Open Writing

I was a member of the Cavalry Barracks Drama Group. This consisted mainly of officers - male and female. There was a Regimental Sergeant Major, who produced and directed the plays, or at least the one and only production I performed in. This was 'The Black Sheep of the Family', by Noel Coward. Not one of the Master's most noted creations.

I played a secretary called Miss Swain. Apart from that fact I can recall little of the production. However, what I do remember is the after-theatre party on the Saturday night following the final performance of three.

The party was held in the Green Room. Prior to that evening I had never tasted alcohol in my life. I remember there were bottles of the stuff everywhere. Nobody was bothering to talk to me, being the only other ranker in the production.

I had a tentative go at the Creme de Menthe, mmm! - That tasted quite pleasant, slightly medicine-ish though. Then I tried a snifter of the Cherry Brandy - Cor! That was lovely!

I came to my senses back in the WRAC quarters, being attended to by a furious Bill. She was raging - not at me but about the powers-that-be in charge of the Theatre Group party. The way Bill sussed it, she thought those awful theatrical types had been trying to corrupt poor little me, when actually I'd been left to drink myself silly. Then they dumped me outside the WRAC living quarters.

"Didnt the rotten so-and-so's realise you were only eighteen and you'd never had a drink before?" she railed. I was in no state to know anything, and grateful I'd got a friend as kind and caring as Bill.

One morning Bill said she had to go to company office, so she wouldn't be catching the Heath truck as usual. She didn't turn up at work at all that day. Daphne Lawton, the sergeant queried her whereabouts, and I told her I hadn't seen her since breakfast.

When I got back that evening, everything belonging to Bill had vanished from our cubicle. Bill, my friend, had disappeared without a trace. I was so worried. When I saw Daphne I asked what had happened to her and she said she didn't know. I didn't believe her.

Ordinary people didn't have telephones in those days. I felt hurt that she could have walked out of my life without saying goodbye. In my book friends didn't do that.

About a week later Daphne came up to me at work. She took my hand and said she had just had some bad news. I thought perhaps it was about Dad. I hoped it wasn't, but she looked so serious, it couldn't be anything good. "Betty, it's about Bill. Mrs. Shakespeare phoned company office to say Bill died last Sunday from a massive heart attack, and was cremated yesterday.

"Apparently, this is her second time in the WRAC. She was medically discharged three years ago. She has suffered from heart disease for years. It's a mystery how she ever passed the medical, let alone how she lasted the course at the training centre."

Now I understood her mother's anxious concern for Bill's health. She wasn't a worrier, as Bill had pretended. This disaster could have happened any time over the past year. My lovely, radiant friend was dead and I would never see her again.

That night lying in bed I wondered what had possessed her to re-join the Service. Then I realised that Bill would never have thought of living a second-hand life, and would have preferred to die the way she did, rather than live the life of an invalid.

I wrote to Mrs. Shakespeare, and then I tore up the letter, for I could never express adequately what I wanted to say about Bill. I felt my letter was unworthy of her memory, so I sent a bereavement card instead. I realised I had lost someone very important in my life and knew I would never forget Bill as long as I lived.