The Glory Girls (14 page)

He indicated a couple of vans bearing Red Cross signs and left them to it. Mary gave Anne a shake and she seemed to come out of her stupor, though Iris looked as if she was about to faint away at the sight of all those bleeding bodies strewn about the road, moaning and mewing and calling for help.

‘Iris!’ she shouted. ‘You’ll feel better for having something to do. Come on.’

‘What about Anne,’ came the weak response. ‘We can’t just leave her, can we?’

‘She’s not hurt, but those people are. Leave Anne here and come and help me. We’ll pick her up later.’

Iris followed Mary meekly, clamping her mouth shut and closing her eyes at the sight of the wounds that presented themselves before her, but she managed not to faint. Between them, they moved a dozen or more people into the first-aid stations where the nurses went about their
business
with calm, cool efficiency.

‘You’ve got to admire them,’ Mary said, looking about her to make sure that there were no more injured members of the public to deal with. ‘They say the nurses across the Channel are putting up with a lot worse than this all day long. And here are we, afraid of a few bombs in our own country.’

‘Better them than me, Mary,’ Iris muttered through clenched teeth. ‘I never could stand the sight of blood.’

‘Me neither,’ said Mary with a wry smile. ‘However, I have a feeling that we’re going to get used to it, and very soon.’

‘Oh, Lord!’

‘Come on, let’s get Anne. I don’t fancy being abroad in London when the blackout starts.’

All three of them were conveniently billeted together in the same
lodging
house near the docklands of the East End. It was shabby and lacked even the first basics of home comforts. With thirty FANYs packed into the eight rooms available, there wasn’t room to swing the proverbial cat. Mary, Iris and Anne, being the last to arrive, considered themselves
fortunate
in being allocated a small converted sitting-room on the ground floor. It had a gas fire that still worked and a small hob on which they could heat things, two bonuses they were more than grateful to have.

By the next day Anne seemed to have recovered her equilibrium and her spirit as she faced her unit for the first time.

‘It really is quite simple,’ she lectured them. ‘We report to HQ, pick up a fleet of ambulances, and then it’s up to you to transport the sick and the injured to and from the hospitals. You’ll be issued maps with all medical locations marked clearly as well as alternative routes to take in the case of roads being blocked.’

Mary and Iris’s ambulance turned out to be a converted laundry van. They took it in turn to drive. Their expertise in first-aid had been gained in a few short lessons in how to dress wounds, apply a tourniquet and take down personal details so that next of kin could be informed of the situation.

Mary’s short training in communications was not, at present, to be put to the test. Drivers were more in demand in the dockland area of London. She often wondered what Anne was doing, other than
organizing
the unit and taking care of necessary clerical duties, for she was often absent and never dirty or dishevelled like the rest of them, but it wasn’t her place to pose any questions. In any case, she had enough to do,
keeping
up Iris’s morale and blocking out her own fears.

And when Mary felt her own morale sink to its lowest ebb, she thought of Dr Alex Craig, though she knew it was wrong to do so. And she hoped he was still thinking of her, still safe, still alive wherever he was.

And just occasionally, her mind would turn to thoughts of Walter.

‘W
ILL
it ever stop, Mary, do you think?’ Iris said.

She was lying on her back in her bed, staring up at the cracked, discoloured ceiling. Her face was pale and lined with fatigue and Mary, as she looked at her friend, thought that it was probably like looking into a mirror, which they didn’t have, except for the fly-blown job in the
bathroom
on the first floor. She didn’t look at her reflection much, except to make sure that her hair was neatly rolled up at the back and tucked into her cap at the sides.

‘It has to stop one day,’ she said, pondering over the letter she was trying to compose, though she spent more time gnawing the end of her pen than writing. ‘And when it does, Iris, we’ll probably miss it. You know, the thrill of the action.’

‘I hope you’re joking.’ There was a long pause, then Iris lifted her head and looked across to where Mary sat near the window, writing by the light of the dawn filtering through a tear in the blackout curtain. ‘Mary? Aren’t you tired of it all?’

