Nightingale London 1949: life's a struggle for everyone, not least Richard Starling. He shuffles between his digs and a lowly job, wearing threadbare clothes waiting like everyone for a return to prosperity. Until an old friend from his army days appears to offer him a lifeline.

It took Guy a few moments to recognise the sallow young man in the badly darned cardigan as the person he had come looking for. Slightly taken aback he joined the queue behind an old woman using up the last of her weekly cigarette ration on Player’s Weights counting out each with the assistant to make sure she was not being cheated. Richard was still dropping her pennies into the till when Guy spoke.

‘Lieutenant Starling is that really you?’ his rich fruity baritone rang around the shop, its echoes lingering among the largely empty shelves.

‘Major Peters Sir!’ Richard said almost snapping to attention.

‘No need to be so formal Richard’ Guy said warmly ‘we’re both civilians now, and we parted as close friends even if it was five years ago’

‘Yes S… Guy. What brings you here?’

‘I’ve come to offer you a job’ Guy glanced over his shoulder as another customer entered ‘do you close for lunch?’

‘Yes dinner’s… ’ Richard just caught himself ‘lunch is from one till two’

‘Not long to go then. There’s a pub round the corner — the Anchor isn’t it - I’ll meet you there’ Turning on his heel he left throwing goodbyes behind him.

The Anchor’s bar was crowded with a mixture of dockers, shabby clerks and a number of those Londoners who traded outside ordinary business premises. A thick pall of smoke hung everywhere and the sticky, sweet smell of stale beer was almost overpowering. Richard who had never been much of a drinker peered through the haze, finding Guy at the end of the bar nursing a half empty pint glass.

‘What can I get you?’ he asked as Richard pushed his way through ‘There’s no gin I’m afraid not even a decent scotch’. They sat at the only vacant table near a window where the fug was a little thinner.

‘So what’s happened to you? I thought you’d be teaching by now not working in a tobacconist?’ Richard told him about taking the teacher’s certificate and the year he had spent at a grammar school; the older masters who were yet to go back into retirement, and the ‘intellectuals’ who had sat out the war with disabilities real or imagined.

‘You can’t move for them these days’ Guy said ‘Petty coves mostly’ and he went on to give Richard a brief description of his time in the Army of Occupation ‘If you think London’s knocked about you should see Berlin… if only old Adolf could see how grateful the boys are for chocolate, they’ll do anything’.

Before they had met such a frank admission of homosexuality would have shocked Richard, but they’d spent two years cheek by jowl in various prison camps, and two fraught months on the run from the last. Still Guy’s voice had a knack of carrying above the general hubbub and heads turned their way. Checking himself Guy continued in a lower tone.

‘I came home thinking I’d get a part in one of the Force’s reviews but they’re all stacked with chaps who never got further than Catterick’ he shook his head sadly ‘So I gathered a few of the decent ones, dusted off the old act and found a place to play. It’s not the West End but we’re doing OK. The only thing we lack is a decent singer, so I came looking you’

‘Oh I don’t know if that’s such a good idea’ Richard said colouring slightly ‘It’s been a few years and I’ll probably be a bit…’

‘Nonsense once we get you back in tights it’ll be like the old days’ realising that his voice had risen and heads were turning again Guy switched to a more confidential manner ‘are you dressing at all these days?’

Colour flushed again in Richard’s cheeks. In a voice only a little above a whisper he told Guy about his digs and the lack of privacy allowed him by his battleaxe landlady.

‘We have to get you out of there’ Guy said ‘I have a room spare in my flat which I insist that you have’. He had always had a way of talking Richard into things by sheer ebullient will. By the time they got up to leave he had agreed to leave his job, digs and anything else Guy had thought of,

‘Oy bum boys!’ a large, greasy man blocked their way ‘Let me show what we do to your sort around…’ He never finished the sentence, flaming pansy he might have been but Major Guy Peters had lead a bunch of very tough commandos in the Mediterranean. Stepping over the body retching on the floor they left otherwise unmolested.

‘It was Uncle Dickie’s pied a terre - kept a woman or two here in his time’ Guy said opening the front door ‘the old fella’s passed it now but he’s always had a soft for me’. Richard followed him from room to room clutching the cardboard demob suitcase that held his meagre possessions. Guy opened a door and said ‘This will do for you I think’.

His new bedroom was at least three times the size of the squalid boxroom he rented at Mrs Portacre’s, and was very well furnished with a large bed, a dressing table and one wall devoted to a huge built in closet.

