The Girls in Blue

by Lily Baxter

  ‘I’ll come again this evening,’ Miranda said firmly. ‘Is there a set visiting time?’

  ‘His mother asked me the same thing on the phone just now. She’ll be coming too. It’ll be a nice family reunion, but Sister says you can’t stay long and only one visitor at a time.’

  Miranda went back to the boarding house and sat in her room for an hour, wondering whether she ought to face Mrs Maddern and admit that she had broken her promise, or whether to stay away and risk upsetting Gil. She could not help thinking that perhaps his mother had been right, and that she had done him more harm than good by indulging her need to see him and clear her conscience. She was even more confused as to her feelings for Gil, and she realised that she had handled a difficult situation badly.

  In the end she could not bear to be shut up in the dreary little room for a moment longer. The cracked pink linoleum with the sickly flower pattern and the mismatched furniture that had seen better days were beginning to get on her nerves. The flock-filled mattress on the bed promised a sleepless night to come and she needed to get out into the fresh air. She put on her cap, picked up her handbag and gas mask case and left the room, descending three flights of stairs to the ground floor where she was greeted by the noxious smell of boiled cabbage and Jeyes Fluid.

  After walking to the sea front and filling her lungs with the bracing east coast air, she found a small café and enjoyed a meal of fish and chips, washed down with several cups of strong, sweet tea. Feeling better but unable to face going back to the guest house, she went to the cinema and watched That Hamilton Woman with Vivien Leigh and Laurence Olivier. The story of the doomed love affair between Nelson and Lady Hamilton was tragic, but Miranda was finding it difficult to concentrate as her thoughts kept returning to Gil lying helpless in his hospital bed. She knew that Mrs Maddern would find out about her visit and she could not blame her if she was angry, but Gil’s mother ought to understand that they both had his best interests at heart. She rose from her seat before the film ended and hurried from the cinema.

  Dusk was swallowing up the town and soon it would be too dark to see where she was going in the unfamiliar streets. Having made enquiries in a tobacconist’s shop she found the nearest bus stop and after a short wait caught a bus to the hospital. She had no intention of going in and challenging Gil’s mother at his bedside, but she hoped to catch her as she left when visiting time ended. It was dark now, but the moon shone from a cloudless sky giving just enough light to see the world in monochrome, like a black and white film. It was bitterly cold and already frost was glittering on the paving stones. After the relatively mild climate on the south coast Miranda was feeling the change in temperature and wishing she had worn her overcoat. She paced up and down for half an hour and was beginning to think she had missed her when she spotted Mrs Maddern amongst a group of visitors who had emerged from the hospital.

  Miranda hurried up to her. ‘I know I broke my promise, but I couldn’t allow Gil to think I’d deserted him.’

  ‘Were you thinking of yourself or of him, Miss Beddoes?’

  ‘He told you that I’d been to see him?’

  ‘Yes. He was delighted. I hope that salves your conscience. Now you can go away and get on with your life knowing that you’ve given my son false hope. He really believes that you’ll stand by him.’

  Daphne Maddern’s bitter tone etched into Miranda’s consciousness like acid. She was hurt but also very angry. ‘That’s not fair. I can’t be at his bedside as much as I’d wish because I have to return to Henlow in the morning, but I’ll write to him every day, and I’ll visit him as soon as I can.’

  ‘That’s all very fine and I’m sure you will, but we’ve had this conversation before. I think you have the best of intentions but what happens if you meet someone else? How will you tell my son that you won’t be seeing him any more?’

  ‘Stop it,’ Miranda cried angrily. ‘We can only take things one day at a time. All I can say is that I care deeply for Gil. I can’t foretell the future and neither can you. If he wants me to keep in touch then I don’t care what you or anyone else says, but I won’t let him down now or ever.’

  ‘Fine words indeed, but I’ve had considerably more experience of life than you have, and I’ve told the hospital staff that you aren’t allowed to see him again.’ Daphne raised her hand to attract the attention of a cab driver who had pulled up at the kerb. She turned her head as she was about to climb inside. ‘I’ll be here for another two days, arranging transport to take my son back to Hampshire, so don’t even think of trying to see Gil or contacting him in any way. I’ll make your excuses to him.’ She took her seat and slammed the door. The taxi drove off, disappearing into the darkness.

