The Docklands Girls (2 page)

He lifted her into the truck with ease. ‘See you tomorrow, Hildy, and thanks for a great evening.’

Joan overheard the conversation as she sat beside Hildy.

‘Looks like you made a killing girl. Nice-looking fellow. Lucky you!’

‘He’s really nice, not fast like most of the Yanks. You know oversexed and over here.’

‘All genitals and jeeps, I always say!’ Joan retorted. ‘These bloody men are like an overheated octopus. Hands everywhere given the chance.’

‘He’s taking me to the pictures tomorrow.’

‘Huh! Your mother won’t like that!’

‘She’ll bloody well have to lump it!’ was Hildy’s snappy reply. She spent the drive home going over the events of the evening and anticipating the enjoyment of
the following one. She hadn’t had a steady boyfriend for ages; it would be great to enjoy male company again and the idea of no strings attached suited her. It would give her something to look forward to and that would be a change. At the moment, her life seemed to be all work – and her mother.

The following evening, Hildy met her GI outside the Empire cinema and was delighted when they took their seats in the balcony and he handed her a bar of Hershey’s chocolate.

‘Oh my goodness!’ she exclaimed. ‘You have no idea just how much of a treat this is.’

Milt looked pleased. ‘Happy to oblige ma’am,’ he said with a grin and put his arm around her shoulders as they settled down to watch
Cover Girl
with Rita Hayworth and Gene Kelly.

Hildy was relieved that Milt didn’t try to kiss her during the film. She’d have been disappointed had he done so and during the interval, he bought two tubs of ice cream for them. They sat chatting about the dancing in the film whilst they ate.

‘I think Rita Hayworth is so beautiful and to see Gene Kelly dance is always terrific. No one makes a musical like the Americans!’

‘I’m glad you think so. It’s just the sort of movie that makes you forget what’s going on in the world and we all need to escape reality these days.’

Eventually at the end of the film, they stood for the national anthem and left the cinema. Milt led her into a nearby bar for a nightcap before closing time. As they sat talking, his gaze was penetrating.

‘I can’t help feeling that there is some sadness in your life, Hildy. Am I right?’

She was completely taken aback at his perception. ‘Whatever makes you say that?’ she asked.

He took her hand. ‘Even when you’re happy, there’s a sort of melancholy behind your eyes. I’ve seen it in many of my young soldiers.’

‘You’re too bright for your own good!’ she retorted, a sudden brittleness in her voice.

‘I see I’ve touched on a nerve. I’m sorry; I don’t wish to pry. But you know what they say, a problem shared …’

She gazed back at him. This was a man she felt she could trust.

‘My father walked out on us, my mum and me, since then I’ve taken his place running the household. My mother is a demanding woman who tries to run my life. It’s as simple as that.’

‘That’s not simple, Hildy. That can be like something that slowly sucks you dry. But you’re a strong woman, how do you cope with the situation?’

She gave a wry smile. ‘The best way I can. Now you know, can we leave it at that?’

‘Of course, but now I understand you a little better. Come on, let’s drink up and I’ll walk you home.’

Outside, he tucked her arm through his and they walked in comfortable silence until they reached her front door.

Holding her face gently, Milt kissed her. ‘I so enjoyed this evening, Hildy, and we’ll do this often. When can I see you again?’

She smiled softly. ‘Whenever you like.’

‘I hoped you’d say that. What shift are you on tomorrow?’

‘Early. I finish at one o’clock.’

‘Tell me where you work and I’ll meet you; we’ll go for a coffee and a sandwich somewhere.’

She burst out laughing. ‘I’ll be in my work clothes!’

‘So?’

‘Well if you don’t mind, why should I?’ She gave him the address of the factory.

He kissed her again. ‘Just remember I have broad shoulders. Enough to carry your troubles any time you want to offload them.’

‘You are a lovely man, Milt, but I’m a big girl. I can manage.’

He laughed as he said, ‘Fine. See you tomorrow!’

She smiled to herself as he walked away. She didn’t know when she’d felt quite so happy. Putting her key in the front door, she hoped that her mother was in bed so that nothing could spoil this feeling.

The streets around Southampton’s docklands were teeming with military as well as the local inhabitants. There was an American military base camp on the common, which was now a restricted area. Sherman tanks lined the side streets around the town and there was a feeling of unrest in the air.

