The Bomb Girls (13 page)

Mrs Massey, who was torn between pride and sadness at her daughter's promotion, insisted that her daughter should have a number of new clothes. ‘We can't have them southerners thinking we go about in clogs and rags in the north,' she joked.

Alice chose a mushroom-coloured crêpe dress trimmed with orange velvet ribbon plus a short grey summer coat and a pair of soft, navy-blue leather brogues.

‘Sensible working shoes,' her mother said as the shop assistant parcelled up their purchases.

Back in the digs, as Alice showed off her new wardrobe, Emily returned from picking up post from their pigeonholes in the Phoenix. Without saying a word, she rushed into the room she shared with Alice and slammed the door.

‘Oh-oh! Trouble,' Lillian whispered.

‘I'll go,' Alice said.

She found Emily flat out on her bed, weeping bitterly into her pillow.

‘He's finished with me,' she sobbed. ‘Bill's dumped me!'

Alice picked up the letter that Emily had dropped on the bedroom floor.

A family friend saw you and a man on Pendle moors. I can't believe you could do this to me, Emily. I've loved you all my life, nobody else but you, yet whilst I'm away on active service you're running around with a fella in a Royal Canadian Air Force uniform.

You've broken my heart, Em.

You can keep the ring I bought for you but our engagement is over. Please don't get in touch with me again.

Bill

There was nothing Alice or any of the other girls could do to ease Emily's heartache. Lillian did whisper mutinously in the kitchen that she'd like to shoot the man who'd blabbed Emily's wicked secret to Bill.

‘He should've kept his big nose out of other people's business,' she seethed.

‘It's a small town,' Agnes reminded her. ‘News gets around.'

As they comforted her with a hot-water bottle, a nip of brandy and a mug of cocoa, Emily continued to weep.

‘What Bill doesn't know is that I stopped!' she cried. ‘I knew what I was doing with Freddie was wrong and I stopped,' she repeated.

‘Well, I'm not sure that would redeem you in Bill's eyes,' Lillian pointed out.

Removing her modest engagement ring, a tiny diamond set in marcasite, Emily returned it to the velvet box Bill had given her.

‘I've hardly worn it since I got here,' she murmured. ‘And now I'll never wear it again.'

Sobbing, she stuffed the box under her jumpers in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe. Then she climbed into bed, where she rolled into a ball and lay weeping in the foetal position till dawn.

The morning that Alice left the Phoenix she handed Emily an envelope.

‘Will you take it to Henri at the airbase?' she asked.

White-faced Emily, who had dark bags under her eyes from days of crying and sleeping badly, looked puzzled,
then remembered the man Alice had danced with at the swing night and nodded.

‘It's just to tell him I'm going to London and won't be able to see him again,' Alice explained as she snapped the lock on her suitcase.

Emily looked at her curiously.

‘Why not? It's not like you're never coming back here, is it?' she asked.

Alice shrugged as she lifted her case off the bed.

‘There's no point in stringing him along,' she answered.

She was grateful that there was nobody in the digs but her and Emily, who had been given twenty minutes off by Agnes so she could accompany Alice to the nearest bus stop. Her farewells to Lillian, Agnes and heartbroken Elsie the night before had reduced Alice to streaming tears. Standing at the open door and looking back into the sitting room where they'd spent so many happy hours, laughing and chatting, sharing each other's secrets, Alice choked up again.

‘What will I do without you all?' she whispered.

‘We'll keep in touch and you'll be back for the wedding,' Emily said as she firmly guided Alice out of the digs and down the cobbled lane to the bus stop outside the Phoenix.

When the bus loomed up the girls embraced each other. Holding back tears, they smiled bravely then Alice hopped aboard.

‘
À bientôt!
' she said with forced jollity.

‘See you, cock!' Emily answered, using the old local endearment familiar to them both.

As the bus pulled away, she blew a kiss and waved.

‘Take care, Al. Love you!' she called.

It was odd in the digs and on the cordite section without Alice. Her happy, smiling face and insightfulness were missed by all the girls, but it was Emily who suffered her going the most. Unhappy and nursing a broken heart, Emily preferred to be outside rather than inside after her shifts; walking the moors brought back happy childhood memories of Alice, which lifted her low spirits.

The afternoon that Emily set off to take Alice's letter to Henri at the Canadian airbase she wondered what she'd do if she bumped into Freddie.

It's not like I'm an engaged woman any more, she thought bitterly as she struck out over the hills with skylarks singing all around her. Forcing herself to stop thinking of Bill and the love she'd so carelessly destroyed, she quickened her step.