  Miranda started walking towards the bus stop but the sound of the air raid siren sent people scurrying towards a public shelter and she found herself caught up in their midst. She spent the next few hours wedged between an elderly man with a bronchitic cough and a fat woman who had just been visiting her sick husband in the hospital. By the time the all clear sounded Miranda had been subjected to the woman’s life history, including the many operations she had undergone and the treatment she was having for her current ailments. Having exhausted her medical woes she went on to complain about her husband, who worked on the railway, and her five children all of whom were too young to be in the forces except her eldest son, Norman, who was in the army serving somewhere abroad. ‘Our Norman is delicate,’ she said, sighing. ‘He had whooping cough when he was six months old, then he got measles when he was three, chickenpox when he was three and a half, mumps when he was five and scarlatina when he was just six. It’s a wonder he’s still with us, but I just hope the army are taking care of him proper. You never know what he might catch in them foreign parts.’

  By the time the all clear sounded Miranda was cramped and exhausted both physically and emotionally. She had also missed the last bus which would have taken her back to the guest house and she had no choice other than to set off on foot. The buildings on the skyline were silhouetted against a background of raging fires and plumes of smoke rising from bomb-damaged houses. The acrid smell of burning filled her nostrils and the air was filled with clouds of dust, making it necessary to cover her nose and mouth with her scarf in order to breathe. The quiet of the night had been shattered and people were wandering about in their nightclothes, shocked and crying or scrabbling amongst the rubble searching for loved ones or lost possessions.

  She could not simply turn her back on such a disaster and she found herself helping an elderly woman whom she found sitting on what was left of a brick wall outside the ruin of her house. She took her to a Red Cross first aid station and having made sure that she was being cared for Miranda returned to the streets to see if there was anything else she could do. The clanging of fire engine bells echoed off the buildings that remained intact and the rumble of falling masonry was accompanied by shouts of warning from the ARP wardens and the police who were attempting to restore order out of chaos. Miranda spent the rest of the night taking survivors to the warmth and safety of the emergency shelter.

  As dawn broke the true devastation caused by the air raid became even more apparent, but only those beyond help were left beneath the bomb-ravaged buildings. Tired, dirty and traumatised Miranda made her way back to the guest house. She hoped and prayed that the hospital had not been one of the casualties of the bombing raid. She arrived at the guest house to find the landlady outside sweeping the path as if nothing had happened, and perhaps in her world nothing had changed since the previous day as the houses in this particular street remained unscathed.

  She gave Miranda what Annie would have called a very old-fashioned look. ‘You’re a bit of a dirty stop-out, miss, if you don’t mind me saying so.’ She removed the cigarette end from her lips and tossed it onto the bare soil in a flowerbed.

  Miranda was too tired to argue. ‘At least your house was spared,’ she said dully. ‘Think yourself lucky, Mrs Doughty.’

  �
�No need to take that tone with me, miss. I was just passing the time of day.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’m tired and I’m dirty. I’ve been helping the bomb victims all night and I’d really like a bath and perhaps something to eat before I leave.’

  ‘Mr Doughty’s about to have his weekly bath, so there’s no hot water and I don’t light the boiler until tea time. There’s some cold fishcakes in the pantry and some bread in the crock, but don’t use all the marg because that’s the last of our ration for this week.’

  ‘Fine. Thank you.’ Miranda acknowledged her with a vague wave of her hand. The thought of eating cold fishcakes was enough to turn anyone’s stomach. With the prospect of washing in cold water and nothing but dry bread for breakfast, she went to her room.

  She did her best to spruce up her uniform and even a cold wash was better than nothing, but her thoughts were with Gil lying helpless in his hospital bed. She had not thought to bring any writing paper with her and she tore a page from her diary, penning a brief note, explaining that she had to leave for Henlow Priory that morning, but she said nothing about her meeting with his mother. She promised to write often and to visit him on her next leave, whenever that might be. She had filled the page and she signed it, adding a kiss for good measure.