‘I try not to think about it,’ Mary replied without looking up from the page that had so many smudges and crossings out that a child of four might have written it.

‘Are you writing to Walter again?’

‘No.’ Mary threw down the pen and sighed. She had been trying to compose a few innocent sentences to send to Alex Craig, but everything she said seemed laden with hidden meaning.

‘Has he ever written to you?’

‘Who?’

‘Walter, of course. Goodness, Mary, you must be more tired than you look. Well, has he?’

‘No, he hasn’t, but then he’s not good with words.’

‘Still, you’d think he’d make the effort. You’re his fiancée, after all.’

‘Yes, but he’s probably … you know … busy.’

There was another long silence, then Iris was probing again.

‘So who
are
you writing to?’

‘Nobody.’

‘If you don’t want to tell me, that’s all right, but we’re supposed to be friends. From the look on your face just now, it’s somebody pretty special.’

‘Yes, well …’ Mary got up and stretched, eyeing her bed and wishing she could snuggle down inside the blankets, no matter how
uncomfortable
it was, and sleep for a week. ‘It’s just …’

She had been on the verge of telling Iris of her very strange and distant relationship with Alex Craig, doctor; Captain Alexander Craig of the Royal Army Medical Corps. Alex Craig, married man.

However, there was a commotion in the entrance foyer that was
guaranteed
to wake up the whole house. Even through the wall the girls could hear a barrage of expletives that would have made a sailor wince.

Iris sat up, her eyes wide and frightened, clutching the blankets tightly in both hands beneath her chin.

‘Relax, Iris,’ Mary said calmly. ‘It’s only Effie.’

Effie Donaldson had turned up a week after they had settled into their billets.

They waited for the commotion to die down, but it didn’t. Voices called one on top of the other and feet thundered on the stairs.

‘What is it, do you think?’ Iris asked, one leg out of bed, her hands fumbling to take out her curlers.

‘Well, not even Effie makes that much fuss for nothing, so it must be a call-out.’

‘But we’ve just got back. They can’t expect us to be out there all the time, surely?’

‘I suppose it depends on how serious it is.’ Mary was climbing into her uniform. ‘Come on, Iris. Never mind your curlers. Shove them under your cap. They’ll act as a safety helmet.’

As she crammed her own cap down tightly over her thick hair, a fist hammered on their door and Effie burst in on them without waiting.

‘I’ve been sent,’ she announced breathlessly. ‘You’ve got to come quick and it’s all hands on deck. All hell’s broke loose down on the docks. There’s been an explosion at an oil-depot and everything’s going up in flames.’

Out in the street the FANYs were assembling and piling into their
various
modes of transport, mainly converted vans and lorries that doubled as ambulances when they weren’t delivering supplies or setting up soup kitchens alongside the Salvation Army. Mary caught sight of Effie, once more astride her bike, heading towards the disaster area.

‘West! Morrison!’

Through the noise, Mary and Iris heard their names called out as they emerged into the chilly night and saw Anne Beasley at the wheel of a Humber car. ‘Get in! You’re coming with me.’

‘Yes, Beasley!’ They gave a fleeting salute and moved forward.

Mary jumped into the vehicle, her heart pounding as Iris crushed herself beside her, then they held on for dear life as Anne set off at a breathtaking pace. Their way was lit by a full moon. Before long even the moon was outdone by the rosy glow from fires raging for about a mile all the way down to the docks.

‘Sorry!’ Anne, who was not driving well at all, had mounted the
pavement
a second time as she careered around a corner, following the other vehicles. The car teetered and almost turned over.

Mary could hear Iris muttering beside her and saw Iris crossing herself over and over again. She bit down on her smile and refrained from reminding her friend that she wasn’t a Catholic. Iris, she knew, had done a lot of praying since their arrival in London weeks ago. All she could talk of, these days, was the end of the war and how, the next time, she was going to get married and get pregnant, and not necessarily in that order. Anything, she kept saying, rather than join up again.

