The Bomb Girls (12 page)

Alice nodded, at the same time wondering where she was going to stay tonight. She had expected to travel back home.

As if reading her thoughts, Leo handed her a card.

‘We use this hotel; it's all taken care of.'

Later, in the dingy hotel room with the blackout blind pulled down tight, Alice threw her gas mask to the floor and flopped onto the bed, where she lay exhausted by the stresses of the day. Scenes whizzed around in her head: the long train journey down from the north; the streets of
London bombed and splintered; sandbags everywhere, heaps of rubble and twisted metal piled high on every corner; blasted gable ends of tenement flats with curtains fluttering where windows should have been; sections of houses sliced in half, open to the elements like a doll's house. She was no stranger to a bombed city, having been to Manchester often enough and seen Liverpool's catastrophic devastation. All of Britain's major cities had taken wave after wave of severe bombing, but London had shocked her rigid. Then there was the strain and pressure of her meeting on the Strand.

‘Oh, God! What a day,' Alice groaned aloud as she rolled off the bed and poured herself a glass of water from a jug on the bedside table.

She was proud of her French; it hadn't failed her, but what next? Why was Leo so interested in her explosive expertise? Would tomorrow be a repeat of today?

Tired and yawning, Alice undressed and washed then climbed into bed. As she pulled the heavy, lumpy eiderdown over her head, she heard a sound she'd never heard before: a squadron of bombers on a night raid, flying overhead. Alice gave a sad sigh. It wasn't only Britain's cities that were being targeted; all of Europe was ablaze.

Before sleep finally engulfed her, Leo's words echoed in her head.

‘
Vous pourriez être justement ce que nous recherchons.
'

‘What exactly are they looking for and why all the cloak-and-dagger stuff?' Alice muttered as she drifted into sleep.

Too nervous to eat, Alice skipped the hotel breakfast and concentrated on doing her hair and make-up. If she'd had time and money she would have rushed out into Oxford Street and bought a short, fashionable skirt and a natty military-style hat, but as it was she had to put up with her old-fashioned suit and wide-brimmed felt hat. Sighing, she picked up her bag and gas mask then made her way across town, down Horse Guards Parade and on to Whitehall, where the imposing building of the War Office loomed up before her.

Hurrying along the endless stairs, Alice looked up to the glass dome where the light streamed in and felt as though she was in a church rather than in an office, but the quiet and solemn atmosphere was broken by the clatter of her high-heeled shoes as she hurried down one long corridor after another. She was ushered into a room where she expected to see Leo, but instead there were three men sat behind a long desk.

‘Do sit down, Miss Massey,' said the secretary as she drew up a chair so that Alice was facing the imposing line of men.

As the secretary hurried to her desk to take notes, the man in the middle cleared his throat and barked, ‘Colonel Miller. Mind if we run through a few questions?'

Before Alice could reply, Miller continued, ‘Married?'

‘No,' Alice replied.

‘Engaged?'

‘No.'

‘Any relationships?'

‘No.'

‘Any obligations?'

‘No.'

‘Family?'

‘I have a mother, and I'm an only child.'

Miller nodded curtly as he turned to his neighbour, who introduced himself as Carmichael then took up the questioning.

‘Leo tells us your French is good but we have to work on removing any trace of your English accent.' He glanced down at the papers lying on the desk before him. ‘You have experience of bomb work,' he remarked. ‘That too will need refining for what we have in mind.'

Blushing, Alice seized the moment to butt in and ask, ‘May I enquire as to what exactly you do have in mind?'

Carmichael turned to Miller, who answered her question.

‘Churchill's Secret Army.'

Alice felt as if somebody had thumped her hard in the chest.

‘What me? Working with spies?' she gasped.

Carmichael nodded.

‘We prefer the term Special Operations Agent, Miss Massey. We'll train you in communications, decoding and surveillance, we'll test your French and we'll ascertain your suitability for this kind of work. All this, of course, is top secret and not to be repeated.'

