Secrets of the Singer Girls (22 page)

One hour after the first record had been placed on the gramophone, the bash was in full swing, and never let it be said, thought Poppy, that her fellow factory workers didn’t know how to
have a jolly good knees-up.

The back room of the Dog and Duck had been converted into a makeshift dance floor, and no matter that it was a little short on male dance partners, all the women were dancing to the old-time
classics. Pat Doggan was leading an enthusiastic rendition of ‘Knees Up, Mother Brown’, revealing a pair of greying bloomers every time she high-kicked her legs. Every single one of the
Singer Girls was dressed in red, white and blue, and the whole dance floor looked like a Union Jack moving in the wind. Poppy smiled in awe. The Singer Girls were an uproarious tribe of women,
bonded by long hours spent toiling in a factory, but for these few short hours they were determined to put all serious thought of war and work aside.

In a darkened corner, Vera and Mr Gladstone sat at a table, deep in conversation. Vera was straight-backed as always, her thick lisle-stockinged legs crossed neatly at the ankle and her blouse
buttoned up to the throat. Mr Gladstone wore a paper hat at a jaunty angle and a doe-eyed expression.

Poppy smiled self-consciously and listened as the stamping of feet grew so loud she half wondered if the floor wouldn’t cave in. But best of all, there, bobbing about in the middle of the
dance floor, her red curls bouncing along in time to the music, was her dear friend Sal.

Sal looked up and caught Poppy watching her. She stuck her tongue out mischievously and winked.

‘Come on, Poppy,’ she called through the crowds. ‘Come and kick your heels up, girl.’

Poppy smiled back, blushing. ‘In a minute.’ She preferred to stand on the sidelines and watch her friends enjoy themselves. Since Sal had returned from the countryside, she looked
like her old self again. She had the same vivid red hair, infectious gappy grin and quick mouth, but Poppy noticed that some of her sparkle had dulled, like a silver teapot that no one had cared
enough to shine. She put on a good front all right, but Poppy wasn’t fooled. She suspected that as long as Reggie was alive, she would never again get a glimpse of the old Sal.

Sal weaved her way through the crowded dance floor until she reached Poppy’s side.

‘Blimey, it’s like a Wild West saloon in here,’ she joked, fanning herself with her hand. ‘My heart’s banging like a barn door in a hurricane. After the peace of
the countryside, I forgot how noisy this lot is.’

Poppy smiled back tenderly and patted her arm. ‘We missed you. Trout’s just wasn’t the same without you. Did I tell you that already?’

‘Once or twice,’ she grinned. ‘But I can’t tell you how good it was to see my boys. Proper little rascals, they are. They’re causing mayhem, scrumping every bit of
windfall fruit within a five-mile radius.’

‘Were you not tempted to bring them home with you?’ Poppy asked.

‘Of course,’ Sal replied. ‘But how can I? Reggie turning up like that proved it’s just not safe here. They’re best off there for the duration of the war, or at
least until I can take stock and work out what to do next.’ She looked about her before lowering her voice. ‘Anyway, less about me. Has anyone responded to your letters?’

‘No,’ Poppy said miserably. ‘I don’t think I shall write any more. They must be terribly dull.’

‘Phooey,’ scoffed Sal. ‘What rot. Any man serving abroad would be cock-a-hoop to have a pretty girl like you to write to. Do you know what I always say, Poppy?’ She
tilted her head and flashed Poppy a smile. ‘Success is not final; failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts.’

Poppy couldn’t help herself and started to laugh. ‘Oh, Sal, you really are shameless,’ she giggled. ‘Churchill said that!’

‘I let him have that one, then.’ She winked back. ‘Anyway, made you smile, didn’t it? Now, where’s Daisy got to?’

Poppy scanned the room, baffled. Daisy had excused herself saying she was just nipping out for some fresh air, but that was half an hour ago and still there was no sign of her.

