‘Of course,’ she said. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘We got orders to go to Hendon in north London.’ He pointed to two other USAAF guys on the steps. ‘We got stuck in traffic,’ he shouted above a sudden burst of hoots and cheers. ‘The roads around Buckingham Palace and the Mall are at a standstill, so we abandoned the jeep and came here to have some fun. We were heading for Rainbow Corner, but got key-holed by some wireless guys. You know the thing. “How do British girls compare to the gals back home?”’
‘Who did you say they were?’
‘BBC wireless guys. Come and say hi.’
Before she had time to answer Murphy’s two pals were at her side. ‘What are you doing?’ she said as they knelt down beside her. ‘Put me down!’ she screamed. The two guys slowly stood up, arms outstretched around each other’s shoulders, with Margot sitting in the middle, as if she was on a swing. With nothing to hold onto to keep her balance she began to scream.
‘They won’t drop you, Margot,’ Murphy shouted, as the two airmen marched through the crowds shouting, ‘Make way for Margot Dudley.’ At the top of the steps, outside the main doors of the National Gallery, they put her down to calls from the crowd for her to sing.
‘Will you sing for us, Miss Dudley?’ Margot recognised the BBC announcer from his photograph in the Radio Times. He was the “Dig for Victory” man, Cecil Henry Middleton.
‘I’d love to when I stop shaking.’ Middleton handed her his microphone and she asked if there were any musicians in the crowd that would play for her.
A couple of men put up their hands and were helped up the steps by cheering onlookers. An elderly chap dressed in a navy blue doorman’s uniform appeared suddenly with what looked to Margot like a dustbin lid. Taking two spoons from his pocket, he winked at her before rapping them – first on his arm and then the tin lid. Margot laughed, and winked back. In no time, mouth organs and harmonicas were being played, spoons were beating out the rhythm and Margot was singing “Red White and Blue”. The revellers nearest joined in and by the second verse, everyone was singing. She sang “Oh! Johnny, Oh! Johnny, Oh!” to one of the young Americans who had carried her up the Gallery’s steps. Then, instead of singing the last line of the song, Margot turned to the crowd and waved the microphone, encouraging them to sing, “Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny! Oh!” Looking into the throng, Margot spotted George and Betsy. ‘They are my friends,’ she called to the GIs. ‘Can you help them to get up here?’
‘George? Betsy? Over here,’ she shouted through the microphone. Her friends waved and, chaperoned by the two Americans, pushed their way through the crowds and up the steps.
‘Want a couple of sisters to sing with?’ George asked when she and Betsy reached her.
‘You bet!’ Margot said. And after huddling together for a couple of seconds to decide which numbers to sing, the reformed Albert Sisters lined up as they had done when they toured with ENSA and sang “Don’t Sit Under The Apple Tree” followed by “Rule Britannia”.
As if on cue, Big Ben began to chime and everyone in Trafalgar Square cheered.
‘Bets and I are off, Margot,’ George shouted, articulating the words.
Margot looked at her watch. Motioning for her friends to wait for her, she shouted, ‘I’ll come with you.’ She waved and mouthed ‘Thank you!’ to Cecil Middleton, the BBC technicians and the musicians, and then kissed Murphy’s pals goodbye.
Murphy smiled and Margot found herself looking into his eyes. She stretched up to kiss him on the cheek, but he turned his head and she kissed him full on the lips. Shocked, she leaned back but he leaned forward and held her tightly. Margot’s heart was thumping in her chest and she felt excitement stirring in the pit of her stomach. She pulled away. ‘I’m sorry, I must go.’
‘Do you have to leave? We’re going to Rainbow Corner for an hour. Won’t you come and jitterbug with me?’ he shouted above the cheering and singing.
For a split second Margot wanted to say yes. She wanted to dance and have fun. But she didn’t trust herself to leave after an hour. She shook her head. What the hell was she thinking? Today of all days she should be at home when Bill came in from work. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m at The Talk of London later. I have to get ready.’
He put his hand on his heart, pretending to be hurt. ‘Just one more number then?’ he said, taking in George and Betsy, who both nodded. They stood shoulder to shoulder on top of the steps and, holding their hands high in the air, made Winston Churchill’s trademark V for Victory sign. Cecil Middleton handed them the microphone and they sang “There’ll Always Be an England”. When the song ended the crowd went mad. For fear they would be mobbed, a couple of BBC wireless technicians huddled the three women – waving and blowing kisses – into the National Gallery where the doorman, Margot’s spoon playing drummer, showed them out of a side door. Ending up in Charing Cross Road, Margot accompanied George and Betsy to the Prince Albert Theatre.
‘Do you miss being in the show, Margot?’ Betsy asked.
‘Yes. I miss you and George too.’
‘Well, don’t worry, darling,’ George said, ‘I’m only keeping your dressing room warm until you’re ready to come back.’
‘From what I hear, you’re doing a fantastic job.’
George laughed. ‘I wish! See you later at The Talk.’
‘Have a good show,’ Margot said, kissing George and then Betsy.
She watched her friends enter the theatre and, as the streets were still swarming with people and there would be no chance
