The Bluebird Girls: The Forces' Sweethearts 1

by Rosie Archer

  He couldn’t answer her but he used a tea-towel to wipe away the snot and slime on her face. ‘I think we might have got rid of it all,’ he said. ‘Thank God I came in when I did. How d’you feel?’

  ‘Like I could murder a cuppa,’ she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. ‘Without salt!’

  He smiled at her. Della’s nightdress was sticking to her and she smelled deplorable, but she was there with him, and she would be all right, and that was all that mattered. He looked at the shambles of the room. ‘If I go downstairs to get the takings and collect fresh bedding, can you be trusted to clean yourself up? I won’t be long. Then we can have that cup of tea.’

  ‘I didn’t really mean to—’

  He cut her off. ‘We’ll talk after I’ve cleared up this mess.’

  Bert stripped the bed and, with the sheets dragging along behind him, he went downstairs. If he soaked them in the big copper, he could wash them later, he thought. He cashed up, putting all of the money in a blue bank bag except for tomorrow’s float. He was planning to go up to his own room and bring out some clean pillows, sheets and blankets to sort out Della’s bed.

  The street door flew open so hard it banged against the wall. Jim thrust himself into the passageway. His clothes were soaked with the rain and his hat brim was dripping. He was taller than Bert, younger. ‘Where’s the bitch?’

  He wasn’t drunk, but he had been drinking – Bert could smell the whisky on him. He knew there’d be no reasoning with the angry man.

  Bert backed into the space behind the counter and put his takings on the shelf for safekeeping. ‘If you mean the woman you beat up, she’s not here,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Where is she? I’ve lost a lot of money tonight because she’s had some daft bee in her bonnet—’

  ‘It ain’t daft not wanting to sell herself no more.’

  ‘She’s here, I know it.’ Jim stared up the stairs. He wasn’t listening to Bert. ‘I’ll make her pay.’

  Bert unhooked the sheathed swordstick and walked back into the passage. ‘Get away from them stairs. Them’s people’s private rooms up there and I told you long ago it’s out of bounds.’

  ‘You gonna stop me, old man? Gonna whack me one with your walking stick?’ He grinned at Bert. ‘If I kick that away you’ll topple over.’

  He aimed a kick at Bert. The casing from the blade fell to the floor and Bert slashed at Jim’s outstretched leg. Jim’s foot didn’t reach its target because the blade sliced through his trousers. In an instant, beads of blood swelled into the long split of material.

  ‘You fuckin’ cut me!’

  ‘Now get off them stairs and sling yer hook!’ Bert growled, glaring at Jim. He waited, willing him to step down. He didn’t want more trouble but there was no way the bloke was going up to Della’s rooms. Bert could feel himself sweating even though the passage was cold and the rain blowing through the open door made it colder still.

  Jim had lost interest in Della and the reason he’d come to the café, and instead was bending over, examining his bleeding leg. ‘You’re a bloody madman,’ he said. But he was now off the bottom stair and limping towards the street door. ‘I’ll get even with you for this,’ he said, stepping into the rain.

  ‘Just so long as you remember Della don’t work for you no more,’ Bert called, and kicked the door shut.

  He walked unsteadily into the café and rinsed his face and hands at the sink. After a while he stopped shaking enough to pick up the cane and plunge the sword back into its casing. He’d never cut anyone before. He felt sick at his actions.

  When he had the takings in his hands again, he climbed the stairs. His next job was to clean up Della’s room. It wouldn’t do for Ivy to come home and find her mum in a mess like that.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Ivy picked up the two-pound bomb she’d been filling with explosive and hooked it onto the conveyor-belt. She hated the stink of the lemonade-like powder that misted the air, settling everywhere and yellowing the strands of her hair that she couldn’t tuck into her white turban. She watched as the container made its way above the long bench to the next stop on its journey to completion, then to be used by our boys to win the war against Hitler. A warm feeling swept over her as she thought about their audition with Madame Walker that afternoon.

  ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square’ was blaring out of the wireless, raising the morale of the workers in the armament factory.

  Ivy yawned and started filling another bomb case. The job was exacting and dangerous. Meg, working beside her, a shrivelled conker of a woman, started coughing. Ivy paused until her fit had passed. The TNT caused all manner of ailments but the pay was good and Meg had a family to feed.

