The Bluebird Girls: The Forces' Sweethearts 1

by Rosie Archer

  There was talk of allowing some of the enemy prisoners of war to work outside the camps but as yet he thought that was only a rumour.

  The all-clear had sounded. The raid was over. He’d walked through the allotments and round the back of the Criterion cinema and come across the devastation of White’s Place. Now he wanted to be with his family, make sure they were safe.

  He thought about the three girls and their singing. By Christ, they were good! Better than some he’d heard wailing on the wireless. He liked Ivy: she was a quiet, classy sort of girl despite the tales he’d heard about her mother. God knew she wasn’t responsible for her birth. Rainey he couldn’t quite fathom. She never talked about herself or where she’d come from, yet she seemed grateful to be included any time his mum invited the girls round.

  Bea, his sister, was a right handful. He tried to keep an eye on her and mostly she was fine when she was with Ivy and Rainey – it was like they kept her in check, or the singing did. When she went out with her mates from Woolies, though, anything could happen and frequently did.

  His mind went back to that dance at Sloane Stanley Hall. The drinking wasn’t a one-off. Somehow Bea had developed a taste for it. He shuddered, thinking about her being pawed by that oaf of a soldier. In the morning when she’d finally deigned to come downstairs his mother had said, ‘It was a good job Eddie was there last night to sort you out.’

  The little vixen had laughed at him. ‘What d’you want?’ she’d said. ‘Flowers, chocolates? Good doggie, a bone to chew?’

  Despite everything Eddie smiled to himself. Bea was his little sister.

  *

  Bea looked over the sailor’s shoulder and up into the wintry sky. Her head was swimming. It was like all the stars were dancing in the blackness of night. She wondered if anyone had told those glittering objects about the blackout.

  His fingers were pushing away her suspenders, pulling her knickers aside and now something warm and hard was being thrust inside her.

  ‘Can you feel me?’ His voice was muffled against her neck. She remembered he was taller than her so now he must have his knees bent to make them both a similar height.

  The taste of the orange juice was metallic in her mouth, more like the orange juice the government provided for children. Not that she minded: all the gin had been sharp. She wished he’d keep still so she could go on gazing at the universe above them, like diamonds lying on black velvet. The smell of the Brylcreem on his short hair was making her feel sick.

  ‘You dozy mare! It’s all down my bell bottoms. It stinks!’

  Bea was sliding down the wall. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. The two words were just about audible before another gush of vomit erupted from her. It splashed out and onto the stone slabs of the Fox’s backyard. The sailor shoved her aside, and as her shoulders slid sideways along the bricks, she lost the will to stand. Bea slithered down and sat on the freezing slabs.

  ‘You’re disgusting!’ She heard the words and wondered who the sailor was talking about. Then he left. As she closed her eyes she heard his voice again: ‘Moira, your mate’s in a state out here. Come and sort her out.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Alice Wilkes set down the phone in the staff room at St John’s. The secretary’s message from the town hall at Fareham said her choir had been accepted for two classes: Classic Choir and Harmony Group. ‘Now we’ll let the judges see what we’re made of, Toto.’

  The little dog opened one eye at the sound of her voice, then went back to sleep curled beneath the desk. ‘Even if we only get a place, it’ll be a feather in St John’s cap,’ she said. Toto’s ear flicked. ‘But I’m willing to bet my three girls will end up with a first.’

  She thought back to Wednesday night and smiled. The run-through of Snow White had been hilarious. But she’d never thought it would be anything except extremely funny when she had taken in the huge foam-rubber feet she had spent a long time designing in the shed at the bottom of her garden.

  She’d made strings to tie around the knees so when one of her dwarfs knelt down, the feet stuck out, instantly cutting the girl’s height in half. Of course she needed seven pairs of these enormous feet but now she knew they worked, and provided the choir with laughs, she was ready to cut out more and also to use a couple of red flannel petticoats to cover the foam to make them look like enormous boots.

  On their knees, cushioned by the foam, the seven dwarfs would discover walking didn’t hurt at all. Alice had known that the huge roll, purloined from a failing amateur dramatic club, would come in handy one day.

