Ambulance Girls

by Deborah Burrows

  Mike’s wife was a tall, attractive girl, with ash-blonde hair and the exquisite creamy complexion that was never found in Australian girls.

  ‘How do you do,’ she said, then added, unnecessarily, ‘I’m English.’

  Over dinner we swapped stories of life in England in wartime.

  ‘I hate the cold,’ admitted Frances. ‘And the way it gets dark so early here.’

  ‘It’ll only get worse,’ I said and she gave a mock shudder.

  ‘So you followed Fred from Sydney?’ I asked.

  She smiled. ‘Couldn’t let him loose on his own, and I can’t stand being away from him. Only, now I’m here I’ve become shockingly superstitious.’ She made a slight grimace. ‘I can’t help it – I think it comes from living in such uncertain times. If I put my left arm into a sleeve first, or my left foot into a shoe first, I’m unhappy for the rest of the day, thinking it will somehow affect how Fred flies.’

  ‘I’ve told her it’s all bulldust, but she’s got this little ritual each time she waves me off,’ said Fred, with an indulgent, if slightly exasperated smile.

  ‘I knitted him a scarf, you see,’ she said. ‘And when he leaves me for the airfield I tie the scarf around his neck, right over left, and tuck it in.’

  ‘And only then can I leave the bloody flat,’ said Fred.

  ‘I thought it was you pilots who were superstitious,’ I said.

  ‘Too right,’ said Fred. ‘I’ve seen men delay take-off until they’ve peed on the back wheel or –’ he looked meaningfully at Mike ‘– spit on the rudder.’

  Mike gave a shamefaced smile. ‘Bit of spit never hurt the rudder. It chases away the gremlins.’

  ‘Oh, don’t start on those silly gremlins,’ said Frances, to which all three men protested good-naturedly that she had obviously never flown a plane, or she would jolly well believe in them all right.

  ‘Just about all of us have a lucky charm or a mascot,’ said Fred. ‘Mine is a little toy dog I won at Luna Park before I shipped out. I keep it in my map case.’

  ‘What about you, Jim?’ I asked.

  He reached into his collar and pulled up the chain that held the gold and blue enamel cross he always wore. I had not examined it closely before, but now saw that it was beautifully wrought and obviously antique.

  ‘My baptismal cross,’ he said. ‘I would never dream of taking off unless it was around my neck.’

  ‘Lily, would you care to dance?’ asked Mike.

  I did, and Jim danced with Frances and Fred with Annette. Then Fred asked me and Jim asked Annette and Mike asked Frances. And so it went. We whirled around to the music of the excellent swing band, punctuated by the noise and reverberations of the guns and bombs from the raid outside.

  ‘This place is amazing, you know,’ Fred said, as we waltzed. ‘It’s so well-built that no one has to go to a shelter during a raid. And there’s no need to go home at the end of the evening. Last time I was here the manager brought in pillows, rugs and screens, and Fran and I dossed down on the floor.’

  Over dinner the conversation turned to the Blitz, which was still raging outside.

  ‘It’s funny to think that this Blitz on London might have saved the entire nation,’ said Fred.

  ‘Because it diverts attention from the airfields?’ I asked, confused.

  Fred nodded. ‘You have no idea how close we came to losing the aerial battle with the Luftwaffe.’

  ‘Surely not,’ said Annette.

  ‘All the advanced fighter fields were in shambles by early September,’ said Mike.

  ‘Keep it down,’ said Jim. ‘No need to broadcast it.’

  I couldn’t accept that. ‘Surely we were hitting the Luftwaffe harder than it was hitting us.’

  ‘Propaganda,’ Jim replied, in a low voice. The other two nodded. ‘The government upped the German losses by around a hundred per cent and decreased ours by around fifty per cent.’

  ‘We were still winning, surely.’

  ‘We had our backs to the wall and Fighter Command was simply waiting for the invasion,’ he said wearily. ‘We thought it likely they’d go for Dover, and we’d lost air control over the invasion area. In truth, we’d lost control of the air space over south-east England by then.’

  ‘They didn’t invade,’ I said, a trifle belligerently, but in a low voice. We’d all be in trouble if we were overheard. ‘Because of you pilots and how hard you fought, Germany couldn’t invade Britain. So we won that battle. Churchill said so. We won.’

