Down Daisy Street (43 page)
PART III
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
1943
It was an icy cold day in February when Kathy lugged her two kit bags down off the train in Liverpool Lime Street and made for the exit. This would be her fifth posting since she had joined the WAAF and the first time she had ever been so near home. She was doubly glad to be back in her home town – or near it – because her mother and Billy had moved back into the house in Daisy Street several months before. Sarah had explained, half apologetically and half defiantly, that with Billy growing up so fast and becoming so independent, the lure of her own home had finally proved too strong. Although there had been odd raids on Liverpool since the May blitz, almost two years earlier, they had been no worse than one might expect anywhere, and besides, Dorothy’s Tearooms was flourishing once more and in desperate need of staff.
Kathy’s last posting had been way up in the north, near Newcastle upon Tyne, and because of the distance which had to be travelled she had only seen Alec once since that memorable leave in Lincoln. She had felt mean telling her mother that she was spending her one week’s leave – the only proper leave she got all year – with her young man, but Sarah, already engaged to Sam Bracknell and plotting to return to Daisy Street, had been both sweet and understanding.
War can tear your life apart,
she had written,
and when it’s over, you are the only one who can pick up the pieces. I shall have Sam, God willing, and though you’ll be welcome to share the house in Daisy Street, you are going to want a man and house of your own. If you have a stable relationship with a nice young man, then you’ll find that that’s half the battle, so I’m happy for you to live your own life and spend your leave with your young fellow, so long as you’re careful. Dear Kathy, it would be a great mistake to get yourself into trouble, but I’m sure you won’t do that. By the way, Jane and Jimmy had a week’s leave in Daisy Street a while back, and came down to Rhyl to pay us a visit; a right pair of love-birds they were, billing and cooing! So just you enjoy your leave, queen; and don’t worry about Billy or myself
. The letter had then gone on to speak of other things; her mother rejoicing in the fact that Billy had not had a single fit since they had left the city.
War can tear your life apart,
she had written,
and when it’s over, you are the only one who can pick up the pieces. I shall have Sam, God willing, and though you’ll be welcome to share the house in Daisy Street, you are going to want a man and house of your own. If you have a stable relationship with a nice young man, then you’ll find that that’s half the battle, so I’m happy for you to live your own life and spend your leave with your young fellow, so long as you’re careful. Dear Kathy, it would be a great mistake to get yourself into trouble, but I’m sure you won’t do that. By the way, Jane and Jimmy had a week’s leave in Daisy Street a while back, and came down to Rhyl to pay us a visit; a right pair of love-birds they were, billing and cooing! So just you enjoy your leave, queen; and don’t worry about Billy or myself
. The letter had then gone on to speak of other things; her mother rejoicing in the fact that Billy had not had a single fit since they had left the city.
Looking back on it now, as she lugged her kit bags to where the gharry waited to take her to Balloon Site 7, Kathy remembered the week’s leave she had shared with Alec. It had been absolutely wonderful, better than anything that had happened in her life before. They had gone to the Peak District and had had a walking holiday, stopping at a different inn or guesthouse each night, buying any food available for picnic lunches and booking into the accommodation as Flight Lieutenant and Mrs Hewitt, though at first this had terrified her, despite the fact that Alec had assured her everyone did it. ‘A double room’s half the price of two single ones,’ he had pointed out earnestly. ‘And you know how self-controlled I can be. In fact, you’ve only got to look at my nose to be convinced that you’re in no danger. I’m telling you, the battering I took at Mrs Bridges’s hands has unmanned me for life.’
They had both laughed at the recollection and had gone off for the first day’s hike in complete accord. Kathy had been determined not to let Alec ‘mess her about’ as she put it, but this resolve proved impossible to keep. He was so sweet to her, so loving and understanding, that when they were ensconced in a large feather bed, with the curtains drawn back and the stars twinkling in the dark blue of the night sky, it seemed churlish not to lie in his arms. She had meant to fall asleep at once, had not been prepared for the excitement which coursed through her as his hands caressed her back, and by next morning they were lovers.
