you look terrific, and put these shoes on,’ Hazel ordered. ‘If we don’t get a move on we’re going to be late. All you need now is a bit of lipstick. You’ve even got a lovely tan on your legs.’
It was no use protesting, Sam could see that, and besides, she didn’t want to spoil the evening for the other girls, who were all obviously very eager to go dancing. Even Mouse seemed to have forgotten that she had originally flatly refused to go, but then poor Mouse would probably rather have done anything than be left here at their billet on her own with the warrant officer.
‘Here’s our stop. Lord, will you look at the queue,’ May said as the bus pulled into the kerb.
A long wide queue of various groups of girls, young men in uniform, and couples had formed untidily in the street outside the dance hall. The most famous and the best in Liverpool, so Sam was informed by Lynsey, who, as Hazel remarked drily, was something of an expert on such matters.
‘Well, and why not? That’s what I say,’ Lynsey replied unabashed. ‘Work hard and play hard, that’s my motto. And thanks to the blinking ATS we certainly have to do plenty of hard work.’
‘Oh, yes? Then how come I saw you painting your nails this afternoon when you were supposed to be typing all them memos for the War Office?’ May asked her.
‘What memos? I never saw no memos,’ Lynsey gave the others a wink.
The ATS had been formed to train young women to take over the more mundane military support ‘chores’, such as cooking and general kitchen and domestic duties, typing, general paperwork, and sometimes driving military personnel or acting as messengers, in order to free up enlisted men for active duty.
‘Lynsey, you really are the limit,’ Hazel protested. ‘There is a war on, you know.’
‘Of course I know it!’ Lynsey replied, digging her elbow into May’s ribs. ‘Get a look of them lads over there, May. Canadian fly boys, they are, all on their own, a long way from home. Need a bit of female company to cheer them up, they will, what with there being a war on and all.’
‘Lynsey, really, you can do what you like but the rest of us don’t want tarring with the same brush,’ Hazel warned her, ignoring May’s giggles.
‘Oh, come on, Corp, we aren’t in uniform now,’ Lynsey grinned. ‘Where’s the harm in relaxing a bit and letting our hair down? I reckon that chap of yours won’t be staying in, crying into his cocoa down in Dartmouth because you aren’t around. What the eye doesn’t see, remember, and if I was you—’
‘Well, you aren’t me, are you?’ Hazel rounded on her.
‘Oh, touched a sore spot, have I?’ Lynsey asked. ‘If I have you want to ask yourself why it is sore. If I were in your shoes—’
‘But you aren’t. Besides, he’s only there on a course, and I’ll be going down to see him soon.’
‘Queue’s moving – the doors must have opened at last,’ May announced, determinedly moving forward.
‘Lynsey really is the limit at times,’ Hazel told Sam, falling into step alongside her and Mouse.
‘She’s fun, though, isn’t she?’ Mouse said unexpectedly, sighing as she added, ‘I’d love to be fun, wouldn’t you, Sam?’
Would she? It depended on what your idea of fun was, Sam decided. Certainly she liked a good lark and some jolly laughter, but fun for her did not include getting fresh with young men. The very thought made her shrink a little and withdraw into herself. But there was no denying that Lynsey’s comments had brought Mouse out of herself and cheered her up a bit.
The interior of the Grafton wasn’t at all what Sam had been expecting. For some reason she had thought it would look a bit like a church hall but it was unexpectedly elegant, even if a bit war shabby, with red walls and dim lighting.
‘A proper dance hall, this is, with a really good sprung floor,’ Lynsey informed her, seeing her amazement. ‘Copied it from some Russian ballet theatre,
It was no use protesting, Sam could see that, and besides, she didn’t want to spoil the evening for the other girls, who were all obviously very eager to go dancing. Even Mouse seemed to have forgotten that she had originally flatly refused to go, but then poor Mouse would probably rather have done anything than be left here at their billet on her own with the warrant officer.
‘Here’s our stop. Lord, will you look at the queue,’ May said as the bus pulled into the kerb.
A long wide queue of various groups of girls, young men in uniform, and couples had formed untidily in the street outside the dance hall. The most famous and the best in Liverpool, so Sam was informed by Lynsey, who, as Hazel remarked drily, was something of an expert on such matters.
‘Well, and why not? That’s what I say,’ Lynsey replied unabashed. ‘Work hard and play hard, that’s my motto. And thanks to the blinking ATS we certainly have to do plenty of hard work.’
‘Oh, yes? Then how come I saw you painting your nails this afternoon when you were supposed to be typing all them memos for the War Office?’ May asked her.
‘What memos? I never saw no memos,’ Lynsey gave the others a wink.
The ATS had been formed to train young women to take over the more mundane military support ‘chores’, such as cooking and general kitchen and domestic duties, typing, general paperwork, and sometimes driving military personnel or acting as messengers, in order to free up enlisted men for active duty.
‘Lynsey, you really are the limit,’ Hazel protested. ‘There is a war on, you know.’
‘Of course I know it!’ Lynsey replied, digging her elbow into May’s ribs. ‘Get a look of them lads over there, May. Canadian fly boys, they are, all on their own, a long way from home. Need a bit of female company to cheer them up, they will, what with there being a war on and all.’
‘Lynsey, really, you can do what you like but the rest of us don’t want tarring with the same brush,’ Hazel warned her, ignoring May’s giggles.
‘Oh, come on, Corp, we aren’t in uniform now,’ Lynsey grinned. ‘Where’s the harm in relaxing a bit and letting our hair down? I reckon that chap of yours won’t be staying in, crying into his cocoa down in Dartmouth because you aren’t around. What the eye doesn’t see, remember, and if I was you—’
‘Well, you aren’t me, are you?’ Hazel rounded on her.
‘Oh, touched a sore spot, have I?’ Lynsey asked. ‘If I have you want to ask yourself why it is sore. If I were in your shoes—’
‘But you aren’t. Besides, he’s only there on a course, and I’ll be going down to see him soon.’
‘Queue’s moving – the doors must have opened at last,’ May announced, determinedly moving forward.
‘Lynsey really is the limit at times,’ Hazel told Sam, falling into step alongside her and Mouse.
‘She’s fun, though, isn’t she?’ Mouse said unexpectedly, sighing as she added, ‘I’d love to be fun, wouldn’t you, Sam?’
Would she? It depended on what your idea of fun was, Sam decided. Certainly she liked a good lark and some jolly laughter, but fun for her did not include getting fresh with young men. The very thought made her shrink a little and withdraw into herself. But there was no denying that Lynsey’s comments had brought Mouse out of herself and cheered her up a bit.
The interior of the Grafton wasn’t at all what Sam had been expecting. For some reason she had thought it would look a bit like a church hall but it was unexpectedly elegant, even if a bit war shabby, with red walls and dim lighting.
‘A proper dance hall, this is, with a really good sprung floor,’ Lynsey informed her, seeing her amazement. ‘Copied it from some Russian ballet theatre,
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