The Glory Girls

by June Gadsby

  She had been on the verge of telling Iris of her very strange and distant relationship with Alex Craig, doctor; Captain Alexander Craig of the Royal Army Medical Corps. Alex Craig, married man.

  However, there was a commotion in the entrance foyer that was guaranteed to wake up the whole house. Even through the wall the girls could hear a barrage of expletives that would have made a sailor wince.

  Iris sat up, her eyes wide and frightened, clutching the blankets tightly in both hands beneath her chin.

  ‘Relax, Iris,’ Mary said calmly. ‘It’s only Effie.’

  Effie Donaldson had turned up a week after they had settled into their billets.

  They waited for the commotion to die down, but it didn’t. Voices called one on top of the other and feet thundered on the stairs.

  ‘What is it, do you think?’ Iris asked, one leg out of bed, her hands fumbling to take out her curlers.

  ‘Well, not even Effie makes that much fuss for nothing, so it must be a call-out.’

  ‘But we’ve just got back. They can’t expect us to be out there all the time, surely?’

  ‘I suppose it depends on how serious it is.’ Mary was climbing into her uniform. ‘Come on, Iris. Never mind your curlers. Shove them under your cap. They’ll act as a safety helmet.’

  As she crammed her own cap down tightly over her thick hair, a fist hammered on their door and Effie burst in on them without waiting.

  ‘I’ve been sent,’ she announced breathlessly. ‘You’ve got to come quick and it’s all hands on deck. All hell’s broke loose down on the docks. There’s been an explosion at an oil-depot and everything’s going up in flames.’

  Out in the street the FANYs were assembling and piling into their various modes of transport, mainly converted vans and lorries that doubled as ambulances when they weren’t delivering supplies or setting up soup kitchens alongside the Salvation Army. Mary caught sight of Effie, once more astride her bike, heading towards the disaster area.

  ‘West! Morrison!’

  Through the noise, Mary and Iris heard their names called out as they emerged into the chilly night and saw Anne Beasley at the wheel of a Humber car. ‘Get in! You’re coming with me.’

  ‘Yes, Beasley!’ They gave a fleeting salute and moved forward.

  Mary jumped into the vehicle, her heart pounding as Iris crushed herself beside her, then they held on for dear life as Anne set off at a breathtaking pace. Their way was lit by a full moon. Before long even the moon was outdone by the rosy glow from fires raging for about a mile all the way down to the docks.

  ‘Sorry!’ Anne, who was not driving well at all, had mounted the pavement a second time as she careered around a corner, following the other vehicles. The car teetered and almost turned over.

  Mary could hear Iris muttering beside her and saw Iris crossing herself over and over again. She bit down on her smile and refrained from reminding her friend that she wasn’t a Catholic. Iris, she knew, had done a lot of praying since their arrival in London weeks ago. All she could talk of, these days, was the end of the war and how, the next time, she was going to get married and get pregnant, and not necessarily in that order. Anything, she kept saying, rather than join up again.

  ‘Say one for me, Iris,’ Mary said out of the corner of her mouth as they approached the barrier line where the first officials on the scene were giving instructions and doing their best to put some order into the obvious chaos.

  A red-faced ARP warden stepped out and banged on the driver’s door of the car. Mary felt Anne jump nervously next to her. They had never seen their CO in action. It was, therefore, somewhat worrying, though not entirely surprising, to see pure apprehension ooze out of Anne’s pores. Her neck muscles strained as she swallowed with apparent difficulty.

  ‘Sorry, ladies,’ the warden said, giving them all a curious once-over. ‘You’ll never make it down this way. You’ll have to go around and approach it from the south. You lot Army, are you?’

  Anne froze and just stared ahead of her, her eyeballs protruding and wobbling in her head. Her knuckles on the steering wheel showed white bone.

  ‘We’re FANYs,’ Mary explained as another explosion went off and Iris started praying again.

  ‘Oh, I see. That’s what that crazy female on the motorbike said she was. Wouldn’t take any notice of me. Rode straight on as if she had some kind of guardian angel sitting on her shoulder and knew it.’

  ‘That’s got to be Effie,’ Mary said, her heart turning over. ‘Did she get through?’

