Turn Left at the Daffodils

‘Hi!’ Nan beamed. ‘Smashin’ band you’ve got.’

‘Er – y-yes.’ The sergeant blushed, then stared ahead. ‘G-good…’

The band was playing very professionally. Shouldn’t wonder, Nan thought, if some of them had been musicians in civvy street. Her feet began to tap and she smiled at the airman at her side, wishing he would ask her onto the floor.

The music ended with a roll of drums, the couples returned to the chairs that lined the hut.

It wasn’t much of a place, Nan thought, hoping that Sergeant James never got her heart’s desire. The windows were already thickly curtained, cigarette smoke hung lazily beneath the curved tin roof.

‘Is this your billet,’ she asked the man beside her.

‘’N-no. Our m-mess hall, actually.’

‘I live in a gate lodge,’ Nan confided. ‘Real cute.’ She dropped her voice, leaning closer. ‘At Heronflete Priory.’

‘Mm. Know it. F-flown over it loads of – of t-times. B-big place, like a castle. And sorry for the imp – imp…’

‘Stammer?’ Nan offered.

‘Y-yes. But only when I t-talk to girls.’

‘Why? Girls don’t bite.’

‘I blush, too. It p-puts them off.’

Nan turned to gaze at him. Young, like herself. Fair-haired and blue-eyed. And tall. Good to look at, really.

‘Well, it hasn’t put me off, so you’d better tell me your name.’

‘Charles Lawson, though most of the blokes call me Charlie.’

‘Hm. No. Charles is too stuffy and Charlie makes you sound a real – well you know…Think I shall call you Chas. And I’m called Nancy Morrissey, though I prefer Nan.’

‘Hi!’ He offered a hand, which Nan took. ‘N-nice to meet you.’

‘Likewise. And I think you’d better ask me up to dance when the music starts, ’cause if you don’t, somebody else is goin’ to ask me, and I want to talk to you.’

‘You do, Nan? You really do?’ His cheeks were bright red. ‘I’d love to, but I can’t d-dance…’

‘Why ever not! Don’t you like dancin’?’

‘I’d like to try it, but I can’t pluck up the courage to ask. By the t-time I’ve said I’m sorry, I can’t dance but would they like to t-try one with me some other bloke has nabbed them.’

‘But you’re talkin’ to me, and what’s more you and me’s havin’ the next dance, OK? I mean, you’re never goin’ to learn, are you, if you never set foot on the floor.’

‘You’ll be sorry!’ He smiled for all that, and it was a lovely smile, Nan thought. Nice, white teeth and even, like a film star’s.

‘We’ll see,’ she smiled back, ‘and shh…’

‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ The pianist got to his feet, placed his pint pot on top of the piano. ‘Please take your partners for a Bumps-a-daisy.’

There was a loud groan, but Nan took not one bit of notice and taking his hand, walked onto the empty floor.

‘Look at our Nan,’ Evie grinned. ‘Think she’s clicked.’

‘Yes, and he’s not bad looking either. Hope no one asks me to do this one,’ Carrie shrugged. ‘It’s such a silly dance.’

‘Now, this is a good one for a beginner,’ Nan beamed. ‘It’s just a bit of fun. You clap hands, clap each other’s hands, do the bumps-a-daisy bit, and then you do four waltz steps, then start all over again. C’mon, now.’

They clapped hands, slapped hands then bumped bottoms.

‘That’s it! Now – one two three, one two three. Just follow me, Chas. You’re doin’ fine.’

He was. The waltzing came easily; bumping bottoms with a young ATS girl with mischief in her eyes was something he would never have dared to do.

Other couples took the floor. One waltzed past them, arms waving and said,

‘What ho, Charlie! Got yourself a popsie, then?’

‘Take no notice.’ Chas had gone beetroot red, again. ‘He’s a bit loud, that’s all…’

‘Is he now?’ Nan manoeuvred them alongside the offending male and his partner. ‘Excuse me!’ she hissed, narrowing her eyes, stepping to the side. ‘Oh, dear, he’s tripped!’ she giggled, before gliding away for the next bottom-bumping.

‘Did you like that,’ she asked when the dance was over.

‘I did. I really did. Pity about old Clarry, though.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘Clarence Harris. The one who skidded on the floor.’

‘Mm. Serve him right. Didn’t like him.’

‘Why not, Nan?’

‘’Cause he called me a popsie and he called you Charlie and grinning all over his face like he’d said something clever. He asked for it!’

‘Nan! You didn’t – deliberately trip him, I mean?’

