The Windmill Girls

‘You make him sound a callous so and so …’

‘Oh, he’ll go for the jugular. He’s shot down twenty enemy aircraft – that’s why he’s a squadron leader and I’m a lowly flying officer.’

Dawn took Bill’s hands in hers and gave them a fond squeeze. ‘You stay safe … all the time, stay safe and don’t take stupid risks. I don’t want to be left with just a photograph to kiss because you tried to rival your pal’s kills.’ Dawn glanced at Glenn and saw that he was watching them. For a moment their eyes locked, as though he knew she was talking about him. ‘He does seem callous,’ Dawn said, tearing her eyes away from a mocking gaze.

‘Unlike me, who would lay down his life for a fair maiden,’ Bill teased and leaned forward to kiss Dawn. ‘I blame him for our moonshine drying up too,’ Bill added, still nuzzling at Dawn’s lips.

Dawn drew back an inch, smiling uncertainly. ‘What did he do?’

‘Glenn’s in with the top brass and on their say so’s on the lookout for illegal stills.’ Bill sat back with an easy shrug when Dawn seemed more interested in talking than smooching.

Bill’s comment about his friend made Glenn seem a bit of a nark, yet Rafferty appeared anything but. Dawn wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he was a barrow boy who did a bit of ducking and diving himself! They’d only exchanged a few words but she’d noticed Glenn had a pronounced London accent, as did she. Bill on the other hand sounded as though he might have recently come down from Harrow. Dawn let Bill light her a cigarette, although she didn’t really want it, having just put one out.

‘Shall we make tracks and find a hotel?’ Bill stared at Dawn through the smoky mist he’d exhaled.

‘I’m ready to go … but straight home. I’m all in.’ Dawn gave him a winning smile, but it did little to erase the annoyance pinching his features.

‘Right … I’ll fetch your coat,’ Bill said distantly.

As he strode away, Dawn watched him, biting her lip. She squashed the unsmoked cigarette in the ashtray, sorry they’d bumped into Glenn and Tina. Bill had been in a better mood when they’d been on their own. She wished they’d gone to the pictures as they’d planned, then for a bite to eat in a cosy café, rather than heading towards a sophisticated nightclub. She knew Bill had only a forty-eight hour pass and needed to relax and forget just for a short while that he was a Spitfire pilot. But she wasn’t sure yet whether infatuation or true love was drawing her to Bill. Before taking that leap into the unknown and spending the night with a man she wanted to be certain of the depth of her feelings.

Bill had not offered to use a rubber, and Dawn had not wanted to vulgarly bring the subject up because it would seem teasing if she then again said no. The idea of having a baby and perhaps raising it alone was terrifying. Her mother had had George out of wedlock and the upset surrounding the dreadful episode had started Eliza’s alcoholism and brought about the end of Dawn’s childhood.

‘Another drink somewhere else?’ Bill suggested as they exited the Kitkat Club. Despite there being a war on the West End was thriving. As they started strolling along Regent Street they were jostled and bumped by boisterous people – civilians and servicemen and women – intent on having a good time.

They stepped around some fresh-faced sailors squatting close to a wall playing dice, roll-ups dangling between their lips. They were just boys, Dawn realised, possibly no more than five years older than her own brother.

A tout approached Bill and shoved a flyer for an illegal bottle party at him before sidling away to a group of soldiers chatting up girls. The lads eagerly took the invitations promising them a good time.

Bill stuffed the paper in a pocket and tightened his arm about Dawn. ‘Do you fancy another drink?’ he repeated.

‘Sorry … daydreaming … no thanks, not tonight, but I’d love it if you took me to the Café de Paris when you’re next on leave.’

‘It’s pricey,’ Bill said. ‘Have you been there before?’

‘No …’ Dawn murmured. ‘I’ve heard the girls at work talking about it though. Lorna thinks she might meet a toff there who’ll carry her off and give her a life of leisure.’

An army corporal, showing off to his friends while pretending to use a machine gun, bumped into Dawn, making Bill scowl and shove him in the shoulder.

Dawn dragged him on. ‘He’s had a few too many, that’s all,’ she said, smoothing over the situation. She didn’t fancy Bill getting involved in a fight with a bunch of soldiers over something so trivial.

‘So you like a shindig with the girls when I’m not around, do you?’ Bill resumed their conversation and slung a possessive arm about Dawn’s shoulders again.

‘Sal and me sometimes go the pictures then have supper in a corner house, but since we met I only go to dances with you.’ Dawn snuggled up to him.

