The Serial: The Pepper Girls At War Day 15

The girls held their breath in disbelief. “Honest, it’s true,” Winnie assured them, clasping her hands together and gazing into the distance

The rest of the girls rose as one, taking their dishes with them to the plateclearing station, leaving Jack nodding to himself, Saturday should be fun and the girl with the big blue eyes would be top of his list. “What’s all this about a dance?” Winnie queried, excitedly, “and where’s this NAAFI place?”

Lexie shrugged. “You’re as wise as I am,” she said, “maybe Corporal Samson will know.” Winnie flinched visibly. At the mention of the Corporal, the girls quickened their step back to their billet. Beryl Samson was already there and waiting.

“Today we get down to business,” she began, pacing up and down the billet. First of all you’ll see the camp doctor for your medical, then you’ll be issued with your kit, uniform, bed pack and your ID number. You’ll wear your uniform at all times and salute all officers that you pass. Any questions?”

Winnie almost asked about the NAAFI, but immediately thought better of it. Jack Forsythe was a dish and, one way or another, she intended to be his “afters” on Saturday night. Frantic week By the end of a frantic week of activities, the girls were ready to drop, but they had all survived their induction. Lexie admired herself in her uniform as best she could in the small hand mirror she’d brought with her from home.

“1482166 ACW Melville,” she whispered, hardly able to believe she had done it. She now knew how to launder and press her uniform, make her bed perfectly, learned the history of the RAF and the WAAF, knew the ranks of the RAF officers from Group Captain to Wing Commander and was getting to grips with the discipline of “square bashing”.

“Penny for them,” said Daisy Ramsey, or Petal as she was now known, as she and Pearly came into the billet, after taking their turn at cleaning the toilet block.

Lexie swung round and blushed at being caught admiring herself. De ja vu, she thought, remembering the time that the office junior, Joannie Kelly had come into her office when she was checking her face for the beginnings of fine lines and wondering if she’d ‘die an auld maid,’ like Nancy Donnelly has predicted.

“I was just thinking,” Lexie said, “that I’m the luckiest girl in the world.” Pearly and Petal exchanged glances. “Obviously hasn’t just cleaned the loos!” Petal said sagely, wrinkling her nose, before the trio burst out laughing. “What’s all the giggling about then,” asked Winnie, coming into the billet, tossing her cap on to her bed and unbuckling her belt.

“Lexie thinks she’s the luckiest girl in the world,” Pearly said, holding up her mop and bucket, meaningfully.

Winnie shook her head. “I think you’ll find it’s me who’s the luckiest girl in the world,” she said, warming to her topic. “I’ve just been invited to the NAAFI dance on Saturday by none other than Pilot Officer Jack Forsythe!”

Lexie flopped down on to her bed. “You’ve spoken to him?” she asked incredulously, as Pearly and Petal moved closer, clutching their mops tightly, mouths agape with surprise.

This was news indeed and they didn’t want to miss a second of Winnie’s encounter with a pilot officer. Excitement “Well,” began Winnie, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice, “you know we have to salute all officers?” The others nodded, “well, I was just passing the Training Control Offices when who should come out but Pilot Officer Forsythe.

Naturally, I saluted, but he stopped me in my tracks and asked my name.”

“What did you say?” asked Petal, her eyes huge with curiosity, “I said what we’ve been told to say, name, rank and serial number, SIR.”

“But how do you know,” Lexie began, trying to imagine how Winnie found out his name. “Then he said, “Pilot Office Jack Forsythe at your service. Report to me on Saturday at 8 o’clock in the NAAFI for the first dance! Then he saluted me back and walked off.”

The girls held their breath in disbelief. “Honest, it’s true,” Winnie assured them, clasping her hands together and gazing into the future with a misty look in her eyes. Saturday was going to be wonderful.

The NAAFI was a sea of air force blue when the girls arrived and an ancient gramophone was blasting out American big band music. The women were outnumbered at least three to one and it wasn’t long before they were all split up and whisked on to the floor.

Lexie had been pounced on by the cook, Bert Wilmot, who’d served the boiled eggs on Lexie’s first day at the camp.

“Enjoying camp life then?” he asked in his South London accent, as the music stopped and he guided Lexie back to the seats around the NAAFI wall.

“Just fine,” Lexie replied, not sure how much she understood his accent. “What’s your tipple?” Bert shouted above the music which had started again, “Tipple?” Lexie asked. “Yeah,” Bert said, leaning closer to her, “you know...drink?”

He pointed to the bar and pints of beer being served by an orderly. Lexie shook her head, “I don’t drink,” she said, “but a lemonade would be nice though.” Bert saluted. “Back in a tick,” he said, heading off to the bar, but before he could return, another blueuniformed man pulled Lexie on to the floor.

“Glenn Miller,” shouted her new partner, “the music,” he added, “not me.”

Lexie blinked. From leading a very quiet and manfree life in Dundee, she now found herself surrounded by men and all of them seemingly wanting to dance with her. Best thing “Clive Jones,” the Welshman said, “from the Rhonda Valley in Welsh Wales,” he added. “How about you?”

“Lexie Melville,” Lexie shouted back, “from Dundee in Scotland.” “A Scottie!” Clive exclaimed, “how bloody marvellous. Isn’t this war just great!”

Lexie had to agree, as Clive danced her round the floor. Far from being a frightening thing, Lexie was beginning to feel that it was going to be the best thing she could have done to get over all the hurt and dreariness that had been her life for so long in Dundee.

It was gone 10 o’clock before she met up with Winnie in the toilet block attached to the NAFFI hall.

Winnie was glowing and Lexie didn’t have to ask how things had gone with Pilot Officer Jack Forsythe. “Well,” she said, “did you report to him at 8 o’clock?”

Winnie’s eyes were huge and glassy. “Mmmmhhh,” she whispered, “and don’t wait up,” she added, heading for the door, “I may be back a little late.”

“Don’t get caught,” Lexie hissed after her. But Winnie didn’t hear a word, she was on her way to make out with Jack Forsythe. (More tomorrow.)

By Sandra Savage