Doris's Wartime Valentine

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Copyright April 2018

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific living persons.

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This story is parallel to 'Vera's Wartime Valentine' and 'Ken's Wartime Valentine'. It is the final part of the trilogy - independent stories but telling the same tale from the point of view of the other protagonists, explaining a different perspective and interpretations of the same events. They can be read in any order, but were written in the sequence Vera-Ken-Doris. Each story will explain certain aspects of the others.

Neither sequels nor prequels, perhaps 'paraquels'? I had to write this third story; three makes a trilogy but two would have been only biology.

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Doris was in shock. She looked at her house and saw her underwear fluttering in the breeze for everyone to see.

The entire side of the house was missing; she could see into her parent's bedroom, her own bedroom and the living room. Rubble was across the street and dust hung in the air.

Someone was holding her back but although she felt drawn to investigate the horror further she was grateful for the restraint.

* * * *

The funeral was held a week later. Both of her parents and her sister gone - in an instant. Just like that, she was alone. Oh, a couple of aunts and uncles turned up and offered her tea, sympathy and accommodation. But although they were family and had lost their brother or sister in the bombing, and they all offered her a place to live, Doris didn't want to live with them.

Still in a daze she went to the relief committee and was given a tiny emergency clothing issue to supplement what she wore on her back which was all she had left. Whilst waiting in the inevitable queue she read the posters on the wall advertising War Bonds, the need to recycle old rags to make blankets, old bones to make explosives. She heard comments behind her; 'She's been bombed out, lost her lot.'

That seemed to strike home more than anything. More than seeing the mess, identifying the bodies in the morgue or hearing the hymns in the funeral. 'Lost her lot.' The finality in that phrase woke her from the dream. It was real and she had better do something about it, make the best of a bad job. There was a war on, didn't she know. Did she think she was the only person in the world who was going through this?

There were other posters appealing for girls to work in factories making tanks, aeroplanes and ammunition. There were more advertising for the Women's Royal Air Force, the Women's Royal Navy, the Land Army. Posters for everything that she could imagine, including a load of banal government drivel.

There was little to stay there for. On impulse she picked the Land Army. Helping to plough fields and tend livestock sounded more cheerful than working on guns, either making or firing - or being the target for them. She could be part of the war effort whilst being as far as possible from that war.

So carrying her case of government-issue second-hand clothes, she walked to the Employment Exchange and signed up. Within a week Doris was on a train, watching the fields float past. She saw cows grazing for the first time in her life, acres of wheat and many fields of other crops that she couldn't identify. She was a city girl and this place had strange smells, even over the clouds of smoke that wafted past from the engine.

* * * *

The farm that she was sent to was pleasant enough, she supposed. There were hills and trees, even views of the seaside; Doris had never seen the sea before. She was given a room to sleep in, shared with two other girls, called Agnes and Vera. The room had been the front parlour, commandeered for the duration. Few could afford the luxury of unused rooms any more; there was indeed a war on. She couldn't complain - there were rumours of girls having to live in huts on other farms; Nissen huts, just sheets of corrugated iron bent into an arch with a concrete wall at the end. They were cold and bleak places at any time of year.

She even had a uniform to wear (in exchange for all her clothing ration coupons - the woman at the store had told her to 'make do and mend' when asked what she was supposed to do). Unflattering canvas-like clothes but made to last.

The smells of the countryside were something else; shit was everywhere and it stank. Samuel and Edith, the people who owned the farm, thought that was funny. "Healthy air, good for you." laughed Edith when she complained about the rank stench when the yard was covered in 'cow pats' after milking. It was disgusting; she was expected to walk through it all just to get water from the pump, especially when rain had turned it all into a slurry that sucked the boots from her feet. The pump was the only source of water, for drinking, washing or cooking so was used a lot.

Edith was a hearty, country-bred woman, well built with heavy breasts. The day after Doris arrived, she saw Edith in the yard near to the pump. She had a hessian sack over her shoulders to protect her from the light rain, but she hung the sack on a nail and to Doris's surprise removed her blouse.

