Читать книгу Sand In My Shoes: Coming of Age in the Second World War: A WAAF’s Diary - Joan Rice - Страница 51

Yesterday was one of those unpremeditated evenings that turn out fun. Frances, Mickey and I arranged to go to the pictures and half past five saw Mickey and me ready to go, pacing the pavement impatiently outside the Sergeants Mess, within which sat Frances and company sergeants chatting socially with Our Annie. Beside us in the road was Old Mort (an elderly shapeless WAAF), sitting in the hearse, which is what we have named her utility van, a horrible monster of wood and glass. However, we were not too proud to climb into it and get a lift to Colindale Station once Frances had eventually broken loose.

We found the Classic Cinema and for sixpence had the choice of any seat in the Stalls and two excellent films, one of which being The Wandering Jew. Frances and Mickey ate sherbets and chocolate cushions. I had tooth-ache and just sighed sadly when they passed the bag to each other over me. We approve very much of this cinema: as Mickey said, you even get to go to the lavatory free.

That evening we fumbled through blackout and strange streets in search of a bus stop, then we smelt it – definitely, unmistakably – fried fish and chips! We went methodically down the street smelling each shop, sometimes the aroma was strong, sometimes faint, but the source always eluded us. Finally, defeated and sorrowful, we reached the bus stop. Just as the bus approached I glanced behind me one last time and there was what we wanted. I ripped the other two from the bus, we rushed inside, purchased chips and one piece of fish for Frances, and ate them while wandering lost round Hendon.

When I got back, Beck and Bridget were in the kitchen. We talked about life and love and religion and men and survival of the individual until suddenly it was half past twelve.