A Family Christmas

by Katie Flynn

  Hot water! That reminded her that there was something other than drill to anticipate with pleasure. Today was her section’s turn to march right across the city to the bath house, where they would wallow in hot soapy water, dry themselves off on the somewhat inadequate issue towels, and then march back to camp, where she and Jane would decide what to do with the rest of the day. Tonight was Glenys’s last night on duty before she was due for what the officers called ‘a spot of leave’, a week for which she had not yet made plans.

  She lay quiet for a few minutes, then leaned over and dug Jane in the back. ‘Wake up, it’s a lovely day,’ she hissed. ‘If we get up now we can be first at the cookhouse, then we can check our uniforms and so on and perhaps find a way of disguising our towels and soap and that for bath parade.’

  Jane groaned and sat up, rubbing her eyes. The previous night had been a busy one for the girls on searchlights and Jane had been on the predictor, which meant she had had to track the target visually and pass the information on to the gunners. The other members of the section had not been idle, of course. Glenys was a spotter because she had done well on the aircraft recognition course; she had a good memory and found it easier than most of their team to pick out the identifying features of the planes making for the docks. She used this gift to good effect; already their team had accounted for several hits. Her worst fear, however, was that she might make a mistake and cause a friendly aircraft to be shot down . . .

  ‘What’s up?’ Jane’s sleepy voice cut across her musings. ‘Oh, hooray, bath parade! And I haven’t forgotten I said you can have a bit of the rose-scented soap that French flyer gave me at the last NAAFI dance if you can hack it off the bar.’ She chuckled. ‘Is that why you’re awake early?’

  ‘I’m awake early because you were snoring,’ Glenys said, pushing her blankets right down and getting out of bed. ‘And having woken, I’m going out to enjoy the sunshine. Come with me, there’s a dear.’

  She half expected an indignant refusal but Jane, though she groaned, agreed, and after a very quick – and cold – wash in the half-empty ablutions hut they presently joined the queue for porridge and toast in the cookhouse and dipped their mugs into the enormous bucket of tea at the end of the line. ‘After the parade I thought we could catch a bus into the centre, get our shopping over early, and then see a flick, if there’s anything decent on,’ Glenys suggested as they settled themselves at a table for two. ‘Only don’t you go and fall asleep like you did in The Hunchback of Notre Dame because it’s dead embarrassing.’

  Jane giggled. ‘All right, all right, I’ll do my best to stay awake, only I’ve never really got used to working seven or eight nights on the run,’ she said. ‘What’s showing?’

  Knowing her friend’s weakness for cowboy films, Glenys pretended deep thought. ‘Dunno, but there’s bound to be a Western on somewhere. I like a comedy myself, but I’ll go along with whatever you choose.’

  When they got back to their hut they found a scene of frantic activity, with girls in various stages of undress screaming at each other and swapping items of clothing, button sticks and lanyards whilst others made vague dusting motions at the floor, walls and windows.

  ‘What’s up, Daf?’ Glenys asked the nearest girl, who was busily polishing her buttons and humming a popular tune as she did so. ‘No, don’t tell me . . .’

  ‘Some high-up is doing the rounds and we’ve been picked on for a kit inspection,’ Daf explained. ‘I told our dear leader that we would be on bath parade just as soon as we’d done our PT, but she said we’d been chosen because our section downed three German aircraft over the course of the last fortnight, and we should be very pleased with ourselves. But they’re halving the length of the PT demo, praise be to God.’

  Glenys pulled a face. ‘I knew it, I just jolly well knew it! Still, if they really halve the PT demo, that’s something. Thanks, Daf; you always know what’s going on.’ She began to strip the sheets from her bed and square up the blankets, but Daf shook her head.

  ‘No, dearie, this is a special inspection for some reason. Beds are to be made up so that the visiting officer or whatever believes we are really cosy,’ she said. ‘Apparently we aren’t getting enough new blood in the ack-ack section, so they’re having a recruiting drive and we’re part of it.’

  ‘Oh! Thanks, Daf,’ Glenys said, beginning to make up her bed again. ‘They’ve not cancelled the bath parade, I trust?’

  ‘Not so far,’ Daf conceded, holding her tunic up and regarding it critically. ‘Better get your PT stuff together, though . . . glory, what a day!’