  Priddy’s Hard, the armament depot at Gosport overlooking Portsmouth harbour, was in its usual nightly hive of activity.

  The buzzer sounded. ‘Thank God for that,’ said Ivy. She took off her gloves and scratched at her head beneath the turban. ‘This thing makes my head itch something terrible.’

  The machinery had stopped. It was time for a break.

  Bea, in blue dungarees, was standing behind her. ‘Shall we go outside for a breather?’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Rainey.

  ‘You can’t,’ said Meg. ‘It’s pissing down with rain.’ She left the three girls with a triumphant look on her face.

  ‘One day I’m going to swing for her, miserable cow,’ said Bea.

  ‘You’d be unhappy, too, if your old man got blown up at sea, leaving you with six kids to bring up,’ Rainey pointed out.

  ‘Stop it, you two. We’ve got nothing to be unhappy about,’ Ivy said. ‘Let’s find somewhere quiet so we can talk.’ She already had an Oxo tin in her hands that contained sandwiches Bert had made.

  ‘If we don’t go out we don’t have to change,’ said Bea.

  No nail varnish, no hair-grips, wedding rings taped up, a complete change from outdoor clothing to work clothes that was supervised by an overseer.

  All three, along with their blue dungarees and white turbans, which denoted the department in which they worked, wore substantial boots with safety soles.

  Rainey started laughing.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Ivy asked.

  ‘We are,’ Rainey said. ‘We’ve been told to think about blue stage costumes. Well, look at us, we’re already wearing them!’

  They entered the canteen, which smelled of sweat and food, and found a quiet corner. As the girls sat down, Ivy said seriously, ‘Rainey, I think you should keep your voice down. We can’t let on about this to anyone, especially not the women we’re working with.’

  Bea, who was just about to head towards the counter to buy teas, stopped in her tracks. ‘Why not?’

  ‘We’ve already talked about this, Bea. We’d look pretty silly if things didn’t work out, wouldn’t we? And there’s so much austerity now that it might cause jealousy if there’s a possibility we could earn good money. We do have to go on working here for now, you know,’ said Ivy.

  Bea grinned. It looked like the penny had dropped. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘We talk to no one, except the people closely involved.’

  Rainey, who had taken a bite of a sandwich that was more Marmite than cheese, nodded in agreement. ‘I’m sorry for being so thoughtless.’ She, too, tried tucking her waves beneath the front of her turban. Ivy knew she wasn’t happy because she had found green strands: the chemicals did that to red hair.

  ‘My mum’s as excited as I am about everything,’ said Bea, softly, then went on her way towards the tea queue.

  ‘How about your mum?’ Rainey asked Ivy, swallowing bread hastily.

  Ivy sighed. ‘She’s over the moon,’ she said. She had no idea why her mother hadn’t been waiting at the café to hear her news. It had hurt to know that Della had preferred to be somewhere else on such a special day. Of course Bert had been lovely, excited for her, fussing around her, like a mother hen, but she’d so looked forward to telling Della. She blinked back a tear – if
she needed to wipe her eyes they’d become inflamed and itch like mad with the tiny grains of powder floating about. Ivy took a deep breath. ‘I do wonder if we’ll be able to keep it up, all the rehearsing and then coming here every night.’

  Rainey, who had earlier confided to her friends of her father’s death and Blackie’s search for her and her mother, said, ‘It’s all I’ve ever wanted, to sing, you already know that. My dad wasn’t all a father could be but he’s made this chance possible by giving Blackie that photo.’ She stopped talking as two women walked by the table, then continued: ‘If we want it bad enough we can make it happen.’ She looked towards the tea queue and groaned. ‘It’s that one we’ve got to keep our eyes on.’ She inclined her head.

  ‘Sometimes I think Bea’s got no more sense than a sardine.’ Ivy watched Bea giggle as one of the packing lads tried to fit both his large hands around her tiny waist. He was brawny and his dark hair was a mass of shiny curls.

  ‘She should be served next, thank goodness,’ grumbled Rainey.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ivy. ‘I’m not jealous of the attention she gets, she’s like a man magnet, but I could do with a cuppa.’ They stared at each other and started laughing.

