The Bomb Girls

by Daisy Styles

  For all their brave words and determination, Elsie and Tommy clung onto each other at Clitheroe station on the morning of Tommy’s return to his battalion.

  ‘I love you so much, Elsie,’ he whispered.

  ‘And I love you,’ she replied. ‘Come back soon, my love, come back safe,’ she cried as the train pulled out of the station.

  Normal life began to resume. Lillian heard from Gary from time to time, but communications were frustratingly sporadic as he was stationed in some secret location and regularly on bombing raids over Germany. Agnes heard from Stan, who was fully off his medication and had just started working on a fruit farm in the Cambridgeshire countryside.

  ‘I’m planning on coming up to Pendle to see you and Esther as soon as I’m discharged,’ he wrote.

  ‘It’s good to be back to normal,’ said Elsie as she resumed her work filling shell cases on the cordite line. ‘Though I wish Tommy could have stayed, of course.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re not missing the drama of the last few months?’ Daphne teased.

  ‘Oh, yeah, I’m sure she’s missing the fact that nobody’s being murdered or sent to prison,’ Lillian joked.

  ‘I’m just glad it’s all over,’ Elsie said with a happy smile.

  One Friday evening at the end of a long hard week, Elsie, Emily, Lillian, Daphne and Agnes, arm in arm, swung up the cobbled lane singing Vera Lynn’s heart-wrenching song, ‘Yours’ at the tops of their voices.

  Emily, who always associated that song with Bill and the early carefree days of their courtship, started to choke up. Seeing Emily’s sad face, Daphne called out.

  ‘Change the record, girls, something more cheerful, please.’

  Lillian immediately burst into a rendition of ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ and everybody joined in.

  Standing on the moorland just outside their digs, with the wind lifting her hair and the warm sun beating down, Emily suggested they all went for a walk.

  ‘Darling, you have got to be joking!’ Daphne exclaimed. ‘I’ve just finished a gruelling twelve-hour shift and I am on my knees, stained with cordite and, more importantly, desperate for a gin!’

  ‘It’s a wonderful time of the year for wandering the moors,’ Emily said as she recalled the happy times she’d spent rambling with Alice.

  Agnes and Elsie, who’d left their children with Tommy’s mum for the evening, were looking forward to a relaxing time with their friends, not a route march across the wild Pennine moors.

  ‘I thought we were having a girlie night-in,’ Elsie said enthusiastically. ‘Hot bath, hair wash and a sing-song before bed.’

  Agnes came up with a compromise that pleased Emily.

  ‘We could go walking on the moors tomorrow with the children?’ she suggested.

  Emily nodded.

  ‘We’ll go winberry picking and I’ll make a big fruit pie and custard when we get back,’ she said with a happy smile.

  Baths were shared out, then, sitting in their winceyette nighties with rollers in their hair, the girls took it in turns to paint each other’s nails ruby red.

  ‘Just like Elizabeth Taylor,’ Lillian laughed.

  They were all startled by a loud bang as a car pulled up outside their house.

  ‘Who could that be?’ asked Agnes as she peeped under the blackout blind.

  Curious, Lillian joined her by the window.

  ‘My God!’ she gasped. ‘It’s an RAF officer in a flash sports car.’

  All further speculation was stopped by a sharp rap at the door. Agnes went to cautiously open it and there, filling the doorway and wearing a huge RAF navy-blue overcoat, stood none other than Rodney Harston-Binge.

  ‘Hello, ladies! Rodney Harston-Binge – pronounced Bing not Binge as in pissed – signing in for duty!’

  Nobody but Emily had a clue who the booming man was and Emily, in a nightie with rollers in her hair, felt very much at a disadvantage.

  ‘Bloody hell, look what the wind blew in,’ Lillian giggled. ‘Mr Bing not Binge! Any relation to Bing Crosby?’ she asked cheekily.

  As Rodney stared at her in humourless confusion, Emily stood in front of her irrepressible friend just in case she blurted out any more rude comments.

  ‘Oh! Er, please come in,’ Emily mumbled as she tried to surreptitiously yank rollers from her hair.

  Oblivious to the commotion, not to mention amazement he’d caused, Rodney strode in and surveyed their digs as if assessing a residence for war requisition.

  ‘Whiffs a bit,’ he said with a bit of a goofy grin.