He grasped Alice's small hand and shook it so hard she thought she'd cry out.

‘That'll be all for now, we'll be in touch.'

Alice was mobbed by her friends on her return from London. They were keen to hear how the interview went, then they all fired a range of questions at her: in Elsie's case they were about what she had eaten at Simpson's and where she'd stayed; Emily and Lillian wanted to know what the high fashion points were; and for Agnes it was all about London itself.

‘The food was wonderful,' Alice said. ‘Salmon, beef and sherry trifle, and wine too, but I didn't drink as the interview was conducted in French.'

Elsie's eyes nearly rolled out of her head.

‘You had to speak French and eat at the same time!' she gasped. ‘How did you do that?'

‘By concentrating and sticking to water,' Alice replied. ‘It was really hard because my French was rusty at first, but it kicked in after a while and I started to enjoy myself.'

‘Did you see much war damage in the city?' Agnes asked.

Alice nodded.

‘Sandbags everywhere and barrage balloons floating in the sky. Even walking down Whitehall I had to avoid piles of rubble and gaping holes. Complete blackout too and you daren't go anywhere without a gas mask,' Alice replied. ‘It was spooky hearing squadrons of bombers flying over in the dark.'

Agnes shuddered.

‘The Germans have been hitting major cities hard,' she said. ‘Thank God I left when I did.'

‘There're strange conflicting atmospheres in the city,' Alice continued. ‘A mixture of tension and misery combined with bursts of cheerfulness. There were troops on open-topped motor buses waving and singing “Tipperary” and blowing kisses. At Euston station there were loads of jolly volunteers helping little kids with numbers pinned on their coats onto packed trains.'

Agnes nodded grimly.

‘I've been there,' she said quietly. ‘I know it has to be done but it doesn't make doing it any easier.'

‘There were rumours flying everywhere,' Alice told her friends

‘Like what?' Emily asked.

‘That Hitler's gone mad!'

‘That's not news, that's a fact!' scoffed Lillian. ‘The bloody man's stark-raving bonkers!'

‘He's so insane that Goering has taken over as Commander,' Alice added.

‘God!' gasped Emily. ‘It's bad enough being at war but being at war with a maniac is terrifying!'

To lighten the heavy atmosphere, Alice told them about the clothes she'd seen in London.

‘The skirts are shorter, above the knee, with a really nice swing, and the hats are sharper, more masculine.'

‘I'm not wearing an 'at that looks like a fella's!' Elsie laughed.

‘And the shoes are flatter – brogues with a tie. The
women in the city look busy and confident, like they've a serious job to do.'

‘We've a serious job to do but we don't wear posh clothes,' Lillian chuckled.

Agnes nodded in agreement with Lillian. ‘If I'm honest I'd much rather be here in Pendle in my work overalls than in London – and I am speaking from experience!' she said with a knowing smile.

‘Oh, me too,' sighed Elsie. ‘It'd break mi heart to leave this town.'

‘I wouldn't mind being on one of the open-topped buses with all them cheerful fellas,' Lillian mused.

‘I'd love to have a snoop round Simpson's canteen,' sighed Emily. ‘Imagine roasting beef and boiling salmon, not to mention making trifle with real fresh eggs.'

‘Oh, shut up!' wailed Elsie. ‘You're making me hungry just talking about it.'

Alice laughed as she said fondly, ‘I bet the pies at Simpson's don't even begin to compare with Em's meat and potato pies.'

Lillian nodded in agreement with Alice.

‘They're bloody legend!'

As the weeks passed, Alice began winding down her job at the Phoenix and making preparations for her move to London. There was no alternative but to be sparing with the truth. She'd told her friends in all honesty that she'd been accepted by the War Office as a trainee translator; however the Special Ops business she kept entirely to herself. In fact she hardly dared think about it, never mind
articulate it. It was a terrifying prospect that filled her with a mixture of utter dread and wild excitement.

Her mind reeled.

Get a grip, Alice, she firmly told herself.

