The Bomb Girls' Secrets

by Daisy Styles

  ‘Trevor,’ he said as he ordered their drinks. ‘Ignore the mob! They’re not used to seeing a beautiful woman in the bar,’ he added with a grin.

  Grateful to be led to a table in a corner well away from the curious staring men, Gladys took a quick sip of the sherry.

  ‘Have you any idea how I can find out what happened to my brother, Les? Or even where he was stationed when he was posted abroad?’ she said, coming straight to the point. ‘My mother’s losing her mind with worry.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t help,’ he answered honestly. ‘I have no idea where the men go once they leave here; it’s all rather hush-hush. You just have to hope he’s managed to escape from the prisoner-of-war camp, if that’s in fact where he is,’ he added awkwardly.

  Seeing Gladys shudder, Trevor quickly reassured her. ‘Some of the war camps aren’t so bad; when the Germans stick to the Geneva Convention, the prisoners get treated fairly decently.’

  Worried he’d say too much and put his foot in it, Trevor took a deep drink of his beer before he added, ‘He could be in hiding? I’ve heard there are undercover cells who shelter escaped prisoners.’

  Gladys visibly brightened up. ‘That thought will certainly cheer Mum up,’ she said gratefully. ‘It’s the not knowing that’s the worst part’.

  ‘I can imagine,’ Horrocks sympathized. Doing his best to lighten the mood, he looked up as he lit his pipe. ‘Are you as good a musician as your brother?’

  ‘Better!’ she laughed. ‘Dad taught us both to play, Les the trumpet, me the alto sax.’

  Trevor looked impressed.

  ‘I can sing too!’ she said. ‘In fact I sing in a swing band that we set up in the factory where I work: we call ourselves “The Bomb Girls’ Swing Band”. We’ve just won the best new band in a regional competition!’ she finished proudly.

  ‘I’d love to hear you play.’

  ‘I’m a bit out of practice,’ Gladys admitted. ‘Personal events have overtaken the band; we’ve hardly played in weeks.’

  ‘You can always practise with me whilst you’re home,’ Trevor suggested. ‘I play the guitar and violin.’

  ‘And where would we play?’ she laughed.

  ‘Right here,’ he replied. ‘We have a large rehearsal room.’

  ‘But I left my sax in Pendleton,’ she suddenly remembered.

  ‘We’ve got loads going spare,’ he retorted. ‘No excuses.’

  Gladys gazed at his honest, open smiling face. ‘I’d love that,’ she said.

  When Violet gave Kit the note from Ian, she stood over her as she’d promised Ian.

  ‘Ian asked me to make sure you read this,’ she said with a determined smile. ‘He’s been up here looking for you. He’s worried sick, Kit.’

  Blushing, Kit opened the letter in front of Violet.

  Darling! Please come and see me. I miss you so much.

  Ian xxxx

  Clutching the note to her heart, Kit smiled for the first time in days.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ thought Violet as she put the kettle on for a much-needed brew.

  38. Small Gifts of Love

  The following morning, Kit and Violet took the same bus into Manchester, where they again went their separate ways, Kit to Piccadilly, Violet to the Royal Infirmary. Wearing all her new pretty clothes, gifts from Ian, Kit considered how awful life had been without him: the terrible explosion at the Phoenix, combined with Arthur’s critical condition, made her realize just how precious life was. She needed Ian like flowers need the rain. Edna had been right when she’d said that Kit was talking a load of superstitious blarney! Maybe her brain had become unhinged after the loss of her son, but that didn’t mean she should take it out on the man who’d showed his love for her in so many generous ways. Hiding from him, avoiding him, only made things worse; they were a team. Without Ian she’d be lost.

  With all of these thoughts swirling around her head, Kit ran across Piccadilly, then through the side streets that led to Ian’s office. Seeing him walking out of the doorway, Kit opened her mouth to call to him but stopped short when she saw a glamorous woman behind him. She was tall and slender, stylishly dressed in a navy-blue suit with a natty navy-blue trilby perched on top of her long hair. Turning to Ian, she laughed as she said something which made him laugh too; then she kissed him warmly on the cheek before walking away with her auburn hair glinting in the morning sunshine. Kit darted behind a parked van so Ian wouldn’t see her.

