Hope for the Good Time Girls, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1: June, 1942
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14: July
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26: November
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40: December
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43: Christmas Eve
Chapter 44
Chapter 45: Christmas Day
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48: New Year’s Eve
Chapter 49
Chapter 50: January, 1943
Chapter 51: February
Chapter 52
Chapter 53: March
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59: April
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62: July
Acknowledgements
Also by Fiona Ford
About the Author
About Embla Books
First published in Great Britain in 2023 by
Bonnier Books UK Limited
4th Floor, Victoria House, Bloomsbury Square, London, WC1B 4DA
Owned by Bonnier Books
Sveavägen 56, Stockholm, SwedenCopyright © Fiona Ford, 2023
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The right of Fiona Ford to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 9781471412097
This book is typeset using Atomik ePublisher
Embla Books is an imprint of Bonnier Books UK
www.bonnierbooks.co.uk
For all those who served on the Home Front
1
June, 1942
The thrum of the music underneath the maple-sprung dance floor sent a shiver down Renee Hammond’s spine. She had always loved listening to the first few bars of the orchestra as they tuned up, but now that she owned the Hammersmith Palais de Danse she made it a priority to hear each and every band warm up. Not only did she believe that it sent a clear message that she was interested in their performance but she also believed that, as owner and manager, it got her excited about every dance.
Not that Renee needed an excuse to be excited. It had been six months since the death of her husband Ronnie, who had taken over the Palais. The two had never seen eye to eye and so it hadn’t come as a huge surprise to learn that Ronnie hadn’t left the Palais to her. What had come as a surprise was that Ronnie had an older brother named Roger he had never mentioned, and that it was Roger who had inherited the Palais.
However, with Roger being a vicar, he felt he wasn’t best placed to run a dance hall but he knew a woman who was. And so he had handed the Palais over to Renee, just like that. Since then, Renee had taken to the Palais like a lost lover returning home. The moment she had set foot in the Palais over three years ago, she had felt as if she had found her place in the world. Now that she owned the venue, she couldn’t imagine ever being anywhere else. The Palais had always been her happy place and the dance floor had always soothed her soul.
As she closed her eyes and leaned against one of the ornate Chinese pillars that dominated the dance hall, Renee gave herself permission to lose herself in the music.
‘Eh, up, Dolly Daydreamer. You’re wanted.’
A sharp, female, Mancunian voice caused Renee to swiftly open her eyes. Blinking she brought herself back into the moment and grinned as she caught sight of the new Palais Master of Ceremonies, Janice Dobson, walking towards her.
‘And what the hell d’you want disturbing my peace?’ Renee gave the MC a mock glare before her face broke out into a wide grin.
Renee had always been fond of Janice, from the moment they first met at the Manchester Dance Hall eighteen months ago, when Renee had briefly moved away from London. In her fifties with a wit as sharp as a blade and a down-to-earth streak so grounded you could practically see the soil on her back, Janice had been the perfect MC, and an even better friend.
When Renee had taken over the Palais and the former MC, Bill Cain, had chosen to retire, Renee had known without question who she wanted by her side. And Janice, with family away at war, had immediately agreed to help her old friend out, becoming an instant hit with staff and regulars alike.
At the question Janice rolled her eyes and reached into her pocket for a Player’s Light. Lighting up, she inhaled sharply and then addressed Renee.
‘Them Yanks are causing trouble on the doors.’
‘Again?’ Renee asked.
‘Afraid so.’
‘What’s the problem this time?’
Janice stifled a grin. ‘To be fair, it’s not really their fault. It’s the local lads that are upset.’
‘We haven’t got that many local lads to be upset,’ Renee said brusquely. ‘They’re all away at war.’
‘Well, the ones that are left are upset the ladies outside are more interested in the Yanks than them.’
As Renee met Janice’s eye she let out a whoop of laughter. Ever since the American soldiers had arrived in Britain in January they had caused a staunch divide amongst the locals.
The women loved their exotic accents and handsome faces, not to mention the seemingly never-ending supplies of stockings, chocolates and cigarettes the Americans could obtain. Naturally, the local lads had been upset to be usurped by such a good-looking bunch and hadn’t been afraid to let their feelings on the matter be known. In the past few months they had complained directly to Renee, pleading with her to ban the Americans, and when all else failed had begun queueing up even earlier to discourage the GIs from entering the Palais, suggesting they sling their hook and go elsewhere.