At the War Office Carmichael had been clear about her training. She'd be working in communications and learning to decode Morse; her French would be tested and at some point she'd be assessed. They had expressed interest in her bomb experience but that didn't mean she was going to be dropped into enemy territory in France and work undercover for the resistance movement, did it? That was the sort of drama she usually watched in films like
The 39 Steps
or
Man Hunt
at the Phoenix picture house, sitting back in her seat whilst eating a choc ice. Spy work wasn't what people like
her
, Alice Massey from Pendle, did. She wasn't a hero; she was terrified of mice and the dark!

Conflicting with these thoughts was her strong sense of patriotism. She wanted to do more than fill shell cases; she wanted to save lives and pass on information that could change the course of the war. Though frightened, the knowledge that she could play a vital, important role made her skin tingle and her pulse race. But it was top secret and even her mum didn't know what she was up to. Thank God, thought Alice. Mrs Massey would drop dead on the spot if she thought her only daughter was leaving Pendle to train as a Special Ops agent!

There was also the problem of Emily, who could read Alice like a book. If she so much as guessed what Alice was planning to do she would lock her up in the digs and throw away the key! The less her friends knew about her plans the better but Alice knew there'd be awkward
questions. They'd all asked for her forwarding address, which even she didn't know. She'd received instructions to report to the War Office on a certain date after which she'd be dispatched to a training centre, whereabouts unknown.

Luckily, the plans for Elsie's wedding to Tommy, due to take place in the summer when he'd be home on leave from North Africa, were claiming everybody's attention. Because Elsie in effect had no family, Emily, Agnes, Alice and Lillian saw themselves as her next of kin and were therefore determined to put on the best wedding they could for her. Along with Tommy's mother, they had pooled their clothes and food coupons and begged, borrowed or traded anything they could.

Elsie found a picture of a wedding dress in a magazine.

‘This is my dream dress,' she said shyly, as she showed it to her friends.

They all scrutinized the cut and style; it was modest and delicate, just like Elsie.

‘Right,' said Lillian, and grabbing a tape measure she expertly spun Elsie around. ‘Thirty-three … twenty-two … thirty-four,' she measured.

Elsie looked baffled.

‘How are you going to make a wedding dress without a pattern to work from?' she asked.

‘Watch!' said Lillian with a confident smile.

With Elsie's measurements as a guide, Lillian sketched out the pattern on sheets of newspaper then fitted and pinned it around Elsie's slender frame.

‘All we need now is a bit of silk and lace,' she said with great confidence.

‘Silk and lace!' Agnes scoffed. ‘There's a war on!'

‘We're not having our little Elsie getting wed in sackcloth and ashes,' Lillian said firmly. ‘This will be “fashion on the ration”,' she said, quoting one of the familiar slogans of the day.

When they had an hour to spare Emily and Alice went into Pendle to scrounge anything they could from friends and family. Alice's mum didn't want to part with her wedding dress, which she was keeping for Alice, but she had her sister's old one stored in the attic. It was faded and moth-eaten in parts but the old-fashioned style was a bit like the wedding dress worn by Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, now Queen of England, and it had plenty of good cream lace. In a pawn shop they found a length of satin that just needed a proper wash, and Mrs Carter donated her wreath and wedding veil.

‘I've kept them wrapped up on the top shelf of the wardrobe for twenty-five years,' she said. ‘It's about time they were put to good use.'

‘All sorted!' said Lillian gleefully.

Using a hand-driven Singer sewing machine with a heavy treadle, Agnes and Lillian took it in turns to stitch the dress whilst Elsie watched them in rapt delight.

‘It's beautiful,' she sighed. ‘So, so beautiful.'

Elsie had grown up darning socks and mending threadbare clothes but she'd never done delicate needle work and she took to it with great enthusiasm once Agnes showed her how to sew a fine seam.

