn’t mind, believing that openly used nicknames were given only to the most popular people.
As soon as things had calmed down after the raid, he was deeply apologetic for his dangerous arrival, and explained that he’d thought the slit trench was empty. To make up for his gaffe, he helped them with some of their heavy work during his free time. From the moment they untangled themselves and introductions were made, Kate and Rosie could see he was attracted to Ethel.
Kate could also see that shy little Rosie had been bowled over by him. She clearly thought him the most wonderful person she had ever met. It was painful for the confident Kate to see the way Rosie blushed, stuttered and, whenever possible, avoided Baba when he came into the canteen.
She knew Rosie wanted to talk to him very much, but her shyness prevented her from trying. She understood Rosie’s conviction that she would look and feel unworldly and innocent. Innocent is not how a young woman wishes to appear to a man like Baba. Better to do as she, Kate, did, and convey a confidence that was not, in fact, backed up by experience, something the guileless Rosie could never do.
Concert parties came to the camp sometimes to entertain them. Many, including well-known entertainers, gave their time to help entertain the forces. The group would arrive with their van or a lorry which contained all they needed to put on a show. Lights, curtains and costumes plus a few pieces of scenery which would be painted and repainted to suit whatever they planned to perform.
On other occasions an impromptu concert was presented, with men and women on the station doing whatever they could to add variety to the evening. Unrehearsed, depending on one or two people able to play the piano or, failing that, accompany the acts with a mouth organ – u
sually the only other instrument available – they sang the popular songs of the day. Some even ventured into comedy or magic acts, laughter at their failures kindly meant, amicably received, and adding to the fun.
Hearing Kate and Ethel singing one evening as they finished cleaning the canteen and putting everything ready for the following day, Duggie tried to persuade Kate to take part.
The day of the camp concert arrived and Kate, flattered by Duggie’s praise, agreed, persuading Ethel to sing with her.
‘And Rosie,’ Ethel insisted firmly.
Rosie refused, promising to scrub floors for ever if they let her off, but with their promise to sing loud enough for her as well, and not expect her to make a sound, they persuaded her to go with them. What had finally convinced her to give it a try was the promise of make-up that would disguise her completely.
‘I’ll only be there to make up the number, mind, you promise me?’ she said nervously.
They hid behind the temporary stage knocked up by the camp’s chippies. A few drapes were found, left behind by earlier concert parties. If they were daunted by the high standard of some of the earlier acts, they said nothing, each gathering strength from the apparent sang-froid of the rest.
Some of the performers had been semi-professionals before the war had interrupted their careers, and even those who hadn’t been on a stage before volunteering for the concert party included many who, now they had tried it, were considering making it a career once the war finally ended. Ethel, Kate and Rosie were nothing more than impertinent amateurs.
Hands crossed behind their backs, wearing a large quantity of Kate’s treasured make-up, the three friends had dressed themselves like Tyrolean dolls. Hiding behind the disguise helped them all but particularly Rosie, who surprised them by singing a chorus with her unexpectedly sweet voice, rather than miming. Sadly her voice was not powerful enough to reach even the front row.
Most of the audience failed to recognize them at first, with eyelashes drawn halfway up their foreheads and down their cheeks on faces dotted with the most unlikely-looking freckles. There were precise circles of rouge on their cheeks and lips drawn in bright red lipstick to almost cover them from chin to nose.
When they left the makeshift stage they dashed back to their hut to remove their make-up before returning to find Baba and Duggie and to modestly accept their praise. Baba kissed them all, which made Rosie run out into the cold night to cool her flaming cheeks.
Rosie was so excited by her achievement and Baba’s kiss, she couldn’t sleep. She opened her nan’s latest food parcel and they had a midnight feast as in all the best schoolgirl stories they remembered reading. Understanding how much the evening had meant to her, Ethel and Kate talked until exhaustion finally silenced her.
‘By the time this damned war ends, our Rosie will be a different person. I wonder what her family will think of her then?’ Ethel whispered.
‘What family?’ Kate replied. ‘There’s only a grandmother. Her father is dead, remember, and her mother left when her new boyfriend told her to choose between Rosie and him.’
‘Poor lonely little kid.’
‘Not any more she isn’t. She’s got us.’
‘I hope we can stay together if we move from here,’ Kate sighed.
‘So do I, but it might not be possible. Nothing stays the same for long. Don’t you know there’s a war on?’ she joked.
‘I do think they could give us a posting together if they tried. That won’t help Hitler, will it, you and Rosie and me staying together?’
‘Perhaps we could flatter the stupid Walter and persuade him to help?’ Ethel murmured sleepily.
‘What’s it worth?’ Kate chuckled.
‘Not a thing! He’d get his reward in heaven.’
‘Fool that he is, it might work. Will you do the persuading or shall I?’
There was no reply and Kate smiled and settled to sleep for the few hours left before reveille.
As punishment, the men were sometimes sent to help the girls with some of the heavy cleaning. Washing walls and cleaning windows were unpleasant tasks in the cold of the winter. So was giving the cold fire ovens a thorough cleaning before lighting them. The men agreed that ‘jankers’ was not so bad when Ethel, Kate and Rosie were there. They were generous and the men on punishment duties always managed to hide from Walter the fact that they were given food and extra cups of tea as well as the opportunity for a quick fag.