‘Say one for me, Iris,’ Mary said out of the corner of her mouth as they approached the barrier line where the first officials on the scene were giving instructions and doing their best to put some order into the obvious chaos.

A red-faced ARP warden stepped out and banged on the driver’s door of the car. Mary felt Anne jump nervously next to her. They had never seen their CO in action. It was, therefore, somewhat worrying, though not entirely surprising, to see pure apprehension ooze out of Anne’s pores. Her neck muscles strained as she swallowed with apparent difficulty.

‘Sorry, ladies,’ the warden said, giving them all a curious once-over. ‘You’ll never make it down this way. You’ll have to go around and approach it from the south. You lot Army, are you?’

Anne froze and just stared ahead of her, her eyeballs protruding and wobbling in her head. Her knuckles on the steering wheel showed white bone.

‘We’re FANYs,’ Mary explained as another explosion went off and Iris started praying again.

‘Oh, I see. That’s what that crazy female on the motorbike said she was. Wouldn’t take any notice of me. Rode straight on as if she had some kind of guardian angel sitting on her shoulder and knew it.’

‘That’s got to be Effie,’ Mary said, her heart turning over. ‘Did she get through?’

The man shrugged, then looked at where a new column of smoke and leaping flames were reaching for the sky from a large building a couple of hundred yards down the road.

‘I’d like to say yes, miss, but that there building was where she was headed. It’s a hostel for the blind. I daresay not many of them will need their white sticks now. Sorry about your friend, miss.’

Mary gulped and turned to Anne, who hadn’t changed her expression at all and showed no inclination to do anything but sit there, unmoving, clinging to her wheel.

‘Beasley!’ Mary shouted and shook the girl’s shoulder. ‘Anne! Come on, we’ve got to do something. Drive on.’

There was a rattling sound as Anne blinked and continued to stare ahead. The noise was her teeth clattering with fear and her skin, pale and grey-tinged, seemed to be covered in goose pimples and was damp with glistening perspiration.

‘Can’t!’ Anne uttered through the rattling teeth. ‘I can’t do it! I can’t!’

‘What did she say?’ Iris wanted to know, her own teeth chattering slightly.

‘She’s in shock,’ Mary told her, leaning over Anne to open the car door and calling out to the ARP warden, who was still standing there on the street: ‘Can you help her out? I need to get to the wheel.’

The man hesitated fractionally, not used to taking orders from a female, then he nodded and lifted Anne bodily from the vehicle and set her down on the pavement. Anne’s legs buckled under her and she sat down abruptly on the cracked concrete.

‘Look after her, will you?’ Mary said, slipping into the driver’s seat and easing the car forward, ignoring the man’s warning shouts. ‘We’ll come back for her.’

‘Oh, God, Mary, what are you doing?’ Iris cried out, hanging on to the side of the car as it veered this way and that, avoiding the pitted ground and the lumps of stone and brickwork from the damaged buildings on either side of them. ‘You’ll get us both killed!’

‘Get out if you want to, Iris,’ Mary shouted back. ‘I don’t mind, but I’m going in there to look for Effie.’

‘She’s not worth the effort,’ Iris said unkindly. ‘Anyway, they say the Devil takes care of his own.’

‘What makes you think he’s on Effie’s side?’

They had almost reached the hostel when more flames shot up from its roof and black plumes of smoke writhed out of the blasted windows. Rescue
teams around the building backed off with urgent shouts as a wall collapsed.

‘It’s no good, Mary,’ Iris whimpered at her side. ‘She’s had it. Nobody’s going to get out of that building now.’

Mary drove forward as far as she could get, but left the engine running. It might have been seconds later, or minutes, she would never know, but suddenly there was a shout and somebody pointed. She followed the pointing finger, squinting towards the entrance of the
building
where she could see a movement through the curtains of smoke that billowed out into the street.

‘I don’t believe it!’ Mary’s eyes were burning and streaming and the smoke was attacking her lungs and making her cough.