Edith saw Doris watching. "Don't take notice of me cariad, no-one can see, it's quite private here in the yard. Anyway if anyone does get an eyeful of my bronnau. I hope they enjoy. Get a cheap thrill."

Doris paused, "What did you call me, Carrie Ann?"

Edith was puzzled, "I didn't call you anything, I said 'don't take notice of me, cariad."

"That's it, that's what you said. And brown eye."

"Cariad, silly. Just means dearie, love. You're in Wales now, you'll have to get used to a few words. And bronnau means baps."

Doris raised an eyebrow.

"Tits." Edith unfastened the large white bra that she was wearing, letting her boobs hang loosely. Hanging the bra on the nail with the sack and blouse, she heaved on the handle of the pump and drenched her chest with water.

Doris was fascinated. She had seen flat-chested girls in the school showers when she was younger but couldn't remember ever seeing a grown woman undressed. Now she was watching Edith bend down with her head under the pump, working the lever with one hand as the water cascaded over her hair and drip from her nipples.

Big pink nipples, attached to huge white breasts that were dangling and swinging from side to side.

Edith stood, shook her head and slicked her hair back. The rain was still falling as she walked to the doorway where a towel was hanging on another nail, she rubbed her hair roughly, causing her chest to jiggle furiously. A quick wipe down over her 'babs' and she removed her damp corduroy trousers and muddy boots.

"That's better, wash the sweat off. A good sploosh and I'm sorted." She walked off in her large pink panties with damp patches.

Doris thought about Edith for the rest of the evening. Those magnificent breasts with the water running over them were amazing.

After a long day in the freezing weather the three girls cuddled up together for warmth in that bleak house. Cold hands found warm areas in the night, sometimes a chill touch on a breast sent a frisson of excitement through her.

On occasion the contact was further south, which she found strangely erotic. Either Agnes or Vera, it didn't matter. A cool hand straying under the bedclothes over her stomach or right between her legs could make her startle and make her nipples harden.

There were overcoats lain on the bed to supplement the meagre blanket. Frequently during the night the coats would move, so that there was a cold draught on her body. She would grab a coat and drag it back; someone else would snatch it from her. Sometimes this would turn into a tug-of-war in the darkness.

One night she found herself cuddling a warm soft female body, snuggling in to a wide pair of hips that were a good fit for her own lap. Soon she was reaching underneath a nightie for the breasts that she knew were present.

In the dark she knew it was Agnes, who had short hair and was much smaller than Vera. She fitted perfectly into the spoon position and did not rebuff the touch.

Agnes had a slim body, there was no flab on a girl who had already worked on the farm for several months. She had eaten only wartime rations that had been augmented only by secret titbits from the farm, no government bureaucrat could ever stop that completely. However she still had large boobs, soft and warm as Doris wrapped her arms around her.

Doris held the nipple between finger and thumb for a second and then gently caressed it. It grew longer at the touch.

Agnes' body tensed and for a moment Doris thought that she would scream, however the sleeping girl stretched languidly and turned onto her back. One thigh moved to rest on Doris's bent legs and a hand grasped her wrist. Fingers firmly pushed her hand down, away from the breast and across a firm belly to a clump of soft hair.

The thighs were wide apart, the private cleft open and available. Doris tentatively stroked the clump of hair, but the flesh even further down was personal and it would be rude to explore there.

Agnes moved her body again. Suddenly their faces were close and an arm was embracing her, pulling her even closer.

Doris could feel breath on her face, then their lips met in the dark. She was confused, astonished. She had had boyfriends, had kissed one or two in the blackout before the bombing. They had rough, stubbly faces, strong muscles and urgent hormones but this was a soft smooth face with willing lips.

A hand was wandering, sensuously up her own back, to her shoulder and then to the back of her neck. A tongue was probing her lips, then the hand vanished from her neck.

