The Grafton Girls (19 page)

‘Handfast, my mom told me this is called,’ he whispered to her. ‘It’s what people used to do if there was no church for them to be married in. Don’t worry about your mom. We’ll take her with us.’

Ruthie gazed up at him. ‘Can we do that?’ she breathed unsteadily.

‘Sure we can,’ he told her firmly. ‘Now promise me there won’t be any more talk about you not marrying me, and then read my mom’s letter.’

‘Yes, Glen,’ Ruthie told him demurely, before exclaiming in delighted shock, ‘Glen, no, you mustn’t kiss me, not here!’

‘Then quit looking at me like that,’ he told her, ignoring her command, to take her in his arms and kiss her very thoroughly indeed.

Naturally it was quite some time before she came back down to earth enough to open Glen’s mother’s letter, reading it slowly and with growing joy, breaking off every now and then, to exclaim, ‘Oh, Glen, your mother has written the kindest things, about how she can’t wait to meet me and to welcome me properly into your family. Oh, and look, she says that she’s going to send me some photographs of you when you were a baby, and she asks if I will send her some of me. Oh, Glen…I’ll write back to her tonight,’ she vowed emotionally. ‘How kind she is, Glen, to welcome me, a stranger, like this, as though she loves me already.’

‘Of course she loves you already. She knows that I love you,’ Glen told her sturdily. ‘She sent me this too,’ he added, reaching into his jacket and suddenly looking both very serious and at the same time very bashful. ‘It was my grandmother’s.’ He opened the small box and showed Ruthie an old ring with a small diamond. ‘She gave it to me before she died and told me that it was for my wife-to-be. I guess it’s a bit old-fashioned-looking, and maybe you’d rather have something different…but—’

‘Oh, no, Glen,’ Ruthie assured him fervently. ‘I love it.’

She did not know whose hand was trembling the more when he slipped the ring onto her finger. It looked so narrow that she held her breath, half afraid that it would be too small, but to her relief it fitted her finger perfectly.

‘There,’ Glen said triumphantly. ‘We’re engaged
now, Ruthie. Nothing can part us now. Just as soon as I can arrange it, you and me are going to be married. Come on.’ He got up and, reaching out, drew her to her feet. ‘We’d better get back and tell your mom.’

‘Oh, Glen, I still can’t believe this is happening. I never thought I would
ever
be this happy,’ Ruthie told him, looking down at her hand where the tiny diamond was reflecting all the colours of the rainbow through her happy tears.

‘Well now, engaged, is it?’ Mrs Brown beamed. ‘I must say that I can’t say that I’m surprised. I had my suspicions right from the first time Ruthie met you, Glen, and I told my hubby as much, didn’t I, Joe?’ she asked her husband, who had been summoned from his allotment and commanded to bring a bottle of elderberry wine with him to toast the newly engaged couple.

‘And Glen says that Mum will be able to come to America with us. Oh, and, Mrs Brown, you should see the lovely letter Glen’s mother has sent to me, telling me that she knows already that she’s going to love me because Glen does.’

‘Well, I should think she will love you, an’ all, Ruthie lass. A good girl you are and allus have been.’

‘Glen wants us to get married as soon as we can. But he’ll have to get permission from the army first.’

‘It’s time we had a wedding in the Close. And think on, young man,’ Mrs Brown warned Glen,
giving him a serious look, ‘in love or not, and war or not, there’s to be no hanky-panky goes on before the pair of you are wed, otherwise Mr Brown will have something to say to you, just like Ruthie’s dad would have done if he’d been alive.’

Ruthie blushed peony pink, and then gazed adoringly up at Glen when he told her neighbour with great dignity, ‘Ruthie’s going to be my wife and there’s no way I’d ask her to do anything her folks wouldn’t like, or that we couldn’t tell our own kids about when they’re grown.’ He turned to Ruthie and gave her a look that, as she told him half an hour later when she had been allowed to go to the front gate with him to say good night properly, had made her tingle all the way down to her toes.

Diane put down her hairbrush and turned to stare at Myra in angry disbelief.

‘I can’t believe you’re even thinking about risking doing something like this. Not after last time.’

