Turn Left at the Daffodils

Here, Nan Morrissey was as good as anyone else; her uniform saw to that. Here, no one seemed to worry about her accent nor the way her Liverpool bluntness might be misconstrued as rudeness. This set-up that seemed to baffle even Sergeant James was the right and proper place for her to be. It seemed, on this evening in late August, that Nan Morrissey had truly come home.

‘Ar,’ she sighed again. ‘Just wish me dad could see me now. He’d be made up for me, God love him.’

‘I’d like to think mine could see me, too. I never knew him, y’know.’

‘Last war was it, Carrie?’

‘Mm. He was badly hurt but it wasn’t his wounds he died of. It was the mustard gas, really. A slow death, it must have been. God! I hope they never use it this time around.’

‘Fighting dirty, poison gas is. Do you think them bods in Heronflete are up to something like that? Secret weapons, and that kind of thing?’

‘Back-room boys and boffins, you mean?

‘Dunno. But they’re up to sumthin’ or why all the mystery? You don’t need soldiers to guard nuthin’.’

‘They’ll tell us, perhaps – or maybe we’ll figure it out for ourselves. And it looks like Evie has fallen asleep and left her light on.’ Carrie nodded in the direction of Southgate Lodge. ‘Reckon we’d better see to the blackout, or Sergeant James’ll be down on us like a ton of bricks.’

The lance-corporal had not fallen asleep. She lay on her bed in blue and white striped pyjamas, writing pad in hand.

‘Hey up, Evie.’ Nan made for the window. ‘Time them curtains was drawn.’

‘Sorry. Got carried away, writing to Bob. Couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d write again – tell him about this new posting. What time is it?’

‘Still not quite blackout time,’ Carrie smiled. ‘And I’ve drawn all the other curtains. Couldn’t you sleep, Evie, or were you waiting for us to get back?’

‘No. Just got past it, I suppose. Posted the letters?’

‘We did,’ Nan beamed. ‘There was hardly anybody in the NAAFI – just a few soldiers, playing cards. And had you thought – we’re going to need cleaning gear. Better ask the sergeant for a chitty so we can get a brush and mop and things from stores – keep Southgate nice an’ tidy, so she can’t moan at us.’

‘I’ll see to it, tomorrow.’ Evie placed the cap on her fountain pen. ‘Y’know, this pen was Bob’s. It’s a good one and he didn’t want to take it with him when he went. Said I was to have it. I write all his letters with it. And oh,’ She closed her eyes tightly against tears. ‘I do miss him.’

‘Hey, old love, you’d be a very peculiar wife if you didn’t.’ Carrie took Evie’s hands in her own, holding them tightly. ‘And if talking about Bob helps, we’ll be glad to listen, won’t we Nan?’

‘Course we will. And we’ll send nasty thoughts to Hitler and that fat old Goering.’ Especially Goering, because it was him sent the bombers to Liverpool; his fault dad was dead.

‘Sorry,’ Evie sniffed, dabbing her eyes, forcing a smile. ‘You’ll know how it is, Carrie.’

‘Yes. Lousy…’

But was it all that bad? Had Carrie Tiptree ever been reduced to tears, just to think that Jeffrey had gone to war? Sad, granted, but never the obvious pain Evie felt.

Yet it was different for Evie and her Bob. They were husband and wife. Lovers. And that loving was good, it was plain to see by the softness in her eyes when she spoke about him. And Carrie knew when she was thinking about him, too. Perhaps Evie wasn’t aware of it, but she often fondled her wedding ring with her fingertips. Carrie Tiptree’s ring hung with the identity disc around her neck.

Mind, she was fond of Jeffrey – always had been. They’d grown up in the same village, for heaven’s sake, and she knew almost all there was to know about him. No one would be able to say theirs was a hasty marriage.

She shrugged and began to undress. She would get into her pyjamas, clean her teeth and splash her face at the kitchen sink. Then go to bed, even if she lay awake for ages.

And she would lie awake, thinking about Jackmans and her mother and Jeffrey, too, because she had let them both down if she were to be completely honest. Her mother had given a little moan, then burst into sobs when told her daughter had had a medical and been accepted by the ATS, and there was nothing anyone could do about it, now.

Carrie remembered that night in vivid detail. A vase of roses on the little table beneath the window, petals reflected pink against the dark wood. An old copper jamming pan, placed on the hearth in the ingle fireplace, full of greenery. The soft armchairs, none of them matching. The fat cushions, made by her mother from remnants of bright material. She even remembered gazing at the ink stain they hadn’t quite been able to remove from the hearthrug.

