The Glory Girls (8 page)

At that point, Dr Gordon excused himself and the West family found a table that was so near the band the older ladies complained that they would be deaf before the evening was out.

Mary listened to the talk with only half an ear. Her attention kept wandering as she wondered where Walter had got to. He had warned her that he might be late, but she thought he should have been there long before now. She would have liked his support while she was on stage doing her turn, but it didn’t look as if he was going to make it. Well, as long as he arrived before the dancing. She would never forgive him if he left her sitting all alone like a wallflower. Of course, there were other men there whom she could dance with, but it wouldn’t look right, her being engaged to Walter.

Mrs Benjamin-Smythe, an experienced speaker, took them through the possibilities and the eventualities of war and how to deal with them all. She paid special attention to the economies women would have to make, should the war stretch out beyond the next few months, when everything would be rationed or unavailable. Old clothes would have to be made over or reinforced, meals would have to be tailored to suit the most meagre supply of provisions; paper and scrap metal would have to be saved.

And so on, and so on. Everyone had heard it all before, and it was boring as a form of entertainment, but Mary supposed it was necessary. The war had hardly made a dent in Britain as yet, but constraints were already being felt.

‘I won’t bend your ears any longer,’ said Mrs Benjamin-Smythe at long last and there were audible sighs of relief rippling through the hall. ‘Just remember that in war-time there is no waste. Everything must be saved and used over and over and over again.’

‘Like us soldiers!’ came the cry from the back where there was a small group of newly drafted privates in their crisp khaki uniforms, both men and uniforms lacking in age and experience.

‘Aye, man!’ came a second cry, this time from a blond, fresh-faced
youth in sailor’s uniform. ‘Three cheers for the red, white and blue and look out, Hitler, here we come.’

‘Yes,’ muttered Mrs Benjamin-Smythe as the hall erupted into three deafening cheers. ‘Yes, yes … very good … yes. Now, if the contestants for the talent competition could assemble backstage, please…?’

‘Go on, then, our Mary,’ said Frank West, smiling proudly at his younger daughter. ‘Go and show them what you can do.’

Everybody at the table made encouraging sounds and Mary found herself suddenly wishing that she hadn’t told everybody she was going in for the competition. Having had time to look around her, she had noticed a good many people there whom she knew, including Mr Hornby from the War Pensions Office and one or two others who worked there, as well as a group of her friends and neighbours who had somehow found out about it. They were all looking in her direction and grinning, one or two of them making remarks behind their hands, which she was glad she couldn’t hear.

‘Why isn’t Walter here?’ she said as she rose to her feet uncertainly. ‘He promised me.’

‘Oh, go on, Mary.’ Helen gave her a little push. ‘Walter wasn’t going to be up there on stage with you, was he? You go and give it your best and never mind Walter.’

‘She’s right, lass,’ her Aunty Bella said, nudging her husband, Arthur, and winking around the table. ‘We’ve all heard you sing like that Deanna Durbin, so get up there and prove it to the rest of the world.’

Mary swallowed with difficulty and followed the stream of contestants backstage, her legs feeling rubbery, her heart palpitating. Jack Langley himself was there to meet them, and making sure the band had the right music at the ready. When Mary told him she was going to sing ‘My Own’, which was, indeed, one of Deanna Durbin’s best ballades, he twinkled at her.

‘Singing it to your sweetheart are you, love?’ he asked.

‘Well, I hope so, but he’s not here yet,’ Mary said.

‘Weren’t you the girl who used to come in and listen to us practising? I haven’t seen you for a while.’

‘No, I don’t work at Harper’s any more. I changed my job.’

‘Hope you got something that’ll keep you near the home fires,’ he said and wandered off to sort out the rest of the contestants.

The competition got started with a small girl singing ‘An Apple for the Teacher’, which attracted a loud applause because of the child’s innocent, wavery voice and cute lisp. Next came the Beresford twins with their
penny whistles and a very slow version of ‘Little Sir Echo’ with a few missed notes and embarrassed grins all round. Iris came next, with a selection of badly memorized jokes of Flanagan and Allen. She left the stage in tears, but was comforted by a rather good-looking soldier, so she was soon smiling again and wishing Mary good luck. But before it was Mary’s turn, there was a barbershop quartet, an Irish tenor and old Mr Dolan playing his spoons, though it was impossible to make out which tune he rattled them to.

