An Army of Smiles

by Grace Thompson

  She didn’t know why she tried, it certainly wasn’t sexual attraction, specially now when Duggie was so much a part of her life. But there was something about him that intrigued her. ‘He seems so beaten down with unhappiness,’ she tried to explain to the others. ‘I can’t tell you why, but I want to help him. I don’t want to pry exactly,’

  ‘Oh yes you do,’ Kate laughed. ‘Stop pretending your attraction for him is innocent and pure. You like him, he attracts you, what’s wrong with that? You’re not serious about Duggie, so you’re fancy free. Dreams of Wesley are long forgotten, aren’t they?’

  ‘I suppose it’s sympathy I feel.’

  She had often talked to Kate and Rosie about Wesley, but had scarcely mentioned him recently. Thoughts of home didn’t seem relevant to her life any more, her father’s violence had ended a stage of her life and it would be pointless to drag it with her into the next. Now there was Duggie and an intriguing attraction for the taciturn Albert Pugh.

  Ethel was coming out of the canteen on her way to check the post room for Kate, who as usual was waiting for money to arrive and help her survive until pay day. She saw Albert walking across the field in the direction of one of the hangars, where Kate was apparently struggling with a trolley, taking the mid-morning snacks, her blonde hair shining like gold in the sun. She smiled to see that the trolley was immediately surrounded by willing helpers.

  She called across to Albert, who waved a sheaf of papers and walked on.

  This time Ethel refused to be brushed aside. Time was running out for their trap to be sprung. She ran after him, touched his arm and insisted he stopped to listen. He looked at her quizzically but stopped, folded the papers he was carrying and pushed them into a briefcase and stood waiting to hear what she had to tell him. Even though he had stopped, there was still a look of impatience about him, a desire to be off.

  ‘There’s been some pilfering,’ she began.

  ‘Stealing,’ he corrected firmly. ‘It’s stealing and calling it something else does not make it any better.’

  ‘All right, stealing. We know who it is and we’ve set him up so you can catch him.’

  ‘How kind of you to do my job for me,’ he said, sarcasm in his tone, disapproval on his face.

  ‘All right, so you don’t want to know. That’s fine by me. Just don’t ask for our help when you find out we’re telling the truth.’ She turned to go and it was his turn to touch an arm. He gripped her elbow firmly, walked with her and slowed her angry footsteps to a halt.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  ‘You should really lighten up a bit, Albert. We’re all on the same side, aren’t we? Or are you fighting this war with your own private army of one?’

  To her relief he smiled and led her slowly back to the canteen.

  Afraid of being overheard, she lowered her voice and began telling him about the intention to rob the stores. Then someone called and he moved away, telling her to put the complaint through the usual channels. ‘But Albert…’ she called after him. She was late for duty but this was important.

  Back in camp, Ethel explained their dilemma to Duggie.

  ‘I’ll have a quiet word with some of the lads,’ he said.

  That night, Kate put the sugar outside as she had promised Walter, and hid herself with Ethel, Rosie and a willing Duggie inside the canteen building.

  They grew colder as they waited in the now unheated hut. At half past midnight Ethel was beginning to think their plan would fail when the almost inaudible sound of feet walking through the longer grass around the edge of the field met her ears. She touched the shoulders of the others to alert them and tensed for action.

  It wasn’t Walter. Much to their disappointment, it was a young airman with one of the other canteen assistants and they had sought the shadows for a loving interlude. Afraid to step out and move them on, Duggie gave a slight cough. The shadowy figures stiffened, murmured softly, then moved away.

  ‘Thank Gawd for that,’ Duggie whispered. ‘Voyeur I am not. Prefer the real thing I do,’ he added, his fingers stroking Ethel’s cheek in the darkness.

  ‘Hush,’ Kate murmured.

