The Bomb Girls (11 page)

Mystified, Alice smiled blankly at her boss, who was clearly more excited than she was.

‘What do they want me to do?' she asked.

‘That's for them to tell and you to find out,' he said, tapping the side of his nose as if it was a secret. ‘Mark my words, you'll be hearing from the powers that be, Alice. Mark my words.'

When Alice rejoined her friends in their digs they immediately asked what Mr Featherstone had wanted.

Alice answered with absolute honesty.

‘I have no idea!'

A few days later Alice was surprised to find an official, buff-coloured envelope in her pigeonhole at work. With Emily on one side of her and Lillian on the other, she tore it open to find it contained a letter from the War Office and a train ticket for travel the following Thursday to London's Euston station.

‘Ooh! Going on holiday?' Lillian enquired as she eyed the train ticket.

‘Well … ? What does it say?' Emily asked as she nodded at the letter Alice was clutching.

Alice's eyes scanned the contents of the letter.

‘The War Office are interested in my French skills,' she answered quickly.

‘Ha, ha! French letters!' joked Lillian.

‘How come the War Office know about you?' Emily asked.

‘Mr Featherstone must have recommended me after I'd translated those French manuals for him,' Alice answered.

‘Lucky sod! A free trip to London and all expenses paid,' Lillian giggled. ‘Maybe I should take up French too!'

Back in their digs Alice read the rest of the letter when she had a private moment in the bedroom she shared with Emily.

You are instructed to make your way to Simpson's-in-the-Strand, London, where one of our men will be waiting for you. Train tickets are enclosed and details will follow.

Alice took a deep breath as she folded the letter and shoved it to the bottom of her cardigan pocket. Today was Tuesday; she had just over a week to prepare for her mysterious meeting with the Man on the Strand.

The next day Alice rounded up Lillian and Emily straight after work and the three of them rushed to the hospital to see their two friends, but they were shocked to find Elsie in floods of tears.

‘What's wrong? Has she had a relapse?' Alice asked Agnes, who was sat on Elsie's bed rocking the sobbing girl in her arms.

Agnes shook her head.

‘Tommy's just had to leave,' she said. ‘He had no idea but his unit has just been posted to Tobruk. They're literally moving out tonight,' she added quietly. ‘It's been a terrible shock.'

Emily's heart skipped a beat. Like Tommy and most of the local Pendle lads, Bill was in the Lancashire Fusiliers – in a different division, which was why they had different postings – but would he be on his way to Africa too?

‘I've only just met him,' poor Elsie wailed. ‘I can't believe he's had to go away so suddenly. What am I going to do?' With tears coursing down her cheeks she unashamedly turned to her friends. ‘If anything should happen to 'im, I'd kill myself, I really would.'

Lillian smiled as she ruffled Elsie's fine hair. She was wracking her brains trying to think of something that would cheer the poor kid up, even if that something wasn't entirely accurate.

‘Listen, have you seen
Casablanca
?' she asked.

Elsie wiped away a tear and looked blank.

‘Well, if you had seen it you'd know that North Africa looks like a picnic compared to any other war zone. Tommy'll be right as rain, and home before you know it,' she assured her.

Elsie didn't look convinced.

‘Come on, Elsie,' Lillian urged. ‘I'm sure Tommy left with a brave smile on his face?'

Elsie nodded as she recalled his last sweet gentle kiss and his determinedly upbeat tone of voice.

‘Wait for me, sweetheart?' he'd whispered.

‘For ever,' was her answer. Then Elsie had sat up straight. ‘I'll be strong for you, Tommy,' she'd answered with a valiant smile.

As Lillian, Emily and Alice gathered around Elsie, reassuring her that Tommy would be fine, Agnes kept her mouth firmly shut. Since she'd lost her husband, who could be alive or dead, she had no words of comfort to give. This war was nothing but a long agony of waiting, praying and hoping. Poor Elsie had joined an army of women who'd been doing just that for a very long time.

The day before Alice's interview in London, Lillian washed and set her silky blonde hair.

‘Chignon or bob?' she asked.

Alice considered for a few seconds.

‘Er, what do you think, Em?'

She turned to Emily, who was gnawing at her nails deep in thought.

‘EM!' she shouted.

Emily jumped sky-high.

‘Ooh! What?' she gasped.

‘Chignon or bob … my hair?' she said, pointing to her damp locks.

‘Er … ?' Emily replied blankly.

Lillian quickly proceeded to brush out Alice's hair.