  She went downstairs to the kitchen, hoping to get a cup of tea before she paid her landlady and left Alma Villa with no intention of ever returning. She found Mr Doughty sitting at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette and looking very grubby, but at least he greeted her with a smile. ‘Hello, ducks. Want a cuppa? There’s some left in the pot.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She put her case down and took a seat at the table, eyeing a slice of toast which was propped up against a jam jar with just a scraping of what might be some kind of berry jam in the bottom.

  ‘It’s yours if you want it, love,’ Mr Doughty said, stubbing the dog end out in an overflowing ashtray. ‘I had something at the station before I came off night duty, so I ain’t that hungry. She gets on at me if I waste food, so you eat it and welcome.’

  Miranda realised suddenly that she was very hungry. The toast was cold and the jam was thick and did not taste of anything in particular, but it was sweet and just what she needed to revive her flagging spirits. She poured tea for herself and sipped from the cracked cup, taking care to avoid the sharp edge.

  ‘You going back to the aerodrome today, ducks?’ Mr Doughty seemed in the mood to chat, despite the fact that he had dark circles beneath his eyes and he looked as though he needed his bed. ‘We was lucky to escape the bombing last night.’

  ‘It was terrible. I saw dreadful things.’

  ‘Got caught up in it, did you?’ He shook his head. ‘Bad do. Bloody Jerries.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you know if the hospital was hit, do you?’

  ‘Not that I heard of. One of the day-shift blokes come that way and he never mentioned it when he relieved me. They missed the railway lines too. The bastards! I’d give ’em what for.’

  Miranda could have hugged him with sheer relief, but he was covered with dirt and engine oil and anyway he did not look the huggable sort of person. She smiled and nodded. ‘I’m sure you would.’

  He stood up, sending a shower of what looked like rust onto the linoleum. ‘Got to have me bath now. Bloody five inches of water. Who do they think they are that expect a working man to get hisself clean in a bloody puddle?’

  ‘You wouldn’t have an envelope and a postage stamp I could buy, would you, Mr Doughty?’

  He put his head on one side, grinning. ‘Want to send a love letter to your boyfriend, do you, ducks?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  He went to the mantelpiece above the coke boiler and tweaked an envelope from a letter rack filled with what looked like utility bills. ‘Haven’t got any stamps, but you’ve got to pass the post office on your way to the station.’

  Miranda took it from him with a grateful smile. ‘How much do I owe you?’

  ‘No charge. Her outside says you never slept in your bed so consider it a bit of a rebate. She’ll charge you full whack despite the fact that she don’t have to wash the sheets.’ He ambled from the room whistling tunelessly.

  It was early evening when Miranda arrived at Henlow Priory. She had had to wait several hours for the train and then the journey was slow, stopping at all stations. She had waited for what seemed like an eternity for the bus which took her to the village and had walked the last couple of miles, arriving tired, muddy and extremely hungry.

  Hut five seemed warm and welcoming and almost like coming home after her experience in Alma Villa and her meeting with Mrs Maddern. Corporal Fox was almost effusive in her greeting and Val was positively ecstatic.

  ‘It’s good to have you back, Beddoes,’ Corporal Fox said, adjusting her cap and making for the outer door. ‘I’ve rostered you to start on Monday morning. Thought I’d give you a chance to settle in.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Miranda said with a weary smile. ‘I appreciate that, Corp.’

  Val waited until the corporal had left the hut before slumping down on Miranda’s bed. ‘That was a welcome from old Frosty Fox. She must like you.’

  Miranda glanced round at the rows of empty beds. ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘The ones who aren’t on the night shift are in the ablutions tarting themselves up for a night out. The others are on duty. Nothing’s changed.’

  At that moment Angela breezed in carrying her towel and wash bag. Her face lit up when she saw Miranda and after an emotional greeting she sat beside Val, curling her long legs around her. ‘So tell all, darling. How did it go at home?’ She gave a start as Val nudged her in the ribs. ‘Don’t look at me like that. I was only asking.’

  Miranda shrugged off her jacket and hung it in her locker. ‘I’ll tell you everything, but would you mind if I went and had a shower first? I was up all night helping the Red Cross workers during an air raid and I haven’t had a proper wash for two days.’