‘Uncle Dickie kept his women in style’ Guy smiled ‘The last one left a few things in the wardrobe. She was about your size. They’re probably a bit dated but I’m sure you’ll manage’. Richard blushed furiously. They had shared many confidences during their time in the camps, the biggest being Richard’s transvestism, and although he would gladly risk his life for Guy the thought that someone else knew about it made him very uncomfortable.

The ‘few things’ turned out to be a rack eight feet in length, shelves, smaller cupboards and several drawers (mostly lingerie); about ten years’ coupons he estimated. There was no time to explore however as Guy’s booming voice broke his reverie, calling him into the kitchen.

There were stacks of tins and packets everywhere, things he had not seen since the Thirties. ‘You’re practically part of the demimonde now darling’ Guy said arching one eyebrow ‘A little black market butter is the least of your worries’. Richard wondered what else lay in store.

‘Eat that’ Guy pushed a sandwich at him ‘And we’ll head down to the club. I’ll introduce you to everyone and you can tell me what you think’.

It was even smaller even than Richard had expected a spare thirty feet or so by twenty. A bar ran along one wall and over the neatly ordered tables and chairs he could see a stage so small the upright piano was pushed among the customer seating. A shortish man, an apron around his waist, was laying out ashtrays.

‘Go away we’re not open… ah Guy you’re early’ he said in heavily accented English.

‘Paulo I’d like to introduce you to Richard Starling our new singer’

‘Ah no Guy no more’ Paulo said throwing his hands in the air ‘You keep bringing your waifs and strays in here where’s the money coming from eh?’

‘Wait till you’ve heard her’ said Guy from the piano ‘now if I remember correctly Miss Starling you’re rather partial to Cole Porter’ and began playing ‘Night and Day’.

‘Pick a hard one why don’t you?’ Richard said in mock exasperation and launched into the first line in a clear tenor, that slowly transformed into a smoky contralto. Paulo put down his remaining ashtrays and stared at Richard in disbelief. It was a woman’s voice, deep admittedly but still inescapably feminine.

‘What do you think Milly?’ Guy called to a young woman who had just walked in from behind the bar while Richard was singing. Her hair fell in a mass of dark curls over her face framing a clear olive complexion. A relative of Paulo’s Richard thought correctly but she answered in broad Cockney.

‘Bloody hell that was him singing?’ Richard had to sing it again before she would believe them. By this time the other performers had started to arrive, all of whom Guy introduced by their feminine names and rather incongruously a brief record of their service records. A few were even, as he put it, ‘fellow inmates’ meaning former prisoners of war.

Guy began fussing over ‘something for him to wear’. Milly ducked back through her door and returned a long black evening dress. ‘This should do’ she said ‘it’s way too small for you, even if you won’t admit it’.

‘Why do I need something to wear?’ asked Richard with an air of foreboding.

‘Well you can’t get up there tonight dressed like that sweetie can you?’ he was grinning again and Richard felt a sense of dread descend. There was no arguing with Guy when he became this enthusiastic.

Years in uniform had left Richard with few qualms about removing his clothes in front of other men in varying states of undress. Men in varying states of female undress though made him feel a little odd. Not that he had much time to reflect on it. Guy was fussing again and garments were flying; a girdle, nylons, and a padded bra found their way to him in quick succession.

It had been such a long time since he had worn women’s clothes. Six years of silent fantasies, of stolen glances at the meagre window displays on Oxford Street their contents so far beyond his reach. He revelled as the girdle’s zip ran up drawing in his waist; marvelled at the soft sensation of each stocking gliding along his leg and nearly melted as he fastened the bra around his chest.

‘Let’s get your slap on’ Guy said sitting him down in the corner. There was a mirror tantalisingly just outside his peripheral vision, but any attempt he made to look at himself was halted by Guy who turned his head sharply back around. ‘Wait till we’re finished missy’ he said, playfully pinching Richard’s arm ‘You know if I liked girls I would probably kiss you right now’

‘You tried that once before remember?’ Richard frowned.

‘Lucky punch that’s all darling’ Guy said rubbing his jaw as though it still hurt.

When he was allowed to look he saw someone he had not imagined he would see ever again. Someone who had been with him in captivity and across half of Europe as the two (or should that be three) of them fled their captors. Stage make-up was always exaggerated of course, and helped him think of her as another person. It was slightly easier to take than the thought that it was a dog eared tobacconist’s sales assistant and failed teacher.