‘Let's go for a bob. We could be here all day waiting for gormless over there!'

Alice looked worriedly at her best friend. She instinctively knew what was preoccupying her: Freddie. She'd never been the same since she'd first clapped eyes on him.

Anxious about leaving, albeit only for a few days, Alice said softly, ‘What's on your mind, lovie?'

Emily turned her tear-brimmed eyes to Alice as she blurted out, ‘I two-timed on Bill with Freddie!'

Ever the realist, Lillian retorted, ‘Well, we all know that!'

Now that Emily had started, nothing could stop her.

‘I got so carried away, I felt like I was dreaming, floating on air …' she said as she struggled to find words that explained the ecstasy of their kisses.

Lillian looked at her sceptically.

‘Really? The earth never moved for me with young Malcolm, that's for sure!' she laughed. ‘But then Malc's not exactly Mr Universe, more Mr Puniverse!'

‘You don't let your emotions run away with you, Lil, you always follow the money,' Alice pointed out.

‘Well, next time will be different. I'm done with making deals with second-rate fixers,' Lillian said firmly.

‘Did you … you know?' Alice asked.

Emily shook her auburn curls.

‘No,' she said quietly.

‘Why not?' teased Lillian.

‘First I thought of Bill, and what a bitch I was breaking promises I'd vowed to keep, then a man walking his dog on the moors disturbed us,' Emily admitted. ‘Freddie was livid, I can tell you,' she added ruefully.

‘I bet!' Lillian exclaimed. ‘He's the kind of good-looking guy that always gets what he wants. He'll be looking elsewhere if you don't come up with the goods, Em.'

‘Well, let him look!' exclaimed furious Emily. ‘Just because there's a war on doesn't mean that all women are available for sex.'

‘He probably thinks the Phoenix is one big knocking shop!' joked Lillian.

As she and Alice burst out laughing, Emily stayed guiltily preoccupied.

‘I've never let Bill undo my blouse,' she confessed with a blush. ‘He respected me, said we had to wait till we were married, but then Mr Wonderful Canadian swings by and I forget everything. Oh, what have I done?' she wailed.

Knowing Emily's fiancé as well as she did, Alice said, ‘Don't go telling Bill about Freddie; he'd go berserk if he found out.' Seeing Emily's eyes brim with tears, she quickly added, ‘You had the sense to stop before things really did get out of control.'

Lillian furiously waved her curling tongs in the air.

‘What're we women supposed to do?' she cried. ‘Incarcerate ourselves till the boys come home?'

Seeing Lillian red-faced and angry and Emily nervously gnawing her nails, Alice quickly changed the subject. Tossing her hair, she returned to the original subject as
she said with a laugh, ‘So come on, what style of bob are we going for, Lillian?'

‘I'm thinking Lauren Bacall,' Lillian replied as she struck a sexy pose, and dropping her voice to imitate the actress's voice, she added, ‘Hey, know how to whistle … ? Just pucker up and blow … phew!'

‘Oh, Lil, you should be on the stage,' Alice giggled.

‘Yeah … mopping it!' Lillian retorted.

Later, as Alice tried on her best blue suit with a cream silk blouse in their shared bedroom, Emily sensed there was something wrong.

‘What's up?' she asked bluntly. ‘You should be happy.'

‘I am.' Alice tried to smile. ‘Just nervous.'

Emily's eyes raked over Alice's pale, tense face.

‘Is there more to this French malarkey than meets the eye?' she asked. ‘They're not parachuting you into France on a rescue mission, are they?' she joked.

‘Don't be daft,' Alice laughed.

Still baffled, Emily pressed on with her questions.

‘Then why aren't you jumping up and down with joy? Here's your chance to get out of the Phoenix and study French in London with all them clever fellas at the War Office,' she teased.

‘Let's not jump the gun, Em,' Alice answered. ‘You never know, they might not even like me!'

Emily engulfed her friend in a big bear hug.

‘They'll love you, Al,' she whispered fondly. ‘We all do!'

The next day Alice left Clitheroe railway station with a lot on her mind. She was glad of the solitude of the long journey, which gave her time to think.

Did she want to leave her home, family, friends, she considered as the train rattled south.

She'd always imagined she'd go to university then return home and teach, maybe at a Manchester grammar school. She'd certainly never imagined living in London or anywhere down south. She was a born-and-bred northerner and thrived on the culture and landscape she'd grown up with. But could she turn down an opportunity to work for the War Office and improve her French in the process? It would be madness, not to mention a bit pathetic. She was twenty-one, a grown woman who should be seeking new experiences, not worrying about leaving home!

