The Bomb Girls' Secrets

by Daisy Styles

  ‘I feel like a film star,’ she murmured in disbelief after Gladys had turned her around to face the mirror.

  ‘You’re a lot better looking than any film star,’ Violet enthused as she gazed in admiration at Kit’s lovely face.

  The girls’ finishing touch to their appearance was the addition of long glittery earrings, most of which were begged and borrowed from other munitions girls at the Phoenix. Myrtle resisted all such fripperies and wore only her own three-string pearl necklace with a diamanté clasp.

  ‘This is as good as it gets!’ she announced as she patted down her permed curls.

  The manager startled them all by banging loudly on the door, ‘Five minutes, ladies!’ he called.

  The Bomb Girls were the third band scheduled to play out of the five who had entered the competition. As the excited audience started to dance to the first entry’s opening number, the girls along with Edna sat at a table close to the stage, where they critically assessed their competitors.

  ‘They’re good,’ said wide-eyed Nora, who was a bit red in the face from an over-application of rouge. ‘But they’re not as good as us,’ she added bluntly.

  ‘They’ve got nicer clothes,’ Violet noticed enviously.

  ‘Well, that wouldn’t take much!’ teased Edna.

  ‘We’re far better dancers with a well-rehearsed routine,’ Maggie said over-loudly. ‘They’re dead wooden – just tapping their feet now and then when they remember,’ she criticized.

  Embarrassed, Gladys hissed across the table, ‘For God’s sake, Mags, keep your voice down or you’ll get us all thrown out.’

  The second swing band on stage were more accomplished than the first, but the musicians were mostly middle aged and played a dull repertoire. A rather lukewarm spatter of applause sounded out as they concluded; then the manager beckoned to Gladys.

  ‘You’re on, kiddo!’ he yelled.

  Clutching their instruments, Gladys, Maggie, Nora and Violet ran on to the stage, where a trembling Kit was doing her best to hide behind the drum kit she was supposed to be playing.

  ‘Holy Mother of God!’ she squeaked to Edna, who was enjoying a Player’s in the wings. ‘I never thought there’d be such a massive crowd.’

  ‘Just pray the air-raid siren doesn’t go off or we’ll be doing a live performance in the nearest Anderson shelter!’ unflappable Edna joked.

  Meanwhile Myrtle, in all her statuesque splendour, had swanned over to the grand piano, where she coolly flexed her long bony fingers before taking her seat, rather like Queen Elizabeth taking to the throne!

  As the restless crowd mooched about, buying drinks, lighting up cigarettes, chatting up the opposite sex, the manager’s voice boomed out: ‘Ladies and gentlemen! A new band all the way from the Phoenix Munitions Factory in Pendleton. Put your hands together please for the BOMB GIRLS’ SWING BAND!’

  As the crowd clapped and wolf-whistled a cheeky young lad shouted out, ‘Oi! Didn’t you have chance to change before you left work?’

  With a loud blast on her alto sax, Gladys drowned him out as she started their opening number, ‘PEnnsylvania 6-5000’. As the brass section soared, Myrtle improvised over the top of the chord: vamping with her left hand she played out a riotous but harmonizing melody on the grand piano and the crowd took to the floor and danced! When Gladys set down her sax to sing the catchy chorus, the ballroom resounded as the audience clapped and chanted in tune with her: ‘PEnnsylvania 6-5000’!

  As their opening song reached a climatic crescendo, the Bomb Girls counted the beats into their next song. ‘A-1, a-2, a-1, 2, 3, 4,’ Gladys sang under her breath.

  Swaying and stomping to ‘In the Mood’, Gladys gave her all to the alto sax; with her fingers running expertly up and down the valves, she ascended and descended the scales, creating rich, rounded notes which sent crowds of couples swirling and dipping around the dance floor. When the number came to an end, the lights dimmed and the same couples, softly illuminated by the fractured light of huge slow-turning silver balls, waltzed to Vera Lynn’s caressingly romantic song, ‘Yours Till the Stars Lose Their Glory’.

  When the lights came back up, the enraptured audience went mad!

  ‘MORE! MORE! MORE!’ they bellowed as they clapped and cheered and wolf-whistled.

  ‘They’re never going to let you off the bloody stage!’ cried the manager. ‘Give ’em another song or we’ll all be mobbed.’

