The September Girls (28 page)

‘It doesn’t matter about paying.’ The young bus conductor grinned at them broadly and explained he was about to join the Army himself. Fielding, whose mouth was never still, began to sing ‘Roll Out the Barrel’ - she had a wonderful singing voice - and everyone joined in, including the passengers. The bus stopped frequently to let on more astounded passengers who were only too willing to take part in the entertainment on what, until then, had been an exceeding dull grey morning. Cara did an Irish jig in the aisle, Fielding tap-danced to ‘Twelfth Street Rag’, only slightly hindered by her heavy shoes, and the London girls did ‘Knees Up Mother Brown’ showing yards of khaki knickers. Everyone was in the very best of spirits: they hadn’t had to walk twenty miles in the rain and felt they had got their own back on the Army, Sergeant Major Fawcett in particular.

When they got to Henslow, despite Corporal Smithson’s prediction, the sun was shining and the driver said it was quite the nicest journey he’d ever made in his bus and, if they wanted, they could leave their haversacks and overcoats in the bus station to collect later. The girls showed their gratitude by showering him and the conductor with kisses.

Any other time, they would have regarded Henslow as nothing out of the ordinary, but today it seemed an enchanted place as they dispersed into its shops and cafés. Cara, Peggy and Fielding made for the nearest Woolworth’s to buy make-up, sweets and scented soap - Army-issue soap smelled like week-old kippers - then to a fish and chip restaurant because, as usual, they were starving. Later, they bought biscuits, tea and condensed milk to help relieve the boredom of the long evenings spent in the billet.

Later still, they all met up at the pictures where they sat on wooden benches to watch an ancient film,
The Blue Angel
, in which Marlene Dietrich sang ‘Falling in Love Again’. They came out, singing at the top of their voices, trying to ape Marlene’s husky distinctive style, raising smiles from everyone around.

They collected their coats and haversacks, waited for the lorry and sang all the way back. It had been a glorious, truly enjoyable day and they’d felt like themselves again, no longer just a tiny cog in the big, impersonal Army machine.

‘You know,’ said Fielding as they climbed out of the lorry, ‘I think I might come to like Army life, after all,’ and everyone agreed, including Cara.

 

That morning, at about the time the bus was arriving in Henslow, Sybil was sitting in Captain Muir’s outer office waiting to be called in. The captain’s beautifully modulated voice could be heard on the telephone. She was the daughter of a lord and married to a Member of Parliament and why she wanted to see her, Sybil had no idea. She wasn’t aware she’d done anything wrong other than hate the Army with all her heart and soul, although the captain wasn’t likely to know that unless it showed on her face.

Perhaps she was to be told off for her attitude. If asked, she’d admit the truth and say how much she loathed the Army and rather hoped she’d be thrown out and could go home to Daddy. He could fuss over her all he liked and she wouldn’t mind a bit.

The door to the office opened and Captain Muir said, ‘Ah, Allardyce! Come in, won’t you, and sit down.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Sybil entered the sparsely furnished room, its only adornment a framed photograph of the King at his coronation, and seated herself in front of the desk. She savoured the discreet hint of expensive perfume.

‘You should have waited for me to sit first,’ Captain Muir said with a slight smile.

Sybil was taken aback. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘That’s all right. It takes time to learn the rules - not that that’s a rule. It’s just common courtesy to let a senior officer sit first. I would have to do the same if I was with someone of a higher rank.’

‘I’ll remember in future, ma’am,’ Sybil promised.

‘Good.’ The woman didn’t speak for a while. Her brow puckered, as if she were thinking deeply, her long, white hands joined together by the fingertips. ‘How are you liking the Army, Allardyce?’ she asked eventually.

Sybil had been prepared to confess her loathing for the Army, but now that she was face to face with the elegant, self-assured Captain Muir her nerve failed her. The woman was good-looking in an aristocratic way, with a thin, straight nose, large eyes that were almost violet, and skin the texture of finest porcelain. Her dark-brown hair was cut manishly short, but on her it looked quite feminine, and her uniform fitted her slim body so perfectly it must have been specially tailored. Sybil didn’t want to admit to such a distinguished figure that joining the forces had been a big mistake and she’d like to go home. She wanted Captain Muir to like her and this wouldn’t be achieved by confessing her true opinion.

