I should be writing to my parents and sisters right now. I promised them I would as soon as I arrived, but instead I’m writing to you, though of course I have no address. I have arrived in London for eight days of Red Cross training, and I’ve been wondering about what you would think if you knew I was here. You would no doubt think I was crazy for volunteering to go to the war. You would be worried about my safety and try to convince me to go home. But when you went missing, it turned my world upside down. What is my life without our future plans?
While I’ve had my moments of doubt, coming here is better than doing nothing. My life stalled after you left. At least now I feel like I’m in forward motion after months of just waiting. Waiting for news about you. Waiting for life to happen to me. Too much waiting.
I realize now how na?ve I was to think that of all the men going to war, you were going to be one of the ones that would be okay. When I wake up in the morning, it sometimes takes me a few seconds to remember that you’re missing . . . and my heart hurts all over again.
If you are anywhere, I’m much closer to you now geographically—but are you anywhere? I’m not on the Continent yet, but I’ll get there.
Viv, Dottie, and I are currently rooming together in a spartan, college-dormitory-style room in a building the Red Cross has taken over. After our journey, and a close encounter with a buzz bomb, we had to wait in line for hours to register. When they finally assigned us rooms, I was so dead tired I don’t even remember falling asleep. Dottie is still sleeping soundly next to me, curled up small like a cat. We decided to let Princess Viv have the other bed to herself because, believe it or not, she snores like a fat old grandpa, and she would have finagled it somehow anyway. Her snoring just woke me up, even though I’m still exhausted from the journey. It’s about five p.m. London time, and I . . .
I jumped at the sound of a loud rapping on the door, and someone said hello in a sing-song voice from the other side.
“Hey, Boston! You gals awake in there?” I cracked open the door to see Blanche on the other side, blonde curls pinned and shiny, candy-apple-red lipstick perfectly applied. She looked fresh as a daisy compared to my groggy state.
“I’m barely awake; Viv and Dottie are still out cold,” I whispered.
“Well, get them up, sweetheart,” Blanche said with a smile. “We’ve got to see London while we can. Martha and Frankie are getting ready now. Meet us downstairs in an hour.”
I rubbed my eyes. The thought of going anywhere besides back to bed wasn’t appealing, but I had already learned that Blanche was not one to take no for an answer. “Where are we going?”
“Rainbow Corner,” said Blanche.
“Rainbow what?” I asked, stifling a yawn.
“It’s the Red Cross club in the West End, near Piccadilly. It is the place to go. Get the girls up.” She looked me up and down, and added, “And you should definitely shower.” As she was walking away, she said over her shoulder, “Also, we’ve got to wear our uniforms, or Chambers will flip her wig. But we can wear high heels.”
At dusk, the six of us hit the streets of London in our summer uniforms and heels. I was still tired but felt much better after a lukewarm shower and a change into fresh clothes.
“Blanche, you’re sure we have to wear our uniforms when we go out for a night on the town?” Viv asked. “I brought a great new dress for nights like this.”
“That’s what the rest of the girls on our floor were saying,” Blanche said. “We are going to a Red Cross Club after all. And do you really want to get on Miss Chambers’s bad side on the first day?”
Viv sighed. “I guess not.”
“Just so I understand, those buzz bombs could happen anytime, day or night?” Dottie asked no one in particular. “It could happen right this minute? I mean, a buzz bomb could land right in front of us?” She was scanning the sky with trepidation.
“We’d hear it coming and find somewhere to take cover,” Frankie said in a matter-of-fact tone. “No use fretting constantly about it. God, I wish I could be up there, helping to shoot some of them down.”
“Wish you could be up there? What are you talking about?” I asked her. Blanche and Martha had become friendly with Frankie on the Queen Elizabeth. I didn’t know her very well yet, only that she took being a Clubmobile girl very seriously and was definitely a bit of an eager beaver for that reason. It got on my nerves.
“Didn’t you know?” Blanche said, snapping her gum. “Frankie here learned to fly planes. She was gunning to be a pilot.”
