Bluebirds (69 page)

He jerked Nora away into the mass and Winnie backed nervously against a wall. The music was getting even louder, the dancing even more frenzied. The brass players
in the band had leaped to their feet and were trumpeting and sawing up into the air and down at their feet, and the drummer was flailing about him like a madman. She could feel the whole floor shaking beneath her. It made her dizzy to watch the men spinning their partners back and forth and round and round. She stared at a couple whirling towards her – a tall, fair airman dancing with a blond girl in a mauve dress and high-heeled shoes. They were so good that people were making room for them. Winnie gasped as the American tossed the girl clean over his shoulder. There was a flash of her suspenders and knickers for all to see and an even clearer view as she slid on her back along the floor straight between his legs. It had brought them close to the wall and as he jerked the girl to her feet again and swung her round, he winked broadly at Winnie standing a few feet from him, open-mouthed.

The music changed at last to a slower, quieter tune and what she supposed must be a sergeant asked her to dance – only he wore his stripes upside down on his arm. To her relief he made no attempt to throw her around. The music was still too loud to hear much of what he was saying and the little she did hear she couldn't understand very well. He told her that he was from somewhere called Minnesota and she nodded politely without the least idea where that was. At the end of the dance she escaped back to her corner against the wall.

After a short pause the band struck up again, fast and furiously, and, to her horror, the fair one that she had watched dancing with the girl in mauve suddenly appeared before her and caught her by the hand. In panic she tried to pull herself free.

‘Please . . . I can't . . . I don't know how.'

‘Sure you do. Nothin' to it. I'll show you.'

He dragged her relentlessly onto the floor, ignoring her pleas and protests. ‘We'll just take it nice 'n easy. You'll soon get it.'

He took both her hands in his and swung her this way
and that. Scarlet in the face, Winnie struggled to keep time with the music. He grinned at her.

‘You're doin' great . . . See, I told you it was easy. Don't worry 'bout a thing.'

He put one hand on her waist and suddenly spun her round like a top. Winnie found herself being propelled back and forth, and roundabout. She had never felt so embarrassed or so foolish in her life. Stiff and awkward, stumbling and blushing furiously, she had no alternative but to make the best of it and pray for the music to stop. But it seemed to go on for ever, and the American went on twisting and turning her until she felt so dizzy she would have fallen down if he hadn't held on to her tightly. The room whirled about her, other people dissolving into blurs. As the music swelled to a final, blasting crescendo, he put his hands on her waist again and lifted her high into the air above his head.

Her feet back on the ground and the music stopped at last, Winnie stood with her eyes shut, trying to stem the dizziness. She began to stagger off the floor, but he blocked her way.

‘Hey – don't run away yet. You were doin' fine.'

He was grinning at her again. Laughing, more like, she thought bitterly. He'd made a fine fool of her, that's what he'd done. She lurched sideways as though she were drunk and he put out his hand to steady her.

‘Gee, I'm sorry. Guess I should've been more careful. Look, this number's real slow . . .'

She found herself being propelled round the floor again, but gently this time. The music was blessedly quiet and the band had stopped jumping about. Her sense of balance returned but not her sense of humour. Inside she was still indignant at the cavalier way he'd behaved. She could tell by the way he was looking down at her, though, that he hadn't a clue how cross she was.

‘Saw you standin' over by the wall when I was dancin' a while back . . . lookin' like you was real shocked by everythin'. Real startled. I said to myself, what's a pretty
girl like that doin' standin' there all alone, an' nobody lookin' after her? That ain't right. I'll have to do somethin' 'bout that, soon as I get the chance. I ain't seen you here before. What's your name?'

‘Winifred Jervis,' she said coldly.

‘Cute name. Where're you from?'

‘Elmbury.'

‘That so? Funny, I ain't never seen you. I figured I knew all the girls round here.'

I bet he does, she thought, and he must think he's God's gift to them. ‘I'm generally away.'

‘Doin' what?'

‘I'm a WAAF.'

‘Oh, yeah . . . I've met some of those. There's a whole bunch here tonight. Part of the RAF, ain't that so? How come you're not in uniform like the rest?'

