by Annie Murray
There was another pause. Phoebe Morrison sat back in her chair. ‘You know, when you were in basic training, Fox, your performance was very uneven – and that’s putting it charitably. In some ways I could see you were trying, that you wanted to fit in. But most of the time you were one of those girls who, to be blunt, looked as if all she was ever going to do in the army was be a pain in the backside. You’ll have seen the type – they stay in the army for free bed and breakfast but are in every other way a complete nuisance to everyone. Your performance in basic training did not inspire us to place you in any trade more demanding than general duties.’
Molly listened, blushing shamefully. She knew every word of this was true.
‘However, despite your behaviour, I could see you were no fool. I don’t suppose you know this, Fox, but when you all did your intelligence tests, you came out in the top handful in that intake.’
‘What – me?’ Molly’s head jerked up. She laughed for the first time in days, in sheer astonishment.
‘Yes – you. Of course there were the educated girls, Chambers, wasn’t it, and the other black-haired one—’
‘Win Leighton?’
‘Yes, her. Those sort of girls with a mathematical bent can get full marks without too much effort and go off into the more technical side. But you weren’t that far behind, Fox. You must have a natural talent for that sort of thing. Some girls score very low indeed, I can assure you.’
Molly felt a bubble of excitement rising in her, the first really positive emotion she’d had for many a day. She was good at something – much better than she’d ever thought! She glowed with the sheer pleasure of being praised by Sergeant Morrison. She’d done nearly as well as Ruth and Win. Could that be possible?
‘I s’pose I was always reasonably good at sums,’ she said. After all, she’d been the one to help Em catch up, hadn’t she?
‘Where did you go to school, Fox?’
‘Just round the corner from home – in Birmingham.’
‘And you left at fourteen?’
‘Well – yes,’ Molly shrugged. ‘Of course.’
Phoebe Morrison stared deeply at her in silence for a full minute.
‘How would you like to retrain?’ she said suddenly. ‘You can be much better occupied than as a C-grade cook – especially one that seems to be trying to poison us all. I’m going to put you forward to retrain in the artillery. Mixed ack-ack. How does that sound?’
Molly knew this was a vote of confidence, quite unexpected, and though not couched as such, a deep act of kindness. And at last she might have a chance to do something more exciting! Her wan face broke into a delighted grin.
‘Can I? Really? Oh yes please!’
Phoebe Morrison, smiling faintly, picked up her pen. ‘I’ll see what I can do. Dismiss!’
Molly turned to go, her heart beating excitedly, but then she heard the sergeant’s voice bark her name again. She turned and looked into Phoebe Morrison’s handsome face.
‘You know, the army can be a very good place for a certain sort of woman – if you work hard and make it your own.’
‘Thank you, Sergeant. I’ll do my very best.’
‘Oh—’ Phoebe Morrison got to her feet, as if closing the conversation, but she gave one of her tight smiles back. ‘You’d better, Fox. You’d better.’
Homefires
Thirty-Two
April 1942
Em opened the front door, squinting in the spring sunshine. In her arms she held her baby son, Robbie, who was almost three months old.
‘Molly – you made it!’
‘At last!’ Both of them were laughing with happiness at seeing each other again after so many months. ‘Oh, and look at the little man – I can’t wait to have a hold of him, Em!’
Through in the back room, the two of them gladly looked each other up and down.
‘You look so big and strong,’ Em said. ‘Look at you – all rosy cheeks – as if you’ve brought a whole lot of fresh air in with you!’ A grin spread across her face. ‘We’re not going to have the redcaps turn up and take you away again this time, are we?’
‘No fear!’ Molly put her bag down on the chair. ‘I’ve got leave for the weekend – we get away now things are quieter. Now – let me see this little fella.’
She held out her arms and Em handed the little boy over with a proud smile. He had a generous lick of brown hair and an alert, blue-eyed gaze.
‘Oh Em – he’s beautiful . . .’ Molly sank onto a chair by the table. ‘He looks ever so like you, yer know.’
