The Victory Girls

by Joanna Toye

  ‘I know. It’ll be fun being here, though.’ Jim had caught her up and steered her round a puddle of spilt beer.

  ‘There was talk of a party in Brook Street when it finally came,’ said Lily.

  ‘Well, your mum’ll be at the centre of organising that! She won’t have a chance to miss you,’ said Jim consolingly.

  Eventually they came across an empty phone box in a quiet square near Regent’s Park. Lily tried Sid first, but at his lodgings his landlady said he wasn’t back yet. Lily left a message asking him to call the hostel and suggest a place for them to meet up next day. Then she dialled Beryl’s number – it was the only way to get a message to her mum.

  ‘Hinton 353?’

  Lily pressed her pennies into the slot.

  ‘Beryl? It’s me, Lily!’

  ‘Lily!’ shrieked Beryl. ‘Oh, isn’t it wonderful! It’s all over! And you’re in London for it! What’s it like there? Les has gone down the pub – there’ll be some sore heads in the morning!’ Just as Lily was wondering if she’d ever get a word in, Beryl turned from the mouthpiece and hollered. ‘Dora! It’s your daughter on the phone!’

  Then there was a crash and a wail from Bobby. Beryl dropped the receiver to see to him and Lily turned to Jim, who’d squashed in the box with her.

  ‘Mum’s there!’

  Bobby was soothed, the receiver was picked up again, and Lily heard her mum’s voice.

  ‘Hello! How are you getting on? How’s your course going?’

  ‘Never mind that, what do you think? Isn’t it marvellous about the war? I’m sorry I’m not there with you.’

  ‘Oh, I knew you’d start worrying about that! I shan’t be on my own! There’s not much doing in their street, so Beryl and Les are coming over to the Brook Street party, and so’s Gladys and the twins, because Bill can’t get home. No one’ll mind as long as they bring a contribution for the food.’

  ‘Oh, good!’ Lily felt a surge of relief. ‘What’s it like in Hinton? It’s chaos here.’

  ‘It’s the same. The bunting’s up already in most places, and the flags, and Bobby’s got his little Union Jack to wave. You’ve just caught me, I’m off to the WI in a minute to make paper crowns for the children.’

  Lily sighed happily. Her mum was busily occupied; she might not have her family around her but she was among friends. That was the next best thing.

  ‘The pips are about to go, Mum,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to contact Sid, to meet up tomorrow. I love you, I’ll see you soon!’

  ‘Bye, love – enjoy yourselves!’

  Lily replaced the receiver. Jim put his arms round her.

  ‘There’s no one waiting for the phone,’ he said. ‘Let’s have our own private celebration.’

  They parted reluctantly outside their respective hostels. They’d walked back through even more exuberant crowds, but they had to be in by ten or they’d be locked out, even on a night like this. Inside, the message Lily had hoped for was pinned up on the noticeboard.

  MEET YOU 2.30 P.M. VICTORIA MONUMENT IN FRONT OF THE PALACE. I’LL MAKE SURE YOU CAN SEE ME. SID.

  ***

  ‘Have you seen this?’ Beryl waved the Daily Mirror. ‘They’ve given us a weather forecast!’

  ‘What’s it say?’ Gladys looked up from the production line in Dora’s kitchen. Dora was slicing bread; Gladys was spreading a smear of meat paste for the filling.

  ‘Rain,’ said Beryl in disgust and read, ‘The warm snap of yesterday will not continue.’

  ‘If that’s the best they can do they needn’t bother!’ exclaimed Dora. ‘After six years without a forecast I’m better off looking out of the window. It’s set fair for the day!’

  ‘Any tea on the go?’ Les came in from the back room looking bleary. ‘I feel like a slug in a salt mine.’

  ‘We know whose fault that is! And have you left those children on their own in there?’ Beryl tutted and scuttled off, not listening to Les’s protest that Bobby was listening to a Toytown story on the wireless while Joy and Victor were safe in the playpen.

  ‘Family life,’ sighed Gladys happily. It wouldn’t be long before Bill was home for good, she knew; he’d been told he’d be among the first to be demobbed.