At last, it was Mary’s turn and she stood in front of the microphone, her knees knocking, her mouth dry. As the band played the introductory notes of her song, her eyes skimmed the hall, desperately searching for Walter, but he wasn’t there. She started singing on cue, aware that her voice sounded weak and nervous, then suddenly she saw someone at the back of the crowd. Someone who was giving her his full attention,
smiling
and nodding his approval.

But it wasn’t Walter. It was Dr Craig. Mary focused on him and fixed her gaze firmly so that she could see no other person. Thankfully, her confidence returned, and with it her voice.

‘My own …’ she sang as sweetly as she knew how. ‘Let me call you my own…’

The hall erupted as the song ended and even the band stood to applaud. It was such an emotional moment she might have wept had she not been surrounded by the other contestants as they waited nervously backstage for the results.

While Jack Langley and his panel of judges conferred, the band played a medley of songs, and cups of tea were passed around each table. Mary caught sight of Helen hurrying her grandmother to the ladies’ lavatory and hoped they would be back in time for the announcement. Now that her song was over, her knees had stopped knocking, but she was still burning with excitement. Later, she might give Walter a piece of her mind for not turning up, but right now she wanted to enjoy the feeling of achievement. They had actually liked her singing. Dr Craig had liked it too, she was sure. She didn’t know why that should be important to her, but it was.

Five minutes later Jack strode back on to the stage, a sheet of paper in his hand. He placed himself in front of the microphone and waited until a hush descended.

‘Well, here we are, ladies and gentlemen. I have the results of our wonderful talent competition here in my hand. Only a slight change of plan …’ He glanced over his shoulder, nodding to someone in the wings.
‘As you know, Dr Gordon was to present the prizes this evening, but there’s been a slight technical hitch.’ There was a murmur of
disappointment
. ‘Apparently, Mrs Hutchinson has decided to give birth before her time, so the good doctor has been called to assist. However, at no expense spared, we have his deputy on hand and willing to do the job for him. Please give a big hand and a warm welcome to Dr Alex Craig … or should I say
Captain
Craig!’

Mary felt a stirring deep within her as hands met in a thunderous applause when Alex Craig walked on to the stage, not in his civilian clothes, but in an Army uniform that bore the insignia of captain in the Medical Corps. He looked very smart and very handsome, standing there, acknowledging the standing ovation. Mary could see Dr Gordon’s wife desperately wiping away tears of emotion and something tugged at her own heartstrings.

All the contestants were given small token mementoes of the occasion in the form of a certificate. The children received sweets and a bar of chocolate. Mr Dolan received a bottle of Newcastle Brown ale for his courage and audacity, rather than for his clackety spoons and everybody roared with laughter when he announced that he wouldn’t drink the contents of the bottle until the last all-clear was sounded.

‘And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for,’ Jack told them, his face lighting up. ‘The prize for the best act here this evening. It wasn’t difficult, was it? It goes to Felling’s own little nightingale … Miss Mary West!’

Mary gulped and took half a pace backwards in her surprise, before eager hands pushed her forward and there she was, the grand winner, but what was the prize? She looked from Dr Craig’s penetrating gaze, which she found rather embarrassing, to Jack Langley’s smiling face and waited. Jack held up his hands for silence.

‘The prize, ladies and gentlemen, is a cheque for ten guineas,
generously
donated by Dr Gordon, and presented by Captain Craig. Go on, sir, and give the girl a kiss too. It might be your last opportunity before you go and look after the sick and the wounded in this damned war.’

The hall erupted yet again. Mary felt her mouth drop open with
astonishment
. Well, that was a turn up for the books, she thought, and serve Walter right if he had just arrived and saw it happening. And, oh, what were her mam and dad thinking right now? And what about Mrs Craig, that haughty female with the bad temper and the cold eyes?

‘Congratulations, Mary,’ Dr Craig placed his hands on her shoulders and she felt the warmth of them penetrating the soft fabric of her dress.
Beneath the warmth her skin suddenly tingled, and as he smiled down at her and lowered his head towards hers, the tingling spread throughout her rigid body.

