by Joanna Toye
Lily held her breath. This was the tipping point. Was Jim going to say she was too demanding, expected too much, of life, and of him? Maybe that’s what she deserved. She was asking a lot.
But he smiled – sadly, but still a smile.
‘I can see it’s not enough. In fact, the way you’ve been talking, it’s a miracle you’ve hung on this long. So, if you want to join up, you should do it.’
Lily could hardly believe what she’d heard.
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously, else why are we talking about it? But I don’t see why you think it gets in the way of us being married.’
‘Well, I just thought—’
‘We simply wait. Until the war is over and you … you’ve done what you feel you have to do.’
‘You really mean that?’
‘What have I just said?’
Unable to speak, Lily opened her arms wide. Jim came round the table. He knelt on the floor in front of her and put his arms round her. She held his dear, thoughtful, sensitive face in her hands and kissed him.
‘I don’t believe you,’ she said. ‘I don’t mean I don’t believe what you said but that you can be so good and kind and understanding and patient with me. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you.’
‘I think you mean I don’t deserve you!’ grinned Jim, his tone putting quite a different slant on the word ‘deserve’.
‘You’re right there,’ agreed Lily.
Jim sat back on his haunches.
‘So what happens next?’
‘Well,’ Lily considered, ‘I suppose I go along to the recruiting office.’
‘That sounds like a plan,’ nodded Jim. ‘Any objection if I tag along?’
The nearest Auxiliary Territorial Service office was in Birmingham. Jim suggested they book leave on a Wednesday to allow a whole day for the outing.
‘You don’t want to run out of time,’ he said. ‘They might send you off for the medical straight away. Tap your knee with their little hammer, get you to walk in a straight line and look down your throat – that’s what happened to me when I went to join up. And there’s the eye test of course.’
That was the test that he’d failed.
Lily hadn’t thought about a medical, but from then on she was careful to avoid anyone with the hint of a sniffle and to wash her hands scrupulously whenever she could. She inhaled and exhaled deeply on their walks to work and stepped out briskly, keeping pace with Jim’s long legs for a change.
‘Practising your marching, I see,’ he noted.
Lily had decided not to tell her mum the real purpose behind the trip till she knew the outcome. It was a tactic Sid had used when he’d applied for his London posting. There was no point in giving their mum something to fret about – and she would – till it was certain, he’d reckoned. So Jim and Lily had come up with a white lie about checking out the Christmas offerings in Birmingham’s stores – Rackham’s, Lewis’s, Marshall and Snelgrove’s, Grey’s – there was even a big Co-op.
This wasn’t a total untruth. Lewis’s was of particular interest to Jim with its huge top-floor Toy department and famous Father Christmas grotto, which was already up and running.
The day they were due to go was damp and dreary, typical for the end of November, but Dora was pleased they were having some time together.
‘You won’t notice the weather!’ she said as they set off. Lily suppressed a pang of guilt. She hated fibbing.
She’d spent ages planning her outfit: she wanted to look serious but not sober, smart but not flashy. That ruled out her plum satin blouse and matching suede shoes, but her more sensible work clothes were too well worn and too dull. Finally she settled on her grey dress with its scattering of blue and yellow flowers – the material was a bit lightweight for November but it went with her blue coat and hat – or at least didn’t not go with them, which was an achievement when most of her clothes came from jumble sales. Even with her staff discount, Marlows’ prices were usually too steep. Her work shoes, given a bit of spit and polish, added the sensible touch. Jim smiled at her approvingly as he helped her off the train at Snow Hill station in Birmingham.
‘Very smart. I’d take you on,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ said Lily and they both knew she meant for more than just the compliment.
They asked directions to the recruiting office and found that their route took them past both Grey’s and Lewis’s. They paused to study the goods in their windows. There was some enviable stuff.
