by Lorna Peel
Following the meal and feeling revitalised, Kate called her parents on their newly-installed telephone. As she was calling them a day late, she told a white lie, that she had been too tired to call them the previous evening, but assured them she was fine.
Afterwards, she was shown around the house and gardens. Number 26 was huge with five bedrooms. Her room was at the back and housed a single bed, wardrobe and chest of drawers. Kate flushed when she saw her suitcase on top of the wardrobe. Her belongings had already been unpacked.
In the back garden, she was fascinated by the Anderson Shelter, named after Sir John Anderson who was in charge of Air Raid Precautions. The shelters were constructed from curved and straight galvanised corrugated steel panels, were half-buried in the ground with earth heaped on top and designed to accommodate up to six people.
Kate found it surprisingly big inside with two bunk beds, a bookcase, a table and a cupboard. A wireless stood on top of the bookcase and an oil lamp hung from the ceiling.
“It’s very cosy, Bob,” she said as she emerged.
“It has to be, I don’t know how long we might have to spend in it.”
“Oh.” That dampened her spirits, but he squeezed her arm.
“Ah, here’s Toby. Toby? Come and meet your cousin.”
The sixteen-year-old boy crossed the lawn with an outstretched hand. She shook it and smiled. Toby was growing into the very image of his father.
“Kate.” He grinned. “At last. Pleased to meet you again.”
“And you. Enjoying your last day of freedom?”
He rolled his eyes just like his mother. “I don’t know how we can be expected to go back to school with a war on. Clive’s raging. Charlie’s got leave, he’s home showing off his uniform. It’s ever so smart.”
“Charlie is Clive’s older brother, recently promoted to Flight Lieutenant,” Bob explained. “They’re quite a pair when they get together.”
By evening real exhaustion had set in. Kate excused herself and went to bed early, finding her clothes and underwear neatly hung in the wardrobe and stacked in the chest of drawers. She reached for her purse and counted the contents. Twenty pounds, three shillings and threepence halfpenny. She sighed; it wasn’t much to smarten herself with. She would have to find a job, soon.
Going downstairs to breakfast the next morning, she saw a large trunk in the hall.
Toby came running down after her and groaned. “Sometimes I wonder if they’re too eager to get rid of me.”
“Is your school in the countryside?” she asked him.
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, maybe they are, this time.”
“What?” He frowned. “It’s like I’m being evacuated?”
“Yes, I suppose so. You will be safer there.”
“Are you regretting coming, Kate?” he asked as they went into the dining room.
“Well, I regret there’s a war on but, no, I don’t regret coming.”
After having to push Toby onto the train, Kate and Helen took a cab to a bustling Oxford Street. Kate had never seen so many shops or people before. It was even busier than Dublin.
“As a welcome-to-London present, Bob and I are going to buy you a complete outfit,” Helen informed her while looking up and down the street, clearly deciding where to go first. “Head to toe, hair and makeup, too. People will be queuing up to give you a job.”
Kate’s heart lurched in embarrassment. “There’s no need. I was going to buy something myself. I was given money.”
Helen gave her a dismissive smile. “You’ll need that for other things. No arguing now.”
“Thank you. It’s very good of you.”
“Well, we can’t have you going for job interviews looking as if you’d just mucked out a stable, can we?”
Helen hadn’t meant to be unkind, but colour flooded into Kate’s face. She peered at her reflection in a shop window. She really did look dowdy compared to Helen and all the beautiful women walking past.
Following Helen into a department store’s lingerie department, and into a changing room, Kate stripped right down to her embarrassingly old-fashioned underwear. Catching sight of the shop girl’s smirking face in the mirror, Kate wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. The girl measured her before bringing a selection of bras and knickers for her to choose from. Kate stared in consternation. How could she choose? They were all beautiful. Thankfully, Helen decided for her.
“We’ll take the peach set and the white,” she said. “Would you like to wear the peach set now, Kate?”