Myra gave a dismissive shrug and lit a fresh cigarette. It was no business of Diane’s what she did but she had her own reasons for telling her about her plans to spend a weekend in London with Nick.

‘What risk? There isn’t one. I’ve got a legitimate weekend pass coming up, and a week’s holiday left to take, so what’s to stop me spending it in London, if I want?’

‘You’re a married woman with a husband,’ Diane pointed out grimly. ‘And if you think I’m going to cover for you a second time if he comes home and catches you out you’ve got another think coming.

‘I’m not asking you to cover for me. I’m just asking you to lend me your silk blouse,’ Myra told her, drawing on her cigarette. ‘Honestly, from the
fuss you’re making anyone would think that Jim was your ruddy brother or something. Look, my marriage is over. Jim knows that – I’ve told him often enough. It might be a good thing if he
did
turn up and find out I’m with Nick. He’d have to accept that I’d drifted then.’ she said bluntly, using the forces’ slang for a woman who was unfaithful to her husband in his absence.

‘I don’t know why you’re doing this, Myra, not when you’ve got a decent man like Jim,’ Diane protested.

‘No, I dare say you don’t,’ Myra agreed, stubbing out her cigarette without finishing it. ‘Women like you never do. But I’m not like you, Diane. I want better than what I’ve got here. I want more from life than a “decent husband”. I’ve always wanted more. I want to live like they do in the films.’

‘But, Myra, that’s just in the films—’

‘No, it isn’t. That’s how it is in America. Anyway, how would you know? Who the hell would really want to live here if they didn’t have to?’ Myra demanded angrily. ‘You’ve only got to listen to the Americans to know what they think of us and this country. They’re used to better and they don’t mind saying so.’

‘Bragging about it, you mean,’ Diane corrected her, tight-lipped.

‘You can call it bragging if you want. I call it speaking out and saying it like it is. Nick can give me everything I’ve ever wanted. A new life in America, as his wife.’

‘You’re already someone else’s wife. Have you told him that?’

‘My marriage is over,’ Myra repeated, ignoring her question. ‘Probably isn’t even a proper marriage in America, anyway,’ she added dismissively. ‘They do things differently over there,’ She gave Diane a hard-edged look as though daring her to contradict her.

She couldn’t possibly believe that, surely, Diane thought, but she could see that there wasn’t any point in trying to reason with her.

‘So can I borrow your blouse, then?’ Myra pressed her. ‘Only Nick said as how he was going to book us into this posh hotel.’

Diane didn’t really care for the idea of her best blouse being used as an accessory to adultery but the war had brought a new mood of pulling together and sharing what was available, and even though she couldn’t approve of what Myra was doing, neither could she refuse her.

‘I suppose so,’ she agreed reluctantly.

Somehow the summer air seemed to accentuate the shabbiness of the city and its people, Diane thought as she made her way down Edge Hill Road, past bombed-out buildings and a church with the now familiar notice pinned outside asking people to donate money ‘to buy a sick child a banana’. No wonder their American allies were so critical and contemptuous of the country and the people they were boasting openly they had come to save. And no wonder too that those who had
lived through so much within that country felt bitter and angry when they heard those boastful comments. She felt a small pang for Myra and then quickly dismissed it – she was still behaving terribly.

‘Hello, there.’

She had been so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t seen Ruthie hurrying across the road towards her.

‘Hello,’ Diane smiled back. ‘Your day off, is it?’ She noted the basket Ruthie was carrying and the summer dress she was wearing.

‘Yes. I’m on my way to the allotments. Mr Talbot, who minds the allotment Dad had, sent word to say that there’s some strawberries ready and that he’s got a bit of salad for us as well. Then Glen’s coming round for tea later.’

‘Glen? Oh, the American you met at the Grafton?’ Diane remembered.

‘Yes.’ Ruthie beamed, and then said in a rush, ‘He’s asked me to marry him and we’re engaged now.’ Proudly she held out her hand to show Diane the ring she was wearing.

Diane could hardly bear to look at it, remembering her joy and pride in her own engagement ring, but she knew that for the sake of good manners she had to. Her heart felt as though it was being squeezed in a giant vice.

