Farewell To The East End

set about clearing away the dirty mugs, plates, papers, magazines, shoes and bits of uniform that were lying around the place. If Chummy’s brother, Wizard Prang, was anything like his sister, and from the name it sounded as if he would be, this was going to be a rare treat.
    A tall man entered the room. I recognised him at once as the policeman, in plain clothes. Chummy, who couldn’t handle men, instantly went bright red and started spluttering. Trixie, who always liked to stir things up, said innocently, ‘This is David, and he wants to see you, Chummy.’
    ‘Oh, great Scott! Me? There must be some mistake. It can’t be me.’
    She swallowed hard, and her arm jerked sideways, knocking over a table lamp, which fell onto the record player, where our favourite 78 was spinning round. There was a ghastly screeching sound as the needle dragged across the record.
    ‘Oh, clumsy clot! Oh silly me! Now what have I done?’ Chummy’s voice was distressed.
    ‘You’ve ruined the Eartha Kitt, that’s what you’ve done, you chump.’ Trixie sounded cross. ‘That was “Take It Easy”, something you need to learn to do, you idiot.’
    ‘Oh, sorry girls. Frightfully sorry and all that. I know I’m a liability. Here, I’ll stop the dratted thing.’
    Chummy moved, and there was another crash as she knocked over a table of coffee mugs.
    ‘Lawks! What next?’ was her anguished cry.
    There was a guffaw of masculine laughter.
    ‘David is the policeman you knocked over last year,’ said Trixie wickedly. ‘He wants to see you.’
    ‘Oh, crikey! Not that again! I didn’t mean …’
    Chummy’s voice trailed away into nothingness. Her embarrassment was all-consuming. David looked abashed, in the presence of four girls and a chaotic situation that somehow – he did not know how – he seemed to have provoked. Cynthia came to the rescue, her low voice easing the tension. She picked up the coffee mugs and scooped up the instant coffee from the carpet.
    ‘Nonsense. Of course David hasn’t come about last year’s accident. Would you like a cup of coffee? There may be some bits of fluff in it, but you can pick them off when they float to the top.’ With a few words she put everyone at their ease. ‘We were talking about Chummy’s extraordinary adventure in the Dock the other night.’
    ‘That is why I came.’ He turned to Chummy. ‘It was a very brave thing you did. Are you all right now?’
    ‘Lawks, yes. Nothing wrong with me. Bounce up like a cork, I do. But how did you know about it, actually?’
    ‘I was there. I saw you coming along the quayside. Don’t you remember?’
    ‘No.’ Chummy looked vague.
    ‘Well, I do. I think I will always remember the way you looked when you got off that boat. You deserve a medal.’
    ‘Me? Why?’
    ‘For all that you did that night.’
    ‘Oh, fiddlesticks. That was nothing. Anyone would have done the same.’
    ‘I do not think so. I really don’t.’
    Chummy could not be induced to say anything more. She sat on the edge of her chair, stiff and awkward, looking as though she wished herself a thousand miles away.
    The evening passed pleasantly. Policemen and nurses always have a lot in common. I had found from previous experience, living in nurses’ homes, that if we wanted to throw an impromptu party, we only had to send an invitation round to the nearest police station, and we would be flooded with healthy young coppers, eager to try their chances. David certainly enjoyed himself, being the centre of the attention among four young girls, even though one of them was too shy to talk.
    Inevitably, the conversation turned to Chummy’s experience in the Docks, and in particular to the ship’s woman, who held a morbid fascination for us. We were agog to hear more about the life of such a woman and tried to get Chummy to talk about her. But it was no use. Poor Chummy might have been able to be expansive with us girls, but in mixed company she was speechless with discomfort. In those days, it must be remembered, even amongst midwives who saw just about everything, sexual matters were either unmentionable, or referred to obliquely and with exaggerated delicacy. And the life of a ship’s woman was in no way delicate!
    We asked David if he had heard of such a character. He assured us that, although every crew might wish to have one, a ship’s woman was pretty rare, because of the strict controls on trading vessels. ‘But they do exist, as you have found out.’ He