Just Like Betty Grable

Of course there was a War on, but in many ways, life for Violet Gibbons was much better these days. She had a job she could feel a real pride in for the first time, working in a proper office in a typing pool responsible to the CO of the Royal West Kent Regiment, the food wasn't bad, and most importantly, no-one that she worked with had grown up around here.

She'd been rather concerned about that, when she'd been posted back home straight out of training, and hadn't wanted to go, but life in the Barracks had turned out far more fun than she'd expected, especially when there were dances and the like. Violet let her gaze wander round the canteen then, letting the chatter wash over her. Dora and Beryl had left already, needing to get back on shift, but she was in no rush.

It was nice to have those two. It hadn't been so easy, growing up, Violet considered, absently trailing her fork through her mashed potato and boiled cabbage…

Walmington on Sea, 1929

'And your Mum cleans other people's toilets for a living!' screeched Betty Parker, sure she'd dealt her killing blow, but afraid to hang around to find out. She turned and ran to the other side of the playground, her stupid gaggle of friends racing behind, giggling raucously.

Nine year old Violet was a rather big girl for her age, with her blonde hair tied back in a thick plait, and although she was well able to look after herself, on this occasion, Betty's words particularly stung. It wasn't her fault Mum had to go out to work – just because Betty's Mum could stay home all day, didn't mean everyone else could, especially after Dad…She stopped there. Thinking about him would only make her more upset, and she missed him every day. Mum had to work; after he got ill and didn't get any better…it wasn't fair.

She was determined not to cry, but sometimes it was just so hard not to, and ran off blindly in the other direction, not knowing or caring who saw, and collided heavily with a boy rushing towards her.

'Ow!' The smaller boy glared at her. 'That really hurt…' He seemed poised to say more, but perhaps realised then that this was one of the bigger ones, and that maybe he shouldn't.

'Should look where you're going then!' Violet retorted, dazed and still upset herself.

'No, you were in the road,' he countered, looking sulky.

'No, I wasn't!'

'You were! I'm chasing these jewel thieves, and you're in the way! I'm a Dectective!' he added proudly.

'What?' Violet stared at the dark haired boy, her own concerns momentarily forgotten.

'I'm playing Dectectives, only no-one else wanted to, and they're playing Bulldog but my Mum said I'm not allowed to 'cause of my ankles,' he explained, pointing to a horde of mainly boys racing from one side of the playground to the other, crashing into each other deliberately on the way.

'Oh.' Violet didn't understand what was wrong with his ankles, but it wasn't nice being left out of a game. She knew that all too well.

'Do you want to play Detectives?' he asked then, a spark lighting his eyes. 'You could be my assistant!'

On another day, Violet would have treated a boy, particularly a younger boy, with the appropriate disdain, but today was different. She felt lonely and he was being nice.

'OK,' she replied. 'But I'm not being an assistant! I'm older than you!'

'Well, all right. How about being the jewel thief's girlfriend?'

In spite of herself, Violet laughed. 'OK! But what's your name?'

'Frank, really. But I'm not now. I'm Detective Molaro, and we're in Chicago! What's yours? Your real name, not in the game.'

'Violet. But I like Isabella – can that be my name? In the game?'

Violet came back to the present and smiled. She wondered where that boy was now – could be anywhere, really. Probably in the Army himself by now. She hoped he was safe, and that Betty Parker wasn't. Her thoughts turned then to the latest dance, held at a local village hall a few weeks back. There were some nice boys there, but not really what she'd hoped for…a boy who'd worked down the mines before he joined up…he was nice looking, but it wasn't much of a future, was it? After the War – if they won – and even if they didn't – maybe especially if they didn't – a woman needed a man with prospects, Violet thought. She didn't want to go back to the Fish Shop, or Woolworths, and certainly didn't want to clean other people's houses like her mother.

There must be someone like that here, she thought, gazing around the room hopefully. She was just about to give up, when a puzzled frown crossed her face. What were all those old men doing here?