It appeared briefly on her backside, squeezing the muscle that was still aching from her work during the day. Then she felt it stroking her belly and suddenly it was on her own breast. This reminded her of the fumbles with local boys in the blackout, standing in a back gully between the rear gardens where the dustbins lived and the coalman delivered his sacks.

A warm palm on her tit, her nipple responding, a feeling of excitement. 'Mmm, this was pleasant', she thought dreamily.

Doris responded and returned the kiss. After the loss of her family she had a close personal human contact for the first time and it made her feel alive. Agnes shifted slightly and she found that her hand was no longer feeling the hairy mound. It was now cupping underneath which should have been forbidden territory. She could feel heat exuding from soft moist skin.

There was one arm around her shoulder keeping her close, whilst her breast was released and her nightdress was unbuttoned. Lips fastened onto her nipple, sucking and teeth scraping. A hand was between her own legs, forcing its way between her thighs and separating them. Then fingers were touching her pussy, where few boyfriends had ever been permitted.

She reciprocated the touching so wherever the fingers went, she mirrored. First they stroked her lips, around the edge of her vagina. Then they stayed on the sensitive point at the front, causing a shiver to run up her entire body. She knew this spot existed; she had touched it many times herself. But this secret touch in the dark by another's hand was a different thing altogether.

Yet Vera was in the bed also, she would be bound to notice. They needed to keep this caressing discreet. Then she felt other arms around her, snuggling and embracing. Vera had stirred but not awoken completely and they had to stop.

Doris released the hand from between her legs, pushing it firmly away. The close, comfortable contact remained though and soon they were all asleep.

* * * *

The work was hard, even if the scenery was distracting. There were cattle to feed and milk, crops to hoe, ditches to clear of brambles and stone walls to repair. The land was mixed with some level areas that had to grow crops, hills too steep for ploughs, places where the rocks were too close to the surface for anything but grass.

Every possible square inch of land had to be growing crops as Samuel constantly repeated to anyone who would listen. Either he was moaning about the bureaucrats who would confiscate his farm if he didn't waste his time ploughing the boggy land next to the pond or he was writing letters to complain that he was being issued with girls who were over eighteen when the big estate down the road was getting those still seventeen who could be paid less. It was hardly surprising, he reasoned when the lord of the manor was chairman of every committee around.

Every Saturday night there was a dance at the ammunition factory a few miles away. Agnes asked Doris if she would accompany her there, so one weekend they rode Samuel's creaky bicycle to the works. It had a squeaky wheel and they whistled in time to the squeak, faster and faster as they went down a hill. Doris only had the one decent dress, issued by the emergency relief committee, but it had to do. She sat on the saddle whilst Agnes stood and pedalled.

When they arrived Doris found that there were very few men present; the workforce was mostly female and men were in short supply. Agnes was not downhearted, "We'll just have to dance with each other."

There were several women dancing together so they didn't seem out of place, the music was standard ballroom, supplied by a small quartet of brass and string accompanied by a piano. Away from the farm, with the anonymity of the dance hall, they chatted away and had more dances.

A few soldiers arrived; Americans from the new camp close by. They were everywhere nowadays, flashing their pay and expecting the girls to be grateful for a stick of gum. They were good looking lads, but brash and loud and the two girls kept their distance.

The girls drank a few beers each. Doris found herself looking at Agnes more and more. She decided that Agnes had a pretty mouth and sensuous eyes, and the more she examined them the deeper they were. Now the Yanks were dancing with the factory women - they were welcome to each other.

By now it was quite dark and they were feeling squiffy from the beer. It had been watered down from the pre-war strength but it still had some potency. It was time to start making their way back home. Agnes tried to pedal the bike, but there was a slight uphill and she couldn't keep her balance long enough to get it going. So after several tumbles into the grass verge they walked for a while. Their way was lit by the stars, the sounds carried from the distant ships and the factory that carried on around the clock.

They heard the distinctive uneven noise of a German plane, the notes of the two engines going in and out of resonance. Then in the distance some searchlights lit up the sky as sirens sounded.