  Jane, replacing her biscuits – her name for the sections of her mattress, which she had just piled on top of one another – unfolding her blankets and giving a low moan as she searched for unladdered stockings, said she just wished high-ups would descend on the men instead of them, but Glenys, though she laughed, said it was natural, particularly if the visiting officer was a man. ‘Gives them a thrill to order girls about and see their knickers and suspender belts laid out for their approval,’ she said. ‘And we’re better at that sort of thing than the fellers. Oh, drat, is that a step I hear? Stand by your beds, Gunners!’

  The kit inspection went well, only one girl having the humiliation of seeing her neatly arranged possessions thrown on the floor because she had not made up her bed, though she had squared her blankets correctly, and the PT session went even better. Glenys thought that the lovely sunshine helped, and when PT was over and the girls were back in their hut getting towels, soap and clean underwear ready for the bath parade, she gave Jane a nudge. ‘Whilst we’re in the city centre this afternoon we might go to Lyons and have sausage and chips. It would make a change from PS.’

  Jane grinned. ‘Peculiar stew,’ she said. ‘The girls – and some of the blokes – nickname everything and everyone. They used to call you “Frozen Fanny”, as I recall, but they’ve not done that for a while.’

  ‘No, and they’d better not,’ Glenys said. ‘I’d see the bombardier and get them put on a charge. Hey, the girls are forming up into two lines, bath towels at the ready; better get a move on, Gunner Bennett!’

  Marching smartly through the streets of Liverpool, Glenys was aware that all her section regarded bath parade with mixed feelings. Their way led them past several enormous factories, and as soon as the factory girls spotted them the jeers would begin to fly. Some of the more hot-tempered girls were wont to reply in kind, though always beneath their breath, but as their bombardier had pointed out the first time they were verbally attacked, the ATS were always immaculate and could afford to ignore the factory girls. Those in munitions were yellow-faced as daffodils, save for their hands which would have done credit to a coal miner, and whilst their overalls might be clean at the beginning of the week, after two or three days of wear they were stained, oily and filthy. Hair was dragged back with bits of string and fingernails were grimy, although the bombardier was at pains to point out that none of this was actually the fault of the girls themselves.

  ‘The thing is, you can damn well take no notice, because you know it’s only jealousy,’ she had informed them as the girls quickened their pace, eager to escape from the tide of insults. ‘Eyes front if you please!’

  The attitude of the factory girls had been painful at first, but now it was accepted as something to be ignored, and Glenys and Jane exchanged wry looks as Swithin, who had been promoted to lance bombardier only the previous week, gave the order to wheel right and the factories were left behind.

  The bath house was a large building, steamy and warm, and Glenys thought the pleasure of having a hot bath more than made up for the insults of the factory girls. There were not enough tubs for everyone to bath at the same time, so Swithin adjured them to remember that others were waiting. ‘Five minutes to wash, five minutes to soak and five minutes to get dry,’ she reminded them as they took their places at the head of the queue. ‘And don’t fill the tub over the four inch mark.’

  ‘Don’t do this, don’t
do that . . . what about dressing? Surely you don’t expect us to march out of the bath house in the buff?’ Glenys said cheekily. ‘Just because you’ve been promoted doesn’t mean you can boss your old pals around.’

  ‘Yes it does,’ Swithin contradicted. She sniffed. ‘Oh, someone’s got scented soap. Is it you, Bennett? Can I have a borrow when it’s my turn for the tub?’

  ‘So long as you don’t leave it in the water to go all soft and squishy,’ Jane conceded, and was about to expatiate on this theme when the door against which Glenys had been leaning opened and a damp-haired, pink-cheeked girl emerged, beaming. She started to say ‘In you go, Trent’, but Glenys had already shot into the cubicle, slammed the door and begun to hurl her clothes on to the wooden rack provided. It was tempting to fill the tub to the brim, but naturally she did not do so. Instead she filled it exactly to the four inch mark, and jumped in. Jane’s lovely soap was much appreciated, and by the time Glenys was neatly dressed once more she was at peace with the world.