There's no point in beating yourself up about the past, she told herself. You've got to move on whether you like it or not.

As she neared the airbase, where she could see dozens of airmen busy about their daily routine, Emily's heart gave an involuntary lurch. It was impossible to hold back the images that surged into her head: Freddie's heart-stopping smile, his intense blue eyes, his husky Canadian accent and the unforgettable smell of pines and limes that she always associated with him. He'd turned on her last time they'd been together but perhaps she'd asked for it after pulling back. Maybe he deserved a second chance?

Emily muttered sternly to herself as she approached the main gates of the base, where the Canadian flag flapped briskly in the stiff north wind.

‘Don't make a fool of yourself again, Emily Yates!'

When she enquired after Captain Laurent she was told that he was off base.

Taking a deep breath, she nervously asked, ‘Is Lieutenant Bilodeau on base?'

The guard on duty checked the roster and shook his head.

‘Sorry, ma'am, he's not available either.'

Feeling deflated, Emily left Alice's letter with the guard then walked back over the moors, where she was suddenly overcome with curiosity to see the old stable where things had gone so wrong with Freddie. Without a deep covering of snow the stable exterior looked dirty and decrepit, but just as she was turning away she heard loud girlish laughter coming from inside the building. Ducking down behind a boulder, she peeped out and saw Freddie walking out of the stable with a pretty young girl from the Phoenix on his arm. He stopped to gently remove straw from the girl's cardigan then his hand lingered there to caress her well-formed breasts.

‘God, honey, you're gorgeous,' he said as he kissed her full on the mouth.

Wriggling and giggling with pleasure, the girl kissed him back then turned to go.

‘Same time tomorrow?' he called after her.

‘Same time,' she answered with a happy smile.

Emily slid down the boulder and crouched in the
heather where, blinking back tears of anger and shame, she raged at her own stupidity.

Of
course
there'd be a string of other girls, she thought. Like Lillian said, Freddie wouldn't nurse a broken heart when he could get what he wanted elsewhere.

When both Freddie and the girl had disappeared Emily stood up and, looking one last time at the dilapidated stable, she took a deep breath and set off across the moors for home. She lifted her face to the falling rain and let it mingle with her tears. What a price she'd paid for a kiss and a cuddle. A few mad, infatuated hours had cost her the best man she'd ever known, and all for a player like Freddie. Stumbling and sobbing, Emily headed back to the digs and the comfort of her waiting friends.

Wearing her new lilac tweed suit and navy-blue hat, Alice felt a lot more confident when she walked into the War Office than on the previous occasion.

At least I look fashionable, she thought to herself.

Thinking she would be given a briefing, Alice was surprised when a prim, middle-aged secretary simply handed her a letter then returned to tapping away on her Remington typewriter. As the machine dinged back and forth in the background, Alice opened the envelope and took out a railway ticket and a letter which instructed her to take the twelve forty-five from Paddington to Helston in Cornwall where she would be met on arrival. Baffled, Alice folded up the letter, pocketed the ticket and picked up her case before doing exactly as she was told.

Paddington was packed with servicemen, mostly sailors blocking the way as they lounged on the ground, leaning against their bulging duffle bags and smoking. Amidst a chorus of wolf whistles and appreciative winks from admiring young men happy to see a beautiful girl, Alice made her way to the train on platform ten. Luckily her seat had been pre-booked. After stowing her case in the overhead netted luggage rack, Alice settled in a corner and watched bomb-torn, ravaged London drift by. She stared in horror at the ruins of suburban Acton, Ealing Broadway, Wormwood Scrubs, where MI5 were housed,
Southall and Slough. The barrage balloons receded as the train gathered speed and cast plumes of thick smoke in its shadow as they rumbled through Slough and Reading, both devastated by air strikes. Once past Swindon the English countryside opened up before her, vernal green and breathtaking in the sunshine. Desperate for air, Alice pulled on the leather strap to open the window and release the dense cloud of cigarette smoke that had built up since their departure from Paddington.

The train slowly emptied out at Bristol and at Exeter, and by the time they left Plymouth there wasn't a sailor in sight. Starving hungry and very thirsty, Alice had enough time to pop out of the train at Bodmin station to buy a cup of tea and a stale bun. As the train continued on its journey, the sun slowly set over the sea. Alice sighed as she watched it slide over the horizon in a blaze of red and gold. When confronted by such perfect beauty it was impossible to believe that, just across the English Channel, a mad German was hell-bent on a world war that was destroying the happiness of millions.

