The Bomb Girls' Secrets

by Daisy Styles

  In an effort to avoid the growing panic, Edna said, ‘There’s no point in hanging around here for now; let’s go and find a nice cup of tea.’

  In a Lyons Café just around the corner, they sat smoking cigarettes whilst they drank hot, strong tea.

  ‘He wouldn’t let anyone go near the faulty fuses,’ Malc said as he recalled the terrible incidents of the morning. ‘He said it was his job and he’d deal with it. He took the dodgy batch to a pit, where he planned to carry out a controlled explosion, but something must have happened. He was a hero, a complete bloody hero!’

  Violet smiled proudly, ‘That’s my Arthur: brave, fearless, always putting others first.’

  When they returned to the infirmary, there was no further news of Arthur’s condition. Edna persuaded Malc to return to the Phoenix, where she thought he might be needed.

  ‘I’ll let you know,’ she assured him in a low voice. ‘One way or another.’

  Returning to the bench, the two women sat there for hours and hours, Violet passing the time by frantically praying.

  ‘Arthur’s the kindest man on earth. Please God, take me instead of him: he’s more use to the world than I could ever be. Please God, let him live.’

  It was nearly midnight before the receptionist at the desk directed a bleary-eyed doctor in their direction.

  ‘Violet Walsh?’ he asked. ‘Arthur Leadbetter’s fiancée?’

  ‘Yes, yes, that’s me,’ Violet said as she leapt to her feet. ‘How is he?’

  The doctor sighed as he wiped his tired weary face. ‘Critical,’ he replied.

  ‘Oh, please’, she begged. ‘Please do all you can to save him.’

  The man looked exhausted. ‘I assure you we’re doing all we can. But he has serious wounds to the right side of his face and the back of his skull; he’s lost a lot of blood and has been unconscious since the explosion occurred. The next twelve hours will be critical,’ he added, his eyes kind but serious.

  Trying to control her rising fears, Violet asked, ‘Can I see him?’

  The doctor firmly shook his head. ‘Mr Leadbetter’s heavily sedated; he needs all the rest he can get if he’s to pull through. The best thing you can do is to go home and get some sleep; if he’s regained some strength you might be able to visit him tomorrow.’

  Edna led a weeping Violet back to the van and drove her home where, pressing a finger to her lips to warn Kit not to ask questions, she led Violet into her bedroom, undressed her and tucked her up in bed.

  ‘I know it’s hard, sweetheart, but you must try to sleep; you’re going to need all your strength for tomorrow.’

  After a fitful night, with Edna sleeping on the sofa in front of the wood-burning stove, Violet insisted that she would take the bus back into Manchester early the next morning.

  ‘I can manage,’ she insisted. ‘You’ve got your shop to run, Edna.’

  ‘I can come with you,’ Kit volunteered. ‘The Phoenix is shut and will be for some time from the look of things.’

  Violet smiled and nodded her head. ‘Thank you, Kit.’

  There weren’t many people in the vicinity of the Phoenix, where the maintenance men were busy nailing back walls and replacing shattered window frames. The one person they did see was Mr Featherstone, who was deep in conversation with several senior firemen.

  ‘Once we’ve run safety checks throughout the building and the maintenance have finished their work, you should be back in business soon, sir,’ she overheard one of them say. ‘Apart from the filling shed, of course, which will have to be entirely rebuilt.’

  Seeing Violet’s face pale, Kit gripped her arm. ‘Come on,’ she said, keen to get her away from the sombre firemen.

  But when Featherstone saw the girls hurrying by, he called loudly, ‘Violet! Any news of Arthur?’

  Violet told him as much as she knew, then added, ‘We’re on our way to the infirmary to see him now.’

  Mr Featherstone looked quite emotional as he said, ‘You know your fiancé saved a lot of lives yesterday?’

  Violet’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘Malc told me what Arthur did.’

  ‘We don’t know the full picture as yet, but from what I gather he put his life on the line for others,’ Featherstone said with a choke in his voice.

  Violet held her head high. ‘And he’s done it before, sir, serving at the front.’

  ‘The man’s a hero; he deserves a medal,’ Featherstone declared.