  She left the cubicle door open and went out into the street, where a couple of benches had been erected so that bathers who had to wait for others would have somewhere to sit. Jane, who had finished first, was in a particularly sunny mood. ‘It made me think of home,’ she murmured dreamily. ‘Our house didn’t have a bathroom when we moved in – Friday nights Mum filled the tin bath in front of the fire and the family took turns while Mum timed us by the kitchen clock. Of course, before the war we could have had the water right up to the brim, but since we had to carry it in from the pump in the yard and heat it up in the biggest saucepan Mum possessed we never did – fill the bath right up, I mean. But in 1936 Mum and Dad had an extension built on to the kitchen; it’s got a tub, a hand basin and a lavvy, and there’s even a bench in the garden so in the summertime there’s somewhere to sit while your hair dries. But we still take our turn to get clean, just as we do here.’

  ‘Sounds nice,’ Glenys said, plonking herself down next to her. ‘I hope the others hurry; if there are enough of us perhaps Swithin will let the early birds go on ahead. Then we’ll have time to hang our towels out to dry and snatch a bun or some biscuits from the Naafi before we catch a bus to the city.’

  Even as she spoke, Swithin appeared. ‘There’re enough of you out to make a respectable column and you’ve already had an unscheduled kit inspection, so you might as well form up in twos and get going,’ she said. ‘Trent, you’re in charge; see that they get home safe, there’s a good girl. I’ll round up the stragglers. See you in the cookhouse.’

  An hour later Glenys and Jane had hung out their towels in the beautiful spring sunshine and were heading for the bus which stopped outside the camp and would take them into the centre.

  ‘I’m not at all sure I really want to spend such a perfect day in the cinema,’ Glenys said as they climbed aboard the bus. It’s not often we see the sun.’

  The conductor, overhearing, gave a low whistle. ‘Rebecca‘s showing,’ he informed them. ‘It’s a grand fillum so it is. You don’t want to miss it.’

  ‘Cheeky sod,’ Jane said as he moved away, but she was careful to keep her voice low. ‘Tell you what, I can see you don’t want sixpenn’orth of dark, so we’ll go to the shops and then I’ll go to the cinema by myself. I don’t mind so long as it’s not a romantic weepy; I do so hate it when the lights go up for the interval and my face is all smeary with tears.’

  Glenys laughed. ‘Right. If you really don’t mind I’ll go for a walk instead – I’ve always been intrigued by shipping, and though I did go on the overhead railway once, before it was bombed, you can’t get close to the ships the way you can if you walk along the Dock Road. What time shall we meet afterwards? Six o’clock?’

  Jane agreed to this, and presently they reached Ranelagh Street and dived into Lewis’s. Used, by now, to empty shelves and a scarcity of goods for sale, they still found it thrilling to be in a big store, and by the time they had visited every department and actually come upon a tiny amount of makeup for sale, they felt that they had had a really exciting day out. Glenys bought a lipstick and a pale brown eyebrow pencil which, though it did not go perfectly with her ash blonde hair, was better than a darker shade would have been. Jane, blessed with very dark and gleaming curls, bought rouge and a tiny pot of eye shadow. ‘Though when we’ll get the opportunity to flash our new makeup, heaven alone knows,’ she said rather ruefully. ‘What’s the point of getting all dolled up for a NAAFI dance? And now, dear Glenys, I must be off or I’ll miss the beginning of the film.’ She sighed dramatically and cast her eyes heavenwards. ‘Imagine missing even a minute of Laurence Olivier or Joan Fontaine. Meet you outside the Corner House at six. Not that you’ll be in any hurry to leave the bright lights since you’ve got a week’s leave coming up, you lucky thing you.’ She hesitated outside the cinema of her choice and faced her friend. ‘Look, I wouldn’t dream of interfering, you know that, but I do think you ought to go back to the farm now that you haven’t got the excuse of being too far north to make it there and back in your time off.’

  Glenys felt the blood creep up her neck and flame in her cheeks. ‘I can’t go back yet,’ she said. ‘I left because I got too fond of someone and I knew he wasn’t fond of me. Oh, we were friends all right, but nothing more. Now you get off and swoon over Laurence Olivier whilst I go down to the docks for a good look at the shipping.’