  The man shrugged, then looked at where a new column of smoke and leaping flames were reaching for the sky from a large building a couple of hundred yards down the road.

  ‘I’d like to say yes, miss, but that there building was where she was headed. It’s a hostel for the blind. I daresay not many of them will need their white sticks now. Sorry about your friend, miss.’

  Mary gulped and turned to Anne, who hadn’t changed her expression at all and showed no inclination to do anything but sit there, unmoving, clinging to her wheel.

  ‘Beasley!’ Mary shouted and shook the girl’s shoulder. ‘Anne! Come on, we’ve got to do something. Drive on.’

  There was a rattling sound as Anne blinked and continued to stare ahead. The noise was her teeth clattering with fear and her skin, pale and grey-tinged, seemed to be covered in goose pimples and was damp with glistening perspiration.

  ‘Can’t!’ Anne uttered through the rattling teeth. ‘I can’t do it! I can’t!’

  ‘What did she say?’ Iris wanted to know, her own teeth chattering slightly.

  ‘She’s in shock,’ Mary told her, leaning over Anne to open the car door and calling out to the ARP warden, who was still standing there on the street: ‘Can you help her out? I need to get to the wheel.’

  The man hesitated fractionally, not used to taking orders from a female, then he nodded and lifted Anne bodily from the vehicle and set her down on the pavement. Anne’s legs buckled under her and she sat down abruptly on the cracked concrete.

  ‘Look after her, will you?’ Mary said, slipping into the driver’s seat and easing the car forward, ignoring the man’s warning shouts. ‘We’ll come back for her.’

  ‘Oh, God, Mary, what are you doing?’ Iris cried out, hanging on to the side of the car as it veered this way and that, avoiding the pitted ground and the lumps of stone and brickwork from the damaged buildings on either side of them. ‘You’ll get us both killed!’

  ‘Get out if you want to, Iris,’ Mary shouted back. ‘I don’t mind, but I’m going in there to look for Effie.’

  ‘She’s not worth the effort,’ Iris said unkindly. ‘Anyway, they say the Devil takes care of his own.’

  ‘What makes you think he’s on Effie’s side?’

  They had almost reached the hostel when more flames shot up from its roof and black plumes of smoke writhed out of the blasted windows. Rescue teams around the building backed off with urgent shouts as a wall collapsed.

  ‘It’s no good, Mary,’ Iris whimpered at her side. ‘She’s had it. Nobody’s going to get out of that building now.’

  Mary drove forward as far as she could get, but left the engine running. It might have been seconds later, or minutes, she would never know, but suddenly there was a shout and somebody pointed. She followed the pointing finger, squinting towards the entrance of the building where she could see a movement through the curtains of smoke that billowed out into the street.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Mary’s eyes were burning and streaming and the smoke was attacking her lungs and making her cough.

  ‘What? Mary, what’s happening?’ Iris was rubbing her own eyes and coughing too.

  ‘Look for yourself, Iris. Now do you think that Effie Donaldson isn’t worth a kind thought?’

  As the wind became blustery and blew the smoke away, a figure emerged. Effie, as black as a chimney sweep, having difficulty putting one staggering foot before the other, advanced with great determination. Behind her, the
re was a man of indeterminate age, his hand resting on her shoulder. And behind him, another, and another. In all, there must have been twenty blind men, walking in a long, linked chain, all following Effie Donaldson as she led them to safety.

  An ambulance pulled up and started loading the blind men, and Effie sank to her hunkers and watched, calling out to them.

  ‘Ta-rah, lads!’

  They lifted sightless eyes and shouted their heartfelt thanks.

  ‘Aw, man, it was nowt!’ she called back. ‘We was bliddy lucky, that’s all. You take care now.’

  Mary, with Iris following like a shadow, approached carefully, watching where she placed her feet.

  ‘Effie?’

  Effie looked up, wiped a sooty hand across her eyes and grinned.

  ‘Well, just look what the wind blew in.’

  As Mary got closer she saw that the dirt on Effie’s face was streaked with blood and her uniform was torn in a variety of places.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, thinking it was a ridiculous question, for the girl was obviously injured.

