The Glory Girls (28 page)

‘That’s right, Anne,’ Iris said with a broad smile that quivered ever so slightly around the edges. ‘We started out together and that’s how we’ll end.’

Anne blinked from one to the other of them and then looked at her mother, whether for support or confirmation of what they had just told her, it wasn’t clear, but Mrs Beasley’s head was up and her expression proud.

‘You can’t let them down now, Anne,’ she said. ‘If you do, you’re not the daughter I took you to be.’

A nerve twitched in Anne’s pallid cheek. She took a shaky step forward, hand outstretched. Mary took it and gave it a squeeze.

‘I’ve been ill,’ Anne whispered, not letting go of Mary’s hand. ‘But I think I’ll be all right now … if you’ll be there for me, Mary?’

‘You don’t have to ask,’ Mary said, then turned to see what was making Chiffon bark so excitedly.

The dog had been erratically dancing about their feet, but now she took off and was flying down the platform in her customary bouncing run, short legs hardly touching the ground.

‘Chiffon! Come back here!’

They all watched curiously as a lone figure emerged from the last carriage. A tall man, immensely smart in a new captain’s uniform,
leaning
on a cane and walking with a slight limp. The peak of his cap shaded the dark eyes that scanned the station platform as if he was drinking in every inch like nectar.

Then Chiffon was upon him, leaping ecstatically into the air. He let the cane fall, bent low and held out a hand. The dog licked his fingers, then he picked her up and cradled her, looking about him again, his eyes searching eagerly.

Mary moved forward. She had hardly dared believe it when she received news of his capture by the Germans. It had come through long after she had given up hope of his being alive. And then there came the letter which she carried constantly close to her heart, reading it over and over, fingering it, scared it might disappear, taking her hopes with it.

‘
My darling Mary, I’m coming home….
’

Alex’s eyes had alighted on her. Her heart pounded, her mouth was dry, yet still she could not believe that what she was seeing was not merely a hallucination. They might, at that moment, have been the only two people left in the world. There was nothing between them now except the hazy dust prisms slanting from the glass panels in the station ceiling.

He returned the dog gently to the ground, removed his cap and flung it away from him as he bounded towards her a little unsteadily, but that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all.

‘Alex! Is it really you?’ She choked on her words.

‘Mary! Oh, my God, Mary, what a sight for sore eyes!’

He came to a halt, then held out his arms to her and she rushed into them with a cry that broke like brittle glass in her throat.

‘I didn’t think I would ever see you again,’ she told him through
racking
sobs as he smothered her face with kisses.

‘Well, they tried to kill me off, but I kept thinking of you and …’ Alex took her face between both his hands and gazed down at her, all the love inside him spilling out of his eyes. ‘Oh, my lovely Mary. You’ve no idea how good it is to be back home and holding you in my arms.’

‘We … we’re on our way to the Victory Parade at St James’s Park,’ she said, thinking how every word she uttered, every emotion she felt, would pale into insignificance from this moment on.

A rush of feet and loud, eager exclamations made the group turn around. Miss Croft had arrived. And Dr Gordon and his wife were
hurrying
breathlessly down the platform with her, faces beaming at the sight of the prodigal nephew they had twice thought was lost to them.

They threw themselves upon Alex, including Mary in their warm embrace. When they calmed down, Alex looked long and hard at Mary.

‘I don’t want to be apart from you so soon, Mary,’ he said, ‘but I have a feeling that what you were planning is very important – to all of us.’

‘Oh, Alex!’ Mary felt herself torn in two different directions, but she knew he was right.

‘Go on,’ he said, kissing her gently. ‘Later, when today is over, we’ll have the rest of our lives to enjoy together. Besides, I fully expect to be part of the show.’

‘Quite right, Captain Craig.’ Miss Croft was the first to recover her equilibrium with a cough and a quick wipe of her eyes and nose. ‘The pair of you will have all the time in the world to talk in private, but right now, we are expected to take part in the Victory Parade and I’m
determined
that we’ll do just that.’

As Alex and his aunt and uncle waited, the others took Anne into the station washroom and helped her change into a brand new FANY uniform, which they had obtained especially for her. It was too big, because she had lost so much weight, but if she thought it looked
ridiculous
, she made no comment and neither did her proud mother. Mrs Beasley was too happy to see her daughter alive again to complain about ill-fitting garments.