  The laughing girls turned to Gladys. ‘Chattanooga Choo-Choo?’ she suggested.

  ‘Why not?’ cried Kit as she hit the hi-hat cymbals with panache.

  Further downstage, Nora, Mags, Violet and Gladys swayed hip to hip, to the left and the right, just as they’d practised over and over again in the Phoenix chapel and in the canteen.

  ‘Stay together, girls,’ Mags muttered under her breath. ‘Kick, click, shake and tap,’ she said as they synchronized their moves.

  Their encore brought the house down, and the two groups that followed didn’t stand a chance. The judges voted the Bomb Girls the winners, and they took their bow in the spotlight to tumultuous applause.

  ‘We’re through to the semi-finals!’ gasped Nora.

  ‘You canny lasses have got it stitched up,’ the manager remarked as they packed up their instruments and Kit said a very sad goodbye to the hi-hat cymbals, which she’d taken quite a shine to. ‘Middle-aged musicians playing middle-aged music is no competition for an all-girls’ swing band – they’re guaranteed winners.’

  Edna proudly threw back her shoulders. ‘Believe you me,’ she declared, ‘they’re not called the Bomb Girls for nothing!’

  18. Flowers and Birdsong

  The Bomb Girls’ Swing Band were applauded by their fellow workers when they walked into the canteen after clocking on the day after the play-offs in Bolton.

  ‘You did us proud!’ they cried.

  ‘I can’t wait for the semi-finals,’ Ivy the supervisor in the filling shed laughed as she delivered a tin tray loaded with mugs of tea to the girls’ table. ‘Here, get this lot down you,’ she said cheerily.

  ‘I can bloody wait,’ Nora groaned as she lit up her first Woodbine of the day. ‘I’m so tired I don’t know whether I’m on mi ’ead or mi arse!’

  ‘Oh, but it was worth it,’ enthused Kit, who, though exhausted from the long drive home followed by a very late night, was sparkle-eyed with excitement. ‘Holy Mother of God – we won!’

  For the first time in her life Kit had actually won something, and the feeling was good. Was this an omen of better things to come, she wondered superstitiously. Was her luck finally changing at last?

  Later that morning, as Arthur passed through the filling shed, he stopped to congratulate the girls too. As he passed Violet, he stooped to whisper in her ear, ‘Meet me in the garden during your next break.’

  Before he left, he gently patted her hand with his maimed one. Violet couldn’t help but compare him to Ronnie, who’d dodged conscription, whilst a brave, selfless man like Arthur and millions more beside had not a second’s doubt about joining up and fighting for their king and country.

  She’d learnt about Arthur’s war work on one of their moorland walks up to Witch’s Crag.

  ‘Coming from Chester, I immediately joined up – the 2nd Battalion of the Cheshires,’ he told her proudly as they wound their way up the steep mossy tracks. ‘My unit served in France with the rest of the British Expeditionary Force before fighting in the Battle of Dunkirk – that’s where this happened,’ he said, holding up his deformed hands. ‘I was working in explosives, blowing up enemy bridges and railway lines.’

  ‘God!’ Violet gasped. ‘I can’t think of anything more terrifying.’

  He nodded grimly.

  ‘It was truly terrifying, but my unit looked out for each other; we checked and double-checked everything, always looking for booby traps. We learnt to outwit the Germans at their own dirty game … until one night …’ –He took a deep ragged breath.

  ‘Shall we sit down?�
� Violet asked anxiously.

  He nodded and spread his jacket on the heather for her to sit on.

  ‘I was with my mate Ted; we were de-fusing a bomb the Jerries had positioned under a bridge, so our troops could pass over. We’d managed to remove the casing from the bomb, but the damn detonator hadn’t gone off. We realized too late we’d been tricked – the bomb had been booby-trapped. I saw a tiny spark and reached over to grab the bomb and throw it into the river, but it went off in Ted’s hands. He was blown up right there in front of me,’ Arthur added with a catch in his voice. ‘I lost two fingers on my right hand and the thumb on my left – and the best friend I ever had.’

  Violet took hold of his hands, which even now showed the scar lines of multiple stiches.

  ‘At least you’re alive,’ she whispered.