‘Does he?’ asked Em, putting the kettle on, overjoyed to have a chance to show off her baby.
‘Hello, Robbie – aren’t you a lovely little fella!’ Molly drank in the sight of the little boy, stroking his cheek with her finger. He let out a squeak of excitement and pumped his legs, making Molly laugh. Em watched, beaming with delight. She and Molly really were true friends now, she realized. Not like when they were children and Molly had had to beg for her attention. Things had changed – she’d come down a peg or two, and she’d gained a lot of respect for Molly – especially with the awful family she came from. Molly had stood by her through a lot, and they were equals.
‘You look ever so well,’ Molly said. ‘You’ve filled out a bit.’
‘Oh that’ll soon go again,’ Em laughed, bringing the cups over. ‘What with him tripping the light fantastic half the night, bless him! Still – he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’ She loved being a mother. The birth had gone well, come naturally to her, and she was proud of that. She felt as if she had something to hold on to now, Norm and Robbie, her boys. Everything felt right, as if she’d found her place in the world.
‘I can see. Suits yer.’
Em’s face clouded. ‘I just wish Norm could be home and I could stop fretting though. And our mom’s not too good – having one of her times. She’s in the hospital over at Rubery.’
‘I thought she usually went up Northfield?’
‘They’ve got all soldiers over there now.’
‘Oh, have they? How is she then?’ Molly asked sympathetically.
Em sighed. ‘Well – you know. She was all right for a while and then something set her off. I don’t know if it was Robbie being born or what but she went right down in herself, like she does. But I suppose she’ll get back up again in the end. It’s always bad seeing her like that.’ She smiled, not wanting to be a misery. ‘Here – have some tea.
Em brought two cups and sat down, smiling at the sight of Robbie, who lay contentedly on Molly’s lap. It was so good to see Molly, and so much had happened since they last saw each other! The war had moved on – with the bombing of Pearl Harbor and the fall of Singapore, it really was a world war now – and no sign of it ending. The wireless and Mr Churchill’s rousing speeches helped to keep them determined, but sometimes it felt as if the shortages and bad news would go on for ever. And with Mom poorly again, even though they knew now she’d get better, it always brought the family down. So it was especially nice to see a familiar face with fresh news.
‘Where’s everyone else?’ Molly asked.
‘Dad’s gone out somewhere – probably on the hunt for razor blades. You can’t find ’em for love nor money at the moment. Sid’s doing a shift at work, and I sent the girls shopping for me, so they’ll be ages queuing. It can take half the day. Everything’s so short – it gets you down, trying to keep everyone fed.’
‘It’s easier for us,’ Molly said. ‘That’s one thing about the army – you don’t have to worry about coupons and where your next meal’s coming from – even if what you get’s blooming terrible!’
‘I shouldn’t moan, should I?’ Em went on. ‘Everyone’s in the same boat. At least they’ve stopped bombing us. And we don’t have those Skelton kids round any more – Irene says they’re old enough to cope on their own when she’s out, poor little things. But I just get so tired sometimes. Anyroad, the others’ll be back in a bit, so let’s make the mo
st of it. Tell me what you’re up to – you’re in Wolverhampton then?’
‘Near there. I reckon they’ll move us again before too long.’
When Molly left the camp on the cliffs, she’d been sent to Oswestry for artillery training, and from there to Anglesey for target practice, the guns firing repeatedly at a coloured drogue towed across the sky by a small aeroplane. Then on to Wolverhampton.
‘I still don’t know what you do really,’ Em admitted. ‘I know it’s ack-ack, but . . .’
‘Well,’ Molly sat up straighter, proudly. ‘Every battery has a team – the gunners are all blokes, but then there’s all the instrument operators for the predictor, height finder, plotter, people on the telephones, the spotters. My lot – we’re called the G.L. Girls – gun layers. Radiolocation they call it now as well. We have a transmitter and a receiver with four little screens, see, where we track the planes coming in, find out the height and where they are, and the people on the predictor work out where the plane’s going to be and the gunners fire at it. You have to be careful not to jump when the guns go off and you’re turning the dials, because your jump will go through to the predictor!’
