As the slightly damaged ship limped slowly on, he helped with the aftermath, throwing some of the tangled metal over the side or dragging it, still hot and difficult to handle, into piles on deck to be disposed of when they reached land.
It wasn’t for several more hours that he was able to sit and relax and it was then that he learned that his friend, Lionel Clifford, had been killed.
At once the routine began, with Clifford’s personal belongings gathered together to be returned to his family together with any money he had left. There was a small box decorated with burning, that he had made, presumably to take home to his wife. Inside was a diamond ring. The rest of the things which he had used on board, tools that had been supplied and uniform, were usually distributed between the rest of the man’s watch, and it was as they began that sad task that they learned that he had been their thief.
A cigarette lighter, a couple of watches, a lot of money in small coinage, were found in his locker, hidden under some old clothes and a few magazines. The men claimed back what was theirs and nothing more was said. No point accusing him now, better it was forgotten, and they grieved for the loss of a shipmate and friend.
Wesley looked at the sad collection of the man’s possessions and turned away without retrieving the decorated box. The men had been mistaken about it being made by Lionel Clifford for his wife. He had bought it in the hope of one day giving it to Ethel, together with their engagement ring which he had kept inside it. The ring and the box would be better sent to the widow. He doubted whether he would ever have the need of them.
Chapter Nine
So we are officially ATS EFI now,’ Rosie sighed contentedly, pulling down the jacket and tightening the cloth belt. ‘We’re in the army now,’ she sang in her soft sweet voice.
‘Yes, but I still wonder why we had to do all that PT and misery, and marching in heavy boots and suffering blisters and stiff muscles, just to serve char and a wad!’ Kate retorted, rubbing her still-painful toes. ‘If I’d wanted to march I’d have joined the army sooner. A peaceful war with plenty of fun, enjoying the freedom from the suffocation of Mum and Dad, that’s all I wanted.’
‘Do you regret joining?’ Ethel asked, as she packed the last of Rosie’s Nan’s parcel away in their locker.
Kate looked up, her pretty face showing none of the exhaustion of the past weeks, her blonde hair tied back in a snood, her eyes shining with health and contentment. ‘Not a single minute. And you?’
Ethel allowed a frown to cross her face as she replied, ‘I don’t regret a moment of the time I’ve been with you two, but I wish I hadn’t had to run away from my family like I did. I miss them. Miss belonging to a family.’
‘We’re your family now, Ethel, and we’ll never let you down.’ Ethel smiled at them both, such dear, loyal friends, she was very fortunate to have found them and fortunate too that they had, beyond all expectations, managed to stay together.
Suddenly Rosie sat down, looking at them in surprise. ‘I’ve just realized something,’ she said. ‘Do you know, it’s Christmas!’
Kate wrote Happy Christmas on the mirror with a lipstick and Ethel added an unlikely-looking robin. ‘Happy Christmas, everybody,’ Kate shouted. Turning to her friends, she added, ‘Here’s hoping we’ll spend many other Christmases together.’
‘No doubt about it, we will. Now, where’s Rosie’s Nan’s parcel?’ Ethel said with mock impatience. ‘I want my Christmas cake.’
Not having a family to write to and hear from still hurt, particularly when post arrived and Ethel had to sit and watch while others read their letters and opened small parcels with their touch of home. If only Glenys were alive. Then she could have stayed at home, coped with their father, and she would be celebrating the day with her family. She felt sadness and loneliness filling her heart and forced them away, stopped the thoughts, shaking away the regrets by reminding herself that Dai Twomey was not her father, he was her grandfather. For the first time, another implication of her situation came to her.
‘Hey, I’ve just realized that my name isn’t really Twomey at all! I wonder who I am?’
‘Ethel Question Mark, spinster of this parish,’ Rosie announced.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll be changing your name soon anyway, you only have to decide whether it will be Mrs Albert Pugh or Mrs Baba Morgan,’ Kate said, unaware of the sudden disappointment that crossed Rosie’s face and darkened her bright blue eyes.
