by Daisy Styles
Gladys cleared her throat as she said awkwardly, ‘Kit … we’d really understand if you didn’t want to play in the band so soon after your mother’s death.’
Kit paused, unsure for a moment what she should do out of respect for her mother’s departed soul. Lighting up another Woodbine, she asked, ‘And who would play the drums if not me?’
Her friends exchanged a blank look, then shrugged.
‘There’s nobody else,’ Gladys admitted.
‘I’ll play the drums, Glad, for Ma, finally at peace in heaven,’ Kit said bravely. ‘I know it’s what she would have wanted,’ she added fiercely.
16. Dance Band Competition
The girls decided that they’d practise every night prior to the competition in Bolton. They all had reasons for wanting to keep busy. For Kit, it took her mind to some extent off her impossible situation, which for now, she told herself, she could do nothing more about. For Violet, it soothed the pain of knowing her entire neighbourhood in Wood End had been blown to pieces as they slept in their beds. And for Gladys, her music was everything – she simply couldn’t get enough of it!
‘Since we can’t wheel the piano up the track into the cowshed,’ Gladys joked, ‘we’ll have to practise in the chapel.’
Fortunately none of them were on night shift, so they were able to practise every night till they dropped from sheer exhaustion. All their hard work and dedication paid off: they were improving their technique and were more confident about improvising too.
Though relieved that she’d done all she could by employing Mr McIvor to fight Billy’s adoption case, Kit’s thoughts often strayed to imagining things over which she had no control. What if Mr McIvor, clever as he was, found no evidence to support her? What if the American couple offered Mother Gabriel extra money for Billy on condition that she allowed them to claim him sooner? What if her father took Billy to another convent and pulled the same trick on them as he had with the Sisters of Mercy? Worse still, what if her father sidestepped Mother Gabriel by personally taking Billy to America and selling him to the first high bidder he met? When her mind went into any of these nightmare scenarios, Kit missed her cues, lost the beat or failed to join in on the backing. One afternoon, when she missed a sequence of vital drum beats, the band ground to a halt. As the brass section tweeted and hooted discordantly and Myrtle irritably slammed the piano keys, all eyes turned to Kit.
Taking the same sympathetic line she’d taken in the past, Gladys said gently, ‘We understand you’re still in mourning, Kit, and we really sympathize, so please don’t push yourself and play for our sakes.’
On hearing this, Maggie Yates, who – like her sister Emily Yates – always spoke her mind, spluttered, ‘And what do we all do if Kit doesn’t play? Bang a couple of tin lids together and hope for the best?’
The thought of Gladys improvising the drums with two pan lids made Kit smile despite herself.
‘You promised you could do this,’ she scolded herself. ‘So come on, do it – and do it well!’
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Let’s crash on!’ she joked as she gave the cymbal an almighty whack.
As their music improved and their confidence grew, a buzz of excitement zipped through the band as they became more ambitious about their choreography.
‘We should move more!’ Maggie urged. ‘Really go with the music, like Ivy Benson’s girls.’
‘And what exactly do they do?’ Myrtle asked.
‘THIS!’ said cheeky Mags, as she tossed her hair, clicked her fingers and wriggled her very shapely bottom.
‘God spare me!’ Myrtle groaned.
‘Mags is right,’ said Gladys. ‘We could make more of our dance sequences. It’s difficult when you’re playing an instrument, but the four of us’ – she pointed to Violet, Nora and Maggie – ‘we could combine to do a bit of chorus-girl style dancing.’
Violet blushed scarlet, ‘OH!’ she exclaimed.
‘I’m not saying we should dance half naked,’ Gladys quickly added. ‘We’ll be covered from top to toe in our overalls!’
‘But we could add a bit of glam,’ Maggie added eagerly. ‘Wear earrings and have our hair loose under our turbans.’
Myrtle rolled her eyes. ‘My word!’ she chuckled. ‘I’m so glad I have my trusty piano to shield me from you Jezebels!’
‘BRILLIANT!’ Gladys raved at the end of Friday night’s practice. Flopping down on to one of the hard wooden pews, she gasped, ‘For God’s sake! Will somebody make a brew?’