‘We haven’t had a radiogram that size for years,’ Jim sighed at Lewis’s. ‘They’ve got much bigger buying power than us. But,’ he brightened, ‘they’ve still got the apostrophe in their name, so they’re behind Marlows in that respect. They’ll all catch us up in the end!’
But Lily’s eyes had wandered to the slogan running across the top of Lewis’s windows. ‘Are You Supporting The National Effort?’ it read. Well, she would be soon. She straightened her shoulders and raised her head.
‘Come on,’ she said to Jim, pulling on his arm. ‘We can do our window-shopping afterwards.’
‘You reckon?’ He looked down at her, his brown eyes smiling. ‘When the ATS sees what’s walked through the door, you’ll be whisked straight off to London in a staff car!’
Chapter 21
With Lily setting the pace, it was barely twelve when they got to the office, but a woman in the khaki uniform of the ATS, a sergeant by her stripes, was locking the door.
‘Excuse me!’ Lily ran forward. ‘We were just coming to see you! We can’t be too late?’
The woman turned. She was about forty, with a quiff of brown hair poking out from under her cap and quizzical grey eyes.
‘Caught in the act,’ she smiled. ‘I’m not closing for the day, but it’s been quiet so I was sneaking off for an early lunch. But now you’re here, you’d better come in.’
This was far better than Lily had expected – not a barking barrack-room sergeant but a friendly, approachable person. It had to be a good sign. The woman turned the key in the lock again and led the way into a small room, furnished with three desks, two of them with typewriters. She indicated the empty desks.
‘One’s off sick, the other’s gone to the Post Office,’ she explained. ‘I expect she’ll be hours, with the queuing. Have a seat.’
Or ‘At ease!’ thought Lily as she and Jim sat down on the two wooden chairs in front of the desk without a typewriter.
‘Sergeant Matthews,’ said the woman, extending her hand to them both before she sat down on her side of the desk. ‘So, here you are.’ Shrewdly, she looked them up and down, taking in every detail, including Lily’s ring. ‘And this young man is your fiancé, I take it.’
‘That’s right,’ said Jim. ‘And before you ask, I’m fully supportive of what she wants to do.’
Lily looked around. The walls held the obligatory photos of the King, solemn in his dress uniform, and the Prime Minister beaming in his Homburg hat, making the ‘V for Victory’ sign. Various ATS posters were on show as well. There was the one of the smiling ATS girl in front of an anti-aircraft gun with the motto: ‘They Can’t Get On Without Us’. The more recent one was there too, stark in blood-red and black – a German soldier with his hands up in defeat. The slogan read: ‘Nazi Surrender Draws Nearer Every Time A Woman Joins The ATS’.
With a happy sigh – she was in the right place! – Lily delved in her bag.
‘I’d like to join up,’ she said. ‘I’ve brought my birth certificate and my National Insurance card and my identity card, of course …’
Sergeant Matthews produced a form from a drawer. She uncapped her pen.
‘Lily Margaret Collins,’ said Lily, anticipating the first question. ‘Date of birth—’
‘Hold on. I’m not writing anything till we’ve had a chat,’ said Sergeant Matthews. ‘Don’t want to waste paper, do we? So, Lily, what are you doing now?’
Lily explained her job at Marlows. She emphasised her promotion
(responsible), the cash handling (trustworthy), the mental arithmetic (quick) and the need to get on with people (flexible) – she’d rehearsed it all with Jim on the train. Jim had also advised her to play up her WVS work – not just the camouflage nets and the envelope-stuffing but her efforts with the evacuees. Sergeant Matthews listened intently.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘That all sounds splendid, and well done you. So have you any clerical experience as such? Typing, filing …’
‘Um … not exactly.’ Lily thought quickly. ‘Though it’s important to keep the stock sheets and tidy the stockroom itself, and the department in good order. I make sure of that.’
‘Yes, tidy mind, good. And has Marlows been your only job? Any other experience? Factory work maybe?’
