A dangerous game of spot the smasher

DrOiTWich was a small spa town in the Forties and it had three large hotels for visitors to come and take the brine baths. during the war it was occupied by the army and ATS, so the hotels had been taken over. every Sunday my dad would take me for a walk — i’d have been about six or seven — and somehow we always landed up at the red lion pub at noon. he would go inside and leave me outside with a bottle of pop and a straw, and a packet of crisps. i would play with the other kids, and eventually he would come out and off we would go, home to have our Sunday dinner. On the way home we would play this game. ‘dad, which ATS girl do you like best?’ We had plenty to choose from; they were everywhere. i think to shut me up, he would say ‘i like her’, or ‘she’s a smasher’, but one Sunday we really did see a smasher. She had dark hair and big brown eyes. i thought she had eyelashes like a cow — very long. She could have been a film star. dad said: ‘Oh, she really is a smasher. i really like her best.’ about three days later, i had been playing around the high Street — you could in those days — and when i came home for my tea there was an almighty row going on, so i sat on the stairs and listened. Mum was crying, and saying: ‘you’ve been with a woman.’ ‘Well who told you that rubbish?’ dad asked. ‘i’ve not been off with anyone.’ ‘Mrs Brown down the road came and told me.’ ‘Well, who told Mrs Brown then?’ ‘her Muriel, you know the one who plays with your daughter? Well your daughter said to Muriel: “There’s my dad’s ATS girl over there, isn’t she a smasher? he loves her the best.” ’ When we went for our Sunday walks again to visit the pub, we played a new game called am i in or am i Out? i had to jump the cracks in the pavement without stepping on them. i never again got to gaze at the passing ATS girls as i was so busy looking down at the pavement …

Rita Poole, Worcester.