At which point Arthur Leadbetter walked in bearing a loaded tin tray. ‘Tea, ladies?’ he said with a wide smile.
‘You ANGEL!’ cried Maggie.
Passing around mugs of hot tea, Arthur said, ‘Your music’s been booming out across the factory floor; it’s cheered up the lasses on night shift. They’re the ones who told me to fetch you some refreshments.’
‘Much appreciated,’ Gladys said as she gratefully sipped the welcome tea.
Arthur crossed the chapel to hand Violet her mug of tea. ‘Mustn’t forget you, Violet. He said her name so softly it made Violet’s tummy flip.
‘You’re spoiling me,’ she murmured as she accepted one of his Craven ‘A’ cigarettes.
‘The weather forecast’s looking good this week,’ Arthur continued. ‘Do you fancy a walk out on the moors? In between your shifts and your band practice of course,’ he added with a laugh.
Violet inhaled the cigarette smoke as she gazed at him with undisguised pleasure. ‘I think I’d like that very much, Arthur,’ she replied.
‘Ooops, nearly forgot, I’ve got something for you – close your eyes and hold out your hand,’ he said as if she were a child.
Violet closed her eyes and extended her right hand. She gasped as she felt something small and cool land in her palm.
‘Oooh! What is it?’ she squeaked.
‘Open!’ he cried.
Violet gazed in delight at a little pile of pale green gooseberries.
‘First of the season,’ Arthur announced proudly. ‘Specially picked for you!’
After her recent request, Arthur had proudly taken her to his secret garden, a little bit of spare land behind the dispatch yard looking out over the moors. He’d obviously worked hard on the scrap of land, digging it over, weeding it, then planting out seedlings; he grew vegetables on one half of the plot and flowers on the other. Running down the middle was a neat row of fruit bushes, raspberry, blackcurrant and gooseberry.
‘Mr Greenfingers,’ she teased as she delicately nibbled a tart gooseberry before she gave him a brief peck on the cheek. ‘Thank you.’
The following morning, bleary-eyed from their late-night rehearsal, the girls were busily preparing for work when Gladys called out, ‘Anybody know who the car outside belongs to?’
Despite the recent Wood End bombing news, Violet’s heart missed a beat. Could it somehow be Ronnie? Could he have escaped the bomb and tracked her down? Then she remembered the reports she’d read: there were literally no survivors from the street, she told herself.
When there was a knock at the door, Kit opened it to Mr McIvor.
‘Sorry to call so early, Miss Murphy,’ he said as he doffed his expensive black felt hat. ‘I just wondered if we could have a word in private, maybe outside?’ he suggested.
Still in her old winceyette nightie, Kit grabbed a coat to cover herself; then, looking like a sleepy child with her long dark hair blowing around her anxious face, she followed him to his smart black Ford, which was being buffeted by the wind blowing off the moors. As she sat in the passenger seat beside him, McIvor outlined his plan of action.
‘I just wanted to let you know in person how far my plans have developed since last week,’ he explained. ‘I’ve already received a letter from Mother Gabriel. We’ve been lucky – the post often gets sent via very odd places these days – but the gods must have been smiling on you as this one made it through quickly.’
‘What did she have to say?’ Kit asked eagerly.
/> ‘She hasn’t said much but has agreed to see me at the convent. She wouldn’t do that if there was nothing to challenge, so I think I should go as soon as I can, with your permission?’
‘Of course, of course! I’ll pay for your travel,’ she gasped. ‘Is Billy still there?’ she asked anxiously.
‘I assume so, Miss Murphy,’ he said as he noticed the paleness of her skin underneath the worn nightdress. ‘I asked to see him in my original letter and when I get there I shall insist upon it.’
Kit smiled, much cheered by her lawyer’s determination to crack the whip on her behalf.
‘I intend to examine closely his adoption papers. If there’s anything I can do to stop this illegal transaction going ahead, you have my word that I will do it,’ he assured her.
Remembering Mother Gabriel’s cool business-like certainty, Kit asked, ‘Are you sure Mother Gabriel will definitely let you see the papers?’