‘I'm on leave.'

‘How long for?'

‘Two more days.'

‘That all? Gee, that's a shame. Where're you stationed?'

She felt like saying: It's none of your business. She was tired of all the questions, and he was too cocky by half.

‘I'm being posted to Flaxton,' she muttered.

He grinned. ‘Hey, that's not far, is it? I've been over there a coupla times. Great little pub. What d'you do in your Air Force? Type? Work the telephones? Somethin' like that?'

‘I'm a flight mechanic,' she said stiffly. ‘I work on the engines.'

He whistled and his blue eyes widened at her. ‘No kiddin'? I didn't know the RAF had girls doin' that. Gee . . . that sure
is
somethin'. How d'you learn to do a thing like that?'

‘I went on a training course.'

He was still looking amazed, and the wind seemed to have been taken momentarily out of his sails – much to her satisfaction. Only momentarily, though.

‘I'm a waist gunner,' he told her, as though there were nothing better to be. ‘Know what that is?'

‘I know what a gunner is. I'm not sure what the waist bit means.'

‘Means I'm in the middle of the ship. There's two of us. Back to back, firin' opposite ways through a hole in the side. B17s. Flyin' Fortress to you, I guess. You ever seen one?'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘I've seen them flyin' over. I thought they were rather ugly.' Why on earth did he call a 'plane a ship?

He stared. ‘Jeez . . . you can't mean that.'

‘Yes, I do,' she said defiantly. ‘They're not nearly as nice-lookin' as a Lancaster. Or a Wellington. Or even a Stirling.'

He shook his head in wonder. ‘I guess we all think our own are the best, but a B17 ugly . . . I sure ain't never heard that said before.' He cocked his head at her. ‘You know, it just don't seem right to me, lettin' girls do your job. Just not right . . .'

‘Why not?'

‘Dunno. It ain't natural, I s'pose.'

She said tartly: ‘We can do just as well as men, you know, 'cept for the heavy liftin'. We're just as good.'

He let go of her and lifted both hands in mock surrender. ‘OK, OK. Sure you can . . .' He took hold again. ‘Say, I didn't tell you my name. It's Virgil. Virgil Gillies.'

It sounded odd to her, but then they all seemed to have odd names. Over his shoulder she had spotted Nora and Buzz clasped in each other's arms, rotating slowly, eyes shut.

‘I'm from Ohio,' he told her. ‘Place called Clyde. I guess you ain't heard of it.'

She wondered whether they always told you where they were from – whether you wanted to know or not. She'd no more idea where Ohio was than Minnesota. And she didn't care either.

‘That's 'bout four thousand miles from here, I reckon,' he went on. ‘Seems a long ways.'

She felt almost sorry for him about that. Such a distance was unimaginable to her. It must be dreadful, she thought, to be so far away from home.

‘It's a state in the Mid-West,' he was telling her now. ‘I guess it's not so big like some of our other states, but it's a whole lot bigger 'n Suffolk. I figure you'd get Suffolk into Ohio twenty times over.'

‘I don't know why you'd want to.'

‘Been over here a month already. Still tryin' to get used to the place. Everythin' so small . . . all squashed up together . . . you sure ain't got much room on this little island o' yours.'

‘You've taken up a lot of space.'

‘Well, I guess we Yanks won't be stickin' around too long. Won't take no time, I reckon. We'll soon have those Jerries on the run. I'm gonna blow 'em right outta the skies, soon 's I get the chance.'

‘Haven't you been on an op yet, then?'

‘Mission, I guess you mean? Nope. Any day now, though. An' I sure can't wait. Hermann Goerin', here I come!'

‘I s'pose you think it'll be a piece of cake?'

‘Cake? I don't get you . . .'

‘It's an RAF sayin' – it means very easy. Nothin' to it.'

‘Well, see, I reckon we ain't goin' to have much trouble – not with the Forts. We got ten guns on 'em an' they ain't peashooters, like your guys'. We'll get those fighters –
zap, zap
! Swot 'em down like flies.'

