by Annie Groves
‘No, ma’am,’ Sam agreed, more readily this time. Disordered thoughts were whirling round inside her head. She had managed to work out from what the captain had said that Major Thomas must be with the ‘Ifs and Buts’, as the Inspectorate of Fortifications and Directorate of Bomb Disposal was unofficially known. Normally that would not have put her off working for him in the slightest – quite the opposite – but there was the small matter of Sergeant Johnny Everton, who was also with the Bomb Disposal squad, and their mutual dislike and hostility. She could well imagine how he was likely to feel about them being in one another’s proximity. The thought of that certainly put her off.
But what a marvellous thing it would be to get away from the stores, with its memories of Mouse. And what a marvellous thing too to be working as a driver. It was a dream come true. She couldn’t think of a role that better fulfilled her longing for more action and contributing something of real value to the war effort. If it weren’t for Sergeant Everton she would have been ready to jump over the moon. But then why should she let the thought of him spoil things for her? She’d be an idiot to turn down such an opportunity. As the major’s driver she was hardly likely to come into much contact with him, she assured herself. She had learned from Sergeant Brookes that the work of Bomb Disposal’s noncommissioned ranks involved preparing the bombs for defusing, whilst the officers were responsible for carrying out that defusing.
‘Good-oh, Grey,’ the captain was saying. ‘Jolly good show.’
It was too late for her to say anything now. The decision had been made for her. Automatically Sam saluted, sensing that she was about to be dismissed.
She was still sure there must have been a mistake, and that the major couldn’t possibly have really meant her, but she knew there was no point in continuing to try to say so. Maybe once he saw her the major would announce that she was the wrong person. She knew already how disappointed she would feel if he did.
‘You’re looking a lot more cheerful. Had some good news?’ Hazel asked half an hour later when Sam went back to the sitting room.
‘Sort of. The captain just sent for me to tell me that from tomorrow I’m going to be driving a Major Thomas and working as his stenographer,’ Sam told her, but not adding that supposedly the major had asked for her to be transferred to his staff. ‘It seems the girl who was working for him is getting married and has asked for a transfer back to Aldershot.’
‘Don’t mention marriage to me,’ Hazel replied grimly.
Sam frowned. Hazel had hardly mentioned her naval boyfriend following her visit to see him in Dartmouth.
‘If your chap’s still holding back, I expect it’s because he’s thinking of things from your point of view and how it would be if you were to get married and something should happen to him,’ she offered tactfully.
‘You’re very kind, Sam, but actually he isn’t ‘my’ chap any more. That was decided before I left Dartmouth.’ She gave Sam a wry look. ‘The only thing he’s been holding back from has been doing anything that would stop him from playing the field, as I found out when I was down there. He certainly wasn’t holding back from trying to persuade me to go the whole way with him when I first arrived, if you know what I mean,’ Hazel continued forthrightly. ‘That’s all he could go on about, until I caught him in a corner of the services bar with a Wren. It’s sweet of you to try to make me feel better, though, Sam. I’ve been a fool to myself and I know it. If he’d thought anything of me, the ‘yes’ he’d have wanted from me would have been in answer to his proposal of marriage, not his proposition to take me to bed. Three months ago I might have been tempted to say yes, but thank heavens I used my head, otherwise I’d have been in a real state when I caught him with that Wren. Of course, he blamed me and said it was because I’d turn him down for you-know-what, and then he kept going on about how other girls were more “understanding” and accommodating. Well, he’s welcome to them, that’s all I can say. That’s why I cut my leave short. There was no point in my staying on after that. I told him it was over between us and that I didn’t want to see him any more. To be honest, what hurts more than ending it with him is knowing that I’ve been such a fool.’ She was smiling bravely but Sam could sense that she was upset.
‘Look, it’s my birthday soon,’ Hazel continued briskly. ‘I’d like us all to go out together and put this wretched business between you and Lynsey behind us.’