‘She has no choice. That’s the point of my journey and, as your lawyer, I’m within my legal rights to peruse the documents,’ he explained.
‘And what about mi da – will he come to see you at the convent?’
‘I’m not taking any chances,’ McIvor answered firmly. ‘I shall certainly visit him.’
As she looked into his soft hazel eyes flecked with specks of gold, Kit felt a warmth flood through her. This man, a stranger until only a few days ago, was planning on crossing the Irish Sea to fight for her child. Impulsively she took hold of his hand and kissed it. Gripping her tiny hand, the lawyer gazed into Kit’s mesmerizing dark eyes that could so quickly move from sadness to happiness, like a cloud passing over the sun.
‘I’m grateful to you, sir, and pray that God will go with you,’ she said earnestly.
‘I’ll do my very best for you, Catherine.’
When he said her full name, Kit’s eyebrows shot up. Nobody had ever in her whole life called her ‘Catherine’, and she was surprised at how much she liked it. Having completed his mission, Mr McIvor stepped out of the car to open the passenger door and help Kit out.
‘Good day, Catherine.’
‘Good day, Mr McIvor,’ she replied formally.
Watching her walk away with her battered shoes flapping at the soles, Mr McIvor muttered under his breath, ‘I swear I’ll buy that young woman a new pair of shoes sometime soon!’
Buoyed with renewed hope, Kit threw herself body and soul into the final rehearsals. Belting out the rhythm on the snare drum and tom-toms, she felt surprisingly elated.
‘ “In the Mood” one more time,’ she urged after yet another late-night rehearsal.
‘OHHH, NO!’ groaned the weary musicians.
‘What’s got into you?’ Gladys asked.
‘I want us to be perfect on the competition night. Come on, it’s only the birds on the moors that can complain about the noise!’ Kit joked.
With Kit firmly keeping her mind on the extra rehearsals, Gladys took the opportunity to work out the practicalities of their trip over the moors to the competition venue.
‘I’ve been so busy concentrating on the music I haven’t given any thought as to HOW we’re actually going to get to Bolton,’ she confessed to Edna one damp, misty evening.
Edna chuckled as she lit up a Player’s. ‘Yer daft bugger!’
Gladys frowned as she explained her problem. ‘They’ll have a piano and a set of drums at the dance-hall, but we’ll have to take all the other instruments – trombone, clarinet, trumpet and saxophone. And then there’re all six of us lasses too!’ she exclaimed. ‘WHY didn’t I think of transport sooner?’ she groaned.
Edna blew out a cloud of smoke before she said, ‘I’ll take you.’
Gladys gazed at her in astonishment. ‘YOU? HOW?’
Edna nodded to her van, ‘What do you call this?’ she teased.
‘But it’s a chip shop!’ Gladys exclaimed.
‘And when it’s not a chip shop, it’s a big blue van – stinks a bit but it’s serviceable. If I take out the range it’ll get us all there, for sure.’
Overwhelmed with relief, Gladys flung her arms around the older woman’s shoulders. ‘What would the Bomb Girls do without our Edna?’ she cried.
Then, just as Gladys was beginning to relax, Malc the overseer tracked her down first thing on Monday morning.
‘Have you got permission for them girls on’t night shift to have time off for’t competition?’ he asked.
Gladys’s jaw dropped. Speechless, she could only shake her head.
‘Thou’s got a mind like a bloody sieve,’ Malc teased.
Seeing Gladys blushing to the roots of her brunette hair, he said with a reassuring wink, ‘I’ll have a word with Mr Featherstone, see if I can pull a few strings.’
Later that day he found Gladys with her pals in the canteen. Gladys tensed when she saw him approaching. If he hadn’t got permission from the boss, at least three band girls wouldn’t be going to Bolton the next night. Looking up at him expectantly, she held her breath.
‘Yes …?’
Malc gave her a thumbs-up sign. ‘He’s agreed that you can all go, on condition that you make up the lost time. He said, I quote, “There’s a war on, no concessions.” ’
Gladys grinned as she stood on her tip-toes to give Malc a kiss on the cheek.
‘Bugger!’ Malc chuckled. ‘It were worth me sticking mi neck out for a kiss like that!’