  Across town, another little family were savouring their first day of freedom. In Albany Road, where Peter Simmonds had moved into Eileen Frobisher’s flat, a street party was in preparation too. But Peter seemed subdued.

  ‘What is it?’ Eileen and Peter were helping to set up trestle tables and chairs down the length of the road. Neighbours were starting to bring out plates of sandwiches and hastily made cakes, jugs of squash, and pots of tea.

  Peter tucked a chair into place.

  ‘I’m all for celebrating,’ he said. ‘We deserve to. God knows it’s been a long time coming. But you have to give a moment’s pause for all the lives that have been lost, and the injured, fighting men and civilians. And then there’s the prisoners. And the refugees. Millions of them. And as for those camps they’ve discovered …’

  Horrific pictures and newsreels had begun coming out, about the so-called labour camps. Auschwitz, Belsen, Dachau. Names to strike terror into your heart; scenes of unimaginable cruelty. Millions exterminated, and the survivors barely alive.

  Eileen touched his arm. As a former soldier, he felt it deeply.

  ‘I do,’ she said. ‘Give pause, that is. Some people have paid such a heavy price. But I thank God for that silly injury that got you out of it, and gave us the chance to meet.’

  ‘I do too, believe me! It’s all part of life’s lottery isn’t it?’ He smiled, and paused. ‘I’ve never told you this, but before I had to leave the Army I was due to be posted to the Far East. Burma. I’d have been there through all of it, the Irrawaddy, the push for Rangoon … We mustn’t forget the war out there isn’t over. And the Nazis’ve got nothing on the Japanese. It’s going to take something pretty special to make them lay down their arms.’

  John ran up, wearing a paper crown.

  ‘When can we have tea? I’m hungry!’

  Daphne Tunnicliffe was in the garden. The wisteria on the terrace was coming out; the lilac was in flower, the ferns were uncurling and the hardy geraniums showing their colours. The garden was coming to life again, and she could take real pleasure in that for the first time in years, though even over the winter it had seemed more alive, thanks to having children in the house once more.

  The last of Hitler’s dreadful rockets had fallen on London at the end of March: after Easter, Joe and Barbara had gone home. It had been a painful parting for her as she’d handed them over to the chaperones at the station. The children were excited at the prospect, of course, Barbara proud in the new coat Daphne had had made for her out of one of Violet’s, Joe bright-eyed, his socks round his ankles as usual. Barbara had hugged her and given her a kiss; even Joe had let himself be hugged. He’d promised to write, and he had, bless him – a few lines to say they’d arrived safely. Daphne doubted she’d hear any more – he was a ten-year-old boy, for goodness’ sake. He’d be too busy playing on bombsites to sit and write letters! Daphne had told them they’d be welcome to come and stay any time, but she doubted that would happen, either. She missed them, but she was grateful to have had them. If she’d helped them, they’d helped her more – to see that life had to go on. There would always be another generation coming through, new lives to nurture. A future.

  The telephone shrilled inside the house and she went to answer it. It was Cedric.

  ‘I wondered …’ he began, ‘today seems to have come upon us so suddenly in the end, it’s rather taken me by surprise. Are you doing anything special? Seeing anyone? Joining in with anything?’

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘I was in the garden. Just thinking.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t want to do too much of that! Especially not today. Perhaps then,’ he hazarded, ‘unless you’d rather be on your own … would you like some company?’

  ‘I’d like that very much.’

 
‘Oh, good.’ He sounded relieved. He was always so tentative with her, never wanting to presume. ‘You see, the military have given me my car back. It came last week. Rather battered, and painted an unattractive khaki.’

  ‘Oh dear!’

  ‘But on the other hand, there is a small residue of petrol in the tank. I could come over and we could take a short drive. Out into the country, perhaps. Take a look at this England, the one we’ve been fighting for.’

  ‘Oh, that would be lovely!’ exclaimed Daphne. ‘Thank you! I’ll pack us a picnic, shall I?’

  ‘Excellent! Shall we say three o’clock?’

  ‘That will be perfect,’ she smiled. ‘Thank you, Cedric. I can’t think of any better way to spend the rest of the day.’ She hesitated. Oh, why not say it? It was the truth, she realised. ‘Or anyone I’d rather spend it with.’

