Authors: Lily Baxter
After another tentative drag on the cigarette she decided that it was time to give up, and she ground the butt beneath the heel of her serviceable black lace-up shoe. She shivered and walked on towards the WAAF quarters situated in a Nissen hut on the far side of the main building, but she had to steel herself to cross the wide sweep of gravel outside the façade of Henlow Priory. The officers, male and female, were billeted there, but it was a creepy ancient pile dating back to the eleventh century, and the rumour that it was haunted had encouraged the telling of ghoulish ghost stories after lights out. Even now Miranda could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She knew that the tales of unhappy spirits roaming the house and grounds were likely to be based on folklore, but on a crystal
clear
night, with the priory silhouetted against a black velvet sky by a bomber’s moon, it was possible to believe almost anything.
Being stationed in the depths of the countryside was a far cry from growing up in suburban London or living in a bustling seaside town. Now the only sound she could hear was the crunch of her leather soles on the frozen gravel, and the occasional eerie hoot of a hunting barn owl. She quickened her pace, telling herself that an over-active imagination was playing havoc with her senses, and as she drew nearer to the hut she heard the welcome sounds of everyday life.
Audrey was belting out a Vera Lynn song, but her tinny soprano was at odds with the loud swing music being played on the portable gramophone owned by the irrepressible Janice Goodman, who lived for Saturday night dances in the local village hall. It was in the hot, sweaty atmosphere where the only refreshments were tea and digestive biscuits that the girls had the opportunity to mix with the air and ground crews from the aerodrome a few miles east of the priory. There were a few local men as well, but they were either exempt because of age, unfit for active service or in reserved occupations.
Even as she reached the door Miranda knew that the fug from the cast-iron stove, mingled with the scent of Lifebuoy soap, cigarette smoke and nail polish remover would hit her like a slap in the face. She knocked, tapping out the code they used to
confound
Flight Sergeant Frances Fosdyke, whose habitual pout and proptotic grey eyes had earned her the nickname of Fishface. Her habit of descending upon them unannounced in order to catch someone flouting the rules had incurred the dislike of all the girls. The punishments were severe, and unless someone had a penchant for cleaning latrines and the ablutions block they soon realised that it was best not to get on the wrong side of the sergeant. With this in mind, Miranda knocked a little harder as she was beginning to lose all feeling in her fingers and toes. She stamped her feet while she waited for someone to unlock the door. Eventually, during a lull as the record came to an end and Audrey stopped singing, the door opened and Miranda hurried inside. As she had anticipated, the air was thick with cigarette smoke, which rose to form a nimbus cloud below the curved ceiling. Janice and her friend Valerie were practising their version of the jitterbug to the strains of a Glenn Miller record, while others sat about chatting and keeping their hands busy with knitting or darning their laddered stockings.
Gloria, the girl who had let Miranda in, adjusted the blackout curtain over the door. ‘Don’t want old Fishface catching us breaking the rules,’ she said, taking the cigarette from her lips and exhaling smoke through her nostrils. ‘That woman can arm-wrestle the blokes and win. Got any fags, love? This is my last one.’
Miranda rummaged in her handbag and produced a packet of Woodbines. There was only one missing and it was no sacrifice to give them to Gloria who had a twenty a day habit. ‘Here, you have them, Glo. I’m trying to give up.’ She handed them to her with a smile.
Gloria slapped her on the back. ‘You’re a pal. I’ll do the same for you one day.’
‘Forget it. You’re doing me a favour.’ Miranda dropped her handbag and gas mask case on her bed, which was nearest the door. She had been the last to arrive at Henlow and it seemed that no one else had wanted to sleep in the draughty spot furthest away from the stove. Not that it mattered very much as she was generally so exhausted at the end of her shift that she could have slept on a bed of nails.
She took off her peaked cap and stowed it on the top shelf of the wooden locker beside her bed, followed by her navy-blue serge overcoat. She glanced anxiously at the clock, realising that in a few short minutes Corporal Draper would emerge from her room at the far end of the hut to carry out her routine inspection. June Draper was almost as unpopular as Fishface, but it would be a serious mistake to underestimate her power to make their lives a misery, should she feel so inclined. June’s fiancé was supposed to have jilted her at the altar, and at the start Miranda had made allowances for her, but as time passed she began to think that the chap had shown a streak of good sense. Any man
who
married June would be doomed to live permanently in the doghouse.
