them?’
Smirking, Mavis continued to give them the eye.
‘Control yerself,’ said Polly, grabbing Mavis by the sleeve and pulling her onto the bus.
‘Goin’ to take us out then, girls?’ one of the men shouted as they got on behind them.
Mavis looked over her shoulder and giggled.
Polly grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her inside the bus rather than going upstairs where they usually sat.
‘Polly!’ Mavis protested. ‘I wanted a fag. And I ain’t got a light and they …’
But Polly was adamant.
‘Don’t be so bloody common!’ She plumped herself down on a side seat and averted her eyes from the lecherous crew of ex-soldiers who had to go upstairs with their half-finished Woodbines.
‘I ain’t common. It’s just that I don’t want to be left on the shelf.’
‘And them upstairs suit you, do they? Well you’re easily pleased. Now me, I want something better I do, somebody that talks nice and got clean fingernails.’
‘You’ve ’ad it! Gavin ain’t come back.’
Polly pouted her full red lips. Mavis was exasperating because she was telling the truth. ‘Then I’ll find someone else.’
‘They’ll all be gone ’ome before long. Then what?’
‘Then I’ll hitch up with a decent sort in this country, one that can give me a bit of class in the world.’ Before Mavis had a chance to interject that she wasn’t likely to find one with Carol in tow, she said, ‘Now let me tell you about these posh people from Clifton that I met down at Temple Meads. A doctor ’e was. Even gave me a private appointment so he could examine my ankle.’
Mavis giggled. ‘Just your ankle?’
Polly threw her a superior expression and batted her eyelids. ‘My ankle got hurt, and ’e reckoned it was his fault for pushin’ the door of the railway carriage open too quick.’ She went on to explain about Dr Hennessey-White, his wife, the children, and the poor soul named Edna meeting her disabled sweetheart from the train.
‘I don’t think
I
could marry ’im,’ said Mavis, sheer horror written all over her face.
Polly shrugged. ‘Depends on the injuries I suppose.’ She smirked suggestively. ‘Can still ’ave children, can’t they? Ain’t as though anythin’ too vital got shot off!’
The Cat and Wheel, conveniently situated next door to the Bear and Rugged Staff near the spot where Bristol Castle used to be, dated from a time when no one grew much above five feet two judging by the ceiling height. Already crowded with off-duty servicemen and girls like Mavis and Polly, all out to celebrate peace in Europe and in the Far East, too. What walls could be seen were the colour of milk chocolate and the ceiling was stained dark ochre by years of cigarette smoke. Dark eyes scrutinised them as they entered. Polly paused then stepped forward.
‘GIs!’ Polly exclaimed.
Mavis nudged Polly. ‘They’re all Negroes.’
‘They’re all that’s left. Must be their turn tonight. Still GIs ain’t they?’
Anyone, thought Polly, as long as they were from the other side of the Atlantic. The colour of their skin was of no consequence.
‘Hi, gorgeous,’ said one.
The two girls nudged and smiled at each other.
‘You or me?’ said Polly
‘Me of course,’ said Mavis and dug her friend in the chest.
It was a nice feeling being surrounded by a horde of uniforms again.
‘Can I get you a drink, honey?’
The black GI who had asked the question was broad shouldered and bull necked. He had little hair and deep eyebrows and narrow lips set in a sombre straight line. Surprisingly, it was Mavis he seemed to be interested in. The attraction of opposites, thought Polly, who accepted half a shandy from him. Mavis, being Mavis, angled for a gin and orange.
‘So why ain’t you gone home?’ asked Polly.
‘Cleaning up to do in Europe,’ he replied. ‘Most of us belong to the Field Hygiene Unit.’ He saw Polly’s puzzled expression and explained. ‘Dead bodies. We go along and clear up after the
Smirking, Mavis continued to give them the eye.
‘Control yerself,’ said Polly, grabbing Mavis by the sleeve and pulling her onto the bus.
‘Goin’ to take us out then, girls?’ one of the men shouted as they got on behind them.
Mavis looked over her shoulder and giggled.
Polly grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her inside the bus rather than going upstairs where they usually sat.
‘Polly!’ Mavis protested. ‘I wanted a fag. And I ain’t got a light and they …’
But Polly was adamant.
‘Don’t be so bloody common!’ She plumped herself down on a side seat and averted her eyes from the lecherous crew of ex-soldiers who had to go upstairs with their half-finished Woodbines.
‘I ain’t common. It’s just that I don’t want to be left on the shelf.’
‘And them upstairs suit you, do they? Well you’re easily pleased. Now me, I want something better I do, somebody that talks nice and got clean fingernails.’
‘You’ve ’ad it! Gavin ain’t come back.’
Polly pouted her full red lips. Mavis was exasperating because she was telling the truth. ‘Then I’ll find someone else.’
‘They’ll all be gone ’ome before long. Then what?’
‘Then I’ll hitch up with a decent sort in this country, one that can give me a bit of class in the world.’ Before Mavis had a chance to interject that she wasn’t likely to find one with Carol in tow, she said, ‘Now let me tell you about these posh people from Clifton that I met down at Temple Meads. A doctor ’e was. Even gave me a private appointment so he could examine my ankle.’
Mavis giggled. ‘Just your ankle?’
Polly threw her a superior expression and batted her eyelids. ‘My ankle got hurt, and ’e reckoned it was his fault for pushin’ the door of the railway carriage open too quick.’ She went on to explain about Dr Hennessey-White, his wife, the children, and the poor soul named Edna meeting her disabled sweetheart from the train.
‘I don’t think
I
could marry ’im,’ said Mavis, sheer horror written all over her face.
Polly shrugged. ‘Depends on the injuries I suppose.’ She smirked suggestively. ‘Can still ’ave children, can’t they? Ain’t as though anythin’ too vital got shot off!’
The Cat and Wheel, conveniently situated next door to the Bear and Rugged Staff near the spot where Bristol Castle used to be, dated from a time when no one grew much above five feet two judging by the ceiling height. Already crowded with off-duty servicemen and girls like Mavis and Polly, all out to celebrate peace in Europe and in the Far East, too. What walls could be seen were the colour of milk chocolate and the ceiling was stained dark ochre by years of cigarette smoke. Dark eyes scrutinised them as they entered. Polly paused then stepped forward.
‘GIs!’ Polly exclaimed.
Mavis nudged Polly. ‘They’re all Negroes.’
‘They’re all that’s left. Must be their turn tonight. Still GIs ain’t they?’
Anyone, thought Polly, as long as they were from the other side of the Atlantic. The colour of their skin was of no consequence.
‘Hi, gorgeous,’ said one.
The two girls nudged and smiled at each other.
‘You or me?’ said Polly
‘Me of course,’ said Mavis and dug her friend in the chest.
It was a nice feeling being surrounded by a horde of uniforms again.
‘Can I get you a drink, honey?’
The black GI who had asked the question was broad shouldered and bull necked. He had little hair and deep eyebrows and narrow lips set in a sombre straight line. Surprisingly, it was Mavis he seemed to be interested in. The attraction of opposites, thought Polly, who accepted half a shandy from him. Mavis, being Mavis, angled for a gin and orange.
‘So why ain’t you gone home?’ asked Polly.
‘Cleaning up to do in Europe,’ he replied. ‘Most of us belong to the Field Hygiene Unit.’ He saw Polly’s puzzled expression and explained. ‘Dead bodies. We go along and clear up after the
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