  ‘I’ll mend, but there are some poor sods in there that won’t,’ Effie told her. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a fag, have ye?’

  Mary shook her head, but then a burly policeman stepped forward, a packet of Players in his outstretched hand.

  ‘Here you are, luv. Have one of mine.’ He even lit it for her and watched her inhale, wincing slightly as she did so. ‘Keep the pack, eh? That was a brave thing you did back there.’

  ‘Aw, gan on, man. Anybody would have done the same. Ta for the fags.’

  He turned to Mary and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe Effie’s words.

  ‘She’s one of your lot, isn’t she? I see you’re all wearing the same badge. ATS is it?’

  ‘We’re in the FANYs,’ Mary told him proudly.

  ‘Well, I suppose the F must stand for “fearless”. Take my advice now and get your friend seen to. There’s a first-aid station a couple of streets away. I expect they’ll also need a helping hand down there. That is, unless you’re all off to a dance?’

  He laughed and strolled off down the devastated street, giving them a brief, backward glance and a wave.

  ‘Come on, Effie. He’s right. Let’s get you seen to.’

  ‘Gawd, that sounds like I’m a dog and ye’re gonna have us put doon.’

  Mary hooked a hand under Effie’s armpit and helped her to rise. She had difficulty standing, for her legs appeared to have turned to rubber.

  ‘Hang on to me, Effie.’

  ‘Aye, I think I will, if ye don’t mind, but don’t let anybody see.’

  Iris hesitated a split second, then went to the other side of the injured girl and between them she and Mary walked Effie back to the Humber. They had to lift her in and only then did they see the blood-soaked trouser-leg where something jagged had pierced the material and torn the flesh.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Mary gripped Effie’s cold hand. ‘We’ll just pick up Anne and take you both to the first-aid station.’

  Anne had not shifted from the spot where they had left her, but the rigidity of the initial state of shock had seeped away, leaving her huddled and crying silent tears.

  ‘It’s all right, Anne,’ Mary said, putting a tight arm about the girl’s shoulders. ‘None of us knows how we’re going to react to situations like these. Not even the men, so there’s an excuse for us not being too brave, isn’t there?’

  Anne simply hung her head and climbed into the back of the car with Effie. Nobody spoke as Mary drove around the bomb craters at about twenty miles an hour. She couldn’t have driven any faster, even if Hitler himself had been after them. Her insides shook, but she didn’t dare show it.

  ‘What are youse three going to do with yer leave, then?’ Effie sat scratching the healing scar on her injured leg.

  Mary lay back against the leather upholstery of the King’s Cross to Newcastle train and let out a long, low, sigh. Two whole days of being back in Felling. It seemed like sheer luxury, though she knew it would be over all too soon.

  ‘I don’t know, Effie,’ she said, stretching and yawning. ‘I’d like to spend some time on the sands at South Shields. And maybe I’ll go dancing at the Palais. And I can always lend a hand to the social services, as long as they don’t ask me to knit or sew. Maybe I’ll go up to the hospital and do something there … write letters for servicemen or something.’

  ‘I’m going to enjoy doing absolutely nothing,’ Iris said. ‘That is, unless I can find myself a sweetheart and then, who knows?’

  ‘Gawd, listen to the pair of ye’s,’ Effie said with a smirk. ‘What d’ye think ye can do in two bliddy days, eh?’

  ‘Effie,’ said Iris from behind closed lids and a Cheshire cat grin, ‘if you have to ask, I feel sorry for you.’

  ‘Nah, divvint dee that, man! I figure we’re all better off without a man. They cause nothing but problems. I know. I lived with plenty of ’em.’

  ‘But they were your brothers and your father, Effie,’ Mary said. ‘It’s not quite the same, is it?’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Effie sniffed then gave her nose a good blow on a grubby hankie. ‘Tell us about it some day.’

  ‘What are you going to do, Anne?’ Mary said, looking across at Anne Beasley, who had remained silent for most of the journey, pretending to be interested in the book she was reading.

  ‘Just spend some time with the family,’ Anne said, her pale eyes lifting, then she returned to the page she hadn’t turned for the last fifteen minutes. ‘I believe my father’s going to be there for a few days. His old war wound’s playing up, He was wounded at the front during the First World War, you know.’