Em listened, awed. All these things seemed a world away to her. ‘That sounds ever so difficult,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t do that.’
‘Oh I expect you could.’ Molly looked pleased though. She was good at her job, and knew it. ‘I had to do an adaptability test to see if I could change trades and I passed that. It’s better than flaming cooking, I can tell yer! God it’s cold out there in it, though. You should see us, battledress with everything on underneath that you can think of – stockings, long johns, the lot!’
Em listened as Molly chatted on about the work, the fun they had with dances in NAAFI halls, the games and mischief, about the morning she woke up in Anglesey to find a cow looking through her bedroom window. She was full of it all, seemed to be able to talk for ever, the way Em could chatter endlessly about Robbie, given the chance. She couldn’t get over how much Molly had changed, especially since last time she had come home, when Em had thought the army might not have Molly back. She seemed different – so healthy and confident and better-spoken even. Even her appearance was altered, her face a little thinner, so that you could see her striking cheekbones clearly.
‘Sorry,’ Molly said after a while. ‘I’m going on a bit, aren’t I?’
‘That’s all right,’ Em said, holding her arms out. ‘Here – shall I take him? He’ll be after another feed soon.’
‘He’s ever so good,’ Molly said fondly.
‘He is.’ Em took her little son and smiled down at him. ‘Aren’t you? A happy little soul. Even if your dad’s not here to see you.’ Her eyes filled for a moment, but she wiped the tears away.
‘What’s the news of him?’
‘He’s all right, the last time I heard from him. I don’t know where he is – they’ve posted him abroad somewhere. But he’s cheerful enough. And he’s in one piece, I think, which is quite something for Norm! He’s dying to see Robbie of course.’ Talking away happily, Em suddenly became aware of all that she had that Molly did not. No husband or beautiful baby. She leaned forward.
‘Are you all right, Molly? It was so terrible what happened, to Tony and everything.’
‘Yeah,’ Molly said tersely. Em could see that her grief was still close to the surface. ‘Well – you know. I keep busy. The army’s good for that, all the routine. Helps keep your mind off it. And they’re a good crew I’m working with.’
‘Anyone special?’ Em hinted.
‘Oh – no. I’m keeping away from all that. And the bottle. I don’t want to get stuck in that. I’m a model soldier!’
‘Sounds like it!’ Em said, amazed. ‘But it suits you.’ She saw that Molly seemed to be strong enough to hear what she had to say next. ‘Listen, Moll – ’fraid I’ve got a bit of bad news for you.’
She saw Molly tense. ‘What? Bert?’
‘Oh no – not him. He’s doing very nicely thank you by the look of it. I don’t s’pose we want to know the ins and outs. He’s got the latest blonde bit on his arm; hard-faced little cow she is – called Ada I think, or is it Liza? No – it’s about Mr B.’
‘Oh, Stanley B?’ Molly asked eagerly. ‘You know where ’e is?’
‘I do now. It took a while. After, you know, that night, they found out he had no family or anyone. They had nowhere else to put him so they took him to the workhouse, up Western Road . . .’
Molly gasped. ‘Oh no, not Mr Button. Not the Archway of Tears!’ This was the name given in the district to the entrance to the dreaded workhouse. ‘Oh God, I wonder how ’e is! I must go and see him . . .’ She started to get up as if to leave straight away. Em put her hand on her friend’s arm.
‘Thing is, Molly, he didn’t last long in there. He went down with something and died quite soon after. Must have been the shock of it all, I suppose.’
Molly sank back into the chair, her eyes filling with tears. ‘They were so kind to me, Em, both of them. They were like my mom and dad and I wanted to look after ’em – and look what happened. It’s all wrong, all of it . . .’ She broke down and wept for a few moments.