  It was an hour later when Walter appeared, a mere shadow moving towards them, bending to search through the rubbish before picking up the box containing the sugar and moving off. Silently, cautiously, they followed, using the buildings for cover. He made his way to the perimeter fence, waited for the guard to pass, then dropped the box where it could be collected with comparative ease through a weakened stretch of wire.

  Whistles pierced the night’s silence, Walter froze, then looked around him in disbelief as four men appeared, their teeth visible in the darkness as they smiled in satisfaction. Other men ran up to the intended recipient, approaching the spot on the outside of the fence. Walter’s customer had arrived on a carrier bike which was in the hedge, covered by a piece of sacking.

  Walter at once began to bluff his way out of the situation.

  ‘It’s young Kate you have to blame for this, setting her up I was, she’s the one you need to question, I was only doing my duty!’

  The morning was taken up with interviews during which Kate was accused. The cold hard expressions on the faces of the Military Police terrified her. Knowing she had been guilty, however briefly, didn’t help, but she stuck to the story she and the others had rehearsed, not deviating by an iota, and eventually they let her go.

  The others supported her and explained that she had taken money from Walter in the past but had always paid it back. The most recent ten shilling note was in Duggie’s possession and his words more than any others convinced them that the girls were doing what they considered their duty.

  They were heroes for a few days when the news got out. Baba was so pleased he kissed Kate, then Ethel and then a flustered Rosie.

  They were called into the supervisor’s office a few days later, after being told that Walter had been sent to another station and given a more menial job. They half expected more praise but in this they were disappointed. In harsh words they were warned that never again should they deal with such a matter on their own. ‘What d’you think you have people like Albert Pugh for? It’s his job to deal with things like this and I want you to remember that. Any problems, you put them in the hands of your superiors, do you understand?’

  ‘Lucky we didn’t deal with our superior this time, sir, or Walter would have been very pleased, wouldn’t he, sir?’ said Ethel with a sickly smile.

  ‘I’ll ignore that this time, Miss Twomey, but please remember your position,’ the man growled.

  ‘And you remember that we depend on you to give the right people the right job,’ she retaliated. ‘Accused we were, treated like criminals, just like you’re doing now! And all because you gave a job of trust to a man not to be trusted. Sir.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Kate said in support. Rosie nodded vigorously, wide-eyed with conviction, unable to open her mouth, her jaws locked with nerves.

  The following day, at eleven a.m., as they had finished with the trolleys and were opening the canteen, Ethel, Rosie and Kate were told to be packed and ready to leave at six that evening. They were being transferred to another station.

  They dealt with lunch and spent the afternoon giving the place a thorough clean. They were saddened to go, but did not regret the complaint that had caused them to be moved on.

  Duggie was away from the station and Ethel left him a note, unable to tell him where to find her as they wouldn’t know themselves until they arrived. As they stood near the guard room with their small suitcases beside them, Baba came across the field. ‘Rumour is, there’s been a crash just outside the town,’ he told them. ‘Your replacements have been injured. I don’t think you’ll be going after all.’ He winked, gave the thumbs up sign and hurried on to disappear inside one of the hangars to talk to one of the fitters about repairs to his radio mike.

  Sure enough, after standing there for another hour, the solemn-faced Albert came to tell them to return
to their billet and resume duties. ‘I have to tell you that you’re still down for transfer,’ he told them. ‘You can’t get away with saying what you think. Your behaviour will remain on your records.’

  ‘Pity for us,’ Ethel snapped. ‘I don’t know how I’ll sleep, do you, girls?’

  ‘Ruined my life that has,’ Kate sighed prettily.

  Rosie just nodded, rapidly and repeatedly, to show her support.

  When they were unpacking their cases and hastily preparing to open up for the evening session, Kate said thoughtfully, ‘I think I might apply for an overseas placing, how do you two feel about that?’

  Thinking about Duggie but not admitting it, Ethel shook her head. ‘No, let’s stay and annoy this lot for a while longer. Perhaps later, if we get transferred to somewhere really unpleasant.’ She wondered what could be more unpleasant than being transferred away from Duggie.