  In Brook Street, the party was well underway. Everyone had eaten and drunk their fill and someone had wheeled out their old upright piano for a sing-song. First the old songs from Dora’s youth, from the music hall and the First War: ‘My Old Man Said Follow the Van’, ‘Pack Up Your Troubles’, and ‘Tipperary’. Then the newer ones – the ones, they said, that had won the war: ‘Roll Out the Barrel’, ‘We’ll Meet Again’, and the one they were singing now, ‘There’ll Always Be an England’.

  Gladys was holding the twins on her lap, encouraging them to clap along, Beryl was giving it her all, and Les had revived and was singing lustily. Bobby, worn out with the excitement and full of food, had fallen asleep under the table, his head resting on Buddy, who was similarly replete. Dora got up and slipped quietly inside.

  She poured herself a glass of water and went through to the back room where so much had happened in the last six years – so much anxiety, fear, and tears, but so much love and laughter too. She looked at the photographs on the mantelpiece – her faded wedding picture, Arthur by her side; the three children when they were young; Sid in his uniform; Reg and Gwenda on their wedding day. She took a letter from behind the clock. It was from Canada, dated the end of April. She smoothed it out and read it again.

  Dear Dora,

  Thank you for your last letter and all your news. I’m so glad to hear you’ve been discharged by the hospital – that was a scare we could all have done without. I hope you are continuing to take care and rest well – I know what a busy person you usually are and like to be. But you must take good care of yourself. I hope Lily and Jim can soon set another date for their big day but it’s great they have the opportunity of this training course. I always thought those two would go far.

  Well, it seems things are moving to a conclusion in Europe at least – and I have to tell you, Dora, also over here. In addition to her other problems, the doctors at the sanatorium have informed me that Grace has a tumour. It seems it’s quite advanced and there is no cure. I’ve known about it for some weeks, but obviously didn’t say anything before, when you were unwell yourself. The end is not going to be pretty, but I gather will not be too long drawn out, which is something. All in all, it’s maybe a mercy. Poor Grace has had no life since our son was killed and it affected her so badly.

  I hope I’m not being premature, Dora, in saying that when the end has come for her, and the war itself is over, and things open up again, I hope to come back to England someday and look you up. Let’s hold that thought for now.

  God bless you.

  Sincerest good wishes as ever to you and the family,

  Your friend,

  Sam

  Dora folded the letter and put it in her pocket. She often handed Sam’s letters to Lily to read, but maybe she wouldn’t do that with this one.

  ‘We’re never going to find him in this crush! What was Sid thinking?’

  It was half past two and Lily and Jim were trying to make their way across the Mall to the monument, but the crowds were pressed so tightly together it was impossible to make any headway.

  ‘We’ll find him all right!’ Jim, who with his height was head and shoulders above most of the crowd, had spotted something. ‘Look!’

  He grabbed Lily round the waist and lifted her off her feet so she could see too.

  Sid was at the monument itself. He was sitting on one of the bronze lions which surrounded the marble Queen Victoria, and holding above his head a banner on two sticks. It read:

  LILY COLLINS! OVER HERE!

  ‘Trust you! I’m not a bit embarrassed!’ she teased when, thanks to Sid’s semaphore, they finally reached him and embraced.

  ‘I thought it was genius.’ Sid was trying to roll up his banner as best he could in the confines of the crowd when it was promptly seized on and carried off by a couple of revellers, for no reason at all.

  ‘Why are we here, though?’ asked Jim. ‘Do you know something we don’t?’

  ‘The King,’ said Sid cryptically. ‘They’re going to do a balcony appearance, the whole family. Let’s get ourselves in pole position. I won’t be happy till we’re right up front, practically hanging off the gates.’

  And that’s where they were when at three o’clock, sure enough, the King and Queen and the two princesses appeared on the balcony. If the noise of the crowd had been loud before, now it became deafening. The royal party smiled and waved, and smiled and waved again, and again. The crowd waved back. They gave three cheers, several times, then burst into the national anthem and ‘Land of Hope and Glory’. Lily looked up at the King and Queen, then down and around, this way and that, marvelling that she was there. The crowd – men and women, old and young, serviceman and civilians – surged and moved. Some were laughing, some dabbing their eyes; others, complete strangers, were hugging ecstatically. Jim was shaking his head in wonderment, Sid cheering. Lily knew she’d never forget it.