From that moment on, Kathy knew she was different. The girls at the balloon site knew too, though they were not aware of the reason for such a change. Her friend and fellow corporal, Rosie Butler, said wisely that the complete relaxation of a walking holiday had done her a world of good, eased off all the tensions and made her more approachable. Kathy had smiled and agreed, not realising until much later that all the girls had taken it for granted that she and Alec had been lovers for months. And when she did realise it no longer bothered her; in fact, she decided she had been a fool in Lincoln, and selfish too, because one only had to see the difference it made to Alec to realise that she had given him something precious – not only herself, but also peace of mind. He had told her, on their last night together, that he now felt he had a future. ‘We’ll marry just as soon as this damned war is over,’ he had said. ‘Or we might make it earlier; what do you think, sweetheart? In a way, it seems daft to wait, but there’s no chance of us being together, not while we’re still in the service. In a way, I wish I hadn’t spent all my money the way I have, because I can’t even buy you an engagement ring, not a real one. But I could run to a wedding ring, if that’s what you’d like.’
Kathy had been lying with her head on his shoulder, their bodies warm and comfortable together, and she had turned her head and kissed the soft spot where neck and shoulder joined before replying. ‘I don’t think we ought to marry yet, Alec,’ she had murmured. ‘You’ve met my mam and my brother but I’ve never met your parents. It’s only fair that they should at least see us before we take such a big step.’
At the time, Alec had agreed, but in his later letters he was beginning to suggest more and more that they might spend their next leave getting to know one another’s family properly, and Kathy was sure that this was a prelude to the wedding for which they both now longed. If they were married, they would not have to skulk about; she could go to his airfield and he could come to her balloon site and they could be together openly for a few wonderful hours, instead of having to hide away and pretend that they were ‘just good friends’ as the saying went.
Crossing the familiar pavement, seeing St George’s Hall up on its plateau, battered but unbowed, she thought of Jane and herself on these very streets with Jane chattering inconsequentially of boys, cinema heroes and old friends. Like herself Jane had had to endure a good many postings and was now on a site in Southampton, whence she sent ill-written – and extremely short – letters to her friend, complaining about the hard work and commenting on films, friends and allied subjects, much as they had done when they were young girls.
There were three gharries drawn up alongside the pavement. The first two contained RAF personnel, but Kathy glimpsed WAAF uniforms in the last one and headed for it. She had no idea where Site No. 7 would prove to be and hoped that there might be someone aboard the gharry who could give her some information. Accordingly, she went straight to the driver, a pretty blonde Waaf who looked no more than eighteen or nineteen, showed her papers and identity card and was told to, ‘hop into the back, ’cos you’re me last pick-up today and I wanna get back so’s I can see the flick at the Electric Palace this evenin’.’
Kathy hopped, selected an empty space on the metal bench and was disposing of her kit bags when someone squeaked: ‘Kathy!’ and she found herself being violently hugged.
It was truly odd. She had not set eyes on Jane since they had gone their separate ways after Cardington and now her friend was hugging her so tightly that she could not actually see her face at all. Yet from that one word and from the feel of her, she had known Jane at once. ‘Steady on, you idiot,’ Kathy said, trying to straighten her cap and her No. 1 uniform whilst struggling out of Jane’s octopus-like embrace. ‘What on earth are you doing here? Last time you wrote, it was from Southampton!’
Jane let her go and sank down on the metal bench opposite, staring at Kathy incredulously, and grinning from ear to ear. ‘I
was
in Southampton . . . and you was in Newcastle,’ she rejoined. ‘I were posted, o’ course; you know what the WAAF’s like, they never let you stay in one place for long. But wharrabout you, queen? Oh, I s’pose I should call you Corp.’
was
in Southampton . . . and you was in Newcastle,’ she rejoined. ‘I were posted, o’ course; you know what the WAAF’s like, they never let you stay in one place for long. But wharrabout you, queen? Oh, I s’pose I should call you Corp.’
‘I’ve been posted too,’ Kathy said briefly. ‘To Number Seven Site. Where are you going?’
Jane was already grinning like a Cheshire cat but at Kathy’s words the grin actually appeared to widen, making Kathy fearful that the top of her friend’s head might fall off. ‘I’m for Number Seven an’ all . . . in fact everyone on this gharry is. Did you clock me stripes? I passed me exams five months ago an’ I’ve been acting corporal ever since, but on this site I’m made up to full, pay an’ all. So you an’ me’s goin’ to be workmates as well as best buddies.’
Kathy was delighted. It would have been difficult to order her old friend about, as she would have had to do had she and Jane not shared the same rank. Now they could revert to the friendship which had once been so dear to them both. She was about to say something of the sort when the gharry started with a jerk. It was an elderly vehicle and fearfully noisy, making conversation impossible, but it was not long before the WAAF driver came round to the rear and lowered the tail-gate, saying cheerfully: ‘Site Number Seven, ladies, out you come!’