‘It isn’t me that’s caused it,’ Sam pointed out defensively.
‘I know that. The thing is that Lynsey’s made so much of a fool of herself that she can’t really back down easily – you can see that, can’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Sam admitted reluctantly.
‘So you’ll join in, then?’
‘All right,’ Sam agreed, knowing she couldn’t really say anything else. Poor Hazel, she was having a pretty bad time of it and naturally Sam didn’t want to make things worse.
Privately Sam thought that Hazel was better off without her naval chap, but she could understand that her decision to end things, having caught him with someone else, must have been upsetting.
FIFTEEN
‘Private Grey reporting for duty, sir.’
For such a very short man, not even as tall as she was herself, Corporal Willett had an extremely loud voice, Sam decided, managing not to wince as he bellowed out the introduction and saluted the major.
The corporal had been waiting for her when she had got off the bus at the barracks, a small, swift-moving, agile man with a weather-beaten, wrinkled face and bright blue eyes.
‘Major Thomas said to wait for you and escort you over to our base, on account of you probably missing it if you was to look for it yourself,’ he had informed her, part of a nonstop stream of information he had given her as he took short cuts through the maze of barracks buildings at a speed that left Sam almost breathless. ‘Done much of this kind of thing before, have you?’ he had asked her, and when Sam had replied that she hadn’t, he had told her cheerfully, ‘Shouldn’t worry, you’ll soon get the hang of it, just so long as you don’t mind hearing a few ripe words now and then. Calls them ruddy bombs all sorts, the major does. Not that you’ll get to hear that. Sticks to the rules like glue, he does. That’s how we’ve lost only two of our captains and a lieutenant in the last six months whilst the other sections have damn-near lost every officer they’ve had. Good driver, are you?’
‘I hope so,’ Sam had answered.
‘Only the major don’t like to hang around, and that car of his is more like a ruddy tank than a car.’
‘I’m sure I’ll manage,’ Sam had smiled with more confidence than she was feeling.
‘Brought plenty of notebooks and pencils along with you, I hope, only he does a lot of talking, does the major. Bit of a character, he is, and no mistake. Likes to do things his own way. A “Sir” he was before the war. Seven Company are based here at the barracks on account of West Derby House being the Western Approaches Command Headquarters, and the major’s over both sections. Give us this, they have, for a base,’ the corporal had announced, indicating the shabby-looking building they were now approaching, a heavy-duty transport lorry parked to one side of it, loaded with worryingly sinister-looking equipment.
‘The lads are all billeted out of the barracks, though. Not that any of us are complaining, not with a fair few of us having families living locally.’
*
‘What ho, you’re a deuced pretty girl to be in uniform, Grey. I don’t want my chaps being distracted. Know much about bomb disposal, do you?’ Major Thomas was asking her now.
‘Not really, sir, only that the Inspectorate of Fortifications and Directorate of Bomb Disposal is under the charge of General Taylor and that it has the responsibility of defusing those bombs that fall on land.’
‘Hmm … well, you’ve come well recommended. Jolly bad show, Lewis leaving. Know much about mechanics, do you, only the old girl gets pretty temperamental at times and it’s a damned poor show when she takes against my dri
vers.’
Quick-wittedly Sam deduced that ‘the old girl’ must be the major’s car.
‘I know how to change a wheel, sir,’ she offered, remembering the cause of her original downfall.
‘Well, better take you to meet Boadicea then. This way.’
Five minutes later Sam was standing staring in disbelief at the car. A Bentley, long and low, with cream coachwork and red leather seats, the car was the kind that Sam knew her brother would have drooled over enviously, the kind that was temperamental and demanding.
‘Rallied her at Le Mans before the war,’ the major told Sam proudly. ‘She’s a bit petulant on the gears, though.’
‘I’ll take care when I’m double-declutching,’ Sam assured him.