‘Wake up Cinders!’ Guy lightly tapped his cheek ‘let’s get you a wig and into that dress’. He gave Richard an appraising look ‘Hmmm we’ll get you shaved tomorrow so wear these for tonight’ and handed him a pair of opera gloves. There were a few finishing touches, a little paste jewellery and a pair of shoes with racy three inch heels.

Richard sat quietly trying very hard not to look at himself in the mirror as Guy dressed and made up. It had been a dream for so long it was hard to believe it had finally come true. As the other ‘girls’ neared the end of their preparations the thought that he had pushed firmly to the back of his mind made its way to the front. In a few minutes he would walk out in with who knew how many people looking at him.

‘Guy…’ he started

‘It’s Rita darling, when the frock’s on it’s always Rita’

‘Rita wouldn’t it be best if we left this for another night?’ Richard’s mouth was suddenly very dry.

‘Rubbish’ said Rita ‘Just go out there, one song and we’re finished, and no buts’. Even in drag, perhaps especially in drag, Guy that is Rita would always get his way and Richard resigned himself to his fate.

The ‘wings’ were a door that led straight into the hall so the performers had to walk through the audience to get to the stage. Rita told him to stand there while she and the four chorus girls went on stage and wait until she introduced him.

The room was nearly full, there certainly did not seem to be many vacant seats and Richard thought his nerves would get the better of him. He held the door ajar so he could watch the others. Most of the act he knew from their prison camp days. Rita acted as compere while the others did a variety of skits and dance numbers. Nobody came back through the door, when the girls finished their particular bits of the act they would sit at the bar and chat to the customers.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, and those ladies of you who are gentlemen I’d like to introduce you now to a very old friend of mine Miss’ she paused they hadn’t discussed Richard’s stage name, she had to improvise, ‘Miss Diana Starling’.

Richard forced himself through the door taking great care in the unfamiliar heels not to trip as he walked to the stage. As he passed the piano the pianist asked what song he’d be doing, and what key. ‘Night and Day’ said Richard and allowed himself a brief smile as the pianist said ‘you sure about that key?’

Diana stood on the stage blinking through the spotlight at the audience. ‘Come on darling’ shouted someone and there was a mild ripple of laughter. She nodded to the pianist and sang ‘Night and day you are the one only you beneath the moon or under the sun’.

A cough or two and a snatch of small talk reached the stage but otherwise the audience had fallen silent. Not that Diana noticed she was lost in the song, lost in the moment and it was only the sound of applause that made her realise she had finished.

She stood there unmoving, not knowing quite what to do next. ‘Sing us another one’ a voice called, and several others joined it. She looked at Rita who made encouraging gestures as if to say ‘Go ahead you’ve stolen the show already’.

‘Do you know ‘Someone to watch over me’?’ she asked the pianist. He nodded and she stepped back into the spotlight. Her nerves had not deserted her and added an air of vulnerability to her voice as she sang ‘There’s a saying old says that love is blind’. At the end Rita stepped up and led her from the stage whispering ‘That’s enough for tonight’ in her ear.

Taking the stage again Rita said ‘Miss Diana Starling everyone’ there was a fresh round of applause ‘I don’t know about you but to me that didn’t sound like a starling, that was a nightingale’.

*

Diana was rubbing shoulders with customers at the bar after finishing her first set for the night. Two weeks had robbed her of stagefright and she had now started to establish a rapport with her audience. A smile, a few words to a regular (a few faces were starting to show up every night) and all the other little things that made an act into a performer.

‘Dick Starling’ a voice said from behind her ‘Is that really you?’ Diana span on her heel as someone quietly informed the speaker that it was bad manners not to a girl’s real name.

‘Bloody hell Taff Morgan’ she cried embracing him ‘I never thought I’d see you again’.

‘It’s Inspector Morgan now Dic… Diana’ he gave a crooked smile ‘Is Guy around?’

‘It’s Rita and she’s in the back. What’s she done now?’

‘Nothing much’ said Taff ‘I just want to warn her about the political stuff in her act - this isn’t Berlin, but you look great. Tell me how Guy, sorry Rita, roped you into this again.’ Diana did look stunning, in the red bias-cut dress she was wearing (courtesy of Uncle Dickie’s old flame) it would be hard not to be. There was certainly nothing left of the mousy shop assistant Guy had found a fortnight earlier. She had filled out a little on black market food and carried herself with a new found confidence, while her smile was a spotlight for anyone it fell upon. They chatted for a few minutes about how the last few years had treated them and other old friends they had run into.