  The whole choir had got together and put their hearts into designing costumes not only for the panto but for a choir uniform. Alice was happy everyone was so enthusiastic. There was no doubt they would make a success of their sewing. She was also pleased that most had bothered to learn their lines. After expenses had been paid the remainder of the panto’s ticket money would go to charity; she’d let her choir decide which one.

  Bea had been absent from practice. Maud apologized for her. ‘Not well,’ she’d said. It was the first choir meeting she’d missed.

  ‘Toto, I know pride comes before a fall,’ Alice said, ‘but I have a special feeling about Bea, Ivy and Rainey. They’ll go far.’

  *

  ‘The wireless said our boys shot down a hundred and eighty enemy planes in one night,’ Jo announced.

  ‘And we drowned four thousand Germans when a navy sub torpedoed one of their ships,’ Rainey chipped in. ‘I heard that on the wireless as well.’

  ‘Do you think it’ll be over for Christmas?’ Ivy asked.

  They’d stopped on the corner of Maud’s street outside the ironmonger’s. All the way from St John’s they’d been walking around piles of bricks and rubble shovelled nearer the pavements so the road would be clear for traffic to move freely.

  No one spoke of Bea. It was as if they were scared to mention her name.

  Jo shivered. ‘You can feel the winter bite in the air, can’t you? And I don’t know what’s worse, that or the stink of cordite.’

  ‘I can’t ask you in tonight,’ said Maud. ‘Eddie’s waiting with Granddad. He needs someone with him all the time now the planes are coming over nightly.’ Even in the darkness Ivy could see she was worn out. Bea’s name hadn’t passed Maud’s lips except when she had apologized to Mrs Wilkes for her daughter’s absence. The gossipmongers had done enough, though.

  Ivy watched as Jo stepped forward and gave her friend a hug. She wondered if Maud had shared anything with her.

  ‘We understand.’ Jo looked at the two girls for confirmation and they nodded. ‘You know where I am if you need me,’ Jo added.

  The air was filled with unsaid words, thought Ivy.

  On the corner of the next street the remaining trio paused. Rainey’s voice was firm. ‘You go on, Mum. I’m going to walk Ivy home.’

  A startled look crossed Jo’s face.

  ‘I can get the bus back, don’t worry.’ She kissed her mother’s cheek and Jo walked away.

  ‘Try not to be too late,’ she called.

  Ivy slid her arm through Rainey’s. ‘They don’t want to talk about Bea but I think we’d better, don’t you?’ Ivy gave a sideways glance at Rainey. ‘You know there are all kinds of rumours going round about her.’

  ‘I went to the house but she wouldn’t see me. First time I’ve not heard her gramophone blaring out.’ Rainey paused. ‘Eddie came to the door, which surprised me – he does work sometimes. He said she was unwell and asleep.’

  ‘Well, he’s hardly going to tell you what really happened, is he?’

  ‘And I suppose you know the truth?’

  ‘I do. I was in the café with Bert. The manager of the Fox came in after taking Bea home. He said her so-called mates from Woolworths had deserted her. They aren’t friends, they’re leeches.’ Ivy looked sad.

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Moira and the others thought it was hilarious to let this sailor fill her up with gin and orang
e, then take her outside.’

  ‘If the manager saw what was happening, why didn’t he put a stop to it?’

  ‘Don’t you think he blames himself? He thought the drinks were for all the girls. This sailor, all mouth and trousers, told his mate he was going to do her. His mate told him he hadn’t a chance, so it was a kind of bet. Those stupid girls thought it was funny to see Bea getting drunk.’

  ‘She can’t hold her drink. Remember at the Sloane Stanley Hall when—’

  ‘Rainey! You listening or not?’ Ivy saw her friend was looking contrite.

  ‘I bet the manager of the Fox didn’t tell you any of this.’

  ‘Of course not, but I never went up to our rooms, like Bert told me to. I hid on the stairs and listened. Bea felt sorry for the sailor because he’d told her he was sailing in the morning and might never return. You know what she’s like, soft as putty sometimes. He took her outside for a bit of a kiss. By that time the gin had got to her and she puked all over him!’

