Soldier Girl (35 page)

‘They were all mouthy,’ Molly laughed. ‘Still – so was I, I s’pose.’

Cath soon settled in and became a regular part of the team. Jen, who made friends easily, got along well with her, as Molly had known she would. Molly and Cath were very happy to be back together, and there was a special bond between them, of past times, and of knowing the deep sadness that each of them carried. It was Molly who knew that Cath often cried herself to sleep at night, and she got up to try and comfort her. And it was to Cath that Molly could let out her feelings about Tony.

Spring passed into summer as they worked and socialized together, while the world outside vibrated to them from the wireless and newspapers. Much of the news was sad and awesomely frightening during those spring months. Calamitous numbers of Allied ships were sunk in the Atlantic, the uprising of the Jews in the Warsaw ghetto was violently suppressed in April, and the desert war against Rommel spread across that time. And one day in May, Molly’s battery was told that soon it was on the move once again itself. Prepare for transit in two days, the soldiers were told. You’re going for practice training – this time at Clacton-on-Sea.

As far as the eye could see along the straight east coastline, the artillery had taken over. All day long, from Jaywick to Holland-on-Sea, the bristling rows of guns were at work. There were heavy anti-aircraft guns up to the pier and light Bofors beyond, through Clac-ton’s Butlin’s camp. At the end, beyond a small minefield, were the Americans with Browning machine guns, pumping out ammunition at the plane which droned dutifully up and down the coastline dragging its target sleeve behind it. Behind, barrage balloons swayed in the coastal winds, tethered on any available piece of land. The army had commandeered Butlin’s, and the town and surrounding area was heaving with army personnel, who had taken over many of the boarding houses and hotels. Some of these old establishments stood forlornly looking out to sea as if hoping for better times.

The ATS were housed in a row of boarding houses in a street guarded by a sentry at one end. When Molly and the others arrived, they all rushed into the house, bagging rooms. Molly and Cath ended up sharing a medium-sized room looking out over the street, with a wrought-iron balcony outside. The house had extraordinarily temperamental plumbing, the pipes coughing and groaning and occasionally, on some apparent whim of their own, producing a gush of hot water. The rest of the time,when the system was less accommodating, they had to boil kettles to wash.

Soon after they arrived, their corporal, a fresh-faced blonde, put her head round the door.

‘Settling all right?’ she asked. ‘Marvellous! Right – tomorrow morning the transport will be here at eight forty-five sharp. Be at the front door on time.’

The weather was set fair and the work began. The old hands in Clacton kept telling them how lucky they were not to have been there during winter, with the biting cold and the east wind scorching their faces. During these balmy months they could get by in much lighter clothing and only one pair of socks. Molly and her team were sent to heavy artillery with a Vickers Predictor, the guns boom-booming in their turn as the plane passed across the sky.

One rather blustery morning as they were all heading for work on the gun park, an ATS came toiling along on a bicycle in the face of the wind, a scarf tied over her hair.

After she’d parked the bicycle, she strode confidently over to them. From a distance, Molly found herself recognizing another familiar face.

‘I’ve been sent to be your spotter today.’ It was Ruth’s unmistakable, strangulated voice.

Molly turned away, heading for her post. The generators were already running; it was time to get started and she wasn’t exactly keen to see Ruth.

The under-occupied Kinnys were being used to help out in the batteries, and Ruth had been allocated to the spotter’s chair. This was a canvas swivel chair with movable arms and a headrest. Her job was to sit back in it with a pair of binoculars and record the success rate or otherwise of the gunfire. In the summer this was quite a pleasant job, sitting back in the sun. In the winter it was enough almost to freeze you solid.

They passed the morning working hard, and Molly, conscious of Ruth’s presence, worked especially carefully and accurately. The hit rate was high and she was pleased with her morning’s work. When it was time to stop for a break, she stepped down, stretching her limbs. Two hours was as much concentration as they could manage at any one time. Ruth was talking to one of the gunners and Molly had set off for a cuppa with Jen and Cath. But a few minutes later, Ruth caught them up on her bike.