17. Palais de Danse
On the Tuesday of the dance band competition, Kit forced herself to think about the forthcoming event rather than let her thoughts stray to what Mr McIvor might be doing on her behalf. She was so preoccupied she didn’t realize she’d been delegated the task of securing clean, new overalls from the store, which was Malc’s domain.
‘Why ME?’ she cried. ‘What if he catches me at it?’
‘Malc thinks the world of you,’ Gladys assured her. ‘Always calls you that poor little Irish lass who needs feeding up! He’d never suspect you of doing anything underhand.’
‘Anyway, we’ll put them back after the competition,’ Violet promised.
Once Kit’s mission was successfully accomplished, the girls industriously concentrated on their workload before clocking off the second the hooter sounded.
‘Good luck!’ their colleagues called as the band girls hurried through the canteen. ‘We’ll keep our fingers crossed for you,’ they promised.
Clutching the leather cases in which their instruments were safely stored, the girls dashed out of the factory gates and ran down the hill into Pendleton, where Edna was locking up her chip shop.
‘All set?’ she asked as they hurried towards her blue van parked up in the back street. Suddenly Edna stopped dead in her tracks.
‘BUGGERATION! I’ve got a flat tyre.’
Rolling up her sleeves, Edna took the jack from the back of the van and began cranking it up. ‘You’ll have to help me lift the van on to the jack,’ she told her friends, who had gathered anxiously around her.
‘I never had to do this when I was a Sunday school teacher,’ fastidious Myrtle grimaced as dirt from the wheel splattered on to her delicate fingers.
Edna expertly replaced the damaged tyre with the spare, then, wiping her greasy black hands on a piece of newspaper, she hustled the girls into the back of the van, where they sat on the floor, apart from Gladys and Myrtle, who’d been delegated to direct Edna over the moors to Bolton. As the giggling girls in the back rolled around and bumped into each other, Gladys and Myrtle in the wide passenger seat gave direction to Edna, who drove along precipitous tracks often blocked by herds of bleating sheep.
An hour and a half later they arrived at the venue with plenty of time to spare.
‘Good!’ said Edna as she pulled up by the back entrance. ‘Mebbe I can find a cuppa for us all.’
As Edna went in search of tea, Gladys and the other musicians dashed inside the dance-hall, eager to check out the musical equipment available to them. Kit stopped short when she saw the elaborate drum k
it on the stage.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ she gasped. ‘I’ve never seen one of those things before,’ she said as she pointed to a gleaming set of unusual looking cymbals.
The manager appeared from his office and smiled as he explained, ‘It’s called a hi-hat – look,’ he said as he pressed hard on the foot pedal and the two cymbals, one beneath the other, crashed loudly together.
Wide-eyed, Kit stared at the hi-hat cymbals in sheer delight. ‘Well, now,’ she said in her soft lilting voice, ‘that’ll be after making all the difference.’
Myrtle was thrilled to discover she’d be playing a grand piano. ‘Oh, if only I’d got a ball gown to set it off,’ she sighed wistfully.
‘All in good time, Myrtle,’ Gladys chuckled.
Edna appeared with mugs of tea and some corned-beef sandwiches she’d brought along with her. ‘Got to keep your strength up,’ she said as she handed around food to the hungry girls.
They had about an hour to practise before the doors opened at half past seven.
‘Time to change,’ said Gladys as she ushered her band into the ladies’, where they wriggled into their clean overalls and shoved their hair loosely under their turbans.
‘I feel like I’m just about to clock on,’ Maggie giggled.
‘We’re going to look a lot more glamorous than when we clock on,’ Gladys said as she produced her make-up bag and started to apply face powder from her gold-coloured compact, then rouge and a sweep of bright red lipstick. ‘Kit, come over here, I’ll make you up,’ she said as she beckoned her forwards.
With her long black hair trailing out from the confines of her turban, Kit’s small heart-shaped face looked strained and tired after all the pressure she’d been under, but Gladys’s lavish use of cosmetics soon transformed her. The powder made her skin look soft and creamy; the rosy rouge emphasized her dramatic high cheekbones; and the glossy red lipstick accentuated her full soft lips.