  Rainey smiled. ‘Good!’

  ‘He shouted to one of the Woolworths girls, then he was off on his toes. Of course, no one knew him from Adam. If they did they weren’t going to say what ship he was on.’

  Ivy waited for Rainey to speak but when she didn’t she changed the subject and said, ‘Look, Mrs Wilkes is doing us three a big favour and not just to put St John’s and her choir on the map. She’s giving us a little taste of what it’s like on the stage. Our three voices are good together. Three,’ she repeated. ‘I don’t know about you but I want to do something with my life, not stay working in Gosport.’

  ‘I thought that was why we’re doing typing.’

  ‘To work in a soddin’ office in Gosport!’ Ivy almost exploded. ‘I want more, Rainey.’ She was serious. ‘I want to pay my mum back for all she’s done for me.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Mrs Wilkes is offering us a way out. She’s making a showcase of us at the David Bogue and she’s put us in for the music festival, but we need Bea.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘It’s up to us to make sure she doesn’t get mixed up in any more trouble, and we can do that by sticking together, through thick and thin.’

  ‘Like babysitters?’

  ‘If you like. It also means we can’t let her stay at home stewing about what’s happened to her. She’s already missed coming to practice tonight. A few more misses and she might not come back at all.’

  ‘But she’s older than us!’

  ‘Doesn’t mean she’s as bright, though, does it? Tell me, what d’you want out of life, Rainey?’

  ‘To sing. I’ve been singing all my life, I can’t imagine not singing . . .’

  ‘And I want money, nice clothes and respect. If singing can get me those things, I don’t want Bea messing it all up.’ She stared at Rainey. ‘Besides, we’ve got to help her get over this because she’s our friend. You in or out?’

  ‘In.’ And in war-torn Forton Road Ivy hugged Rainey. Her plan was starting to come together.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The lad took his drink to where Ivy was sitting and dumped it down. Tea sploshed over the rim, into the saucer and onto the table.

  ‘All on yer own?’

  Ivy looked up from the Pitman’s office training book she was reading. The typing class was due to take tests soon and she knew how much it meant to her mother for her to gain a diploma: when she wasn’t singing or learning words for the panto, she was studying. She eyed the mess on the table, swirling the orange squash in her glass. ‘I’m studying for an exam.’ She prayed he wouldn’t sit down. The stench of beer wafted over her. She glanced up at him. Although he slouched she could see he was tall. A shock of fair hair hung over his forehead. He used the spoon to stir his tea and the liquid in the saucer slopped over towards her book. ‘Watch it!’ she said, as he picked up the dripping cup.

  ‘I’ve seen you in ’ere before.’ He leaned over her. There was spittle at the corner of his mouth; a particle flew towards Ivy. He drank noisily then set the cup unsteadily on the Formica table.

  The wireless was playing loudly. The café door banged open and more lads pushed rowdily inside.

  ‘’Ere he is.’

  Ivy began to panic. She hated being hemmed in. She closed her book and started to rise.

  The blond youth put his hand on her shoulder, forcing her back onto the chair.

  ‘I come in special to talk to you. I know what your mum does an’ I want to know if you do it as well.’

  Ivy stared at him. She knew exactly what he meant. ‘Don’t you talk about my mum.’ Calmly she picked up her glass and threw the squash over him.

  He staggered against the table, face dripping liquid. The cup and saucer jumped and tea spilled as the cup overturned. ‘Ooow!’ He screamed, his hands immediately going behind him as he felt a sharp jab in his back. His hair and eyebrows were wet and the front of his jumper soaked.

  Bert’s voice rose above the kerfuffle. ‘Get out, the fuckin’ lot of you, and if I ever see you in here again you’ll get more and worse!’

  There was an exodus to the door from the newcomers.

  The fair-haired youth bent over the table using it as a one-handed prop to stand. Ivy saw tears in his eyes. Bert stood behind him, his favourite walking stick in his hand. He unsheathed the wooden cover showing the youth the shiny blade. The lad’s eyes widened. ‘You try anything with her again and it won’t be just a bloody poke with a stick you’ll get. I’ll cut you to ribbons.’ Bert sheathed the weapon and slammed the door on the hobbling youth as he made his painful exit. ‘You all right, love?’