‘No,’ admitted Lily. ‘Not yet anyway. Though if you put me to anything that required …’ She thought quickly. What was the word? ‘… any dexterity like that, er, I’m sure I’d—’
But Sergeant Matthews wasn’t a time-waster, or perhaps she was thinking of the early lunch she was missing.
‘Any craft experience?’ she interrupted. ‘Baking, perhaps? Used a sewing machine?’
Lily thought of her clumsy attempts at knitting and sewing, and the exploded house brick that had been her attempt at a loaf. She was spoilt, really, with Dora being so good at everything like that. But she wasn’t mad keen to be stuck in the camp kitchen or sewing room, so a ‘no’ might not be a bad thing.
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Only hand sewing, mostly at the WVS. I help my mum with meals, and around the house, obviously.’
‘I’m sure you do. Can you drive?’
Drive? That would be beyond Lily’s wildest dreams! Serving in the Mechanised Transport Corps, like Gwenda? Posted abroad, even?
‘No, but I’d be very keen to learn—’
Sergeant Matthews recapped her pen. She sat back, taking her pen with her and tapping it against her chin.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I really can’t take you on.’
Lily heard Jim’s intake of breath. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him reach for her hand, but she waved it away.
‘What?’
‘You asked when we met outside if you were too late. And I’m afraid in terms of joining up, you are.’
‘Too late? But I can’t be – we’re still fighting! The war could go on for goodness knows how long! I know you’re not conscripting girls any more, but you’re still taking volunteers!’
‘Very few,’ replied Sergeant Matthews. ‘And only if they have directly relevant experience. If perhaps they can drive or have used a teleprinter. Or have foreign languages – French, German – now that’s very useful.’
Lily slumped back in her chair. Sergeant Matthews hadn’t even asked her about languages: she’d realised Lily wasn’t of that calibre. But Lily realised something as well. She’d told Jim she’d never been tested and that was true, but she’d never been turned down for anything she’d attempted before either. Her mum had always encouraged her; her teachers had praised her. She’d been terrified of the interview for her junior’s job at Marlows, but she’d still got it. She wasn’t going to take this lying down.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m not saying I don’t believe you but there must still be work! I know we’ve made progress in the last few months … Paris liberated, and Brussels. But a lot of Belgium’s still under German control! And Holland! And what about the V2s still dropping on London – you must need people for the anti-aircraft guns? Searchlight batteries?’
Sergeant Matthews laid down her pen. She leaned across the desk, kind, concerned.
‘Lily, your enthusiasm is commendable, and if you’d been of age earlier in the war we’d have snapped you up, believe me. But the ack-ack guns are manned by women who’ve been doing the job for years, the same with the searchlights – and barrage balloons, come to that.’
‘They must have leave! Or go sick, like your typist?’
‘And then they’re replaced by others who are equally experienced. There’s enough of them. To be honest, we’re having trouble finding enough for a lot of our girls to do.’ Sergeant Matthews put the form away and closed the drawer. ‘Wasting a form is the least of it. I can’t waste Government money by taking on someone who hasn’t got relevant experience, kitting them out and spending six weeks training them at this stage in the war.’
Lily blinked. She was desperate not to give in to tears like a spoilt child who’d thought she had the chance of an adventure only to have it snatched away. Jim saved her. He spoke for the first time.
‘Excuse me for butting in, I don’t mean to be impolite, but “at this stage”? How can you be so sure? As Lily says, it’s not entirely going our way. And Hitler’s come back at us before.’
‘It’s different now,’ said Sergeant Matthews. ‘Think about it. First the blackout was lifted. Only the other week they announced how demobilisation is going to work. Do you seriously think the Government and the Armed Forces would have done those things if they weren’t confident the enemy can’t hold out much longer?’
Lily and Jim were silent. When she put it like that …
‘There’s more,’ the sergeant said gently. ‘I can’t tell you what, you understand why, but watch the papers and listen to the news in the next few days. There’s going to be another big announcement at the weekend. And trust me, the liberation of Holland is very close. The Dutch Resistance has a superb network for information. Another week, another fortnight … and you’ll see.’