Lulled by the rattle of the wheels on the track, Alice fell asleep, then woke with a start when the train pulled into Truro. Standing on the dark platform with a cold wind gusting around her, she shivered as she waited for the train to Helston. Tired, hungry and cold, she wondered when this long journey from the north-west would ever end. A slow, local train puffed up to the platform and, after it had stopped at numerous empty stations to pick up the night mail, Alice finally disembarked at Helston at nearly midnight. She waited for the train to clank away in a plume of smoke then, blinking in the dark, she looked
around for her lift. There was nobody on the platform but a car parked behind a picket fence flashed its lights and Alice approached.

‘Are you the lady from the War Office?' the driver enquired.

Alice nodded.

‘Hop in!'

The journey through the night over rutted moorland tracks seemed endless but eventually, after what seemed like hours, the car stopped and Alice walked towards a darkened entrance hall where a tired housekeeper in a dressing gown stood waiting for her.

‘Breakfast's at eight,' she said as she showed Alice to an overnight guest room.

Yawning, Alice slipped out of her clothes and into her warm winceyette nightdress. She managed to stay awake long enough to clean her teeth then fell asleep to the sound of water lapping outside her bedroom window.

Alice would have slept the morning through if she hadn't been awakened by the sound of clattering feet hurrying down the corridor just outside her room.

‘Aargh! Ten to eight,' she cried as she checked her watch and leaped out of bed.

Flinging back the curtains, she gasped at the sight of a sweeping garden running down to the banks of a wide, rushing river. With no time to admire the view, Alice put on clean underwear, a fresh blouse and her new suit. She threw water on her face and pulled a brush through her glistening hair then hurried along the winding corridor wondering what her first day would bring.

After a hearty breakfast of boiled eggs, toast and fresh
coffee the trainees were taken into an oak-panelled drawing room that overlooked the gardens and river. Alice was surprised at the mix of thirty people, roughly one-third women and two-thirds men, who, on first encounter, appeared to be from all walks of life and occupations. As she chatted to Gwynne from Aberystwyth, she noticed a good-looking man across the room peering at her as he lit up his pipe. Blushing, Alice caught his smile then quickly turned away as the introductory meeting got underway.

Brigadier Russell Kingsley welcomed the newcomers in English but told them that from now on they would be speaking only in French.

‘Welcome to Helford House,' he said.

Alice smiled to herself. At last I know where I am, she thought.

‘
Alors, nous continuons en français
. We have prepared a programme of work that will help you out in the field and in some cases might save your lives. So pay attention. An eye for detail is vital at all times,' he said. ‘The first thing we need to do is iron out any trace of accent or any incorrect grammar. The wrong noun or the wrong accent could get you shot,' he added gravely. ‘You'll be taught the art of surveillance and counter-surveillance, how to receive, decode and transmit encrypted wireless messages, how to assemble a bomb, load a revolver and kill the enemy. Listen well, learn quickly.'

Continuing to speak in French, he explained that the new recruits would start with exercises to teach them techniques on arranging clandestine meetings and establishing communications. ‘
Bonne chance!
' he concluded.

As they split up into teams, the pipe-smoking man introduced himself to Alice.

‘How do you do? I'm Robin Fairfax.'

‘Pleased to meet you,' Alice replied formally. ‘I'm Alice Massey.'

‘
En français, s'il vous plaît!
' the Brigadier barked.

‘
Pardon, monsieur
,' Robin said with a wink at Alice.

For their first lesson, led by a middle-aged Frenchwoman called Monique, the agents had to give a concise description of a person in another team and set up a contact point where they would meet.

‘Each team must use its own initiative as to how they'll make contact and rendezvous with the link man or woman, using pre-arranged passwords,' Monique instructed. ‘
Alors, on y va!
'

Laughing awkwardly to start with, the groups quickly got into the exercise, agreeing passwords then adding clues that would help the go-between make contact. In no time at all Alice quickly realized that though the exercises might initially seem a bit silly, acted out in a sun-drenched, oak-panelled drawing room in a lovely part of England, they were in fact an effective way of building up group rapport and improving their French vocabulary. When Alice, in a flurry of nerves, said she was standing on the ceiling instead of walking across the floor everybody burst out laughing. Shortly afterwards a sweet-looking girl called Gladys completely messed up her sentence; she said she was singing in the hills instead of sitting in the park.

Monique smiled bleakly then said, ‘
Attention! Pas d'erreurs, s'il vous plaît!
'

The smile fell off Alice's face. Monique was right: it was vital to pay attention because a silly mistake would definitely cost lives.