‘Neither probably,’ Ethel told her. ‘We’ll lose touch anyway before this lot is over.’
The letters from both men had dried to a trickle and it was weeks since she had heard from either of them. Rosie and Kate tried to convince her that they were forbidden mail during their stay at the training camp but Rosie’s Nan’s parcels had arrived without delay and letters from some of the other young men she and Kate had met and flirted with. Only Ethel missed out when the post came around.
She began to be more and more convinced that her father had been right to suspect her of ‘going to the bad’, as he had put it. She had given in to Duggie and had wanted, oh so badly, to give in to Baba Morgan. The words repeated as a warning came into her head. ‘Men are only after one thing’; ‘men don’t respect women who are too easy’. Loving was forbidden if you wanted to be an acceptable wife, loving was wrong. Men needed love, women had to refuse them. It had once sounded so easy. Why hadn’t anyone warned her that she would want it too? And want it so desperately?
She often dreamed in those half-waking moments before rising, that she would open her eyes and see Baba standing there, or Albert, his severe expression banished by love, smiling at her, wanting her, and her body would begin to respond to the vision. The loneliness that followed was almost too much to bear.
Sometimes she dreamed of Wesley, but Wesley was looking at her in a friendly way, guileless, without an urgent need for her. No desire on his young face. In her mind Wesley Daniels was still that boy who had planned to marry her, a comfortable friendship without the sensations of loving she had since learned. He was a part of her childhood, a pleasant memory of when they were too young to feel the passion which Duggie had awakened in her. Wesley was a vague figure from that other life when the world was small, bounded by how far she could see, or the distance she could walk in a day. A time of innocence when life was so wonderfully simple.
Once the training was done, they handed in their ATS EFI uniforms, which would be stored until they were posted abroad. Until then they would return to normal duties.
Before they were posted, the three girls were given leave and, as usual, Ethel tried to pretend she didn’t want to go home with either of them. She mustn’t expect them to take pity on her every time and besides, this might be their last leave for a long while and they needed to spend the time with their families and friends without an extra ‘hanger on’.
‘I’m going to spend the time in London,’ she told them enthusiastically. ‘I’ve heard that there are some really good dance halls and there’s sure to be others there on their own.’
‘Oh no you’re not!’ Rosie and Kate chorused.
‘It’s all decided,’ Rosie went on. ‘We’re having a last fling and we can’t do that without you being there.’
‘Nonsense! I’ll enjoy exploring and I’ll be able to sort out all the best places for when we celebrate our last few days.’
No matter how the others pleaded, Ethel was adamant.
‘Come to think of it,’ Kate said, putting in her last curler before getting into bed, ‘I’d rather be going with you. Imagine, all those beautiful Americans and Canadians there and me not being able to search for my gorgeous rich husband!’
They eventually decided that both Rosie and Kate would tell a small lie and stay only half of their leave at home before joining Ethel in London.
At the railway station they parted after having a snack at the Naafi counter where men and women from all the branches of the services stopped as they alighted from trains or waited to board them.
<
br /> Ethel planned to go first to the RAF station where she had last seen Albert and try and get news of him. As she stood up and brushed crumbs from her skirt, gathered her luggage and walked away from the counter with a friendly wave, Wesley arrived at the far end, exhausted after a long and danger-filled journey, and asked for tea and a sandwich.
As always when there were Naafi people around he asked whether anyone had seen Ethel and showed her photograph. The girl at the counter smiled and twisted herself around to view it. She frowned. ‘It’s a bit crumpled, ain’t it? But she does seem familiar. I can’t remember whether I saw her today though. We see so many people and for such a short time that it’s all a bit of a blur.’ She laughed again as she topped up his tea, ‘Fact is, I don’t think I’d recognize me own Mum if she came in and ordered. When it’s busy I only see the hand and the money. My ears take in the rest.’
