On a Wing and a Prayer. Ruby Jackson
who told the others that she had joined up when her twenty-year-old son had insisted on joining the army.
‘“Join the army and see the world, Mum,” he said, and I, tears streaming down my face, begged him to reconsider. He’s all I got in the world, see, but – “I got a chance to do something grand, Mum,” he said, “and, just think, I’ll be able to give you a bit of a hand. All my food’s provided, and my uniform, plus I get paid. You’ll see, we’ll be able to put a bit aside for that cottage you’ve always wanted. The war’s an opportunity for them as is willing to take it.”’
Chrissy Wade explained her situation to the girls during a welcome break. ‘An opportunity to get killed is what I told him, so what could I do but join up? Had a cleaning job afore the war and a lot of opportunity there was there, I don’t think. Hope this lot don’t give me all the cleaning to do in the ATS.’ She had laughed then, and the younger women laughed with her, already liking her spirit.
The others were, like Rose, in their twenties. They included waitresses, beauticians, seamstresses, shop assistants, factory workers like Rose, and even two university students: Cleo, and a shy, rather intense girl from Poole named Phyllis.
‘You two will be officers in no time,’ said Chrissy, ‘that’s what my lad said. Ten lads signed up with him and one went straight for training to be an officer.’
‘I hope not,’ said Cleo.
‘You couldn’t be an officer, Cleo,’ Rose teased her. ‘How embarrassing for the ATS to have an officer with two left feet.’
‘Don’t officers just stand looking rather splendid while the others march?’ Phyllis, who hardly spoke, surprised them all by joining in.
It was obvious to Rose that Phyllis was joking, but most of the others seemed to take her remark seriously. Except Cleo.
‘That lets you out too, Phyllis. You’re too small to be splendid.’
‘Thanks very much. I’ll remind you that Queen Victoria was small.’
‘Like a little Christmas pudding,’ Rose surprised herself by suggesting. Everyone laughed.
The trainees were up by seven o’clock, their sleep having been somewhat disturbed by the almost constant droning of aircraft. Rose, like thousands of other people living in the south of England, had become used to the sound of planes flying overhead night after night, and she could recognise the sound of enemy aircraft.
‘They’re ours,’ she mumbled several times during the night. ‘Go back to sleep.’
They slept and woke, dozed and woke again, and by eight o’clock were washed, dressed, beds made, room tidied, and in the canteen for breakfast. Rose, who had shared the cleaning of their little shop and their homely flat above it, had hoped that cleaning would not be on her list of daily tasks.
‘I don’t mind keeping my own area clean, and I’ll clean up after myself, but I didn’t join the ATS for domestic duties.’
After breakfast came the dreaded drill. Learning to march certainly woke them up every morning. Cleo complained loudly that her boarding school had not included marching in its comprehensive syllabus. ‘Honestly, Rose, it looks so bleep-bleep simple when we see regular soldiers on the parade ground, but it’s far from easy. And that drill sergeant yelling in my ear only makes me mix up my feet. I’d do better if you were teaching it. Why do we always have to be bullied by men? Makes something in me rebel. But right now I’m thinking of drawing a great big R on one of these ghastly, clumpy shoes.’
‘Just make sure it’s on the right, right shoe,’ teased Rose.
In a way, however, Rose agreed. Would they ever learn to keep in line, stay in place, to use the correct foot or the proper stride, especially since they were of varying heights? Could they possibly master standing to attention, standing at ease, halting smartly when on the march, and would they ever learn to salute properly? Rose, with brothers in the Forces, found herself wishing she had paid attention when they had wanted to show her.
She was quietly glad that at school she had been on the very successful athletics team and so set herself to rapidly mastering the drills.
Aptitude tests – or trade tests, as the girls called them – came after all the marching and drilling. Scores attained in these tests would be used to decide where each ATS auxiliary would work. Rose worried that, as a working-class girl who left school at fourteen, she might be sent to work in the kitchens.
‘What do you think, Cleo? You went to a posh boarding school till you were seventeen. Some of the others have had secretarial training. You girls will get the best jobs. Girls like me will end up peeling potatoes or waiting tables.’
‘Rubbish, Rose. You have more experience in driving and in looking after cars than anyone – in our hut, at least. I learned to drive but I’ve never even put in petrol, and as for oil and keeping the blinking thing chugging along – that is all far beyond me.’
Rose laughed. ‘Don’t you have any brothers? Mine were always taking engines apart—’
Cleo interrupted. ‘And putting them back together.’
‘Exactly.’
Rose wrote to her parents during her first week of training.
If the King himself, God bless him, was to come into the camp, I would not be ashamed of my salute. But if Mr Churchill comes, and Sergeant Glover says as how he often has a quick visit somewhere, do we salute him? He’s not in the army and he’s not a royal. I’m not going to worry. Sergeant Glover knows everything.
Last night, as in two o’clock in the morning!!!!, we had a practice of what to do in an air raid. It was just an alert but it frightened the life out of most of us. We have to wear these uncomfortable steel helmets – can you imagine, steel? They’re really heavy but Sergeant Glover says they can be the difference between life and death. Don’t worry, Mum, I’ll wear mine.
Would you believe we had a talk on obeying orders? ‘Orders must be obeyed immediately and without question. Your life could depend on your ability to master this simple skill.’ Never thought I’d be grateful to have had the Dartford Dragon as my teacher in elementary school. I’ve already made a friend, although everyone in our hut is friendly. Some is quite posh and some in between, like Cleo, my new chum, who has done a lovely job of altering my uniform. You’d have cried if you’d seen me before she fixed it. I could have wrapped the skirt round me twice. The underwear is awful, can’t think why they gave it to us, unless some girls is so poor they hasn’t got changes – isn’t that a shame? – and we’ve got this huge furry coat-like thing that reaches almost to my ankles. Cleo’s trailed on the ground till she had time to fix it. She did look funny – a bit like Charlie Chaplin waddling along like a duck – but Sergeant Glover says we’ll be glad of our Teddy Bear coats in the winter.
Cleo had indeed made a beautiful job of tailoring Rose’s uniform and, as her appearance improved, so did her confidence. When she had worked in the Vickers munitions factory in Dartford, she had become expert at keeping her long hair safe inside a net; now she made one thick plait, wound it into a tight ring and fastened it with kirby grips. No matter how active she was, it stayed inside her cap.
Somehow, knowing that she looked professional made it easier for her to believe that she would succeed. Once or twice she had felt that she was struggling in the aptitude tests but consoled herself with the knowledge that she had done her best. Her ambition was to be a driver; surely the men in charge would see that she had years of experience, not only of driving but also of vehicle maintenance. She knew that driving the Prime Minister was probably an impossible dream. People say that dreams can come true but, in the meantime, decided Private Petrie, any driving would do.
She managed to go home twice during her time in Guildford. Once she took Cleo with her, worrying all the time about Flora’s nervousness around people she did not know. Her worries were for nothing. Cleo might have a retired army officer for a father and might have been educated at boarding school, two possible reasons