Gunner Girls and Fighter Boys (53 page)

Mrs Gilbie stood at the door, a half smile on her face. ‘I’m looking at you, Peggy. It’s so good to see you happy again.’

Peggy smiled. Though she knew this wasn’t happiness, she certainly felt lighter and more at peace than she had in a long while. ‘Well, it’s good to have something worthwhile to do.’

‘You’re right there, love. It’s the best medicine.’

Taking Mrs Gilbie by the elbow, Peggy led her out into the garden. Of course, the woman needed to be busy herself – she had her own griefs and she had borne them so bravely. You wouldn’t know that she was praying daily for news of her son, except that sometimes in the evenings as Peggy sat with the Gilbies, listening to Victor Sylvester on the wireless, she would see Nell drift away. Then suddenly the woman would come back to the room with a start and say something like, ‘Oh, my Bill likes this song.’ Her husband would look up with a worried expression, and Mrs Gilbie would say, quite fiercely, ‘I’m not going to stop talking about him. So don’t look at me like that, Sam. I never give up on you, did I? And I’m not giving up on him neither.’

So Peggy got into the habit of talking to her about Bill, and because she didn’t want to forget Harry either, she was happy to speak of him, and of her father too. It was almost a conspiracy between them, for everyone else seemed vaguely embarrassed by the subject of their missing men.

The garden was small, a patch of grass with narrow beds. Peggy lifted a yellow dahlia, droopy with rain. It was like a sunburst in the grey day.

‘What did you mean, the other night, Nell, when you said you never gave up on Mr Gilbie?’

The woman lifted her chin, and though her hair was streaked with grey, Peggy could see a flash of the determined young woman she’d been, the one who’d had the gumption to get on that penny-farthing contraption and ride all over Bermondsey to make a few bob.

‘In the last war, my Sam was posted missing and I could’ve gone to bits. But something told me not to give up and sure enough, he came home. If it can happen once – it can happen again!’

‘There’s always hope,’ Peggy said, knowing from her own experience that although it might be dashed, hope was never wasted.

They went back in and mounted the stairs.

‘Have you heard from May at all?’ Mrs Gilbie asked as they came to the first landing, which opened on to a long back room.

‘Not lately. I daresay there’s no time to write – she’s hardly ever off duty! She says her gun site is one of the last chances to stop these rockets getting through.’ She paused, thinking of how her home-loving little sister had changed. Peggy owed her life to May’s newfound nerve and courage, she was sure of that. She had heard how, standing atop the ruins, May refused to move until they searched the very spot she insisted on. Now it was Peggy’s turn to help dig May out of whatever crater she had crawled into.

‘I wish May could talk to you, Nell. I know deep down she’s worried sick about Bill, but she doesn’t say nothing.’

Mrs Gilbie shook her head. ‘I’ve a good mind to go down to Barkingside myself. If they won’t let her have a day off, they can’t stop me seeing her, can they? She shouldn’t be just soldiering on all on her own.’

Peggy agreed, but the last time she’d spoken to her sister on the telephone, which was the day the news came through about Bill, she gathered that May had wanted to do just that: soldier on alone. And unlike Mrs Gilbie, she didn’t want to talk about Bill.

As they mounted more stairs to view the rooms on the second landing, Peggy had an idea. ‘Perhaps we’ll both go down, take the kids!’ she said.

‘Why not! And you can tell her all about your plans for this place, let her see there’s life outside that gun site.’

*

May did a double-take at the sight of them. Was that really her sister and Mrs Gilbie pushing prams towards the barrack huts? May had just come out of the NAAFI after dinner and was looking forward to catching up on a few hours’ sleep that afternoon, when she spotted the pair. They were in front of her but, even from behind, Peggy’s striking tall figure, with the fair hair and red hat, was unmistakable. But what was Nell Gilbie doing here? May immediately felt a stab of guilt. She should have written to Bill’s mum. She wasn’t the only one suffering. But no matter how many times she’d begun a letter, something had prevented her from finishing it. She knew he wasn’t dead. She just didn’t want to hear from anyone who suggested that he was. The words that Mrs Gilbie expected from her were simply not in her vocabulary. He was still, in her imagination, the young man who’d walked so close beside her into the wood and held her tightly in the charmed circle of the fairy ring. The one whose letters had shown that his love could endure long months of separation. She preferred to see this latest silence as a pause between letters. A day would come, she was convinced of it, when she would hear from him again. And though she knew everyone pitied her and made allowances, she didn’t care.

