Elsie Sees It Through

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

LONDON, WEDNESDAY 28 JULY 1943

It is all hustle and bustle in the canteen. Lights burn in the ceiling, but visibility is not good; cigarette smoke and steam hissing and floating upwards from the counter mingle in the tepid air. All the many tables are occupied, some with four or even five people huddled around. A colourful mix of uniforms is visible all round the big room; khaki, RAF, and navy blue. There are about 10 civilians in mainly drab clothing. Buckets filled with sand or water are placed on either side of the main door. As she enters and moves tentatively in the direction of the counter, carefully avoiding colliding with people standing talking or coming towards her, Elsie feels somewhat overdressed. She wears a smart pale-blue jacket and skirt and a cream-coloured blouse. The scarf at her neck is purple, arranged as a bow. Her flat shoes are black and very shiny. There is a little knot of people at the counter, a ragged sort of queue. A buxom woman in a grey coat with the words WVS embroidered on the breast pocket is serving from a large tea urn. As the soldier in front of her moves forward to add sugar to his tea, the woman faces Elsie with a half grin, half grimace and she says: “Yes, my love?”

Elsie asks for a cup of tea, pays for it and picks it up from the counter. She turns quite swiftly with her cup and saucer but fails to notice that the soldier in front of her has turned too and is walking forward. She can’t avoid colliding heavily with him knocking his tea out of his hand to crash noisily to the floor, smashing crockery and spilling the liquid out into a pool.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she says, wide eyed, staring at the soldier.

“That’s all right,” he tells her and smiles broadly. “Accidents will happen.”

As people back away from the mess, the buxom woman calls out to everybody to stand back; she will deal with it. Elsie blushes bright red. The woman soon appears with two large buckets, one for the broken crockery and the other with a big cloth. She gets down on her hands and knees and proceeds to clear up, tut-tutting as she works. Her grimace has now formed fully on her face and Elsie is embarrassed again. “My apologies,” she breathes, addressing the woman this time. “So careless of me.”

“Don’t fret,” the woman intones, and the grimace once again melts into a grin. “Happens all the time here, lovey, and I can deal with it. It’s being so cheerful that keeps me going.”

Elsie shifts her gaze to the soldier who has taken off his cap to reveal a thick crop of reddish-brown hair. He looks very boyish and young, she thinks. He has a nice, friendly face, too, she is thinking.

“Look, I spilled your tea; you must let me buy you another,” she suggests.

“No, no, don’t worry, I’ll get it.”

“Oh no, my responsibility,” Elsie insists, speaking in her most stern voice which surprises her and causes her to blush again. “I’ll buy your tea.”

“All right,” he concedes, smiling. “If you insist.”

Elsie very carefully puts her own cup on the counter and asks for another cup from a slim young girl, dressed like the buxom woman, who has suddenly appeared as her colleague mops up. As the little queue of people has dispersed owing to the spillage, only Elsie and the young man are left standing at the counter. He is looking at her intently and she feels his eyes burning into her face although she is not looking at him. She feels she is going to blush yet again so fixes her eyes intently on the girl serving her.

“It’s extremely kind of you,” the young man is saying, “but as you are buying my tea you must let me buy you something to eat.”

“Oh, no, no need, really,” she replies, unable to stop the flush on her cheeks this time.

“Oh yes, I must insist.”

She looks round nervously to face him and smiles at the same moment that he smiles at her. “Oh, all right, then.”

“One of those spam sandwiches?”

“Oh no,” she responds, realising too late that she spoke too quickly and harshly. No harm done though.

“No,” he agrees, “they are looking a bit grey. They don’t look very well, do they?”

“Not very,” she replies with a grin.

“Rock cake? How about a rock cake? They look nice and fresh and crusty.”

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

He suggests politely that he carry the teas and she the rock cakes. He points to a table over by a window where a young couple are just leaving. He says that they can bag that table if she is quick. He will take it slowly with the tea – we don’t want another floor drenching, do we? She hesitates just for a moment, thinking that he shouldn’t be assuming that they will be together but does, in fact, walk quickly over to secure the table, only a second or two ahead of two military policemen who are obviously heading for it. He joins her and places the drinks safely on the table and sits facing her.

Gradually, the canteen becomes quieter as more and more people drift off back to their places of employment or other duties. Elsie takes a drink from her teacup and sighs. The young man looks a little nervous and then clears his throat, ready to speak. As he looks at her face directly, he likes what he sees. She looks quite nice, he decides, not pretty in an obvious way but a pleasant, cheerful face. She is smart, too, well dressed and with good taste.

“I should introduce myself,” he tells her. “My name is Brian, Brian Crawford.”

