The Bomb Girls' Secrets

by Daisy Styles

  ‘Oh, this is wonderful!’ Maggie declared. ‘I could sing all night!’

  ‘Don’t get too overexcited,’ Myrtle warned. ‘We’re only halfway through the show.’

  As Joe Loss’s orchestra concluded with ‘South of the Border’, the Bomb Girls reappeared on stage in their fabulous ballgowns, which transformed them from munitions workers into gorgeous, desirable women. Again wolf-whistles and cheers accompanied their change of clothes, which took the Swing Girls’ confidence to a new high. As Gladys played the opening chords of ‘In the Mood’, Glenn Miller’s all-time favourite dance tune, the crowd went wild. Jiving all over the floor, they spun and twirled in each other’s arms until they were breathless.

  Poor Edna, whose feet were killing her by now, was anxiously wondering if she’d survive a lively jive. Just as she was about to suggest to her tenacious partner that she might pop to the ladies’, Gladys’s soaring sax drowned out her words and once again she was being whizzed around like a rag doll. Mercifully, Malc materialized from nowhere as Violet opened ‘Yours Till the Stars Lose Their Glory’ with a hauntingly beautiful piece of clarinet playing. Tapping Edna’s partner on the shoulder, Malc said in his gruffest Northern accent, ‘I think this next one’s mine, pal!’

  Edna virtually fell against Malc’s chest. ‘Thank you for rescuing me!’ she giggled weakly.

  ‘Just hold on to me and I’ll guide you round the room,’ he instructed.

  At the end of the waltz, the lights came up and the audience showed their appreciation with deafening, tumultuous applause. It was only when the manager announced the return of Joe Loss and his orchestra that the applause finally died down.

  ‘I think you need a drink,’ Malc said to Edna as she tottered back to the table, where Arthur had to cover his mouth to stop himself from laughing at Edna’s painful hobbled steps.

  ‘I think I need three!’ she announced. ‘Yon bugger’s knackered me!’

  Seizing the opportunity to enjoy themselves, the band girls sneaked out from behind the wings and joined their partners on the floor. Malc, beside Edna, glared at anybody who might make a move for her.

  ‘Bloody Southerners,’ he growled as he handed her a double port. ‘They don’t know when to stop!’

  Mr and Mrs Featherstone took to the floor, along with Violet and Arthur, Kit and Ian, and Gladys, who was in the arms of a handsome young RAF pilot, whilst the middle-aged man whom Edna had previously danced with approached Myrtle.

  ‘God help her!’ cried Edna as she watched them sweep into a foxtrot. ‘She’ll be on her knees in ten minutes!’

  Blushing Myrtle looked rather thrilled with her partner, who really was very light on his feet. A little distance away Arthur held his beautiful wife close.

  ‘How are you feeling, my sweetheart?’ he whispered.

  Violet’s pale blue eyes blazed with excitement. ‘So happy!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘You looked wonderful up there playing the clarinet,’ he said with great pride.

  ‘You know what,’ she said softly. ‘I thought of my mother when I was playing that opening piece. Now that I’m having my own baby I suddenly felt so close to her it brought tears to my eyes.’

  Kit and Ian drifted round the floor, lost in a lovely romantic waltz number, whilst Nora and Maggie smooched with two laughing uniformed sailors. As the orchestra concluded and the lights came up, Violet noticed Joe Loss approaching the ENSA representative.

  ‘What’s he up to?’ she murmured to Arthur, as both men turned towards Gladys, then nodded as if in agreement with each other.

  The Bomb Girls ran back on the stage, where they tuned up with Joe Loss’s orchestra whilst he took the microphone and turned to an astonished Gladys. ‘What shall we ask this beautiful young woman and her amazing all-girl swing band to play?’ he called out to the audience.

  ‘ “I’ll Never Smile Again”!’ came back the loud reply.

  Mr Loss turned away from the microphone and winked at Gladys as he complimented her on her skills.

  ‘I’ve been listening to you all night: you handle that sax superbly, and you sing like a bird.’

  Gladys blushed to the roots of her long tumbling dark hair. ‘Thank you, sir!’ she said as her vivid blue eyes sparkled with pleasure.

  Teasing, he asked with a smile, ‘Sure you can handle a Tommy Dorsey number?’

  Gladys winked. ‘Oh, yes! Quite, quite sure!’