‘Doesn’t like too much brake either … in fact to tell the truth the old girl prefers a man’s touch, but I can’t drive her myself these days, not since I lost the old hand.’
Sam hadn’t realised until he spoke the significance of his rigid leather-gloved left hand.
‘Right then, let’s make a start, and see how many reports we’ve got in of new UXBs. Then we’ll have a run out and take a look at them.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Sam was not for one minute deceived. The major obviously wanted to test out her driving skills for himself. Was she up to driving ‘the old girl’? She hoped so, although she wished she could have taken a trial drive by herself before having to drive the major.
‘Any news yet from One Section, Corporal?’
They were back in the Bomb Disposal Unit’s barracks command post, and Sam’s stomach was churning with a mixture of apprehension and excitement as she considered the challenge that now lay ahead of her. It was true that she could drive, but whether or not her driving skills were up to the major’s Bentley’s idiosyncrasies she wasn’t so sure. It wouldn’t do, though, to show lack of confidence.
‘They’ve managed to find the bomb, sir. Dug itself right down alongside the building, it has, and the sappers say that they’ll have to shore up the wall before they try to move the device.’
‘Hmm. Any idea what type of bomb we’re looking at yet?’
‘Captain Melville thinks it’s a big ’un – two thousand pounds. He’s not sure about the fuses yet but thinks it could have a seventeen and a fifty, but the sappers are still digging round it so he can get a proper look.’
Sam, who had been writing all this down in her notebook, looked up to find both men watching her. The major gave her an approving nod, whilst the corporal winked at her when the major wasn’t looking.
‘Any water showing?’ the major asked.
‘Hole’s filling up a bit, sir, but they’re getting a pump going.’
‘Come on, Grey, we’ll go and take a look at what they’re doing.’
‘Watch out for third gear,’ the corporal muttered to Sam as she made to follow the major. ‘Keep the clutch biting otherwise she won’t go into gear and she’ll stall on you. Major has it rigged that way when he’s trying out new drivers.’
‘Hop in,’ the major commanded, handing Sam the keys, having unlocked the car.
Warily Sam settled herself into the seat and started the engine. To her relief it fired immediately. Now for the gears. The clutch was heavy and so strong that she had to use considerable force to depress it. She listened carefully to the revving engine whilst she pressed down the accelerator and let out the clutch, hardly daring to breathe until she felt the clutch start to bite. Holding both pedals with her feet she put the car in first gear and let off the handbrake. To her relief the car moved forward smoothly. Growing more confident, she changed up to second gear and drove out of the barracks, taking care to avoid the heavy transport lorries turning in through the gates.
‘Turn left,’ the major directed her. Obediently Sam did so, changing up again into second gear, and then reaching for third once they were on the open road. The clutch should bite now, she decided. Her hand was already on the gear lever when abruptly and without warning the clutch pedal kicked back and the engine protested as she missed the gear. Just as she was about to panic and let the car stall, Sam remembered what the corporal had told her and double-declutched as firmly as though she knew the clutch would bite, refusing to be daunted as she pushed the gear lever up and over into third gear, ignoring its attempts to defeat her.
‘The old girl gets a bit skittish over third gear sometimes,’ the major told her. ‘Like the way you handled her, though. Good show.’
Making a mental note to thank the corporal, Sam kept her eyes on the road and said nothing. She could almost feel the car’s sulky scowl at being bettered, she decided, hiding a small private grin.
The bomb site wasn’t very far away, but driving the long-nosed Bentley, designed for powerful runs along straight roads, round corners and obstacles called for every bit of her skill and tenacity, as the car balked several times, and threatened not to go into third gear.
When they reached their destination the major ordered her to pull over and stop.
Getting out of the car, Sam hurried round to the major’s door, opening it for him and saluting as he got out, then locking the car and hurrying after him with her notebook.