She looked up at the stars. She was glad that the war hadn’t frightened people into huddling indoors behind blackout curtains. ‘Two fingers up to Hitler,’ she murmured tipsily to herself with a smile. ‘Up there it’s been a quiet night; please God it stays that way.’

‘I’ll drink to that …’ Bill drew her arm through his and they strolled on. ‘Sure you don’t fancy another bevy? The night’s still young.’

Dawn kissed his cheek in thanks. ‘No … sleepy …’ She hugged into him again.

Suddenly Bill backed Dawn against a wall and kissed her tenderly. ‘I really want you to wait for me, you know. When this bloody war’s over I’ve got important things to say to you, sweetheart. But I don’t want to promise you anything now when I don’t know if I’ll be around next week, let alone next year.’

‘Don’t say that!’ Dawn whispered, touching a finger to his lips. ‘I pray for your safe return every day … and the war might soon fizzle out …’ She gave a wry smile. ‘Not much chance of that happening, eh?’

Bill caressed her cheek with a finger. ‘Let’s go and find a hotel … please. I need you so much …’

‘I can’t, Bill!’ Dawn said softly. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to …’ She put a hand to her forehead. ‘Oh, I don’t know what I want …’

‘Well let me show you,’ he urged huskily. ‘I swear I won’t ever hurt you; I know I’ve fallen for you, Dawn, in a big way …’ He kissed her again with passionate pressure.

‘I feel the same about you but …’ Dawn frowned, feeling warm and cosy from his closeness and the brandy cocktails she’d had in the Kitkat Club. She was swayed to agree to go with him just so she could revel a while longer in the lovely muzzy sensation in her head. The word yes froze on her lips and Dawn almost jumped out of her skin. Usually she was primed for that eerie sound but tonight, submerged in a sensual daze, it had come as a complete surprise. She heard Bill curse beneath his breath as they gazed at the skies, listening. Bill grabbed her hand and tugged her into a run towards Oxford Circus underground station as the drone of aeroplane engines became louder.

About to descend the steps Bill pulled Dawn around to face him. ‘Saved by the siren?’ he asked, his vivid eyes demanding an honest answer from her.

Dawn smiled and went ahead of him, merging into the throng of people.

‘Got a mo, Dawn?’

‘Yes … of course … how are you, Gertie?’

‘So-so,’ Gertie said evasively.

Dawn had just arrived at the Windmill Theatre and had been stopped by the cleaner at the top of the stairs leading to the basement dressing rooms. Dawn hadn’t seen Gertie for a while, and she realised that the older woman didn’t seem her usual cheerful self. Gertie had been off work nursing a sick child who’d gone down with bronchitis, so she’d heard. Dawn had her own ideas on what else might have been keeping Gertie occupied at home: the woman had found out her brother was a deserter and a suspected murderer. To cap it all, Rufus might have owned up to his wife that he’d been going looting with his brother-in-law, and an almighty row had probably erupted.

Poor Gertie! Dawn realised the men in Gertie’s family must be a constant burden on her. Then she had the four little boys to deal with too!

Dawn drew aside to let a couple of dancers wearing exercise shorts and shirts pass by and clatter down the stairs towards the dressing room. She sensed that Gertie wouldn’t want their conversation overheard.

‘Last time I saw you, you said you’d seen my brother Michael,’ Gertie began as soon as the chorus girls had disappeared.

‘I couldn’t be absolutely sure it was him ’cos I don’t really know him,’ Dawn said neutrally.

‘I think you know now you did see him,’ Gertie replied. ‘And so do I, ’cos I asked Rufus about it and he owned up to Midge being around. I’ve not seen me brother in months,’ she added quickly. ‘But you have. You saw ’em at work, didn’t you.’ Gertie slid a look at Dawn from beneath her lashes. ‘Yeah … I do know what me husband gets up to – but I ain’t his keeper,’ she added defensively. ‘Not saying it’s right to go bomb-chasing … but it’s wartime, ain’t it, and people don’t always act normal. They just get by.’ Gertie suddenly clammed up on that front.

‘But … what about your brother deserting?’ Dawn asked; she understood some of Gertie’s blunt philosophy, but not all of it.

‘Don’t know nothing about it, as I said, ain’t seen Midge in ages. But yesterday we had some Navy bigwigs come round looking for him, so he’s gone AWOL alright.’ Gertie’s head dropped close to her chest. ‘Really bad thing about it is, seems a sailor by the name of Jack Chivers was found dead about the same time Michael disappeared.’ Gertie wiped her moist eyes with the back of her hand. ‘’Course me and Rufus had to lie and tell them we thought he’d sailed ’cos it wouldn’t be right if he was arrested on a murder charge. He might be a deserter but he’s no killer! Stake me life on it!’ Gertie shook her head. ‘Wouldn’t hurt a fly …’ She knew that was stretching the truth so shut up.