‘What are they doing now?’ Renee asked with a shake of her head.
‘Old Jimmy Bell’s son, Arthur, has threatened to flatten one of the Yanks for talking to his sister.’
‘Oh, for crying out loud.’ Renee let out an exasperated sigh. ‘The same thing happened last week with Harry Salter when his wife was talking to one of the Yanks.’
‘That was a bit different,’ Janice offered. ‘Harry’s wife was inviting the lad round for his tea. Harry didn’t want him nicking his rations. Jimmy’s lad thinks the Yank wants to ruin his sister’s reputation.’
Renee raised an eyebrow. ‘If I know Jimmy’s daughter I should say that ship sailed a long time ago. Come on, then, let’s have a look at the show outside.’
Leaving the band to continue tuning up, Renee followed Janice outside into the warm June sunshine. Just as she expected, she saw Arthur pressed up against the wall by one of the American soldiers. At the sight she tried not to smile; Arthur looked like a scrappy little dog, trying to do battle with a great big Alsatian.
‘All right, then, lads,’ she called in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘What the hell’s going on outside my dance hall?’
At the sound of Renee’s voice, the soldier dropped Arthur like a stone and mumbled an apology.
‘Sorry, ma’am.’ Taking off his cap, he held it in his hands and looked at the ground with contrition.
Eyes still sparkling with anger Arthur refused to do the same and took a step forwards towards Renee and Janice.
‘You wanna hear the things he was saying about my sister. It ain’t right these Yanks coming over here and getting away with murder.’
‘From what I can gather, Arthur, love, your sister’s more than capable of taking care of herself. And judging by the way she’s standing next to the Yank rather than you just now, I should say she’s picked her side.’
Turning around to see the pairing, Arthur clenched his jaw, about to walk towards the American, when Renee rested a hand on his arm.
‘That’s enough,’ she said firmly. And then, taking a step back to address the small crowd gathered outside waiting for the doors to open, she clapped her hands. ‘I don’t know how many times I have to keep saying this,’ she called. ‘But the Palais is welcome to all of you who behave yourselves. I don’t want any t
At the mention of Janice some of the lads tittered at the idea of the older woman throwing them out. But one sharp look from Renee and her MC caused them to stop chuckling immediately, correctly sensing Janice wouldn’t put up with any nonsense regardless of the fact she was female.
As the noise died down, Renee eyed the crowd. ‘Like it or not, we’re all grateful these American lads have turned up here to do their bit and help us beat those pigging Germans. So give ’em a British welcome, eh – and that includes you, Arthur. I mean it, I don’t want no trouble here, and if that’s what you’ve got in mind you can go somewhere else. Now, have I made myself clear?’
With that, the small crowd nodded and murmured yeses and Renee smiled. Looking to Janice, who gave a quiet nod of her head, she turned back to the crowd.
‘Right, well now all that’s sorted I suggest we all get on with our evenings. Welcome to the Palais, everyone, and behave yourselves.’
As the group filed past her, Renee smiled at each of them, but as the line came to an end she let out a little bark of surprise at the sight of a tall, slender man, with a thick mop of curly black hair and dressed in a well-fitting black suit, complete with dog collar.
‘Roger,’ she breathed. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
Dressed in his clergy uniform, Roger beamed. ‘I’ve been meaning to pay you a visit for a while. See how you’re getting on. Though, if the way you dealt with this lot is anything to go by, I should say you’re doing rather well.’
As he leaned forward to kiss her cheek Renee felt a rush of emotion. She was delighted to see the vicar, of course she was. But as she pulled away and stared into the eyes that were the spit of her late ex-husband’s, the one overriding emotion pulsating away at her heart was guilt.
2
The sound of excited voices floated through the open window of the bar. At the exchange, Violet Millington and Temperance Adams swapped knowing looks.
‘What’s all that about, do you think?’ Violet asked.
Reaching for another glass to polish she checked there were no smears or rim marks. Since taking over, Renee had been particular about the state of the glassware, insisting the Palais’s standards were high at all times. Clean glassware was just one of the things she had singled out.
‘The usual,’ Temperance replied. ‘We had fights between the regulars and the Americans last week, as well. I hope someone can nip this in the bud soon.’
She wiped a finger across the bar and Violet watched her carefully assess it for dust and grime. She smiled. Under Renee’s stewardship, every one of them had taken an even greater pride in their roles at the Palais. It was as though Renee was now representing each one of the Good Time Girls and they all wanted the place to shine.