‘Hmm.’ The smile vanished from Sal’s face. ‘I’m going to take a look. She’s not been right since that GI left. I said it would end in heartache, didn’t
I? Be a good girl and tell Vera where I’ve gone.’

Poppy nodded her head as her friend marched from the pub.

By the end of the party there was still no sign of either Sal or Daisy, and the bash was just winding up when Vera touched her lightly on the arm.

‘Daisy seems to have clean vanished. Have you seen her?’

‘Sal’s gone to look for her,’ Poppy replied.

‘I know Reggie’s gone now, but I still don’t like the idea of either of them walking around on their own.’ Vera frowned. ‘I’m going straight home to see if
she’s there.’

‘I’ll come with you, Vera,’ interrupted Mr Gladstone. ‘I don’t want you walking around after dark on your own either.’

‘I’ll be fine, Archie,’ tutted Vera. ‘Don’t take on so.’

‘I won’t hear of it,’ he insisted, extending his arm for her to take. ‘I dare say Daisy’s at home safe and sound, but I think we’d best check all the
same.’

Fumbling for her bag, Vera then quickly pinned on her hat and took Mr Gladstone’s arm. ‘Very well, then, let’s not waste any more time.’

They headed for the door, but not before Vera turned and popped a sixpence into Poppy’s pocket.

‘The bus stop’s right outside. Make sure you take the first bus home, dear, and I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Thanks ever so.’ Poppy smiled back. ‘I offered to stay on a bit and help clear up.’

‘All right, but just mind you don’t stay late,’ Vera ordered, smoothing down Poppy’s collar. ‘You look peaky, and you’ve worked ever such long hours
recently.’

‘Stop fussing over her,’ ordered Archie. ‘You sound like the poor girl’s mother.’

Poppy smiled shyly at Vera. ‘I don’t mind, Mr Gladstone,’ she said sweetly.

Once everyone had taken their leave, Poppy finished clearing up the function room, before popping her head through to the main saloon bar.

‘Night, Alfie,’ she called. ‘I’m off now.’

‘Ta-ta, sweetheart,’ he called back. ‘Mind how you go.’

Fifteen minutes later, she was back behind her workbench at the factory.

There was a night shift of women just clocking on who were not in the least bit surprised to see Poppy return. She had put that many shifts in of late covering for Sal she was almost part of the
furniture.

‘Just finishing up a bundle I should have done earlier,’ she explained to a few of them.

‘Blimey, girl, don’t you have a home to go to?’ one smiled back.

Taking a small scrap of used paper, she turned it over and scribbled a fresh note. Her last two letters had been so dreary and self-deprecating it was little wonder no one had bothered to reply,
and if Sal were to be believed and half the girls on the factory floor were sewing secret notes, she would have to be a little more forthright in her letters if she were ever to attract the
attentions of a soldier.

My name is Poppy Percival and I would so dearly love a friend to write to
, she began. She nibbled her bottom lip before boldly adding:

Impulsively, she added a little kiss to the end of the letter, before deftly folding it. She shot a furtive glance around the room and, once assured no one was watching, neatly
tucked it within a bandage.

Quickly, she sewed down the edges and popped it in the box under her station. There now, she had poured her heart and soul into that letter, and if no one wrote back, well, then it simply
wasn’t meant to be and that would be an end to the whole silly business.

Daisy fell back on her bed with a heavy sigh. As she lay staring at the damp seeping up the faded wall, a chill of despair rose inside her chest. The truth was inescapable. Her
period was weeks late now and she was usually as regular as clockwork. Added to which, her breasts were tender, and she was overcome with sickness.

At first, she had thought her nausea was some form of lovesickness from missing Robert so much, and then as the weeks went on and there was only one letter from him, her misery had deepened. But
now barely a day passed without feeling the urge to be sick. The truth had to be faced. She was with child. Robert’s child.

She had been so utterly seduced by the dream of a life abroad with her handsome GI that she must have taken leave of her senses. She had convinced herself that you couldn’t fall on your
first time, but the truth was, she had not been thinking straight at all that night. She had selfishly decided to throw caution to the wind and now she was paying a high price for her naivety.