Southampton was slowly recovering from the Blitz in 1940 which had decimated the town centre as well as houses around the docks. The clearing of the debris to build one-storey shops in Above Bar Street had gone someway to restore normality and the relentless air raids had ceased at last.

The 14th Major Port Transport Corps had made camp to organise the handling of incoming cargo and ensure that the army was well supplied, as an influx of GIs had arrived in Southampton. Their arrival added some excitement around the battered town, mainly among the young women who were fascinated by the brash Americans and tempted by the offer of candy and nylon stockings. Many of the locals were not so pleased, especially when a company of black soldiers were also moved in. They were aghast when
they saw girls walking in the town arm in arm with the ‘darkies’, as they referred to them. For many, it was the first time they’d seen a black man and so these boys were a topic of many a conversation.

There was also friction among the white American troops, especially those who hailed from the southern states where a black man had to sit in the back of the bus, where schools were segregated and where any black man risked being lynched if caught with a white woman. Yet here, they were free to walk arm in arm with the local girls.

In Canal Walk, where sex was for sale, business boomed. Canal Walk was a narrow, dark pedestrian street with shops either side. The pub at the end of the road, the Horse and Groom, had the reputation as the roughest pub in town with its huge one-room bar with smoke-stained walls, tables and chairs and dark brown paint, giving it a decidedly run down feel. At the far end were two enormous life-size stuffed brown bears, standing proud and somewhat menacing. Halfway down Canal Walk was another pub, the Lord Roberts: smaller, cleaner, fresher, with a cosy atmosphere and a less volatile clientele. It was a vibrant area in many ways. There were a couple of Jewish tailor’s shops, a second-hand shop for clothing, a barbers, a butchers with meat hanging up in the window – and when available, rabbits and chicken, displayed outside – a shop for fishing tackle, the pawn shop which always seemed busy and a greengrocer’s as well as a hotchpotch of others, all run by colourful characters.

It was here that the local brasses plied their trade, these days, either in the Horse and Groom or in the street, where they would stand, waiting for customers – and punters were
aplenty. But nevertheless, like all docklands, these were mean streets. Black market deals were done in the pubs, pimps ruled some of the prostitutes, the town criminals gathered in the surrounding area and, sometimes, blood was spilt.

It was early evening when Cora Barnes entered the bar of the Lord Roberts and ordered a half of bitter. She preferred this pub to the noisy Horse and Groom and liked to sit alone for an hour before she began work. She was a pretty girl with her blonde hair and blue eyes. Her parents had both been killed in an air raid during the Blitz so now she was an orphan.

It had been a struggle to recover from her loss. She’d not only lost her parents, but like so many others, her home had been destroyed too. She had been working in a munitions factory and had rented a room near The Ditches, but one night she’d met a GI and they’d ended up at her place in a drunken state and gone to bed. After she woke in the morning, the Yank had left money on the side and returned to his barracks. She then realised he’d thought she was on the game and discovered she could make more money this way, so she quit her job at the factory. She intended to make as much money as possible so she could make a fresh start in another town where she was unknown and her past a secret.

The bar door opened and an American soldier walked in. He ordered a beer and looked around. Seeing her sitting alone, he wandered over.

‘Hi there! Do you mind if I join you?’

She wasn’t very enthusiastic as she considered this her private time and hesitated.

Seeing her reluctance, he said, ‘Forgive me for intruding, ma’am, but I’m feeling a bit homesick and would just like someone to talk to.’

There was something in his voice that made her change her mind. ‘No, that’s fine. Please, sit down.’

With a look of relief he did so. Holding out his hand, he said, ‘I’m Hank Mason, from Detroit, Michigan.’

Shaking hands, she replied, ‘Cora Barnes from Southampton.’

‘Cora, that’s unusual.’

‘My mother named me after an aunt. Hank is a strange name, if you don’t mind my saying?’

He laughed. ‘It’s short for Henry which I hate. My dad’s name … he doesn’t mind the Henry!’

For the next hour, he sat telling her about his home, his family and how he couldn’t wait to get back there after the war. Then he asked after her family.

Her smile faded. ‘They were killed in the bombing a while ago. I’m alone now.’

