Jack & Jill

Lesley Eames

Doreen Heaney. Now she was a one. A bit of all right, was Doreen.

Not Ma's sort of all right, of course. Ma's idea of a decent woman is someone who sweeps all the fluff from under a bed. Me, I don't mind what's under the bed as long as I'm warm enough inside it, wink, wink.

"Marry me," I said, that last time.

She'd started that tweakin' and pattin' thing women do to their hair after a bit of a tumble. "Get on with you, Tommy Waters. You're not the marrying kind. And don't tell me you'll change, because you won't."

We talked about it some more. She didn't say, "No," then. She didn't say, "Yes." She said, "If..."

"Come on, Jonesey," I'd begged. "A tanner."

"Half a crown."

"Half a - daylight robbery! A shillin'."

We settled on one and six, and five Woodbines. "You get caught, and I know nothin'," he shouted.

I stuffed the suit under my dressing-gown and strolled down the garden. A quick recce to check no one was watching, and I scrambled into shrubbery.

Five minutes later I was changed and out through the hospital gates, whistlin' Tipperary as I sauntered into town. It was the first time I'd seen it, not havin' been in a state to notice much on arrival. The town looked all right to me, and I looked all right to the town.

It was the suit, see? Blue hospital togs, get-up of convalescent heroes. I didn't have my own yet. "Only light exercise for you, Private," the horse-faced Matron'd

Top

said, but after four weeks in hospital I was chomping at the bit.

It was great to have smiles turned on me as I passed. This was the life! Then I spotted the Dog and Duck. First pint free for heroes here, I'd heard.

The bar was decked with Union Jacks. I'd seen others in windows comin' through the town. One window had a photograph of a lad in khaki too - a sort of whatchumacallit? Shrine.

His folks probably think a bullet got him, all clean and graceful. Truth is, he likely died with his guts spillin' like sausages over No Man's Land. You can't tell folk things like that, though. Isn't nice.

More smiles from the landlord. "On me, lad," he said, as I made a business of fishing for coins.

Space appeared at a table. Folk gathered round for my story. "Ypres in '15," I said. "Moved to France for the end of the Somme, then went down at Arras. Shrapnel in my back. Shrapnel here."

They looked at the scar that zigzagged my eyebrow.

"Frustrating to be out of it now, though?" an old boy said.

Frustrating? I could've kissed that doctor in Casualty Clearing who ordered me out of hell and back to Blighty.

They were open-fisted in this town. Three free pints later, Nature called. That's when I noticed the women's table - and her. Little Miss Bold Eyes, drawing on a cig.

Her eyes met mine and... well, well, well

I nodded. "No wonder they've 'ad to cut down on pub hours with you lot too busy drinkin' to make shells for us poor sods at the front."

Yellow faces meant munitions workers, see? It was the TNT.

One of 'em giggled. She was paler. New to the work, then. New to the money, the pubs, the ciggies too. She'd soon get used to 'em. Bold Eyes just smiled.

I went back to my own table but, when the women got up, I got up too. Outside Bold Eyes was crossin' the road - slowly.

If that weren't a come-on, I was Kaiser Bill. I fell into step. "I was wonderin' if you could tell me about the town, me being a visitor?"

She gave me a knowing look. I liked her for it. Can't stand the way some girls simper.

Her name was Doreen. "They get up entertainment in the Town Hall," she told me. "Songs and sketches. There's a do there on Saturday." Her chin tilted a challenge.

Jonesey'd rob me blind for a loan of his suit on Saturday. Still, it'd be worth it - for Doreen.

"Saturday it is. But come an' see me first. B Ward. Tell 'em you're my sister."

She smiled saucily. "Maybe I will - and maybe I won't."

She did.

"Your... sister," the horse-faced Matron hissed.

We fell about laughin'. "Have you even got a sister, Tommy?"

"No. Just an old Mum. You?"

"An old Dad." Her lip curled. "Couldn't take his drink so I left. Got myself a room."

"A room?"

"In a respectable boarding house. No gentleman callers."

"That's a bugger," I grinned.

Top

Dor grinned back. My sort of girl. We saw a lot of each other after that. Not

before time, we took a bus into the countryside, Dor with bread, cheese and a blanket, me with best quality rubber.

We got down to business in a field. Knew her own mind, did Dor. There'd been others before me, see, just as there'd be others after me, most likely. That's when I said it. "Marry me."

"Get on with you. You're not the marrying sort. And don't tell me you'll change because you won't."

"I won't 'ave to. The war's changed everythin' for me. You, for instance. Would you be lying here wi' me if it weren't for the war?"

She shrugged.

"'Course not. You'd have been stuck with your Dad - a shopgirl or some rich cow's skivvy, dreamin' of a nice lad to live 'appy ever after with. Some people'll go back to that life, but not you, Dor. You've tasted freedom. Money. You've seen girls blown to bits in that factory, and that means you've come to live like I do. For now. I may be a Jack the lad, Dor, but the war's changed you into a Jill the lass and that's why I reckon we'd suit. Home comforts when we want 'em. No questions asked when we don't."

Whoosh! A shell spatters behind us and rocks the trench.

The Lieutenant swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbin' like a cork on choppy waters. "Remember your duty to King and Country, Men," he says, though he's in such a blue funk he can hardly get the words out.

Looks like he's going to puke or crap his pants, poor sod. Just a kid really. Only about twenty. That's the same age as me, I know, but I've been over the top before so

that makes me as old as Methusewotsit.

This kid hasn't learnt the knack yet. Of gettin' 'imself memories. Of thinkin' of summat else. All this while since the first wave went over he's been listenin' to screams and moans, with his guts turnin' to water.

Me, I know better. A trip down Memory Lane for me. Doreen. Fittin' really, seeing as I'm back at Ypres and we're headed for some ridge or other, and some village called Passchendale.

Passion- Dale, get it?

"If you come back I'll marry you," Dor said. "Maybe."

Well, I'm not holdin' my breath and I don't suppose she is either. But never mind, eh?

A bit of all right, was Doreen.

Top