Soldier Girl

by Annie Murray

  ‘That hut to your left is where you will find the latrines. You first six – quick march – you have one minute each!’

  Molly found herself marching full speed, with Lena, Cath, Honor, Ruth and another quiet girl, to the latrines. Honor, who was detailed to go into the primitive toilet next to hers, made a gagging sound of horror. Molly thought it didn’t look too bad compared with some in the yards where she’d lived, and she was used to people banging impatiently on the door demanding that she come out. Even so, one minute was a bit steep. She did her business as fast as she could and pulled the door open.

  ‘Ah – at least someone can obey orders!’ Corporal Morrison barked. Molly blushed, surprisingly gratified at having done something right for once in her life. Other doors were yanked open by the nervous, eager-to-please ATS recruits – all except one, next to the toilet where Molly had been.

  ‘Right – come along!’ The corporal barged her way into the cubicle. ‘Out you come – you’ve gone over the minute.’

  From inside they heard the girl’s high voice protesting miserably, ‘But I can’t go any faster! I’m not feeling well. I’ve got my . . .’ Her voice lowered to an embarrassed murmur. If she was hoping for any fellow feeling from Corporal Morrison, it was not forthcoming.

  ‘I said one minute, not three! Get yourself out there! You’re in the army now, not your boudoir!’

  Molly felt sorry for her, but also scornful. She was going to have to harden up, that one was.

  ‘Blimey,’ Lena tutted lugubriously. Molly wasn’t sure if she was expressing sympathy or scorn for Honor.

  They waited for what seemed another agonizingly long minute and at last Honor left the latrine, shoulders hunched, her face red with mortification. She was obviously very close to tears.

  ‘I haven’t washed my hands,’ she wailed.

  ‘This is latrine parade, not ablutions parade! When it’s ablutions parade, I’ll tell you! Is that clear? Now – left wheel, quick march!’

  The first stop was for bedding – three ‘biscuits’, or straw sections, of mattress. They were ordered to carry these to their beds and return for the rest of the bedding allocation: three blankets, two pillows, two sheets, two pillowslips.

  Next, it was clothing. Some of the girls had lapsed into silence out of pure exhaustion at the newness of it all. Others were full of ribald comments, often to cover their awkwardness. When they were issued with thick sanitary towels and a belt, Molly and Lena stared at them in embarrassed confusion, not liking to admit they’d never seen any before. Old, washed-out rags were all Molly had ever known. They both got the giggles.

  ‘I’ve always wanted summat big between my legs,’ Molly remarked loudly, which made some of the others tut at them.

  Then, in the clothing store, to stash into their kitbag they were issued with every bit of clothing they could have imagined and more, down to bras and suspender belts, gloves and overalls, and as well as everyday army clothing, there were gym shoes and a hairbrush, cutlery and a mending kit called a housewife, or ‘hussif’.

  ‘Blimey – how big do they think I am?’ Lena held up a dreadnought of a brassiere against her bony little chest. She and Molly laughed raucously, trying the suspender belts against themselves and holding up the massive pairs of khaki underpants.

  ‘God, you’ll both be irresistible in those,’ Cath said.

  ‘They’ll take some getting off!’ Molly cackled loudly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ruth and the other dark-haired girl staring at her in horror. Oh, so disapproving! She waved the underpants in their direction. ‘Don’t worry, ladies – no one’ll get at you in these!’

  Lena and Cath laughed, but once again Ruth and the other girl turned away, disgusted.

  ‘Ooh, look at them,’ Lena whispered. ‘Poker-faced pair they are, ain’t they?’

  The group of girls was already breaking up into factions, and the more Molly, Lena and a couple of allies – Cath and another two girls called Doris and Mary – poked fun and came out with increasingly ribald remarks, the more frosty their reception became from the rest of the girls in their hut. The sense of their disapproval and superiority made Molly feel all the more like being loud and showing them she didn’t care what they thought.