  This time instead of waiting in the over-crowded infirmary entrance, Violet was led to the ward. As they sat in a long, echoing corridor loud with the sound of clanking trolleys being wheeled back and forth to the operating theatre, Violet gripped Kit’s hand. ‘Thanks for coming with me,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’m glad to be here with you,’ Kit whispered back. Determined to make conversation, she added, ‘Anything’s better that sitting brooding by myself at home.’

  Violet gave her hand a squeeze. ‘You mustn’t give up, Kit – that’s what I’ve been telling myself all night. Whilst there’s life, there’s hope.’

  Kit, who didn’t want to worry Violet with her own troubles, simply smiled. Sensitive Violet took her hand and squeezed it. ‘You must be feeling awful, Kit.’

  Trying to be brave, Kit replied, ‘I do feel awful, Vi. But we must both hold on to hope if we can.’

  ‘How old is your son again?’ Violet asked shyly.

  Kit drew in a long breath. ‘Ten months old. He’s probably crawling, maybe saying his first words.’

  Though lost in her own worries, Violet’s heart ached for Kit; she couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to lose a child. How did Kit sleep at night or get out of bed in the morning? How could she even face the day never knowing where her baby was? Violet’s thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a middle-aged sister wearing a crackling starched uniform and a winged cap.

  ‘Violet Walsh?’ she asked briskly.

  Violet leapt to her feet. ‘Yes!’ With her heart pounding and her pulse racing, she gasped, ‘Is Arthur alive?’

  The sister nodded. ‘You can see him briefly,’ she said as she led Violet on to the ward, where Arthur lay connected to tubes, with bandages wrapped around his head and half of his face.

  ‘Oh, Jesus!’ Violet cried.

  The sister briefly detained her. ‘He’s very weak, Miss Walsh, and he’s by no means over the worst,’ the sister said as she held Violet’s gaze. ‘It’s vital he remains calm.’

  Violet nodded. ‘I understand.’

  Walking quickly to Arthur’s bedside, she took hold of his cold hand. Her eyes swept over his body, which was covered in a hospital blanket. His head was propped up on several pillows, and he was breathing loudly through an oxygen mask. Just the feel of his warm hand and the sound of his breathing gave her hope and happiness; he was alive! Pulling up the bedside chair, she sat as close to him as she could, stroking Arthur’s hand in peaceful silence. Suddenly she felt a tiny, barely noticeable squeeze. Leaning in towards him, she whispered, ‘I’m right here, my love.’

  Looking into his face, she could see tears welling in the eye that hadn’t been covered over by a bandage. ‘Everything’s going to be all right, my darling.’

  Soothed by her voice, Arthur drifted back to sleep, and Violet stayed by his side until the doctors arrived and asked her to leave.

  37. Connections

  The calamity at the Phoenix factory did not get publicized: news such as this was censored by the government, which was anxious not to reveal the whereabouts of vital munitions factories. Even though areas of the Phoenix still smouldered and smoke hung over it like a heavy grey smog, explosive experts were combing the area for fuses, bombs and cartridge cases. The trays of fuses that Arthur and his team had so carefully wheeled out of the factory still lay in the pit a good distance away from the site and would be returned only once the all-clear was given. Word had gone round of Ivy’s death and those of the poor girls working alongside her. Families were notified, but, a
gain, government lines were followed: the fact of their deaths and the cause were not made public.

  Therefore it was hardly surprising that Gladys in Leeds was totally unaware of the Phoenix explosion. She’d spent every spare hour with her distraught mother, who moved from hysteria to utter despair in a matter of minutes. Seeing her poor dad completely worn out by his wife’s wild mood swings, Gladys suggested he left the house and went for a walk.

  ‘Thanks, love, I’d like that,’ he admitted in a guilty whisper. ‘A breath of fresh air will do me the world of good.’

  Gladys made a pot of tea, which she took into the sitting room, where her mum lay slumped in an armchair.

  ‘Tea’s up!’ she said in a cheerful voice, but Mrs Johnson completely ignored her.

  Placing a cup of tea on a nearby side table, Gladys gently shook her mum by the shoulder. ‘Come on, Mum, Les wouldn’t like your being like this,’ she said.

  At the mention of her son’s name, Mrs Johnson started to weep. ‘It’s the not knowing,’ she sobbed. ‘Is he alive or is he dead?’ Looking Gladys wildly in the eye, she said, ‘Nigel Webster across the way went missing in action at the start of the war; he was shot down when he was flying over Germany. His mother’s been waiting for news for three years,’ she cried. ‘I’ll die if I have to wait that long!’