“Hello,” she replies, grinning. “I’m Elsie.”

“Well now,” he recites sententiously, “a crash, flying tea and splintered crockery brought us together but that is no reason to spoil or interfere with a beautiful friendship.”

She laughs briefly and then looks down at the table. There is a short silence and then she feels it is incumbent on her to say something. He bites into his rock cake, pulls a face, and says: “Wow, these buggers are harder and probably older than they look. Excuse my French.” She laughs fleetingly and asks him if he is on leave from the army. He tells her it is just coming to the end of his leave, and he is returning to his unit that evening. He does not need to get back to camp until late that night so at this moment he is having a walk around London. Seeing the sights.

“Me too,” she bursts out spontaneously.

“You too?”

“I have an afternoon off so I’m walking round town.”

“Ah. Then perhaps we should walk around together, in that case?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she murmurs nervously. She is looking at him intently now. She finds his appearance incongruous, really, as the thick shock of hair on top of his head seems to be out of alignment with the rest of his head. And his body. Then again, she considers, still studying him surreptitiously when he is not looking directly at her, he is not too bad looking and she is impressed by those big blue eyes. As to going walking with him, she is none too sure about that. They have only just met and through what many people would consider an unfortunate incident. She becomes aware though, as a voice intrudes into her reflections, that he is asking why not go together. They both have free afternoons, and they are both set on doing some more walking around town. What about it?

She shakes her head slowly and murmurs that she hardly knows him or anything about him. So, what would she like to know? he enquires politely. She eats a piece of cake, gazing at him and looking thoughtful.

“How long have you been in the army?”

“I was called up soon after the outbreak of the war.”

“Will you be going overseas very soon?”

He hesitates and looks vexed momentarily. Then he tells her that he will not be going overseas or fighting in the war. He had volunteered for active duty in the infantry, just like his dad had in the First World War but they told him he would be more use to the war effort in the Pay Corps, due to his civilian training as an accountant. He shrugs his shoulders and looks a little sheepish. Elsie is impressed. He is, she thinks very honest. He needn’t have told me that, she thinks, me, a stranger. She smiles.

“Me too,” she whispers.

“You?”

“Yes,” she confirms. “I volunteered to work in a munitions factory and do my bit for the war effort. Then they told me I would be more useful where I was as my work involved important documents and contracts for the armed forces. So here I am, in a law office, slaving over a hot typewriter.”

He laughs and she smiles in response. “There you are,” she hears him say, “we do have something in common and should be friends.” She is now looking thoughtful but does not reply. He is looking at her and thinking that it was probably her slim form and delicate features that convinced the authorities that she would be more use in an office than working with heavy metal parts and complex machinery. Lots of women do, he knows, but maybe they are of stronger build and tougher than her, physically at least. He does not share any of these thoughts with Elsie though but eats his last chunk of cake and then finishes his tea. Elsie is still sipping hers, peering at him over the rim of her cup when she thinks he does not notice. As she finishes drinking, he clears their cups to the side of the table and takes out his packet of Gold Flake. He offers her a cigarette from the packet.

“I don’t very often,” she replies. “Perhaps today though, I will.”

She takes a cigarette, and he lights both hers and his and places the ashtray next to her empty plate.

“So where shall we go first, then?” he asks, puffing smoke high into the ceiling.

“You’re assuming I want to go with you,” she says, frowning with mock severity.

“Ah no,” he exclaims immediately. “You prefer to be alone. I do understand.”

“Not necessarily,” she responds, grinning provocatively.

He realises she is teasing him and probably enjoying herself now. A burst of sunshine outside indicates that the day is becoming brighter. There are not so many people in the canteen now but those who remain are chattering noisily and cigarette smoke swirls in the air. He inhales smoke again as the sound of a radio and Vera Lynn singing can be heard filtering out from the kitchen to join the other sounds in the big room. The woman that cleared up the spilt tea approaches and begins collecting the empty crockery, putting it on her tray. She asks if she can get them anything else, but both shake their heads slowly, negatively. As she walks away Brian inclines his head towards her retreating form and suggests that she is probably feeling miffed because they are still there and not ordering anything else.

“There’s no rush for tables now,” Elsie says defiantly.

“No there isn’t. So, we will just finish our cigarettes in peace and tranquillity.”

“Tranquillity? Big word.”

They both laugh. Then Elsie reverts to silence, listening to the music from the radio. Soon she says that perhaps they had better think about moving before the next big rush commences.