‘No. Only he was so busy sniggering with that blonde he was dancin’ with that he didn’t notice his left foot got a bit near my right one, and down he went! Arse over tip!’

‘Oh, my goodness! Nan, you are wicked and an absolute love and can I please have the next dance with you?’

‘You can, Chas. You can,’ she lifted her eyes to his and smiled. And did he but know it, bless him, he hadn’t stammered once since they first bumped bottoms! ‘And I think you are very nice, too…’

When they had had the last waltz together, doing one-two-three, one-two-three in the corner of the hut, Chas said, ‘I’ll walk you to the transport – if I may? This your jacket?’

Nan nodded, taking her cap and gloves from the sleeve she had pushed them into, holding back her arms as he helped her into it. Then she put on her cap, slipped her arm through his and left the hut.

They stood, blinking into the darkness. You always did that, when stepping into the blackout; give your eyes a few seconds to get adjusted. Then they made for the dim outline of the transport.

‘You will ring me, Nan? You’ve got the aerodrome number?’ He had written it on a page in his diary and she’d tucked it into her skirt pocket. ‘If the operator tells you she isn’t accepting incoming calls, it means we’ll be flying. Security, you know. I won’t be able to ring you, either. And you will remember to get the number of your NAAFI phone for me, so I can ring you when you aren’t on shift?’

‘I’ll remember. Promise. Well, g’night, Chas. Thanks for tonight.’ They were beside the transport now.

‘Goodnight, Nan Morrissey – and the pleasure was all mine.’ He leaned closer and kissed her cheek. ‘You will phone – give me your number?’

‘I said I would…’ That had been her first goodnight kiss. On her cheek. It wasn’t good enough. She took his face in her hands, then rose on tiptoe to kiss his mouth, softly, slowly, gently. ‘And you take care, mind, next time you’re flying.’

‘I will, Nan. Promise.’

Oh, too right he would! And he’d get home in one piece, too, now that he had Nan Morrissey to come back to.

She was lost to him then in the darkness but he heard her laugh as she climbed aboard. Then he said her name softly as if it were a talisman. ‘Nan. Nan Morrissey. And you take care too, darling girl…’

When the blackout curtains had been drawn at Southgate Lodge and the lights switched on and door bolts pushed home, Carrie said, ‘A smashing dance, eh? Great band.’ ‘Plenty of partners,’ Evie beamed, ‘though someone not two feet from me got herself an admirer, or I’m very much mistaken. Well, come on then Morrissey – tell!’

‘Ar. He’s luvley.’ Nan took off her tie and collar then unfastened her shirt buttons, eager to tell them about the sergeant who was a navigator in a Wellington bomber. ‘But he can’t dance, see, so I offered. He’s very light on his feet so he’ll be all right, with a bit more practice.’

‘You’re going to see him again, Nan?’ ‘Hope so. He gave me the aerodrome number so I can ring him in the sergeants’ mess. I couldn’t tell him what our NAAFI number was, so I’ll give it to him, when I ring. He’s called Charles Lawson by the way, and he talks real luvely. Y’know – like a frewt.’

‘Like a what,’ asked Carrie who was winding her hair into pincurls.

‘A frewt. FRUIT.’ She spelled it out. ‘Posh, like…’

‘I see.’ Gravely, Carrie logged up yet another Liverpudlian word.

‘Mind, I don’t call him Charles ’cause it doesn’t suit him. The fellers in his mess call him Charlie, but that doesn’t suit him, either. So it’s Chas. Mind, he blushes and stammers something awful when he talks to girls but he was all right, once him and me got to know each other. He kissed me goodnight and oh, hecky thump! I need to go down the garden! Anybody coming?’ She pulled her greatcoat over her pyjamas and pushed her feet into her slippers.

‘Not me,’ Evie grinned.

‘Nor me, but leave the back door open so we can hear you scream!’ Carrie teased. ‘Oh, for goodness sake! Take the torch. You’ll be all right.’

Nan stuck her nose in the air, closed the bedroom door behind her, switched off the kitchen light, then opened the outside door.

Around her, all was stillness, then she blinked her eyes and made her way down the garden path. And of course she was all right! She put Cecilia from her mind and thought instead of Chas, who was lovely and talked posh – and who wanted to see her again.

‘Aaah,’ she sighed softly into the night, wondering if Chas was thinking about her. She hoped he was.

‘You mustn’t tease Nan,’ Evie scolded, putting on her pyjamas. ‘She’s only a kid, remember, and it’s up to us to look after her.’

‘She’ll be all right,’ Carrie laughed. ‘She’s in such a state of bemusement that I don’t think she’d notice if she fell over the nun! She’s real taken with the airman.’