He mother had gone very pale, then moaned softly, a bewildered look on her face. Carrie thought she would faint, but then she had gasped,

‘Oh, Carrie – such deceit. How could you? Why did you do it? I don’t understand.’

Her distress had been genuine. Carrie laid an arm around her shoulders, but her mother had shrugged it off.

‘You forged my signature, didn’t you, on the form?’

‘Yes, I did…’

‘Then I shall tell them about it; that it’s all been a mistake and you won’t have to go!’

‘It would be a waste of time, mother. I’ll be twenty-one long before it’s sorted.’ Carrie’s distress had been genuine, too.

‘So tell me, Caroline, just what happened to make you do such a foolish thing, and to be so underhanded about it, too.’

‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t. It was everything in general, sort of, and nothing in particular.’

Which was true, Carrie supposed, even though she had felt vague unease for a long time about the way her life was. And as for nothing in particular – she knew exactly what it was; the instinctive need to get away and have time to think; make sure that what her mother and Jeffrey’s mother wanted was what she, Carrie, wanted too. The doubts first surfaced the night her mother had gone out to play whist, there was no denying it.

‘You are all I have in the whole world, Carrie. Your place is at home, with me. And what am I to tell the village?’

‘I don’t think it’s anything to do with them. It’s between you and me and – and Jeffrey, I suppose…’

‘Then tell me what I am to say to Ethel Frobisher? How will I be able to look her in the face?’

‘You won’t have to. I’ll tell Jeffrey’s mother. And as for the wedding – well, nothing was planned exactly.’

‘No, but it was understood, I would have thought, the day Jeffrey gave you an engagement ring. Weddings usually follow, you know. And I don’t feel at all well.’

She hadn’t looked so good, Carrie recalled. That evening, there was genuine need for aspirin and a hot drink and it had been awful, afterwards, to lie awake, listening to her mother’s sobs.

‘Won’t be a minute.’ Carrie cleared her head of thoughts, making for the kitchen. And when she came back she said,

‘Put your slippers on, Nan. That stone floor is cold! And I’ll set the alarm for seven – that all right with you, Evie?’

And Evie said it was, but would they mind if she closed her bedroom door, and they said it was fine by them. After all, she did have a stripe up!

They didn’t talk, though. Nan curled up in her bed like a contented puppy and was quickly asleep. Which left Carrie to wonder about what was to come and when she and Jeffrey would be able to arrange leaves to allow a wedding – because they would get married, she was as sure of it as she could be. Yet only when she had laid out her thoughts and doubts, and only when Jeffrey had truly understood and promised to talk about things, so that everything would come right for them. Then Caroline Tiptree – Frobisher - would have Evie’s look of love in her eyes, too, when she spoke of her sailor husband.

She thumped her pillow peevishly, then settled down to listen to the night sounds because she knew sleep would not come easily. It never did, when you were desperately tired and in need of it.

She tried to think of Jeffrey, still in Plymouth barracks waiting for a draft to a ship, but could not, so instead she turned on her back and stared at the ceiling, telling herself that tomorrow was another day, a bright new start to her life as W/462523 Tiptree C. because that was who she was, now, for as long as the war lasted. A name and number.

Yet instead she sighed deeply and tried hard not to think of Jackmans Cottage and her bedroom with the sloping roof and tiny window – and the pigeon that nested in the tree in the lane outside and made a terrible noise as soon as daylight came.

A tear slipped from her eye and trickled down her cheek and into her ear. It made her annoyed to realize it was the first she had shed since leaving home almost two months ago.

She was not, she supposed, as tough as she had thought!

Four

Carrie, in search of Corporal Finnigan, found the motor pool in what had once been Heronflete’s stable block. Three-sided, with a cobbled yard and approached through gateposts without gates, of course. On her right was what could only be stabling for several horses; ahead, a coach house with massive, wide-open doors; to her left a drab building with small windows and a low, narrow door. Had grooms once lived there, Carrie wondered, and ostlers and stable lads in the old glory days?

She heard the clump of boots and turned to see the driver of yesterday’s transport who had warned them they were going to get the shock of their lives. He looked more human in grease-stained overalls.

‘Corporal Finnigan? I – I’m the new driver.’

‘You’ll be Tiptree C, then?’