‘Sorry, Gertie, to have to tell you this, but Michael was aggressive with us. When we ran off he and Rufus chased us ’cos we’d seen them breaking the shop window and stealing the stuff from the outfitters.’

‘We?’ Gertie croaked, pulling out a handkerchief to dab her eyes.

‘A girl was with me. It’s an odd coincidence, but Rosie now works at the Windmill too.’

‘I’ve not met her.’ Gertie shoved her hanky back up her sleeve. ‘Does this Rosie know all about the looters being my family?’

‘No … and I’m not going to tell her ’cos we just want to forget all about it. I’m not saying I wasn’t angry to see those selfish buggers stealing …’ Dawn pressed together her lips, feeling enough had been said on it all. She didn’t want to end up having an argument with Gertie. ‘Look, I’ve more important things on my mind, Gertie, and Rosie feels the same way. I expect you do too …’

‘You’re a good sort, Dawn,’ Gertie mumbled. ‘Sorry for snapping your head off that time, but I didn’t know then what I know now. I really thought me brother was on his way overseas.’

Dawn shrugged. ‘My mum often sticks up for me or George when we don’t deserve it.’

Gertie suddenly burst into tears, using a sleeve to shield her eyes. ‘You’ll keep it all to yourself, won’t you, Dawn?’ she snuffled.

‘’Course … said so, didn’t I?’ She put an arm round Gertie’s shoulders. ‘Come on, let’s go and make a pot of tea before we get cracking on the new routines.’

‘What costumes you wearing today?’ Gertie asked with a bright sniff.

‘We’re pixies, for a couple of matinees.’

‘Kids’ll love that,’ Gertie said. ‘Shame that sour-faced Olive don’t bring her boys home and treat them to a show once in a while.’

‘You managing to keep yer head down then?’ Rufus Grimes flicked down the queen of hearts. Midge trumped it with a king and, grinning, pocketed his winnings.

Rufus scowled as he saw his cash disappearing into his brother-in-law’s pocket.

‘Yeah … not had no trouble so far.’ Midge sat back, stretching out his short legs. He yanked down the brim of the cap he wore as though to conceal his features.

Rufus could have laughed: in his opinion if Midge wanted to disguise himself he’d be better off wearing a pair of stilts.

‘So, you and Gertie come up with a good story, did you, when the Navy boys turned up looking for me?’

Rufus could feel his brother-in-law’s steady stare on him, but he carried on shuffling cards. ‘Yeah, said we was under the impression you was sailing the high seas.’ Rufus raised a pair of lazy eyes to Midge’s face. ‘Did it, did yer?’

‘Did what?’ Midge drawled.

‘They’ve got you down for a murder.’

‘Don’t know nuthin’ about that,’ Midge lied and took a nonchalant swig of whisky from the bottle balanced on his knee.

Midge wished he’d hopped it to a remote spot rather than getting himself enlisted when war broke out. But when a group of bombastic pals had gone along to the Navy recruitment centre, Midge had tagged along, caught up in the moment. Following the Battle of the River Plate Midge had had enough of fighting for king and country. He’d no intention of ending up with his legs blown off, as his fellow stoker had when their frigate got torpedoed.

‘Should’ve left Hitler to it out in Europe,’ Midge muttered. ‘Weren’t nothing to do with us what he was getting up to.’

‘Fuckin’ is now though.’ Rufus was used to Midge sounding off to try and conceal his cowardice. But as Rufus had so far managed to avoid joining up, he knew not to have too much to say on the subject. Besides, he wished he’d kept quiet about the sailor who’d been found knifed in the back and dumped in a lifeboat about the same time as Midge jumped ship. Rufus reckoned the man opposite was a vicious git as well as being crafty, and he wouldn’t put anything past him.

‘Way I see it, I could’ve been blown to smithereens in the East End on the weekend I went missing.’ Midge crossed his arms over his chest, looking quite smug. ‘Bad raids fer days as I recall …’

‘So how you gonna square it when you eventually turn up bright as a lark?’ Having rolled himself a smoke Grimes generously held out his tin.

Midge started separating strands of tobacco, watching his stained fingers. ‘War ain’t over yet … I still could come a cropper,’ he replied philosophically. ‘Anyhow, cross them bridges when I come to ’em, won’t I.’

