by Daisy Styles
‘Make sure you keep a ticket on one side for me,’ Malc said with his mouth full. ‘You never know when you might need a stand-in!’
A feeling of pride and excitement hung about the Phoenix in the days leading up to the competition, and the band girls felt the buoyant mood heighten as the big day approached.
‘This is really tough!’ cried Maggie one night during a very hot and sticky band practice as a thunder storm was brewing out on the moors. ‘I feel like everybody at the Phoenix is holding their breath waiting for us to win.’
Myrtle, perched regally on her piano stool, flexed her long elegant fingers. ‘And what’s wrong with giving our co-workers something to take their minds off the vexations of war? We’ll perform our very best for the Phoenix munitions workers and all conscripted women in the land!’ she finished grandly.
Not having quite as many fine principles as Myrtle, naughty Maggie muttered to giggling Nora behind her hand, ‘My motive’s a chance to play beside Joe Loss in London!’
After their rehearsal, Kit searched out Edna in the dispatch yard.
Since Mr McIvor’s visit she’d been unable to think of anything but him and the gentle way he’d stroked her hair off her face and held her, albeit briefly, in his arms as they said their goodbyes.
‘Hiya, cock,’ called Edna when she saw the dreamy-eyed girl approaching. ‘You look happy – for a change!’ she joked.
Kit smiled as she greeted her friend. ‘I’m just so grateful to you for finding me Mr McIvor.’
Edna did a startled double-take. ‘Bloody ’ell’s fire!’ she swore. ‘From the look on your face, you seem like you’re half in love with the man!’
Turning bright pink, naive Kit whispered, ‘What does love feel like, Edna?’
Edna lit a Woodbine, which she drew on thoughtfully. ‘It’s been over thirty years, and it only ever happened the once, with young Edward Pilkington. It felt wonderful! Butterflies in your tummy, head spinning, pulse racing, heart skipping a beat.’
‘Yes! Yes!’ Kit laughed. ‘That’s just how I feel but I know I’m not good enough for him, even if he does like me.’
Edna stared at her friend’s beautiful heart-shaped face framed by her long dark hair and slowly shook her head. ‘Kit, any man on earth would be lucky to have you.’
A few days before the competition, Ian McIvor drove up to the cowshed. It was a weekend, and Kit hardly recognized him in casual trousers and an open-necked shirt, which showed the top of his strong muscular chest; plus he took his glasses off as he got out of the car, which made him look much younger. With her old faded pinafore flapping around her slender frame, Kit hurried towards him, wondering if he’d brought news of Billy. Seeing her tense expectant face, Ian quickly said, ‘Nothing new to report, but I’ve come to pick up your diary. Oh, and I have a little something for you.’
Knowing her friends might be watching Kit walked on to the moors and he followed.
‘I thought you might need something special for the dance band competition,’ he said as he handed her another brown paper parcel.
‘More presents!’ she gasped in amazement.
Unused to the custom of giving and receiving gifts, and despite her disappointment that there was still no more news of Billy, Kit was as excited as a child on Christmas morning. Scrabbling with the paper, she was quite unprepared for what lay within the wrapping.
‘A dress!’ she whispered incredulously as she shook out a pink-and-lilac flower-printed crêpe silk dress that had little cap sleeves, a nipped-in waist and a short swirly skirt. ‘Oh, my …’ She was lost for words as she gazed in wonder at it. ‘Don’t move!’ she suddenly cried as she darted off and hid behind the large rocky outcrop.
Five minutes later, barefoot and with her waist-length hair flying free, she came running back to him wearing her beautiful new dress.
‘Do you like it?’ she asked as she posed in all innocence before him.
It was Ian’s turn to be lost for words. The dress was lovely indeed; he’d known that when he bought it from a very expensive shop in Piccadilly, but it was Catherine who was stunning. He’d been attracted to her even in rags, but seeing her in stylish clothes made him realize that she had the natural grace and beauty to carry off anything. Having visited her home and met her father and all of her poor family in Ireland, Ian seriously wondered if this gloriously beautiful woman standing before him hadn’t been swapped by the leprechauns at birth. She no more belonged to the harsh ugliness of her origins than an angel belonged to the gutter.
‘You look beautiful!’ he murmured.