‘Yes, Corporal. Carrie. And you were right, yesterday. This place was a shock, but a nice one.’

‘Nice? Stuck at the back of beyond, living in civilian houses and a motor pool that would make a cat laugh! Take a look at that!’ He jabbed a finger into the deeps of the coach house. ‘One pesky transport, one car – officers-for-the-use-of – and one pick-up truck. You’ll be driving that round the estate, Tiptree, collecting girls for shifts, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Yes, Corporal.’ It was all she could think of to say.

‘And you might as well know that when I arrived here, two weeks ago, I had seen better vehicles in museums! But I didn’t let them beat me. “I’ll have that lot up to scratch, or my name isn’t Frederick Finnigan,” I said. Know anything about engine maintenance, Tiptree?’

‘Sorry – no. But I can change a wheel and I know about keeping spark plugs clean and what to do if a fan belt snaps. Not a lot, but I want to learn.’ She truly did.

‘Then you’ve come to the right place. We’ll soon take care of them lilywhite hands! Mind, I never yet met a woman as made a good motor mechanic. Haven’t got the strength, see, in their arms. We’ve got a mechanic here, by the way, only he’s gone to sick bay. Toothache driving him mad.

‘So here are the rules. You will provide tea, drive when required to, and call me corporal at all times, ’cept when the three of us is alone, when you call me Freddy and him at sick bay is Norman. Norm. Any questions?’

‘N-no. Should I nip back to the billet and get into my overalls?’

‘No point. Do it when we knock off for grub.’

‘So when do I make tea?’

‘Every other hour, on the hour. Next brew at ten.’

‘That’s a lot of tea, corporal. Do the rations stand up to it,’ Carrie frowned.

‘No. Leastways, not the pesky pittance we get from Stores. But me and the sergeant cook have come to an understanding. You take the small enamel pot to the cookhouse and tell them you’ve come for Freddy’s tea. And it’ll help if you smile sweetly.’

‘Just like that?’

‘Exactly like that, girl. So till then, you’d better take the pick-up for a bit of a run – on the estate roads, I mean. And you’ll have to crank it up. Give it a good swing.’

Carrie stared with dismay at the truck, then silently enlisting the help of any guardian angel that might be hovering, shoved in the starting handle and swung it hard.

She heard a grunt and a groan and a cough. Oh, my goodness, she had started it! First try! She grinned at the corporal, who grinned back.

‘Not bad, Tiptree. It’s the way you hold your mouth as does it. So on your way, then. Let’s see what you’re made of.’

Carrie engaged first gear, inching out of the coach house. And please, she wouldn’t run into one of the gateposts? Not on her first day?

She drove carefully. To her left was the estate office, ahead the cookhouse. Now it was a downhill run as far as Southgate Lodge. She touched the brake with her foot and thanked the angel fervently for a truck that did indeed seem up to scratch.

Evie and Nan were dressed in overalls, cleaning windows outside the billet. Carrie stopped, and jumped down.

‘Goodness!’ Evie put down her pad of scrunched-up newspaper and made for the gate. ‘Where on earth are you going in that!’ She was trying, Carrie knew, not to laugh.

‘It’s a right old rattletrap!’ Nan joined them.

‘It’s old I’ll grant you, but there’s a pussy cat under that bonnet,’ Carrie defended, ‘and the gears are like silk. As a matter of fact, I might be driving you all to and from shifts in it – when things are up and running, that is.’

‘Then that might well be tomorrow. The GPO bods will be finished by afternoon, and all the shift workers are to give the place a good cleaning. We’re in the estate office, did you know?’

‘I guessed as much. Saw the green vans outside. I’m next door, in the stable yard with Corporal Finnigan and a mechanic called Norman. So see you! I’ll go as far as Priest’s Lodge, then I’ll have to be back for tea at ten. Looks like I’m in charge, in that department!’ she laughed. ‘Bye…’

‘Y’know, she’s such a pretty girl,’ Evie sighed. ‘Pity she doesn’t smile more often.’

‘Pity she doesn’t wear her engagement ring,’ Nan said darkly.

‘Mm.’ Evie thought it a pity, too, but had the good sense not to say so.

Carrie drove past the little church and the end of the wood, her hands relaxed on the wheel, feeling not a little pleased that 462523 Tiptree C was doing what she had joined the Auxiliary Territorial Service to do. She was a driver, at last. And for a bonus, Heronflete Priory – Draft HP4 – was as different as could be from the hectic regime she had experienced in barracks, and at the training camp in Wiltshire. Now, life seemed almost calm again. And all things considered, with a little give and take, of course, she might just get to enjoy Army life. One day.