She contemplated running away in the opposite direction. They’d come unannounced. She could be anywhere on camp, even on a route march. They weren’t to know. She would do as she had when a child – find a hiding place and wait it out till they’d gone. But just then Peggy turned. She was wearing red lipstick and for a moment May was angry with her, for demonstrating that life was possible after loss. If the worst happened and Bill didn’t come back, could she go on, live, wear lipstick and smile? But she was being harsh. Of course she was happy that her sister had found a way to go on.

‘Peg!’ she shouted, breaking into a jog. ‘What are you two doing here?’

May kissed her and then Mrs Gilbie.

‘We’ve come to see you!’ Peggy hugged her.

‘How the bloody hell did you get past the guard?’

‘What guard?’

May put her hand to her forehead. Someone would be in trouble if her visitors were discovered. Pearl had woken up and was whimpering to find herself in this strange place, and Jack was shouting at May to pay attention to his wooden boat.

She bent to admire it. ‘Come on, let’s get you lot out of here before an officer notices! I’ll take you into Barkingside for tea and cake.’

‘No, you won’t, it’s my treat,’ Mrs Gilbie insisted.

They caught the bus and went to the tea rooms that she and Bill had liked best. In the cosy warmth, over toasted teacakes, May found her muscles beginning to relax. Living on high alert did strange things to the body and most of the time she felt as though her very bones were on fire. Sometimes when she was called on to post in the middle of the night, she woke with an excruciating earache, where she’d clenched her teeth tightly in preparation for whatever unexpected attack the night might bring. But while eating teacake and talking about Peggy’s plans for starting a nursery with Bill’s mum, the world shifted back into a gentler focus. She was also pleased to discover that she’d been entirely wrong about Nell Gilbie. The woman never stopped talking about Bill. It seemed they were allies after all, both firmly on the side of Bill’s sure survival.

The only time her good spirits failed her was when Peggy told her about the blast damage from the latest John Bull Arch bombings.

‘I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, love, but that’s the end of it for the old house,’ she said, looking anxiously for May’s reaction.

‘I suppose it was stupid to think we’d ever go back there,’ May said, despondent and vaguely disorientated. What good was a homing pigeon with nowhere to return to? She was like a compass without a magnetic North and the feeling was almost like sea sickness.

‘But when you and Bill get married, you’ll be looking around for your own place, won’t you?’ Mrs Gilbie said.

May was startled by her matter-of-factness. ‘Yes, of course, you’re right, Mrs Gilbie, we will,’ May said and, leaning her elbows on the table, began to weep softly, covering her face with her hands in a vain attempt to conceal her sorrow.

***

There came a day in the New Year of 1945 when May noticed that there were fewer rockets flying overhead. Their numbers had decreased in proportion to the Allies’ continued advance across France and Belgium. They were disabling rocket launchers as they went. May’s predictor team finally found time to polish their kit and curl their hair. They even had evenings off, when they went to the occasional dance at the Chigwell RAF base. But this was one activity May found particularly hard. For the RAF band had found themselves a new piano player. He had all the latest songs in his repertoire, but sometimes May would be caught unawares and he would strike up one of Bill’s favourites – ‘I’ll String Along With You’ or ‘Kiss Me Again’ – and the yearning would be too hard to bear.

When in the springtime they heard the battery was to be broken up May went into Hainault Forest to see the blackthorns’ frothy white blossom and the first bluebells. Wood anemones were scattered like stars over the emerald mossy floor of their fairy ring. Bluebell quills had pushed up, their bells already forming a hazy blue quilt. She lay in the silence, looking into the green light above her. Then, closing her eyes, she imagined other leaves, spiky palms and looping vines, outsized and alien. She felt on her face, not the cool freshness of English air, but the humid heaviness of a jungle, sweating all around her. The sharp sappy scent of grasses and the powdery sweetness of new bluebells were replaced by a dank, honeyed musk of exotic trumpet flowers. Somewhere he was. She extended her faith on wings, and sent it flying to a remote jungle half a world away.

‘What shall I do, Bill?’ she asked.