  Chapter Five

  The ship steamed steadily through the night. Two days out and without a sign of enemy action. Heading away from North Africa they had expected to receive unwelcome attention before this. Wesley put the finishing touches to the men’s late-night food and stood back waiting for the first arrivals.

  In this small ship the food was prepared by a few men who cooked and delivered the plates of food to the seamen, the mess hands running up and down the alleyways with the hot meals. In a space smaller than the average understair cupboard, the Naafi provided snacks and hot drinks throughout the twenty-four hours to the men coming into the mess for brief relaxation.

  There was also the usual net bar where they could purchase small necessities. Keeping the men satisfied and making sure the stock was sufficient was a full-time job and all the staff worked longer than the hours for which they were paid. For all of them it was a question of pride to be at their counter providing for the men’s needs throughout the day and night, time-watching was something they never bothered to do. When in port they went shopping to find fresh food and whatever luxuries they could buy to add variety to what they offered in their canteen.

  At this time of the night most of those not on duty were in their bunks, fully aware that the peaceable voyage could not be expected to continue, that any moment the klaxon would sound the alarm and they would have to get to battle stations immediately.

  The murmur of several conversations reached Wesley, the other assistants chatting to the few customers drinking cocoa before going to their quarters. No one bothered to speak to him. Attempts to involve him in conversations, talk about their families and their hopes and dreams had failed and now most left him alone. In a fighting ship how could he tell them of his disgrace? Heading for home through a route that took them through dangerous waters, where bravery counted, a place where you had to be able to trust your colleagues, how could he admit to his cowardice? How could he be sure he wouldn’t let them down and run, as he had from Ethel’s father?

  As he began stacking away the last of the newly washed enamel dishes, he wondered where Ethel was. All his mother had been able to tell him was that she had been seen getting on the London train, but with so many stations in between, she could be anywhere. He just hoped she was safe and didn’t think too badly of him.

  The ship gave a sudden lurch. He reached out to stop the last of the plates falling and then hung on as the explosion made everything shudder and heave to starboard. Leaving the galley he ran along the juddering passageway, being thrown first one way then another as the ship floundered and tried to right herself. Up to the deck he ran, joined by others heading for their battle stations, a highly organized team doing what was expected of them, slotting into place with machine-like precision, dealing with the emergency in a well-practised way.

  Voices were calling, men running, dressing as they went, stopping to hop into boots, grabbing what they needed as they passed fire extinguishers and choppers and hurrying on, each one knowing where to go and what to do when they got there. Wesley knew they had been hit but there seemed no immediate prospect of them sinking or the order would have been given to abandon ship. He needed to know the site and extent of the damage and from that deduce where his services would be best used.

  The ship had slowed and, as the rest of the Naafi team arrived, he guessed from the voices heard shouting orders that the damage was in the after end. There was a terrifyingly loud whoosh, as a fire began.

  ‘That’s all we need,’ he muttered, aware that fire would make them visible for miles, a perfect target for roaming aircraft. To his mild surprise, he wasn’t afraid, his brain working out how best to help. The rest of his team had arrived and leaving some men to organize drinks and sandwiches, which would certainly be needed later, he made his way to where the ship’s crew was dealing with fires.

  The ship was slowly turning, one of the engines damaged, and below, men were making rapid calculations while others assessed the damage.

  The fire had taken hold. Wesley joined the fire-fighting team, following the instructions of the fire duty officer, and they worked through the night as the flames were slowly quenched only to revive again and be tackled again, and then again.

  When the fire was finally defeated the men were exhausted but their troubles weren’t over. Their position had been radioed to planes nearby and out of the slowly lightening sky three planes zoomed down on them, firing on the men still on deck. The guns on the starboard side were mostly useless but on the port side they were quickly trained on to the diving planes.