  Ivy was trembling and her skirt was wet with tea. Wordlessly she nodded.

  ‘Come on, get yourself upstairs and washed. You spend far too much time in this place.’ Bert foraged in his pocket and produced a ten-bob note. ‘Go to the pictures tomorrow night with Rainey.’ He paused, the stick now hanging from a chair, and tucked the money into Ivy’s hand. ‘Get that Bea to go an’ all. ’Bout time she come out of hiding.’

  Ivy rose unsteadily and fell into Bert’s arms, his smell of bacon fat and fresh sweat comforting. She remembered the conversation she’d had with Rainey and was more determined than ever that nothing like this would ever happen to her again.

  *

  ‘Well, I can hardly take her along with me, can I?’ Della’s voice was pitched high.

  ‘She was in ’ere when she was accosted by them louts,’ said Bert. ‘Seems one’s had his eye on her for some time.’

  Della sat on a tall stool by the counter, the fur’s fox eyes glinting in the light. She crossed nylon-clad legs. ‘She’s all right in here.’

  ‘You’re not listening to me. She’s not safe anywhere. Look what happened to her mate. Much as I love the girl, she needs you, Della.’

  Della shook her head. ‘I can’t be in two places at once and I got to make sure there’s money put by for her future, as well as feeding and clothing her now.’ She stared at him, then sighed. ‘Thanks, Bert, for looking after my Ivy.’ She slid off the stool and went around the counter. Bert was spreading marge on bread for her sandwich. He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. Della barely reached his shoulder even in her high heels. She stretched up and kissed his cheek. He shuffled his feet awkwardly. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ she breathed.

  ‘I’ll tell you what you can do. You can give over going down to that bloody brothel that Jim calls his “massage rooms”. You’re not the only tart he’s got.’

  Bert had never called her a tart to her face before and it stung.

  Her thoughts were scattered by the strident sound of the air-raid siren.

  Previous conversation forgotten, Bert said, ‘Shout up the stairs for your girl and anyone else in their rooms, Della. I’ll turn off the utilities. Good job we’re closed up. We’ll get down the cellar.’

  *

  Ivy stood in the doorway, breathing heavily after running down the stairs. ‘There’s no one
else in the building.’

  Della said, ‘At the beginning of the war that wail sent us scurrying to shelters like headless chickens and what for? Nothing happened. We got used to the damn thing.’ She was peeping out of the blackout curtains. ‘Now those German planes mean business.’ The sky was filled with bombers, too many to count. She saw Ned, one of the air-raid wardens, cycling along North Street, shouting, ‘Take cover! Get in the shelters!’

  ‘Down the cellar steps!’ warned Bert. ‘Got your gas masks?’

  Della shrugged.

  ‘I got yours, Mum,’ Ivy shouted, above the noise of the planes.

  She was a good girl, thought Della. Ivy knew she hated carting the square bag everywhere.

  Just before she turned from the window Della saw an aircraft spiralling out of control. She could see bombs falling . . .

  ‘Get a move on, girl,’ Bert said, chivvying her down the stone steps, after moving a gent’s bike away from the doorway.

  Bert had made up a couple of beds with only inches to spare between them to save space. He kept a Primus stove down there, with an alarm clock that he never forgot to rewind. Even so the large, damp room had water running down the walls. Once upon a time Bert had kept stock there but mildew ran wild. Now there was an old armchair, a table upon which sat tin mugs, an oil lamp and a shelf of swollen books.

  Della saw he had picked up a flask and the bank bag with the café takings.

  Ivy was already sitting on one of the beds with the Pitman’s book.

  ‘Take the other bed, Della,’ Bert said, throwing the money on the table, then putting down the flask more carefully, along with his walking stick. ‘I’ll be fine on the chair.’ When she didn’t move, he added, ‘The beds ain’t damp. Them’s fresh coverings.’ He sat down in the armchair.