It soon became clear to Sally that, although they were all from the East End, she and Pearl had very little in common with the other three. They were married, for a start, but with their husbands away with the forces, they’d come down to the coast to find work and have a good time.
Sally poured tea from the flask and shared it with Pearl as she listened to their conversation. It was full of bitchy remarks about the other women to begin with, but this soon turned to comparing the generosity and allure of the foreign servicemen who were stationed in and around Cliffehaven. The general consensus seemed to be that the Yanks were the most generous, the French the most romantic and the Poles were real gentlemen but almost impossible to understand.
From there, the talk continued to the local dances, the pictures they’d seen and the conquests they’d made. It was a boastful, coarse exchange, interspersed with shrieks of raucous laughter that had people turning their heads and made Sally wince. They sounded just like Florrie and her mates when they got together.
She glanced at Pearl who merely shrugged and drank her tea. It seemed the other girl was similarly unimpressed and had nothing to bring to the conversation either, and that made Sally like her even more. But Pearl had obviously gone along with Iris and the others before today, and she hoped there wouldn’t be any fallout over her standing her ground.
‘You must come with us tonight,’ said Iris, suddenly turning to Sally. ‘We’re going to the dance at the Pier Hotel. The Yanks come into town from their base nearby, and they know ’ow to splash their money about.’ She reached into her handbag and pulled out something wrapped in tissue paper. ‘Look what I got last night,’ she breathed.
Sally eyed the silk stockings. They were beautiful, but she could imagine how Iris had come to have such a gift. ‘Not tonight,’ she replied pleasantly. ‘I got things to do.’
‘Nothing’s more important than ’aving a good time. The blokes will pay, it won’t cost yer nothing.’
‘Don’t make no difference,’ replied Sally. ‘I still got other things to do.’
‘What about you, Pearl?’ The brown eyes were daring her to refuse.
‘I got a date already,’ she said.
‘I ain’t one to take no for an answer,’ Iris said evenly. ‘Bring ’im along, if you must, but I expect you and Sal to meet us outside the Town Hall at seven.’
Sally glanced at Pearl and could see she was wavering. ‘We already gave you our answer, Iris,’ she said quietly.
‘So you’re refusing to come out with us?’ Iris put her hands on her hips as she stood and viciously crushed the cigarette beneath the toe of her fancy shoe.
‘That’s right,’ said Sally. ‘I got a little brother to look after, and Pearl’s got a date.’
‘Then get a babysitter,’ snapped Iris.
‘I already left him all morning. I ain’t leaving ’im again.’ She stood and tipped out the dregs of tea from the cup and screwed it back on to the flask as the whistle signalled the end of the break.
Iris sniffed with derision as she eyed both girls.
‘You’d only cramp our style anyway.’ Her sneering gaze swept over Sally’s shoes and socks, and Pearl’s threadbare coat. ‘Your bloke can’t be up to much, Pearl Dawkins, cos no-one
decent
would want to get within half a mile of you and your smelly clothes. As fer you,’ her eyes bored into Sally, ‘you’ll regret this. And that’s a promise.’
She linked arms with the other two and headed for the factory door. A muttered exchange between them had them shrieking with laughter again.
‘Blimey, you got some nerve, Sal,’ breathed Pearl. ‘No-one says no to Iris.’
‘Then it’s time someone did.’
‘You’re very brave,’ said Pearl, as they hurried indoors. ‘But you’d better watch yer back from now on. That Iris is a spiteful piece and no mistake.’
‘I’ve met ’er kind before,’ said Sally, ‘and she don’t frighten me.’
‘Well, she does me,’ muttered Pearl, as they weaved their way back to their work-station. ‘She can be a right cow when someone upsets ’er – and the other two are just as bad, cos they do what she tells ’em.’
‘If you’re up for it, what you say we stick together?’ said Sally, as they took their places in front of the machines. ‘There’s strength in numbers, and if we keep firm, and make friends with some of the other girls, then they’ll just ’ave to accept we don’t want to get involved.’
‘Yea, why not?’ Pearl smiled. ‘I’m glad you came to work ’ere.’
Sally smiled back. ‘So am I,’ she replied – but she was all too aware of Iris on the other end of a far table, shooting her hostile glances. Pearl’s advice was valid; she’d definitely have to watch her back.
Aleksy had been at the airfield all morning, struggling like the others with the English language. The teacher was a retired college lecturer who liked the sound of his own voice, and Aleksy had spent most of the lesson staring out of the window at the grey skies and the windswept grass, his thoughts drifting.
There were no planes as yet, for they were all still based at the old airfield on the other side of the hills. This new airfield had been sited on a requisitioned farm which sprawled across the broad, flat lands that swept northward for many miles beyond Cliffehaven. It would soon be operational with a proper runway, flight-tower and hangars. The barracks were almost completed, the offices, canteen and workshops at the point where they were being fitted out. There was a great deal of activity outside as men from the Royal Engineers dug and built and hammered and sawed, but he missed the roar of the Spitfires and Hurricanes.
He was restless and on edge, impatient to be in the thick of things instead of hanging about. All this inactivity gave him too much time to think and fret over the lack of news coming out of Poland. The new group of Polish airmen had nothing to add to what he already knew, but at least it meant he had something to do. He’d made a start at getting to know them, and to gauge their capabilities. Many of them were boys who’d managed to escape Poland by making the long, hazardous journey across Europe to be here, but they were inexperienced and poorly trained, their English non-existent. He would have his work cut out to get them through the rigorous demands of the RAF examinations.