  ‘Go!’ Laughing, Angela pointed to the door. ‘Come back when you’re fit for human company and not before.’

  The girls were all sympathetic and supportive when they heard about Miranda’s difficulties with Mrs Maddern. Janice volunteered to take the lady on and tell her that she would be lucky to have someone as nice and caring as Miranda who was willing to put up with a cripple, but this idea was firmly vetoed by everyone, including Miranda.

  Despite the fact that she was among friends, Miranda was finding it difficult to settle down again after her home leave. The emotional turmoil of those closest to her had left its mark and Mrs Maddern’s intransigent attitude had made her even more determined to keep in touch with Gil. She wrote to him every day, addressing the envelopes to the hospital in Yarmouth for a week, and then more in hope than certainty she posted them to the Royal Victoria hospital at Southampton. She also wrote to Felicity, begging her to send her news of Gil’s progress, but none of her letters were answered.

  Miranda waited eagerly for some response, but when none came she became increasingly frustrated and desperate. Christmas came and went with a few parties in the mess, but no more home leave and no word from Gil or Fliss. The New Year celebrations were muted and January was a bleak month.

  ‘You ought to stop moping around here, darling,’ Angela said to her one Saturday evening when they were both off duty. ‘Let’s go to the pub for a quiet drink.’

  ‘We’re going dancing,’ Janice said, leaping off her bed to perform a quick demonstration. ‘Come with us to the palais de dance, village hall style.’

  Miranda chuckled at her antics but she shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I might pass on that one, Jan.’ She turned to Angela with a sigh. ‘Maybe a quick one at the pub, although I’m not really in the mood.’

  ‘That’s one of my favourites,’ Janice said, humming the tune. ‘And I just love “Blues in the Night” too. Are you sure you won’t join us, love?’

  ‘You’ve told us that a dozen times, Janice,’ Angela said laz
ily. ‘Stop pestering Miranda. You’re a frightful bore when you keep on at people.’

  ‘Pardon me for breathing.’ Janice stuck her tongue out and waltzed out of the hut swinging her wash bag.

  ‘What I didn’t mention in front of big ears,’ Angela said in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘is that the glamour-boys are sure to be there this evening.’

  ‘I’m not interested in meeting other chaps, Angie.’

  ‘So your heart belongs to Mad Dog, does it?’

  Miranda felt the blood rush to her cheeks. ‘I – I don’t know. It just feels wrong.’

  ‘I’d say you’d fallen for him, hook line and sinker.’ Angela put her arm around Miranda’s shoulders. ‘Don’t look so tragic, darling. It happens to the best of us at one time or another. Actually I’ve got a bit of a pash for a certain squadron leader, so I completely understand.’

  ‘No. You’re wrong.’ Miranda twisted away. ‘I’m just sorry for Gil, and I feel responsible in some way. Maybe if I’d been nicer to him and not so suspicious things might have been different.’

  ‘That’s crazy logic, darling. You didn’t shoot his plane out of the sky, and you didn’t give him a mother who’s a Gorgon. But whether you like it or not, he’s in love with you.’ Angela smiled and nodded. ‘And you are halfway to being in love with him, unless I’m very much mistaken.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’ Miranda moved away to her locker and searched for something other than her uniform. ‘All right, I’ll go to the pub with you.’

  Angela flicked her long hair back from her face with a smug smile. ‘And there might just be some of Gil’s friends popping in for a pint or two. It might be a good move to get one of them to send your letters on to Gil. I don’t suppose that Mother Maddern would dream of opening something that came from a chap, would she?’

  The pub was crowded as usual and noisy with the sound of male voices and bursts of laughter. Angela led the way to the bar, acknowledging several of the men in uniform with smiles and nods, responding cheerfully to their banter. Miranda followed on, feeling ill at ease as she remembered her last meeting here with Gil. They had been happy on that occasion with no thought of what might lie ahead. Lives were lost or blighted in the blink of an eye, and she felt suddenly sad and wished that she had not come, but Angela was chatting to an officer at the bar and she was beckoning to her. Reluctantly, she went to join them.