The Windmill Girls

‘You’d better apologise for that.’ Gertie poked Olive in the shoulder. ‘’Cos if you don’t …’

‘Oh, shut up, you two!’ Dawn exploded. She’d just entered the dressing room to find the theatre’s cleaner and kiosk attendant at each other’s throats as usual. Her feet were aching and she had a thumping head because she’d been on the side of the stage close to the trumpet player. Her temples were still throbbing from the ear-splitting toots.

‘Customers won’t like hanging around in the foyer waiting for you to sell ’em tickets. If Phyllis finds out you ain’t where you’re supposed to be you’ll be for the high jump.’ Gertie stared pointedly at Olive until the woman stormed towards the door.

‘All her airs ’n’ graces yet she ain’t got a minute of time for those two boys of hers.’ Gertie’s lip curled in disgust. ‘Kids should come first in my book, not shoved to one side soon as the opportunity turns up.’ She glanced at Dawn for a comment but her colleague flopped down onto a seat at the dressing table.

Dawn averted her sore eyes from the glaring bulbs edging the mirror in front of her. She eased off the feathered headdress and once released from confinement her honey-blonde hair cascaded to her shoulders in untidy waves. She dropped her face forward and gave her tender scalp a massage with her fingers. ‘If Phyllis finds out you two are still at it you’ll be for the high jump too.’ Dawn’s caution emerged from behind a screen of glossy hair.

‘Well, Pocahontas.’ Gertie tweaked the feathers that Dawn had discarded on the dressing table littered with brushes and cosmetics. ‘I don’t care if I do get the sack from here for telling Olive what I think of her; she deserved it. How did the performance go? Was it a full house?’

‘Almost, and the comedian got a lot of applause, even though he forgot his punchline a couple of times …’ The rest of Dawn’s report was drowned out as more showgirls came into the room, chattering like starlings. The troupe was dressed in beaded Red Indian costume, with colourful feathers embellishing their hair.

‘What’s up with Olive Roberts? She’s got a face on her fit to curdle milk.’ Sal Fiske was stepping out of her short, fringed skirt while speaking.

‘No change there then …’ Gertie muttered. ‘The woman’s ugly as sin, don’t know what her husband sees in her.’

‘Have you been upsetting Olive again, Gertie, you naughty thing?’ Lorna Danvers had entered the dressing room to boom that out in her cut-glass accent. She began unhooking fancy suspenders and rolling down her fishnet stockings. ‘I dearly hope we don’t have to wear these costumes again; this leather’s made me itch dreadfully up here.’ She started to scratch close to her groin. ‘I’ll wriggle about in a mermaid tail for my wages but I really don’t fancy getting eczema on my Minnie for a thousand pounds.’

‘I reckon you would!’ came a chorus of voices.

‘Gordon’ll scratch it for you,’ Sal called out.

It was well-known that the senior stagehand had a thing for La-di-da Lorna, as she was fondly called due to her upper-class roots. Gordon was starting to get on Lorna’s nerves because he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

‘You need a bit of Endocil cream on that.’ Gertie examined the angry rash Lorna was picking at. ‘My brother suffers with eczema something chronic on his knees ’n’ elbows. Told him to always dab a bit of Endocil on to soothe it.’

Dawn carried on hanging up her squaw’s costume, strolling to and fro in just her brassiere and camiknickers, as were the other girls as they moved between the various dressing cupboards. But her ears had pricked up on hearing Gertie mention her brother. She’d tried to forget about the robbery last week and hadn’t mentioned anything to Gertie about suspecting Michael might be a looter.

Dawn had never been introduced to Michael but Gertie had once brought her brother to Dawn’s notice by telling her that he’d bagged a prime spot in the front row of the theatre. Dawn had promised to look out for him and when she went on stage had squinted through the lights in the direction of a boyish-looking able seaman. Dawn’s boyfriend had spoken about Midge Williams too, not because he liked Gertie’s brother, but quite the reverse. In Bill Sweetman’s opinion Midge was a troublemaker with a chip on his shoulder and he was glad their paths crossed only rarely when they both had leave. But before saying she suspected Michael was a deserter and a thief, Dawn knew she’d have to be sure of her facts. Gertie was short like her brother but could be aggressive, especially when defending her relatives. Gertie’s animosity towards Olive stemmed from her disgust because the older woman didn’t fawn over her children in the same way as Gertie did. Dawn had to agree that Olive seemed a remote mother, but different people had different ideas about bringing up kids.

‘Don’t suppose it’s easy for your brother to get Endocil cream on a frigate.’ As Gertie had brought up her brother’s name a few minutes ago Dawn took the opportunity to carry on the conversation. In that way she might discover if Midge was in Malta and put her suspicions to rest.

‘You’d be surprised what the NAAFI can get hold of.’ Gertie laughed.

‘I wouldn’t!’ Sal chipped in. ‘I’m beginning to wish I’d joined the NAAFI instead of taking this job. Could’ve made myself a packet selling hooky stuff on Loot Alley. Not that I’ve ever been there …’ She dropped a sly wink following her mention of the haunt in Houndsditch where merchandise changed hands.

‘Had a letter from your brother Michael yet?’ Dawn tried again to pump Gertie for information while putting on her outdoor clothes.

