Secrets of the Singer Girls (11 page)

‘Starching her curtains, most probably,’ muttered Betty under her breath to Poppy.

‘Sorry to hear that, Vera,’ Mr Gladstone replied. ‘You’ll be missed.’

‘Yeah. Only by him,’ whispered Betty. ‘Mr Patch has it bad for old Kippers and Curtains.’

Poppy nudged her hard in the ribs. ‘Ssh,’ she scolded.

‘Who else would like to go?’ asked Mr Gladstone.

A sea of hands shot up.

‘I’ll organize it,’ offered Sal, over the clamour of voices. ‘Be a real treat to cheer the little mites up.’

‘That’s the ticket, Sal,’ grinned Mr Gladstone. ‘I’ll go and ring Matron now and tell her I’ve got some of my best girls lined up.’

News of the hospital visit caused a real stir, and Poppy watched as Sal rallied the troops.

‘Now, I reckon we start with “Run, Rabbit, Run” and then how about “Climb, Climb Up Sunshine Mountain”? My boys loved that one.’

‘Ooh yes. How about “Lay a Little Egg for Me”?’ ventured Daisy, all memory of her earlier outburst seemingly forgotten.

‘I could knit them some little teddies,’ offered Doris.

‘And I’ll help you,’ added Ivy.

‘That’s the spirit, Dor,’ said Sal, clapping her hands. ‘We’ll put a smile on those children’s faces and give them a show to remember.’

‘Poppy, you’ll join in, won’t you?’ asked Daisy.

‘Course I will,’ she murmured. But Poppy wasn’t really giving them her full attention. She was too busy staring at Vera, who in the commotion had been quite forgotten by the
other ladies. She had her back to the floor and was busy counting bundles, but as Poppy looked closer at her friend’s face, she could have sworn that her eyes were misted over.

The day dawned bright and gin clear. A perfect, sunny spring morning full of promise. The cherry trees were bursting into life, and Poppy noted with a smile that even the
buddleia bushes sprouting through the wreckage of the bombsites were in full flower, their vivid purple blossom poking a defiant tongue at Hitler’s best efforts.

Gradually, and thanks to the warmth and camaraderie of the Singer Girls, Poppy was starting to feel more at home in the East End. Being away from Framshalton Hall and a life consigned to the
isolation of the scullery was actually doing her good. That awful night had taken her apart piece by piece, but slowly her fragile self-esteem was being restored. The memories of what happened, and
the scandal that followed, were starting to fade.

She had taken extra care with her appearance as she dressed that morning, pinning a lovely sparkly brooch to her coat and even washing with her bar of rose-scented soap, which Cook had given her
as a leaving present. Soap had just been rationed to three ounces per month and that scented bar was like gold dust. But Poppy figured if the children enduring so much in the hospital wards could
manage without, then the least she could do was make an extra effort for them.

Waiting for her outside Bethnal Green Tube Station were Daisy, Sal, Doris, Ivy, Betty and Kathy The group was chatting excitedly in a rabble of noise.

When Poppy spotted them, she painted a bright smile on her face and quickened her pace.

‘Hello, girls.’ She smiled shyly. ‘Sorry I’m late.’

Within seconds she found herself wrapped in a tangle of kisses and hugs.

‘Hello, dearie,’ grinned Ivy. ‘Ooh, you’re a tonic on the eyes.’

‘You look pretty as a picture today,’ agreed Daisy, standing at arm’s length to appraise her. ‘What have you done different to yourself?’

‘Oh, nothing really,’ Poppy replied, blushing furiously and secretly thinking that she could never match up to Daisy, who today looked ravishing, with her hair in victory rolls and
wearing an emerald dress that clung to her shape. She was the spit of Vivien Leigh.

‘That dress matches your eyes perfectly, Daisy,’ Poppy breathed.

‘What, this old thing?’ Daisy exclaimed, twirling round. ‘Made it out of some old curtain material.’

‘Well, it will certainly cheer up all the children,’ Poppy ventured.

‘That’s the spirit,’ grinned Sal. ‘Now, let’s go entertain the troops, as they say.’

‘Have you always sung?’ Poppy asked as they walked. ‘You have the most terrific voices.’

‘Oh, we’ve always loved a good sing-song,’ Sal replied. ‘When war broke out, we just sang louder. It’s like whistling in the dark – keeps a good face on things. We’re not professional.’

‘Yet,’ added Daisy brightly. ‘But who knows what tomorrow might bring?’