‘What? Mary, what’s happening?’ Iris was rubbing her own eyes and coughing too.

‘Look for yourself, Iris. Now do you think that Effie Donaldson isn’t worth a kind thought?’

As the wind became blustery and blew the smoke away, a figure emerged. Effie, as black as a chimney sweep, having difficulty putting one staggering foot before the other, advanced with great determination. Behind her, there was a man of indeterminate age, his hand resting on her shoulder. And behind him, another, and another. In all, there must have been twenty blind men, walking in a long, linked chain, all following Effie Donaldson as she led them to safety.

An ambulance pulled up and started loading the blind men, and Effie sank to her hunkers and watched, calling out to them.

‘Ta-rah, lads!’

They lifted sightless eyes and shouted their heartfelt thanks.

‘Aw, man, it was nowt!’ she called back. ‘We was bliddy lucky, that’s all. You take care now.’

Mary, with Iris following like a shadow, approached carefully, watching where she placed her feet.

‘Effie?’

Effie looked up, wiped a sooty hand across her eyes and grinned.

‘Well, just look what the wind blew in.’

As Mary got closer she saw that the dirt on Effie’s face was streaked with blood and her uniform was torn in a variety of places.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked, thinking it was a ridiculous question, for the girl was obviously injured.

‘I’ll mend, but there are some poor sods in there that won’t,’ Effie told her. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a fag, have ye?’

Mary shook her head, but then a burly policeman stepped forward, a
packet of Players in his outstretched hand.

‘Here you are, luv. Have one of mine.’ He even lit it for her and watched her inhale, wincing slightly as she did so. ‘Keep the pack, eh? That was a brave thing you did back there.’

‘Aw, gan on, man. Anybody would have done the same. Ta for the fags.’

He turned to Mary and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe Effie’s words.

‘She’s one of your lot, isn’t she? I see you’re all wearing the same badge. ATS is it?’

‘We’re in the FANYs,’ Mary told him proudly.

‘Well, I suppose the F must stand for “fearless”. Take my advice now and get your friend seen to. There’s a first-aid station a couple of streets away. I expect they’ll also need a helping hand down there. That is, unless you’re all off to a dance?’

He laughed and strolled off down the devastated street, giving them a brief, backward glance and a wave.

‘Come on, Effie. He’s right. Let’s get you seen to.’

‘Gawd, that sounds like I’m a dog and ye’re gonna have us put doon.’

Mary hooked a hand under Effie’s armpit and helped her to rise. She had difficulty standing, for her legs appeared to have turned to rubber.

‘Hang on to me, Effie.’

‘Aye, I think I will, if ye don’t mind, but don’t let anybody see.’

Iris hesitated a split second, then went to the other side of the injured girl and between them she and Mary walked Effie back to the Humber. They had to lift her in and only then did they see the blood-soaked
trouser-leg
where something jagged had pierced the material and torn the flesh.

‘Don’t worry,’ Mary gripped Effie’s cold hand. ‘We’ll just pick up Anne and take you both to the first-aid station.’

Anne had not shifted from the spot where they had left her, but the rigidity of the initial state of shock had seeped away, leaving her huddled and crying silent tears.

‘It’s all right, Anne,’ Mary said, putting a tight arm about the girl’s shoulders. ‘None of us knows how we’re going to react to situations like these. Not even the men, so there’s an excuse for us not being too brave, isn’t there?’

Anne simply hung her head and climbed into the back of the car with Effie. Nobody spoke as Mary drove around the bomb craters at about twenty miles an hour. She couldn’t have driven any faster, even if Hitler himself had been after them. Her insides shook, but she didn’t dare show it.

‘What are youse three going to do with yer leave, then?’ Effie sat
scratching
the healing scar on her injured leg.

Mary lay back against the leather upholstery of the King’s Cross to Newcastle train and let out a long, low, sigh. Two whole days of being back in Felling. It seemed like sheer luxury, though she knew it would be over all too soon.