  ‘Holy Mother!’ she gasped as she slumped against the side of the van. ‘What have I done?’

  Of course Ian would have found another girlfriend after she had so rudely ditched him. Rich, clever, successful and single Ian McIvor must have women queuing around the clock to court him; he was a catch for anybody. Not daring to look back at his office, Kit hurried across Piccadilly with images of the glamorous woman reaching up to kiss Ian torturing her. Oblivious to the curious expressions on the faces of those who passed her by, Kit muttered out loud, ‘She’s just his sort: confident, well dressed, rich and clever.’

  WHY had he ever been attracted to her in the first place, she wondered. Although she was a scrawny bag of bones in rags, he’d genuinely cared for her, loved her, but she had pushed him away. What an utter fool she’d been. She’d left her decision to meet him too late – Ian had already found another woman!

  At the Royal Infirmary, Violet listened intently to Arthur’s doctor.

  ‘We were extremely lucky: we managed to obtain some penicillin for him, and he’s responded well. His chest infection is much improved and he’s breathing easier,’ he said.

  ‘Thank God,’ she replied.

  ‘You might see a difference in him,’ the doctor warned. ‘We’ve had to change the bandages on his face, expose the skin – it might look a little raw.’

  Violet entered the ward and glanced around for Arthur, whose bed had been moved and now stood before a high window. She gazed at him peacefully sleeping in a shaft of soft sunlight and her heart ached with love for him.

  ‘My darling,’ she whispered as she drew up a chair so she could sit close beside him.

  To her amazement, Arthur opened his eyes. ‘Violet,’ he croaked feebly.

  Terrified she’d be asked to leave for over-exciting him, Violet took hold of his hand and whispered, ‘Shhh, Arthur, please don’t exert yourself. I’m here, and I’ll stay.’

  As he drifted back to sleep, Violet was able to examine his face, where, as the doctor had warned her, some bandages had been removed. The burnt skin, livid and red, was raised and puffy.

  ‘My poor love,’ she thought as she sat in silence watching him sleep. He’d already lost a thumb and two fingers, and now, after the Phoenix blast, it was clear handsome Arthur Leadbetter would be scarred for life. Not that Violet cared – as long as he was alive and by her side, that was all that mattered to her.

  Clutching her gas mask, Gladys hurried into the barracks, where she’d arranged to meet Captain Trevor Horrocks. A smart young soldier clicked his heels before escorting Gladys to the rehearsal room, where she paused in the doorway to listen to the beautiful classical guitar music that drifted out. Trevor leapt to his feet when he saw Gladys approaching.

  ‘Just tuning up,’ he said with the wide-open smile she’d come to like very much. ‘I’ve found an alto sax for you – hope it’s okay?’

  ‘It’s much smarter than my old sax,’ she said appreciatively. Taking off her coat, then setting down her bag, she trilled experimentally up and down the instrument’s silver valves. ‘Perfect!’ she announced.

  Trevor gazed at her long brunette hair, gathered to one side so as not to get in the way of her playing. ‘The girl’s a stunner,’ he thought. Gladys’s question swiftly brought him back to the here and now.

  ‘What shall we play?’ she asked eagerly.

  ‘ “I Remember You”!’ he said without a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘From the film The Fleet’s In,’ she cried. ‘I love it!’

  ‘The mu
sic’s right there,’ he said as he pointed to a sheet propped up on a nearby music stand.

  Gladys ran her eyes swiftly over the score, all the time humming melodically in tune with the notes.

  ‘Just let me tune up,’ she said. Then, when she was ready, she counted them in and they started to play one of the most popular songs of the year.

  As Trevor’s guitar chords carried the song, Gladys, in between bouts of playing, broke into song. ‘You’re the one who made my dreams come true,’ she crooned as she smiled at Trevor gently strumming his guitar.

  ‘Keep singing,’ he urged.

  Swaying to the romantic rhythm of the music, she sang with unselfconscious ease, as if it was just another form of speaking. Towards the end of the song, Gladys picked up her sax and played out the final chords, ending with a trilling crescendo of high notes.

  ‘WONDERFUL!’ he cried as, breathless and laughing, they both stopped.

  ‘Bloody marvellous,’ a voice boomed from outside the hall, and then, to Gladys’s amazement, an officer with medals dangling from his military jacket walked towards them, applauding loudly.