‘There’s a fella over there making cow eyes at you, reminds me of Leutnant Taube at Leibenzelt’ he said with a nod to a corner table.

‘Oh that’s Johnny Reid’ she said ‘He’s here most nights - does a lot of favours for the girls’. Knowing that Inspector Morgan might take a professional interest in those favours Diana quickly changed the subject ‘Poor Heinzel I led him on something rotten, but Guy made me — we needed things for our escape plan’

‘There was a time around Christmas 43 when I almost made eyes at you too’ Taff laughed.

‘As I recall you did’ Rita said over Diana’s shoulder ‘How is your wife — Morwenna isn’t it — these days?’ Diana slipped away as Taff was pulling out his children’s photographs from his wallet, and went in search of Milly. He found her repairing a costume for Carmen who was lounging in her tap pants and tights near the back door talking to someone — probably male - outside.

‘The dress has wowed everyone Milly, great idea opening the slit up the side’ Diana said ‘Do you want to come around tomorrow and see what else we can find?’ Milly looked up from her needle. She had worked for her uncle for a month or so now, and while the sight of men running around in dresses had ceased to be a novelty Diana was different. It was hard to reconcile the beauty in front of her with the shy young man who arrived every night; especially when he was rather handsome (even if he did not know it).

‘Sure’ Milly said, she spent a lot of her time off at the cinema and like a lot of girls her age constantly slipped americanisms in wherever she could.

‘How about eleven o’clock?’ Diana said half an ear on Rita who was winding up her introduction.

‘It’s a date’ Milly said turning again to her stitching.

‘Ladies, gentlemen and those ladies who are gentlemen let’s see if we can bring her back out… our very own Miss Diana Nightingale’. Hard as it seemed to believe Guy was getting camper Diana thought as she was applauded to the stage.

‘Good evening everyone’ she whispered into the microphone ‘I hope you won’t mind if I sing one of my favourites for you now but it’s my show and Anything Goes’. Diana swayed slightly as the pianist vamped his way through the introduction.

‘In olden days a glimpse of stocking…’ she shifted slightly so the slit in her dress parted revealing her leg almost to the stocking top ‘…was something shocking’. She winked at Johnny Reid who provided nylons for all the girls.

‘Miss Diana Nightingale everyone…’ Diana stepped down from the stage into the audience and sat at the chair Johnny was holding out for you. ‘Thank you sweetie’ she simpered. Guy had warned her not to lay it on too thick with Reid, but she thought she had it at just the right level. Anyway he was a sweetie at least as far as the black market was concerned.

‘What did you get tonight you tart?’ Diana threw a carton of cigarettes at Rita ‘Senior Service! You’re a godsend - something naval to suck on’.

‘Last week it was the Channel Fleet’ Carmen said ‘What else do you have in there Di?’

‘Make-up! Not stage stuff proper French make-up’ Diana said emptying out the bag.

‘No good for me’ Carmen said ‘I need thick slap these days… do you even shave Di?’ Diana blushed. Most twenty eight year olds shaved every day while Richard only needed to about once a week. Quite why she should be embarrassed by the question when she was standing there in full drag she did not know.

‘I’ll take a lipstick’ Betty said snatching a tube from the pile ‘Looks like the rest is yours Di’. Not that she would show the others but Diana was secretly delighted. Their stage make-up while fine for the spotlight and a smoky atmosphere was awfully garish in daylight. Rita and the girls only dressed for the show, Diana had different plans.

Milly was quite disappointed when Diana opened the flat’s front door. Even though they spent their time together going through the treasure trove closet picking out clothes for Diana, Milly looked forward to meeting Richard. He was older than most of the boys she knew and yet he seemed younger in many ways. She liked his soft, slightly posh voice, the way he paused before smiling as if waiting for permission and most of all his shy laugh. Of course she should have been out looking for a man, Milly told herself, instead of hanging around with queers.

‘Do you like it?’ Diana asked picking at her blouse and skirt.

‘You smell of mothballs!’ Milly though had to admit Diana looked wonderful. The blond wig was one she wore often in the club but her face was not the heavily painted one she was used to. Diana’s lips were still a deep ruby and her brows almost as extravagantly arched but her cheeks were only lightly rouged. Her eyes were beautifully done, the merest hint of blue in the shadow with a thin line of kohl running into her false eyelashes.

‘Sorry, you look very pretty today Diana’ Milly said. It was not the sort of thing she expected to say to many men but it was undeniably true.

‘I thought it would be easier if I dressed up’ Diana beamed ‘that way I can try things on to see how they look. Anyway we’d best close the door before the neighbours catch us’.