  Wishing the floor would open and swallow her up, Emily was at a loss for words, but Daphne, who’d had time to remove her rollers and change into a sexy purple satin dressing gown, rescued her awkward friend.

  ‘Welcome to our humble abode,’ she said in her snootiest voice. ‘Do, please, sit down,’ she added, waving towards the sofa as if they were at the Ritz.

  ‘Just got to pop orff for a few bits and pieces I left in the car,’ Rodney said as he exited.

  The second the door closed behind him, Lillian snorted with laughter.

  ‘Pop orfff! What planet is he from?’

  ‘Shh! He’ll hear you,’ Emily hissed at her outrageous friend.

  ‘Where did you dig him up?’ Elsie giggled.

  ‘I met him in London when I went to visit Alice. He asked if he could see me again, and I was drunk and said yes, but I never thought he’d turn up!’ she babbled.

  ‘Well, he has, darling, and he’s got the hots for you, so get those rollers out and for God’s sake change out of that wretched nightie!’ cried Daphne as she began to push her out of the room.

  ‘What’re we going to do with him?’ Agnes whispered. ‘He can’t stay here.’

  ‘He absolutely definitely can’t stay here,’ cried Emily as she dashed to change in her bedroom.

  Rodney returned with a hamper containing Martini, gin and a silver shaker in which he flamboyantly made cocktails. Then he handed out dry biscuits and caviar, which promptly made Elsie, unused to rich and exotic food, feel quite sick. How on earth had Rodney got his hands on all this, the girls wondered.

  ‘Not used to the high life, eh?’ Rodney said as he hooted with laughter.

  Little Elsie blushed.

  ‘I’m not used to fancy food, like,’ she said apologetically. ‘I prefer simple food, like chip butties and meat pies. They suits me far better than fish eggs,’ she said, turning green at the thought of the salty caviar she’d just thrown up.

  One by one the girls drifted to bed, leaving only Emily and Daphne.

  ‘Don’t leave me alone with him!’ desperate Emily whispered to Daphne when Rodney popped outside to relieve himself.

  ‘He’s rather sweet,’ said Daphne, who’d imbibed too many gin cocktails.

  ‘He should have written to tell me he was coming and not just turned up out of the blue!’ Emily muttered angrily under her breath.

  ‘Darling, don’t you know officers in the RAF think they’re God’s gift to women?’ Daphne replied tipsily. ‘He’ll be expecting to have your knickers down soon, believe me!’ she added with a loud hiccup.

  Emily clung to Daphne like an Elastoplast, listening for what seemed like hours to Rodney’s tedious stories and cringing as he cracked dreadful jokes that made him guffaw with laughter but left her totally unamused.

  They finally offloaded Rodney at three in the morning, sending him to the Station Hotel in Pendle.

  ‘Thank God he’s gone,’ sighed Emily as he roared away into the night.

  ‘Prepare yourself, darling, he’ll be back!’ Daphne laughed.

  Daphne was spot on: Rodney was back the next day. He stood on the threshold with yet another hamper, this time packed with a picnic for him and Emily.

  ‘Picked it up from Fortnum & Mason’s on my way up here,’ he said with a rather conceited smile. ‘Mother has an account there. Makes all the difference.’

  ‘I bet it bloody does, Little Lord Fauntleroy!’ Lillian sc
offed behind his back.

  In high spirits, Rodney swung into the digs quoting a poem in a silly high voice.

  ‘ “Oh, to be in England now that April’s there!” ’

  ‘Oh, God!’ giggled Elsie.

  Standing in the middle of the sitting room, Rodney struck a dramatic pose as he boomed:

  ‘That’s the wise thrush;

  He sings each song twice over,

  Lest you should think he never could recapture

  The first, fine careless rapture.’

  Consumed by a fit of giggles, Elsie hid her face in a pillow, and Agnes covered her smile with her hand whilst Lillian rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

  ‘Un-bloody-believable!’

  Daphne took his unappreciated poetry rendition in her stride.

  ‘Robert Browning, “Home Thoughts, from Abroad”,’ she said as she clapped Rodney politely. ‘Always popular at prizegiving.’

  ‘A poem I cherish in my heart as I fly out over the Channel on a bombing raid,’ Rodney bragged.

  ‘Take him onto the moors, lock him up in a troll cave and throw away the key!’ Lillian said sotto voce to Emily.