A few minutes later they all walked proudly into the big football arena where the various units were being organized, ready for the biggest
spectacle
ever to have been performed there.

Although Mary was loath to leave Alex’s side, they were obliged to split up as they each joined their own units. Miss Croft marched proud and erect in front of her three Felling FANY girls, following the direction the organizers had given her to find their unit.

‘Oh, I do wish …’ Iris started to say, then her lip quivered.

Mary knew that Iris was thinking about Gaston and wishing he were there with them.

‘I know, Iris. Me too,’ she said sympathetically. ‘I’m sorry Walter can’t be here either, but they say he’s very poorly and I …’

She stopped as a sudden disturbance broke out behind them.

An official held up a hand, ordering them to stop and also
gesticulating
to the cause of the interruption. They turned to find a motorbike and sidecar rattling up towards them, its engine roaring, coughing and
spluttering
out black exhaust-fumes as it covered the churned up turf and came to a halt beside them in a noxious cloud.

‘Eeh, would ye look at that! Gawd luv us! It’s the bleedin’ Glory Girls of Felling! Were ye thinkin’ of enjoyin’ this effin’ parade without me, eh?’

The minuscule figure in the sidecar took off its helmet and goggles and there was Effie Donaldson, as bold as brass, grinning at them as if she was on a works’ outing. People stared at the rough-tongued young woman with the scarred face, but she took no notice of them. She grinned even more widely as Mary, Iris and Anne surged forward, laughing at their amazed expressions.

‘Effie,’ cried Mary. ‘What on earth are you doing here? I thought—’

‘Doesn’t matter what you thought,’ Effie said, her forehead creasing like a paper concertina. ‘Nobody’s going to make me miss this parade. Here, grab hold of me legs till I can get meself out of this here pram …’

Effie was holding out a pair of false legs, thrusting one at Mary, the other at Iris. The man on the bike was already coming round to help, hauling the legless Effie up so that she could sit on the top of the sidecar
in order to fix the false legs to her two stumps.

‘Oh, lor!’ Iris took half a step back. ‘I don’t think I can take this.’

‘Jesus wept, girl,’ Effie said, fixing Iris with a sharp eye. ‘Ye’ve been all through the war and this still makes you want to throw up? This is me brother, Billy, by the way. He’s the only one of me brothers left now. Got caught the minute he landed in France and spent the whole of the war in a POW camp, would ye believe? The other silly sods all got theirselves killed, God rest their souls. Come on, Billy. On wi’ me legs. I’d hate them to hold up the parade just for me.’

Mary exchanged glances with the others as Billy Donaldson strapped on the prostheses to what was left of his sister’s legs. It didn’t take long before Effie was standing before them, a little unsteadily, but nevertheless upright.

‘Where’s yer sticks, our Effie?’ Billy said, but Effie threw a hand up, giving him the victory sign, though it looked a lot ruder when she did it.

‘I didn’t bring them,’ she said, fixing her eyes on Mary. ‘I thought maybe me friends here would give us a hand. I’d like that fine.’

Mary glanced at Iris, whose eyes were growing larger by the minute.

‘Yes, Effie,’ she said, her smile wobbling slightly. ‘We’d like that fine too, if you’re sure you can manage.’

‘Can I effin’ manage! Come on you lot. Let’s show ’em.’

‘Just a minute!’ Billy was on her again. ‘Where’s yer medal? Ye canna gan on parade without yer medal, our Effie!’

Effie sucked air in through her teeth and wrinkled her nose. ‘Aw, man, Billy. Give over about that silly medal.’

But Billy was rummaging around in the sidecar and he came up,
exultant
, the medal in his hand. He thrust it at her and she looked
embarrassed
.

‘Go on, Effie,’ Mary said. ‘You were the one who said “let’s show ’em”. Well, now you’ve really got something to show, haven’t you?’

Effie scowled, then the corners of her mouth turned up. ‘Where’s yours then?’

‘Oh….’ Mary gave a wry smile, then pulled her own George Cross out of her pocket. ‘All right, Effie. I’ll wear mine if you wear yours.’

‘Gan on then but watch what you do with that pin.’