The large closet’s contents were all pre-war and smelled of mothballs, not that any woman would have minded. New clothes were still strictly rationed and every woman had learned to adapt old garments to the latest fashion. Diana lacked any such skill of course and was extremely grateful for Milly’s help. She flicked through the long rack picking out things for inspection.

‘What about this?’ she asked Milly holding up a summer dress.

‘I don’t think so’ Milly said ‘It’s not really your colour’

‘Not for me silly, for you’ Diana said ‘I feel so selfish with all this and you’ve been so good to me… try it on’

Milly had only ever undressed in front of one man, her doctor. She liked the dress though and it was hard to think of Diana as man when she stood there in a girdle, bra and stockings. Milly stripped to her camiknickers and stockings, she stepped towards Diana and it was only then that she noticed the fine mesh of pink scars on Diana’s chest.

‘What are those?’ she asked tracing one with her finger.

‘Oh they’re just shell splinters’ Diana said. She may not have looked very manly right then but at Milly’s idling finger was pulling Richard closer to the surface. ‘They’re nothing, this is the one that really hurt’ she pulled a bra strap aside to reveal another scar about the size of a sixpence. Milly’s transferred her finger to it.

‘Is it true that you and Guy escaped from Germany dressed as women?’

‘Not quite’ Diana said looking down ‘Can you imagine Rita fooling the Gestapo?’ They both laughed, but Milly didn’t take her hand away. ‘I was dressed up though’ and she gave Milly a brief account of their adventures in Germany and occupied France.

‘So you and Guy have always been’ she paused ‘an item then?’

‘Oh God no, though he did try to kiss me once’

‘What happened?’ Milly asked her hand still on Diana’s breast.

‘I knocked one of his teeth out’ Diana laughed.

‘But you are a…’ Milly was blushing furiously and struggling with her words ‘you are a queer aren’t you?’ Diana recoiled as if she had been slapped. She looked into Milly’s eyes and shook her head.

‘No I’m not I just like…’ her eyes were filling with tears. Milly moved her face close to Diana’s.

‘So if I were to do this…’ she bridged the last small gap between them with her lips.

‘Oh my God lesbians’ screamed Guy executing a horrified about turn in the doorway.

‘What did he call us?’ Milly asked. Their kiss had been broken but she was now pressed against Diana in fright.

‘Lesbians’ Diana said. Milly still looked puzzled ‘You know women who have ahem sex with other um… women’

‘Blimey I didn’t even know there was a word for that’ Milly cried ‘Is that what we are then — lesbians?’

‘Dunno’ said Diana pulling Milly closer ‘let’s ask Richard when he comes back’.

*

‘Have you seen Di?’ Guy was asking no one in particular ‘She’s probably mooning around in her frock and we’ve got to go’. Most of the lights were off and the last few customers were pulling on their coats.

‘I think she’s still talking to Johnny Reid’ Milly said. They both looked at the table where Reid and his cronies sat. It was empty.

‘Oh you silly cow’ Guy moaned ‘I’d better phone Taff Morgan if anyone can help her now it’s him’

Reid’s face was inches from Diana’s. Worse two of his mates held her arms tightly against her sides. She thought about calling for help but who would come; they had brought her to some bombsite where even the street lights were some way off.

‘You posh sorts are all the same’ Reid spat ‘Nice as pie when I’ve got something for you, but I ain’t good enough when there’s something I want’.

‘It’s not that’ Diana said trying to struggle free ‘It’s just that I’m not… not that way’.

‘You calling me queer?’ Reid’s nose was all but touching hers ‘I’ll show you who’s queer’ he drove a fist into Diana’s stomach winding her. ‘Who’s queer eh? Who’s queer’ he kept repeating with every punch.

‘We picked him near Butcher’s Wharf Sir’ said the desk sergeant looking up. He did not know what the inspector was bothering for it seemed an open and shut case to him. ‘He hasn’t been charged yet but I’m sure we can find something, pansies eh? He’s in number three - the doctor’s looking at him now’. Taff breezed passed him barely suppressing an urge to lash out. ‘Hold on Sir you can’t… ‘.

Taff arrived at the cell door as the doctor was leaving and immediately enquired how Richard was.

‘Friend of yours I suppose’ said the Doctor who had long suspected the Welsh of moral delinquency. ‘He’ll live, lots of bruising but nothing broken. From the look of those scars he had quite an interesting war’.

‘Never treated a VC before Doctor’ asked Taff contempt dripping from his voice.

