The alert sounded precisely at six o’clock, as it did every night. No
one had gone out that evening. It was our first day, and we were busy
arranging our things, and besides, very few of us knew anyone in London.
In the evening, a second group of a dozen women arrived, and we “old
ones” experienced a certain feeling of superiority. We were already
forming little groups among ourselves.
The silken Jacqueline, noisy Mickey, and little Ursula were in my
dormitory, and from the first we were somehow drawn together. The reason
came out, perhaps, when a young woman with a large full mouth and an
absolutely round face approached our little group, and standing facing
us asked, without any preliminaries, whether we were virgins.
Mickey began to laugh. Jacqueline assumed a haughty, offended air.
Ursula simply blushed and said yes. On the instant, our dormitory was
baptized “The Virgins’ Room”—though the young woman who had asked the
question could obviously not be included in that category. Her name was
Ginette, and she informed us that she was a salesgirl and a divorcee.
She undressed, promenading naked among the cots, and declared to
Jacqueline, “You know, the best thing about my face is my legs.” It was
true that she had pretty legs.
Presently Ginette held up a pair of the regulation khaki panties they
had handed out to us. “Just look at that! What a monstrosity! How can I
expect to get a lover with that?” And on the spot, Ginette brought out a
pair of scissors and a needle and thread, and began to turn the panties
into briefs. At once, the rest of us followed her example. Each of us
remade the regulation underwear.
A bomb fell not far away; then there was a crash of breaking glass.
Mickey, sitting at the foot of her bed, was putting curlers in her hair.
A woman who was a hairdresser in civilian life came over to help her,
and then the hairdresser began to discuss Ursula’s coiffure. She
declared that Ursula ought to have her hair done up in curls, to make
her look a little more mature. An argument began. Jacqueline wanted
Ursula’s hair put up in a bun, to make her look sophisticated, and
Mickey was all for having it in short curly clusters, to make her look
boyish. But Ursula rejected all of our suggestions, holding her head in
her two hands as though to keep us from tearing out her hair.
At nine-thirty the corporal came to put out the lights. As soon as the
door was closed, Ginette turned them on again.
Mickey, in pajamas, began teaching Ursula a dance step. Jacqueline was
writing a letter, on monogrammed stationery; one of the girls was
growling from under her covers that she wanted to sleep.
I could see that Ursula was beginning to feel a kind of warmth and
security in the room with all these new friends—a warmth, I learned
later, that she had never known in her life before. After all, the room
was bright and filled with human sounds, and all these girls were like
big sisters busying themselves with her. Outside, there was night,
exile, bombardment, a foreign city bathed in fog and rain. Here people
spoke French, laughed and worked together, and it was as though
everybody had always known each other.
Mickey told her, “As soon as I heard General de Gaulle’s appeal, I
wanted to enlist. I’m so proud of being French, and I adore De Gaulle! I
saw him once in a parade.”
“What’s he like?” Ursula asked.
“Oh, he’s marvelous—very tall, and he looks awfully serious and sad.”
Ginette spoke up. “I crossed over the Pyrenees on foot, and I got myself
pinched in Spain. I told them I was a Canadian. I was with a man, an
American, a good-looking fellow. He made love like a stick, but I liked
him well enough. He’s in America now. He’s going to send me silk
stockings and lipstick.”
“You’re lucky,” sighed Mickey, puckering her little nose.
Jacqueline raised her head, pausing in her writing to mutter something
about women who permitted themselves to be kept. But Jacqueline’s lofty
attitude didn’t annoy Ginette, who was now busy tailoring the jacket of
her uniform, making it over to her measure, with the help of the former
hairdresser. Somehow, I felt, nothing could annoy Ginette.
The door opened again, and the face of the corporal appeared, pinched
and angry. She was about to shout something when she noticed Mickey, who
had her scissors in one hand and her khaki drawers in the other. The
corporal glared at her. Then she announced icily, “If I see the lights
burning in this room once more after lights out, the whole lot of you
will stand punishment.” She snapped out the light and slammed the door.
Ginette, who was caught in the middle of the room, cursed because she
couldn’t find her bed. The woman who had wanted to sleep grunted that at
last there was justice. Jacqueline and Mickey gossiped from their beds.
Over the house, all night long, we could hear the growling of planes.