‘Oh my God, I’d--!’
‘The women are depending on you.’
Smoke and steam curled around Mr Silcott’s legs. When it had devoured him entirely, Ena closed the window and followed Freda along the corridor.
CHAPTER THREE
Holding the case with both hands, Ena struggled past several soldiers standing in the corridor smoking. ‘How will we know them?’ she whispered, catching Freda up. ‘When we get to you know where?’
‘We won’t. They’ll know us. At least they’ll know me from going down before with Herbert.’ The train juddered and Freda wobbled on her high-heels, falling against the window. ‘Damn trains! I’d much rather go down by car.’ She pushed herself off the window ledge and tutted at a smear of grease on her glove. Recovered, she walked on, leaving Ena trailing behind with the heavy case. ‘This is it,’ Freda called, opening the door to their compartment.
Ena looked through the window, fully expecting to see the compartment full of soldiers. First class carriages and compartments were ignored these days. It was often a free-for-all when troops were on the move, but today the overspill of servicemen only extended to the corridor. ‘I hope Mr Silcott doesn’t forget to telephone for someone to collect us,’ Ena said, struggling through the door with the heavy case. Placing it under the window, she flopped into the nearest seat. Freda sat opposite. Ena was about to ask her friend what Bletchley Park was like when the door opened and two Wrens entered, followed by man wearing a dark overcoat and a black trilby hat.
The Wrens sat on the same side of the carriage as Ena – one next to her, the other by the door. Both took documents from their shoulder bags and began to read. Leaning her legs protectively against her case of work, Ena watched the man drop his attaché case onto the seat next to Freda, and then haul his suitcase onto the overhead rack. As he took off his hat, a strand of blond hair fell onto his forehead. He ran his fingers through it, smoothing it with the flat of his hand into the rest of his brilliantined hair. He took off his coat and turned it inside out before folding it in half and putting it on the rack next to his suitcase.
Taking his seat, the man tugged at his trousers above each knee, lifting his feet to show highly polished black shoes. Her brother Tom did the same when he wore his best suit. He said it stopped his trousers from wearing shiny at the knee. When the man finally settled, he took The Times from his attaché case, shook it open, and began to read.
Good-looking but a bit fussy, Ena thought. With a sideways glance at Freda, Ena bit her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing. Freda rolled her eyes and looked out of the window. Trying not to giggle, Ena did the same.
The trees were bare of leaves and the hedges sparse. Cows and sheep grazed in the fields, and in the distance, women bundled up in thick winter coats were potato picking.
Ena shivered, grateful that she didn’t have to work on the land. Her oldest sister Bess and a team of land girls had turned the Foxden Estate, where Ena’s father had been head groom until the beginning of the war, into arable land. They worked every day from before dawn until after dark. Bess also had evacuees living at the Hall: her old landlady from London and her housemates – the youngest of them had a baby – as well as the children of her Jewish friends. They owned a theatre in London and had given Ena’s second sister Margaret a job as an usherette.
Ena hadn’t seen Margaret for some time. Shortly after marrying Bill she’d moved to London to be with him, and hadn’t been home since. In a recent letter, Margaret said she and Bill would be home for Christmas. Bill’s parents lived in Coventry, so they would probably come up sooner.
Ena’s attention was brought back to the train’s interior when the man sitting next to Freda laid his newspaper on his lap and took a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket. He opened the box and offered one to Freda. ‘Thank you.’ Taking a cigarette, she put it to her lips.
He offered the packet to Ena. ‘No, thank you.’ She enjoyed the occasional cigarette but not while she was travelling. She suffered from travel sickness and inhaling cigarette smoke would make her throw up. She swallowed hard. Just the thought of smoking made her feel queasy. She took a pear drop from her handbag and popped it into her mouth. She sucked pear drops on the train, the bus, or in a car. Like looking out of the window, it took her mind off feeling sick.
She watched the man flick the wheel on the side of his lighter. A small blue flame sprang up and Freda leant towards it. Sucking air through the cigarette, it soon ignited. Freda sat back in her seat, inhaled deeply, and returned her gaze to what was happening beyond the train’s window.
‘Ena? Got a pear drop?’ her friend whispered five minutes later, after stubbing out the cigarette in the half-moon shaped brass ashtray under the window. Ena delved into her handbag, produced the cone-shaped paper packet, twisted it open, and gave it to Freda. ‘Thanks.’ Freda wrinkled her nose. ‘Take the taste of the cigarette away.’ She put a sweet in her mouth and returned the packet.
The man sitting next to Freda lowered his paper and looked at Ena. ‘Would you like a sweet?’ she asked.
‘Thank you.’ He took a pear drop, held it between his fingers, and looked at it curiously. After an encouraging nod from Ena, he put it in