‘Er… What? No’ the Doctor said ‘VC you say?’

‘In 42’ Taff began ‘When the rest of us were running towards Egypt the only thing between us and the Afrika Korps’ panzers was a subaltern with a handful of six pounder popguns, the only officer left in his battery.

‘Four hours they he them back for us. Dick Starling was wounded early on, shot through the shoulder but he still pulled himself from gun to gun rallying his men. He was blown off his feet and showered with splinters a couple of times, but he got back up. The witnessing officer then saw him shot in the head which is why his Victoria Cross was awarded posthumously. Of course that had to be revised two months later when his name came back among captured wounded. Luckily for Dick the shot had only grazed his temple’.

‘Perhaps he’d have been better off dead Inspector’ the Doctor said wandering away, blissfully unaware of how close he had come himself to death at that moment.

Diana was lying on the cot among the tatters of her red silk dress, both of her eyes were blackened and she didn’t seem to have on part of her that wasn’t bruised or bloodied.

‘Bit late this time Taff’ said Diana trying to rise up on one elbow and failing.

‘You’ve got worries?’ laughed the Welshman ‘I’ve got to take you home to Guy looking like that’

‘I’m sorry I called your mate a pansy Sir’ said the sergeant as they carried Diana to Taff’s Humber.

‘Think nothing of it’ Taff replied ‘that’s what I thought when I first met him too. Didn’t I Dick?’ Diana didn’t answer her head was lolled against her chest.

‘He and another officer were organising a concert party in our POW camp, and Dick was mincing around dolled up to the nines, flirting like a good 'un with the Germans. We didn’t know that it was part of an escape plan and that straight after the concert they were both away… made it back home in two months — stupid sods if they’d sat tight we were liberated six months later’.

‘It was the principle of the thing’ said Diana, trying not to laugh.

Guy opened the door to see Diana wrapped in a blanket propped up between Taff and the sergeant (who had insisted on coming along).

‘Oh sweetheart what have they done to you?’ he said, tears running down his cheek. Guy looked at Taff, it was a silent question that neither wanted to hear spoken aloud.

‘No’ said Taff ‘she must have fought like a tiger’

‘Aren’t you going to arrest him?’ Milly cried ‘we all know it was Reid!’

Taff looked at Guy and shrugged.

‘It’s called a Portsmouth defence honey’ Guy said ‘All Reid has to say is that Diana made a pass at him and it wouldn’t matter how badly she was beaten no court would convict him.

‘But Richard isn’t queer’ she protested

‘He was wearing a dress Milly’ Paulo said putting an arm around her.

‘That Guy Sir… no offence but is he… well you know?’ asked the sergeant walking back to the car.

‘As a nine bob note sergeant’ Taff laughed ‘I’d tell you about the medals he’s won but I have to get home in an hour…’

Guy and Paulo carried Diana into her bedroom while Milly followed.

‘No you don’t missy’ Guy said closing the door on her ‘we’ll get him into bed — why don’t you fetch Billy Hoyle… oh God does no one ever listen to me’ he said as she looked at him blankly ‘Carmen, go fetch Carmen, she was a medical orderly’.

Guy laid Richard softly on the bed. ‘What possessed you to go outside with him in the first place you silly cow?’

‘He said he had a case of Navy gin’ Richard whispered ‘I thought you might like it’

A few hours later Richard was sitting up in bed wearing a pair of Guy’s pyjamas. Billy had cleaned him up pretty well but his eyes were almost swollen shut. Richard’s ribs were also tightly bandaged as Billy thought a few cracked which with his cut lips made talking difficult.

‘You have to Guy’ he said ‘you can’t let people down just tell them I’m sorry I can’t be there’

‘I’ll stay with him’ said gently stroking his hand.

‘OK but if I come home and catch you kissing him again…’

Rita had asked Paulo to leave the house lights on until after she made the announcement. She scanned the customers and found Johnny Reid’s grinning face at his usual table; a grin and one eye turning purple. Good girl, she thought.

‘Ladies and gentlemen I’m sorry to announce that Miss Nightingale will not be with us this evening, in fact she’ll probably be away for a few weeks. She has asked me to give you all her love and sent a special message for one particular customer’ Rita stepped down from the stage making a beeline for Reid who stared her in the eye laughing. As she reached him she lashed out with a fierce right hand punch sending him and his chair to the floor.