‘Oh…it’s lovely,’ she told Ruthie truthfully, somehow managing not to let her voice betray her feelings.

‘And Glen’s mother has written me the nicest
letter, welcoming me into the family. Glen wants us to get married soon. He’s one of them working on the new runways at Burtonwood, and whilst he doesn’t think he’ll be posted somewhere else for a while, like he says, you never know, and it’s best that we get married just as soon as we can,’ she explained earnestly.

There was no need for Diane to ask if the younger girl was happy. Ruthie’s joy was spilling out of her with every word she said. Diane could remember a time when she had felt just the same. Now, though…If only some of Ruthie’s happiness could spill into her life, on to her.

Just as Diane reached Derby House, the bus that brought in the other girls from the school in Hyatt, where they were billeted, for their ‘watch’, pulled up alongside her, disgorging a crowd of uniformed young women, including Jean.

‘You don’t know how lucky you are to be living out,’ she grumbled to Diane. ‘No barracking your bed every morning, then having to run all the way to parade for you, I’ll bet.’

‘No,’ Diane agreed. She certainly didn’t miss the morning routine of stripping her bed, and then folding the sheets and the blankets separately before stacking them up on top of the ‘biscuit’, as the narrow beds were named, but she did miss the camaraderie she had shared with the other girls at her previous post, and she would have much preferred to be billeted with someone other than Myra.

‘We were late on parade this morning and there was a CO’s inspection so we’ve been given jankers,’ she told Diane, referring to the routine punishment of things like washing up and peeling potatoes that was given for such an offence.

‘Poor you,’ Diane sympathised, before changing the subject to ask anxiously, ‘Have you heard from Susan at all?’

Jean shook her head. ‘Only that her hubby hasn’t been found as yet, and that she’s been warned to expect the worst.’

Not unnaturally, the whole of Derby House was still in the grip of an angry grief but nowhere more so than down in the Dungeon, where those working had seen the devastation at first-hand.

Breaking off their conversation to salute a Senior Service captain emerging from the building, Diane checked to see that her cap was on straight before reaching for her pass and heading for the door.

‘It’s all right for you,’ Jean continued to grumble. ‘You’ve got such lovely long hair that you can put it up. Somehow I always manage to end up with mine touching my collar, if I have to wear my greatcoat.’

It was against WAAF rules for a girl’s hair to touch her collar, and Diane took a quick look at Jean’s hair before suggesting, ‘Have you thought of rolling it round a sausage?’

‘What’s that when it’s at home?’

Diane laughed. ‘It’s a ring of stuffed cloth that you put on your head, a bit like a tiara, and then you tuck your hair into it. I think I might have
one somewhere. I’ll bring it with me tomorrow, if you like, and show you.’

‘Would you? Anything that stops me from getting put on another charge would be welcome. Watch out, here come the Brylcreem boys,’ Jean laughed as three small reconnaissance planes screamed overhead, the first one doing a small victory roll.

‘Now that’s something the Americans will never be able to do in those huge bombers of theirs,’ Jean commented with satisfaction. ‘Hear about Middlesbrough being bombed the other night, did you? I’ve got an auntie living there. Let’s hope these new Lancasters we’ve got that are supposed to be so wonderful can persuade Hitler to give in.’

Diane smiled, but she suspected that Jean knew as well as she did herself that the war was still long from over.

‘Is Myra still seeing that GI she was dancing with at the Grafton?’ Jean asked her suddenly.

‘I’m…I’m not sure,’ Diane felt obliged to fib. ‘Why?’

‘Oh, no reason really. Only that I was out with a pal of mine and her brother the other night. He’s something secret in the police – I don’t really know what – but he took us into this place for a drink for a bit of a joke. He told us it was where all the black marketeers – and worse – meet up, and who should be in there but that chap Myra was with. Ray – that’s my pal’s brother – reckons that Myra’s GI and the chap he was with could be a real bad lot. He said that they’ve had a tip-off that a lot
of new black market stuff is coming straight from stores intended for the American base PXs, and that the set-up is being run by gangsters who—’

‘Gangsters?’ Diane protested, suspecting that Jean’s rather vivid imagination and dislike of Myra were getting the better of her.