‘Thanks anyway. But do you think you might have seen her recently?’
The girl paused to take another order, smiling at a sailor who ordered char and a wad, handing him the cake and the steaming cup of tea before turning back to Wesley. She shrugged. ‘What difference would it make if I had, eh? This is a place where half the world passes through on their way to God only knows where.’
She handed her next customer his requested doughnut and tea and paused, staring after the tall, thin figure of Wesley. Was that picture of one of the girls from the Naafi she had spoken to, she wondered? No, that would be too much of a coincidence. ‘Now, dearies, who’s next?’ she asked cheerily.
* * *
Rosie’s Nan told all her friends about her brave granddaughter and received many gifts of chocolates and sweets to add to her regular parcels, one of which had included the Christmas cake. She feared for her, aware that the Naafi girls weren’t immune to injuries and death. They were never far from the fighting and many had died already. In her rare moods of melancholy she knew that if Rosie died she would regret not showing her the letters.
She opened the drawer and began to count them. Dozens and dozens, all opened and read before being added to the rest in chronological order. There were almost two hundred. She wondered whether her decision to keep them from Rosie had been the right one. She started to write to Rosie, tell her about the letters, but tore it up. She couldn’t do it after all this time. How could she confess to her cruelty? It was too late and the lie would have to remain hidden in her drawer.
* * *
The girls’ last few days in London were enjoyable, with dance halls filled with the wildly exciting music, and dancing as they had never seen dancing before. Rosie hadn’t outgrown her shyness completely but the atmosphere of live for today as there might not be a tomorrow, plus the comforting realization that no one would know her, gave her a freedom to enjoy that she hadn’t ever imagined knowing.
‘It’s like a clown wearing make-up with a painted-on smile and crying behind it, only in reverse,’ she explained
‘Pagliacci,’ Ethel said.
‘What are you two talking about?’ Kate laughed. ‘We’re here to have fun not talk rubbish!’
Vincent, a dashingly handsome, dark-haired American with undoubted Italian ancestry, danced with Kate three times on their first night and most of the evening that followed. Ethel and Rosie wanted to go somewhere different every night but Kate was smitten and they couldn’t allow her to go out alone in the strange city.
On their last day Kate and Vincent exchanged addresses and promised to stay in touch. On their last night Rosie and Ethel sat up and in whispers shared Kate’s joy as she told them how wonderful Vincent was. They sat and listened, their eyes occasionally dropping into sleep and forcing themselves awake with an alarming jerk, to listen some more. At nine o’clock the following morning they gathered their belongings and reported to the place where they would be told their destination.
They were given a room which they shared with three other girls in what had once been a suite of offices. Told not to unpack as they would be leaving for Dover early the following morning, they ate their supper and lay on their beds trying to sleep. Excitement and apprehension prevented them, those emotions plus the sound of Kate’s scribbling as she wrote a long loving letter to Vincent, which the following morning was immediately confiscated.
They travelled to Dover by train after being warned about careless talk.
‘Spies are everywhere,’ the officer reminded them. ‘A careless word and the ship you’re on could be torpedoed, so, don’t forget—’
‘Be like Dad, keep Mum!’ the girls quoted, from the posters warning against careless talk that were to be seen on every street corner.
‘It isn’t a joke, even if the poster is,’ was the stern response.
They went on board the camouflaged ship with a number of previously unseen ATS EFI, and the male equivalent the RASC EFI, as well as members of other services. The accommodation seemed generous but they soon learned that they were to pick up other personnel en route.
The recreation area, where the Naafi had a small store from which they could buy what they needed, had very little in the way of amusements and as they were laying off about half a mile from the port for seven days they soon began to make their own entertainment. Ethel organized darts matches, and dominoes and draughts came into their own. One man was an expert chess player and he taught a few of the more serious passengers to play.
