Daisy's Wars (16 page)

The fact was that Daisy was bright, and it showed, so no one thought of looking more closely at her replies. More than anything else she wanted a posting that wasn’t based on housework.
She didn’t want to cook, clean, be a seamstress or be stuck caring for the sick, the very things she had experience of, so she kept quiet about them and stressed her office skills. She could
type – she didn’t say she had taught herself – she knew about filing and handled phone conversations with real as opposed to pretend confidence; and her voice, with the Geordie
accent toned down, was clear and precise. She came across as calm and efficient, so they made her an administrator, a rather grand name for a clerk, and asked her where she’d prefer to be
posted, and having been clued up by Dotty, another friend, she said London.

Thanks to Dotty’s advice most of the girls asked for London, where there were perks, like free or reduced-price theatre tickets, clubs and places to stay when on leave, and the
possibilities for fun loomed larger than they did in the sticks. After a time, of course, those allocating the girls to their postings got wise to the London requests and simply ignored them, so
that girls asking for London would find themselves consigned to a remote Scottish island with no right of appeal.

Back in the hut the three original friends were re-united to find out their respective fates.

‘What’ve you got? What’ve you got?’ Celia demanded excitedly.

‘Administrator,’ Daisy said.

‘Where?’

‘Here.’

‘Oh,’ Celia said sadly.

‘What about you?’

‘Pigeons,’ Celia replied.

‘
Pigeons
?’ Violet and Daisy screeched in unison.

‘Who the hell gets pigeons?’ Violet asked.

‘I do!’ Celia replied, hurt. ‘It’s what I wanted, I just didn’t say because I knew how you two would react.’

‘Well, put it another way,’ Violet said wryly, ‘why the hell would anyone – even you – want pigeons?’

‘My father’s been a pigeon-fancier all his life,’ Celia said defensively. ‘There’s nothing I don’t know about pigeons.’

‘But what do pigeons do in a war?’ Daisy asked.

‘All sorts of things,’ Celia replied. ‘Shows how much you know! They go up in kites and if the crew are shot down or have to ditch, the pigeons fly back with their position so
that the boys can be rescued.’

Daisy and Celia laughed out loud, staring at her.

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ Violet demanded. ‘Look at her, the least pigeon-chested female I’ve ever seen and she’s a sister to pigeons!’

‘So what’ve you got, then, Miss Lardy Buttocks?’

‘I,’ said Violet, rolling her eyes and sticking her tongue in her cheek as she nodded her head cockily, ‘am to train as a mechanic.’

‘Where?’

‘RAF Langar,’ Violet replied.

‘Me too!’ Celia shouted. ‘We’ll still be together!’

Then they looked at Daisy. ‘So,’ Violet said quietly, ‘this is the parting of the ways, then, my fellow flower. It’s just me and the pigeon lady from now on.’

‘What do you want?’ Daisy demanded. ‘A couple of verses of “We’ll Meet Again”? I’ll survive without you two, you know!’

‘I know you will,’ Violet said. ‘The question is, though, how am I to survive with just the pigeon lady in future?’

And the three girls hugged each other, as others were doing in WAAF huts all over the country. Partings were part and parcel of war.

By this time Dotty Bentley had already found a place among Daisy and her friends. Though she had arrived at West Drayton in the same batch, until the night of the NAAFI
incident she had just been a face, noticeably of different means to most of them, but they were all girls together now.

There in front of them Dotty had been engaged in a conversation with an RAF officer who had approached her, though there was an impression from their greetings that they had met before. Then she
had left with him, a beaming smile on her face.

‘Bit brazen, wasn’t it?’ Celia asked. ‘I mean, everybody saw, didn’t they?’

Daisy shrugged. ‘It’s none of our business, is it?’

‘Well, it is,’ said Violet, ‘in a way. If she trots off to tango with the first officer she meets, it reflects on us all, doesn’t it?’

‘Don’t see why,’ Daisy countered. ‘Anyway, it looked as though they knew each other.’

Violet and Celia were shuffling about uneasily in their chairs, not entirely convinced. The thing still didn’t look right. Suddenly they heard raised voices outside and ran to the door.
There stood Dotty, and sprawled at her feet was the officer.

‘What happened?’ a voice asked.

‘Nothing,’ said Dotty sweetly. ‘You just slipped, didn’t you,
Sir
? Let me help you up.’

It was clear by the way she said ‘
Sir
’ and by the way he pulled away from her as she proffered a hand, that something
had
happened.