‘I want this place fully operational by Wednesday,’ said Sergeant James. ‘Also, the powers-that-be have indicated that that is the way they would like it, too.’ She inclined her head in the direction of the trees that screened Heronflete.

‘So they’re alive in there? There really is -’ ‘Quiet! It is not for me to hazard an opinion. Sufficient to say that cars have been seen heading in the direction of the big house, so I think we can take it that They have arrived and will expect us to deal efficiently and discreetly with whatever we have been sent here to do! Now, girls, does Wednesday’s date have any significance?’ ‘Er – September 3?’ Evie supplied.

‘Good! I’m glad one of you is on the ball. Wednesday, will also be the first day of the third year of hostilities. And tomorrow, A-shift will be here and ready for duty at O600 hours and you, Tiptree, will deliver them promptly. You will also be responsible for ferrying the girls at Priest’s, who will be working the opposite shifts.’

‘Yes, sergeant.’ Carrie had already made a mental note to set the alarm for five-twenty which would give her time enough, surely, to dress, collect the truck from the stable yard, then pick up the shift.

She hoped she would get it right; hoped the alarm clock worked; hoped the truck started first time. Mind, it shouldn’t be too bad. September mornings were still light, though what would happen in winter, when blackout began in late afternoon and lasted until at least eight the following morning, she chose not to dwell upon too much.

‘I will pin up the duty rosters; one in each billet and one here in the signals office, so no one will have any excuse for lateness. And that especially means you, Tiptree.’

‘Yes, sergeant,’ Carrie whispered, automatically.

‘Right, then. Fifteen minutes for a cookhouse break, then I want you back here for ten-thirty and we’ll make a start getting the clobber unloaded and stacked away here! OK, girls!’

‘Y’know, it’s a funny going-on,’ Evie said when they sat with mugs of saccharin-sweet tea in front of them – ‘the two-shift system, I mean. I’ve always worked night shift, as well. I believe men will do the nights for the time being. Maybe they aren’t expecting much overnight traffic’

‘Well, we’ll soon know what’s going on. There’ll be teleprinter messages, I mean, and you’ll be able to have the odd listen-in, Evie.’ Nan blew on her tea.

‘I’ll be doing no such thing, Nan Morrissey. I could lose my stripe for listening-in!’

Could lose it, she amended silently, if she were caught listening-in!

‘When I arrived here, I wondered what on earth I was going to do,’ Carrie smiled, ‘but I’m going to be kept pretty busy. I’ll have to collect the late shift, then take the earlies back to billets. And Corporal Finnigan expects me to learn engine maintenance, too. Mind, there’ll always be Norman to fall back on. He seems very affable, now he’s had his toothache seen to. But shift-working is a seven-day job, and my last run will be at ten at night. I’m not going to get any time off at all.’

‘Of course you will,’ Evie laughed. ‘If men are going to do night-shifts, then maybe your corporal will arrange something for you. It was him collected us from Lincoln, remember. Or maybe the mechanic will do some of the late runs.

‘Of course, when we are working from two till ten it means that every other night we won’t be able to go anywhere. It could play havoc with your love life, if you think about it. Not that I mind, of course, though Bob doesn’t expect me to live like a nun. I’ll be going dancing, though I won’t be up for dates.’

Her wedding ring would see to that. If asked, she held up her left hand and smiled and said, ‘Sorry.’ The decent ones accepted it, and it was tough luck on those who thought a young married woman in uniform was fair game.

‘I suppose there’ll be dances round about.’ Carrie loved to dance, though Jeffrey wasn’t too keen. ‘One of the girls at Priest’s told me there’s a village not far away. Within walking distance, she heard. Perhaps there’ll be a pub we can go to – just for the odd drink and a change of scene, I mean.’

‘Suppose we’ll give it a try,’ Evie was fondling her ring again. ‘But had you thought that we’ll be on duty from two in the afternoon until ten at night, then next day we’ll be on earlies – six till two in the afternoon.’

‘A bit much, if you ask me,’ Nan grumbled.

‘You still haven’t got the point. We do a late, followed by an early, then we’re off duty till two o’clock the following afternoon. Virtually twenty-four hours off. We could go much further afield than the local pub. There’ll be dances and flicks in Lincoln and if Sergeant James allows us sleeping-out passes, we could get a bed at the Y W and make a real night out of it.’