When she arrived at Euston station and walked through the bomb-torn streets of London she felt breathless with shock. The city was crushed by relentless bombings; barrage balloons floated high overhead; buses rumbled round shattered office blocks, factories and churches; the air smelled of brick dust and sewers. As she walked through the city, she looked at the people she passed: carrying their gas masks, they all seemed in a hurry, as if running from the next bomb to be dropped.

Catching the nervous mood of the city, Alice felt tense as she entered Simpson's. Dressed in her best blue suit, which had looked smart the day before when she'd tried it on with her friends, Alice suddenly felt shabby and old-fashioned. Peeping out from underneath the brim of her hat, she noted the cut of the dresses worn by the glamorous women in Simpson's. Their hems were shorter, obviously to save on material, but the skirts were cut on the bias, which gave them a lovely swing and emphasized
the extra length of leg shown off by the short hemlines. The fashion was very different to Alice's tight skirt, which ended mid-calf and showed hardly any leg at all. The women's hats were different too, sharper, with a military, masculine shape. Apart from worrying about what she looked like Alice wondered how she would ever spot the man she was supposed to be having lunch with.

As her stomach gave a nervous lurch, Alice dashed into the Ladies, where she reapplied her lipstick and rouge powder then quickly combed the blonde bob that Lillian had so lovingly created. A huge wave of homesickness washed over her; she missed her friends and the warm camaraderie of their digs. She'd travelled to London twice before but on school trips, not a grown-up, nerve-wracking visits like this one. Determined not to hide in a corner and risk not being seen, Alice forced herself to stand conspicuously at the bar. She didn't order a drink, which she longed for to steady her nerves; instead she lit a cigarette with shaking hands. Men were curiously eyeing her, the only woman at the bar.

They must think I'm on the game! Alice thought.

Just when she was on the point of running away, a tall, rangy man in a smart check suit and brown hat wandered up to her.

‘Darling!' he exclaimed. ‘I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long?'

Alice smothered a shocked gasp as the total stranger bent to peck her on the cheek then, after ordering two Vermouths, confidently guided Alice across the room to a small table for two.

‘I'm Leo, by the way,' he said as he removed her coat and settled her comfortably in a chair. ‘Don't worry, I know who you are,' he said with a charming wink.

A man in tails played romantic airs like ‘South of the Border' and ‘You'll Never Know How Much I Miss You' on a grand piano as they were served salmon, roast beef and a delicious sherry trifle – fresh, plentiful food quite unlike anything Alice had eaten in years. Unfortunately it all tasted like sawdust in her mouth because, as soon as the introductions were over, and throughout the entire meal, Leo talked to her only in French, and clearly expected her to do the same. As she sipped from her wine glass, Alice realized this was a test. Focused on keeping her head clear and her French grammar as good as possible, she refused further wine and stuck to water.

‘
Vous habitez au nord d'Angleterre depuis combien de temps?
' Leo asked.

How long have I lived in the north of England? Alice quickly translated in her head. ‘
Toute ma vie, j'y ai grandi,
' she said out loud.

Leo continued, ‘
Et votre français est parfait – vous l'avez appris comment?
'

With her heart pounding, Alice translated: Where did you learn such excellent French? She immediately answered, ‘
À mon école.
'

She started to visibly relax as the language came back to her. She was definitely rusty but, once she'd got over her initial nerves, she began to enjoy the challenge of answering quickly and as expansively as she could.

‘And have you visited France?' he asked as he poured
more wine for himself whilst Alice covered her glass with a hand.

‘No, but I would love to when the war is over.'

‘And what about before the war is over?'

As Alice paused briefly to consider her reply, Leo was struck by her composure and the beauty of her stunning grey eyes.

‘We live in dangerous times,' she replied.

He nodded as he offered her a cigarette and moved the conversation on to her bomb work at the Phoenix.

‘We understand you have a good knowledge of explosives,' he said.

Alice's eyes grew wide. So Mr Featherstone had told the War Office about her work on the cordite section.

‘The combination of your skills is very valuable to us,' Leo said. ‘You might be just what we're looking for,' he concluded.

Suddenly the meeting was over.

Leo led Alice outside, then, standing on the busy Strand, he said, in English, ‘Can you be at the War Office at ten thirty tomorrow morning?'