‘I think so, too. After all, I don’t think she’s had many goodnight kisses! I hope, when she rings him, he’ll ask her out.’

‘I think he will. More to the point, though,’ Carrie frowned, ‘Nan works shifts, so every other night won’t be on – and Chas flies bombing ops. Fixing dates might be a bit awkward. But did you enjoy tonight, Evie? Got plenty of partners, didn’t we?’

‘Mm. It was good, getting out again. We’ll have to try to arrange a trip to Lincoln.’

‘I could drive, if Freddy’ll let me take the pickup. Or maybe Norm would take us, and we could hitch a lift back.’

‘I’ll have a word with the sergeant. Next Saturday it’ll have to be – when we finish shift at two. And hi! You all right?’ she asked of Nan. ‘Locked the back door?’

‘Yes, I have. And was you talkin’ about me?’

‘We were,’ Evie said frankly. ‘We said we thought your airman was very nice, and we were talking ways and means about getting to Lincoln next Saturday so bear it in mind, when you’re fixing a date with your Chas.’

‘Mm. I will. Mind, he might not be able to get out, though I’d still like to go to town. Maybe,’ she said almost nonchalantly, ‘see if I can find a shop that’s got a lipstick under the counter.’

Carrie’s eyes met Evie’s. Carrie winked slowly, saying not a word, and Evie bit her lip on a smile. Nan looking for a lipstick? So she had fallen for the airman, bless the girl. Then she hoped with all her heart that Nan wasn’t storing up heartache because fliers had a habit of not coming back from ops.

‘Think I’ll go on a lipstick hunt, too,’ Evie said. ‘And I wouldn’t mind a jar of cold cream, either – or a tin of Nivea.’ And she mustn’t think about Nan’s young man not coming back from night raids over Germany. Not ever! Absently, she closed her eyes and fondled her wedding ring.

Take care Bob darling, wherever you are and God, if you could, take care of Nan’s Chas and Carrie’s Jeffrey. And oh, damn and blast this war!

Six

Letters for Southgate Lodge; four for Evie – redirected – one for Nan, and three for Carrie.

‘It won’t be long,’ Evie smiled, ‘before they come to me, here. Bob should have my new address by now. Mm. Don’t know whether to gobble them up, now, or to save them for when I come off shift tonight – read them before I go to sleep.’

‘Bet you can’t save them that long,’ Carrie laughed, opening the letter she knew to be from Jeffrey’s mother.

My dear Caroline,

News is very thin on the ground, here in Nether Hutton. The days grow shorter and the swallows are twittering on the telephone lines, ready to fly away. Taking summer with them, I suppose.

I called on your mother, yesterday. She seems very low and the dreadful cough she seems not able to throw off is not helping. But don’t worry. I will keep an eye on her for you

I hope soon to hear from Jeffrey and that he has got a ship. He seems very restless, in barracks. I do so hope you will be able to marry on his next leave.

‘Jeffrey’s mother,’ Caroline said to no one in particular, ‘says mother is depressed and can’t seem to get rid of her cold. She didn’t tell me she had one.’

‘Mothers never do,’ Evie soothed. ‘And isn’t that a letter from Jeffrey?’

‘Mm. It’ll be his new address.’ The envelope carried the red stamp of the censor. She slit it with her thumb and pulled out a single sheet of notepaper.

Darling Carrie,

My new address is Communications Mess, HMS Adventurer c/o GPO London.

When I was in barracks I had a photograph taken in uniform. Have you got it, yet?

In haste. Write back at once. Love you,

‘Jeffrey’s sent a photograph.’ More carefully Carrie opened the brown manila envelope with PLEASE DO NOT BEND written large on top. ‘Mm. Not bad. Looks as if he’s been to the Navy barber…’

‘Why isn’t he smiling?’ Nan frowned.

‘Probably because, like most men, he doesn’t like having his photo taken. He’s quite nice, actually, to look at,’ she said defensively. ‘He’s got thick black hair, though you can’t see it for the cap’…His cap was pulled well forward, regulation style, over his forehead.

All my love. Jeffrey. Nan scanned the inscription then handed the photograph to Evie. ‘Don’t you ever call him Jeff?’

‘No. Never. His mother doesn’t like it.’

‘Pity for her! Ah, well, I’m nippin’ up to the NAAFI to phone Chas. Best go while it’s quiet. Anybody want anythin’ ?’

