pocket.
Touchwood
July 1, 1941
Dear Charlie,
I was thinking about you today and decided to drop you a line. Remember that Dominion Day when we lit the firecrackers and almost burned down Dad’s haystack? I hope you’re enjoying it, wherever you are.
Touchwood is the same — boring as ever. The last two boys in our class have joined up, all except for Jake Jacobs. I guess he has flat feet. Funny, isn’t it? He was always the big baseball star and now he has to stay home and milk the cows.
I was admiring your oat field yesterday on my way to work. It’s the best crop I’ve ever seen, about shoulder high, must be forty bushels to the acre. Your father says those two young cousins of yours are good workers, but of course they’re just itching to join up, too. Jack has a calendar in his bedroom and he’s crossing off the days with big red Xs until his eighteenth birthday. I think it’s giving Mother the heebie-jeebies!
I’m still working at the newspaper and saving up to go to university. My job is okay, but how I envy you! Are you doing any sightseeing? I would love to hear all about England.
Best of British luck, Charlie, and keep your head down.
As always, Rose
6
I sat at my dressing table, wishing I had something new to wear. The wartime motto was “Make it Do or Do Without,” but I was tired of doing both.
Oh well. At least my clothes were all new to the boys in blue. I stepped into the dark red taffeta circle skirt I had sewn myself and slipped a string of Mother’s garnet beads over my white rayon blouse. Pinning back the sides of my hair in a Victory Roll, I applied bright red lipstick, trying unsuccessfully to even out my crooked mouth.
When June and I arrived at the hangar an hour later, we could hear the beat of the music and the laughter streaming out across the dark tarmac, overhung with millions of bright stars. “Who’s playing?” asked June, snapping her fingers.
“It’s a group from the base called The Blue Aces.” I admired the way June’s new ankle-strap shoes set off her shapely calves. I wanted a pair, but Mother wouldn’t hear of it. She thought they looked cheap.
As soon as we set foot inside the door, we were nabbed for a tag dance. The cavernous hangar with its bare walls and concrete floor was crowded with hundreds of blue tunics, their brass buttons glittering in the light from the bare bulbs dangling overhead. The scent of men’s hair pomade, so popular among the British flyers, thickened the air. I changed partners nine times before the number was over.
Panting, June and I sank into two metal chairs at the end of a long table. A young man named Chopper who had attached himself to June went off to buy drinks. While he was gone the band struck up again, a fast number. Couples surged onto the floor. Six or seven airmen headed toward our table.
“Dance?” A smallish flyer reached me before the others. The top two buttons of his tunic were undone and he was flushed, unsteady on his feet. I guessed he had already been drinking. In my high-heeled pumps I was several inches taller, my shoulders just as broad.
The airman led me into the crowd. Grabbing me roughly, he swung me so hard that my skirt belled out and my feet left the floor. He pushed me away with one hand, then yanked me back again and twirled me around. He was surprisingly strong. My blouse began to work out of my waistband.
“Come on, put some life into it, girlie!” Placing his hands on my waist, he lifted me into the air with a visible effort and dropped me heavily. The sweat poured off his forehead and a few drops flicked me in the face. His feet kicked wildly out from side to side, and he wasn’t following the music at all.
Spinning me around backwards, he put his shoulder blades against mine and hooked his elbows through my bent arms. “Wait a minute!” I cried, but it was too late. He threw himself forward and lifted me into the air. I knew I was expected to roll upside-down over his back and land on my feet, but mid-point during the roll he hesitated.
I had a split second of excruciating embarrassment as I realized that my legs were pointed straight up into the air and my skirt was around my waist, exposing the tops of my stockings, my garters, my bare thighs, and even my white cotton underpants. Then I felt the airman buckle underneath me. He went down with a crash and I landed on his back. I heard him grunt as the air left his body.
Instantly I leaped to my feet, smoothing down my skirt. I bent over the airman. “Are you all right?” He shook his head and groaned. His friends gathered around and helped him limp off the dance floor. I stalked back to my chair, cheeks burning. As I passed the band, the saxophone player winked at me.
June and Chopper were seated at the table, convulsed with laughter. “I say, you’re supposed to entertain them, not render them unfit for service,” Chopper said. I took a sip of my drink and tried to look nonchalant. People were peering over at our table and snickering. The airman had disappeared.
When the band leader announced a break, the musicians set aside their instruments and headed for the bar. “That fellow wants his head punched for treating a girl like that.” I raised my eyes and saw the saxophone player. He was tall and thin, with a narrow face and a droll expression.
I smiled at him. “I hope I didn’t break his back.”
“He bloody well deserves it. Can I buy you a drink?”
“Thanks. A lemonade.”
When he came back with the drinks, June had gone outside to have a nip from Chopper’s hip flask and three airmen had already taken the chairs around me.
“Shoo, flies!” The sax player waved them off with long, elegant fingers and pulled an empty chair close to my side.
“You’re an Aussie,” I said, stating the obvious. He was wearing passionate purple — the dark blue uniform of the Royal Australian Air Force.
“Actually I’m a Tazzie, from Tasmania. That’s an island south of the Australian mainland, in case you didn’t know.”
“Yes, I did know.”
“You must be one of the few. I’ve had to explain hundreds of times.”
“I must confess I have no idea what it looks like, though.”
“It’s marvellous.” His comical face became animated. “Forests in the interior, with waterfalls and flowers as big as your head. Beaches along the coast, with white sand like powdered sugar.”
“You sound like a tourist guide.”
“That’s because I am one. I worked for the tourist board in Launceston, that’s the capital, before I joined up.”
“My name’s Rose Jolliffe.”
“Max Cassidy.” We shook hands. Max had a firm grip and he didn’t try to hold my hand too long as some of the others did.
“If it’s so beautiful there, you must miss it.”
“It’s not so bad for me. I’ve been away from home for six months now. But most of the Brylcreem boys, this is their first time out of merry old England.”
“And they have their families to worry about.”
“Too right. Some of the boys — when they see all the food in the mess, they just break down. People aren’t eating very well over there right now. There’s one bloke who cries himself to sleep every night in his bunk.”
“What do the others think of that?”
“Usually someone tells him to put a sock in it. We’d all end up blubbering if he went on!” Max laughed.
The band members began to resume their places on the stage. Max drained his beer. “Do you ever