Kate had been running her fingers over the silk in awe and jumped. “Yes, I will. Thank you.”
She changed into the lingerie and stared at herself for a long time in the mirror. Silk. She had never felt anything so soft before.
“Let’s see, Kate.” She heard Helen’s voice, pulled back the curtain, and both her aunt and the shop girl stared at her. “Good Lord.” Helen seemed astonished. “You do have a figure, after all.”
Passing a boutique a little later, Kate stopped and gazed at a suit in the window. Helen had walked on but returned to her and smiled. “That’s very smart, isn’t it? Do you want to try it on?”
“Oh, no, it looks very expensive.”
“It doesn’t cost anything to try it on.”
So the suit was tried on and Kate paraded up and down the shop examining herself from all angles. The suit was deep green and flattered her curvaceous figure.
“Do you like it?” Helen asked.
“Oh, yes, it’s lovely.”
“That’s just as well because it’s yours.”
“Mine?” Kate’s mouth fell open. It must have cost a fortune. “Oh, thank you.”
“Nonsense, you’re starting to look feminine at last. Shoes and a handbag next.”
They found a black handbag and matching shoes in a shop across the street. Again, Kate paraded up and down, but this time to get used to the high heels. Standing up in them for the first time, she had almost toppled over.
Kate tottered along the street, finding herself much taller than Helen, and followed her into a hair salon.
“Your hair isn’t too bad, actually,” Helen told her before turning to the stylist. “A trim, and style it, please.”
Within an hour, Kate’s hair had been swept back from her face into a chignon. Her aunt leaned forward.
“Cheekbones, too,” she murmured and nodded. “Beauty salon next.”
A further hour passed with various powders and lipsticks being tried and tested before Kate opened her eyes and gazed at the film star in the mirror, hardly recognising herself.
“Oh, Kate,” Helen whispered. “You’re beautiful.” She turned to the three women standing behind Kate’s chair. “Whatever she’s got on, we’ll take it.”
Out on the street, Kate found herself being stared at and even attracted wolf whistles from a group of soldiers. It felt strange – embarrassing – but flattering, too.
“Helen, thank you.” She kissed her aunt’s cheek. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“Not at all.” Helen couldn’t keep her eyes off her. “Hail a cab, will you? They’ll all stop for you now.”
Back at number 26, Kate picked her way slowly across the gravel on tip-toes to prevent the heels of her new shoes being scratched. Bob came out to the hall, his eyes widening as she climbed the steps and entered the house.
“What a transformation,” he cried and she blushed.
“I looked at myself in the mirror and I couldn’t believe it was me.”
“You’ll do wonders for morale.” He kissed her cheek, then his wife’s. “Well done,” Kate heard him whisper to Helen. “She doesn’t look like an Irish scarecrow anymore.”
Chapter Two
Charlie Butler stood in the hall at the bottom of the stairs, pulling his braces up onto his shoulders. He reached for his blue-grey uniform tunic, then looked at his watch and clenched his fists.
“Clive?” he roared. “If I knew you were goin
g to do this I would have packed you into your trunk myself. I would have got you sent on ahead to school rather than standing here waiting for you. If you don’t get out of that bathroom now, I’m going to come up and break the door down.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” His mother hurried out of the drawing room and stood beside him. “Clive?” she called. “Come along, dear. Charlie’s ready to go. You know you can’t hold him up.”
To his relief, Charlie heard the bathroom door being unlocked and opened. A moment later, his younger brother stomped down the stairs in a sulk.
“I don’t want to go,” he moaned.
“Toby’s gone already. He didn’t seem to be arguing too much, from what his father told me.” Charlie ruffled his hair but Clive pulled away and scowled. Charlie grimaced; Clive was getting too old for that. But he wasn’t too old for this; “Look, if we hurry, we’ll stop somewhere for tea and cake. All right?”
“All right,” Clive conceded and went to get his school blazer and cap.
Charlie winked at their mother. Bribery always worked with Clive, especially when cake was involved.