‘I feel beautiful!’ she cried joyously. ‘You make me beautiful,’ she said as she grabbed hold of his hands and squeezed them tightly. ‘But you must stop spending your hard-earned money on a poor old Bomb Girl.’
Looking her straight in the eye, Ian said softly, ‘Catherine, there is no one in this world I would rather spend my money on.’
The radiant smile that transformed Kit’s tense face said it all – the man she was falling for liked her too! With Ian’s eyes holding her smile, Kit knew for sure that the perfect Mrs McIvor – whose image had been such torture for her – clearly didn’t exist.
‘Oh!’ she blustered. ‘I’m … I’m so glad!’
Not trusting herself to say another word, Kit gasped as Ian took hold of her right hand and, lifting it to his lips, kissed each of her small fingers in turn.
‘I’m very glad too. And I intend to spoil you many more times, young lady. You deserve it!’ he said with a soft laugh.
Gladys and Violet couldn’t possibly ignore Kit’s happy smile or her gorgeous new dress, which she all but slept in.
‘It’s real silk crêpe,’ Violet said appreciatively.
‘Nearly as posh as your lovely silk petticoat,’ Kit said proudly.
Violet grinned as she held up her finger. ‘I’ll not be a second,’ she said as she headed into her bedroom. When she reappeared, she laid four silk under-slips, in shades of lilac, black, lemon and turquoise, on the dining table. ‘For you girls,’ she announced. ‘Gladys, Kit, Nora and Maggie – I don’t think they’re quite Myrtle’s style,’ she added with a giggle.
‘Really?’ Gladys asked as she gazed at the glamorous lace-trimmed lingerie.
‘I’m done with them,’ Violet retorted – and she really meant it!
25. Stockport Final
As the day of the Stockport final neared, the girls checked their lists in their break times, in between consuming cups of tea and spam butties.
‘If anybody mentions the competition just one more time, I think I’ll have hysterics,’ Violet said as they listened to Joe Loss’s ‘There’ll Always Be an England’ on Workers’ Playtime. ‘It’s not like I’m not grateful for people’s support; it’s just I have to keep rushing to the lav as my stomach’s in chaos.’
‘Nerves are a good thing; they keep you on your toes,’ Myrtle replied.
Violet burst out laughing. ‘Not in my case, Myrtle, they keep me on the lav!’
‘Double-check you’ve got song and music sheets, make-up, jewellery, clean overalls, musical instruments, brush, comb, lavender water.’ Kit stopped to catch her breath. ‘Holy Mother, I just wish we were there and getting on with it – all this waiting is having the bejesus with me!’ she said as she lapsed into a heavier Irish accent than usual.
‘KEEP CALM, LADIES,’ Malc said as he passed through the filling shed.
‘KEEP CALM – AND DANCE!’ the girls called after him.
‘Chance’d be a fine thing!’ Malc laughed over his shoulder.
When their final shift eventually ended and the hooter sounded, the girls dashed into the ladies’ changing room, whilst Arthur, who’d arranged his shift around Violet’s, made for the gents’. The girls swiftly changed into their everyday clothes, Kit looking the most stylish in her new crêpe dress and soft leather brogues.
‘You’re putting the rest of us to shame,’ Violet teased as she saw Kit sneak a look at her pretty reflecti
on in the mirror.
‘I don’t think I’ll ever get used to having nice things,’ Kit confessed in a whisper to Violet, who always looked gorgeous.
‘You’d better: that young man of yours seems intent on showering you with them – and nobody deserves it more than you, dear Kit.’
Outside the factory gates, Arthur and Edna were waiting for their passengers. A small crowd had gathered to wave them off with their high hopes and good wishes.
‘You couldn’t want for better friends,’ Gladys said as she and Myrtle settled in the passenger seats of Edna’s blue van and waved back to the munitions girls.
‘Right, then, let’s concentrate on the route,’ said Edna as she threaded her way along the moorland roads flanked by heather and wild ferns almost as tall as small trees.
‘I don’t like the look of that rain cloud,’ Gladys commented.
‘Me neither,’ muttered Edna anxiously. ‘After all the hot weather we’ve been enjoying, the last thing we need tonight is a thunder storm.’