  And with that she went rippling up and down the saxophone valves before launching into a sexy vamping number. Mr Loss signalled to both bands, mouthing the word, ‘Wait …’

  He let Gladys enjoy her solo; then, after a few minutes, he waved his baton and the bands struck up. Gladys, totally in her element, dropped her voice to a husky whisper as she sang the lyrics of the popular song and the audience danced in the dimmed lights of the packed ballroom. The music gave them stolen moments to imagine a life where there was no war, no rationing and no death. They could dream of romance and peace, and escape the trials and sorrows of everyday life.

  Edna wiped away a tell-tale tear as she thought of what her brave Bomb Girls had gone through to get to this place, to achieve this wonderful success. Violet’s and Kit’s secrets had nearly destroyed them, but there they were on stage, looking beautiful and playing like real professionals. And if it hadn’t been for Gladys’s secret, there would be no Bomb Girls’ Swing Band. Fulfilling her secret dream had helped her to achieve what many might have dismissed as impossible: that six hard-working munitions girls, working regular long shifts in a factory on the edge of the Lancashire moors, could dedicate so much of their precious free time to music. Her girls, including giggly Maggie, nervous Nora and splendid Myrtle, had taken the words of the war-time slogan to heart: KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON.

  Gladys’s lovely girls could do that all right: they could make her cry, they could make her laugh; they represented thousands upon thousands of conscripted women who worked till they dropped most days and were, as Churchill himself named them, ‘Britain’s Secret Army’. And right now she loved them with all her heart. Seeing Edna dabbing tears off her face, Malc flapped his clean hankie before her.

  ‘Stop yer bawling, lass,’ he said in an unusually gentle voice.

  ‘I’m just … happy!’ Edna sobbed.

  ‘Me too, sweetheart,’ he said huskily. ‘Me too.’

  As both bands took a well-deserved break, Joe Loss invited Gladys to join his ENSA guest at a candle-lit table. Goggle-eyed Maggie and Nora watched their every move.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Nora asked suspiciously.

  ‘I don’t know, but it must be good – our Glad can’t seem to stop smiling!’ Maggie laughingly replied.

  In the powder room, which was lined from floor to ceiling in glass and gleaming chrome, the two young girls later pounced on Gladys, who hurried in to reapply her scarlet red lipstick.

  ‘Who are them fellas you’re talking to? What do they want?’ Nora asked without any preamble.

  With her lovely face glowing and her blue eyes wide with excitement, Gladys burst out, ‘Time for more champagne, girls!’

  After pushing several tables together, the noisy Lancashire contingent waited as Joe Loss helped Gladys pour everybody a glass of champagne. Nora nudged Maggie and whispered, ‘Eh, I could get used to this fizzy stuff!’

  As the girls started to giggle, Edna called for order. ‘I think Gladys might have something to tell us,’ she said.

  All eyes turned to Gladys, who was radiating excitement.

  ‘Come on now, our Glad,’ joked Malc. ‘Don’t keep us in suspense!’

  Turning to Mr Loss, Gladys took a deep breath, then announced in a breathless incredulous voice, ‘I’ve been asked to join ENSA!’ she gasped. ‘I’ve been asked to go on tour and entertain the troops!’

  Epilogue

  The second day of February 1943 was a momentous one in the course of the war. It would be the day when Hitler’s armies suffered their first big defeat: the surrender at Stalingrad. It was
also the day when Gladys was to leave the Phoenix factory and her friends in the cowshed.

  ‘I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,’ she blurted out as she packed all her worldly goods into a big old leather suitcase.

  ‘Oh, I’d definitely cry if I was going on tour with Gracie Fields and Arthur Askey!’ Maggie mocked. ‘I mean, it would be so much more exciting staying on here at the Phoenix, filling fuse cases and working shifts! I’ll swap places with you, Glad, if you’re desperate to stay?’

  Laughing, Gladys threw a pair of woolly socks at cheeky Maggie. ‘You might well be joining me on the ENSA trail if you keep up with your trumpet.’

  ‘Really, really?’ cried Maggie.

  ‘Though,’ teased Gladys, ‘for the time being at least I need you to stay put so that our Les has got someone to cuddle next time he’s home on leave.’

  ‘Now you’re talking,’ Maggie said as she recalled Les’s stunning blue eyes and wonderful soft kisses. ‘On second thoughts, the nearer I am to Leeds the better!’

  As Gladys tried to pack the last of her shoes and clothes, Billy – sitting on the bed beside her case – immediately unpacked them.

  ‘Cheeky little monkey!’ laughed Gladys as she kissed the top of the little boy’s head.