  Trevor quickly laid down the guitar and jumped to his feet.

  ‘SIR!’ he said as he gave a smart salute.

  ‘At ease, Captain,’ the officer retorted. ‘And who’s this new recruit?’ he asked with a wink.

  Gladys smiled easily as she extended her hand and introduced herself.

  ‘Gladys Johnson, sir, sister of Lance-Corporal Les Johnson.’

  ‘The trumpeter,’ Trevor reminded his senior officer, who thought for a moment, then nodded as he recalled the soldier.

  ‘Excellent fellow,’ he barked. ‘Played “The Last Post”, as I remember.’

  ‘That’s the one,’ Trevor replied. ‘Miss Johnson came here looking for information about her brother,’ he added.

  ‘We were told he’s missing in action,’ Gladys quickly added.

  The officer gazed into the girl’s pleading blue eyes.

  ‘We’re doing everything we can to track down the soldiers that went missing,’ he said carefully. ‘We have faith in our contacts out there; they’ve already safely returned some of our boys by circuitous routes.’

  ‘My mother will be happy to hear that, sir,’ Gladys said gratefully. ‘We’re not ready to believe he’s not made it out, not yet, sir’, she added.

  ‘Well, much as I’d love to hear more, I must press on,’ he said as he gave a quick salute and marched out of the room.

  ‘You’re privileged that the general talked to you so openly,’ Trevor said after he’d gone. ‘A combination of your winning smile and sweet singing must have won him over,’ he laughed.

  Happy to have slightly more hopeful news that she could relay to her family – at this stage they would take any hope they could cling to – Gladys eagerly asked, ‘What shall we play next?’

  ‘You choose,’ he retorted.

  ‘ “South of the Border”?’ she suggested.

  He nodded as he played the opening chords. ‘I love the lyrics,’ he said with a smile. ‘They’ll be even lovelier sung by you.’

  Catching his admiring gaze, Gladys felt a rush of warmth for the handsome young musician who had brought unexpected pleasure to her visit to Leeds.

  ‘A-1, a-2, a-1, 2, 3, 4 …’ she said as she picked up her sax and played the opening music to Captain Trevor Horrocks’s lilting guitar accompaniment.

  Before Violet’s next visit to the infirmary, she went to Arthur’s garden. What remained of it after the explosion was a small bed of flowers and some singed fruit bushes. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw the broken seat they’d sat on together and the shattered fences he’d erected around the vegetable patch. They’d spent so many happy hours here, smoking and talking, kissing and cuddling; he’d be upset to see it like this, she thought. He was so proud of his little garden, his bolt-hole well away from the factory. Suddenly she had an idea: she’d take some of the garden to Arthur in hospital. Picking any flowers she could find – dahlias and late roses – she gathered together a fragrant bouquet, which she wrapped in newspaper. Then she set off for Manchester to deliver it.

  Drumming his fingers on the desk, Ian was beside himself. Mother Gabriel’s latest letter was lying on the surface before him; picking it up, he read it once more.

  Dear Mr McIvor,

  You might be interested to hear that Mr Murphy, now a down-and-out homeless person, came knocking on the convent door asking for food. I asked him point blank if he knew of Billy’s whereabouts. I swore that God would forgive him his sins if he told the truth. To be honest with you, sir, he looks like a man in fear of meeting his maker. He told me he was not long for this life and I urged him to be at peace with the Lord.

  Ian couldn’t help but smile; he could just see Mother Gabriel putting the fear of God in Murphy.

  He finally admitted he’d taken Billy on the night of the theft to an address in the Maryland district of South Dublin, which O’Rourke had directed him to. Needless to say, I shall follow this information up immediately and let you know the outcome. May God and all his blessed angels protect the child.

  Yours in Christ,

  Mother Gabriel

  He had to see Kit. Whether she was talking to him or not, he had to tell her the latest news. Of course nothing was conclusive – Billy might have been moved on since – but with Mother Gabriel on the case it was like working in tandem with a Rottweiler! The phone shrilling out on his desk roused him from his churning thoughts.

  ‘Your next appointment’s here, Mr McIvor,’ his secretary announced.

  Checking his diary, Ian smiled when he saw the name in his appointments diary.