‘I’m slowly getting to like it, ma’am,’ she lied. She doubted if the captain would believe her if she claimed to be loving every minute. ‘Some of the girls in the billet take a bit of getting used to.’

‘You’re a very mixed bunch: a few factory girls, shop girls, clerks, a schoolteacher, an artist, a couple of girls like you who’ve come straight from school and another couple who were halfway through their university courses but gave them up to join the forces. Oh, and I forgot, you have an actress.’

‘An actress!’ Sybil hadn’t dreamt her fellow recruits came from such diverse backgrounds. She had thought herself the only properly educated one there.

‘Yes, an actress: Juliette Fielding. She’s twenty-one, but is such a tiny little thing that she usually plays juvenile parts.’

‘The name rings a bell. I think I may have seen her in a West End show.’ Sybil could hardly believe she was sharing her billet with a professional actress. She wondered why she was being told all this. Perhaps the thought communicated itself to the captain because she said, ‘The reason I wanted to speak to you, Allardyce, is I wondered if you would be interested in being sent for officer training?’

‘Me? Be an officer?’ Sybil had rarely been so surprised in her life.

‘You have the right attitude. You haven’t plunged in and made half a dozen best friends in the first few weeks. You appear to be extremely self-contained. You’re well educated, obey orders without complaint - I’ve been told you didn’t object to burning the sanitary towels when you were asked to do it a third time this morning.’

‘I didn’t like it, ma’am,’ Sybil confessed.

‘No, but you didn’t complain. Most girls would have considered they were being picked on.’

‘I was beginning to think that I was.’ A thought struck her. ‘Was I being asked to do that horrible job as a test?’

The captain smiled. ‘Perhaps, and I promise it won’t happen again. About the officer training, what do you think?’

‘I’d love it, ma’am, I really would.’ It would make all the difference in the world. She would have a room to herself, spend her evenings in a comfortable armchair in the officers’ mess, mix with people like Captain Muir. It would put an entirely different slant on Army life.

She sprang to her feet when the captain stood and came round and shook hands. ‘Keep the news under your hat for now, Allardyce, until after you’ve finished your basic training, then I seem to remember you were being transferred to Bedford to take a driving course.’

‘I can already drive, ma’am. My father arranged for me to have lessons while I was at school in London.’

‘I don’t suppose you know what goes on under a car’s bonnet?’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t a clue.’

‘Then it wouldn’t hurt to find out. Officer training finishes a few weeks before the driving course does. You can join it then and learn the mechanics of a car.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

 

That night in the billet, Sybil sat on her bed and carefully studied her fellow recruits, trying to work out who had been the schoolteacher, the artist, the university students, the girls who, like her, had come straight from school. She’d been inclined to bunch them altogether and consider them a common lot, but taken individually most seemed perfectly respectable. She felt slightly ashamed of her rush to judgement, influenced by a handful of coarse types.

Fielding, the actress, was treating everyone to a perfect imitation of Marlene Dietrich singing ‘Falling in Love Again’, while sat astride a chair wearing only her vest and knickers for some reason. She was an incredibly pretty girl with long blonde curly hair that she kept tied in a knot beneath her cap, although now it flowed like a cape around her childish shoulders.

When the song had finished to loud applause, Sybil said, ‘I once saw you on the West End. It was a wonderful show, all about the Great War. At the end, you sang “Keep the Home Fires Burning” and everybody cried.’

There was a stunned silence, then half a dozen voices cried, ‘Were you on the
stage
, Fielding?’

‘I was indeed,’ Fielding said modestly. She began to twirl like a top down the space between the beds, until she tripped over a shoe and collapsed, laughing, on the foot of Sybil’s bed.

‘You know,’ a slightly older woman said thoughtfully, ‘we’ve been living together for three whole weeks, yet we know nothing about each other. What did you all do before you came here? Where do you come from? And I don’t even know anyone’s first name apart from Cara’s.’

‘Who’s Cara?’

‘I am.’ Cara raised her hand. ‘Cara Caffrey. I used to work in Boots Cash Chemist’s in Liverpool. And that’s Peggy Cross who just spoke.’

‘I was a schoolteacher in Guildford,’ Peggy said.

‘I’m Juliette Fielding,’ said Fielding, bowing graciously, ‘and I’m an actress and I’ve lived all over the place.’

‘My name’s Annie Black and I was a clerk with an estate agent in Portsmouth.’