Sergeant Matthews stood up. Lily gathered her papers and stuffed them into her bag. Clearly, the order was ‘dismiss!’
‘I am sorry,’ Sergeant Matthews said as they shook hands again. ‘I’m sure you’ll do very well at whatever you set your mind to, Lily. Thank you for offering your services to us. But timing is against you.’
Lily couldn’t argue against the facts. Never mind the motto above Lewis’s windows, the real sign had been Sergeant Matthews locking up the office as they’d arrived. She was too late.
Jim led her away, mute and defeated. Lily felt very small. All the fuss she’d caused, the hurt and upset to Jim, had all been for nothing. She wanted to say as much to him, but she couldn’t squeeze the words past the lump in her throat.
‘I can’t talk about it yet,’ she managed. ‘So please don’t say anything. Let’s just do what we came for, or said we did, to look at the shops and see what they’ve got for Christmas.’
‘Don’t be silly. That’s not what we came for and it doesn’t matter now.’
‘It does matter. It’s what we told Mum. She’ll expect to know. So come on, let’s do it. We might as well.’
‘Hang on then.’ Jim stopped to get his bearings, complicated by the fact that a lot of Birmingham’s landmarks had been boarded up, damaged or destroyed. ‘I think Rackham’s is this way.’
He led them along a street called Temple Row. They found themselves with the back of the huge store to one side and a wide-open space on the other. The city’s cathedral, or what was left of it, stood in the centre. There was no roof, just a cat’s cradle of blackened rafters, the result of the Blitz. Providentially, the precious Pre-Raphaelite stained-glass windows had been removed months before: some said the Bishop of Birmingham had had a vision that had inspired him to do it.
‘Let’s get our breath back,’ said Jim.
The railings had gone, of course, and the benches, but they perched on some stone coping. Jim put his arm round her and pulled her against him. Lily burrowed into his shoulder.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s tough when a dream shatters in front of you.’
‘You had to go through it.’ Lily’s voice was muffled. ‘When you got turned down, I thought I understood. I had no idea.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Jim replied. ‘But I’m living proof, aren’t I? It’s not the end of the world. And look, if what Sergeant Matthews said is right, and it means the end of the war really is round the corner, well, that’s
the best thing that could happen, isn’t it?’
Lily would normally choose honesty over tact every time, but it was too soon for her to acknowledge what Jim had said was right, or to be cheered by anything. Jim pulled away so she was forced to look at him.
‘Come on, Lily, what are you saying? That you’d rather the war didn’t end? Go through the Blitz again when’—he waved his arm in the direction of the cathedral—‘this kind of thing was happening? Hundreds, thousands of people killed, injured or made homeless every night? Bombs and fire and terror raining down? Let’s go back to Dunkirk, shall we, have blokes like poor Kenny captured all over again? Or how things were the year after, when Italy came into the war against us? Or through everything that happened in North Africa, to Les when he was serving, and to your own brother – all that blood, sweat, and tears? You’d rather the war went on like that, just so you can “do your bit”?’
Lily sat quiet. Jim didn’t often make speeches, certainly not ones that held an element of reproach and she felt ashamed. It was selfish and stupid to want things to be different just so she could feel better, banging on about doing it for the national good, when really it was all about herself. A pigeon strutting by cocked its head and looked up at her unblinkingly, then moved on. Lily willed herself to look at Jim.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Of course I don’t want us – or anyone – to go through that again, or for the war to go on a minute longer than it has to. But I needed you to tell me straight. And I needed what happened today. I needed to see that not everything works out like we want it to. It can’t, and you do have to accept what you can’t change and pick yourself up and get on with things.’
Jim took her hands.
‘Exactly. And what’s happened isn’t the worst thing in the world, is it? You’ve got a great family and friends, a job you love—’
