The Glory Girls

by June Gadsby

There was no need to pull the bell-chain, though Alex suspected it had probably stopped working long ago. As he approached the door, it opened a fraction and a long thin face peered out at him.

  ‘Miss Croft?’ he enquired. ‘Miss Frances Croft? I’m Dr Craig. I was told you weren’t feeling too well.’

  The face frowned at him. A pair of thin, dark eyebrows knitted together and the sharp nose gave an indignant lift.

  ‘I didn’t send for you,’ the woman said, her voice surprisingly strong and cultured. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me, I assure you.’

  ‘I see.’ Alex felt irritated, but the irritation soon passed when the air-raid siren shrieked and the woman backed into the hallway with a small gasp and a hand to her heart. ‘Do you have a shelter, Miss Croft?’

  ‘Yes, but …’ She looked rigid with fear. ‘I can’t go in there. Claustrophobia, you see. It reminds me too much …’

  ‘You had a bad experience in the past?’

  She swallowed hard and nodded. ‘In the war ….the other war.’

  ‘You were …?’ Alex felt the need to tread warily; the woman looked to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown if her facial twitching and jerky body movements were anything to go by.

  ‘I was in Belgium at first,’ she said, her eyes glassy. ‘Flanders. And later, in France … I was raised in France, you see … I thought … but it was … it had changed so …’

  Alex glanced down at her record with a curious frown.

  ‘Forgive me, Miss Croft, but you were not a child in the nineteen-fourteen war, so …?’ All these open-ended sentences waiting for information volunteered were beginning to irritate him.

  ‘No. I was at the front, doctor. I drove an ambulance … helped out in the field hospitals. We did everything … anything that was demanded of us … and more.’

  ‘You were with…?’

  ‘The FANYs.’ She gave a minute smile, knowing that he did not understand, then went on to explain. ‘The First-Aid Nursing Yeomanry. A voluntary service … all women, of course.’

  ‘Aye. I have heard of them,’ Alex said. ‘Then you must be very proud of yourself, Miss Croft.’

  ‘Yes.’ It was such a small, unenthusiastic sound. He thought the subject was best left. ‘Though it’s not an experience I should wish to repeat.’

  Miss Croft flinched afresh as the sound of distant ambulance sirens and the clanging of a fire-engine bell drifted up the valley.

  ‘I believe it’s just practice,’ Alex told her, ‘but best to go inside, Miss Croft.’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, rather vague, not moving.

  ‘And if you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate being able to come in rather than stand out here in the street.’

  ‘Oh, but …’ She clasped her throat with the hand that wasn’t clasping her heart and looked as if he had suggested something quite out of the question.

  ‘I am your doctor, Miss Croft,’ he said softly.

  ‘My doctor is Dr Gordon,’ she told him stiffly and her fear could be heard in the quaking of her voice.

  ‘Dr Gordon is my uncle. I work with him in the Crowhall Lane practice.’ He gave her an encouraging smile. ‘And since I’ve come all this way, I might as well check you over, just to be on the safe side.’

  ‘Well, in that case …’ She stepped back even further and motioned for him to enter. ‘I’m sorry, Doctor. The place is such a mess. I don’t have any help, you see, and lately … well, it’s been difficult.’

  She led the way into a comfortable living-room where the windows were well blacked out behind heavy velvet drapes. The black-out curfew wasn’t due to start for another thirty minutes, but Alex suspected that it was like this permanently, cutting out all hint of daylight. No wonder the woman was depressed, Alex thought.

  At either side of a wide fireplace glass globes shimmered with flickering gas-flames turned as low as they could get. Apart from an open book, a scattering of papers and a cup of cooling tea, he couldn’t see that anything was out of place, but she was, as his uncle had warned him, a very proud lady.

  ‘I’ll make a fresh pot of tea, Doctor,’ she murmured and left him standing there, his eyes growing slowly accustomed to the gloom.

  Alex couldn’t help whiling away the few minutes Miss Croft took to make the tea by glancing at the items spread out over the green-baize cloth on the dining table. There were letters and photographs, all of them rather old and well-worn.