Ethel read some of the books on board, Kate dreamed about Vincent and bemoaned her luck at finding him too late, Rosie found her way to the galley, learning new recipes and ideas from the seamen who provided their three meals each day, and helping out in the Naafi bar between times.
The throbbing of the powerful engines was the first intimation of their departure and they went on deck and stared across at the receding coast in the cold gloom of the winter evening, with smiles on their faces and fear in their hearts. Now they were really going to war. They each secretly wondered whether they would be up to it.
Apart from going into port and taking on several hundred soldiers who had been stranded after leave and were being taken back to join their unit, the journey was mercifully uneventful. The men recently arrived on board were kept separate from them, using their own canteen and not being allowed to mix. Ethel and the others heard them but their presence was limited to sounds only, the low murmurings of invisible men who were predestinate ghosts, many of whom would soon be dead, Ethel thought with a shiver.
Under cover of darkness, they dropped anchor and the men disembarked, leaving the ship strangely quiet. Wesley went with the first landing party and with five assistants began to prepare food for the men before they found the transport waiting for them and headed for the front line.
Clearing up after the meal they had provided, packing the van in which they would travel from then on, Wesley and his small team got into the vehicle, which was loaded with precious supplies, and set off in pursuit.
Below decks, Ethel was thinking about Albert and Baba, unaware that Wesley, about whom she thought so rarely, had been within yards of her for several days.
* * *
Dai Twomey had never before been short of money. His parents had owned several houses and, his father being a builder, they sold and bought making a reasonable profit each time. When they died, he and Molly had purchased the smallholding and instead of building work, which he had never enjoyed, he grew crops to sell door-to-door on a cart or small van and worked as a lorry driver to cover the extra money they needed.
His one extravagance besides the drinking which occupied most evenings was his motorbike. A powerful Vincent, it was one that few men in his situation could afford to own and it was his pride and joy. Since petrol had been added to the list of rationed goods, fuel for the bike had become a problem.
He often solved this by syphoning petrol from a car during the hours of darkness, placing one end of a tube in the tank of the car, sucking until he tasted the petrol then putting the other end of the tube into his own tank and listening to the sa
tisfying gurgle as it filled.
Since he had given up driving lorries, their lack of money was an increasing worry. Their savings had dwindled to almost nothing, they would soon be living on a daily basis, spending each day money received from what they had managed to sell. Molly worked on their land, struggling to keep up with the work that Dai was neglecting, with occasional help from their son Sid. But unless Dai stopped driving around the country searching for Ethel, they would soon be unable to meet their bills.
Dai knew all this but he couldn’t stop. He had to find Ethel and make sure she didn’t give in to a man. Having a child before a wedding ring was increasingly common as the war dragged on. For her it would be far, far worse.
He kept away from camps after twice being arrested. The fear of spies was growing and he knew that he faced imprisonment without the need for evidence if he were caught near one again, specially if he was struggling with his daughter – granddaughter, he amended with a burst of rage.
Instead, he concentrated on the public houses and dance halls in the towns close to army camps and airforce stations. With controlled and polite behaviour he would engage some of the servicemen in conversation, buy drinks and ask whether they had met his daughter, Ethel. On most occasions the men would clam up, afraid of discussing anything to do with their position in case it helped the enemy. Only once in a while would he find a young man who wanted to talk, and he would show photographs of his ‘daughter’ and describe how much he missed her, but he had no luck in finding her. She seemed to have vanished from the earth.
‘There are thousands of places where she could work,’ one RAF man told him. ‘Wherever you find the serviceman you’ll find the Naafi. She could even be abroad.’
At that point Dai almost gave up. He went outside and stood looking up at the sliver of moon that seemed to be wrapped in white gauze against a navy blue sky, and wondered whether he would ever see her again. Better that he didn’t. He could wash his hands of her, forget she ever existed. He didn’t want to know how she ended up. He had tried to stop her and had failed.
An Army of Smiles Page 19