‘I’m Joan Drummond. I left art college a year ago and worked for an advertising agency in Piccadilly, but it’s my ambition to become a portrait painter. I’m going to be a draughtswomen when we finish training and I’m very pleased about it.’

‘I used to help me old dad sell fish in Billingsgate Market. Me name’s Lily Salmon, and if anyone finds that funny, I’ll give them a punch in their bleedin’ gob. Oh, and when I finish me training, I’m gonna be a cook and I’m not pleased about it a bit.’

‘I’m Elizabeth Childs, but everyone calls me Liz. I got married in April on my eighteenth birthday, but my husband was called up, so I thought I might as well join up too. I worked as a receptionist for the Gas Board in Leeds and I’m really thrilled I’m going to learn to drive.’

One by one, the girls spoke, giving their names and occupation and where they came from. As they did, they became real people with their own quite different backgrounds, no longer just anonymous recruits in a khaki uniform. Sybil couldn’t help herself, she felt quite moved.

‘What about you?’ Lily Salmon said when Sybil was the only one who hadn’t spoken. ‘You’re the one who started this, so you can’t cop out.’

‘I’m Sybil Allardyce from Liverpool. I joined up straight from school.’

‘Now that we all know each other, let’s have a party,’ Fielding shouted. ‘I bought some groceries this afternoon. Let’s pool everything. Put the kettle on, someone.’

Water was fetched and a giant kettle put on the stove to boil, biscuits were produced, saccharine tablets, half a dozen packets of Smith’s crisps, a wedge of bunloaf, sweets, a jar of jam, although there was nothing to spread it on, coffee, condensed milk, a bottle of brown sauce, bottles of lemonade and dandelion and burdock. Sybil brought out the box of expensive chocolates her father had sent: there were just enough to have one each.

The kettle took an age to boil on top of the black cylindrical fire that gave off hardly any heat. When it did, they made the tea and coffee and, clutching their tin mugs, gathered around the fire, adding the chocolate wrappings and anything else burnable that they could find which would provide a moment’s warmth. Crisps were dipped in the brown sauce, biscuits in the jam and Sybil’s chocolates were kept to the last, a final treat after a feast that had been more unusual than enjoyable, although it was something they would remember for a long time. Afterwards, they chatted to each other quietly, singing occasionally, until Corporal Smithson arrived to turn out the lights.

‘What’s this?’ she yelled. ‘A soirée? If everyone’s not in bed in five minutes, the lights are going out and you can get undressed in the dark. I don’t suppose,’ she added in a wheedling tone, ‘you’ve got a cup of tea left?’

 

Another night like that and she’d wish she hadn’t agreed to become an officer, Sybil thought as she lay between the stiffly starched sheets. It had been enormous fun and the girls were much nicer than the ones at school. There’d been a great feeling of camaraderie, which she’d never experienced before. Still, she’d only be another three weeks with this particular crowd before being transferred to another camp where she’d have to get to know a completely new set of girls. Cara was taking the driving course and that Liz woman, but she had no idea who else. When it came right down to it, she’d be miles better off as an officer with her uniform specially tailored, a room of her own, and in a position to give orders rather than take them, even if it meant she’d never experience a feeling of camaraderie again for the rest of her life.

 

Basic training was over. The not-so-new recruits could march in strict formation without putting a step wrong and Sergeant Major Fawcett had ceased to be an ogre. Now they were about to be split up and transferred to camps all over the country. Many tears were shed as they bid each other an emotional farewell. They’d lived together a mere six weeks, but it felt like a lifetime. They swore they’d meet up again one day: ‘We’re bound to, aren’t we? After all the Army’s not all
that
big.’ It made parting so much easier if they could believe it.

Before being sent on their various courses, they’d were given five days’ leave to see their families.

Travelling in wartime was a nightmarish experience. Cara had to catch three trains to Liverpool, all so packed that she had to sit on her kit bag in the corridor with hardly room to bend her legs, surrounded by troops who fought their way out when the train stopped to fetch her cups of tea and sandwiches or, on one occasion, an Eccles cake that looked as if it had been sat on. They told each other their life stories, sang for miles on end, making the exhausting journey far more bearable than it might have been. She had no idea what had happened to Sybil whom she’d expected to travel with her, but hadn’t been around when they’d made their goodbyes.