Kathy and Jane, along with the rest of their fellow passengers, caught hold of the rope and swung themselves to the ground.
Kathy had been shocked, as they drove through the city, at the amount of bomb damage on every side, but now she looked curiously about her. The site was a pretty decent one, not far from the docks, with the waters of the Mersey gleaming like steel beneath the clouded sky. Kathy’s eye checked for trees; nearer at hand, there should have been a Nissen hut or two and a squat block of ablutions, but she could see nothing of the sort, only a huge house and, in the distance, a long, low hut with a pitched roof and various impedimenta strewn around it.
She was about to ask Jane whether she thought the hut in the distance was their eventual destination when a voice spoke almost in her ear. ‘Come along, girls. I’ll just show you round, and then leave you to settle into your quarters. I’m Sergeant Jim Fazakerley, an’ I’m stayin’ on site till you’ve settled in and know the ropes. After that I’m goin’ to take up me old trade of motor mechanic, so the quicker you settle in, the sooner I’ll be off.’
Jane and Kathy turned towards the speaker. He was a grizzled man, probably in his mid-forties, his face so tanned by the wind and weather that it looked like leather. He had twinkling pale blue eyes, a friendly grin and a slight London accent, but there was something in the way he marshalled them into line and strode off ahead of them which told Kathy, plainer than words could, that he would stand no nonsense and would make everyone toe the line.
Balloon Site No. 7 had once been a private boarding school, and to the girls’ joy the sergeant explained they would not be sleeping in a Nissen hut but in the school itself. ‘There’s plenty of bed space so you’ll only need to sleep four to a room,’ he informed them. ‘There are several bathrooms, though hot water will only be available a couple of times a week, and, of course, you can eat in the kitchens, which are pretty well equipped, better than usual, I’d say. The grounds are quite extensive so you won’t be cramped, but you’ll find the fellers in the searchlight battery have the games pitch and the pavilion, so no straying over the boundary line; you know the rules. Fraternisation is probably a court martial offence.’
He led them towards the big, old-fashioned red brick house that Kathy had already noticed. She caught up with him just before they entered. ‘I thought I was the only new entrant to this site, but the whole lot are new, aren’t they, Sarge?’ she said, a trifle breathlessly. ‘I know the air force are always posting Bops from one side of the country to another, but they don’t usually go a whole crew at a time – two crews, really – do they?’
‘Not usually, but the girls on this site have been sent to relieve crews on the inner ring around London,’ the sergeant explained. ‘They’re still being raided, night after night, and the top brass decided it was time they had a bit of a break. Any more questions?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Kathy said. ‘Thanks for the info, Sarge. Me an’ Corporal O’Brien are local girls, you know, so we’ll be able to see our folks from time to time, which will be a nice change. It’s a good site, as well, so it shouldn’t be long before you’re off.’
And so it proved. Within a week, the crews had mastered the art of flying the blimp from this particular site, and at the end of three weeks Sergeant Fazakerley shouldered his kit bag, wished them luck and left them, assuring them that he had seldom been attached to a more efficient crew. ‘He’s only saying that because he’s desperate to get away,’ Kathy said, but though Jane pretended to agree, they were both secretly pleased with such praise from a man who demanded the best and knew when he was getting it. Just before he left, the sergeant informed them that though their Section Officer would be doing an inspection some time in the next few days, this was the exception rather than the rule.
‘I’m not saying she don’t do her job – mebbe it’s because she trusts the girls on Number Seven Site – but if she does an inspection a couple of times a month, you’ll be lucky,’ he said. ‘I won’t tell you what I think of her because you must form your own opinions, but I dare say she’s fair enough.’
Jane and Kathy soon settled into life on the new site. Their chief difficulty was caused by the sea winds coming off the Mersey, often gusty because of the quantity of buildings, warehousing and so on which surrounded the docks. It made the blimp difficult to launch and extremely difficult to bring down to the deck, but the girls were used to the various antics of other balloons they had flown and soon became relatively competent with this one. The bitter cold did not ease when the month ended and despite the fact that raids – and the presence of enemy aircraft – had slowed to a tiny trickle, they were still called upon to get their balloon up whenever raiders neared the coast and seemed likely to pass near enough to the city for an alert to be sounded.
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