  Jane did not need telling twice. They were on London Road and already a short queue was forming outside the cinema. She did turn and give Glenys a quick wave, however, and Glenys shouted: ‘Lyons Corner House, six o’clock. Shall I order for you if I’m first?’

  ‘Might as well; sausage and chips and a penny bun for pudding,’ Jane bawled. ‘Be good, and if you can’t be good . . .’

  ‘. . . be careful, and if you can’t be careful buy a pram,’ Glenys finished for her. Then she saluted an imaginary officer, clicked her heels the way the Jerries were supposed to do, and headed for the docks.

  As she went she told herself, not for the first time, that she really ought to go back to the farm. Despite Jane’s urging she had never given them her address, but she had said that the ATS girls were always being posted to different parts of the country and if she ever got near enough to Weathercock Farm she would definitely come and see them.

  But I don’t want to send a telegram and frighten you out of your wits, she had explained. So I’ll just turn up when I’m able.

  As she prowled along the pavement, peering sideways at the shipping, she wondered again what she should do. If Sam had not re-joined the Navy and was still at the farm, there was their unresolved quarrel hanging over her head. If, on the other hand, he had re-joined the Navy, then she would not see him but would suffer afresh the agonies of fear which attacked her whenever she thought of him afloat on the treacherous sea. It would be almost worse to know he was in constant peril than to see his contempt because she had run away. If only the pleasant friendship they had shared could have been something warmer. But it was no good wishing; if she’d had any sense at all she would never have left him, but would have worked at their relationship until it was strong enough to bear whatever lay ahead of them.

  Glenys sighed, looked up at the towering shape of the nearest ship, lingered for a moment, and then set off at an even faster pace. Life was full of ‘if only’s. She had missed her chance of happiness through her own foolishness, and now it was too late to repine.

  Sam saw the slim blonde in the familiar uniform as he had done a hundred times before and knew it could not be Glenys; it never was. But he followed, knowing that this was his last chance before he was whisked off to join his ship. Sealed orders were the order of the day now, but rumour had it that they were bound for distant waters, probably the Med, to join the fleet there. Embarkation leave such as he had just enjoyed was only granted to men who were about to be stationed abroad. So if it really was her this time . . . Sam quickened his pace. As if conscious of his pursuit the girl also seemed to speed up. There was so
mething in her walk, the way she held her head, the swing of her hips . . . and then he threw caution to the winds and began to run, desperation coming to his aid. ‘Glenys!’ he shouted. ‘Wait! Glenys Trent, will you turn round?’

  For a moment he thought she had not heard, but just as he reached her she stopped and turned towards him, and it was Glenys.

  Sam did not hesitate. He dragged her into his arms and began kissing her frantically. Forehead, nose, cheeks . . . mouth. When he had first grabbed her she had mumbled a protest and tried to pull away, and then suddenly her arms were tightly round his neck and she was responding to his kisses. When he finally released her, he was murmuring, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you! Oh, Glenys, I should have said that ages ago. What a fool I was. Say you love me too!’

  Glenys heaved a great sigh and for a moment leaned her head against his chest. ‘Oh, Sam, of course I love you,’ she whispered. ‘But we’re in uniform; you could get us court-martialled! Can’t we go somewhere a little less public so we can talk? You see, I thought you didn’t want me; I thought you were only interested in getting a mother for Jimmy and Mo and a housekeeper for the farm. That would have been all right if I hadn’t loved you, but I knew I couldn’t bear it if you married someone else.’ She smiled mistily up into his face, tears forming in her big blue-grey eyes. ‘Oh Sam, I’m on my way to meet someone, and she’ll be waiting for me. Look, I’ll be free tomorrow – I’ve got a week’s leave. Could we meet then?’

  Sam shook his head. ‘No, my darling. I’m first lieutenant aboard the Hunter; we sail on the early tide and won’t be back until God knows when. Our orders can only be opened once we’re at sea, but I imagine we shan’t be back in Blighty for a long time. But I’ll write to you at the farm and you can write to me at my given address, and the moment I come back into port we’ll get married, because all I want in the world is to be with you.’ He pinched her cheek. ‘I’ve been searching for you ever since you ran away, and now when I find you we must part almost immediately. Oh, Glenys, Glenys, how can I bear to let you go?’