‘I know, Molly,’ Em said, her heart wrung at the thought of all the loss Molly had suffered. ‘But I s’pose he’s better off – you know, going to join her, than being in there on his own.’
‘Yes,’ Molly wiped her face. ‘It’s a mercy in a way. But if it wasn’t for the war, for that bastard Hitler, they wouldn’t have had their house bombed and they’d still be here.’ She looked at Em, shamefaced. ‘D’you know – our mom was born in there.’
‘Where – the workhouse?’
‘On her birth certificate it says ninety-something Dudley Road. Ninety-seven it might have been. They didn’t put “The Workhouse”. Kind of them, I s’pose, not to spell it out. Her mom died having ’er – I don’t know if there were any brothers or sisters. I never heard of any.’
Em wasn’t sure what to say. The workhouse was always seen as a place of shame and desperation.
Molly groaned. ‘Oh, why couldn’t that bloody bomb’ve hit her and Bert instead?’
Em looked shocked for a second, but then both of them were tickled by the sheer badness of what Molly had just said. They burst out laughing, and the sudden sound startled Robbie into screams of alarm.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, little man,’ Em said, rocking him against her shoulder. But the two of them just carried on laughing, tears running down their cheeks. Sometimes it seemed the only thing to do.
Molly stayed that night with the Browns, catching up with Joyce and Violet. Bob Brown greeted her warmly after a surprised look, which Em noticed very clearly. There was a time when Bob would not have wanted to give rough, smelly little Molly Fox any houseroom, and now he looked startled by the strong, capable woman who seemed to be emerging more each time they saw her.
Em enjoyed having Molly there, giggling with her and her sisters round the table after tea, telling them stories.
‘I wish I could join up,’ Violet said. ‘It sounds much better than working in the stupid old factory.’
‘I could,’ Joyce said smugly.
‘You’re only just fifteen,’ Em told her.
‘So what? I look older ’un that. They’d have me, wouldn’t they?’
‘That’s not fair,’ Violet said stormily. ‘I want to go in the army!’
‘I could though,’ Joyce said, sounding excited. ‘D’you think I should, Molly?’
Em had a strong pang of anxiety. She dreaded any sort of separation from her family. But she could hardly stop Joyce when she was old enough, could she, if the war was still on then?
‘It’s up to you, love,’ Molly said. ‘You’ll have to make up your own mind. But you’re too young just yet.’
‘I look sixteen,’ Violet was saying, though no one was listening, since she was only eleven and hadn’t even started work yet.
Desperate to change the subject, Em said in a
low voice to Molly, ‘Are you going to call on your mom this time?’
She saw a disgusted look pass over Molly’s face. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not.’
The Viennese Ballroom
Thirty-Three
Molly spent the next months with her battery, moving from gun site to gun site. They went to Norfolk, then to numerous different sites along the south and east coasts. When the church bells, so long silent, rang out on November 15 to celebrate victory at El Alamein, it was the bells of Leigh-on-Sea that she heard pealing across the gun park. Leigh-on-Sea, where Tony had been supposed to go, and here she was, guiding the guns instead.
Life was stable and busy. Molly immersed herself in army life and tried, apart from occasional letters to Em (whose own were mainly full of news of Robbie’s teeth and smiles and sitting up), not to think of anything much else. It was easier to live for the present, not to think about what might happen once the war was over. And as Sergeant Morrison promised, now she had decided to fit in, the army was in many ways a good place to be.
The relationships within the battery were good, and she got on especially well with two girls, Jen, a very sociable girl from Newcastle, and Ann from Leicester, both predictor operators. Every three months they were entitled to ten days’ leave. But even though she needed the break as much as anyone else, Molly did not look forward to it coming round. She wanted to stay in the orderly, purposeful army routine and shut out everything else. The thought of life outside now felt like a blast of icy air entering a warm room. After all, what was there for her at home? As Jen was so far from home, she didn’t always go back there on leave, even though she missed her family, so once she and Molly had a couple of days away on leave together when the battery was in Norfolk. But mostly they just kept working.