‘Must be the new shoes, you forgot to roughen up the soles,’ Dotty continued. ‘We’ve all done it.’

As the officer departed with his friends among the crowd he was rubbing his face, and Daisy said suspiciously, ‘He was sitting down, but he was rubbing his jaw. Just where did he land when
he, er, slipped?’

‘Ssh!’ Dotty hissed, turning and heading back to the hut, the others at her heels. ‘What are you? Military police?’ Then, when they reached a patch of darkness, she
almost bent double. ‘My hand!’ she shrieked, hopping about. ‘I think I’ve broken every bone in my hand!’

The others watched her, bemused. ‘So what really happened then?’ Daisy asked.

‘You won’t tell anyone?’

‘Oh, get on with it!’ Violet said impatiently. ‘It’s obvious you clocked him one, he looked a dicey character to me anyway.’

Dotty was still hopping around, holding her right hand by the wrist and waving it about. ‘I knew him before, he went to school with my brother. Had the bloody cheek to ask for his
‘officer’s perks’, his ‘home comforts’. I said I didn’t know what he meant, though I did, of course, I was just giving him the chance to be joking. Then he said
everyone knew WAAF duties were to keep the men of the RAF happy, that it was the only reason to let women into the RAF.’

‘Bloody cheek!’ Violet shouted.

‘You think he’s the only one who thinks that?’ Celia said. ‘I had one erk say to me that he’d never go out with a WAAF because everyone knew we were no more than
prostitutes.’

‘What did you say?’ Dotty asked.

‘I said his problem was that he was bitter at being turned down by some sensible WAAF and he couldn’t get it even if he did pay for it.’

‘Good for you,’ Dotty smiled painfully, ‘but I didn’t expect it from someone I actually knew.’

‘So why did you go outside with him?’ Celia asked.

‘He was an officer!’ Dotty said, shocked. ‘I couldn’t whack an officer in full view of everyone, could I? Whose word would they have taken, his or mine? I’d have
been on a charge and chucked back to civvy street.’

‘And you just whacked him one under cover of darkness, then?’ Daisy laughed.

‘Landed a damned good right hook, if I do say so myself. Floored the erk!’

‘Only he’s not an erk, is he?’ Violet said. ‘He’s an officer. And where did you learn to deliver right hooks anyway?’

‘From my older brother, of course. He boxed at school. If he tries to make trouble I’ll just have to tell Freddy. He’s a pilot,’ Dotty replied proudly.

‘And we’ll all have to swear blind that we saw him slip and Dotty trying to help him up then, won’t we?’ Daisy said. ‘Those leather soles can catch anyone
out.’

‘Oh, I say,’ Dotty cried, ‘would you girls do that for me?’

‘Course we would!’ Celia laughed. ‘We’re all in this together. Right, girls?’

‘Right!’ they shouted in unison, then they fell about laughing and stumbled back to the hut.

Dotty stood about five feet four, attractive with a lovely figure that was much the same shape as Daisy’s but less pronouncedly so, a pretty brunette with bright, brown
eyes. When Celia and Violet moved out, Dotty moved to the bed on Daisy’s right, joining Daisy’s already-existing alliance with Edith, though it would be Daisy who would hold their
friendship together.

Edith was from Norwich, the daughter of a doctor who had worked his way up to become one of the best-known consultants of his time. What he had really wanted was a son to carry on his name and
his work, but Edith was an only child and so she carried his hopes by default. ‘He says it all the time,’ Edith said dolefully. ‘ “I’ve worked hard to get where I
am today.” What does he want – a medal?’ Edith’s father wanted Edith to take his ambitions further, which meant going to university, but Edith had side-stepped his plan by
nipping into the WAAFs instead.

‘He sees that as the height of respectability,’ Edith mused. ‘ “My doctor daughter”,’ and she shook her head.

‘So what do you want to do, when this is over, I mean?’ Daisy asked her.

‘To not be a doctor,’ Edith replied wearily. ‘What about you?’

‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ Daisy replied. ‘I’m like you, I just wanted to get away from where I was. What about you, Dotty?’

In the dark they heard Dotty sigh. ‘I think the only thing I can say is “Snap”,’ she said.

Dotty, they had always known, came from a rich family. Because her uniform was specially tailored in the finer air-force material used for officers’ uniforms, she had never had any need of
Daisy’s skills with needle and thread. This was disapproved of, though tolerated by the WAAF hierarchy, none of whom seemed to notice that all the girls had their uniforms tailored to a
degree, thanks to Daisy.