  When at last they did get something to eat that evening, they learned that the place where they would eat was called the ‘mess’ and that they were to use their ‘irons’ – the army issue of cutlery – and their cup. In the mess, they were faced with plates piled with gluey heaps of macaroni cheese. Molly ate hers ravenously, thinking it tasted quite good. Lena and Cath did the same, but they could see Honor, across the long table, picking at hers with an expression of real disgust.

  ‘She ain’t gunna last long in this lot,’ Lena decreed, loading her fork with more of the pale stodge. ‘She hardly looks strong enough to pick up ’er own clothes off the floor.’

  ‘Probably ain’t never ’ad to,’ Molly said. But there was something about Honor that also made her feel sorry for her. She looked so pitifully out of place, and even the more middle-class girls seemed to have given up attempts at conversation with her and were chatting instead with each other at the far end of the table. Honor’s obvious loneliness and desperation pricked through all Molly’s defences. But she couldn’t think of a thing to say to her. She seemed to come from another world. She turned her attention back to Cath, who was telling a revoltingly graphic story about cows giving birth, and joined in the loud laughter.

  The hut was warmer when they got back to it, with the coal stove lit in the middle. The girls undressed with careful modesty, wriggling out of one set of clothes and pulling on another without showing much bare flesh. Molly put her striped army-issue pyjamas on, finding them a bit scratchy, but lovely and warm, and they fitted all right, as she was tall. She had never had any proper nightwear before, other than the one nightdress which Jenny Button had given her during her stay with them. Otherwise she’d had to make do with sleeping in her underwear.

  ‘You could fit three of me in these!’ Cath said, pulling out the waistband. Lena had had to roll the legs and sleeves of hers up. She was already sitting cross-legged on her bed, writing on a pad in her lap.

  A few of the others also put on the army issue, but some girls had brought nightdresses from home. Honor, who was already lying in bed with her eyes closed as if she never wanted to open them again, was clad in a pair of mauve silk pyjamas. Cath had rolled her eyes comically behind the girl’s back as she was putting them on.

  ‘Right girls – lights out!’ The dark-haired girl in the bed next to Ruth was called Win, and she seemed to be self-appointed head of the hut. She was standing by the switch, overseeing them all. She had a pleasant, friendly face and a manner of natural authority that suggested she was used to being in charge. ‘Everybody ready? Right – I’m putting them out now.’

  Molly got into bed. It was one of the best beds she’d ever slept in, and with far more bedding. She found she was looking forward to snuggling up on the sagging mattress, with all those blankets and pillows!

  ‘Night, you two,’ Cath said, and they called back to her. There was something so good-natured about Cath that Molly had warmed to her immediately. She seemed to accept everyone just as they were, not like those other snobby Misses along the hut!

  Molly lay between the stiff sheets. Her temples were throbbing, the bedclothes were heavy and everything felt strange. The hut had a dank, musty atmosphere and the blankets had their own, slightly rubbery storeroom smell. There was a faint glow from the coals in the stove. She was overcome suddenly by astonishment that she had actually left home – was it only this morning she had told Iris and Bert, had caught that train? She and the others had all been given an army-issue postcard to send home, ‘to let your people know you’ve arrived safely’. Hah – your people! What people did she have? None of them cared a straw for her. She wouldn’t bother to send it off.

  But her high spirits had sunk as the day went by, despite her loudne
ss. Fear was taking over, along with her usual sense of not measuring up, ever, wherever she went. All this newness, and these alien, toffee-nosed girls around her: how was she ever going to manage? Doom-laden thoughts filled her mind. Would she just be little Molly Fox again, the one no one ever wanted? Those other girls had obviously already formed a very low opinion of her, the stuck-up cows!

  The thought of Billy, the lad on the train, came to her again, as it had done several times in the afternoon. He’d been nice to her all right. He fancied her, that much was obvious. She thanked God there were men in the camp as well. Girls were an unknown quantity – she didn’t know how to impress them. Blokes were a different matter. She’d kept an eye out for Billy that afternoon as they had gone from hut to hut, but there’d been no sign of him. Perhaps she’d come across him tomorrow? He’d been interested, that was for sure. She was lying picturing his blond hair, and his eager pink face, knowing she could hook him in. It gave her back a sense of herself.