‘What,’ Nan wanted to know, ‘is the Y W?’

‘You’ve heard of the YMCA, surely? Well, the YWCA is the female equivalent. If you can manage to bag a bed there, it’s a good place to stay – and cheap and cheerful, too.’

‘Ar…’ Nan frowned. ‘But will I be able to sleep out? I’m not eighteen till November.’

‘If you’re old enough to join up, you’re old enough for a SOP – if the sergeant allows them, that is.’

‘Seems Sergeant James has the last word, here. Why haven’t we got an officer of our own?’ Carrie frowned.

‘Because in my opinion a few females don’t warrant an officer. And maybe the sergeant won’t be so bad, once we’re in some kind of a routine. And talking of angels…’ Evie nodded towards the doorway where Sergeant James looked pointedly at her wrist watch.

They worked hard all morning, Carrie driving the pick-up truck piled with supplies from the quartermaster’s stores to the estate office which now bore a notice on the door. SIGNALS OFFICE: NO ENTRY.

They cleaned out cupboards then stacked them with teleprinter rolls, stationery, pencils, pens and signal pads. They positioned In-trays and Out-trays, dusted everything that didn’t move, polished the sergeant’s desk, then swept and mopped the black and red floor tiles.

‘Just the windows to clean – inside and out,’ the sergeant stressed, ‘then you can call it a day, girls.’

* * *

They ate corned-beef hash and pickled red cabbage at midday, which made Carrie very happy, with rice pudding and a dollop of bright red jam in the middle of it for pudding.

‘I’m goin’ to have a lazy afternoon. Got a magazine to read,’ Nan took the billet key from its hiding place above the front door jamb. ‘What are youse two goin’ to do?’

‘Write to Bob,’ Evie smiled, ‘then do some ironing. And my buttons and cap badge need a polish. What about you, Carrie?’

‘Probably sweep the workshop floor or clean the officers’ car and see to the tea, of course. Corporal Finnigan won’t be giving me the rest of the afternoon off.’

Which was a pity, really, because she had to -wanted to – write to Jeffrey. Letters, redirected from their old addresses, had arrived this morning; one for Nan, four for Evie and two for herself; from her mother and from Jeffrey, still in barracks with never a draft chit in sight.

I am stuck here like a lemon, polishing and cleaning and hardly getting any morse in at all. Which gives me a lot of time to think about how much I love you and miss you and wish you had been there when I had my leave.

Have a photo taken of yourself in uniform – not that I need to be reminded how lovely you are…

Jeffrey, she thought, could be quite sweet when he put himself out – or had his loving, longing letter been the result of a run ashore and a few pints of beer?

Then she chided herself for such thoughts, knowing that things between them would be all right, once she caught her fiancé in another loving and longing mood and they were able to talk sensibly and calmly about – things.

She had reason, too, to warm towards Corporal Finnigan that afternoon when he said, ‘I was having a word with Sergeant James about your duties, Carrie – the last run, I mean. Seems you won’t have as much free time as the rest of the girls, so Norman here has volunteered to do the evening pick-up, at ten.’

‘Norm! How good of you.’ Carrie blushed with pleasure. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

Private Fowler did not mind at all. He was courting very seriously and wrote home to his girl every evening. He was also saving up for an engagement ring, and the extra duty meant less time and money spent in the NAAFI. He also liked Carrie. She was pleasant and willing and – what was by far the most agreeable thing about her – she now did the tea run which been the bane of his life until she arrived.

‘Think nothing of it,’ he had said, grinning awkwardly, because it was nice to be appreciated, sometimes.

That was when Carrie looked at her watch and, without being asked, picked up the small enamel teapot and walked cheerfully to the cookhouse.

Nan addressed the letter to her aunt, wrote On Active Service in the top, left-hand corner, then propped the envelope on the mantelpiece, wishing there was someone other than Auntie Mim to send her letters. She wondered what it would be like to have a boyfriend to write to, but in Liverpool boyfriends had been thin on the ground when you had to depend on Georgie’s sleeping habits for your free time.

It might be nice to be cuddled and kissed – even once. But she was sweet seventeen, wasn’t she, and ran true to form because she had never, to her shame, been kissed. But she would be eighteen in November, and a lot could happen between now and then. Oh, please it would!