Chapter 10
Bobby’s time with her sister felt all too short, and there were many tears as they parted.
There had been no real resolution to their conversation.
Bobby wasn’t sure what she had wanted, except to make her sister understand that she had options other than marriage to Tony, but no matter what she said, Lilian seemed determined to go through with it.
She had promised to send a telegram as soon as she was wed, so Bobby would know it was done.
It felt so strange that the next time Bobby saw her sister, Lil would be a married woman.
She wished she could at least be there for the ceremony, but Lilian had said she didn’t want anyone from the family, since it was hardly going to be an occasion for celebration.
Tony’s mother and younger brother would be witnesses, with no one else in attendance, and Lilian would move straight in with the Scotts afterwards.
There would be no reception, no honeymoon, no gifts to help the couple set up home together – everything would be done as quickly and quietly as possible.
Lord knew how poor Lil was going to cope once she was ensconced in what was to be her first marital home, Bobby thought as she hopped on a tram.
The Scotts weren’t wealthy. Their house was one of the many cramped two-up-two-down terraces that crowded the Bradford streets, where the newlyweds would have to share a bedroom with Tony’s brother Oliver.
Bobby could only imagine how crowded the place would feel if they were still there once the baby arrived.
She also wondered how Lil would get along with Tony’s parents.
She had met them on a couple of occasions.
Tony’s father was a quiet, pallid man with a toothbrush moustache and a dirty neck who blended into the background so well that you soon stopped noticing him, but Bobby hadn’t much liked Mrs Scott’s looks.
She had a vinegary expression that suggested she didn’t suffer fools gladly, or anyone else for that matter.
Bobby tried to put worries about her sister to one side as the tram slowed to let her off. The women’s forces recruiting centre, which was in the old Mechanics’ Institute not far from the Courier offices, was just a short walk away.
When she entered, Bobby found an ATS girl manning the front desk. The woman, who had been filing her nails, looked up to give her an uninterested look.
‘Name?’ she asked.
‘Roberta Bancroft.’
‘WAAF or ATS?’
‘Um, I’m not sure.’ Bobby handed over the letter she had received and her registration certificate. ‘I was just told to report for a medical.’
The girl glanced at the registration number and matched it to one on a list in front of her. ‘Yes, I see. You’ve an appointment with the RAF doctor at four. Down the corridor, second room on the left. The doc will call you when it’s your turn.’
Bobby blinked. ‘I’m being assessed for the WAAF?’
The woman smiled. ‘Let me guess. Blue isn’t your colour.’
‘No. I just… I’m surprised, that’s all.’
‘Second room on the left,’ the woman repeated, nodding to a queue that was developing behind Bobby. ‘We’ve got a lot of you to get through.’
‘Right.’
They wanted her for the Air Force? Bobby hadn’t put much thought into which service she might be assigned but she had assumed it would most likely be the Army, since that was where most of those called up were sent.
If she did have to go, it would be something to be in the same service as Charlie.
Perhaps sharing a routine would bring them closer.
Bobby entered the second room on the left as directed. Several other women were there waiting, most of them young – few looked much beyond twenty. She took a seat by the only one who looked to be around her age.
The woman wore a pair of small, round spectacles, but managed to avoid looking studious in spite of that.
In fact she looked every inch the fashion plate, with her face heavily made-up and her hair in Betty Grable rolls.
She gave Bobby a friendly grin, exposing a smudge of cherry lipstick that had stuck to her slightly protruding front teeth.
‘All right?’ she said, in a broad Bradford accent.
‘Um, hello,’ Bobby said, wondering whether it would be perceived as a favour or rudeness to point out the lipstick on the woman’s teeth. She decided against it.
The woman laughed. ‘Blimey, love, you’re white as chalk.
Don’t worry, eh? They don’t make you drop your knickers or owt.
Our Trish had hers a few month ago. She says they just check your heart and breathing, make you read a bit off a chart then tick you A1 and send you home to wait for your enrolment. ’
Bobby smiled a little more warmly, appreciating this new acquaintance’s attempts to reassure her.
‘I’m not really worried,’ she said. ‘At least, not about that.’
The girl took out a packet of cork-tipped cigarettes and lit one.
‘Oh, sorry,’ she said, taking it out of her mouth. ‘Do you mind? Probably not supposed to right before they examine you. Does things to your heart or summat. The doc’ll give me a rollicking, but it calms my nerves.’