  Someone was sobbing quietly in the darkness near her and she knew it was Honor. Lena seemed to be already asleep, breathing lustily from across the way, and there was whispering coming from the other end of the room.

  Suddenly, out of the darkness, a clear soprano voice started to sing. Molly didn’t know the song and her first reaction was to laugh at the green forests and lovers’ towers that cropped up in the words. But she heard several of the others join in. Some of the girls must have learned the song at their posh schools. She wanted to sneer, but there was something comforting about the sweet voices and she was taken over by the loveliness of the tune which finally lulled them all to sleep.

  Nine

  ‘The purpose of this three weeks of basic training is to lick you all into shape – and that’ll be no mean task by the look of you,’ Corporal Morrison informed them at the top of her voice.

  The new recruits were gathered in one of the instruction huts at what still felt a very early hour, despite the fact that the morning PT – a run through the rain and slush – and breakfast of thick porridge were already done. Blisters burned on Molly’s feet, her lungs felt stretched and she was tingling all over. PT felt very good – once it was over!

  There were now snowflakes whirling in the air again outside. Corporal Morrison still seemed to think it necessary to address them as loudly as if she were outside bawling into a high wind.

  ‘You will be drilled to learn the discipline of the soldier’s life, and by the time you leave here you will know how to participate in the running of a military camp. Believe it or not,’ she yelled witheringly, ‘you will learn how to be a credit to His Majesty’s uniform. You will then be assigned either to general duties or to a trade, depending on your capabilities.’

  The girls sat listening in their stiff, unfamiliar uniforms. Their hut that morning had been full of fumbling, curses and giggles after PT as they came to grips with the starched collars and alien buttons, the clunky suspender belts and thick lisle stockings.

  ‘Make sure you double them over at the top,’ the quartermaster had ordered. ‘You’ll soon get ladders if you fasten them on to the thin bit – and don’t come crying to me if you do. You only get a new pair when those are worn out – so you darn any ladders with your hussif.’

  Of course Honor had forgotten this advice, and for the first time of wearing, she plunged the metal suspender clip straight through the stocking, causing a ladder. There were more tears. With her calm, kind manner, Win came and comforted the distraught girl.

  ‘I don’t even know how to darn,’ the girl sobbed. ‘I don’t know how to do anything!’

  ‘Look, don’t worry,’ Win said heartily, her dark hair bent close to Honor’s almost colourless blonde. ‘I’ll teach you later. It’s not difficult. We’ll all help each other. That’s the way forward, eh?’

  It had been Win, with her apparent good nature and natural authority, who had left her bed first and ordered and cajoled the others out into the 6.30 a.m. darkness for their first session of PT – a run round the field perimeter followed by physical jerks in the freezing dawn drizzle. It had all come as a shock to Molly. She had lolloped along beside Cath, their metal army identity tags with their name and religion stamped on – ‘C of E’ for Molly, ‘RC for Cath – bashing up and down against their chests, struggling for breath, her untaught muscles screaming protest after just a few yards. Cath didn’t seem to have much idea about running either and they sank towards the back, only Honor whimpering somewhere behind them. It didn’t occur to them to wait for her: she was from another world. Lena, to Molly’s surprise, seemed to be able to keep up the running quite well with her light frame and surged away into the wet gloom.

  ‘That’s what comes of working in service,’ she told Molly afterwards. ‘I mean I down’t do any running, but yower up and down stairs all ruddy day – and yow should see the steps to the coal cellar – like climbing a mountain!’

  Most of the middle-class girls like Ruth and Win, still trim after years of drill in spartan boarding schools, chugged along stoically as if they’d been doing it all their lives. Molly, envying them, felt like a giant puppy that’s not quite in control of its limbs.

  Those girls also seemed more able to cope with the communal nature of the draughty ablutions hut. Molly had found it mortifying with so many others about, trying to wash with no privacy at all. Sensitive about keeping clean, she really wanted to strip off and have a good wash down, but that was out of the question. She sneaked a glance at Win, who was performing some cleverly intimate washing while half wrapped in her towel. Why did these girls seem to have the knack of everything? She felt stupid and clueless, and in her inadequacy responded in the only way she could think of – she became loud.