  ‘Glad! Glad!’ he gurgled as he held his chubby little arms out to her. ‘Kiss!’

  Holding him close, Gladys kissed both of his red cheeks, then handed him over to Kit.

  ‘Go to Mama or I’ll never get out of this place!’ she cried.

  As Billy, now fourteen months and a confident walker, took himself off to play with his toys, Kit marvelled at the sight of him. Almost a year ago she’d been chasing round Dublin trying to find out what had happened to her son; and now here he was, living with her in the cowshed. Though they’d soon be moving out once she became Mrs McIvor and Billy took Ian’s name too.

  ‘You promise you’ll be back in time to be godmother to my baby?’ Violet reminded Gladys.

  ‘And to be a bridesmaid at my wedding?’ Kit added.

  ‘Of course,’ Gladys replied. ‘I’ve already promised both of you, and I won’t let you down.’

  ‘And we know the bridesmaid’s dress fits you, ’cos you wore it so well at the Savoy,’ Edna said.

  Nora, who always went into a dream-like trance the minute the Savoy was mentioned, sighed. ‘Oh, the Savoy …’ For all her nerves about leaving the safe haven of Lancashire, she had never got over the experience of travelling to London and staying at the poshest hotel in town with fluffy pink bath towels in the bathroom.

  Violet, who now looked distinctly pregnant, smiled. ‘One thing’s for sure, my bridesmaid’s dress doesn’t fit!’ she joked.

  It had been agreed that Nora and Maggie were to take Violet’s place as Kit’s bridesmaids at the forthcoming wedding.

  ‘I really don’t fancy being a vastly overweight bridesmaid,’ Violet had confessed to Kit, who had insisted that even if Vi didn’t follow her down the aisle she would still be her chief bridesmaid and sign her marriage lines in the church’s vestry.

  As Gladys added the last of her jumpers to the pile already in the suitcase, Myrtle and Edna exchanged a conspiratorial wink, then edged Nora and Maggie towards the bedroom door.

  ‘We’d better get a move on,’ Edna said as she picked up Billy and settled him on her comfortable hip. ‘I’ll pop Billy into his pram and take him for a bit of fresh air,’ she said to Kit, who quickly nodded.

  ‘What …? Why …?’ big-mouthed Nora started to say before she got a dig in the ribs from Myrtle, who bustled both girls out of the room.

  ‘Are you going already?’ Gladys asked in surprise.

  ‘Just a few little things to sort out,’ Myrtle called over her shoulder.

  ‘We’ll meet you at the bus stop to say goodbye,’ Edna added as she wheeled Billy’s pram out of the cowshed.

  Violet and Kit exchanged a knowing look and hid their smiles.

  ‘Right,’ said Gladys as she snapped the clips of her suitcase shut. ‘I think I’m just about ready.’

  Turning, she saw her friends’ faces drop. Though she was excited beyond words at the prospect of touring England, then Europe, where she and other ENSA artists would entertain troops in active service, the thought of leaving Kit and Violet brought a lump to her throat. Dropping her suitcase on to the floor, Gladys held out her arms to her friends, who joined her in an emotional group hug.

  ‘How will I cope without you all?’ she whispered. ‘I love you so much,’ she said with a catch in her voice.

  ‘After all that we’ve been through, we’ll always be friends,’ Kit said with real confidence.

  ‘No more secrets!’ Violet exclaimed joyfully. ‘I’ve got my Arthur!’

  ‘No more lies!’ Kit added with a radiant smile. ‘I’ve got my son!’

  Grinning, Gladys held her saxophone case aloft. ‘And I’ve got my music!’

  Holding hands, they made a promise that they would keep for the rest of their lives. ‘We’ll always have each other!’

  Linking arms like they’d always done on their way to work, the three friends walked down the cobbled lane. Suddenly the air was filled with music, and when they reached the gates of the Phoenix factory Gladys gazed in amazement at the smiling faces of what looked to her like the entire factory workforce. Mr Featherstone stepped forward.

  ‘Couldn’t let you leave without a proper goodbye,’ he said proudly.

  Kit dashed to the drums, which Arthur and Malc had transported, along with the upright piano, the full length of the factory, and Violet picked up her clarinet, which Edna had left on the piano for her. The sight of so many smiling faces completely finished Gladys off, and she burst into tears. Seeing her tears, Billy began to cry too. ‘Glad! Glad!’ he wailed.