‘No, don’t mind me.’ Bobby put out a hand. ‘Bobby Bancroft.’
‘Carol Boyes. Middle name Can’t-get-enough-of-the, our mam always jokes.’ Carol shook Bobby’s hand vigorously before taking another drag on her cigarette. ‘What trade are you hoping for, Bobby?’
‘I hadn’t really thought about it. How about you?’
‘Oh, anything that keeps me close to the lads,’ Carol said cheerfully.
‘I’m twenty-five this year. If I don’t come out of this war with a ring on my finger, I might as well give up.
Never been so many chances for a girl to nab a husband.
My sister had bagged herself a man two weeks in, and she’s no looker.
That was when I made up my mind to join up.
’ She turned to examine Bobby more closely. ‘How about you?’
‘Oh. I’m engaged already. Um, to a pilot.’
Carol laughed. ‘All right, no need to be smug. I meant did you volunteer, or did they make you come?’
‘I was told to come,’ Bobby said.
‘You don’t look right happy about it. Would you rather not be called up then?’
‘I’m just worried about leaving home. My dad’s a widower and I look after him, you see.’
‘Ah well, I’ll tell you what to do about that,’ Carol said, lowering her voice so the other women couldn’t hear.
‘Just nip into the little girls’ room and run on the spot for a bit, get yourself good and out of breath.
Then when the doc checks your heart rate and breathing, he’ll think you’re no good and let you off. ’
Bobby laughed. ‘Oh no, I couldn’t cheat. Besides, I’m sure they must know all the tricks by now. But I’ll take a postponement form away.’
‘If you’ve got a feller, best way to do it is get yourself in the family way,’ Carol, who seemed a worldly-wise sort of person, told her matter-of-factly. ‘Don’t bother waiting for the wedding, you can sort that out after. Soon as you’ve skipped a monthly, your senior officer will send you home.’
‘That seems a bit extreme,’ Bobby said, blinking.
Carol shrugged. ‘It’s the surest way to get out of it.’
Bobby hadn’t thought there was much possibility of failing her medical, but Carol’s advice did kindle something like hope.
Supposing the doctor did find something wrong with her?
Nothing too awful, but just bad enough that the WAAF would decide they didn’t want her after all – a rare blood group, perhaps, or mild asthma like Tony Scott.
Then she could stay at home with her dad, and Charlie would have to understand.
She was destined for disappointment, however.
The doctor called her in shortly afterwards.
Her heart and lungs were soon pronounced in fine working order, and Bobby couldn’t bring herself to be dishonest when she was asked to read a table of letters in increasingly tinier typefaces. She read right to the bottom line.
She was weighed and measured, her tonsils and ear canals inspected, then she was asked about childhood illnesses. The stiff-looking RAF doctor seemed thrilled to learn she had never been troubled with TB or rheumatic fever, or indeed anything more serious than the usual mumps and measles.
The only question that gave Bobby pause was when she was asked if there was any history of mental weakness in the family. Again she thought of her father, softly sobbing in his sleep as he dreamed of horrors from days long gone.
‘Um, no,’ she said after a moment’s hesitation. ‘No, there’s nothing like that.’
‘Well in that case, missy, you’re quite the model recruit,’ the doctor said as he scribbled her answer down.
‘I think we can safely say you’re A1 – practically strong enough for the front lines.
Now if you’ll go into the room next door, Squadron Officer Mulligan will interview you about the type of role you might be suitable for. Give this to her when you go.’
He tore off the form he had been filling in and handed it to her. Dazedly, Bobby went into the corridor and knocked on the room next door.
The letter she had received had said nothing about an interview, or even about the service she would be assigned to.
It felt like everything was extremely rushed, and there was no time for explanations.
Bobby supposed places like this must be processing hundreds of women a day, and she was just one face out of many to be shunted around like a draughts piece.
A clipped ‘Come!’ answered her knock, and Bobby went in. The interviewer, Squadron Officer Mulligan – a stern-looking woman in middle age – was glancing at some notes on a clipboard. Next to her, a young WAAF corporal sat ready to take notes.
‘Good morning,’ Bobby said.
Squadron Officer Mulligan didn’t answer. She just gestured to a seat without looking up. Bobby sat down.
There was silence. Bobby wondered what she was supposed to do.
‘The doctor said I was to give this to you,’ she said, remembering the form in her hand.