“Goodbye, dear.” Mrs Butler kissed Clive’s cheek then made way for her husband, who shook his younger son’s hand. “And you.” She looked up at Charlie with fear in her eyes. “Don’t do anything silly, will you?”
Smiling, he slipped his tunic on and buttoned it up, before kissing her cheek. “Me?” He saw the colour drain from her face and relented. “Don’t worry, Mother, I’ll be as good as gold.” He accepted his cap from his father and shook his hand. “Goodbye, Father. I’ll phone and let you know when my next leave is.”
He and Clive left the house and got into his red MG sports car. Charlie started the engine, they both waved, and he steered down the drive. At the street, he was forced to wait as a cab passed and stopped outside number 26. Mrs Williams got out, clutching at least five shopping bags, followed by… he stared. She looked like a film star.
“Who is that?” he asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on the steering wheel so he could get a better view of her.
“She looks like the girl I saw yesterday with Toby.” Clive had perked up on seeing her, too. “She’s his cousin; arrived yesterday from Ireland.”
“Ireland,” Charlie mused, admiring the green suit, his gaze moving down her body to her shapely legs. “Do you know her name?”
“Kate, I think.”
“Kate,” he murmured.
“She’s got too much makeup on.” Clive lost interest and settled down into his seat again.
“Mmm,” Charlie replied, pulling out onto the street and crawling past number 26.
Kate was hobbling across the gravel in high heels and he smiled as her red lips parted and she laughed at something Mrs Williams said to her. Yes, she had too much makeup on, but she was dazzling all the same.
“Do you know what we’ll be put doing as soon as we’re settled in?” Clive began moaning again. “Building air-raid shelters, and I’ve only just finished the one here. They’ll be bloody enormous things.”
“Mmm.” Charlie was only half-listening to him. He couldn’t even be bothered to clip him round the ear for swearing. “You don’t want to be squashed flat, do you? Have some poor sod come and have to scrape what’s left of you up off the ground?”
It took his brother a long time to answer with a quiet, “No.”
Clive was silent for the rest of the journey back to school. He didn’t even complain when they didn’t stop for the tea and cake on the way.
A couple of hours later, Charlie sank back into one of the leather armchairs which ran along a wall in the Officers’ Mess at his fighter base, his mind still on Kate’s legs and lips. He was pretty unnerved that a mere glimpse of this girl could affect him like this.
“Oi, Charlie?” He jumped as someone’s goggles hit him on the head and dropped into his lap. He looked around as Pilot Officer Billy ‘The Kid’ Benson grinned at him. “Had a good leave?”
“It was the usual, but then…” He tailed off, frowned and Billy laughed.
“War is declared, yeah, great. It’ll be all go from now on.”
“No, it’s not that.”
“What? You don’t think the Luftwaffe deserve a good old thrashing?” Billy’s voice had risen and Charlie began to tense.
“Of course I do. It’s just that I saw this girl…”
“Ah,” Billy roared and the others sniggered. “Yet another female about to fall for the Butler banter.”
“I didn’t even speak to her.”
“Just as well, or you’ll have Doris after your balls. Bloody hell, is no woman safe? You must have little blighters running about all over the country!”
“No, I bloody don’t,” Charlie snapped, wishing he hadn’t opened his mouth. “I’m careful, which is more than can be said for you.”
“My father isn’t a bloody Harley Street gynaecologist who knows where to get condoms from in bulk.”
“Well, you should at least try and get some from somewhere. A barber’s, perhaps?”
“Charlie’s right.” A calm voice spoke from the door and they all turned in surprise. No-one had heard Squadron Leader Ralph Clarke come in and they all got to their feet to salute him. “Now we’re at war we can’t afford any… accidents. We’ll all be under pressure from now on. We all have our needs, but we don’t want to be leaving them with something to remember us by. Try, lads, I’m sure they’re not that hard to find.”
“Yes, sir,” they all mumbled, and Charlie sat back down in his chair with some satisfaction.