Meanwhile Emily was in her element planning the wedding breakfast and the cake. Sitting at a canteen table during one of her breaks, she drank strong sweet tea as
she wrote down a long list of ingredients. Agnes and Alice settled down beside her with wedges of toast, marg and rhubarb jam.

‘Where are you going to get all that sugar and dried fruit?' Agnes asked.

‘If we pool together all our food coupons –' Emily started.

‘Nowhere near enough!' Alice pointed out.

Emily slumped back in her chair.

‘I know …' she groaned.

‘You could make a cardboard cake and use fake icing … ?' Agnes tentatively suggested. Seeing Emily's blue eyes grow big with disapproval, she quickly went on, ‘Betty in packing did that. She said it looked nice …'

‘But tasted of nothing!' Emily laughed. ‘Actually,' she said with a secret smile. ‘I was thinking of Malc … ?'

Agnes and Alice shook their heads in unison.

‘No chance,' Alice replied.

‘He and Lillian avoid each other like the plague since the explosion,' Agnes reminded Emily.

‘It wasn't Lillian I had in mind. I was thinking maybe Elsie could sweet-talk him?' Emily explained.

Agnes smiled.

‘It's worth a go.'

Surprisingly, timid Elsie agreed to talk to Malc.

‘He might bite your bloody head off!' Lillian warned.

‘As long as he doesn't knock mi bloody 'ead off, I don't mind,' Elsie said cheerfully.

The next day Malc, ignoring Lillian, who glared at him from across the conveyor belt, walked up to Elsie on the cordite section.

‘All sorted,' he said quietly in her ear. ‘You'll have 'em by Friday.'

Elsie turned and smiled gratefully at Malc.

‘Consider it a little wedding gift from me to you and Tommy,' he added awkwardly.

Then he quickly walked away before Elsie could say a word.

‘What the 'ell 'ave you got that I haven't?' teased Lillian.

‘I didn't do anything cheeky, like,' Elsie blurted out. ‘Just said we was getting married.'

‘It was always NORWICH when I asked him for any favours,' Lillian laughed.

‘What's NORWICH got to do with anything?' innocent Elsie enquired.

Stressing each word, Lillian answered, ‘Knickers … off … ready … when … I … come … home.'

Watched by her grinning friends, mystified Elsie slowly repeated her words.

‘Knickers off ready …'

When the penny dropped, Elsie blushed to the edges of her turban.

‘Ooh, Lillian!' she gasped in embarrassment.

As the conveyor belt rattled and rolled along and every girl on the line began to laugh, Elsie laughed so much tears rolled down her face.

Before things got out of control, Agnes called out to her section.

‘Ladies! Can we forget about Norwich and get back to the business of bomb-making right here in Pendle!'

As Emily became inventive and creative with donated
food coupons and limited rations, Lillian, Elsie, Alice and Agnes sewed well into the night every night. Not only was there Elsie's wedding dress to make, there were their own bridesmaids' dresses too and a sweet little blue silk dress for Esther, who was going to be a flower girl. All the girls were determined they would manage to get her there.

Alice's imminent departure to London was the only thing that spoiled the happy, excited wedding planning.

‘I'll be back for the wedding! It's not like I'm going forever,' Alice pointed out to Elsie, who got upset every time Alice talked about leaving.

‘Promise you'll come back,' the anxious bride asked.

‘Cross my heart and hope to die,' Alice said as she hugged Elsie, who immediately thought of something else to worry about.

‘How're we going to finish your frock if you're in London?'

‘I've cut out the pattern for her dress and I'll sew it whilst she's away,' Lillian assured Elsie.

‘But what if she loses weight down in London?' Elsie persisted.

‘Then we'll have to fatten her up as soon as she gets back!' Lillian joked.

Before Alice left for the War Office, she and her mother went on a shopping trip to Manchester. In the Cooperative department store Alice bought her heart's desire: a bright lilac tweed skirt, cut short and swirly, with a matching jacket and a natty navy-blue, military-style felt hat that framed her face and emphasized her dreamy silver-grey eyes.