Sticking the limp cigarette in a corner of his mouth he glanced about at their murky surroundings. They were huddled in a corner of an air-raid shelter, each man seated on an upturned box with another positioned between them and employed as a rough table. On its wonky top were scattered a pack of dog-eared playing cards, a depleted bottle of whisky and Rufus’s tin of Old Holborn.

During the daytime, when bombing raids weren’t expected, and ordinary folk went about their business, the shelters were mostly empty, but for rolls of bedding and makeshift bunks lining the walls. Midge saw the opportunity to be had, as did others. Tramps and deserters, looking for a hidey-hole, thought the vacant shelters a godsend. Petty thieves also passed through hoping to find abandoned possessions they could make a bob out of before the owners returned at night to find their stuff missing.

Midge wrinkled his nose against the odour of latrines pervading the air. Idly he began playing solitaire. ‘’Course there’s those two women who got a look at us when we did the outfitter’s,’ he said, the roll-up wagging in his mouth. ‘But I ain’t too concerned over that ’cos doubt we’ll run into them again.’ He chuckled gruffly. ‘Nice-looking pair of girls … wouldn’t have minded getting down to business with either of ’em under different circumstances.’ Midge carried on laying down cards on the box top. ‘Funny thing is, Roof, I thought the older gel seemed familiar; ain’t sure why though …’

Grimes shifted on his seat. He’d not owned up to any of the other members of the gang that he’d bumped into Dawn Nightingale, and worse than that she was his wife’s friend and workmate. And he knew, even if Midge didn’t, why the little man thought he knew Dawn: Midge had been to the shows at the theatre and had probably clocked her on stage.

Rufus had no interest in sophisticated entertainment, or classy women, so had never seen a revue himself. He’d no time for striptease; a good drink, a rough shag then home to bed was all he was after, when his wife made herself unavailable. In his own way he loved Gertie very much. It was just the constant itch in his balls that made him unfaithful.

Midge held out the bottle of whisky, swaying it by its neck. ‘Want a swig?’

‘Nah … better get back, me shift ain’t finished yet.’ Grimes got to his feet. Half an hour ago he’d been road sweeping and had taken an unofficial break, thinking he might find Midge sneaking about in the shelter. He’d fancied a game of cards, feeling his luck was in, but he’d lost five bob and that wouldn’t go down well with Gertie if she found out.

He’d fancied a tot too, but he knew if his boss smelled booze on his breath he’d be for the high jump. Not that he liked shovelling up shit for a living … but Gertie would kill him if he lost his regular pay packet. Tonight he was too skint for a prossie, so he hurried up towards the exit, hoping to keep in his wife’s good books at least till bedtime.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘Come on, you’ll enjoy an outing, Mum.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Dawn … the sky’s overcast. It’s bound to rain and the damp affects me knees.’ Eliza Nightingale continued sitting obstinately at the parlour table, frowning at her clasped hands.

‘We’ll take an umbrella then, just in case,’ Dawn persisted.

Dawn had a free afternoon and had got complimentary tickets for the variety matinee at the Windmill Theatre as they’d not sold out. Her mother had got herself ready, dressing in her best frock, but as usual Eliza was attempting to cry off at the last moment so she could stay at home close to the gin bottle.

‘I’m not wasting these tickets!’ Dawn forced her mother to her feet and into her coat. ‘Come on, let’s go. We don’t want to miss the start of the show when the clown and juggler do a double act.’

Dawn began ushering her mother and brother towards the front door before one of them tried to duck out of the trip. Walking towards the bus stop she wondered why she went to the trouble of trying to arrange outings for her family when they acted as though they were doing her a favour in accepting a treat.

‘Can’t we go to the pictures instead?’ George moaned as they joined the back of the bus queue. ‘Captain Blood’s back on at the Gaumont. Errol Flynn’s me favourite.’

‘No, we can’t,’ Dawn said on a sigh. ‘You’ll like the show; it’s rather comical … and the mermaid costumes are nice …’

‘Any nude girls in it?’ George asked cheekily.

Eliza glanced, horrified, at her son. ‘That’s quite enough of that talk, young man,’ she whispered, glancing about to see if anybody in the queue had heard his cheeky remark.

‘Do you stand about with no clothes on?’ George deliberately taunted his sister, and got an immediate clip round the ear from his pursed-lipped mother.

Eliza dragged her son to one side as a woman turned around to glare at them. ‘Now you listen to me, young man. Any more of that and you’ll go straight home.’