  *

  Ivy let herself in at the side door. Earlier tonight she’d thought the shift at Priddy’s would never end but now the morning was beginning to lighten. She smiled at the sounds of the birds singing their early chorus. She only ever noticed sparrows, pigeons and seagulls in the Gosport streets but hundreds were singing their hearts out now.

  The women on the line had been talking about the extra Christmas rations the government were allowing: four ounces of sugar and two ounces of tea. She and the girls were more excited about having Christmas night and Boxing Day night off. That meant two days they didn’t have to work at Priddy’s. The bomb factory wasn’t closing because the war was stopping for Christmas: the need for armaments was just as important but the management had sent round a missive offering extra work to those employees who were willing to come in.

  Ivy wondered if the boss would be as helpful in the New Year when she, Bea and Rainey might be appearing in the revue and would need time off.

  There was a strong smell of bleach everywhere. She saw the stairs had been freshly washed. Upstairs the smell was stronger. She began to open the door.

  ‘That you, Ivy love?’ Her mother’s voice startled her. Della was usually asleep when Ivy returned from work.

  ‘No, it’s Frank Sinatra come to take you away from all this,’ Ivy said.

  Della was standing at the stove waiting for the kettle to boil. She saw her mother had washed her hair. She looked around the room – indeed, it looked as though she’d had a spring clean in December.

  Ivy took off her coat and shoes and sat on her bed. ‘You must have come home early to clean this lot up,’ she said. She watched as Della made a pot of tea.

  ‘I felt bad I wasn’t here for you.’

  ‘Well, you’re back now so that’s all that matters.’

  Della turned round with a cup of tea in her hands for Ivy.

  ‘What’s the matter with your face?’

  Ivy was at her side, taking the tea, putting it on the draining-board and peering at her mother.

  Della gave her a wonky smile. ‘I told Jim I was through with the game and he didn’t like it.’

  ‘Have you been to the hospital?’ Ivy’s eyes were full of tears. ‘The police should be told. Have you . . .’

  Della turned her gaze on Ivy. Her words were clear and concise. ‘The police might help Jim but they’d take no notice of me. Anyway, Bert sorted Jim out. Then he sorted me out.’ She tried to smile but her split lip made it impossible and she winced. ‘The main thing is, I’m never going back to that flat down by the bus station.’

  Ivy pulled her mother in for another hug, mindful that she was hurt.

  ‘I’m going to help out downstairs.’ Della was still being hugged so her voice was muffled by Ivy’s jumper.

  ‘Let me look.’ Ivy pushed Della away and scrutinized her face. ‘Well, it’ll heal,’ she said. ‘Listen. It’s time for some changes here. I’m determined to make money and I’ll look after you. You don’t know how pleased I am that you’ve said goodbye to that man.’

  ‘There’s something else I must tell you. I don’t want no secrets between us two, ever.’

  Ivy stared at her. Della was now sitting on the bed beside her. ‘I wasn’t in my right mind when I came in out of the rain, looking like something the cat dragged in. And . . . I took quite a few Beecham’s Powders. Then Bert came and, well . . .’

  Ivy let the words sink in. She couldn’t imagine her mother feeling so down that she would do a thing like that. Something hard, like a stone, settled in her heart. In a moment they would talk more, and she would share with Della the happiness she’d felt earlier. Until that moment, Ivy knew she had never really understood her mother. But now everything that had passed before was gone and a new beginning was opening for both of them. Everything would be all right.

  Ivy put her arms around her mother’s neck and whispered, ‘It says on the Beecham’s packet “Why suffer? They act like magic to end the pain.” But I’m sure they only mean you to take one.’

  Della guffawed, got up and went to the sink. She picked up the two cups and said, ‘Better stick to tea, then.’

  *

  ‘He can go in next week,’ said Millicent Meadows. She wore a heavy brown coat and had a headscarf tied beneath her sharp chin. ‘He’d be settled before Christmas. Of course you’ll need to transport his bits and pieces to Lavinia House.’ She began checking her notebook. The heat in the kitchen was making her cheeks glow.

  ‘I am bloody here, you know!’ Solomon stared at the woman from the council. ‘Talking about me as if I don’t bloody exist!’ Maud saw him shake the Evening News he’d been reading as if he was wringing its neck.