The question was one she’d asked herself many times since the news came through that her battery was to re-muster. No more bombs, no more doodlebugs, no more rockets would fall on Bermondsey. The war wasn’t quite over, but everyone expected the good news to come through soon. All the mixed batteries were being disbanded, releasing the gunner girls for other duties. She had fought her fight, it seemed, and now they wanted her to sort mail. It felt wrong. Her war
wasn’t
over. It couldn’t be, not while Bill’s was still raging.

‘What shall I do, Bill?’ she asked again, this time aloud.

There was a rustling sound overhead, branches bent and new leaves shivered. She caught sight of a movement somewhere above her, pale grey wings spread wide, flapped, and, with one sharp snap, the wood pigeon lifted itself skyward, its homely rounded body transformed by the grace and power of its flight. She had her answer.

March–August 1945

‘What do you mean, you’re not coming with me?’ Emmy was incredulous.

‘I can’t go and sort letters, Em.’

‘But it won’t be for long. The war’ll be over in a few months. Everyone says so. And besides, what else are you going to do? It’s that or cook officers’ dinners!’

It was hard, having to say goodbye to all the girls. They’d been through so much together and they all agreed that, however much they wanted a return to normality, it felt as though much of the meaning had been sucked out of their lives. They had given everything, left home and family, worn themselves to the bone. Their lives hadn’t been their own since becoming gunner girls yet however hard it had been, fighting to defend your home had a purpose to it, which sorting mail never could, however necessary a job it might be. They’d talked endlessly about what to do when the battery disbanded and May’s team had taken for granted that they would all go together.

May shook her head. ‘I won’t be cooking dinners either. I’ve made up my mind. I want to retrain in signals, see if I can get a Far East posting.’

‘What the bloody hell d’you want to do that for, you dozy mare?’

May had to laugh at her friend’s face, which looked as though it might explode. ‘Don’t look at me as if I’m bonkers, Em. There’s still a war on… over there.’

Emmy had to sit down on the bed. ‘Well, I know that new sarge’s been recruiting for the Far East, but I never thought you’d be the one to go. If any of us, I’d say Bee, or even Mac, but not you, May. You won’t know your arse from your elbow in a foreign country.’

‘I don’t see why not. I never had a thought of leaving Bermondsey before the war, but I managed all right when it came to it. Besides, the new sarge’s already said she’ll recommend me. She’s done a stint overseas herself; she says it’s exciting.’

‘Excitin’ my arse.’ Emmy looked at her intently. ‘You don’t fool me, May. You’re not going for excitement, are you?’

May flushed. Emmy knew her too well.

‘What is there left for me here, Em?’ she said, dropping her forced brightness.‘Mum’s still at the major’s, and Peggy’s got her own life with her kids and the nursery.’

‘But don’t you want to get back home to Bermondsey?’

‘What home? It’s gone.’
And what use is a homing pigeon without a home to fly back to?
May thought. ‘Anyway, you can call me crazy if you like, but I won’t be able to rest if I stay here, not while Bill’s still out there.’

‘It ain’t crazy, love. I suppose I can understand it. It’s just... I’ll miss you.’

May threw her arms round Emmy. ‘I’ll miss you too, Em.’

The two friends were still hugging, when they were interrupted by the rest of the team bursting into the hut.

‘What’s all this Sarge tells us about you applying for overseas?’ Mac came and stood in front of May, crossing her arms. ‘You can’t! I thought we’d agreed. We’re all going to Nottingham, mail sorting together!’

Bee sauntered over and slumped down on the bed beside May. She took a deep breath. ‘Sorry, girls, I might as well admit it now May’s made the first move, but I don’t think I can bear postal duties either. I’m going with a battery to Belgium.’

Ruby burst into tears. ‘That’s it then. Nothing’ll be the same again.’

‘Oh, Rube, don’t cry.’ May tried to comfort her. ‘We’ll keep in touch, won’t we, girls?’

And they all agreed they would, but looking round at their faces – Ruby, Mac, Bee and Emmy – she found herself trying to fix them in her mind, just in case she never did come home again.

Before the battery disbanded, they lined up for one last photo and May, with her oft-derided passion for neatness, insisted they all wore dress uniform. Pat was dragged over from the stores, for they still saw her as part of their team, though as a married woman she’d already been given her demob number.