  Jim exchanged looks with Fred and Mike. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We won.’ He also said, but not in words, ‘At what cost.’

  In the ladies’ room a short while later, as Frances, Annette and I freshened our make-up, I asked Annette how she felt about going to Australia when the war was over.

  ‘I’m looking forward to it. I’ll miss my family, of course, but I’ll be with Mike, and we want a big family of our own. I must say, the weather sounds divine.’

  ‘Better than here,’ said Frances.

  ‘Do you think Mike would have remained in England if you hadn’t wanted to leave?’ I asked.

  Annette leaned toward the mirror to apply her lipstick, rubbed her lips together and sat back with a smile. ‘Probably, but he wants to go home to Australia more than I want to stay here in England. It’s as simple as that.’

  She gave me a sharp look. ‘There’s no reason why the woman should always follow the man though. Are you worried that Jim won’t want to leave England?’

  I felt myself flush. ‘It’s early days yet,’ I murmured.

  ‘Mike and Fred adore Jim,’ said Annette. ‘When he was flying with them they called him Dad, but really he was like an older brother, always looking out for them up there.’

  ‘He’s not at all stuck-up,’ said Frances. ‘I think he’d get on well in Australia.’

  I made an excuse, picked up my evening bag and fled.

  ‘Thank you for the Australian contingent,’ I said to Jim in the taxi back to his flat. I was done in with dancing. We had finally left the restaurant when the All Clear had sounded around two o’clock. ‘I really enjoyed meeting them.’

  ‘They’re the sort of people I like,’ he said. ‘Down to earth, confident and no hypocrisy about them.’

  I smiled. ‘I’m glad you like Australians.’

  ‘Next time I’ll introduce you to my British friends,’ he said lightly. ‘You’ll like them. They’re down to earth, confident and there’s no hypocrisy about them. Even if they do come from the so-called upper class.’

  I felt my cheeks flame. ‘I didn’t mean that only Australians could be . . .’ I wondered why he would think so. ‘Do you think I’m prejudiced against your class?’

  He didn’t answer for a beat or two, as the taxi took us through the practically deserted streets.

  ‘I think you are homesick.’ He looked at me intently. ‘Lily, I could easily practise law in Australia, you know. After the war, I mean.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ I said lightly. Until Frances and Annette had mentioned it, I had never entertained the thought that Jim actually might choose to leave England and come with me to Australia. Now I felt confused. Was I just being contrary to be filled with a superstitious fear of making any plans for ‘after the war’? Would it be tempting fate to do so? Levy’s funeral was the next day. His death had made me all too aware that no one was safe in this Blitz.

  ‘Lily—’

  ‘There’s no point thinking about such things right now. Not when everything is so uncertain. It’s – it’s bad luck.’ I pushed aside the heavy curtain over the taxi’s window and peeped outside. ‘That was quick, we’re almost at the flat.’

  I glanced up at the low clouds above us when we left the taxi.

  ‘We all welcome bad weather nowadays,’ I said. ‘Hoping it will keep the raiders away.’

  ‘It won’t,’ he said, shining his torch at the keyhole. But he didn’t put the key into the lock. ‘We came so close to losing the air war with Ger
many,’ he said, standing very still and looking down at his key.

  ‘They didn’t invade,’ I said. ‘Now they can’t invade until next spring. And we’ll be ready for them when – if they do.’

  He gave a soft, bitter laugh. ‘It was good old London that saved us. Hitler decided to annihilate London and that gave our airfields, our planes and, most of all, our pilots a rest. It was all we needed. Now we’re rapidly getting back to strength. I think we can withstand invasion now, but God knows if we can save London unless we can figure out a way for our fighters to successfully attack the bombers at night.’

  ‘Hitler won’t annihilate London,’ I said with certainty. ‘He’ll keep on hitting us but we can take it.’

  Jim shook his head. ‘For how long? It’s been three months now. The destruction is appalling. People can’t live like this, day after day, night after night, spending twelve, fourteen hours each day underground, emerging to find their homes and the places they love destroyed. Could London put up with this sort of bombing for four months?’

