24th March 1940

Mr F home on three days leave.  Now I see why Mrs F prefers Bill next door but one.  He finished off the butter so we have to do without until our next lot’s due.  And the worst thing is that he insists on having the radio on the entire time.  If one of us dares to turn it off he just glares and turns it back on again.  It’s almost impossible to have a chat while we sit by the fire and do our knitting.  I don’t want to have to listen to all that news either, I’d rather just not know.  Mrs F is suddenly on compulsory overtime at work, she’s hardly been in.

22nd March 1940

My doctor friend missed me.  He was at my window again this morning asking me all sorts of questions about my home and family.  He nearly missed his train.  Nosy parker.

21st March 1940

Well that would have been a relaxing visit home, but Dad roped me into helping out on the station.  He’s waiting for more staff to arrive.  Susan is now looking like a battleship, we wonder if it may be twins or even triplets?  How can she be so big on these rations?  Talking of babies I didn’t see Edith at all to find out how she’s getting on.

Anyway I came back to Joan flashing her ring finger about with a tiny little sparkler on it.  Jim’s gone back so I missed a little do that Mrs F put on for them, which I feel a bit sad about.  Joan is so happy yet sad at the same time because he’s not here and she doesn’t know when they’ll be married.  I hope Jim comes back alright for her.

17th March 1940

Jim is here for a couple of days leave so there’s no talking to Joan just now.  She’s waltzing around like Ginger Rogers, except she doesn’t need the high heels, being built like she is. I’m wondering if there’ll be an engagement.  Mrs F reckons so.  She’s still making up to next door but one Bill, asking his advice about what to grow in the back yard.  I feel a bit left out, except for my ticket window doctor.  I’m going home for a couple of days – got some leave myself.

15th March 1940

My admirer has been at it again.  No-one in the queue behind him today as he seemed to be running a bit late and he stood talking for a good two minutes.  He told me that he’s a doctor and that he’s doing two or three days a week at the big hospital in Bradford to help with the war effort.  He told me that he thinks I’m doing a splendid job for one so young!  What a charmer!

14th March 1940

Bill from next door but one has dug the back yard over.  It has also been arranged that we will share his cellar in case of an air raid.  Wonder if we’ll get any here?  He’s got it all fitted out nicely, I’ve never even been down our cellar I dread to think what it’s like.  Mrs F has been baking to keep him sweet.  Don’t know where she got the extra sugar from but I’m not complaining!

12th March 1940

This man at my ticket window – Mr Hardy has noticed him now.  He says that even if my queue is the longest he still joins it.  He was laughing and jokingly told me to watch myself…I think it’s my man who needs to be told to look out!  I wonder who he is?  Not that I’m interested in him.  He looks quite old. 

9th March 1940

Have just got in from the dance.  Joan danced with me all night despite all the men there because I want to stay away from them.  Although I do seem to have got myself a new admirer, there’s a gentleman started using my ticket window on some days and he always seems so pleased to see me.  Anyway, Mrs F thought Joan and I very funny tonight, dancing together.  She called us a right pair of spinsters.  Joan wants to save herself for Jim.  It’s quite relaxing dancing with another girl – no wandering hands to worry about.

7th March 1940

Molly from parcels informed me that Gordon is definitely being sent away.  He won’t be back at work.  I feel quite relieved that I won’t have to see him again, but sorry for him.  It’s a shame he had to go off like that.  I said as much to Mr Hardy and he said that I musn’t feel guilty.  I don’t think I do.  I didn’t ask him to do anything.  Should I feel guilty?

5th March 1940

Signs of spring at last, letter from Mum telling me about her plans for Belinda over Easter.  I think she’s become my replacement in a way, which is less pressure on me.  Apparently Edith has had her baby already – she must have been a bit more than four months gone at her wedding.  Either it took her ages to realise or he took a lot of persuading.  Shame she probably won’t ask me to be godmother.  That might have got rid of the curse.

2nd March 1940

The three of us have been sat round the kitchen table for most of the night with Edie and this big old book of hers.  Not a printed book like I imagined, but a lot of hand written notes in a tiny scrawly hand.  Now I see why it took her so long to find something in it, there’s no index!  But the conclusion that we reached is not a good one.  It seems that if I really have been cursed then the only thing I can do to shake it off is to have a baby – create a new life.  But as I said to Edie, how can I if they keep ending up in hospital or under cars?  Mrs F suggested that I hang around with a few servicemen but I’m not doing that!  Mum and Dad would disown me!  So that’s that then.  We discussed John for some time and decided that he was an accident waiting to happen anyway.  But I have decided on no more dates for the present.  Perhaps I need to sneak up on someone gradually.  Joan tells me not to be so daft and its all a heap of claptrap anyway.  Just coincidence. 

More Fiction from Sarah Miller Walters

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Left the Building

It wasn’t so long ago that if you worked in a betting shop, you finished early in the winter.  This was before the betting shop owners got too greedy, and the punters got too desperate.  Now it’s a 12 hour day free for all, with all lights flashing and an opportunity to bet on anything that can move.