  One photograph in particular attracted his attention. He could have been mistaken, but it did appear to be a much younger Frances Croft looking not exactly pretty, but certainly striking. She was standing by an army vehicle that was probably an ambulance, though the style was military and very much out of date. Another showed her in nurse’s uniform sitting by the bed of a wounded soldier, she with her arm about the young man. Both of them were smiling happily into the camera.

  A letter that was lying open near the photographs showed signs of water damage and the ink was smudged, but he could make out what was written there in a bold, sweeping hand.

  My dearest, darling Fanny, This is the hardest thing I have ever had to do – not even during those terrible times during the war when I was fighting and, later, lying wounded in that Flanders field, did my heart weigh so heavily. Sweet Fanny, I made you a promise, to come and find you when this was over, but I cannot do it. I cannot break Margaret’s heart. How can I? She has suffered more than enough already, as have our children. I must therefore ask you to release me from my promise, made in all sincerity. Please, please forgive me. You will always occupy a place in my heart, Fanny, dear, but….

  The all-clear sounded as Miss Croft walked back into the room, proudly erect, carrying a tea tray on which there were two cups of tea and two slices of Dundee cake. Alex straightened quickly and took a step back from the table, feeling a rush of guilt at having intruded into the woman’s personal, most private world.

  ‘Oh!’ She gave a soft exclamation as she noticed the papers and quickly put the tray down over them before Alex could offer to clear a space for it. ‘I’m sorry … I forgot I was sorting out some old papers …’

  ‘Nostalgia’s very good at times, but it can be a little depressing too, don’t you think, Miss Croft?’

  Alex watched her face start to crumple, then was amazed at how she managed to get her emotions under control without shedding the tears that welled up in her small, sad eyes.

  ‘War is a very depressing time,’ she said. ‘Even a war where nothing much seems to be happening. Do have a piece of fruit-cake. I made it myself.’

  ‘Delicious,’ Alex said after his first bite, thinking that the woman certainly did not partake too freely of her own cooking, for she was painfully thin. ‘Now, tell me, Miss Croft. What is it that’s troubling you?’

  ‘What makes you think something is troubling me?’

  ‘Well, I can see it for myself, in your eyes, in the trembling of your lips and the shaking of your hands. I wouldn’t be much of a doctor if I declared you fit and well, now, would I?’

  ‘I’m not sick. Is that what they told you?’ She flashed him a look over her teacup.

  ‘All right, Miss Croft, I think I can be honest with you. A very kind and well-meaning neighbour told Dr Gordon that you had been behaving – shall we say, a little out of character? She’s quite worried about you. Looking at you right now, I’d say she has cause, wouldn’t you?’

  Miss Croft’s mouth twisted slightly. She put down her cup and saucer and pushed it away from her.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said, her voice too high, too urgent. ‘It’s just my nerves. I have suffered from my nerves since … for many years. I was there amidst the fighting, the shelling – in those filthy trenches. I was there, Doctor … and it’s all coming back, like a bad, recurring dream.’

  ‘And you never married?’ Alex saw the woman’s eyes dart to the open letter that was still showing beneath the tea-tray.

  ‘No. I never married. I … he …’ She gulped and swallowe
d with difficulty. ‘There was someone. Things are different, you know, in wartime. He was among the injured men whom I nursed. There was a time we thought he wouldn’t make it, but he pulled through. We … we fell in love. It was wrong. We both knew that, but I really thought that when the war was over, he would come back to me. How selfish. He loved his wife, too. There were children – three of them. How could he not go back to them?’

  ‘Indeed.’ Alex watched as tears slid down her hollow cheeks. ‘It must have been hard for you, Miss Croft. And now, of course, the memories are all flooding back.’

  He saw her gulp and nod. He bent forward and picked up a felt badge that had once graced the uniform she must have worn during that horrendous time out in the Flanders fields.

  ‘We rode horses, you know,’ Miss Croft said. ‘and many of the ambulances were horse drawn too. It was a good life … at first. I was useful, speaking both French and German so fluently. I even nursed a German soldier once. A nice boy. So polite. All he could think of was getting back home to his family, to his girl. Just like our boys. He didn’t want to be fighting in any war.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘He died. They shot him when they found him trying to escape.’ She looked up with a shrug of her shoulder. ‘He was the enemy, you see.’