‘Ain’t one for letter writing, is Michael. I expect he drops Mum a few lines in Clacton.’

‘Michael’s in Malta then?’ Dawn continued doggedly, making Gertie glance sharply at her in surprise.

‘Reckon he might have docked. But he don’t give us his timetable,’ she said rather sourly.

Dawn supposed that reply would have to do; she must have been mistaken in thinking Michael a villain. Having dragged a brush through her hair she gave the others a cheery wave as she’d finished her shift. Gertie followed her towards the cloakroom.

‘Off home then, are you?’

‘Yeah …’

‘Mum better, is she?’

Dawn gave Gertie a speaking look; Gertie was aware of her mother’s drinking because Dawn had once mentioned it to some fellow dancers. Afterwards, she’d wished she’d kept schtum because women working together forgot nothing and gossiped about everything.

‘Don’t you worry, she’ll pull herself round once this war’s over with. It’s taking it out of all of us.’ Gertie nipped at her lower lip with her teeth, looking thoughtful.

‘What’s wrong?’ Dawn prompted.

‘Were you asking about Michael for a reason?’

Dawn blushed guiltily.

‘Now you tell me what’s wrong,’ Gertie demanded. ‘Come on out with it. I knew there was more to it than eczema and Endocil cream.’

‘It’s nothing really …’ Dawn blurted. ‘It’s just … I thought I saw him recently; but you’ve said he’s abroad, so I must be mistaken.’

‘Yeah … you must.’ Gertie gave a slow emphatic nod. ‘If people got to hear he was still round these parts, they’d think he was a deserter now, wouldn’t they?’

‘I’ve said I’m probably mistaken.’ Dawn sounded cross too. ‘It’s an easy mistake to make as he is quite … remarkable, isn’t he.’

‘What d’you mean by that?’ Gertie snapped.

‘Well … there aren’t many men about as small as him; that’s why I thought it might be him.’

‘I suppose you could say he’s wiry … Anyhow, I’d be obliged if you’d keep your ideas to yourself.’

‘Right … sorry I mentioned it,’ Dawn muttered to Gertie’s retreating back.

Gertie got her coat out of the cloakroom, obviously ready to leave work herself. Dawn loitered for a moment wondering whether to offer to walk a short way with the other woman, as they sometimes did. At Piccadilly Circus Gertie would then head off towards her home in Holborn while Dawn travelled east to Bethnal Green. Gertie barged past and hurried out into the street. Dawn shrugged to herself and slowly followed her colleague into the dark early evening, hoping that she’d get home without the need to bomb-dodge.

No such luck! Dawn inwardly groaned a few moments later as the sirens started. With a cursory scouring of the sombre heavens she joined those dashing towards the underground station. Her heart was pumping and her misty breath bathed her cold face as she ran down the steps, jostled and bumped by others seeking shelter. As she stepped onto the busy platform, the smell of urine and dirt immediately struck her, making her wrinkle her nose. Picking her way through bodies and bedding she found a small space close to a tiled wall and squatted down. After a moment fidgeting to find a comfortable position she shrugged out of her coat and folded it, lining outward to protect the tweed, planning to use it as a cushion to sit on.

‘You’ll ruin your lovely coat, love. Here you are, you can borrow this.’

Dawn gratefully accepted a worn blanket being held out to her. Before handing it over the woman helpfully folded the wool into a pad.

‘Thanks very much …’ Shivering, Dawn quickly donned her coat, buttoning it up to the throat. Despite the press of humanity she felt chilled from the draught whistling down the steps that led to the street. A moment later she spied Gertie also sheltering from the raid, sitting some yards away, and decided she might as well try and make up with her colleague. Some of the Windmill girls liked nothing better than a bit of a ding dong at work, but Dawn lived by the rule: don’t go looking for trouble ’cos it’ll find you soon enough. Handing back her makeshift cushion with a smile and thanks, Dawn picked a path over bodies to Gertie’s side.

‘Crikey … where did you get him?’

Gertie was attending to a baby in a makeshift wicker crib. She tucked the covers in about the mewling infant, making hushing noises. ‘Met me husband down here with the kids; he was bringing ’em to meet me from work. He does that sometimes … so he can get shot of them and bugger off to the pub.’ Gertie’s mouth turned down in a rueful smile. ‘Anyway the raid’s put paid to that idea for him. So he’s gone off with the older ones to keep them occupied.’ She gave Dawn a conciliatory smile. ‘Sorry about … you know … earlier …’

‘Yeah … me too,’ Dawn said, peering in at the baby. She knew that Gertie had four boys but because Gertie was a fairly new recruit at the theatre, Dawn had never before met any of the woman’s family. In fact, if Midge Williams hadn’t turned up to watch a show at a time coinciding with Gertie’s evening shift at the theatre, Dawn would never have had him pointed out to her.

Even when Dawn was a bit dishevelled, as now, she still looked pretty in Gertie’s opinion. Self-consciously she pushed some lank brown hair behind her ears. ‘Don’t get a lot of time for me looks any more.’ She glanced at the sniffling baby. ‘Got Harold here and then the other three all playing me up.’

‘Where have they gone off to?’ Dawn took a look about.