‘I say – thought I’d say hallo properly,’ she called. As they all turned, Molly saw the shock register on Ruth’s face. She stopped her bike with a squeak of brakes.

‘I say – it’s . . .’ She searched her mind for Molly’s name and clearly could not recall it. ‘It’s
you
, isn’t it? And . . .’ Cath’s name was even more embarrassing for her to recall.

‘Yes,’ Molly said with more than a touch of sarcasm. ‘It’s me all right. Molly. The mouthy one.’

‘And I’m Cath. The Irish one,’ Cath added, with mischief in her eyes.

Ruth perched half on her bike, the gritty wind teasing at her hair. They could see her mind working . . .
But weren’t you the one . . . ?
Everyone in the hut had known Cath was expecting a baby when she left. She looked mortified.

‘And this is Jen,’ Molly said.

‘So – what’re you doing here?’ Ruth said to Molly, after a nod at Jen. ‘Weren’t you on general duties at that last camp?’

‘I changed,’ Molly said. ‘I’m a gun layer.’ She stood tall, knowing that she looked strong and competent. ‘Been doing it a while.’

Gratifyingly, Ruth looked really surprised by this information. ‘I say – jolly good,’ she said, then looked at Cath. ‘And you?’

‘I’m on a predictor. You’ve just been working with us.’

‘So I have,’ Ruth said heartily. ‘Well, well done all of you.’

‘You coming for a cuppa?’ Molly asked.

‘Oh – no thank you. We Kinnys have a hut of our own for making tea. But thank you anyway. See you soon!’

She climbed onto the bike and hurried away.

‘I feel as if I ought to bow with gratitude,’ Cath said.

Molly snorted with laughter.

‘Who the hell was that?’ Jen asked.

Molly grinned. ‘We were on basic together. She daint half look down her nose at me. Looks as if she’s had to think again.’

Jen rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve met a few like that, I can tell you.’

The girls had a lot of fun at Clacton. Although they worked hard, they were not under immense pressure, and the work was repetitive. There was still the normal ATS discipline, like the morning and evening roll call and attempts at PT, but things were quite relaxed. In their breaks, there were plenty of good times to be had around the town, and plenty of people to have them with.

Since Cath’s arrival at the camp, Jen, without any offence, had paired up more with another girl called Nora from east London, and the four of them had a great many laughs together. Sometimes, during their time off they managed to get hold of enough bicycles and pedalled off along the coast. They explored the holiday camp, the dried-up swimming pool with its peeling paint, the chalets and mess halls, sand piling against their walls. The golf course was scattered with guns and predictors. They explored the long, straight coast, so unlike the high cliffs and coves they had been used to in Wales. And there were dances and games in the old Viennese Ballroom, which was now the gunners’ NAAFI.

One day, once work had finished, Molly and Cath were in their room in the boarding house unwinding. That afternoon they had watched huge clouds massing which had then dumped their fast-falling contents on Clacton, and even though it was summer, they had got very cold, as well as wet. All they wanted to do was relax in the room’s warmth, but then Jen came in, combing out her long black hair and bouncing with enthusiasm.

‘There’s a do over at the NAAFI – we’re all invited!’

Cath groaned, curling up tighter on the bed. ‘God no! I’m all in, and I want a bath, and the blasted boiler’s having one of its turns again.’

‘Oh don’t say you’re not coming!’ Jen said. She was always full of life. ‘Molly, what about you?’

Molly was lolling on her bed, boots off, with a nice hot cup of tea. ‘Oh, I dunno . . .’

‘God, you two are a couple of old maids,’ Jen fumed. ‘D’you not want to get out and have a bit of a giggle?’

‘I would if I could be bothered to move,’ Molly said sleepily.

Jen came and plonked herself on the edge of Molly’s bed, bouncing so that the springs shrieked.

‘Come . . .’
bounce, bounce
‘. . . on!’
Bounce, bounce
. ‘Yer can’t just stay in here all night every night! Yer’ll go mad and turn grey and all your teeth’ll drop out!’