‘You could ask if they’ve got cigarettes under the counter.’ Carrie did not smoke, but they could generally get a ten-packet in the NAAFI, and she bought hers to give to Norm and Freddie, who did smoke. ‘And Lenice said she’d heard that once a month, they get a make-up allocation. You just might ask when it’s going to be. After all, you are in need of a lipstick, Nan…’

Nan walked up the lane, arms swinging, a little pulse of pleasure beating behind her nose. Modeley 147 – Sergeants’ Mess was what she must ask for – after taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. Because she was just a little apprehensive, worrying that Chas might not be there. Or he might be there and pretend not to be if he didn’t want to speak to her because she had been a bit fresh, come to think of it, kissing him on the mouth. Girls shouldn’t kiss fellers – not when they hardly knew them.

The NAAFI was empty. There was no queue at the telephone. Nan placed three pennies and a sixpenny piece on top of the coinbox, picked up the receiver, asking for the number.

‘Place three pennies in the box please, caller.’ Nan obliged and was asked to wait, then, ‘I have 147 on the line. Press button A.’ Nan pressed. The pennies fell with a clatter.

The aerodrome answered which meant Chas wasn’t flying tonight. And dammit, she was on shift!

‘Can I speak to Sergeant Charles Lawson,’ she asked, surprised how quickly she was connected.

‘Charlie! The call you’re waiting for! Your popsie!’

‘Hello, Nan,’ he said, almost immediately.

‘Thanks for ringing.’

‘You’ve been waitin’ for this call, Chas?’ ‘’Fraid so. Even though I was sure you wouldn’t ring. Look, Nan, you’re working tonight, Monday and Wednesday – right?’

‘Yes. What about you?’

‘Not sure, but I reckon Sunday night just might be on. That OK for you?’

‘Should be.’ She giggled. ‘Reckon we’re goin’ to be like Box and Cox, you and me. Where, on Sunday? What time?’

‘Do you know the Black Bull at Little Modeley?’ Nan knew it. And grandad who drank best bitter there, an’ all!

‘The Black Bull it is, then Chas. At seven?’

‘Right! And if I don’t make it, will you forgive me and ring me after twelve, on Monday? And what’s your NAAFI number?’

‘Modeley 618, but it might be awkward, ringing me. If I’m not there, I mean, they can’t take messages. Just fingers crossed, eh, for Sunday?’

‘Fingers crossed – and N-nan – take care, dear girl.’

‘And you, too. See you, Chas…’

Reluctantly, she put down the receiver, wishing they could have talked some more – at least till the threepence ran out. Local calls were easy to get. Not like trunk calls you had to wait ages and ages for, and were only allowed three minutes before the operator interrupted and told you your time was up. Rarely was anyone given longer. The war, of course. Even the telephones were at it, the Armed Forces being given priority over the poor old civilians.

She walked to the counter. ‘Any ciggies,’ she asked of the ginger-haired assistant.

‘Any money?’ He dipped beneath the counter and brought out a packet. ‘A bob gets you ten!’

‘Oooh! Thanks, chum.’ Nan parted with a shilling and gave him a wink. ‘And there’s a rumour goin’ round that you might have makeup to sell.’

‘News to me,’ he shrugged, ‘but you’d better ask the lady when she’s on duty, tonight. She’ll know…’

Nan hurried back to Southgate. No lipsticks and suchlike in the NAAFI, but she had a date. Sunday, at seven, at the Black Bull! Quite a way to walk, but what the heck? If Chas was waiting there, it would be worth every step of the way. If. Oh, please he wouldn’t be flying? Not on her first date?’

With a frown, Carrie read what she had written. Just like her mother not to tell her she was ill; just like Jeffrey’s mother to make sure she knew!

Why didn’t you tell me you were poorly, mother? Please, please, phone Doc Smithson and ask him to call and give you a check-up. And ask him to give you a tonic, too.

There is not a lot of news. Jeffrey, as you will probably know has got a ship at last. HMS Adventurer – home waters, I hope. He sent a photograph. He looks very stern, in uniform.

Should she tell her mother about the dance at RAF Modeley and what a good time they had had? Perhaps not. It didn’t seem right to be enjoying yourself when your mother was ill -and alone.

Am going to get something to eat, now, before I take the late shift on duty and collect the earlies. This is just a short note to let you know how sorry I am you are not well, and to beg you to send for the doctor. In haste, but with much, much love.

Her mother – or Jeffrey’s mother – made her feel bad because she had joined up instead of getting married so she need not leave home to do her war work. But she had left home and would only be back to Jackmans Cottage for a week every three months for as long as the war lasted.

Quickly she addressed the envelope. She would post it when she went for her meal when it would have every chance of being on its way by tomorrow.