  ‘Eeh, that must be painful,’ Effie said as she nibbled on a fingernail. ‘My brother was wounded at the back. He couldn’t sit down for weeks. Them French farmers all protect their daughters with shotguns and our Ted’s got a back end on him that’s not easy to miss, even when he’s in full flight.’

  Anne stared at her uncomprehendingly, while Mary and Iris fell about laughing, enjoying the release it gave them.

  ‘What did I say, then?’ Effie asked, her eyes opening wide.

  ‘Oh, Effie, you’re priceless,’ Mary told her. ‘Don’t ever change, will you?’

  ‘Fat chance of that. Hey, we’re coming into Newcastle.’

  A whistle bleated, the engine coughed and metal clanked loudly as the train slowed down to an unsteady crawl, pulling into the platform where travellers waited to go on to Edinburgh. There were a lot of uniforms, a lot of anxious women saying goodbye, and children looking lost and pensive. The gaiety seemed to have gone out of the city.

  After London, Mary knew it would be pretty quiet back home. Quiet, but blissful. It would make it all the more difficult to get back into the swing of things once they returned to the Capital. It would take a great deal of courage. Perhaps more than she possessed. But she would do it somehow. She might be only a tiny cog in a very large wheel, but it had to help. It had to! And she wasn’t alone. There were so many people with the same fears, doing their best just as she was, even if their best wasn’t good enough.

  Iris was scared all the time, but she managed to rise above that fear. Anne went rigid with shock, but she still went on, more disturbed by being thought a coward than giving in to her fears. As for Effie, she seemed to be completely fearless. Some of the girls in the unit thought her stupid and brainless. Mary would rather trust her life to that girl’s bravado than to any other person she had ever met.

  By the time the girls hopped on to a tramcar for Felling dusk was falling, and the blackout became effective, with all the buildings turning into dark silhouettes. As they crossed Sunderland Road and headed for the High Street, a special constable with a muted torch hailed them and demanded to see their identity cards.

  ‘Is that you, Fred Gibbons?’ Effie squinted as he shone the torch-beam into her face. ‘Take that thing away, will ye. It’ll give ye nightmares.’


  ‘Effie Donaldson? Well, I’ll be damned!’

  ‘You will be if you don’t let us get home soon.’

  ‘And here was me thinkin’ you was dead!’

  ‘I’m flattered that you thought of me at all, Fred. Come on, bonnie lad, let us pass. These are friends of mine.’

  There was a snicker of a laugh, then the fellow swept his torch-beam across the other three faces and looked suitably mollified when he saw their uniforms.

  ‘Well, I never! So, it’s true. You did join the Army.’

  ‘The FANYs, Fred.’

  ‘Oh, aye? Whatever. Off ye’s go, and don’t hang about. Ye nivvor know, there might be an air-raid th’ night.’

  ‘Hitler wouldn’t dare. Not th’ night, Fred. It’s our first night back home.’

  True to Effie’s word, Hitler did not attack that night. Mary sat in her parent’s home, trying to read the letters they had saved for her, while fielding her mother’s questions on the quality of her accommodation and the food, and her father’s questions on the state of the docklands in London.

  ‘Eeh, love, it’s so good to have you back home,’ her mother said for the umpteenth time, pushing forward plates of biscuits and wedges of custard tart that she had baked specially for the day, probably using all her sugar allowance to do so.

  Mary smiled. There was a limit to how many times you could give the same response to the same statement. There was a letter from Walter. Just the one. She opened it, trying to feel something other than concern for his safety. Like her mother, Walter seemed incapable of saying anything new. He talked of the weather that wasn’t being too kind to them; of the “canny lads” in his unit and the old French homesteads he had seen. The French, he thought, were a funny lot who made a lot of noise when they talked, and had no manners. They ate anything that moved and the villages usually had open drains that stank to high heaven in the afternoon sun.

  And he ended with: “Not much action yet, but they say we might see some Germans soon. I’m looking forward to it. Hope you are well and thinking of me and us. Home soon. Love, Walter.’