  ‘Please show her in,’ he said and stood up to embrace the lovely woman who wore a smart navy-blue suit and had a fashionably long auburn bob.

  ‘Am I too early?’ she asked as she bent to kiss the top of his head.

  ‘Better early than late, Sis,’ he teased as he settled her into a chair beside him.

  Arthur was sleeping fitfully when Violet arrived. Laying the bouquet of flowers on the floor beside her, she sat patiently holding his hand until he woke up. She was immediately struck by how much stronger he looked.

  ‘How are you, sweetheart?’ she whispered as his gaze landed on her.

  ‘Vi, oh, Vi,’ he said as he gripped her hand.

  ‘You sound a bit better,’ she cautiously remarked.

  ‘The penicillin has helped ,’ he said with a catch in his voice. ‘But look at me …’

  Violet looked into his damaged face, then swept a hand gently over his singed hair. ‘I’m looking, my darling,’ she whispered tenderly.

  ‘I don’t want your pity, Vi,’ he snapped. ‘I saw myself in the mirror this morning. It’s bad enough having only half a hand but now I’m ugly, scarred and disfigured!’ he cried angrily.

  Violet was so shocked she couldn’t reply for a few minutes. When she found her breath she said quietly, ‘My darling, it’s you I love.’

  He turned his face abruptly away from her.

  ‘Do you think I care about handsome smiles and good looks? I had that with Ronnie, the best-looking man in Wood End – but he had a cruel, twisted soul. You’ll always be beautiful, Arthur: it shines through from your soul. Your injuries are a tribute to your selflessness and care for others; there is no man in the world better or more true than you.’ With tears streaming down her face, she reached for the bouquet. ‘I’ve brought you a piece of your garden,’ she said as she laid the flowers before him. ‘Look at the beauty you made and that still remains after the destruction of that terrible explosion.’

  Arthur touched the tender blooms, and, as he did so, he smiled. ‘My garden,’ he said incredulously.

  Violet nodded. ‘Still there, just!’ she joked. ‘Waiting for you to come back and restore it to life … just like me.’

  Arthur reached up to draw her head on to his chest. ‘Oh, my Vi,’ he sighed as they kissed. ‘My love.’

&
nbsp; After his sister left his office, Ian cancelled all his other appointments and drove at speed to Kit’s digs, where he knocked on the front door, but nobody answered.

  ‘Hello,’ he called softly as he stepped inside.

  Looking around, he saw Kit fast asleep on the old sofa, her hair fanned out around her tired face, her eyelashes fluttering against her pale cheeks as if she was having a bad dream, her mouth slightly parted. Unable to stop himself, Ian reached down to kiss her on the lips and, half asleep, she immediately responded to his kiss.

  ‘Catherine,’ he whispered.

  At the sound of her name, Kit’s eyes flew open.

  ‘IAN!’ she cried in shock.

  ‘Darling! Why didn’t you come and see me after you got my note?’

  Sitting upright and pulling her flimsy nightie together at the bodice, Kit answered, ‘I did!’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Today: you were in the street, kissing a pretty young woman,’ she answered stiffly.

  Looking puzzled, Ian repeated her words: ‘Kissing a pretty young woman!’

  ‘She had long auburn hair and was wearing a navy-blue suit,’ Kit added.

  ‘That was my sister, Ethel!’ he cried as he burst out laughing. ‘She came to see me about getting a divorce from her wretched flirt of a husband,’ Ian explained. Half smiling, he shook his head. ‘So you thought I’d taken up with another woman, just like that,’ he said as he snapped his finger and thumb together.

  Embarrassed, Kit hung her head. ‘You did, didn’t you?’ he persisted.

  ‘It looked like that,’ she finally admitted.

  ‘And you ran away?’

  Seeing she was embarrassed, Ian draped a coat around Kit’s shoulders.

  ‘Let’s go outside,’ he said. ‘I have news.’

  They stood on the edge of the moors, listening to the night call of the curlews and the first hoot of an owl as it swooped soundlessly overhead. The light from the setting sun still remained in the sky, and the air smelt of damp autumn leaves and bracken. In the tranquil peace of the evening, Ian related the contents of Mother Gabriel’s letter to Kit, who listened wide-eyed and intent.