  Finally, the royal family went back inside, but Lily felt sure it wouldn’t be their last appearance of the day.

  ‘What now?’ she asked Sid.

  ‘Something to drink!’ he said. ‘If we can find a pub that hasn’t run out of beer. Maybe something to eat as well, a bit of a rest, and a catch-up. And then … there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’

  Lily turned to him, excited.

  ‘Jerome?’

  Sid shrugged, almost shy for once.

  ‘Seemed like a good day to cement Anglo-American relations, don’t you think?’

  They walked and walked. There was so much to see and it was impossible to find anywhere to sit and rest anyhow; in a lot of places they were carried along by the crowds, drunk and sober, singing and dancing. It was difficult to stay together and after Lily had twice been pounced on by drunks and Jim had been dragged into an impromptu conga, they formed a human chain, holding hands, with Lily in the middle.

  As darkness fell, London lit up. Sid brought them in a winding way round to Whitehall, where all the Government buildings were floodlit, filling the streets with warm yellow light; so were the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben, whose bells had been stilled for the duration of the war. Now, like the church bells, they could ring again. Along the Embankment, strings of lights were on, reflected like diamonds in the water; tugs on the river chugged up and down and hooted for joy. It was a London that no one had seen for six years.

  When they’d taken it all in, Sid steered them in the other direction, towards Piccadilly Circus, where the neon sign advertising Gordon’s Gin, which Lily knew well from pre-war newsreels, had been replaced with one reading simply ‘Peace in Europe’. The famous statue of Eros had been removed at the start of the war and the site boarded over – now everything like that could be restored.

  ‘There he is!’ Sid dragged Lily and Jim behind him, forcing their way across the packed pavement. In the doorway of a tobacconists stood a man in the uniform of the American Air Force.

  He was tall, dark and handsome; of course he was. She would have expected no less. Her brother made the introductions. Jerome swept off his cap, took Lily’s hand, and bent over it in a formal, old-fashioned way.

  ‘I’m happy to meet y
ou at last,’ he said. His voice was warm and friendly with a soft American accent, certainly not a drawl. And then, almost teasingly, ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’

  I wish I could say the same about you, thought Lily, trying not stare too hard. His hair was so dark it was almost black, as sleek as sable. He had olive skin, a small moustache and laughing eyes, like Sid’s own. She liked him; she knew that straight away.

  ‘I dread to think what!’ she replied.

  Sid was watching her, smiling, but she sensed his tension. She knew she’d be the only one of the family ever to meet his chosen partner; her approval meant everything to him.

  ‘It’s very nice to meet you too,’ said Lily. And for Sid, she added, ‘I mean it. Sid means a lot to me.’

  ‘No wonder,’ Jerome grinned. ‘He’s a great guy.’ A look passed between him and her brother, who gave a bashful grin. Jerome turned to Jim. ‘And you must be Jim.’ The men shook hands. ‘You two are taking the plunge, I hear.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jim emphatically. ‘As soon as we get home, we’re setting the date for the wedding and we’re not moving it again!’

  ‘Let’s drink to that!’

  Jerome had brought cans of American beer from the base. He opened them deftly and handed them out. Lily sneezed and spluttered as the fizz and a taste she wasn’t used to hit the back of her throat. Sid thumped her between the shoulder blades while Jerome apologised.

  ‘An acquired taste, maybe?’ he said. ‘You’ll get used to it.’

  Crowds flowed past them still cheering and shouting, as they stood in a huddle, drinking and chatting. Jerome told them about the exuberant scenes that had been relayed from the States, ticker-tape parades in New York, a presidential address in Washington, jubilation in every state.

  ‘So, what are we doing now?’ he asked after a while.

  ‘I think this is where we part,’ said Sid. ‘These two lovebirds have been stuck with me all afternoon. I think they probably want to be on their own.’