  ‘She’s doing us a favour, Granddad. And when me and Eddie took you to Bridgemary to see the place you fell in love with it, didn’t you?’

  Granddad grunted, the woman looked happier and Maud sighed.

  ‘I heard you got on well with Gertie Adams in the next room,’ the woman said to Solomon.

  ‘What’s it to you? That woman’s got a bit of go in her,’ he said. He cleared his throat and spat into his handkerchief.

  Maud raised her eyes heavenwards. Gertie had appeared immediately they’d put the key into the door of Solomon’s room. It was like she’d been asked to show them around, thought Maud.

  ‘This is the living room, and the bed is in that alcove there.’ The sprightly white-haired woman had waved her arm. ‘You don’t need to cook no food, as we got Mrs Ford, a proper cook to do that. You won’t go hungry here. There’s a cleaner as well, Sunshine by name and sunny by nature. She’ll do bits and bobs of shopping if you need it.’ She’d floated about pointing to this and that. ‘The toilets and bathrooms are three doors away. If you feels a bit unwell or thinks you can’t manage to get to the toilet knock on the wall for me . . .’ At this she’d burst out laughing, showing sparkling white false teeth. ‘Let’s face it, we all gets funny turns, don’t we? But we don’t have to trail down the bottom of the garden to have a wee. Day or night Mrs Manners is on call. Trained nurse. Ever so nice she is.’

  Granddad had stared at her, open-mouthed.

  ‘I’m next door,’ she repeated. ‘If you wants a chat. But in the evenings we all sits down in what’s called the Leisure Room, comfy in there, and nice and warm. Listens to the wireless, plays crib or cards, they gives out tea and biscuits . . .’

  Gertie got no further for a middle-aged woman in a pinafore had come in. ‘Thank you, Gertie, you’ve saved me the job of showing them about.’

  Gertie had grabbed Granddad’s arm and whisked him away to introduce him to some of her male friends in the Leisure Room. Surprisingly, Maud remembered, he’d gone like a lamb to the slaughter.

  Now she smiled at Mrs Meadows. ‘Mrs Manners said it’s us
ually quiet there. Except for Gertie. But I’m wondering if Solomon wouldn’t prefer to spend Christmas with us and move in in the New Year.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t, love,’ Granddad said. ‘To tell the truth, now I’ve made up me mind, I’d like to be in there for Christmas cos Gertie’s brother’s coming to stay in the family room. He used to play football for Pompey, and we worked out I went to school with him. Be nice to talk over old times.’

  Maud looked at Millicent Meadows. She didn’t want to tell this woman how much she’d miss Solomon and that she’d hoped the council would rehouse the whole family in a bigger place so she could go on looking after him. Nor would she tell anyone that when she’d closed the front door on her she’d go upstairs and have a cry. But it wasn’t like she’d never see him any more: he could easily get the bus down to her and she, Eddie and Bea would pop in regularly.

  ‘I suppose that’s settled, then,’ Maud said.

  Chapter Forty

  ‘Bea, Rainey, you’ll have to sit in the back of the van. Jo and Ivy, you’re in the front with me.’

  ‘Why do I have to get in the back, Eddie? It’s all dusty,’ Bea moaned.

  ‘Well, just watch where you’re sitting. You’ve got eyes in your head, haven’t you?’

  It was nice to hear Eddie and Bea bickering again, thought Ivy. She was very conscious she had to squeeze up on the bench seat close to Eddie to make room for Jo. They were lucky to be getting a lift to the David Bogue Hall.

  ‘It’s nice not having to walk,’ she said, when at last Eddie had finished checking the van’s doors (‘I don’t trust Bea to shut it properly from the inside’) and climbed into the driver’s seat, moving his feet towards the van’s pedals. ‘No bother, I’m on my way down to the town hall to see the planning committee and I can drop you all off.’

  He turned to smile at her and her heart started thumping. She was squashed close enough to smell his woody cologne. He looked nice today, dressed up in a dark suit, she thought. He ran his fingers through his blond hair but it sprang back across his forehead again.

  ‘Why are you seeing them?’ Jo asked. Ivy thought she looked pretty today, in a warm cherry-coloured wool jacket beneath which she had a grey blouse and grey slacks. She’d also made up her face, unusual for Jo. She wondered if it was for Blackie’s benefit.