‘Is that what you're goin' to do?' she said sarcastically. ‘Just like that? You really think so?'

‘Sure. That Lancaster of yours you think's so great ain't got guns like ours. I reckon if they didn't go at night when it's dark they'd never get there at all. No, sir! An' your guys can't see what the heck they're doin' when they do get there. Bombs all over the place . . . hittin' everythin'
'cept the target. But, see, in daylight we can drop our bombs right on the nail – right in the pickle barrel – wham, wham
wham
!'

She said nothing, though she could think of all sorts of things she'd like to have said. The stories told about how the Americans boasted were true, then, and this one hadn't even been on a single op yet. He'd come over thinking he knew it all – that there was nothing to it. He'll learn, she thought. He'll soon find out. If he hadn't been so cocky, she might almost have felt sorry for him about that too.

He was looking at her differently now, smiling at her in a meaning sort of way.

‘I'd sure like to see you again, Winifred.'

How many more of them had those bright eyes, that clear healthy skin, those straight white teeth? They didn't seem like real people to her. No more real than the film stars she'd seen up on the screen. She'd sooner the RAF any time – never mind that they weren't as good-looking or as well-dressed, or as well-paid.

‘I'm married,' she told him, inspiration coming to her. She held up her left hand to show her wedding ring.

‘That's no bar to seein' you. Not in my book.'

‘It is in mine.'

‘Where's your husband, then?'

‘In Elmbury,' she said truthfully.

When the music stopped he tried to keep her with him but she escaped into the crowd and hid in the cloakroom. She spent most of the remaining evening there. Her head was aching from the heat and noise and she longed to go home. She listened to some WAAFS comparing the dance with ones on their station. ‘Who wants beer and stale sandwiches and some scratched old records, when there's this?' one of them said scornfully as she powdered her nose. ‘Poor old RAF, they can't compete.'

Before the end Winnie glimpsed the waist gunner again. He was dancing with the same blond girl as before and
tossing her around as though she weighed no more than a feather.

The truck that took them back to Elmbury was full of girls who'd had a good time. They were carrying the things they'd been given – showing them round like trophies: nylon stockings, tins of meat and fruit, sweets, chewing gum, bright lipsticks like Nora's . . . Some she knew from the village, but others she'd never seen before – service girls, Land Girls and strangers in cheap shiny clothes. There was a lot of giggling and shrieking as the truck veered round a sharp bend. It reminded her of the day she'd first gone to Colston, except that she wasn't feeling sick – just indignant.

Out of the darkness Nora said: ‘I saw you with Virgil Gillies. Smashin' dancer, isn't he? An' ever so good-looking – just like a cowboy in the films.'

‘I didn't notice.'

‘You are funny, Winnie! All the girls are after him! He was huntin' everywhere for you later, askin' where you'd gone, so you must've made ever such a hit with him. Wish he'd fancy me . . . He's in the same crew as Buzz, did he tell you? Waist gunner.'

‘Oh yes, he told me all about what he did, an' what he's goin' to do.'

‘Did he tell you what they call their 'plane?'

‘No.'

Nora tittered and dug her elbow in Winnie's side. ‘
Sassy Sally
that's what they call her. They give them all names like that, an' paint pictures of girls an' things on the nose.'

‘I know. I've seen them.'

‘You ought to see
Sassy Sally
! She's got no clothes on at all. Not a
stitch
! The only thing she's wearin' is a flower in her hair. An' she's sort of stretched out . . . ever so naughty, really.'

Winnie was silent. Over the tailgate she could see the moon shining brightly in a clear night sky. What ops would the RAF be on tonight? Where would they be going
to drop their bombs ‘all over the place'? Somewhere far into Germany, probably. Dusseldorf, Frankfurt, Stuttgart, Cologne, Berlin . . .? And how many of them would never come back, to add to all the rest? She wished she'd given that American a piece of her mind: told him just what she thought of him and his big talk.

‘Well,' Nora asked. ‘What did you think of the Yanks?'

‘They're just like I thought they'd be,' she said.

On the next day, the last one of her leave, she went to answer a knock on the back door and found Taffy standing there.