The sky darkened as they drove, then a thick warm mist descended, obscuring the road ahead.
‘Christ!’ Edna swore as she braked sharply to avoid hitting a stray sheep nibbling tufts of grass by the roadside.
After Edna beeped her horn, the sheep bolted into the mist and Edna crawled along at less than ten miles an hour. Gladys glanced anxiously at the marcasite watch her brother Les had bought her during their last Christmas together.
‘If this damn mist doesn’t lift, we’ll definitely be late for the competition,’ she thought to herself.
Nora, Maggie and Kit inside the van gripped on to each other and groaned as Edna constantly braked, then revved up again. Looking out of the van window, Maggie grimaced. ‘Start saying the Rosary, Kit,’ she said. ‘We need the Almighty to shift this soddin’ mist!’
Luckily the mist suddenly lifted on the outskirts of Manchester to be replaced by a light drizzle but at least Edna and Arthur could navigate the roads to Stockport.
When they arrived at the Stockport Palais, they swung into the routine that had become familiar to them over the last months. After Edna and Arthur had parked up by the back door, Kit and Myrtle dashed inside to check out the drum kit and piano, leaving Gladys, Violet, Nora and Maggie to follow with their own instruments. Edna hurried off to find tea for them all, whilst Arthur was dispatched to inquire how many bands were playing and in what order.
Inside the ballroom, a band were already practising; their name, ‘The Saddleworth Ensemble’, was written in glittering gold on their large impressive base drum.
‘They look posh,’ said Nora as she gazed enviously at the women wearing beautiful full-length velvet gowns trimmed with tiny sequins.
Knowing all too well Nora’s tendency to get distracted, Gladys called sharply, ‘Come on, tune up.’
When Edna returned with mugs of hot tea and the usual corned-beef sandwiches, which she always brought along for the girls, Arthur already had the information they needed.
‘Six groups are playing,’ he announced.
‘SIX!’ gasped Violet. ‘That’s more than ever before.’
‘And,’ Arthur added, ‘you’re the first on!’
‘Oh, no!’ squeaked Maggie. ‘We’ll be a bag of nerves.’
Myrtle gave Maggie a scathing look. ‘Don’t be defeatist, child,’ she said archly. ‘What difference does the running order make to the excellence of our music?’
‘Get these down you quickly,’ said Edna as she handed around sandwiches. ‘Then you’d better change right away.’
With hardly enough time for a decent warm-up, the girls rushed into the ladies’, where they slipped into their work overalls and turbans. As they lit up cigarettes to steady their nerves, Gladys, who didn’t smoke, went along the line applying face powder, rouge, lipstick and eyeliner, and distributing an assortment of long sparkly earrings.
When they heard the sound of the audience surging into the ballroom, the girls fell silent, drawing strength and confidence from each other.
‘You know we can do this,’ Gladys said softly. ‘Don’t be overwhelmed by the size of the crowd; just close your eyes and imagine we’re all in the Phoenix chapel playing the best music of our lives.’
At the head of the line, with her permed curls tight around her face, Myrtle had the look of a commander-in-chief.
‘She looks like she’s going to tell us to go “over the top”!’ cheeky Maggie whispered to Nora.
Myrtle didn’t quite say that but her imperious cry of ‘It’s now or never, ladies!’ galvanized her fellow musicians, who held their heads high as they walked on stage.
As usual, their munitions uniforms were the cause of plenty of raucous teasing.
‘Did you leave your frock at work, love?’ one cheeky lad called over the wolf-whistles.
Wiggling their bottoms in their tight overalls, the girls played to the audience, who were taken by the fact that there were no male players in sight.
‘Eh, don’t you know any fellas?’ a man at the front of the stage teased.
‘Less of that, lads,’ chuckled the manager, who’d jumped on the stage to introduce the first act.
‘From the Phoenix Munitions Factory in Pendleton … the amazing, sensational … Bomb Girls’ Swing Band!’
Gladys turned to face her musicians and said with a wink, ‘Let’s give this lot something to remember.’