Baba Morgan was one of the ground staff involved with the servicing and maintenance of the vehicles used around the airfield. Whenever possible, he was the first to arrive in the morning to help whichever of the girls was responsible for opening up and lighting the fire. When it was Rosie’s turn, she rose early and already had the kettle humming ready to make him a cup of tea. He came in, humming or whistling, wearing a smile that warmed her for the rest of the day. He checked on the supply of sticks, cut any that were needed into the correct size and stacked them to dry beside the cooker. Between Duggie, Baba and the rest, the coal bins were constantly refilled and the water carried from tap to heater and tap to tea-urn.
For Baba the best mornings were when Ethel arrived first.
‘How did we manage without you, Baba?’ Ethel sighed one morning as he handed her a bar of chocolate and her first cup of tea.
‘If you want to thank me,’ he grinned, ‘how about the dance on Saturday, my treat if you’ll come? I’m a good dancer, small but neat, that’s Baba Morgan!’
‘I don’t know. I think Kate and I are going into town. It’s our weekend off.’
‘And you aren’t going home?’
‘I don’t want to, there’s nothing there for me, and Kate isn’t going because she can’t afford the fare. She doesn’t want to keep asking her mam and dad for money. Ever so generous they are, but they’ve only got a small grocer’s shop and they aren’t wealthy, specially now with food rationing limiting what they can sell.’
‘What about Rosie, isn’t she going with you?’
Ethel shook her head.
‘You aren’t leaving her here on her own, are you? Can’t have that.’
‘Why don’t you ask her to the dance?’ Ethel suggested with fingers crossed. She’d seen the look in Rosie’s eyes when Baba Morgan appeared. ‘She might like to go with you,’ she said trying to sound offhand.
‘I don’t think she’d enjoy dancing, she strikes me as a quiet type.’
‘Right. Yes. You couldn’t imagine her singing on stage, could you,’ she said pointedly. ‘There’s more to our Rosie than people think!’
‘I couldn’t believe you three singing and dancing and all dressed up. How did Duggie persuade you?’
‘He asked us nicely, that’s all. Now, about Saturday. Kate and I want to go into town together and we’d appreciate it if you’d take her off our hands,’ Ethel lied.
‘Why? You two got a heavy date then?’
‘No, just the pictures, but it’s one Rosie doesn’t want to see.’
Walter overheard their discussion and offered to drive Kate and Ethel into town.
‘I have to go in to pick up some stores,’ he explained.
Forgetting any idea of flattering him into helping with any future posting, Ethel told him with an exaggerated smile that they’d rather walk in bare feet.
Rosie was hesitant about accepting when Kate told her of the possible invitation from Baba. She’d make a fool of herself, say all the wrong things, forget the dance steps and make him run a mile every time he saw her from then on. ‘I don’t fancy it,’ she said. ‘I planned a quiet evening listening to the wireless.’
‘Rot!’ Ethel said. ‘You’re going and that’s that! Anyone who can stand on a stage dressed daft and sing to this lot can’t be afraid of a thing! Kate and I won’t leave for town until we see you meeting Baba all dressed up and ready to knock him senseless with lust.’
Reddening profusely, Rosie laughed. ‘Now you’ve made me feel even worse,’ she said. ‘I won’t be able to look h
im in the face!’
Thinking of it as a favour to Ethel, Baba did invite Rosie and, walking as though floating on a cloud in a romantic dream, she told the others about the invitation. At once Kate took out her cache of make-up and began discussing the best colours for Rosie to wear. Ignoring Rosie’s protests, she and Ethel set her hair and made up her face, softly, in pale colours that added to her charming look of innocence.
As Baba and Rosie were passing through the guard room on their way to the dance, they heard a burly, aggressive-sounding man asking about Ethel Twomey. Baba, ever anxious to help, called across and asked, ‘Did I hear you say you were looking for Ethel Twomey?’
‘No, don’t tell him,’ urged Rosie, pulling on his arm in panic. ‘Please, Baba!’
Quickly reacting to her alarm, he added, ‘Ethel Tovey, did you say? Tall, leggy, Scottish girl, is she, with blonde hair and a lisp? Sings well? Would that be her?’
The man lumbered across and thrust a photograph towards him. It was Ethel, there was no doubt about it. ‘No, sorry. That’s nothing like the Ethel Tovey we got here,’ he said, handing the photograph back. ‘Nothing like her, is it, Rosie?’
Without a thank you, the man walked angrily away to where a motorbike stood on the roadside. Rosie stood beside Baba, her hand still on his arm as the motorbike roared away. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Wrong description and wrong name. That was quite a performance.’
‘What’s the trouble? A family row, is it?’ Baba asked. ‘God ’elp, don’t tell me that ferocious-looking animal is her father.’
‘Well, yes, I think he is, but I can’t explain. You’ll have to ask Ethel.’
‘I won’t bother to ask. If she wants to tell me she will,’ he replied without curiosity. ‘Now are we going to the dance or shall we have a dance of our own here on the field?’ He took her in his arms and they did a crazy waltz in time to his singing as they waited with others for the bus.
An Army of Smiles Page 8