  There was a second torpedo which sped through the water and missed the bows by a few feet. Below decks, torpedoes were checked but the damage had rendered them useless. A depth charge was aimed on a point where it was judged the U-boat’s position to have been when the damage occurred. The ship was listing heavily to starboard and on the port side it was difficult to lower the sights sufficiently for precise targeting, but they fired anyway. The noise was deafening, it was impossible to see through the billowing smoke, and the smell of burning and the acrid fumes from the gunfire made the men choke and splutter. Through it all the men followed their training instructions and the firing went on as though they were unaware of the continuing attack on their ship.

  Above the chaotic row, a muffled roar was heard and those close enough to look in the direction of the fresh assault on their ears saw a bubbling cauldron in the sea close by, as air escaped from the stricken submarine. The weary men passed the news and a ragged cheer was heard. Scramble nets were lowered over the side in case any of the submariners managed to escape.

  With the fires under control, Wesley helped take the wounded below as men were manning the guns and a few were positioned to look for survivors in the darkness that was distorted by the dying flames. Filthy faces, weary limbs, the men stood momentarily in small groups and drank the tea supplied by Wesley’s men, and the work went on.

  Another torpedo raced towards the ship like a relentless fish but missed, rushing harmlessly past. There were other U-boats down there bent on revenge. The depth charge fired in an arc of death, as the men concentrated on the danger below, leaving it to others to watch for danger from above.

  It was when he came up on deck for the third time that Wesley heard, then saw the planes, three abreast screaming towards them, guns aimed at the deck where men from the damaged areas worked. He was deafened by the sound of the anti-aircraft gun on deck close to where he stood. The gun ceased firing and for a second he was relieved. Then realization came and he ran to where the gunner had fallen sideways, the sight of him leaving Wesley in no doubt that the man was dead.

  There were extra Naafi personnel on board on their way home. Many of them went to the first aid post to assist, others helped maintain the supply of ammunition to the gunners. All Naafi staff serving overseas were trained in the use of guns, but not the powerful anti-aircraft weapons used on the ship. Their knowledge and training was simply sufficient to enable them to stand beside the fighting men and take part in any action. Wesley looked at the huge monster on deck and in those few second
s thought it was beyond him. With everyone employed clearing the damage, dealing with the wounded or in the fight against the U- boat attack, he knew he had to try.

  Lifting the young boy from the metal seat, lying him as respectfully as he could against the deck rail, he took his place. He was not a complete stranger to the workings of the gun, they had spent some time with most weapons and, quickly understanding the method, after a few false starts he began to fire towards the wave of enemy aircraft some distance away, heading towards them, increasing speed. Beside him a man stood ready to help with the ammunition.

  The planes circled once and it was those precious moments that gave Wesley time to prepare. Hatred was in his heart. Seeing the boy no older than himself lying there brought such cold determination to him he wanted to kill in retaliation. Once he had a plane in his sights he fired, followed it and fired again, long before there was a feasible chance of hitting it.

  When the plane was close enough he hit it and it changed direction, the engine spluttered and died. He watched as it glided gently down at an oblique angle and went into the water with hardly a splash.

  There was no thought in his head for the young pilot. There was only a machine heading for the ship with deadly intent, no image of flesh and blood, or a youngster similar to the one he had just placed on the heaving deck. Moving the heavy gun around, he prepared to deal with the next.

  Men who weren’t involved with fighting or with the wounded were busy clearing the debris from the decks preparatory to getting the ship back to order. Others searched the seas for survivors of the U-boat. In all the melee, they miraculously heard a call and threw scramble nets over the side, leaning over ready to help the seaman aboard.

  He was obviously injured and couldn’t scramble up unaided. One of the Naafi staff went over the side with a seaman and together they helped the man aboard. To their surprise he spoke English. ‘Blimey mates, I ain’t ’alf glad ta see yer. Me arm’s broke and I couldn’t climb that net for all the tea in China.’