‘Oh all right, all right,
stop it!
’ Molly sat up, laughing, on the vibrating bed. ‘You coming, Cath?’

‘I suppose . . .’

‘Right – that’s settled,’ Jen said, leaping up and going triumphantly to the door. ‘Be ready in ten minutes.’

Cath groaned. ‘Where does she get all her energy?’

Molly leaned up on one elbow. Half seriously she said, ‘It’s ’cause you and me are old before our time.’

The Viennese Ballroom was a huge, stately affair, with wooden balustrades supporting balconies above the dance floor. Two of its adjoining walls were fitted with floor-to-ceiling mirrors which made it look even bigger. Even though the place was already well filled when they arrived, with a band playing at the far end and smoke and chatter and dancing, the four girls still made a splash when they walked in. Molly and Cath both had striking hair and looks; Jen, though not pretty, gave off a vigorous energy; and Nora was small and sweet-looking with dark hair waving gently round her cheeks.

It had still been raining as they made their way to the Butlin’s camp, and as well as damp, all of them were still in uniform, so it was not easy to feel particularly glamorous.

‘Look at that!’ Cath elbowed Molly. Along the top of one side of the mirror, someone had painted in large letters ‘
TAKE A LOOK AT YOURSELF. ARE YOU A CREDIT TO YOUR UNIT
?’

They eyed themselves in the mirrors, with their heavy, masculine clothing, and laughed, fluffing up their damp hair. They were soon surrounded by male attention. They found somewhere to sit, the men brought beers over and they all took it in turn to dance. Molly, living her careful, sober life now, was careful not to drink too much, or give anyone any encouragement, and for the most part, she and the girls all sat and had a laugh together. But there was one man there that night who she couldn’t help noticing. He was a huge, burly fellow with thick, dark hair which, even when shorn into a service haircut, looked as if it was trying to break out and grow powerfully fast. He had a big, fleshy face and a general expression of happy good nature. He came over to them and introduced himself to her as Len Goodliffe and said he came from near Great Yarmouth. Smiling, his wide mouth revealed big square teeth.

‘Fancy another drink?’ he asked Molly. She could tell he had made a beeline for her. Somehow they were physical equals.

Molly hesitated, then said, ‘OK, ta then.’ One more wouldn’t hurt, she reasoned. The other girls all seemed to be pairing off. Cath was talking half-heartedly to an eager-looking blond lad, Jen was laughing with another and Nora had gone off and was dancing with a lad so tall and gangly that he towered over her.

‘Here you go,’ Len said, handing her the drink and parking himself on the bench beside her. Molly found herself pleased to have his company. His big, smiling presence was attractive and he was cheerful, and easy to be with.
Be careful
, she told herself.

‘So where’re you from, Molly?’ he asked, holding out a pack of Park Drives.

‘Ta—’ Molly took one and they both lit up. ‘Can’t yer tell?’ She smiled. ‘Most people can spot a Brummie accent fast enough to take the rise out of it!’

‘Oh – Birmingham. I got it wrong – thought it might be Liverpool. Shows how much I know!’

He asked questions about her family, in his Norfolk-tinged accent which Molly found quaint and soothing. She gave him a brief, cleaned-up version of her family – yes, she had a mom and dad and two brothers. She suddenly thought of Bert, at which a strange, unexpected shudder went through her which she hoped would not show, but Len said, ‘You all right?’

‘Yes – course. Just a bit chilly. I’m still drying out.’ She switched the conversation to him as soon as possible. ‘What about your family?’

Len told her he was the baby of the family: he had a brother and three older sisters. His family were farmers. From the way he talked about them it sounded a loving family. He also, as he soon told Molly, had a fiancée, Sheila, from another farming family, who had stayed at home to work the land. They were planning to marry in a few months, when he would go home on leave.

Molly felt relief wash through her, only slightly tinged with disappointment. She had no need to worry that Len might want to take things further with her – she could relax and enjoy the company of a friendly man, without any other complications.