  Desperate to cheer her mother up, Gladys said, ‘I thought I’d pop over to the regiment’s barracks – you never know, one of Les’s mates might be home on leave.’

  Her mother visibly brightened at this news. ‘Good idea, Glad,’ she said as she reached for her tea. ‘Get over there right away.’

  The next day Violet told Kit that she was fine to visit the infirmary on her own. ‘There’s no point you hanging around waiting with me; I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do here.’

  With the Phoenix still closed and Gladys away, Kit in fact had little to do. She and Violet walked down the hill together, then went their separate ways, Violet to the infirmary and Kit to Edna’s shop, where she found her friend soaking peas and peeling potatoes in readiness for her dinner-time opening. Seeing Kit’s drained, tired face, Edna immediately put the kettle on and got out the Woodbines.

  ‘How’s Arthur?’ she quickly asked.

  ‘Violet said it’s still touch and go; she’s on her way to see him now,’ Kit replied.

  ‘And how are you, missis?’

  Kit looked at her knowing friend and her eyes swam with tears. ‘I told Ian I didn’t want to see him again,’ she blurted out.

  ‘And why would you go and do a silly thing like that?’ Edna inquired as she handed Kit a cigarette.

  ‘’Cos I think me and my family are cursed!’ she exclaimed. ‘And I’m afraid I’ll ruin his life with my bad luck,’ she added tearfully.

  Edna laughed out loud. ‘That’s the biggest load of superstitious tripe I’ve ever heard in my life!’

  ‘You can mock!’ Kit angrily retorted. ‘Just look at the evidence. The curse of the Murphy. No baby, no house, no family.’

  ‘That’s not a curse, darlin’, that’s a series of bad events, all centred around that no-good father of yours. If there is bad luck in any of this, it’s the misfortune to have such a bastard for a father.’

  Edna irritably dragged on her cigarette. ‘God in heaven, child, you’re over-wrought, rung out with disappointment and fear,’ she cried. ‘I lost my child, which was bad enough, but thank God I never had her dangled before me, then snatched away, only to be dangled before me again – that is sheer torture. You need some sleep,’ Edna said as she rose to her feet and helped Kit to hers. ‘Go home and get some rest.’

  ‘I can’t rest!’ Kit cried. ‘All I do is lie on the bed with my head spinning.’

  ‘Try,’ Edna begged. ‘And if you can’t, well, then,’ she said with a grin, ‘come back here and help me out in the shop, but at least give it a go – you look done in.’

  Kit trailed up the hill to the cowshed, feeling as limp as a rag doll. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Ian’s black Ford parked up close to her digs. Gasping in shock, she hid behind the nearest hedge. She couldn’t face him, not now. She watched him pace up and down the track, checking his watch all the time. He must have heard about the explosion at the Phoenix, she thought, and rushed home after all. Her heart ached for him; it would be so easy to run into his arms and beg him to forgive her mad emotional outburst, but a part of her still believed she was bad news and he’d be better off without her. With tears streaming down her face, she stayed hidden till ashen-faced Ian drove away; then she hurried home, where she found a bunch of roses lying on the doorstep with a note saying simply ‘I LOVE YOU, CATHERINE. IAN’.

  Gladys didn’t have much success at the barracks in Leeds. Sighing with disappointment she headed home, but on her way across the city she bumped into several girls whom she recognized as Phoenix munitions workers.

  ‘Hello,’ she said in surprise. ‘You on leave too?’

  The girls gazed at her in astonishment. ‘Haven’t you ’eard?’ they asked.

  ‘Heard what?’

  Taking in the disastrous news, Gladys felt so sick she had to hold on to a nearby lamp-post for support.

  ‘We’ll be on our way, then,’ said the girls. ‘Don’t hurry back to’t Phoenix – it’s shut till we get the all-clear.’

  Gladys took deep breaths of fresh air to steady herself. ‘God!’ she thought. ‘Thank heavens Violet and Kit weren’t on that early-morning shift.’