Miranda perched on the edge of her bed and peeled off her thick grey lisle stockings. She would have loved to step into a nice hot bath, even if there were only five inches of water in the tub, but a lukewarm shower was all that she had to look forward to, and that only if she was first in the queue at the washhouse next morning. She glanced round to make sure that no one was watching before she stripped to her brassiere and the hideous standard issue knickers, commonly known as blackouts. She knew that it was ridiculous to be self-conscious, but she had still not quite come to terms with the lack of privacy, or the ghastly underwear which would make the most gorgeous bathing beauty look a complete fright. She wondered how Rita was coping with such privations, and smiled to herself, thinking that Rita would have found a way round the regulations by now. She sighed.
‘What’s the matter, ducks?’ Audrey said, peering at her through a haze of cigarette smoke. ‘Have you got something that the rest of us girls don’t have?’
Startled, Miranda slipped her dressing gown around her shoulders. ‘Sorry?’
‘Don’t worry, love. You’ll get used to us common lot sooner or later.’ Audrey sauntered off to sit on her own bed.
Miranda bit her lip. She never quite knew how to take Audrey’s jocular comments, but she had
learned
from experience that to allow her to have the last word was fatal. ‘What was that you were singing earlier? I could hear you from outside the hut.’
‘Are you trying to tell me that I got a voice like a foghorn?’
‘Yeah, she was,’ Gloria said, stubbing out her cigarette in a metal ashtray. ‘But she was being kind. I wouldn’t call it singing; it’s worse than the air raid siren.’
The girls squatting on the next bed playing a hand of cards burst out laughing. One of them, a redhead by the name of Angela, turned to Miranda with a sympathetic smile as Audrey flounced off, the towelling turban on her head wobbling like a vanilla blancmange. ‘Don’t take any notice of her, old thing. She’s a touch sensitive and having been forced to endure her whole repertoire one can see why.’
‘I didn’t mean anything by it,’ Miranda said anxiously. ‘I wouldn’t be so unkind.’
‘Of course you wouldn’t, darling. I’d ignore her little tantrums if I were you.’ Angela winked and turned her attention back to her hand of cards.
‘Turn that bloody gramophone down,’ Audrey shouted, making a move towards it with a threatening gesture.
Janice glared at her, pausing in the middle of a complicated dance step. ‘Shut up, Trotter. It’s better than the noise that comes out of your big fat gob.’
‘If you don’t turn it down I’ll vaccinate you with the bloody gramophone needle.’
‘Keep it down, ladies,’ Gloria said in a low voice, jerking her head in the direction of the corporal’s closed door. ‘She’ll have your guts for garters if you start a fight, Trotter.’
Miranda could see that things were going to turn nasty as Janice clawed her fingers and Valerie squared up to Audrey. The situation was beginning to look dangerous, but Gloria reached out a long thin arm and tweaked the towel off Audrey’s head. ‘Calm down, love. They’re just having you on.’ She turned to Janice and Valerie with a frown. ‘And you two, leave the poor cow alone.’
‘Leave it out, Glo,’ Janice said, shrugging her shoulders. ‘We were just having a bit of fun. She’s so easy to wind up.’
Audrey tossed her damp hair back from her face. ‘I was top of the bill in the summer concert party at Southend.’
‘Pity they didn’t throw you off the end of the pier,’ Janice said, grinning.
Gloria caught hold of Audrey just as she was about to launch herself at her tormentor, but everyone froze as the door to the corporal’s room opened.
Keeping a wary eye on June Draper, Miranda could not help noticing that she was looking decidedly peaky, and her eyes were suspiciously red-ringed as though she had been crying. Miranda
felt
almost sorry for her. Keeping control of a group of young women from widely varying backgrounds thrown together by the exigencies of war could not be an easy task.
June wagged her finger at Janice. ‘I might have guessed it was you, Aircraftwoman Goodman.’
