Home Front Girls (3 page)

Coming back to the present, she renewed her efforts when she saw Mr Bradley glance her way, and in no time at all the gloves were replaced neatly beneath the glass counter. Through the window she could see that it was growing dark and she knew that it must be getting on for home time. Other girls were bustling about tidying the hats that were strategically placed for best effect about the shop, and others were dusting their counters whilst keeping an eye on Mr Bradley’s movements. They all knew that he would not allow any of them to go home until the whole place was spotless, and so they scurried about like ants, putting the shop to rights.

At last Mr Bradley was satisfied with their efforts and he waved his hand dismissively as Mrs Broadstairs followed him about like a lovesick puppy. The girls trooped away to the staff room where they chatted animatedly about what they were going to do that night as they wrapped up warmly. Dotty listened wistfully as she shrugged her arms into her drab brown coat. It was the one that the orphanage had supplied; plain but serviceable, as were all the clothes that the children there were given. I’ll perhaps save up and get myself a new one, Dotty thought as they all began the long trek through the department store. They passed the lingerie department and the bridal department where the shop assistants were still throwing snow-white sheets across the gowns on mannequins that were dotted about, and Dotty sighed dreamily as she tried to imagine how it would feel to wear such a dress – not that she was ever likely to find out. She needed no one to tell her that she was as plain as a pikestaff. The mirror told her that every time she glimpsed herself in it.

A doorman stood at either side of the exit when the girls finally reached the ground floor. The doors had been closed to the public for the day now, but they unlocked them for the staff to leave, flirting outrageously with the prettier ones. But no one bothered Dotty or even seemed to notice her for that matter; it didn’t trouble her, she was used to it by now.

The cold outside took her breath away and after pulling her collar higher she set out for the Pool Meadow bus station. Frost was already forming on the pavements and the thought of going back to a cold empty room and making herself a meal was not appealing. At least at the orphanage she had had her meals prepared for her, and had been surrounded by people. Still, there was no going back; so she knew she would just have to make the best of it.

The smell of boiled cabbage and the sounds of babies crying met her when she entered the house. She was cold and tired by then and she trudged wearily up the steep staircase. Once inside the tiny room she hastily lit the gasfire, then went to rummage in the only cupboard the room possessed. Her search came up with a tin of soup, so after taking the lid off with a tin opener, she put it in a saucepan on the gas-ring to heat up, then peeled off her layers of outer clothing before turning the wireless on. The sound of Bing Crosby floated around the room as another lonely night loomed ahead of her. The only visitors she had had since moving in were her welfare worker and Miss Timms.

Placing the kettle on the other gas-ring, she then turned to the bucket of cold water that she stood her milk in, only to find that it had curdled. She wrinkled her nose as she sniffed it before tipping it down the sink, then turned the soup off. There was nothing else for it; if she wanted a cup of tea that evening she would have to go to the corner shop, although she didn’t fancy venturing outside into the cold again. She pulled her boots and her coat back on then hurried out onto the landing, locking her door behind her. It should only take her ten minutes, if she hurried.

She had reached the landing below when a door opened and a harassed-looking woman appeared clutching a wailing baby in her arms.

‘Ah, I thought I heard yer comin’ down the stairs, luvvie,’ she said. ‘You ain’t off to the shop by any chance, are yer?’

‘I am actually,’ Dotty answered.

‘Ooh, then yer couldn’t do me a big favour an’ fetch me a loaf back, could yer? This ’un’s been yarkin’ her head off fer the last ’alf an ’our. I reckon she’s hungry an’ I ain’t been able to get out ’cos the other two are down wi’ the measles. Poor little mites. Still, I suppose I shouldn’t grumble. At least it’s stopped ’em from bein’ evacuated, fer now at least.’