Myrtle and Kit played a sizzling introduction to ‘Take the “A” Train’, which Gladys took up on her alto sax, then the rest of the brass section came in, with Violet on her trilling clarinet. The audience stood momentarily stunned by the quality of the music. Gladys, Violet, Nora and Maggie, standing in line and clicking their fingers and swaying their hips, sang in perfect harmony as the audience split into pairs to dance. When the number finished, the mood changed to a dreamy waltz, as Myrtle played out the opening sequence to ‘Begin the Beguine’ and Kit softly backed the lilting piano chords on the snare drum. Her eyes strayed to the audience, dancing romantically under the dimmed spotlights, and she wondered what it would be like to be held in Ian’s strong arms. In the velvety darkness, would she be bold enough to stand on her tip-toes to reach up and kiss his soft full mouth?
As the achingly beautiful song came to a soft close, the musicians felt not unlike the audience: in need of something to really wake them up. Knowing that the jive number came next, Kit hit the drums with a high-stepping tempo, which was immediately picked up by Gladys, who sent her alto sax soaring to the highest notes for ‘Sing, Sing, Sing’. That night the Bomb Girls saw jive reach a new level: this was dancing like never before. Holding their partners’ hands, the girls on the dance floor spun round and round until they were almost a blur, showing their petticoats as they dropped into the splits, then swooping up and swinging under their partners’ outstretched legs before being spun and lifted all over again. Infected by the wild abandon of the audience, the Bomb Girls danced too; at the conclusion of the jive routine, the players were sweating as much as the audience.
‘MORE! MORE! MORE!’ the crowd demanded.
And at that moment the sound of sirens filled the hall.
‘Would you bloody believe it?’ the manager cursed. ‘OUT! Everybody out!’ he bellowed over the din of the crowd running to collect their gas masks. ‘AIR-RAID ATTACK!’ Turning to the band still on stage, he bellowed, ‘Get yerselves into the Anderson shelter down’t road. Be sharp!’
Grabbing their gas masks, the Bomb Girls ran out of the ballroom. Cool, calm and collected, Arthur, firmly clutching Violet’s hand, led them to the safety of the nearby Anderson shelter, which was quickly filling up. It was only as they squeezed in beside tired wailing children, rudely woken and dragged scared through the dark night, that an astonished Kit saw Ian McIvor walk in.
‘What’re you doing here, Ian?’ she cried in delight as she ran towards him.
‘I was in the ballroom just now, listening to you,’ he replied with a grin.
‘Yo
u never said you were coming!’ she gasped in delight. ‘I had no idea.’
‘That was the point,’ he replied with a twinkle in his eye. ‘I didn’t want to put you off your stroke,’ he joked. ‘My God, young lady – can you play those drums!’
Delighted by his praise, Kit’s glamorously made up face lit up with pleasure and the long dangly earrings she was wearing glimmered brightly against her dark glossy hair.
‘You look so beautiful,’ he whispered as he gazed into her eyes.
An overweight man pushing past him accidentally sent Ian falling towards Kit, who grasped his arm; then, before he could stop himself, Ian bent down to kiss her softly on the lips. Kit would never need to ask anybody again what love was like. She felt like she was levitating; her feet didn’t seem to touch the earth; even with the sound of the siren still blaring she could hear only his voice murmuring caressingly, ‘Oh, Catherine, Catherine, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that.’
‘Then don’t stop now!’ Kit giggled as she stood on her tip-toes to reach for his lips and feel his kisses, which she thought if she lived to be a hundred she would never get enough of.
As they sat huddled close in the Anderson shelter, sharing a sip of tea or a nip of brandy from kind strangers, the young couple couldn’t take their eyes off each other.
‘I could stay here all night close to you,’ Kit said as she ran her hand through Ian’s thick brown hair.
‘And I could stay here all night just looking at you,’ he replied as he stroked her silky black hair that fell in waves to her waist.
Ian helped Kit to her feet and, as he did so, he lifted her chin so he could give her another long kiss, then he smiled mysteriously as he handed her a small brown envelope.
‘For you,’ he said.
Kit’s eyes widened as she pulled two tickets out of the envelope.
‘Our passage to Dublin at the end of the week!’ he announced, beaming. ‘I met with the handwriting specialist this morning and he confirms that, after carefully examining the two signatures, the one on the adoption papers is not yours.’
Unable to quite believe what she was hearing, Kit threw her arms around Ian’s neck.