Miranda hoped that for once Janice would keep her mouth shut, as the feisty Brummy had almost spent more time in jankers than she had in the plotting room, but there must have been something in June’s expression that had registered with everyone, even Janice, who cast her eyes down. ‘Sorry, Corporal.’
June glanced round the room and no one moved a muscle. ‘I should put all three of you on a charge,’ she said in clipped tones, ‘but as this is my last night in hut five, I’m going to let you off.’
Gloria, who Miranda had often noticed was rarely lost for words, cleared her throat. ‘Where are you going, Corp?’
‘I’m being posted nearer home,’ June said with a break in her voice. ‘My dad died this morning and I’ve got a few days’ compassionate leave before I report for duty.’
A ripple of sympathy ran round the room and Miranda knew that had it been anyone else there would have been a rush to hug and comfort June, but they were all too well disciplined to let their emotions get the better of them. There was an awkward silence and Miranda realised that no one
knew
quite what to say. She stepped forward. ‘I’m sure we’re all very sorry, Corporal.’
June’s cheeks flamed and she bit her lip. ‘Thanks,’ she said gruffly. ‘As you were.’ She retreated into her room, pausing for a moment in the doorway. ‘We’ll skip inspection tonight, and keep it down, girls. I’ve got a splitting headache.’ She went inside and closed the door.
Gloria was the first to speak. ‘You heard the corp. I’m going to turn in and I suggest you lot do the same. Lights out in fifteen minutes, and no smoking in bed. If anyone does I’ll personally tip a jug of water over them.’
After the quick trip to the ablutions block and the latrines, the girls scurried back to hut five and settled down for the night. Desultory snatches of conversation soon petered out as they drifted off to sleep, but Miranda lay on her hard mattress staring into the darkness. She had been away from home for what seemed a lifetime but she could not help worrying about all those she had left behind. She thought of her father and mother doing their bit for the war effort, and prayed that they were safe. She had received brief letters from her grandmother informing her that Jack was alive and well at the time of writing, but of course there was no mention of Raif or Isabel, and although their last meeting had been marred by his scathing comments about Jack, time had softened the memories and made her think that perhaps she had been too hard on both
him
and his sister. They were all victims of this beastly war, which seemed to be going on forever. Nowhere in the country was safe these days. German bombers had attacked the naval base at Portland and the torpedo works on the edge of the fleet as well as residential areas. Where, she wondered, would it all end? She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.
June’s replacement arrived next day but Miranda was on an early shift and did not meet her until she came off duty. She could tell immediately that she was not going to like Corporal Diana Fox, and the feeling seemed to be shared by the other girls. June, who had never been popular, had suddenly achieved the status of a saint and everyone was reminiscing about the good times they had shared. Personally, Miranda could not think of any, but when Corporal Fox told her that she had failed kit inspection and detailed her off to clean the ablutions, Miranda began to think they had misjudged June Draper.
It was Saturday, and as she had been on late duty the previous day Miranda was free to spend the evening as she pleased. After emptying the chemical toilets in the latrine block and mopping the floors with disinfectant she was tired and feeling out of sorts. She would not have minded the punishment had she done something to deserve it, but Corporal Fox had picked on her for no reason – it was so
unfair
. Miranda flopped down on her bed and kicked off her shoes.
Janice looked up from the magazine she had been reading. ‘I don’t reckon much to that new corp,’ she whispered. ‘That wasn’t right what old Foxy did to you. Are you okay?’
Miranda nodded. ‘I’m fine. Just a bit fed up to tell the truth.’
‘Val and me are going to the village hop this evening. D’you want to come too?’
‘I – well, that’s very kind of you, but …’
‘No buts, love. You’re coming and that’s final. You need a bit of cheering up, and I think a few of the lads from the aerodrome might be coming along tonight. We might meet some of the boys we’ve known only by their call signs. I think they owe us a trot round the dance floor and a drink or two.’
‘I don’t know, Janice,’ Miranda said doubtfully. ‘It’s jolly nice of you, but I’m not sure I’m in the mood.’
‘“In the Mood” – I love that tune,’ Janice said dreamily. ‘I’d like to meet Glenn Miller and tell him how much I enjoy his music.’
‘You go with Val and have a lovely time, Jan. I think I’ll spend the evening in the priory library, curled up with a good book.’