  ‘To be honest I wished it was me that had died. Ted had three children and a wife he adored in Southampton. I visited them once I was out of the convalescent home. I don’t know how they’ll ever come to terms with their loss.’ He flung himself back on the heather and gazed up into the sky. ‘Once I’d made my recovery, I was declared unfit for the front and sent up here to do my war work.’

  ‘Working with noisy Bomb Girls,’ she teased.

  ‘People make jokes about me working with 200 women, and it’s embarrassing at times – it doesn’t feel like real men’s work,’ he admitted.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said crossly. ‘What’s not real about maintaining factory safety and protecting the workers? It’s a specialist job and I’m glad it’s somebody as experienced and conscientious as you that’s doing it,’ she said hotly.

  Sitting up, he stroked her face dominated by her large eyes, which were as blue as bluebells in the springtime.

  ‘Really, Vi? Are you glad it’s me?’ he asked softly.

  In answer, she kissed his scarred hand. ‘There’s nobody better than you, Arthur Leadbetter.’

  During her break, Violet did as Arthur had asked and made her way to his garden, where she found him watering vegetables.

  ‘What’s this?’ she teased. ‘Depriving me of my break?’

  ‘I’ve got tea,’ Arthur chuckled as he held up a thermos flask. ‘And fags too,’ he added as he produced a packet of his favourite Craven ‘A’ cigarettes from his overalls pocket. ‘But first, I’ve got something to show you,’ he said with a secretive grin.

  Violet smiled to herself. ‘It’s bound to be his first crop of new potatoes!’ she thought.

  Instead, Arthur presented her with a huge bouquet of early-summer flowers – carnations, roses, peonies, sweet peas and fragrant white stocks.

  ‘All picked from my garden,’ Arthur said proudly.

  Violet buried her face in the blooms. ‘They’re gorgeous,’ she cried.

  ‘I wanted to give you a present after last night’s success,’ Arthur explained.

  ‘Oh, it was marvellous!’ she exclaimed as she laid the flowers aside to accept a cigarette and a mug of hot tea. ‘We played like we’d never played before,’ she said with stars in her eyes. ‘The audience went wild; they wouldn’t let us off the stage,’ she giggled.

  ‘I wish I’d been there to see it,’ Arthur said longingly.

  ‘Then you must come to the next round,’ she said excitedly. ‘And bring us luck.’

  Arthur bent to give her a long kiss. ‘When you’ve got talent like the Bomb Girls’,’ he teased, ‘you don’t need luck!’

  That night, Edna came swerving down the moorland track that led to the cowshed. After breaking sharply she jumped out of her blue van and hurried towards the open front door.

  ‘Evening!’ she called cheerily to the girls relaxing in the sitting room after their shift.

  ‘Here comes our manager!’ Gladys joked.

  ‘Have you signed us up for a million-dollar booking?’ Violet teased.

  ‘Not yet, but I will soon,’ Edna chuckled. ‘Actually I’m here to beg a favour of Kit.’ She nodded at Kit, who was lying flat out on the battered old sofa. ‘Can you give us a hand to set up, lovie?’

  Kit jumped to her feet. ‘Course I can,’ she said happily.

  Once they were in the blue van, Edna’s joking tone immediately changed. ‘I had a telephone call from Mr McIvor this afternoon,’ she said urgently.

  Kit’s pulse started to race; had he already had a meeting with Mother Gabriel? Had he seen Billy?

  ‘He asked me to let you know that he’s safely arrived in Ireland,’ Edna added.

  Kit’s heart dropped in disappointment. She was relieved, of course, that he was there, but she was impatiently hoping for a lot more news than his arrival.

  ‘Oh, is that all?’ she muttered.

  Keeping her eyes on the narrow winding road, Edna said, ‘He’s there, Kit – that’s something. This time last week, you had nothing. At least he’s got the ball rolling for your little Billy.’

  Kit agreed. She had to have patience and let the man she’d begged to represent her do his professional best for her and Billy.

  ‘Just think,’ she said, ‘he might be with Billy right now.’ Her eyes filled up with tears of longing. ‘Oh, if only I was with him too, if only I could hold my boy and kiss him,’ she sighed, her tears as ever never far away.

  Edna gave her a reassuring pat on the arm. ‘Come on now, sweetheart, you’re in good hands. Mr McIvor knows what he’s doing. All you can do now is wait – and pray.’