  As Ian comforted Billy, Myrtle hit the piano keys. ‘We shall miss our little songbird, but we’ll carry her in our hearts always,’ she announced as she played the opening chords to the workforce’s favourite song, ‘Sing as We Go’.

  As Kit hit the drums and Violet trilled on her clarinet, Maggie and Nora came in on their brass instruments.

  ‘One more time for the Bomb Girls’ Swing Band!’ cried Malc.

  Swallowing back her tears, Gladys’s voice soared as she started to sing. She would never forget till the day she died the wonderful sound of 200 women singing alongside her as they sent her on her way into her new life with a song in her heart.

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks to Clare Marsh in Nottingham for her guidance on adoption information, also to Donna Poppy for her superb copy-editing skills and my editor at Penguin, Clare Bowron, who worked so hard and patiently alongside me on The Bomb Girls’ Secrets.

  1. Ava

  ‘Friday dinner time,’ thought Ava, as she tucked her long, dark hair under her cook’s hat and checked her reflection in the small, cracked mirror hanging on the canteen wall. Even smeared with grease, the glass revealed the irrepressible sparkle in Ava’s dark blue eyes. She beamed her characteristic wide-open smile, which revealed her small, white teeth and a charming dimple in her left cheek. She was taller than most of her girlfriends, long-legged and shapely with a full bust, softly curving hips and a willowy, twenty-inch waist. Ava was fortunate; her strong frame and athletic build were down to hard work and plenty of walking in all weathers on the wild Lancashire moors.

  With her voluminous hair neatly tucked under her cotton hat, Ava wrote the day’s menu in white chalk on the canteen noticeboard; two years ago, Friday’s menu would always have been fish, cod and haddock freshly delivered from Fleetwood market. Ava had quickly learnt how to skin and fillet fish, but that was before the outbreak of war and the start of food rationing. Nowadays, it was impossible to buy enough fish to feed a family, never mind two hundred mill workers. As rationing got tougher and tougher, Ava had tried variations: parsnip fritters, corn-beef fritters, fake sausage fritters – mince (very little) mixed with oatmeal and herbs made a tasty fritter. But on a Friday
, the workers, predominantly Catholics, didn’t eat meat; it was a day of abstinence. The best and most popular alternative to fish was Ava’s delicious ‘scallops’, fresh local spuds washed, peeled and thickly sliced then dipped in a thick, creamy, yellow batter made from dried eggs combined with milk and water. Deeply fried in a vat of fat, Ava served the golden-brown scallops with mushy peas or butter beans and pickled red cabbage. It made her laugh when customers asked for chips as well.

  ‘You’ll sink like a brick with all them spuds inside you!’ she teased.

  ‘You’ve got to have chips on a Friday, cock,’ one of her customers said with a wink. ‘It’s a bugger we can’t ’ave fish like in’t th’owd days, but your scallops are bloody beltin’! Give us another, wil’t?’

  Ava smiled as she dropped a few more of her scallops on his plate; she loved these people and she loved her strong, tight-knit, hard-working community. Half the people queuing up for their dinner lived within a block of Ava, in identical red-brick terraced houses, stacked back to back, row upon row, and reaching up to the foothills of the moors which dominated the landscape of the mill town. Everybody knew everybody else’s business; it couldn’t be otherwise when outdoor privies were shared and women gathered at the wash house to swap gossip and smoke cigarettes while they did their weekly wash. Then they’d hang it out on washing lines threaded across the network of backstreets, where children played under the wet sheets that flapped like ships’ sails in the breeze. The neighbours’ over-familiar questions about her future had recently become both an irritant and an embarrassment to Ava.

  ‘So when are you going to get yourself conscripted, our Ava? All’t lasses in’t town have gone off to do their bit for’t war, but you’re still here. Can you not stand thowt o’ leaving us, like?’ neighbours and relatives alike teased.

  Ava had self-consciously assured them she was definitely leaving; there was no choice: female conscription was obligatory for women between the ages of eighteen and thirty. Women were being deployed all over the country, and most of Ava’s friends had already gone – some to munitions factories in Yorkshire and Wales; others had signed up to work as land girls in Scotland – but Ava had held back. She felt guilty, of course; would people think she was trying to duck out of war work, that she was unpatriotic? She was, in fact, fiercely patriotic and passionately believed in committing one hundred per cent to the war effort, but she was determined to do something big, something bold, something that would push her to the limit in her sacrifice for king and country. Three months after female conscription had been authorized by the government, Ava was well aware that she had to do something soon, otherwise the Labour Exchange would be on her tail and find war work for her.