  Gladys decided she might as well use her unexpected time in Leeds well. The next day she returned to the barracks, where she was met by a brass band playing ‘Flowers of the Forest’ in the courtyard. Gladys smiled sadly as she recalled how happy Les had been when he’d been selected to play his trumpet in the regimental brass band. Loitering by the gates in her smart three-buttoned utility jacket and short skirt, she waited for the band to finish, then scanned the soldiers, who smiled or winked as they passed her by. Feeling deflated that yet again she recognized none of them as Les’s mates she stood in the courtyard wondering what to do next. A polite voice gently asking ‘Can I help, miss?’ made Gladys jump.

  ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to give you a fright,’ a tall man with a blond moustache and a broad friendly smile said. ‘Captain Trevor Horricks, at your service.’

  As he clicked his heels in a smart military fashion, Gladys saw a conductor’s baton tucked under his arm. She smiled up at the handsome young captain, dazzling him with her beautiful face and big blue eyes.

  ‘I’m Gladys Johnson,’ she explained. ‘My brother, Les, played the trumpet in the regimental band.’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I remember Les – excellent trumpet player.’

  Gladys nodded proudly before she said, ‘We recently heard he’s missing in action.’

  ‘Oh, bad luck,’ the captain responded; then, embarrassed by the seeming hollowness of his words, he quickly added, ‘May I buy you a drink in the Officers’ Mess?’

  Gladys didn’t hesitate for a second. ‘Yes, please, I’d like that.’

  At Manchester Royal Infirmary, Violet spent most of the day in the waiting room. When the sister did appear, it wasn’t to call her into the ward but rather to tell her that Arthur had a chest infection that was causing the doctors great concern and no visitors would be allowed that day. With tears in her eyes, Violet left the hospital, then wandered aimlessly into the city centre, where Ian, hurrying across Piccadilly, spotted her familiar face.

  ‘Ian!’ she cried. ‘You’re back.’

  ‘VIOLET!’ he called as he ran to catch up with her. ‘I heard about the explosion at the Phoenix. I drove up to the cowshed, but nobody was at home.’ He paused to take a breath. ‘I’ve been going mad with worry – how’s Kit?’

  ‘She’s safe, we’re all safe … apart from Arthur.’

  Hearing the catch in her voice, Ian led Violet to a nearby Lyons Corner Café, where over a pot of tea he heard about Arthur’s accident at the Phoenix.

  ‘
Everybody’s calling him a hero,’ Violet said as she played with some toast and Marmite the waitress had brought. ‘I know it’s true – he saved a lot of lives – but I just want my Arthur back!’ she exclaimed as she dabbed away the tears with her handkerchief.

  Ian leant across the table and took hold of her hand. ‘He’s tough, your Arthur, a real fighter,’ he said with utter conviction.

  She gave a little smile. ‘He’s not the sort who gives up easily,’ she agreed.

  ‘And neither are you,’ Ian assured Violet. ‘Believe me, the pair of you will pull through and live happily ever after.’

  ‘Please God,’ she prayed. ‘You’re right, though, Ian: I must stay strong for my Arthur; weeping and moping are no good for anybody.’

  ‘That’s a girl!’ Ian said as he poured out more tea. ‘Tell me, how’s Kit? She won’t talk to me,’ he admitted. ‘She’s avoiding me.’

  Violet repeated her own words to describe her sad friend. ‘Weeping and moping,’ she replied.

  Ian got out his packet of Pall Mall cigarettes, which he offered to Violet; they smoked for a few seconds in silence, then Ian said gloomily, ‘The poor girl’s heartbroken – she blames herself for everything. She’d be better off blaming me. I’ve not come up with a satisfactory answer as to what happened to Billy. Though, please God, I have left good people working on that in Dublin.’

  ‘Not seeing you is doing Kit more harm than good – she’s cutting off her nose to spite her face!’ Violet exclaimed crossly.

  ‘Will you take a note to her?’ Ian asked shyly. ‘Maybe she’ll read it if you stand over her,’ he joked.

  ‘Don’t you worry – I’ll stand over her, all right,’ Violet promised.

  Gladys was relieved she’d worn her best jacket and skirt for her visit to the barracks. When she walked into the Officers’ Mess, all eyes turned to her, and there was a brief moment of silence as every man in the room stared in admiration at the tall shapely brunette accompanying Captain Horrocks.

  ‘What can I get you, Gladys?’ He stopped.

  ‘Sherry, please, Captain,’ she answered formally.