They grinned at one another and Iris insisted on doing the honours for both of them, ignoring Effie’s remarks about not liking the shade of blue of the ribbon on which the medal hung.

There weren’t so many FANYs there in the parade, so the small group from Felling stood out and there were heartrending cheers as they took
their cue and marched on to the field as the bands struck up one of Elgar’s famous
Pomp and
Circumstance
marches.

Anne took her place at the side of Frances Croft, walking as weakly as a newborn lamb, but moving determinedly under her own steam, with her head held high. Behind her, sandwiched between Mary and Iris, Effie rocked perilously on her false legs. Not once did she show signs of giving up, even though the grimace that was set like concrete on her face told them that she was in considerable pain.

Mary felt awash with multiple emotions as she and Iris helped keep Effie in step, but she didn’t care how they were marching and, judging by the roar of the crowds looking on, they didn’t care either. Every last person on the Newcastle United football field was a hero and this was a moment of glory they would never shed, no matter how long they lived.

The street parties that followed the Victory Day Parade were small and quiet by comparison, but they too were filled with unforgettable moments as families joined together, eating at long tables, singing and dancing around big bonfires to scratchy records played on gramophones that had to be kept wound up or the music would go down in a
wavering
, distorted spiral.

Felling held its own Victory Day, with the Salvation Army Band
playing
in Victoria Square and songs belted out by the Felling Male Voice Choir, which they considered to be as good as any of their Welsh
counterparts
any day.

Mary was spending the day with Alex, having persuaded her family to let her out of their sight, and promising that she was not going to run off anywhere. The whole place was festooned with paper decorations and colourful balloons, as gay as any Christmas, though the sun was shining warmly and the girls were all in their pretty summer frocks and cheeks were rosy from the electrically charged atmosphere.

She called first at Dr Gordon’s house, where Alex was living
temporarily
. The doctor and his wife made her very welcome and it was evident that she had their approval.

‘Well, are you ready to join in with the celebrations, Mary?’ Alex asked, taking her hand in his and squeezing it, before planting a kiss on her temple.

She nodded. ‘I’m ready for anything, Alex.’

Mary caught sight of Stuart and Maggie Gordon, standing close together, smiling warmly at them.

‘Now isn’t that a wonderful sight?’ Dr Gordon said, nudging his wife.

‘Aye, Stuart,’ Maggie replied with a great sigh. ‘It’s really good to see you so happy, Alex. You too, Mary. Heaven knows, you both deserve some happiness.’

‘Shall we go, then?’ Alex was still clasping Mary’s hand as they stepped out on to the street and joined the milling throng of locals in the square. ‘Just look at this. I’m betting on the surgery being full of headaches and upset tummies in the morning.’

As they made their way through the long trestle tables groaning with food and great brown pots of tea, all freely donated from everyone’s meagre rations, people laughed and joked with them. At every other step there was someone to shake Alex’s hand or salute him. And a few even remembered that Mary had once worn the khaki uniform of the FANYs and gave her the same respect, which greatly embarrassed her.

‘You know, Mary, you’re ever so pretty when you blush like that,’ Alex said as they paused by the fountain in the middle of Victoria Square to listen to the band playing yet another rendition of Auld Lang Syne and grown men joined the womenfolk, weeping into their hankies.

‘Oh, dear!’ Mary sighed and blushed some more as tears filled her own eyes.

‘I didn’t upset you by that remark, did I?’

‘No, don’t be silly, Alex. Of course you didn’t.’ Mary slid her arms about his waist and hugged him so tightly he could hardly breathe. ‘I was just thinking how lucky we are and … and that song … you know …
should old acquaintance be forgot
…. It reminded me of the people I got to know, who will never see a day like this. People like Gaston Frébus, old Monsieur and Madame Laroque, and Jan Berwinski. And the German Anne fell in love with, who saved her life by turning her over to the French when he should have shot her. And … my goodness, who is that with Miss Croft?’

Mary pointed across the square to where Frances Croft was standing chatting to a rather nice-looking man in his fifties. Their conversation was quite animated and both were smiling broadly. Mary could see that Miss Croft must have been quite striking as a young woman and even though her face was now lined and her hair drab and streaked with grey, she appeared to have shed twenty years.