  19. Nora and Nellie

  After Les’s battalion had been posted to northern Europe, Gladys received quite a few chatty letters from her brother, which cheered her up no end. But after the last couple of letters, which had been opened and heavily censored, there had been no more, which left Gladys feeling very uneasy. Worried as she was, Gladys kept her anxieties to herself in order not to alarm her mother, who was permanently edgy about her son’s whereabouts. ‘Maybe he’s on active duty?’ she thought with a shudder.

  If that was the case, he wouldn’t have time to write letters home whilst he was dodging bullets. She prayed he was safe and resigned herself to the fact that letter-writing might not be his priority at this moment in time.

  What with Kit preoccupied with Mr McIvor’s visit to Dublin, Violet falling for Arthur Leadbetter and Gladys anxious about her brother, nobody immediately noticed the change in Nora, who turned up for work one day with huge dark bags under her eyes.

  It was Maggie who drew their attention to her friend’s condition. ‘There’s trouble at home,’ she whispered early one morning in the canteen. ‘I can’t get any more than that out of her.’

  Kit sneaked a look at Nora, who was queuing up at the canteen counter for tea and toast.

  ‘She certainly looks peaky,’ she commented, guilty that she hadn’t noticed herself.

  ‘Somebody should have a word with her,’ Maggie fretted.

  Violet volunteered to take Nora to one side, which she managed to do the next evening when she, Nora and several other women were gathered around Edna’s blue van in the dispatch yard.

  ‘Can I buy you a cuppa and a bag of chips, Nora?’ Violet asked cheerily.

  ‘Er … I should go home – mi mam’s waiting for me,’ Nora said, dithering..

  ‘Go on!’ Violet joked. ‘It’ll only take ten minutes.’

  When they’d got their chips, Violet linked arms with Nora and led her out on to the edge of the moors, which were steeped in a warm golden light from the late setting sun. Comforted by the hot chips and the soothing landscape, Nora visibly relaxed. After they’d smoked a companionable cigarette each, Violet broached the subject. ‘What’s troubling you, lovie?’ she asked softly. ‘You’ve not been yourself recently.’

  Nora sighed heavily as she slumped back on to the heather and watched tiny silver stars pinprick the darkening sky.

  ‘It’s our Nellie.’

  ‘Your younger sister?’

  Nora nodded. ‘She’s only just turned eighteen, but she was mad to go down South and work as a Land Girl – she loves hor
ses and had a romantic notion that working as a Land Girl she’d get the chance to harvest wheat fields with big old cart horses. Bloody mad!’ she mocked but in an affectionate voice. ‘She’s always been a dreamer.’

  Violet waited in silence as Nora took a deep breath.

  ‘Any road up, she’s finished up on a farm just outside Exeter, milking cows and cleaning cowsheds from dawn till dusk. She’s been sending us letters saying she hates it and wants to come home, but the wretched farmer insists he needs her,’ Nora dropped her voice. ‘He’s been behaving indecently,’ she whispered.

  ‘What’s he been doing?’ Violet asked sharply.

  Nora looked from side to side to make sure nobody could overhear her. ‘Touching her up in the milking shed, well away from where his wife can see him.’

  ‘That’s outrageous!’ Violet cried. ‘She should apply for an immediate transfer North.’

  ‘She has!’ Nora retorted. ‘But the farmer got in the way of that too – he was ’avin’ none of it.’

  ‘Poor girl,’ Violet commiserated.

  ‘She was so desperate she tried to run away,’ Nora continued. ‘She got hauled back by the military police and now the farmer’s even harder on her – and it’s not stopped him from touching her up.’

  Poor Nora gave a long loud sigh.

  ‘It’s got so bad mi mam’s going down there herself. She’s going over the farmer’s head, straight to the local authorities,’ she added conspiratorially. ‘She’s going to ask them to let our Nellie transfer North; then, once she’s back here in Pendleton, she’ll get her a job in’t Phoenix, working alongside me and Mags.’

  ‘That’s an excellent plan!’ Violet exclaimed.

  ‘Better than a slap in’t face with a wet fish, as mi dad would say,’ agreed Nora, who returned home that night feeling a lot better for her heartwarming chat with Violet.

  Early the next morning Violet searched out Arthur in his warm sunny garden that was fragrant with the smell of summer phlox, carnations and sweet peas. Sighing contentedly, she leant against his strong frame.