‘That’s right,’ cackled Doris. ‘If
Workers’ Playtime
ever visit Trout’s, they’ll be signing us all up to tour with ‘em.’

‘Here, isn’t that your old man over there?’ Kathy asked, nudging Daisy.

The group stopped and suddenly Poppy recognized the figure of Daisy and Vera’s father weaving his way up the road towards them.

‘Hello, girls,’ grinned Frank, when he reached them. ‘You look proper lovely all dolled up. Where you off to?’

The group’s excited chatter tailed off as he barred their way, and Poppy stared uncomfortably at the ground. Her heart started to thud as she smelt his familiar waft of stale sweat wash
over her. Daisy leaned forward to give her father a kiss on the cheek.

‘We’re off up the hospital to do a sing-song for the kiddies,’ she said brightly.

‘That’s my girl,’ he grinned. ‘Regular little ray of sunshine, she is.’

As he spoke, his eyes fixed on Poppy, before flickering up and down her body. ‘The sight of this angel would be enough to raise any man from his sickbed, so it would,’ he leered.

Poppy gripped Sal’s arm tighter in fear.

‘Sorry to be rude, Mr Shadwell, but I better get these girls off or else we’ll be late,’ interrupted Sal. Poppy noticed her usually chipper voice was cold and guarded.

‘See you later, Dad,’ called Daisy.

‘So long, darlin’,’ Frank replied, still staring at Poppy. ‘Don’t be late – got us a nice bit of liver for our tea.’

As Frank drew level with Poppy, he winked.

‘No guessing where he got that liver from,’ Ivy spat as soon as he was out of earshot. ‘Still hanging out with villains, is he, and dabbling in the black market? Men like that
give decent East End fellas a bad name.’ Her voice dripped with pure vitriol.

‘Oh, leave it out, Ivy,’ sighed Daisy. ‘Why is everyone always slagging off my old man? I get enough of that from Vera. He has a dicky heart.’

‘All right, girls,’ said Sal. ‘Let’s not forget why we’re out on this beautiful spring morning. To bring some joy to some little ‘uns. So turn that frown
upside down.’

‘Sorry, Sal,’ mumbled Daisy, contrite.

‘Yeah, me and all,’ said Ivy.

How does that vile man cause upset wherever he goes? Poppy thought, but wisely held her tongue.

Not two minutes later, they stopped abruptly in front of an imposing Georgian building. The hospital had taken a few hits and looked as if it was in need of some tender loving care itself, never
mind the patients.

Sal climbed the steps to the door, then paused, raising one foot up to rest on a sandbag.

‘Now, girls,’ she announced, looking for all the world like a general going into battle, ‘there might be some sad sights in here, but it’s important we only bring smiles
into this building. So if you can’t put a merry face on it, now’s the time to sling yer hook.’

Poppy realized Sal was staring straight at her.

‘Understood.’ She gulped. ‘I won’t let you down, Sal.’

Sal touched Poppy softly on the cheek. ‘That’s my girl.’

Inside, Poppy and the group struggled to keep pace with a nurse as she led them down a series of long tiled corridors, until finally they reached an office.

‘Matron’s office,’ the nurse announced.

The matron, a white-haired lady with kind but tired eyes, greeted them warmly.

‘Oh, but I can’t tell you how excited the children are to have some visitors,’ she smiled.

‘Many of them have terribly sad stories and have lost whole families in the Blitz. They are here until they are recovered enough or until new homes can be found for them. We do what we
can, but . . .’ Her voice trailed off. ‘It’s not easy. On the bright side, it’s jam sandwiches for tea today, and they have some other visitors who may cheer them up too.
Now, come – please do follow me.’

Poppy was about to ask who the other visitors were, but there was no time, as soon they were being led down another maze of corridors. At a set of double swing doors, Matron halted.

‘The children are ready for you.’ She smiled at the group. ‘You’ll be amazed at how wonderfully they cope with their predicaments, so it’s important you don’t
pity them.’

‘But how about you, Matron?’ asked Sal quizzically. ‘How do you cope? It can’t be easy looking after patients in a war zone.’

Poppy watched as her kindly face clouded.

‘Simple, really. The needs of our patients must call forth all our love and devotion. You are merely a pair of hands for service, to minister to the suffering and make them as comfortable
as you can in their hour of need. One’s own comfort and well-being simply must not come into it.’ She sighed and her face fell into a spider web of fine lines. ‘After all, most
women’s lives are one of self-sacrifice, and never has that been more true than today.’