She looked out of the window and saw a flush-cheeked Nan hurrying up the path, doubtless with news of the utmost importance to tell! It made her wish she were nearly eighteen again, and going on her first real date. But she was twenty-one, or would be at the end of October.

She arranged a smile on her lips as Nan burst into the room and tossed her the cigarettes.

‘That’s a shillin’ you owe me, Tiptree, and guess what! I’m meetin’ Chas at the Black Bull on Sunday.’

There was just nothing to say in reply to such bright-eyed, breathless happiness, so Carrie said,

‘Thanks a lot,’ and gave Nan two sixpenny pieces without further comment, because she knew she had never felt that way on her first real date – nor on any of the many that followed.

‘Fingers crossed, mind – flying, and all that.’

Nan collapsed on her bed and lay, hands behind head, gazing at the ceiling as if, Carrie thought, Chas’s face were up there, and smiling down at her.

‘Nan,’ she said softly. ‘You know I’m very happy about you and Chas, but don’t get hurt, will you? There’s a war on, don’t forget?’

‘Don’t think I don’t know.’ Nan sat bolt upright, the contentment gone from her face. ‘And it looks like every date we have will depend on that war, damn and blast it! And he mightn’t even be there, on Sunday. He could be flying ops!’

‘So you’ll walk all the way to the Black Bull, and he mightn’t show – then walk all the way back? And it’s getting dark earlier now, Nan.’

‘It’s all I can do. If they suddenly tell them they’re off bombing, he can’t give me a quick ring, can he? Their switchboard shuts down. No calls out and no calls allowed in. Security, see?’

‘Oh, Nan Morrissey! Your love affair is going to be as complicated as mine,’ Carrie laughed. ‘You and Chas and me and Jeffrey trying to get together, I mean. But if Chas shows on Sunday, surely he’ll walk you home?’

‘Of course he will. Suppose, if I’d told him how to get here, he’d have met me at Priest’s. I was just so glad to be talkin’ to him that I didn’t think. But don’t worry about me, Carrie. I’m a big girl, now.’

‘Mm. Old enough to take the King’s shilling so I reckon you’re grown up enough to go on dates without Evie and me watching over you like mother hens. Sorry, love.’

‘Don’t be sorry, Carrie. I like being fussed over. It’s nice when somebody cares about you – honest it is. And I’m going to give this place a good turn out, so you’d better get yourself back to the stab-leyard. And if you see Evie in the washroom, tell her not to hurry back.’

She wanted Southgate to herself, Nan thought; wanted to think about and sigh over Chas. And if it meant getting into her horrible brown overall and sweeping and mopping and dusting the place, then it would be worth it, because Chas was very nice to think about, and sigh over. And oh, please, let him be there at seven tomorrow night, and not flying into danger in a bomber?

‘I’m pushing off now to get some supper,’ Sergeant James said to Evie. ‘There isn’t a lot of traffic – you can manage without me, Turner, till the end of the shift.’ It was more of an order than a question. ‘I’ll be back before ten, to hand over to the night man.’

‘We’ll be fine,’ Evie smiled, wondering how much longer Sergeant James could keep up her long working day – six in the morning until ten at night, with only breaks for meals. Soon, maybe, she should talk about her having more time off. After all, Evie reasoned, she did have a stripe up and more than able to cope with anything the people behind the green baize door might throw at her. ‘See you about ten.’

‘So you’re in charge,’ Nan said when the sergeant had left for the cookhouse.

‘Yes I am, and since you don’t seem busy, how about putting the kettle on?’

Maybe then, Evie thought, they could have a chat about tomorrow night, and was Nan really thinking of walking the mile back alone, if her boyfriend didn’t show up, and to keep to the side of the road if she heard anything coming and not stick her thumb out for a lift. That was just asking for an accident. Things like that happened all the time in the blackout with motors only allowed dim lights to drive on.

She stared at the switchboard and thought, soberly, that soon they would have dark nights to endure; blackouts to be in place, in November, by late afternoon, and not one glimmer of light to be shown until next morning. Not even the lighting of a cigarette, out doors. And then there would be winter, and freezing billets and frost patterns on the insides of windows. It made her wonder if they dare light a fire at Southgate and if, on moonlit nights or nights bright with stars, anyone would notice the smoke puffing from the chimney.

‘Y’know,’ she said absently, ‘I was thinking that when the cold weather comes and we’re on late shift, we could boil up the kettle and fill our hot-water bottles.’

And Nan said it would be a good idea, but she didn’t have a hot-water bottle and surely Evie knew there were none in the shops, now that rubber was a commodity of war, and anything made from it non-existent, almost.