But there were older, battle-hardened fliers, like himself, who simply wanted to get on with the job. In his role of senior officer in charge of the local Polish contingent, he understood only too well how they felt, but it was the devil’s own job to keep discipline when they drowned their sorrows and their impatience with the prodigious amounts of vodka they always seemed to have stashed away.
The lesson was over at last, and Aleksy pulled on the sheepskin-lined leather flying jacket and stepped out into the grey drizzle of an English winter. He could smell the delicious aroma of
bigos
– a traditional Polish hunter’s winter stew of cabbage, meat, sausage, tomatoes, honey and mushrooms – coming from the cookhouse, and his mouth watered. Though he doubted there would be honey, bay leaves and smoked plums in the stew, or the heavy, dark bread his mother had always made to accompany it, it was still a link with home and family.
He loaded his plate with stew, potatoes and the soft English white bread, and found a seat with some of the other veteran pilots. He was enjoying the stew, even though it wasn’t a patch on his mother’s, when he saw the padre come into the cookhouse. Not taking much notice of the man, Aleksy carried on talking and eating.
‘Aleksy Chmielewski?’
The soft voice was at his shoulder and he looked up into the calm face of the elderly padre and lost his appetite. ‘What is it?’
‘There is a letter for you,’ he said, reaching into his pocket. ‘From Poland.’
Aleksy had to resist snatching it from him, but he sat and stared at it as the padre placed it on the table. He was vaguely aware of the silence that had fallen amongst his comrades, but all he could see was the familiar writing.
‘I will leave you to read it in peace,’ the padre murmured. ‘May God go with you.’
‘And with you,’ he muttered automatically. Aleksy stared at the envelope, which had been sent to several places before it had reached him here in the south of England. He softly touched the familiar writing as he tried to decipher when it had been posted – but with so many stamps and markings, it was impossible.
With barely a muttered apology to the others, he left the cookhouse in search of somewhere he could read this precious letter without interruption. In the far corner of the airfield he found the ruins of the farmer’s barn and sat down on an abandoned bran tub. With his back pressed to the great oak beam that held up one sagging corner of the barn, he took a deep breath and opened the letter with trembling fingers.
It wasn’t long, merely two sides of one sheet of thin, cheap paper, the words small and neat, the style fluid and poetic as only a Pole could write.
My dearest brother
,
I write this in the hope it will find you, and that you are safe and in good health. We heard you had been injured again, and were in hospital in Spain, but despite having written many times, there has been no word from you. We can only pray you have found sanctuary in England like so many of our brave friends. This letter is carried by a friend who has promised to send it on for me
.
I know the war in Spain is over for you, but for us, my dearest Aleksy, there is much sad news and my heart is sore that I must tell you, but it is right you should know what has happened. My tears fall, for it is hard for me to write of such things, so I will do it swiftly
.
Aleksy’s sight blurred with tears and his heart thudded painfully as he stopped reading. He didn’t want to see the words he’d dreaded ever since he’d left Spain. Didn’t want to know what terrible things had happened to his loved ones during his absence. But he knew he had to – he owed them that much. With a deep and trembling breath, he returned to his sister’s news.
Our family is scattered and our apartment building is destroyed. There is much hunger here, and the winter is cruel, but I managed to find shelter with Mamma and Papa in a tiny basement on the other side of the city. The siege meant there was very little food, even though I was willing to sell everything for just a crust of bread or a turnip to make soup. Mamma and Papa fought bravely to survive, but they were too old and frail. They fell asleep in each other’s arms one bitter night, and I carried them back to our old home one by one and managed to bury them in the garden. If you should return, there is a rough-hewn cross to mark their resting place, and I stole some holy water from the nearby church to bless the earth that now covers them
.
Aleksy wept, the tears rolling down his face as the pain seared through him and threatened to tear him apart. But the agony was not over, for Danuta’s letter continued.
Anjelika and Brygida moved into the basement with me, and for a while we managed to survive on what we could forage or steal. I was out trying to find wood for the fire when they were taken. The neighbours tell me they were forced into trucks with many others and driven away. No-one knows where they have gone, and no-one dares to ask – but the rumours here are of labour camps. If that is where they have gone, then at least they will be fed and sheltered, for what use is labour if it is too weak to work?
My dearest brother, my heart is heavy for you and my prayers are offered daily – but in this terrible place it is hard to believe there is still a God, for no-one is listening to our cries for freedom from this tyranny. We live like animals, hiding in the darkness. The world we once knew and the friends we once had are gone
.
I have left the basement for it is no longer safe. I wander the streets, hiding in the shadows as the tanks and trucks go past, making my way to the far side of the city where a friend has promised to get me out of Warsaw so I can fight in the Resistance. If you do not hear from me again, it is because I have failed
.
May God go with you, sweet brother, and hold the memories in your heart of those days when the sun was shining and we thought our world would never change. I love you, and pray we shall all be together again – if not in this world, then in the next
.
Your loving sister, Danuta
Aleksy bent his head, the tears coming from the depths of his soul.
‘See ya tomorrow morning.’ The shift was over and she and Pearl went their separate ways home. Pearl was billeted in one of the houses behind the town and, as it was a long uphill walk, and Billy was due to visit at six, she was in a hurry.
Sally waved and headed into the wind. She wasn’t as tired as she usually was after a shift, and put it down to having eaten properly for once. It was good she’d made a friend, and there had already been three enquiries from other girls about doing alterations. Apart from the run-in with Iris and her cronies, it had been a good day, and she was feeling positive and happy as she came to the end of the long climb and opened the front door to Beach View.
She could hear the boys making a racket in the back garden as she ran up the stairs to their room, and it made her smile. But as she opened the door her smile froze and her spirits tumbled. The curtains were billowing in the wind that came from the open window. There was no sign of the towel, or the pyjama trousers.