Reid was out, a pool of blood forming under his broken nose. One of his cronies reached in a pocket for something and made to rise from his chair. A hand pushed firmly down on his shoulder and a sonorous Welsh voice said in his ear ‘Put it away lovely boy, she’ll gut you before you get out of your chair’. He sat back down and Taff continued ‘Now you and your butty pick that piece of shit up off the floor and clear off before I remember I’m a policeman’.

Rita waited for the two to drag Reid away before continuing. ‘Ladies, gentlemen and those ladies who are gentlemen I’m sure you will join me in wishing Diana a speedy recovery. In the meantime Carmen will perform…’

*

Diana and Milly were admiring each other in the large mirror in Richard’s room. ‘Ooh la di dah ain’t we posh?’ Diana said imitating Milly’s cockney accent. The clothing cache left behind by Guy’s uncle’s mistress had yielded up two complete outfits for them — a deep bottle green jacket and skirt for Milly and a similar dark red suit for Diana. With cream silk blouses and matching hats they looked the picture of prosperity, or at least they would if their mystery benefactress had not had such impossibly tiny feet; heir clumpy utility pattern shoes rather spoilt the effect.

‘Lets go up West Di’ Milly said ‘my treat, you ain’t been out since… it’s been three weeks now’.

‘But we’ve only just dressed up’ Diana’s pursed her lips a little piqued ‘It would be such a shame to change so soon’.

‘No’ Milly said taking her hands ‘let’s me and you make an afternoon of it Di’. A look close to horror had spread over Diana’s face.

‘I couldn’t possibly’ she said ‘what if we are caught…’ Milly laughed.

‘You walked half way across Germany dressed as woman with the Gestapo and God knows what else chasing you. What’s so different about a day out in London?’

‘You don’t understand’ Diana said softly ‘In Germany I’d have just been shot, here they’ll put my name in the paper!’ Diana could not help but laugh herself at that ‘Sounds silly doesn’t it?’ she added with a smile.

‘Well‘, Milly tried another tack ‘we have the flat to ourselves and…’ she glanced in the direction of the bed. Over the past few weeks she found that she could manipulate Richard (and Diana) quite easily by hinting that they might sleep together; the suggestion seemed to put the fear of God into Richard and he would readily do anything to avoid going to bed with her. At first the suspicion that he was queer surfaced again but when the boy you are kissing is wearing flimsy undergarments his response is easy to gauge, and she was certain that he liked girls. Just why the prospect of sex scared him so was a mystery she had not been able to penetrate.

Not that Milly was at all the woman of the world she pretended to be, or had ever had the opportunity. Her war years had been spent evacuated to a Devon village where her olive complexion and Italian surname kept all potential beaus at bay. On returning to London she had started working for her uncle where the majority of men she came into contact with were inverts. At nineteen a girl has a right to be curious.

‘Where do you want to go?’ Diana asked making an effort to sound cheerful despite her dread.

Arm in arm the two walked along the busy streets. Diana was sure that all eyes were on them, probing her disguise, waiting to denounce her to the nearest policeman. Yet even as she felt the fear closing in Diana was thrilled at the feeling of freedom. It had been the same when she and Guy had escaped from the camp; it had been a bitterly cold December but looking back she remembered blue skies, sunlight, overwhelming happiness.

With Milly close the brisk March wind seemed warmer, the fear of discovery dwindling with each step. Diana began smiling, inwardly at first then breaking out into a broad beam of pure happiness. It did not matter that people were staring at them, as staring they were. London was drab, dingy, its buildings broken its citizens care worn and dressed in brown and grey patches. The sight of two beautiful young women, immaculately dressed and walking without a care in the world brought a promise of prosperity not too far ahead. Hats were tipped in their direction and not a few whistles too.

The cinema was thick with tobacco smoke and the scent of people who bathed in two inches of water. Milly found them a pair of seat towards the back in time to catch the start of the newsreel. The increasingly familiar face of Harold Wilson loomed on the screen deploring the latest continental fashions and urging British women to be more prudent in the use of cloth. Diana and Milly joined in with the small wave of good natured booing that broke out but were quickly silenced by a tweed wrapped matron glowering from the row behind.

‘An admirable sentiment’ she said using her rolled umbrella for emphasis, ‘and one young women like you had best take to heart’

The next item featured Princess Elizabeth, the audience settled down and Milly slipped her hand into Diana’s. She had been slow to warm to Diana, while she loved Richard this other person had seemed like an interloper, still over the weeks Milly had grown to look at her as an older sister or a younger aunt, a friend, a confidante. Talking to Diana was in many ways an easier route to Richard’s feelings she would discuss things that he never could - feelings, their future, all manner of things. There was one question that remained unasked however, one that had waited for the right moment.