  ‘Ah, that’s better,’ Win said, wringing out her flannel as they finished washing. ‘Ready for anything now!’

  ‘Ooh!’ Molly quipped. ‘Ready for anything, eh? Well – there’s plenty of fellas round here’d be ready to oblige, I’m sure!’

  Win didn’t turn to face her and Molly could see she was blushing uncomfortably. ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it,’ she muttered.

  ‘O-ooh – sorry I’m sure, Miss La-di-dah,’ Molly said.

  ‘Oh, I say – how rude!’ Ruth protested.

  ‘She must have a dirty mind,’ Lena sniggered, winking at Molly.

  ‘Oh, I say!’ Molly mimicked Ruth.

  The two of them left the ablutions hut together, but not without seeing Ruth and Win exchanging eye-rolling glances in their direction. Molly knew they looked down on her and it wasn’t a nice feeling. She just didn’t know how to deal with these posh girls. She felt loud and crude and unsure of herself, but she wasn’t bloody well showing them that!

  All in all though, sitting here now, pink-cheeked and glowing, she knew she felt the better for the run and the early-morning fresh air. And she’d liked the porridge and was surprised by the others complaining. One or two had pushed it away with grimaces of disgust. But as far as Molly could see, army food was a good deal better than meals had ever been at home!

  Corporal Morrison gave ‘What Next’ instructions. Kit inspection, followed by – no beating about the bush – nit parade, followed by free-from-infection parade. To follow, on other days, there would inoculations, intelligence tests, and on and on it went.

  ‘Hah, well,’ Win said to anyone who was listening as they all limped outside again, ‘no rest for the wicked.’

  Nit parade. They all lined up. As the orderly carrying out the inspection came closer along the line, Molly, to her consternation, felt herself start to get the shakes. It always seemed to happen, whenever she was subject to any sort of physical examination. She was overcome with panic. For goodness’ sake pull yourself together! she told herself fiercely.

  Those found to have nits were pulled out to form another line the other side of the room. ‘You see – happens every time. The peroxide ones – always sure to be infested,’ the orderly informed them.

  Sure enough, se
veral of the nit-sufferers in the ‘disgrace’ line were bottle-blondes. Doris was one of them.

  Molly’s hands broke out in a sweat. Thank God Lena and Cath were nearby! She nudged Cath and winked at her. ‘’Ere – I hope you ain’t got ’em – you and me’re sleeping a bit too close together for comfort.’

  ‘Ah no – I don’t think so,’ Cath said, evidently not worried.

  ‘Don’t they get nits down on the farm then?’

  Molly suddenly found herself looking into the annoyed and penetrating eyes of Corporal Phoebe Morrison. Molly could smell stale cigarette smoke on her breath.

  ‘Whenever there’s a racket it always seems to be coming from you, Fox! Now just pipe down, will you?’

  As she moved away, to Molly’s amazement, Honor leaned close to her and whispered, ‘The Gorgon!’

  Molly grinned and was about to reply when the medical orderly reached them.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, and with only the very briefest of glances into Honor’s pale locks, he moved on to Molly. ‘Another peroxide – sure to be alive. You get over there.’

  ‘What? Me?’ Molly protested, horrified. ‘No – you’ve got it wrong. You ain’t even bothered to check! There ain’t no nits in my hair – I’d know if there were. And my hair’s not out of a bottle neither – it’s always been this colour!’

  ‘Don’t argue, Fox!’ the corporal commanded.

  But Molly’s blood was up. ‘I ain’t going over there without you checking it first. Just ’cause you all think you’re better than me! There ain’t nothing crawling about in my hair, I can tell yer that!’

  She was so furiously resistant that the orderly, who was moving on to check Cath’s hair, impatiently came back for another look.

  ‘No point in wasting time if there’s nothing in there, I suppose . . .’ He pulled Molly’s hair roughly this way and that. ‘No, there’s no sign. You can stay where you are.’