  Seeing Agnes and Elsie hysterical with laughter, Emily pushed Rodney out of the door before Lillian could dream up further withering comments.

  ‘Toodle-oo, chaps,’ Rodney said hurriedly.

  Perfectly mimicking his posh voice, Lillian waved the open-topped MG off.

  ‘Toodle-oo, Rodders, old boy! For God’s sake don’t come back!’ she called, reducing Elsie, Agnes and even Daphne to howls of naughty laughter.

  Out on the sunny moors loud with the calls of curlews and skylarks, Emily should have been happy showing Rodney the countryside she loved and knew so well. Unfortunately all she could concentrate on was Rodney’s hand, which he planted firmly on her knee the minute he got in the car. As he drove, his hand crept further and further up her thigh until she had to shake it off and twist in her seat so he couldn’t clutch her any more.

  Emily purposefully didn’t choose a private spot for their picnic: if Rodney was all over her in the car, what would he be like surrounded by heather and rolling moorland? She suggested they stopped quite near the road; it seemed safe and relatively public. But after knocking back half a bottle of Chablis and even more caviar, Rodney decided to throw himself at Emily and started kissing her passionately. Horrified, Emily squirmed as he stuck his tongue into her mouth. Apart from the fact that she found Rodney repulsive, she’d made up her mind long ago that she’d never be easy prey again.

  Wriggling free of Rodney’s groping hands, she stood up and said briskly, ‘Shall we walk?’

  Rearranging himself down below, Rodney scowled.

  ‘I had something entirely different in mind from a damn walk,’ he said as he grumpily stumbled to his feet. ‘Look, Emily, let’s not beat about the bush – we’re both grown-ups. I came up here expressly because I fancy the pants off you. You’re a rare northern beauty and I’d like to get to know you a lot more,’ he said, leaning forward to plant yet another wet kiss on her lips.

  Ignoring his advances, Emily strode along the path that wound its way up the hillside onto the tops, where the wind caught her thick auburn hair and whipped it around her face. Hearing Rodney puffing and blowing behind her, she desperately tried to change the subject.

  ‘Have you seen Robin?’ she asked. ‘I’ve not heard a word from Alice for months.’

  Annoyed at not getting his own way, Rodney grunted behind her.

  ‘Haven’t seen either of them since the night I met you,’ he growled.

  As Alice’s best friend, Emily constantly worried about her, but Rodney seemed not to care about his old schoolboy chum, Robin.

  ‘Aren’t you concerned?’ she asked.

  Rodney shrugged.

  ‘It’s perfectly clear they’re training to be Joes in some remote location,’ he replied curtly.

  ‘Joes?’

  ‘Spies, Special Ops.’

  Emily didn’t say she already knew that.

  Fed up with stomping over the moors, Rodney about-turned.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this bloody nonsense!’ he swore as he headed back down the hill, tripping and stumbling over tufts of ragged heather.

  Driving back in his MG, with the hood down and the wind whistling around them, it was, mercifully, impossible to make any conversation. Rodney screeched to an abrupt halt at the digs then he leaped out and unceremoniously threw open the door for Emily.

  ‘It’s perfectly clear you’ve had enough of me,’ he said peevishly. ‘I’ll go back to my hotel.’

  Edging out of the car, Emily struggled for something to say.

  ‘Is the Station Hotel comfortable?’ she asked.

  He scowled like a spoiled little boy as he barked a reply.

  ‘Absolutely not up to scratch!’

  Emily fell through the door of the digs and collapsed on the sofa.

  ‘What a disaster!’ she cried as her friends gathered round and questioned her. ‘He tried it on with me on the moors,’ she said as she burst out laughing.

  ‘You must’ve led him on when you went gallivanting in London,’ Lillian said knowingly.

  ‘I told you, I was tipsy on champagne but I never said I fancied him!’ Emily replied honestly. ‘And I definitely didn’t!’ she added with a grin.

  ‘You’d have to be drunk to pick up a plonker like Rodders,’ Lillian scoffed.

  Emily groaned as she buried her head under a cushion.

  ‘What am I going to do with him tomorrow?’ she wailed.

  Daphne popped a cigarette into her long holder and languidly lit up.

  ‘I’ll take him off your hands, darling,’ she said.

  Emily gaped at her.

  ‘Are you serious, Daf?’

  Daphne nodded as she took a long drag on her cigarette.