‘Geez! That’s really tough. I’m sorry for your loss. Do you live with some relations?’

Shaking her head, she said, ‘No. I’m quite alone.’ Looking at her watch she said, ‘I’m sorry, Hank, but I’ve got to go to work.’

He looked surprised. ‘It’s almost seven o’clock. What work do you do at this hour?’

She gave a wry smile. ‘I suppose you could say it’s war work. Doing my bit as best I can.’

In the Horse and Groom, the patrons had started to arrive. All nations gathered here in the evening. British Tommies,
French sailors with their red pom poms on their hats, American GIs and the locals. A few of the local spivs were dealing in stolen petrol coupons, clothing coupons and any other goods collected in nefarious ways. There was always an underlying air of menace in the bar, even when it was quiet. Most Saturday nights there were fights; the police were always ready for the call, but sometimes an ambulance was needed.

Cora entered, bought her beer and joined a couple of colleagues sitting at a table.

‘What’s up, love?’ Belle Newman asked.

‘I’ve just met a really nice Yank, we were chatting and he was telling me about his family. He was just lonely, you know. He wasn’t looking for business, probably didn’t realise I was on the game.’

‘And for a minute you wished you weren’t, right?’

‘Something like that.’

Belle shrugged. ‘Don’t, love. I was married once. Thought I could put all this behind me but when my old man found out about my past he only wanted me to go back on the streets so he could live off my money. Bastard!’

Cora looked shocked at the revelation. ‘What happened?’

‘I kicked the bugger out, went back on the game and kept the money for myself. No man lives off me, that’s why I’ve never had a pimp.’

‘I know what you mean,’ Cora agreed. ‘Cairo Fred tried to run me. I told him to take a hike!’

‘Oh that slimy sod! Three of the girls work for him, I think they’re nuts, but he caught them at the start of their career when they didn’t know better.’

Cora started laughing. ‘Career? Is that what you call it?’

‘Yes, I bloody do! We don’t lay down with a man for fun, love. We earn our wages. It’s just as much a job as working in an office.’

‘Hardly!’

‘Well, you know what I mean.’ Belle started to chuckle. ‘Mind you, I’d rather work office hours, wouldn’t you?’

Shrugging, Cora said, ‘It would be nice, but the money isn’t as good.’

Cora and Belle were good friends. Cora, quiet, Belle, older, outgoing and outrageous, with her dark hair and voluptuous body, but Cora was still well liked and popular. The bar began to fill up and soon a couple of GIs came over to the table and offered to buy Cora and Belle a drink. And so their work began.

In between punters, Belle would stand beside the pianist and sing one of The Andrews Sister’s songs, to the enjoyment of the American GIs. Tonight, it was, ‘Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree’. She sat down grinning at the applause.

It was almost closing time and Belle was sitting alone, tired after her night’s work. She was looking forward to going home alone for a good night’s sleep but as she drank up and walked out of the bar, she was followed by one of the American Negro soldiers.

‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ he said, ‘But you busy or have you finished for the night?’

She was about to send him on his way, but as she gazed at him, she could see he was looking nervous and his hands were trembling.

‘What’s the matter, soldier?’

He looked down at his feet then slowly raised his head
and said, ‘I ain’t never had a woman. I just would like the experience afore I’m posted to France, that’s all.’

‘How old are you?’ she asked.

‘Nineteen, ma’am. To be honest, I don’t want to die wondering, that’s all.’

How could she refuse such a plea, she asked herself. ‘You come with me, soldier, and we’ll put that right. Okay?’

He beamed at her, his teeth white against the ebony of his skin. ‘That’s mighty fine. Thanks.’

‘What time do you have to be back at camp?’

‘I have an all-night pass. I have to report back by nine in the morning.’

Taking his arm, she asked, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Jackson Butler.’

‘Then Jackson, let’s go and have us some fun!’

As they walked towards her bedsitting room, she could feel the lad still shaking. He wasn’t the first virgin she’d educated but certainly the first who wasn’t gung-ho about the new experience. Most novices couldn’t wait to grab at a bit of bare flesh and Belle was well covered.

Eventually she put the key into her front door and led Jackson inside. It was a large room with a single bed at one end, an easy chair, a small foldaway table and a couple of hard back chairs. There was a small sink, a kettle and a kitchen cabinet from where she took out a couple of glasses.