Doris froze; she was back under the dining room table of her old house watching soot billow from the fireplace as the explosions rocked the street. She could see white eyes and teeth in the gloom and knew that it was her mother pretending that they were in the Black and White Minstrel show. Except that it was the soot over everything. And now the house was no more and her mother gone also.

Agnes laid the bike down on the grass and took her hand, then hugged her.

Agnes stroked her face and kissed those tentative lips, stroked her bottom through the cheap dress and lastly lifted the hem and put her hand inside the waistband of her panties.

Doris seemed to wake and responded. She kissed back and her feet moved to allow better access to that gentle, probing hand. Suddenly she was hungry for affection and close bodily contact.

Then she stepped back. A truck was approaching; this was the main road and even in the blackout with a distant air-raid people were about. They picked up the bike and made their way back to the farm while the sirens and searchlights played on the horizon.

* * * *

A few weeks later there were posters up on the telegraph poles everywhere advertising a dance for St. Valentines Day at the American camp. There were many encampments about; a couple of miles away there were thousands of tents across the warren of sand dunes, a mile further an entire country estate with a big house and an abbey had been taken over.

But the camp holding the dance was at an old hostel that had originally been built to house the workforce at the ammo factory, a dingy place that had been jerry-built in a field where the mist hung in the mornings. The women who had been expected to live there had looked at it, then turned around and gone straight back home They preferred to travel by bus or train every day from their homes - some even in England miles away.

It was good enough for troops apparently though, they'd live where they were told. They couldn't even complain, especially when the alternative was a tent.

Vera was excited about the dance, she told everyone that she wanted to meet a Yank and have herself a boyfriend. She rarely went to the dances at the factory; not enough men, she said, which was true. Desperation wasn't a pretty sight. She was nice enough but it was difficult to see how she would ever get a husband - unless she found someone really short who needed a tall wife to reach things down from a shelf. Not even Samuel looked at her.

Doris decided that she didn't like Samuel very much. His eyes were always on her - sometimes Agnes, but mostly on her. Vera didn't get his attention so much but she was built like a carthorse.

One time Samuel had entered the room while they were all naked having a bath and made them scream. There was only one tin bath, which they all had to share - which wasn't unusual. She had spent her life in houses where baths were taken one after another in the same water, usually on a Sunday evening ready for school the next day. There was never enough fuel or time available to heat up fresh water for everyone. But modesty required that the ladies would bathe first and when they were finished the men would take their turn.

Edith had given her husband what for, of course, but even after that Doris had caught glimpses of him watching through the window, past the strips of paper that were glued on to catch the shards of glass in case they were bombed.

So anyway Vera made a big fuss about going to the St Valentines dance, but Agnes wasn't so keen. Doris would have gone otherwise, it was a Valentine's after all. However Agnes said that she would like it if Doris stayed behind to keep her company.

Vera got herself all done up, and off she went looking somewhat ridiculous like a pantomime dame. Doris finished up the farm work and went into the house.

Agnes gave her a wink and beckoned towards their bedroom. When they were there and the door closed behind them, Agnes fumbled and then turned around to present Doris with a bloom of camellia between her teeth, as if it were a rose. There was a shrub in the tiny garden and she had obviously cut the flower without Edith knowing. Edith would have hit the roof if she had known of the vandalism.

Doris chuckled, "What are you doing with that in your mouth?"

Agnes had brushed her hair neatly. "Will you be my Valentine? We can be undisturbed, just us two together, it'll be fun."

Doris was taken aback and said nothing.

"Come on, we'll have a little party on our own." Agnes had laid out a tray of goodies; some cheese and bread, some cake and even a bottle of wine. Doris had no idea where she had found wine, but it was most likely from the black market. Just about anything was available - if you knew the right person to ask and had the cash or something else of value on offer.

Agnes didn't have any wine glasses but they had tea cups complete with saucers so the wine was poured and sipped while they perched on the edge of the bed, giggling about the absurdity.