After each exercise the trainees were tested by interrogators on their cover story. Alice was terrified of them breathing down her neck, barking commands at her in French and demanding immediate, precise answers. It was an adrenalin-driven ordeal that went on every day, sometimes two or three times a day, and it was exacting, nerve-wracking and utterly exhausting.

It was impossible not to bond with everybody. They were Special Ops in training, Churchill's Secret Army, who might one day be called upon to put their life on the line for one of their team.

In the four-berth female dorm Alice discovered a similar camaraderie to the one she'd enjoyed in her Phoenix digs. She, Gladys from Coventry, Gwynne from Aberystwyth and Iris from Bristol were good friends by the end of the first week of training. But here, unlike at the Phoenix, they had to chat in French. The French-speaking rule was upheld at all times, even in the dorm and the bathroom; Alice even began dreaming in French!

At the end of a long day, lying stretched out on the sunny lawn, with the lovely Helford River gurgling by, the girls teased each other about the numerous handsome men they were training with.

‘Robin can't take his eyes off Alice,' Gladys said as she gave her a dig in the ribs.

‘
En français!
' Alice scolded.

‘Oh, bugger that!' laughed Gladys as she yawned and rubbed her tired eyes.

‘He's an interesting man,' Iris said. ‘A writer at the BBC.'

‘He's also gorgeous,' teased Gwynne. ‘Come on, Al, admit it, you fancy him!'

‘I do like him!' Alice laughed. ‘But I'm not sure how much he likes me.'

Gladys winked.

‘I don't think it'll take long to find out!' she chuckled.

The next day, in one of their surveillance and counter-surveillance exercises, mischievous Alice laid a convoluted trail for Robin that led him into the Ladies, which was their designated contact point. Sitting on the toilet seat, she bit her lip in order to stop herself from giggling. When Robin knocked three times on the toilet door Alice gave the pre-arranged response.

‘
Enchantée, monsieur
,' she said.

‘
Vous avez
Le Monde
?
' he asked.

Alice opened the door and gaped at Robin; how could she have forgotten to bring with her to the contact point the clue that was vital to her identity? Casting about, she improvised; grabbing a toilet roll, she handed it over to an astonished Robin with a confident flourish.

‘
Voilà
, Le Monde
!
' she said as she burst into peals of laughter.

Every night after supper the trainees would gather at the bar for a drink and chat through the events of the day. Sometimes Alice, too brain dead to speak another word of French, preferred to walk in the grounds and soak up the peaceful tranquillity of the lovely Helford River. As she sat in the twilight one night, listening to the distant hoot of an owl, she felt a touch on her shoulder.

‘
Ça va, mon amie?
'

‘Too tired to speak French,' Alice replied, grinning.

‘Shall we risk a ticking-off and break the first rule of the house?' Robin chuckled as he hunkered down beside her.

Surprised that he had tracked her down, Alice said, ‘I never imagined it would be so demanding.'

Settling comfortably beside her, Robin lit his pipe and puffed fragrant cherry-smelling tobacco smoke into the air.

‘May I ask what made you sign up?'

‘At first it was the excitement of going further with my French but I soon realized it was more than that,' Alice replied.

‘I gather you were previously building bombs in a munitions factory,' he said.

Alice smiled; she was pleased to hear he'd been making enquiries about her.

‘There are thousands of women all over England doing their bit for the war.' She paused before she added, ‘I suppose I want to do more than fill shell cases.'

Turning to face him, Alice admired Robin's handsome profile etched sharply in the moonlight.

‘What about you, Robin? What brought you here?'

‘I was recruited from the BBC where I was writing news reports and doing some continuity,' he replied. His voice suddenly rang with a fierce intensity. ‘I want to write about the real war, Alice, I want to see it, feel it – report it.'

Struck by his passion, Alice asked, ‘When do you find the time to write?'

‘At night,' he replied.

‘
En français?
' she teased.

‘
Bien sûr! Toujours en français!
'

Method actors were brought in to teach the new recruits simple ideas on disguise.

‘We'll show you how small props can change your normal behaviour,' the lead actor explained. ‘Really small things, like parting your hair the wrong way, walking with a limp, wearing a scarf or glasses, can immediately take you outside your normal self.'

Though the class began with riotous laughter as people limped around wearing glasses and fake moustaches, the amusement factor quickly faded as the trainees saw how effective the small props were and how they could transform their personality in a blink. After their exercises with the method actors Monique stressed how important it was to match their clothes to whatever role they were playing.