‘Of course I will, Mrs Cousins,’ Dotty responded kindly. She felt so sorry for the poor woman. Her husband had been one of the first victims of the war, being killed in an accident just four weeks after joining up. Mrs Cousins had been forced to leave their home then and had ended up here with three small children to care for and barely tuppence to rub together, from what Dotty could make of it. It seemed such a shame, but then she was only one of many who were suffering because of the war, and Dotty supposed she should think her own self lucky. There was some compensation to being alone: at least she had no one else but herself to worry about.

Taking the money that the older woman held out, she smiled and hurried on her way, grimacing as she passed the bathroom. The smell that issued from it was appalling and she wasn’t surprised that no one ever used it. All the residents preferred to go to the outside privy, which at least had the benefit of a strong flush and fresh air coming through a broken window. Dotty thought it was probably her turn to cut up squares of newspaper to hang on the string there.

The frost on the pavements had thickened now and her breath floated in front of her like lace, but soon the corner shop came into sight and she hurried inside to get the bread and milk.

Once back at the house she toiled up the first two flights of stairs and tapped on Mrs Cousins’s door. The baby was still crying as Dotty thrust the loaf towards the woman, along with the half-a-crown she had given her.

‘But you’ve not taken anythin’ for it,’ the woman protested. She was dressed in an old pair of men’s trousers and a baggy Fair Isle jumper that Dotty supposed might be her late husband’s, the only thing she had ever seen her in, and a scarf was tied turban-like around her hair.

‘Oh, the shopkeeper let me have it for nothing because it’s yesterday’s and a little stale, but I’m sure it will still be all right if you eat it tonight. Oh, and there’s a bottle of milk here too that he was going to throw away. He was just about to shut.’

Mrs Cousins looked puzzled as she squeezed the bread. ‘Well, it feels fresh enough to me. Are yer quite sure it didn’t cost yer nowt?’

‘Absolutely.’ Dotty began to move away, clutching her own pint of milk. Her feet felt as if they were going to drop off after being on them all day, and all she wanted was to settle down by the fire for the night with the wireless for company. She didn’t want to give Mrs Cousins an opportunity to question her too closely either. She had treated the poor woman to the milk and bread, but what was the harm in a little white lie if it was doing someone a kindness? As she hurried on, she realised with a little start that Mrs Cousins was the only person who had spoken to her all day, apart from Mrs Broadstairs when she was issuing her orders, of course, and the customers she had served.

The flat was warm when she got back up to the top floor, which was something at least, so she turned the heat back on under the soup and sighed with pleasure as she kicked her boots off, sat down and stretched her feet out by the fire.

‘Now then, Miss Kent, there’s been a slight change of plan for today,’ Mrs Broadstairs informed her when she got into work the next morning. ‘One of the girls in the lingerie department is off sick, so I’ve told the floor manager that you may help out down there today. Do you think you can manage that?’ Personally, she had grave reservations about sending Dotty to that particular department. All the girls who worked there were so much more glamorous than her, and seemed to have so much more about them. But then desperate times called for desperate measures. The whole store had been operating on a skeleton staff since the out-break of war, and Dotty was the best she could manage. She certainly wasn’t going to send one of her more experienced girls. It wouldn’t do at all if sales were to be down on her own floor.

‘Yes, Mrs Broadstairs, I’ll be fine,’ Dotty assured her meekly.

‘Then run along, dear. We don’t want to upset the floor manager now, do we? Her name is Miss Norton. Just tell her I sent you.’

Mrs Broadstairs then scurried away, leaving Dotty to turn and head for the stairs. The lingerie department was down on the next floor and she had often wondered what it would be like to work there. Admittedly, there was not the same wide selection of underwear and nightwear displayed as there had been before the war, but there were still the odd few extravagant items in pure silk. Dotty couldn’t even begin to imagine how it would feel to wear anything so expensive. The orphanage had always made sure that the children were adequately turned out, but their budget had not run to anything other than hardwearing materials, and the habits of a lifetime were hard to break. Dotty still tended to go for sensible shoes and clothes, partly because she had no fashion sense whatsoever. She hadn’t needed to be fashionable in the orphanage. She had just been one of many. Now as she entered the lingerie department she felt slightly out of her depth as she gazed about at the mannequins strategically placed to catch the customers’ eyes; a blush rose into her cheeks. It seemed strange to see such personal items displayed so blatantly, but then men rarely ventured into this particular department, which Dotty felt was just as well.