  ‘We can. I know it.’

  ‘Six months?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about a year of constant raids? I know you think London is too big to destroy but after a year it would be in ruins, and if London goes . . .’

  I sang softly, ‘There’ll always be an England.’

  ‘My cock-eyed optimist,’ he said, and pulled me close for a kiss.

  Later that night, as I lay beside him in the dark and listened to his soft, regular breathing, I thought again about what he had said. He was willing to come to Australia after the war. The obvious implication was marriage. Then I remembered his words about the Blitz on London. Could London take this sort of attack for many more months? And if London went . . .

  It was madness to make plans in such times, when things were so uncertain.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  David Levy’s body lay in a simple wooden coffin that was nailed shut. The funeral ceremony was in Hebrew, but although the rituals were alien to me, the grief of the Levys was all too real. He was buried in the cemetery at Golders Green. I clung to Jim’s arm as I watched his coffin being lowered into the grave. We sprinkled earth on top of it and I wept.

  Maisie was in tears throughout and Squire left straight after the ceremony, perhaps uneasy at the thought of being surrounded by so many Jews. Celia was cool as ever, and dry-eyed.

  A reception was held at the synagogue and Jim and I approached the Levys to offer our condolences. Mrs Levy was reclining on a small couch beside her husband, her legs still cased in plaster. They greeted us with warm dignity. After us came Celia.

  ‘Ashwin?’ Mr Levy seemed to be searching his memory. ‘Are you related to Horace Ashwin, the politician?’ He gave her a keen look.

  Her composure did not falter. She said, ‘He is my father-in-law. Cedric Ashwin is my husband.’

  Mr Levy’s expression became wooden and he made a half turn away from her, but I saw his wife’s hand go out to his arm, urging him back. ‘We thank you for coming, Mrs Ashwin,’ she said, and her smile was so like Levy’s that I wanted to weep again.

  ‘My husband’s . . . views . . . are not my own,’ said Celia, faltering slightly for the first time. ‘Your son was a wonderful ambulance attendant, kind, caring and competent. He will be much missed.’

  She left soon afterwards.

  The following week was one of busy night shifts with Celia. She was in a brittle mood and when she addressed me the cut glass of her accent was sharp enough to draw blood. We spoke little as we carried out our duties.

  Daylight raids seemed to have ceased, but every night London had to cope with yet more death and destruction. After more than three months of blitzkrieg, we could no longer rely upon the big map in the common room to navigate the City and the East End; they had been so badly bombed that it was unclear where the normal ground level was situated amid the cliffs and slopes of rubble.

  Saturday morning, as we drove back to Woburn Place towards the end of our shift, Celia seemed wrapped in her own brooding thoughts. At last she lifted her head and said, ‘I’m sorry to have been such a wet rag all week.’

  It was decent of her to acknowledge it, and I flashed her my best smile. ‘That’s all right, I’ve hardly been a barrel of laughs myself.’

  ‘I’ve been turned down by the Wrens,’ she said abruptly.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ I murmured. It was no surprise that Celia would want to join the women’s navy – it was where all the posh women seemed to end up.

  ‘It’s Cedric, my husband,’ she said. ‘I’m sure that’s the reason. I’m not considered . . . suitable, because of my fascist husband.’

  ‘I am sorry, Ashwin. Might you have better luck with one of the other services?’

  ‘No. The women I know in the ATS all seem to hate their duties and I can’t bear the uniform of the WAAFS. I’m better off remaining in the Ambulance Service. Otherwise they may conscript me into the Land Army out of spite.’

  ‘You’re doing a wonderful job here,’ I said.

  She did not reply.

  An hour later I was about to leave the washroom at the end of my shift when I heard Fripp’s voice in the corridor.

  ‘Are we meeting next week?’

  Her hissing whisper was so ridiculously suspicious that I stood transfixed, my hand on the doorknob.

  A voice answered her, too softly for me to hear what was said, or even be sure who spoke, though I thought it must be Moray, who would have been arriving around this time.

  ‘All right,’ said Fripp.