“That was the original plan—even got my pilot’s license. I had applied to be one of those WASPs, the Women Airforce Service Pilots. But I was too damn short, so they rejected my application,” Frankie said, bitterness in her voice. “They don’t take anyone that’s only five feet tall.” She paused for a second before adding, “Of course, if I’d been accepted, it’s not like they would have let me see any combat action. I’d be at a base in Texas or something. I’d rather be here.”
London’s West End was an enormous sea of humanity. We turned down the crowded street outside the club and made our way to the line at the front door.
“My neighbor, Tim, told me about this place in his letters,” Martha said to me, excitement in her eyes as we followed the rest of the girls. She looked like she had just walked off the farm into her uniform. Her thick, chestnut-brown hair was pinned under her cap simply, her round cheeks flushed. She was wearing no makeup but for a swipe of natural pink lipstick. “Rainbow Corner is one of the biggest clubs in Europe. It’s got hotel-style rooms upstairs, a dance hall, game rooms with pinball machines, a barber shop, a soda fountain, and American-style restaurants. It’s one of his favorite places over here.”
“Wow,” I said, looking up at the five-story brick building. Across the entire facade, above the entrance and below three arched banks of windows on the second floor, were the words “American Red Cross Rainbow Corner” in huge red block letters on a white tile background.
Blanche was right—the Piccadilly Circus part of London was hopping. It looked like half the young people in Great Britain were out on this cool summer night. British girls wearing too much rouge chatted with American GIs. Canadian, Australian, and New Zealand accents could be heard as we walked the streets. French, Dutch, and Czech soldiers strolled together, talking and laughing in their respective languages. It was a melting pot of military and nonmilitary personnel, but with so many Americans in the area, it almost felt more like New York City than London.
“Girls! Red Cross girls! Come on up!” The man checking IDs at the door waved us over.
We stepped out of line and walked over to him. A few of the GIs waiting to get in whistled and nodded. Someone said, “Yeah, American girls!” when we walked up.
We all handed the man our IDs. I looked around, and for a minute I thought we were in trouble.
“You ladies must be brand-new,” the squat, older man in the rumpled Red Cross uniform said.
“We arrived early this morning,” I answered.
“Welcome to the European theater of operations, Fiona, otherwise known as the ETO,” he replied, looking at my ID with a smile. “Now you know, Red Cross girls can skip the line, even on crazy Friday nights like this.”
“I didn’t know that, but now we do, thank you,” I said.
“Time to relax and finally have that drink, ladies. Let’s go,” Blanche said, pushing us all inside with playful shoves.
More catcalls and wolf whistles met us as we walked through the doors. I looked over at Dottie, and she was already blushing. Viv just smiled and held her head high, winking at a couple of the guys as she passed by just to drive them crazy.
I caught Frankie rolling her eyes behind Viv’s back, clearly annoyed. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen her react that way. I could tell she thought Viv and Blanche were a little too flighty and flirtatious, like they didn’t take our role here seriously enough.
In the reception area, a dark-haired woman was sitting behind a desk with a stack of paper and some pens. There was a young GI sitting with her, drinking a bottle of Coke. His mouth dropped open when we all walked up.
“Come in, come in; welcome to Rainbow Corner,” the woman said. “I’m Adele, one of the regular volunteers here. So lovely to see more American girls arriving.” I guessed she was in her midthirties, with warm brown eyes and a kindhearted demeanor.
We all introduced ourselves, and Adele gave us a brief, well-rehearsed talk about the different areas of the club and the services available.
“We can get you tickets to a West End show, and we also offer tours of London,” Adele said, and I could tell she was winding down her speech. “Do you have any questions?”
We all murmured our thanks and said no.
“I have to help this young man finish his letter to his mother now, but please don’t hesitate to ask me anything at all. Welcome, and thank you for your service.” And then, as we started walking away, she added, “Oh, and you’re in luck. Since it’s Friday, there’s a fantastic band in the dance hall called the Hepcats—you can’t miss them. I plan on heading in later for a dance or two,” she said with a laugh.
“I want to explore this place,” Frankie said. “Anyone want to come with?”