‘Diana’ Milly whispered in her ear ‘why is Richard afraid of going to bed with me?’

It was one hell of a question. As with so many young men of his generation Richard had gone from school to battle, from captivity to the guarded morality of boarding houses. His opportunities for romance had been almost nonexistent and his personal morality would not let him take advantage of the women he did meet, but how could she put that without sounding like an awful prig. She turned to face Milly and simply said.

‘I think he’s waiting until after you’re married’

Milly’s face flushed with questions, consternation, even confusion. Struck dumb she could only press her lips against Diana’s in a lingering, passionate kiss.

‘Degenerates!’ an umbrella struck Milly’s shoulder ‘manager! Manager! Call the police?’

Laughing Diana broke the kiss saying ‘We’d best leave before she ropes in the Prime Minister’.

The two of them rose quickly turning for the aisle and escape. Milly however could not resist once last parting shot. Dodging another blow from the umbrella she said ‘It’s Ok we’re just lesbians’ and winked.

They passed Billy and Frank manhandling a piano up the stairs to the flat, looking nothing at all like Carmen and Betty.

‘What’s going on?’ Diana asked as she breezed past.

‘Don’t ask us we’re only staff’ Billy replied ‘Guy’s throwing a party or something’

Guy met them at the door. ‘You’ve been out you minxes!’ he accused, but seeing how happy his old friend looked even mock anger quickly faded.

‘I want you to be the first to know…’ Diana started.

‘Later’ Guy interrupted ‘We are having a bash, and you’ve got an hour to doll yourselves up’. He held up one finger to bar any further questions, turned and disappeared down the corridor.

‘What about this one?’ Milly asked holding up a beautiful cream silk gown for Diana.

‘I think we’ll save that for a wedding dress’ Diana answered.

‘For me or for you?’ Milly said not waiting for an answer and burrowing into Diana’s wardrobe. ‘How about something black’ she added over her shoulder.

‘Who cares as long as it covers me up’ she said shivering in her underwear.

‘At last we’re all here’ Guy resplendent in a dinner suit arched an eyebrow as the two girls entered. Billy and Frank had moved some of the furniture from the flat’s small drawing room to make room for the piano but it was still a tight squeeze for the twenty or so guests.

‘Ladies and gentlemen’ he continued ‘I asked you all here tonight to tell you that unfortunately Paulo’s club will shortly be closing its doors’ he paused as the guests all tried to ask the same question ‘and that he and I have taken out a lease on larger premises today’. There was a rush of relived noises followed by eve more questions.

‘We have an announcement too’ Diana her arm around Milly’s waist had to repeat it twice before everyone paid attention ‘This may come as a shock to some of you but Milly and I are engaged. If that’s OK with her uncle of course’. Families did not normally have to consider adding a female impersonator to their ranks so he looked to Paulo for confirmation but the rough edged Italian was already hugging his niece tears starting to stream down his cheek.

‘So she’s making an honest woman of you Dick’ Taff Morgan said struggling through the press around the happy couple. ‘Good thing too as I won’t be around much longer to fish you out of scrapes’. Diana shot him a questioning look.

‘We’re off to Canada’ said the woman at Taff’s side ‘I blame Nelson Eddy’

‘Have you met Morwenna?’ Taff said ‘Doesn’t look much like Jeanette McDonald but she can sing a bit’

‘You’re going to become a Mountie?’ Diana asked trying to picture the big bluff Welshman on a horse.

‘So he thinks’ Morwenna laughed ‘let’s hope he can stay on a horse longer than he did that donkey at Blackpool’

‘Give us a song Di’ someone was calling, a cry picked up by almost every voice in the room.

Everyone had gone home, or in Guy’s case had gone home with someone, leaving Diana and Milly at the piano. Diana let fingers wander over the keys, the notes slowly coalescing into a tune.

‘You never said you could play the piano’ Milly said, working even closer along the stool.

‘You never asked’ Diana said stealing a kiss ‘there are lots of things you don’t know about me yet’. Her fingers danced despite the late hour and she began singing softly’

You’d be so nice to come home to you’d be so nice by the fire. You’d be so nice, you’d be paradise to come home to and love’

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I'm not a spammer honest, just setting out my stall for people who may actually read what I've written. It's another writing style and I really like historical pieces... it might have seemed a bit violent, or to glorify war but that wasn't my intention - I wanted to show how people stood up to the prejudice all around them.