‘You silly, wretched fool, Daisy,’ she sobbed out loud.

Earlier at the pub, she had watched the rest of the Singer Girls enjoying themselves with a deep sense of dread growing in her chest. Goodness only knew what the likes of Pat, Ivy and Doris
would say when they found out she was pregnant with an illegitimate baby, and a coloured man’s baby at that. The women of Bethnal Green, and in particular Trout’s, were deeply
moralistic in lots of ways. In their eyes, she had committed a mortal sin.

Waves of panic crashed over Daisy as the full enormity of her situation sank in. She would have to be seen to repent her sins or be shunned and ridiculed forever. She would never survive the
scandal. And Vera? She would have a blue fit. They were only just about on speaking terms again, and Daisy had promised her sister that nothing untoward had happened. Now, the shame and scandal
would destroy them both. Vera would turn her out of the house, send her away to some awful home for unmarried mothers, and her life as she knew it would be over. No ship bound for America. Not even
a semi in Dagenham. Her life would be over before it had even really begun. All her high hopes and fanciful dreams vanished, and Daisy felt as if the ground beneath her was falling away.

Groaning, Daisy rose to her feet and on unsteady legs staggered to the open window. Waves of sickness crashed over her as she poked her head out, trying to gasp great lungfuls of fresh air, but
the air was thick and dusty. The sky was filled with burning from the nearby factories. Even the clouds looked like they were on fire.

Daisy wanted so desperately to keep her baby. She loved Robert and the desire to keep her child – their child – was primitive, visceral even, but Daisy was also a realist. Her father
would sooner skin her alive than allow her to give birth to and keep a black man’s baby under his roof. She loved her father dearly, but he would be filled with fury when he discovered she
was with child. Her father, in common with so many other East End men of his generation, had a deep distrust of the Yanks, envying them their smart uniforms, better wages and laid-back charm. But
Daisy suspected the real reason he disliked the Americans was simply because they were different.

Although in truth, it made no real odds whether she were pregnant to a soldier or the King of England. She was pregnant out of wedlock, and for that, Frank would be mocked in every pub in the
manor for having such a sinful, wayward daughter. He would even be seen as less of a man for not keeping a tighter grip over his household.

‘You’re done for,’ she murmured out loud.

‘Who’s done for?’ rang out a voice from the doorway. Daisy’s head whipped round. She had been so absorbed in her own misery she had failed to hear Sal calling out her
name as she walked up the stairs.

‘I came to find you,’ she said warily. ‘I was worried when you just disappeared from the pub like that. Oh, Dais, whatever’s wrong? You’ve not been yourself since I
got back from the country.’

On seeing her friend’s concerned face, Daisy’s shoulders slumped, exhausted tears streaming down her face.

‘Oh, Sal,’ she wept. ‘My father and Vera are going to kill me. There’ll be hell to pay if this gets out.’

‘Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad, sweetheart,’ Sal soothed, sitting down on Daisy’s single bed and patting the space next to her.

Daisy sank down with a heavy sigh. ‘Oh, but it is, Sal,’ she replied, lifting her terrified gaze to meet her friend’s. ‘I’ve fallen . . . I’m
pregnant.’

Sal closed her eyes and Daisy imagined her friend was frantically searching her mind for some words of comfort. The silence seemed to stretch on forever before Sal finally broke it.

‘Are you quite sure?’ she asked in a faltering voice. ‘You could just be late. My monthlies have been all over the place since this bloody war started. Could just be pains from
the curse?’

‘Quite sure,’ Daisy nodded miserably.

‘Oh, Dais,’ Sal said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d lost your virginity to Robert?’

‘Believe me, I wish I hadn’t done it, Sal,’ she groaned. ‘It was on Robert’s last night in London. I just got caught up in it all and I couldn’t bear to think
of him going. It was the same night Reggie arrived home on leave, and after everything you went through, it didn’t feel right to tell you the next morning. Please don’t hate
me.’