To the others it was a curiosity that anyone would spend money buying a uniform, as even specially tailored it was far from the height of fashion, but Dotty herself was regarded with affection,
partly because of her ever-cheerful disposition, and partly because of her father’s generosity. Pa Bentley despatched the family Rolls carrying the family butler to the railway station at
West Drayton every fortnight, with strict instructions that the hamper he carried should be left there for Dotty to uplift. Dotty didn’t want the Rolls to come to the base gate where it would
be seen by the others, or the guards would pass the word around. However, Dotty’s ploy had no chance of working because the guards said instead that a Rolls had dropped the hamper off at the
station.

The hamper contained cake, sweets, bacon, hams, butter, and eggs which were subsequently boiled in an illegal kettle, as well as tinned delights that Dotty happily shared with the rest of the
hut. When asked what her father did for a living, Dotty became slightly flustered and explained, apologetically, that he had inherited a farm from his father. Hence the abundance of treats in the
fortnightly hamper.

Some of the others in the hut came from farms, too, and had their suspicions: which they kept to themselves, they were all sharing in the bounty, after all. What Daisy quickly became aware of,
though, was that Dotty knew the places to go in London, where her name opened doors. If there was a party, Dotty and her friends were welcomed with open arms, and they never had to rely on the YWCA
for accommodation either.

The first ‘wizzo do’ the three girls went to was at the Savoy Hotel – to mark the posting abroad of some titled youth, Dotty said, though Daisy and Edith quickly learned that
no excuse was actually necessary. The three girls arrived in their WAAF uniforms to be met with unbearable shrieks of delight by Dotty’s non-service friends, and much over-the-top hugging and
kissing – the normal mode of welcome, it seemed.

‘Bit, um, well,’ Daisy whispered to Edith, ‘much?’

‘I was thinking insane, actually,’ Edith said, as another wave of emotion engulfed Dotty.

‘Yes,’ smiled Daisy, ‘that too.’

‘But darling,’ a male voice yelled from the crowd around Dotty, ‘your uniform is absolutely divine!’

‘Almost makes one want to join up!’ a female screamed in reply.

Edith and Daisy exchanged looks.

‘You must meet my friends,’ Dotty said. ‘This is Daisy, and this is Edith. Girls, this is Rupert.’

‘My God, darling,’ the same male voice said in a hushed tone, as the owner looked Daisy up and down. ‘This one’s uniform’s even more divine!’

‘It’s not the uniform, silly,’ Dotty squealed, ‘it’s Daisy! She fills it out better than the rest of us!’

‘I’ll say!’

‘You’ve already said,’ Daisy added calmly.

‘But it bears repeating, my dear!’

‘And it’s been repeated.’

‘Feisty one, this,’ he said to Dotty. ‘How delicious!’

‘Too rich for your palate, that’s for sure,’ Daisy remarked.

Dotty screeched loudly at her side. ‘You’ll get nowhere with Daisy, Rupie, she’ll eat you alive!’

‘And my God, wouldn’t it be worth it?’ he grinned.

Creep, Daisy said to herself. Erk would have been too much; Daisy didn’t do RAF slang and swore she never would.

They then discovered that it wasn’t just the welcomes that came at ear-shattering levels; it was the only kind of communication anyone in the suite seemed to understand. Daisy and Edith
had expected a gramophone, but what they found was a jazz band in dinner suits, as were most of the male guests, though some wore uniforms bearing higher insignia than the girls normally consorted
with. The females all wore amazing evening gowns that Daisy identified as coming from the best designers, and more jewels than she had ever seen in her life. There was a great deal of wild dancing
that grew wilder with the limitless alcohol on offer. They watched one gorgeous girl being gleefully thrown about like a rag doll.

‘That’s an actual dance, is it?’ Edith asked.

‘Damned if I know,’ Daisy replied, ‘but if it is it must be the jitterbug, that’s exactly what she looks like.’

The girl stopped mid-jitter to push a handful of pearls into Daisy’s hand, saying, ‘Be a dear and hang on to them for me, darling, damn things have almost had my eye out a dozen
times,’ before jumping back into action.

Daisy looked at the string of pearls. ‘I think they’re real,’ she said to Edith.

‘How can you tell?’

‘Oh, there must be ways, don’t you bite them or something? Shall I try?’ She raised the necklace to her mouth, laughing.