Nothing unusual in a young man and a young woman walking along the streets of central London, talking away merrily and occasionally laughing. They seem as if they have known each other for a long time and nobody, surely, would guess that they only met an hour ago? The conversation may be lightweight, a discussion about where they each live and who they live with. That sort of thing. A few broad observations on the current weather they are experiencing and speculation about how and when it might dramatically change. They seem to take everything in their stride on their walk, noting but not commenting on the many sandbags that are now seen outside buildings.

It is only when they reach Piccadilly Circus that Elsie lets out a little exclamation of surprise.

“Oh, what happened to the statue of Eros, then?” Elsie wonders.

Brian is smiling broadly. “Covered him up to save him from enemy bombs.”

The statue is completely covered in panels and advertisement posters have been plastered round the visible parts. An American Army Air Force officer is standing right next to the covered Eros, calmly smoking a cigarette. Looking up to the top, Elsie can see no sign of the winged God. She frowns, says he’s gone and looks vexed.

“No, he’s still there,” Brian tells her. “He’ll be let out again, after the war.”

They continue their walk along Piccadilly. They are not talking quite so much now – perhaps they have run out of questions for each other. In Green Park, they find it curious that much of the parkland is deserted, although here and there they notice little groups of people, standing and talking in an animated fashion. As they begin to retrace their steps back to where they were, Elsie looks up to see a large silver barrage balloon hovering in the sky above. This in turn makes her wonder if there will be an air raid that evening.

“Clear, dry weather,” Brian is contemplating. “The conditions the Hun likes for bombing raids.”

In Coventry Street, they find they are quite thirsty again after their long walk. They go into a milk bar, and both consume a hot, sticky, milky drink that Brian speculates may well have strange and exotic ingredients. Continuing their walk, they find themselves in Leicester Square where Elsie had been earlier, passing the Empire and little Ritz cinemas. They stop at Brian’s request to look at the publicity pictures outside the Ritz. “Have you seen it?” Brian wants to know.

“No.”

“Would you like to?”

“Oh, er no, I don’t think so. Ticket prices are so high for this one.”

“Well, we could splash out for once,” he suggests. “I expect you like Clark Gable, like most of the girls.”

“Not really,” she replies. As an afterthought, she adds: “I quite like that nice Leslie Howard, though.”

He smiles and says there you are then. Why not? It would pass the time pleasantly and give their tired feet a welcome break. She reminds him that the film runs for over four hours, so they say, but he tells her he is not due back on camp until midnight. How about her? She has plenty of time, she informs him. So she nods her head in agreement, smiling and he says it will be his treat, but she won’t have that. She will agree to go in only if they go Dutch and each pay their own way. He agrees, reluctantly.

The woman in the ticket kiosk says that the film is running now but has only 10 minutes to go to the end. She nods to a small knot of people waiting just by the door and tells them they are waiting for the next complete performance. They decide to wait with them. It is busy again in the square with people on the move. Elsie and Brian stand behind the little knot of people waiting for the next performance and watch the people all around and the flow of traffic. An army munitions vehicle rumbles slowly by.

It is cosy and comfortable inside the Ritz cinema. They manage to secure seats near the back but in central positions, so they have a good, clear, undistorted view of the big screen. Elsie finds that she is really enjoying the film she has spent two years trying to avoid and convince herself that it is not worth the extra money asked for ticket prices. She is captivated by the handsome Leslie Howard and amused by the frivolous Vivian Leigh with her “fiddle de dee” and impressive Southern States American accent. An English actress too, imagine! She is moved when the camera pans slowly back to reveal the hundreds of wounded soldiers lying on the ground awaiting treatment after the Battle of Atlanta and instinctively, impulsively, reaches out and grabs Brian’s hand.

Brian smiles contentedly and when she pulls her hand away, awkwardly, he waits a few minutes, his eyes on the image of Clark Gable on the screen, in close- up, looking bemused and arrogant simultaneously, then slowly, gently puts his hand over Elsie’s. She does not pull her hand back this time. When they watch the bright, Technicolor burning of Atlanta, there is a hush in the crowded cinema.

In the interval, he buys her an ice cream, and they sit quietly discussing the salient points of the film so far. Then they watch the next two hours silently, in rapture as he takes hold of her hand gently and holds it firmly until the end. Later they will walk down to Lyon’s Corner House where they will buy a drink and a light snack. Again, she will insist on going 50-50. He will walk her to Leicester Square Underground station to catch her tube train home to Holloway. He will ask her if she is on the telephone at home, but she is not. Her mother says they can’t afford it. She will write down her name and address on a piece of paper she tears out from a small pocket notebook in her handbag. He says he will write to her. Before she goes into the station, he will plant a brief, light kiss on her cheek which will surprise and please her. She will walk into the station feeling her cheeks burning and she will not expect to see him ever again.