For those that work behind the counter, the headaches have multiplied in response to this cacophony.  But even in the days of closing half an hour after the last horse race, there were moments of frustration.  Pauline was having one of those moments one day towards the close of the 1980s; in fact, she was having one of those decades.  The television screens showed the horses lining up at the start of the final race for the day.  Just three punters remained in the shop, each with a betting slip in their hand, ready to will on their chosen horse.  One till had been cashed up and Pauline had begun to empty the coin tray of the second.  She had a nice neat stack of ten pence pieces which represented one pound, and was working on another when the door bounced open.  Blown in by the winter gusts was a familiar Welsh rugby shirt, personed by a wild-eyed, red cheeked whirlwind.  Pauline knocked her ten pence stack across the pile of off-slip pads.  She looked over at the manager for support.  He put his red settling pen down, stood up and stretched to his full height.  “Now then, Ivan.  I hope you’re not after a bet on this race.  They’ll be off in a minute.”

“Oh, but I know what I want to back.  Let me see now.”  He began to pull a tangle of paper out of his jeans pocket.  Some pieces were betting slips, covered in his vague scrawl.  Others were ten and twenty pound notes, shoved in with little regard for its value.  “I got it all written out ready.”

Pauline rolled her eyes and put her hands on her substantial hips.  The horses were getting ready for the off.  She took the final off-slip of the day and waved it in front of his face.  “They’re going, Ivan.  It’s only furlongs, not miles.”

“Bessie’s Boy!  Bessie’s Boy!  Here’s a twenty!  Go on, put it me on!”

Pauline glanced at the manager, who was writing the bet out for him.  Soft.  Too young for the job.

“Paying tax, Ivan?”

“Not until I win.”

The bet was written, rung through and the off-slip passed through the camera within seconds.  Ivan took himself off to the front of the small group watching the screen, furtively donning a pair of wonky spectacles.  Pauline sighed heavily as she resumed counting the ten pence coins.

“It’s got to stop, that.  He does it at least twice a week and it’s no good for my nerves.  He shouldn’t be leaving it that late.”

“I know duck, but he spends a lot of money.  He’s good for my figures.  Do you want to go and mash and I’ll watch the counter?”

“Go on then, we’ll have a quick brew before we go.  I’ll go out and sweep up while the kettle boils.”  Pauline set the kettle going and went out into the shop with a battered grey long handled brush and dustpan.  She picked up a few tab ends and scrunched up slips, moving methodically around the punters.  None of them acknowledged her existence.  Suddenly, Ivan took a step back and threw his fist into the air.  “Come on Bessie’s Boy!  Come on Bess!” he yelled out with the lung strength of a stallion.  Pauline just happened to be sweeping around his feet at that moment, and her toes, clad in open sandals, took the brunt of his size 9s.

“Hooligan!”  She bellowed in his ear, dropping the dustpan and brush and hopping around in a small circle.  This small demonstration of agony went ignored by the culprit, who was by now scuppering any chance of anyone being able to hear the race commentary.  When it came to a close, there was no doubting that Ivan’s horse had won.  The other punters drifted away towards the door, one of them dropping his crumpled up losing slip onto the floor.  Pauline limped back to the counter and tipped her dustpan into the bin, before dedicating herself to making tea.  The manager paid Ivan out while she seethed and stirred the sugar in with equal vigour.  When she heard the jangle of keys locking the door, she deigned to come out of the kitchenette and finish cashing up.

28th February 1940

My date, John is dead!!!  It was in yesterday’s paper.  I can’t believe it.  I hardly slept at all last night for thinking about him.  It seems that after he left me he went for more drinks at the Prince of Wales, then got knocked down by a car on his way back to camp.  It’s the blackout, it happens a lot.  But still.

Edie Bagshaw is coming round with her book on Saturday and not before time.

25th February 1940

I went to the pictures with John.  We saw a daft American film, one of those where they keep breaking into song and dance.  Not very realistic.  And its alright for that lot, having a good time while we’re at war.  John behaved himself in the pictures but while walking me home he took advantage of the black out.  He tasted like old beer.  I’ve said I’ll see him again when he gets off the camp next week.  I felt like I should say that after letting him take advantage, it would seem a bit loose to only let him do it once.  Mrs F is at Edie Bagshaw’s as I write.  I wonder if she’s found anything out?

24th February 1940

Actually got out to a dance last night.  There was quite a big group of airmen in and I spent quite a lot of the evening dancing with one called John.  He’s from Birmingham and he has a very funny accent.  He just made me giggle all the time.  I think he’d had quite a lot to drink but I suppose its scary being in planes.  I have agreed to go to the pictures with him tomorrow.

17th February 1940

At last some sign of spring.  The snow has been so tedious its been all knit, radio and discussions and Mrs F’s chances with neighbour Bill.  She says her hair needs doing again and will remind Edie to look through her grandmother’s books.