Poppy absorbed her words but found no solace in them. ‘But the future looks so grim – we aren’t safe anywhere,’ she blurted. The girls stared at her in surprise.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t mean to sound morose.’

Poppy could have kicked herself. How could she have been so reckless to have shown her true colours?

‘Please do not trouble yourself, young lady.’ Matron smiled kindly. ‘It’s true. These days of war are anxious for everyone. Fear and uncertainty are at every turn, and
the future seems to hold so little to cling to.’

She paused and gazed deeply into Poppy’s blue eyes. ‘But we must never surrender to our fears, or abandon hope. We are British, after all. Now, shall we meet the children?’

The double doors swung open and Poppy gasped. Her heart melted at the pitiful sight. Row after row of little children confined to iron beds. Some looked so listless they could scarcely walk.
Others were still recovering from bomb blasts and wore heavy slings and bandages that concealed their wounds and burns.

‘Oh, my,’ Poppy murmured. Some of the poor little scraps had every limb encased in plaster casts but still wore sunny smiles that broke her heart.

Sal stepped forward. ‘Hello, children,’ she grinned. ‘My two boys have been evacuated, so what am I going to do with all these?’ She sighed with mock despair. From behind
her back, she produced a basket of second-hand toys and knitted teddies.

An excited cheer rang round the ward.

‘That’s what I like to hear.’ Sal laughed over the noise.

‘Now, my friend Poppy here is going to hand these round while we sing you a few little songs.’

Poppy paused at the bed of a girl with her leg in plaster and handed her a small knitted bear.

‘Poor little mite lost her mum in a bomb blast, and her dad’s missing,’ whispered the nurse.

‘Missing?’ asked Poppy, puzzled.

‘Missing in action,’ explained the nurse. ‘She’s just here until we can find space in a children’s home. I dare say that’s the first gift she’s had for
a long time.’

Poppy shook her head in sorrow. At least she had a mother, even if she didn’t seem to want her near. There and then Poppy made a decision. No more feeling sorry for herself. Plastering a
bright smile on her face, she sat down on the little girl’s bed.

‘You have the prettiest hair,’ she beamed.

‘That’s what the other lady who visits from Trout’s says,’ the girl replied.

‘What lady?’ Poppy asked curiously.

‘Vera, I think her name is,’ she replied. ‘She visits every Sunday morning. Very friendly with Matron too. I’m surprised she’s not here today.’

‘So am I,’ murmured Poppy. How strange that Vera had not mentioned she visited so regularly. Poppy couldn’t understand the secrecy, but resolved to ask her in a quiet
moment.

A happier morning Poppy had not known. Two hours slipped by like two minutes. She had to hand it to the girls, they proved themselves natural performers as they sang a medley of songs, danced
and sprinkled a little magic and cheer over the ward.

‘I hate to break up the party, but the next lot of visitors has arrived,’ said Matron. Her announcement was met with a chorus of groans and boos. ‘All right,’ she
chuckled, holding up her hands in defeat. ‘One more song, but these young men have been waiting ten minutes already.’

Any requests?’ asked Sal.

‘“We’ll Meet Again”?’ piped up the orphan girl Poppy had befriended. Her little voice echoed down the ward and its resonance touched Poppy’s heart. ‘Can
the pretty one who looks like Vivien Leigh sing it?’ she smiled shyly.

Without a trace of bashfulness Daisy stepped forward.

‘I’d be honoured, sweetheart,’ she smiled, striding into the middle of the ward like it was the stage at the Albert Hall.

Poppy giggled to herself. Gracious but her friend was full of herself.

Her laughter dissolved as Daisy’s clear voice began to float through the ward. She really could sing. Poppy had heard her sing before, of course, but never on her own. Her voice was so
exquisitely beautiful and her diction so perfect that if Poppy closed her eyes, it was almost as if she were in the room with Vera Lynn herself.

Daisy was just reaching the crescendo of the song when the doors burst open and a hulking great figure of a man stumbled in with his cap in hand. Behind him stood the mischievous faces of his
comrades, who had just shoved him in as a prank.

Poppy did a double take. She had never seen a black man in uniform before. In fact, she had never seen a black man full stop, much less one as handsome as this fella. She waited for the fallout.
Daisy would be furious at this chap for interrupting her grand finale. But it wasn’t anger flitting across Daisy’s flawless face; it was total shock.

‘Robert?’ Daisy breathed. Then her radiant face lit up.

The GI tipped his head in deference.

‘Miss, I’m so sorry for this rude interruption.’