Glass-topped counters were placed all along one wall. In one was a selection of cotton knickers – very serviceable and very much in demand since the outbreak of the war. Another counter contained brassières of various sizes and colours. There were nightdresses in flannelette and cotton, and pyjamas, dressing-gowns, and stockings, which were getting much harder to come by and ridiculously expensive.

Along the opposite wall were the counters containing the more exclusive items in silks and satins, some trimmed with guipure lace. There was even an exquisite negligée set on display that got Dotty’s pulse racing, and she flushed at the thought of anyone daring to wear it. She was also terrified at the prospect of having to show it to anyone. It was so delicate that she was sure it would tear if she so much as blew on it. But thankfully, Miss Norton took one look at her and guided her to the other side of the room. Dotty seemed a nice, helpful enough sort of girl but she was hardly the sort to show off Miss Norton’s treasured exclusive lines.

The day passed slowly and Dotty was glad when it was time to go home. No one in the lingerie department had bothered to talk to her even at break-time, and it was a relief to escape into the chilly early evening air. The streets felt eerie now that everyone had blackout curtains up at their windows. Even the display windows on the shopfronts no longer turned on their lights and Dotty imagined she could have been walking through a ghost town. She quickly found herself making up stories in her head as she moved along. It was something she had done for as far back as she could remember, and she was never happier than when she was writing her stories down. Writing went a long way towards easing her loneliness. The imaginary characters she created were all beautiful, exciting people, nothing at all like herself, and sometimes she got so involved with them that they actually became real people to her, like the family that she had never known. Her English teacher and Miss Timms had always encouraged her and had urged her to carry on with it when she left school, but of course she didn’t have so much time now, although she still tried to write a few pages each night before she went to sleep.

Dotty had become so engrossed in the latest plot growing in her mind that it was almost a shock when she found herself at the bus station. She paid her fare and climbed aboard, then sighed sadly. This being independent wasn’t turning out to be quite as satisfying as she had thought it would be. In fact, if she were to be honest with herself, she was lonelier than ever.

Lucy Ford sat with her handbag balanced primly on her lap as she discreetly glanced at the other girl in the waiting area. The girl was positively beautiful and so well dressed that she might have been a model. Surely she couldn’t be here for a job interview too? She certainly didn’t look as if she needed a job, but then who was she to judge? The world seemed to have turned upside down since Hitler came to power.

She gulped as she thought of her older brother, Joel, who had joined up only the month before. He had been sent to a training camp on the shores of Lake Windermere, but other than a brief letter from him that had arrived the previous week, that was all she knew. The letter had been heavily censored and she had a terrible feeling that once he had completed his training, Joel would join the other forces that had entered France. In September the British Expeditionary Forces had been taken by troop trains and lorries to ports in the south of England where ferries and transports escorted by destroyers had taken them across the Channel to take up position alongside the French army. Poor Joel, she thought, he must be finding it so difficult. He had always been such a shy, reserved sort of chap, although he had been her rock since they had lost their mother and father almost five years ago following the birth of Mary, the youngest family member. They had moved almost immediately to a smaller house on the other side of Coventry and Joel had worked hard to support them all, until his call-up papers dropped on the doormat; after which Lucy knew that, from then on, it would be down to her to earn a living to keep herself and Mary until, God willing, Joel returned.

Now, as she peeped at the other girl again, her heart dropped. If it were a choice between her and this girl, she would never stand a chance. At that moment the girl glanced up, and seeing Lucy looking at her, she asked, ‘Here for a job interview, are you?’