  ‘Not a problem. I’m used to his sort!’

  The next morning Rodney roared up to the digs. His half-hearted smile widened to a big beam when he saw both Daphne and Emily waiting for him.

  ‘My word, this is my lucky day,’ he gushed. ‘Two gorgeous women to entertain!’

  Daphne, glamorous in a fitted silk tea dress with a scooped neckline and high heels that showed off her long, slender legs, pressed herself close to boggle-eyed Rodney as she slipped into the convertible.

  ‘Darling, none of us can resist a handsome RAF officer,’ she cooed.

  As Emily was about to slide in beside Daphne, a breathless Elsie came running up the lane. Waving her hands, she flagged down the car just as Rodney started the engine.

  ‘STOP! WAIT!’ she hollered.

  Daphne gave Emily a secretive nudge in the ribs.

  ‘What is it, Elsie, what’s the matter?’ Emily cried.

  Elsie, who’d been rehearsing her lines all morning, put a hand over her mouth to hide the laughter that threatened to bubble out of her.

  ‘You can’t go, Emily,’ she said woodenly. ‘You’re urgently needed back at the Phoenix.’

  In a blink, Emily hopped out.

  ‘Just me?’ she said, winking at Elsie.

  Elsie nodded as she clunkily repeated her practised lines.

  ‘Only you,’ she replied.

  ‘Tough luck!’ Rodney boomed as he hit the accelerator and roared off over the moors with smiling Daphne by his side.

  CHAPTER 26

  Fancy Pants Bilodeau

  Everybody was surprised by Daphne’s interest in ‘Rodders’, as the girls, even Esther, called Flight Lieutenant Rodney Harston-Binge.

  ‘He’s great marriage material,’ said Daphne as she soaked in the bath surrounded by her friends. ‘We share the same background, have friends in common; plus, he’s stinking rich … and I quite like his MG too!’

  ‘Money isn’t everything,’ Elsie said wisely.

  ‘But it helps, darling,’ Daphne said as she lathered soap on her long, slender legs.

  ‘Can you bear the way he kisses?’ Emily asked with a grimace.


  ‘Really, you northern girls are so naive,’ Daphne replied.

  ‘Count me out of the northern bit. I’m a Londoner born and bred,’ Agnes reminded her.

  ‘I control the kissing and we do it my way or we don’t do it at all,’ Daphne said, at which point Agnes ushered wide-eyed Esther out of the bathroom.

  ‘Don’t want to give her any ideas,’ she said.

  ‘You can never start too young!’ Lillian teased.

  ‘Did you, you know, do it with him?’ Elsie asked.

  ‘Absolutely not!’ Daphne cried. ‘He suggested we rolled about like heathens in the heather but I have my standards.’

  ‘Good, cos Rodders definitely hasn’t,’ laughed Emily.

  As summer came round and optimism heightened across the nation after the Allies landed in Sicily, Emily organized a jitterbug night at the Phoenix. Elsie, Agnes, Lillian and Daphne threw themselves into the preparations.

  ‘We’ll order in a couple of barrels of beer from Malc’s pal who makes his own home-brew,’ Emily said as she got onto her favourite subject: food.

  ‘Witch piss, more like,’ Lillian added.

  On a roll, Emily ignored her.

  ‘I’ll beg, borrow or steal anybody’s ration coupons to buy extra meat for a meat and potato pie with mushy peas and pickled red cabbage.’

  ‘At least Churchill’s not rationed pickled cabbage and peas!’ Elsie laughed.

  ‘Really, darling!’ Daphne said as she wrinkled her small nose in distaste. ‘It sounds awfully like peasant fodder!’

  ‘Well, what were you expecting?’ Emily exclaimed.

  ‘Something a little more luxurious,’ Daphne said wistfully. ‘Salmon canapés, Martini cocktails, foie gras, lamb cutlets with mint sauce …’

  ‘Remember rationing, Daphne?’ Lillian asked. ‘Or has that completely passed you by?’

  ‘There are ways and means,’ Daphne insisted. ‘You just have to use your imagination.’

  ‘I am using my imagination,’ Emily pointed out. ‘I’m imagining what I can make with the few food coupons I can cadge’

  ‘But, really, peas and pies and pickles?’ Daphne scoffed. ‘How are we supposed to handle platefuls of steaming food in the middle of a boogie night?’