‘Well, that’s what Ray said, but don’t believe me if you do not want to,’ Jean told her huffily.

‘It isn’t that I don’t believe you,’ Diane reassured her. ‘It’s just that it sounds like something out of a Warner Brothers film.’

‘Maybe it does, but Ray says that some pretty bad eggs have been caught up in the American conscription draft. You know,’ she lowered her voice, ‘Mafia and that.’

They had reached the doorway into the building now, both of them automatically presenting their passes for inspection, whilst Diane digested what Jean had told her. It seemed too far-fetched to be true and, even if she were to pass it on to Myra, she sincerely doubted that the girl would listen to her.

‘The C-in-C’s office door’s open,’ she commented to Jean, to change the subject. ‘That means he’s in. I heard that he’s been sleeping here these last few days.’

Their Commander-in-Chief took his duties towards the convoys, of which he was in charge, very seriously indeed, as everyone working at Derby House knew.

‘I heard that he’d had a real run-in with the First Lord of the Admiralty over what happened,’
Jean agreed, as they made their way to their cloakroom. ‘Someone said that they saw Winnie up here last week. I don’t know if it’s true but I do know that he does come to Derby House. Not that we’re supposed to know, of course. I reckon that’s part of the reason why the Germans would have given anything to have hit us when they were bombing Liverpool, but with the real business part of the building being so deep underground they didn’t have a chance. Thank goodness.’

Diane grimaced as she looked down at her shoes, and then went over to the box in which the girls kept a shared collection of ‘essential items’ necessary for keeping their uniforms smart. Watching her giving her shoes an extra polish, Jean exclaimed, ‘Lord, I nearly forgot I’ve got a button coming loose. I’d better sew it on whilst we’re in here otherwise I might get another set of jankers.’

Within a couple of seconds both girls were busily occupied in their chores, their shared silence broken when Jean asked Diane, ‘What are you on today?’

‘Wireless Operator in signals. They’re a girl short. I just hope my Morse speed is up to it.’

Jean pulled a sympathetic face as she finished sewing on her button and snapped the thread with her teeth. ‘I can still remember my course,’ she agreed. ‘I was terrified I wouldn’t pass the exam at the end of it, with all that stuff about Ohm’s law, the stratosphere, the Appleton layer and then Morse code. Finished?’

Diane studied her shoes and then nodded. Companionably they walked out of the cloakroom
together until they reached that part of the building where they had to go their separate ways, Jean into the Dungeon, and Diane into one of the signals ops rooms.

As she walked in, the girl in charge came over to her.

‘Captain Barker wants to see you,’ she told Diane without taking her attention from the girls working on the keyboards, translating the Morse messages they were receiving.

Diane’s heart thumped uncomfortably. The instruction she had just received was unpleasantly similar to the one she had had after the humiliating evening at the Grafton. Then, though, she had known what she was being carpeted for. This time she had no idea.

Thankfully there was no sign of the lieutenant when she knocked on the captain’s open door five minutes later.

‘Come,’ Captain Barker called out, glancing up from the papers on her desk and then smiling when she saw Diane.

‘You wanted to see me, ma’am?’

‘Yes, Wilson. Stand easy. We’ve had a request from our allies for a stenographer to accompany Major Saunders on an inspection of various properties that may be used to house some of the officers of the Eighth Army who are due to arrive here in the next few weeks. Normally, of course, the major would find someone from their own staff to accompany him, but since on this occasion that is not possible he has asked for our help.’

Diane’s spirits sank lower with every word Captain Barker said, but of course it did not do for a Waaf, or indeed anyone in the armed forces, to show any reaction to the orders they were being given by a superior officer, and Diane prided herself on her professionalism when it came to her duty.

‘I see from your records that you are a trained shorthand typist,’ Captain Barker continued. ‘Is that correct?’

How Diane longed to say ‘no’, but of course she couldn’t.
Why
had this happened to her? Why couldn’t the major have written up his own notes? But of course she knew the answer to that, she decided crossly. The Americans must have everything they wanted – or at least that was how it sometimes seemed to the hard-pressed British forces personnel, struggling to cope with their own work and provide assistance to their allies as well.