“Now, look.” Clarke leaned back against the door. “No lectures, but I’ll give you all an idea of what to expect. Everyone here and at Fighter Command expects your full support in whatever operations you are sent on. The plan is that we carry out two weeks of maximum effort, one week of sustained effort, followed by one week of rest. Our first objectives are raids against German warships in Heligoland – which is just off the north coast of Germany – and the dropping of leaflets, but we are not to raid Germany itself.”
There were mutterings at that and Clarke raised his hands.
“Patience,” he told them, then smiled at Charlie. “Congratulations on your promotion.”
Charlie found the months of the Phoney War – when there were no major military operations against Germany – very dull, despite settling into his new role as leader of B Flight. The only highlight was a reconnaissance flight over Germany. His days were filled with briefings, lectures and trips to the Officers’ Mess, where he smoked endless packets of cigarettes.
To his delight, he was granted seven days leave from Christmas morning to New Year’s Day. Ample opportunity for plenty of wine, women and song. He drove home dangerously fast and jumped out of the car just as the front door opened. His mother ran down the steps, hugged him and brought him inside for dinner.
“Make the most of that turkey and ham,” his father told him as he tucked in ten minutes later. “They say meat is going to be rationed soon.”
“Great,” he replied with a groan.
His mother hadn’t lost her touch in the kitchen, despite not having cooked for years. The meal was just as good – if not better – than Mrs Hill’s cooking. Their cook had retired back in the spring, and with Doctor and Mrs Butler mostly on their own in the house now, she hadn’t been replaced.
“They say everything is going to be rationed,” his mother added.
“What? Even cigarettes?” cried Clive, and got a clip round the ear from his father.
“You’re too young to smoke,” his mother informed him.
“I’m sixteen,” he protested and Charlie smiled. Nothing had changed while he was away.
“Exactly.”
“I have some news.” Dr Butler held up his hands before a row broke out. “Charlie, I’ve joined up.”
Charlie stared at his father in surprise. Joining the armed forces would mean a considerable loss of income for him. “Will you be able to manage?”
he asked.
“Oh, yes. I’m in Harley Street quite regularly. There isn’t much for me to do yet.”
Yet. There was a silence, but they were under no illusions.
“Don’t worry,” his father whispered to him in the hall half an hour later. “You’ll still get your supply of condoms. I don’t want to be a grandfather just yet, and as for your mother…”
Charlie smiled at his father’s understated humour. Dr Butler was fifty-nine with very grey hair and Charlie realised with a shock that both his parents were getting on in years.
“Thanks,” he whispered back. “Actually, they’ve been recommended to us. You’d better get onto the manufacturers.”
He pulled on his overcoat, put on his cap and reached for his gas mask case before going outside. Lighting a cigarette, he walked around to the back of the house and peered into the neat and tidy air-raid shelter. Returning to the front, he walked down the drive and out onto the pavement. He’d walk to the end of the street and back, then go inside for the King’s Christmas message.
He crossed the street and was passing number 26 when he heard feet on the gravel. He peered up the drive and saw Kate. She was wearing trousers, like Katharine Hepburn, and seemed to be walking off her dinner like him. This was too good an opportunity to miss, so he threw his cigarette away.
“Hello? Merry Christmas,” he called and she spun around, brown curly hair flying about, and stared at him in fright. “Sorry.” He smiled. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s all right,” she replied in a peculiar accent. It wasn’t very Irish but it wasn’t quite English either. The “all” was very English, but the “right” was definitely Irish. Strange.
“I’m Charlie Butler,” he said, taking off his cap. “I live at number 25.”
“Oh, you’re Clive’s brother?” she asked.
“That’s right. I got back just before dinner. A week’s leave.” He pointed to his uniform then to the winged badge on his cap. “RAF.”
“Yes, Bob’s home, too. There doesn’t seem to be much happening, does there?” She clapped a hand over her mouth then gave him an apologetic smile. “I shouldn’t be talking about the war. Sorry.”