‘Would you like a drink, Jackson?’ she asked after making him sit down.

He frowned. ‘Do you have any coffee, ma’am?’

She laughed. ‘Well, that’s a first and please call me Belle.’ From the kitchen cabinet she took a bottle of camp coffee, filled the kettle and said, ‘This won’t be like any coffee
you’ve ever had, love. But it’s all we can get due to the war.’

‘I can bring you some proper coffee,’ he said. ‘I’ll buy some from the PX stores tomorrow, if you’d like?’

She looked delighted. ‘Would I? I’d sell my soul to the devil for some!’

He began to relax and grinned broadly at her. ‘Ain’t no need to go that far, Belle!’

She smiled softly at him and cupped his chin in her hand. ‘I can see you and me are going to get along famously.’

They chatted whilst they drank and he told her a little of his home life in Alabama and the restrictions on him and his ilk. She was appalled to hear the facts of being a black man in the south.

‘If at home I was caught like now, sitting drinking coffee with a white woman, I’d end up dangling from a rope!’

This was too much for Belle. ‘Well here, darling, you’re as good as any man.’ She took him by the hand and led him over to the bed. She felt him tense.

‘Now just you relax,’ she said as she kissed him, long and hard. Then she slowly removed his clothes, talked softly to him, sat him on the bed whilst she undressed in front of him, watching him all the time, seeing the expression of wonder on his face, the longing in his eyes – and his eventual erection.

She climbed onto the bed and took him into her arms. ‘Come to Belle, darling,’ she said softly, placing his hand on her breast, running her nimble fingers over his taut, muscular body.

‘My but you’re a fine figure of a man. You are black and beautiful, Jackson Butler!’

He gazed at her body in awe. ‘Jeez, Belle, your skin is so
pale, just like milk. I ain’t never seen a woman naked like this before and certainly never a white one!’

An hour later, she gazed at the sleeping figure beside her and smiled. That was the most satisfying lay she’d had in a long time. She stretched out, set the alarm clock for seven in the morning, yawned and, cuddling up to the man beside her, she fell asleep.

The following morning, the alarm woke both of them. Jackson sat up suddenly, confused for a moment as to his whereabouts, then he looked at Belle beside him and he smiled.

‘Oh, Belle, honey. That was a night I’ll never forget as long as I live.’

Putting a hand behind his head, she pulled him down and kissed him gently. ‘Me too, Jackson, love. Come here, we still have time.’

He eventually climbed off the bed, ran some water in the sink, swilled his face, stroked the stubble on his chin and asked, ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got a razor?’

Belle got out of bed, went to a drawer and gave him one and a bar of soap.

‘Sorry, I don’t keep shaving cream, will this do?’

He nodded and lathered his face.

She watched him shave and dress but when he made to pay her for her services, she declined. ‘No, Jackson, this one’s on me. It was my pleasure and I don’t say that often. Just bring me some decent coffee and we’ll call it quits.’

He took her into his arms. ‘You are quite a woman, Belle. I’ll be in the Horse and Groom again soon. I’ll see you then but I gotta go now.’

She kissed him, opened the door and saw him on his way with a smile.

Slipping into a dressing gown, she made herself a cup of tea and, sitting on the bed, sipped the hot liquid. Black or not, he was a sweet boy, more polite than many of her clients and for her it had been a pleasure. What’s more, she was looking forward to seeing him again. It was his vulnerability which had touched her. Despite the fact she was a few years older than Jackson and a prostitute, he’d treated her like a precious piece of china. Something to be cherished – and that hadn’t happened to her for a very long time.

She’d become hardened to the life she led. With some men, all they needed was a bit of comfort, a chat and good sex. Others just used her, some didn’t even undress but would sit and drink, smoke cigarettes and talk about their families. On occasion, she’d been in dangerous situations, but had managed to talk and charm her way out of most of them. Men came to her through frustration, a need to hold a woman, to be made to feel like an ordinary man and not a soldier, a number, with a fear of impending death across the water, facing an enemy, gunfire and mutilation. In the arms of a woman, they could put all this behind them for a short time. And Belle would do her best to leave them satisfied.