‘Good,’ George mumbled, although he knew he’d overstepped the mark. He’d been bored all morning and had been looking forward to getting out of the house on a Saturday afternoon. But he was reluctant to let on to his mother and sister how excited he was to be going to the theatre with them.

‘No, I don’t stand about with no clothes on. I’m a chorus dancer, as you know,’ Dawn finally answered her brother in a steely tone.

‘How do you know about nudes and so on at the Windmill Theatre?’ Eliza muttered, glaring at Dawn as though it was all her fault George was talking dirty.

‘One of the boys at school told me about it. He had a picture of the girls doing their gas-mask practice. They only had on their vests and drawers.’

‘Well they weren’t in the nude then,’ Dawn retorted. ‘And everybody does gas-mask training, even you kids at school.’ She dragged her brother forward by an elbow as a bus wheezed to a halt at the kerb. ‘Now behave yourself, George, or you’ll ruin our trip out.’ Dawn cast her eyes heavenwards. It wasn’t an auspicious start to what she’d hoped would be a relaxing afternoon.

‘Stop fidgeting, George.’

‘Seats are itchy …’ George shifted again on the brown velour seat but he soon forgot about his discomfort. He howled with laughter as the clown’s red nose fell off for the second time and the juggler trod on it, causing him to lose concentration and drop his skittles. ‘Need some glue for that conk?’ George called, and earned himself a slap on the arm from his mother.

But Eliza was laughing too, and dabbed her streaming eyes with a hanky. The clown and juggler had reappeared to bring the show to a close with apparently farcical consequences. Probably nobody in the audience, apart from Dawn, knew that the performers’ calamity was a well-rehearsed trick that always had the customers rolling in the aisles.

‘Did you enjoy the show?’ Dawn asked as the heavy curtain descended, although she already knew the answer to that. She had been gladdened to see her mother and brother hooting and clapping as the cast took a bow. The light-heartedness between them reminded her of days long ago, when George had been small and their mother drank in moderation. Standing up, Dawn waited patiently for the crowd of people in front of her to file towards the exit. She was pleased to see that Olive had sold more tickets during the afternoon. It was by no means a packed house but more than half-full. It was a good sign that many opening nights were still to come for Dawn and her colleagues at the Windmill, despite the opposition from rivals.

The Windmill might have been the trailblazer where nudes on stage were concerned, but many other venues had since jumped on the bandwagon, taking custom away from the original show. The management insisted the Windmill remain better than its imitators; all the cast and crew knew they must do their best to keep the queue of punters snaking along Great Windmill Street.

Once out in the foyer, Dawn told her mum she was just off to say a quick hello to the girls in the dressing room. Eliza, seeing Olive Roberts in the kiosk, diverted to speak to her.

‘You’re Olive, I remember you from last time I came over to a matinee with Dawn.’ Eliza struck up a conversation while George read the colourful billboards advertising current and future shows.

‘How are you keeping, Mrs Nightingale?’

‘Oh, I’m bearing up, thanks, love. How’re your kids doing?’ she asked. ‘You’ve got two boys, haven’t you?’

‘They’re nice and settled down in Brighton … sea air and veg straight from the farm; so they’re doing alright.’

‘’Spect they miss you though.’ Eliza gave the woman a sympathetic smile. ‘You off on a visit soon, are you?’

Olive gave a customer his change. ‘I’m busy with my WVS duties so can’t fit in too many trips away. But I do the journey from time to time to check up on things.’

‘I went to a WVS meeting once,’ Eliza said. ‘A girl younger than me daughter was trying to tell us how to make jam. I said, listen here, love, I’ve been making jam since before you was a glint in yer father’s eye.’

‘I drive the mobile tea wagon and know first aid so turn up to help the poor souls after a raid. The servicemen are always grateful to have someone to talk to.’ Olive pulled from her pocket a WVS badge. ‘This goes on all the time after I’ve finished work here.’

‘I’ve been fire-fighting with me neighbour,’ Eliza said, feeling a bit left out.

‘Victory’s not far off, I know it,’ Olive said serenely. ‘My work then will be done and I can go home and put my feet up.’

‘Home? Thought you were a Londoner, Olive.’

‘I was born in Crouch End, but I’ve attachments elsewhere.’

‘Where’s that then?’

‘Your lad back on a visit, is he?’ It was a sly enquiry; Olive knew very well that Dawn’s brother had never been evacuated and regularly sought shelter from the Blitz with his mother out the back of their house, in an Anderson shelter.