  ‘Yes, I see.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t like to speak of those times …’

  ‘I understand. Look, I’ll give you something that will help.’ He took out his prescription pad and scribbled something on it, passing it over to her. ‘By the way, I met someone today who asked me to send you her regards. Mary West. She said she was a pupil of yours.’

  ‘Oh, dear me! Goodness, yes. Dear Mary. Such a bright, happy-go-lucky child.’ Miss Croft managed a smile through her tears. ‘I used to teach her along with the Beasley girl … yes, Anne it was. Now she was a different kettle of fish. Such a difficult, moody child. They were both extremely talented, but I tended to prefer Mary, even though she had a mischievous streak. She was always getting into trouble of one sort or another. Not exactly a tomboy, you understand, but … well, she had a way of getting the utmost enjoyment out of everything she did, making the most of any difficulty.’

  ‘She sounds like a wonderful person.’ Alex smiled wistfully, thinking of the girl he had met earlier, remembering her calm, gentle face that was like a ray of sunshine after the rain, saw again the upturned mouth that always looked as if it were smiling. She had vitality and an inner beauty that somehow shone through features that could almost have been described as plain.

  ‘Oh, yes … yes, she was wonderful. A miner’s daughter, would you believe! Her mother must be so proud of her. I know I would be.’

  Alex nodded thoughtfully and took his leave of Frances Croft. It was already dark outside in the deserted street. Further down, there was an ARP warden banging on a front door and demanding that they adjust their black-out curtaining so that the ‘ruddy Jerries’ didn’t zoom in on them.

  ‘Good night!’ he called out and the man swung his masked torch around to pick him up in its muted beam.

  ‘Aye. Good night, sir! Mind you don’t drive on full headlights, eh? Sidelights only.’

  ‘I’ll remember.’

  ‘What on earth are you doing home at this hour, Mary?’

  Mary’s mother was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the scullery floor when she arrived earlier than usual. Jenny West’s ample rear end swayed to and fro with the rhythmic movements of her scrubbing brush and she didn’t stop to talk, simply threw her words over her shoulder.

  ‘I got the sack, Mam,’ Mary said, wincing as the scrubbing brush paused, then was dropped with a great splash of dirty water into the bucket next to her mother.

  ‘What did you say, our Mary? I don’t believe it! The sack? Well, you just go right back there and ask Mr Harper to take you back, do you hear me? No West has ever lost a job. Not in this family.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but Mr Harper wouldn’t have me back, and I don’t want to go back. He’s horrible, Mam. I feel sorry for that poor wife of his. None of the girls is safe with him. He can’t keep his hands to himself.’

  ‘So it’s true what they’re saying about young Maggie Brown? She won’t say who planted the bairn inside her, but the rumours suggest it was some fella at Harpers. I never thought it would be Mr Harper himself.’

  Maggie Brown had worked on the haberdashery counter until recently. She left in a cloud of shame to have a baby and there was no man involved, or that was what she tried to tell people. As if they would believe that the pregnancy had happened all on its own.

  ‘And she’s not the only one, either,’ Mary said and her mother rounded on her, skidding on the soapy floor and sitting in a puddle, untold horror registering in her plump face.

  ‘Eeh, our Mary! He’s not had his way with you, has he? You’re not … you know … so-so … are you?’

  ‘Of course I’m not, Mam.’ Mary bit her lip to stop from laughing, for Jenny West looked so funny sitting there, her eyes popping and her mouth hanging open. ‘I wouldn’t let any man touch me. Not like that, anyway. And especially not Mr Harper. What do you take me for?’

  ‘Well, this war seems to be affecting everybody. There’s no telling what could happen. I just don’t want you to do anything that would shame your dad and me. Now, promise me, girl. You’ll not do it … not even with Walter. You haven’t already, have you, please God?’

  ‘No, Mam, I haven’t.’ Mary gave her mother a grimace. ‘I’m saving myself for when the time is right.’