It was only a chaste kiss on the cheek, but it did something to Mary that no kiss had ever achieved. If only, she thought, Walter’s kiss would make her feel like this. She wouldn’t be keeping him waiting. She would be marching him down the aisle before he could say Jack Robinson.

‘Thank you,’ was all she could say, her voice croaking deep in her throat.

For an instant, their eyes met and in that one small passage of time something passed between them that Mary would remember for the rest of her life.

‘And now, ladies and gentlemen,’ Jack was continuing, ‘I’m going to ask all the contestants here on stage to join hands and sing with the band …’ He shaded his eyes, then pointed in a swinging arc into the crowd. ‘And all you servicemen out there can come up and join us. If you can’t sing, whistle.’

Mary felt her hand being clasped. Dr Craig was still there at her side, holding her hand so tightly that she could feel the bones of her fingers crunch, but she didn’t mind. She didn’t mind at all. On the other side of her Iris sidled up, linking arms with her.

‘Lucky beggar,’ her friend whispered, and Mary guessed that Iris was referring to Dr Craig’s kiss rather than her success with the talent
competition
.

As regimental-issue booted feet clumped up on to the rostrum, the band struck up with the poignant song that they heard so much these days. ‘Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye, cheerio, here I go on my way …’

Mary could hear Dr Craig’s rich baritone voice next to her and although she sang her own heart out with a smile, not a tear, she had a terrible sinking feeling in her stomach mingling with a strange
excitement
. She found herself squeezing his hand back and wondering again where his wife was and why she wasn’t here supporting him, loving him, crying for what he was about to do.

After the last notes of the song died and the audience pulled the place apart with their applause, couples immediately took to the floor and danced the foxtrot. Mary smiled shyly at Dr Craig and made her way back to her table, where the West family were ready to congratulate her with hugs and more kisses.

The evening continued with a full programme of dancing, including
some hilarious demonstrations of the American dances they had all heard of but had never seen, other than in flashes on the Pathé newsreels at the cinema.

‘What is it they’re doing, our Mary?’ Old Mrs West prodded Mary with a crooked finger and waited while the laughter died down so she could hear Mary’s response.

‘It’s the jitterbug, Gran,’ Mary told her. ‘The Americans invented it.’

‘Jitterbug! I thought that was a creepy crawly that you stamped your foot on.’

‘Well, it certainly has people stamping their feet,’ Mary laughed,
feeling
her whole body react to the fast, cheerful music.

But even the jitterbug couldn’t hold Mary’s concentration for long. Her thoughts were too distracted, swinging between Walter and Dr Craig, and that kiss. And Walter still wasn’t here, as he should have been. And neither was Alex Craig’s wife. And Alex was sitting there at the other side of the hall, all alone at a tiny table for two, staring into his empty glass. She looked across at him, her heart thumping hollowly in her chest, her emotions tying themselves into knots.

‘Eeh, Mary, love!’ Jenny reached across the table and tapped Mary’s hand. ‘Just look who’s here at last.’

And there was Walter, apologetic and flushed, making his way
clumsily
through the dancers on the floor. She gave him a wave, wondering why she should feel so flat, but put it down to the fact that she was not exactly pleased with him for letting her down like this.

‘Where have you been, Walter? The night’s almost over.’

‘Sorry, pet, but I met up with some of the lads and we got talking, and …’ Walter took a deep breath. ‘I’ve decided to join up.’

‘You’ve what? Mam! Dad! Walter’s going to join up.’ Mary turned back to Walter and caught a whiff of stale beer on his breath. ‘You’ve been drinking, Walter Morgan!’

‘Aye, I have. Just a couple of pints.’

‘Oh, Walter! What’s your mam going to say when she finds out?’

‘That’s the reason I’m so late. I went home first to tell them.’ Walter took out his handkerchief and mopped his perspiring brow. ‘Dad was all right about it, but Mam nearly had kittens. It’s taken us all this time to calm her down. I think she might have liked it better if I’d joined the Royal Air Force, but you know me and heights. Those planes fly very high.’

Mary blew out her cheeks. She wasn’t sure what to say, what to think.