‘I hope so, too.’ Violet sighed and leaned back against the bar for a moment. ‘We had all that complaining from folk that America hadn’t joined the war, but now they have, people don’t want ’em here.’
‘That’s not quite true,’ Temperance replied with a wry smile. ‘There are plenty of people who are grateful they’re here, but just not our local lads. Don’t want to be deprived of a night out with a lady.’
‘Then they want to sharpen up their ways,’ Violet said, not altogether unkindly. ‘After so long at war, it’ll be nice for the girls to be treated by a fella.’
Temperance wiped a small smear from the bar tray. ‘I agree, Vi, but you know what they’re like round here. They’ve had it too good too long. Now there’s a bit of competition and they don’t like it.’
‘Well, we can’t carry on like this every night,’ Violet announced.
‘I couldn’t agree with you girls more,’ a loud Brooklyn accent called from behind them.
Spinning round, Violet smiled at Nancy, their general manager and friend. With her thick brown hair, thicker American accent and lavish eye make-up, Nancy always exuded a tough exterior, but the girls knew she was as soft as butter underneath it all.
‘So, what’s your plan?’ Temperance asked.
Nancy pursed her lipstick-red lips and ran a hand through her hair. ‘Honey, if I had an answer to that I’d be a rich woman. I don’t know. I wondered if we could hold some sort of social night for the locals and GIs.’
General Issue was a term the American soldiers used for themselves due in part, the rumour mill claimed, to the fact that ‘GI’ was stamped all over their uniforms and kit.
‘Won’t that be difficult when we’re so short-staffed?’ Temperance countered.
‘Honey, I can’t lie, yes. But there’s a war on; we’ve all got to do our bit. And even though half our girls have joined up alongside our menfolk now we can’t let that get in the way of our problems.’
‘And the fights between locals and GIs are a problem.’ Violet sighed.
‘So is our lack of staff,’ Temperance muttered before turning to Violet. ‘Any word from Maisie?’
At the mention of her sister Violet felt a flame of affection unfurl within her heart. She had never been close to Maisie growing up, but since she had been conscripted into the ATS back in March Violet missed her more than she could ever have expected. It was a wonder Maisie was the only woman at the Palais to have been called up. Temperance after all was eligible, but she was registered as her mother’s carer: Enid suffered with her nerves following the death of her husband and son. Violet, together with her mother Betty, was also a carer for George, Betty’s husband and the man who had raised Violet since she was a baby. George was disabled since losing his arm in Dunkirk.
‘She’s fine. She wrote to me last week. She’s doing well up in Northampton. Made friends with a girl called Kitty.’
‘That’s good.’ Temperance looked pleased for a moment and then bit her lip. ‘I keep expecting my call-up papers any moment.’
Nancy shook her head. ‘Honey, it’s not going to happen. You’re both listed as carers for your family; they’re not going to conscript you.’
‘I hope not.’ Temperance shook her head then, realising what she’d said, blushed. ‘I mean it’s not that I don’t love my country. Course I do, I’d do anything to serve and fight Hitler, but I worry about Mum; she’d never cope if anything happened to me …’
As her voice trailed off Violet squeezed her hand. ‘And that’s why they won’t conscript you. Your mum’s got you around for a long time.’
‘That’s what Archie keeps saying.’
At the thought of her sweetheart, butcher Archie Ledbetter, Temperance grinned and Violet couldn’t help but join in. The two had been courting for several months now and made a perfect pairing.
‘Then listen to him,’ Violet assured her. ‘I’ve been worried about the same thing, but Betty’s had me listed as George’s official carer so I can keep baby Eamon.’
The fact that she’d had to lie about giving birth to her baby boy, pretend that he was an orphan, abandoned when his mother had been killed in childbirth during a raid in the capital, broke Violet’s heart. She hated that on his birth certificate she’d been forced to put ‘mother and father unknown’, when the truth was that she had wanted to sing from the rooftops that little Eamon was hers and hers alone. That he had a mummy, and a daddy who would have loved him very much had he been given the chance. Violet shook her head, trying to free herself from the pain of thinking about the death of her own sweetheart, Temperance’s older brother Eamon. He had died during the first bomb attack on London and as she came to terms with his death, Violet had been both delighted and terrified to discover she was pregnant with his child.