  Mary averted her eyes because she could see herself in the mirror above the mantelpiece and something in her expression was a little too honest. The fact was, the time never did seem right when she was with Walter. This was something that had been bothering her for some time, which was why she had to give some thought to breaking off the engagement.

  ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it.’ Jenny heaved herself up by the corner of the scullery bench and emptied the dirty water down the deep stone sink. ‘Walter’s a nice boy. I’m sure he respects you.’

  ‘Yes, Mam,’ Mary said, quickly changing the subject. ‘Anyway, I thought I’d go to the employment exchange tomorrow and see what there is. Iris Morrison’s just got herself taken on by the War Pensions Office.’

  ‘Oh, goodness, where’s that then? In London? I’m not having you go traipsing down there, love. It’s too far away from home. And dangerous.’

  ‘It’s not in London, Mam.’ Mary watched the tense twitching of her mother’s back as she refilled the bucket with clean water. ‘It’s down near Saltwell Park in Gateshead.’

  ‘Is it now? Well, that’s far enough. She’ll spend half her time travelling to and from work.’

  Mary shook her head. Her mother was the limit, she really was, but then her life had been filled with marriage and raising children. She had left school at thirteen and gone into service until she got married at twenty-one, which had been pretty normal in her day.

  ‘Where’s our Helen?’

  Mary was suddenly conscious that her sister was missing and so was the baby that kept them all busy from morning till night. Helen and her husband lived at home with Jenny and Frank West while they saved for a place of their own. The trouble was, Trevor was expecting to be called up at any minute, him being in the Territorial Army and a reservist.

  ‘Oh, don’t ask. She’s off somewhere with that poor bairn and I don’t know what to tell Trevor if he gets home from the factory before she’s back.’

  ‘But where did she go? Didn’t she tell you?’ It wasn’t like Helen to go off on her own and stay out beyond black-out time.

  ‘Aye, lass. She’s trying to get herself a job.’

  ‘She’s what?’

  Jenny heaved the bucket out of the sink, poured in a few drops of vinegar, wrung out a floor cloth in it and started wiping down the linoleum so that it shone bright and clean.

  ‘She’s got some bee in her bonnet about being independent. Say
s she’s bored. Wants more out of life. I ask you.’

  ‘But what about the baby?’ Mary was concerned for the well-being of her little niece though she could appreciate how her sister was feeling.

  ‘As I say, don’t ask. Only …’ Jenny’s backside stopped swaying and she sat back on her heels and heaved a heartfelt sigh. ‘She just went off saying she was desperate to do something more than just sit at home knitting. As if looking after her husband and our little Carol isn’t occupation enough. I know they’re a bit strapped for cash, like, but she says it’s not that.’

  ‘Then what is it? Oh, you don’t think there’s anything wrong, do you … I mean, between Helen and Trevor?’

  Mary had heard muttered arguments filtering through the dividing wall between her tiny box room and theirs. She could understand the difficulty of their trying to live a full, married life, jammed as they were upstairs in this cramped miner’s cottage. That was one of the reasons she had not wanted to rush into marriage with Walter, when the only place they could possibly live in was the flat above Walter’s shop, with his parents. Walter’s dad was all right, but his mother was a difficult woman. Mary didn’t think she could cope with having the woman breathing down their necks twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Walter, being their son, couldn’t see the problem. He’d have two women running around after him and seemed quite pleased with the idea.

  Jenny threw her hands in the air. ‘Eeh, I don’t know, our Mary? You young people seem to have a lot more complications than people of my generation ever had. We just got married and got on with it, taking the good with the bad.’

  There wasn’t a lot Mary could say to that. Whatever she said on the subject would probably upset her mother, and everybody avoided getting Jenny emotional, because she did tend to go overboard and make everybody else miserable with her.

  ‘Did you get your gran’s medicine?’ Jenny asked as they were sitting over a cup of tea half an hour later.

  ‘Yes,’ Mary nodded and her mouth clamped tightly shut, because she was about to laugh and she knew her mother didn’t like anything that resembled mockery, especially where her grandmother was concerned. ‘I made sure she took some straight away and tucked her up as best I could.’