A group of men, their clothes and faces splattered with mud, were standing beside a hole in the ground, the debris they had obviously dug out piled up to one side. One of their number was hunkered down, examining something. His companions straightened up to salute when they saw the major, and as he got to his feet to do the same, Sam’s stomach did a slow somersault as she recognised him. Oh, no! Sergeant Everton! Just her luck that on her first day in her new job, and whilst she was desperately trying to prove herself, the first section the major should want to check up on was the one Sergeant Everton was in.
‘How’s it coming along, Captain?’ the major asked.
‘Tricky situation with the rising water level, sir, but we’re getting another pump on it.’
Sam started to make notes. If nothing else it would help her to stop feeling so conscious of Sergeant Everton.
Several of the men were wearing uniforms that identified them as members of the Noncombatant Corps or, as they were more often known, ‘conscientious objectors’, and Sam was slightly taken aback to see these men involved in such dangerous work, and even more surprised to witness the easy way in which the Noncombatant men and the Royal Engineers got on with one another.
‘Drove the major here, did you?’
She had been so engrossed in studying what she was doing that she hadn’t noticed the sergeant detach himself from his companions and walk up to her.
‘Yes,’ she confirmed.
‘Corporal Willett warned you, did he, that the major keeps the gear box rigged so that the clutch has a kick like a mule in third?’
Sam was so surprised that she almost dropped her pencil. ‘He did say something of the sort,’ she agreed, unable to resist adding sharply, ‘I expect you’d have preferred him not to, so that the major would have asked for me to be replaced.’
Before he could retaliate the major called over, ‘Sergeant Everton, you’re our longest-serving member, come and take a look at this and tell us what you think.’
Ten minutes later the major was getting back into the car.
‘Down to the bottom of the road, Grey, and then turn right,’ he told Sam. ‘We’ll go and see how Two Section is doing. Made a note, did you, that One Section have requested a new pump?’
‘Yes, sir.’
It had been Sergeant Everton who had informed the major of the section’s need for this new piece of equipment, calmly listing the faults with the existing pump and the risks the men would run if they continued to use it.
It was so late in the afternoon when they returned to the barracks that Sam thought she might miss the bus back to the billet.
‘Car behave OK for you?’ the corporal asked her when the major had disappeared inside the building.
‘Just about – thanks to your warning,’ Sam told him.
‘Nothing to
do with me. It’s Sergeant Everton you want to thank. He was the one that told me to warn you.’
‘Sergeant Everton?’ Sam was unable to conceal her disbelief.
‘Down here first thing, he was, when he should have been off duty, and he said as how you’d be starting today and to warn you about that clutch, and the major’s little trick to test new drivers.’
There must be some mistake surely, Sam decided. And then she remembered the sergeant’s comment to her about the car’s third gear – and her own less than gracious response – and her face burned. She hated the thought of being put under an obligation to a man she disliked so much.
‘You were cutting it fine,’ May told Sam ten minutes later as she clambered onto the bus just as it was about to leave.
‘Didn’t get back to the barracks until a few minutes ago,’ Sam told her as she dropped into the nearest empty seat, which just happened to be behind Lynsey, after what had been the busiest and most enjoyable day she had had since her arrival in Liverpool.
‘Me and the others were just talking about where we’re going to celebrate my birthday. I hope you’re going to come along as well, Sam,’ Hazel said.
‘I’d love to,’ Sam agreed, mindful of what Hazel had said to her previously.
‘Well, I don’t know if I’ll be able to come,’ Lynsey said immediately.
‘Oh, come on, you can do without seeing your sergeant for one night, can’t you, Lynsey? I thought you liked keeping your men guessing,’ May laughed.
Lynsey looked sulky but didn’t, to Sam’s relief, insist that she wasn’t going to join everyone. Sam had a good idea that Lynsey had been going to refuse not because of her romance, but because she wanted to underline her dislike of Sam herself but, either accidentally or deliberately, May’s intervention had prevented her from doing so.
‘So where do you fancy going then, Hazel?’
‘I thought we might go to the Grafton.’