  The doorknob began to turn. I ducked into a cubicle and closed the door and after a moment flushed the toilet. When I came out Fripp was combing her hair before the mirror. I smiled at her. She nodded in reply and gave me a closed lip smile. Excitement lurked in her gooseberry green eyes and I wondered if German literature was to be discussed at her mysterious meeting.

  As they often did, my thoughts drifted to the night of Levy’s disappearance, when Sadler had teased me by saying that Levy had been Blitzed in Soho. Fripp had been insistent that no planes had flown over Soho that night and Moray had agreed with her. The obvious conclusion was that they had both been in Soho that night, possibly together. And then suddenly, I could have kicked myself – how could I have not made the connection? Pam and I had watched Moray enter a building in Soho. We thought it was a brothel, but what if it was Moray’s secret meeting place?

  I went straight to the kitchen, where I found Maisie making tea.

  ‘Do you know where Moray lives?’ I asked. ‘I was sure I saw him in Soho the other day.’

  ‘He was bombed out a couple of months ago, but I thought he moved to a guesthouse close to the station.’ She poured the tea from the large teapot into the rows of cups she had lined up. ‘Actually, I’ve seen him in Soho, too.’

  ‘I enjoy visiting Soho but it’s not a very salubrious area to live in, I should think.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not all that bad,’ she replied, in an obvious huff. ‘The people are friendly, and parts of it are very nice indeed.’ Her face was flushed and her lips pursed.

  ‘Do you live there?’ I asked, feeling the heat in my own face.

  ‘In Frith Street.’

  ‘Sorry. I really don’t know that much about London and I spoke without thinking.’

  She smiled. Maisie was never annoyed for long. ‘There’s always something to do in Soho, and the restaurants are marvellous. People always think of the Windmill, but it’s a perfectly legitimate theatre. Actually, it’s the only theatre in London that hasn’t missed a performance yet. They’ve got six full-time bomb-spotters on the roof to give proper warning when the raiders are directly overhead. What’s wrong with nudity anyway, if it’s tastefully done?’

  She left the kitchen and I heard her singing out that the tea was made. I picked up a cup, added my sugar and milk, and went back into the common room.

  That night Jim and I went to the pictures in Leices
ter Square, and emerged from the cinema to find a raid in progress. We stood under the shelter of the cinema foyer and watched people dashing out into the square to pick up bits of shrapnel for souvenirs; a risky business, since the metal was still hot.

  Afterwards, over supper at the Lyons, I told Jim what I had overheard Fripp say, and my suspicions about her meeting Moray in Soho. I immediately wished I hadn’t spoken, for as usual he was annoyingly unimpressed.

  ‘You can’t even be sure she was talking to Moray, let alone what they were talking about.’ He pretended to have had a revelation. ‘I’ve got it. Fripp and Moray are having a torrid affair.’

  ‘I wish you would take me seriously. There’s something suspicious going on. I’m not an idiot.’

  ‘I know you’re not an idiot, but you’ve had some rotters in your station, a fraudster and a couple of wide boys, at least one of whom was a looter, and it’s fired up your imagination. You really think there’s a nest of fifth columnists in your ambulance station as well?’ His expression was one of indulgent amusement. ‘Honestly, Lily, if you carry on like this I’ll expect one of Powell’s hairy nuns to make an appearance.’

  Infuriated, I battled on. ‘We know there are fifth columnists in London, so why not at my station? Why does Moray spend so much time in Soho if he doesn’t live there? It’s suspicious. I think he’s meeting Fripp and others in Soho, possibly in that place I saw him go into.’

  He laughed. ‘You think he’s meeting Fripp in a brothel?’

  ‘No, of course not. But—’

  ‘There are many reasons a man like Moray might go to Soho. And as I said, you don’t know who Fripp was talking to this afternoon, let alone why she is meeting anyone. I think you should do your job and leave the catching of any fifth columnists to the experts.’

  I did not offer to stay at his flat that night.

  The following Monday morning Fripp arrived at the station with freshly set hair and an air of fidgety excitement. Fripp was on the same schedule as me, and Moray worked days as the station officer, so I reasoned that any meeting would have to take place at night. Looking at her, I felt sure the meeting was to take place soon, perhaps that very evening. Jim was wrong, I knew it. I would show him that my suspicions were real, not fantasy.