Chapter 2

The revelation that men were buying female underwear for themselves was not as much of a shock that there were people with enough spare money to indulge in buying such things for themselves, to dress in secret. All the customers here would be women, or so the Timson women thought. They hadn’t even thought a man would come in to buy a corset for his wife; it was simply too personal.

“A lot changed when the Nazis took over,” said the shop owner. “They brought a whole bunch of perversions with ‘em. Maybe let them flourish, who knows? Not that I’m complaining; there aren’t enough women buying good underwear right now. May as well be men. If their money’s good, and it usually is.”

“Goodness,” said Hilda, and then shrugged. “But we don’t care. We need a job.”

The woman behind the counter nodded. “I reckon I can trust you. My name’s Myra. Was Myra Jacobson, but now it’s Myra Jackson.”

“Oh,” said Hilda, taking a half-step back. “You’re not ... Not Jewish are you?”

“No one is nowadays,” frowned the woman, darkly. “Not if they have any sense. No, my papers say I’m registered Aryan. Amazing what the forgers can do.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Asked Connie. This was not the sort of conversation one ran into everyday. Not since the roundup of all the Jewish people had begun.

“Because,” said Myra as she reached into a drawer under the counter, “I have to trust someone to keep their mouths shut if the fucking British Gestapo do come round.” The woman brought out a battered and chipped British army service revolver and laid it on the counter. “I also get a few Jewish customers in here—those that like me have survived so far by keeping their heads down—and I only trust those around me who can keep their mouths shut.”

“And the gun guarantees it?” Asked Hilda.

“No, it means I get to take one of the bastards with me if it all goes tits up.” Myra grinned as she slipped the revolver back in the drawer. “But let’s get to business. Ten marks a week for you to model corsets in the window.”

“Each?” asked Hilda, hopefully.

“For both. And we do it as trial. Two weeks. If you can’t manage to do the job it’s over.”

“Agreed,” said Hilda, not waiting for her mother. “What do you want us to whistle if anyone looks suspicious?”

“Deutschland Uber Alles. Just for the fun of it. You start showing tomorrow, at 10 on the dot. Get here fifteen minutes early, so you can get the corsets on.”

“Not here for nine?” Asked Connie.

“No one gets out of bed to shop early these days. Hours are ten to five, five days week; two hours on, thirty minute break, then two more hours. Ten marks for you both, paid on Friday, if you do what I tell you. And providing you don’t tell anyone who comes in here. The payment for that is my little friend under the counter.”

“We will keep our lips sealed,” promised Hilda. She had no doubt that Myra was a decent shot, and the prospect of ten Marks a week was like heaven.

It was boring, standing in underwear in the window of the store, and even turning occasionally to show a passer by how well fitted the girdles and corsets were did little to alleviate the mind-numbing boredom. More than once in the first two weeks Hilda was close to screaming at the monotony, but the first payment of two five Mark notes promised food on the table and reminded them both why they were doing this.

The window was warm, so that was relief as the mother and daughter wore simple slips over their own underwear with a corset or girdle fastened on their waists. Myra told them to both not stare at people stopping to look at the display but at the same time keep an eye open for any officer of the law, and especially the Gestapo heading their way.

As it happened the only copper they saw was one on a beat on the other side of the street from time to time, and though a vehicle loaded with British Quislings working for the Gestapo would roar past occasionally none of them stopped.

As for the men who came in to buy women’s underwear for themselves, they kept their hats pulled down over their faces and scarfs pulled up. It went without saying that any man who came in to buy was not stared at by Connie and Hilda. Their job was to display and watch outwards.

The same went for any women who might be Jewish, too, though the men greatly outnumbered any women who either of the live models might regard as possibly as targets for the round-up of Jews. They stuck to their job and as March progressed the weather was improving. Water began dripping off the solid ice adorning buildings and there was less on the pavements and roads. With food in their bellies, even it was poor quality food, Connie and Hilda felt better. Their legs ached less as they got used to their job, as well.

There had been no letter from John Timson though mail deliveries were always sporadic. There had been rumours that there was still, somehow, a handful of resistance fighters who had managed to escape capture and were finding ways of disrupting train services, but no one dare believe that there were many Brits still fighting even in the hills and mountains of the north. It was possible then that a mail train had been derailed and no one had got round to sorting out the scattered mail, but as March turned to April it began to look as if the man of the family had gone missing. Perhaps, Hilda had thought, he had fallen foul of the gangs of Scots who resented Englishmen going north for work or—possibly—the man had been caught in a sweep of men to go and fight in Russia.

Germany couldn’t sustain a long war against the Soviets on their own, people whispered. The invasion of southern England might have finally gone the German way but they lost lot of men in achieving victory. Stories were that the Germans were now secretly seeking a halt to the fighting by offering an armistice and would retreat to rivers like the Vistula where they had fortifications built. But one thing everyone knew was that rumours were as substantial as a light breeze and anyway, one could be accused of treason if over-heard repeating such rumours. Most learned to just shrug as getting by in the UK’s ruined town and cities was far more immediate.

At this point the lives of mother and daughter might have begun to show promise of getting better had it not been for Obergruppenfuhrer Heinz Lehmann. Quite how he managed to appear in front of the window of Brunhilda and Tochter was a mystery to both Connie and Hilda. The man in the black SS senior officer’s uniform was suddenly standing and regarding the live display and caught the two female unprepared. They had no time to whistle a warning and prayed that there was no one in the shop who shouldn’t be there.

The Obergruppenfuhrer was the most senior man in the region and there he was, quite alone.

Hilda stared at the man in the peaked cap and immaculately polished black boots and briefly wondered if he was a customer. But he was making no attempt to hide himself the way the ‘regulars’ did and was more interested in regarding the younger of the two females. Then he turned smartly and entered the shop.

Hilda and her mother exchanged a worried glance. This was more than they expected, and far worse than they were prepared for. Was this a raid of some sort? Was Myra about to be taken into custody, in which case did that include all the staff? Even if it came down to permits and official stamps then the Timson females could be in for the high jump. Indeed, it was unthinkable what a senior figure like Herr Lehmann might want in a town like theirs was highly unusual. Although people were familiar with the man through posters and on newsreels at the cinema as well as in the newspapers no-one expected to see him in their locality.

At any moment Hilda expected to hear a gun shot—two if the German pulled out his Luger first—or an order for everyone to surrender. Yet there was no shout of agony or a curt command. For a moment Hilda wondered if she had imagined all this.

Then Myra appeared at the small door that gave access to the window. “Hilda, come here please. Just you,” she said and although she looked a little worried she wasn’t shaking with fear.

Hilda clambered out of the window and stood, arms pulled together in front of her for modesty though she was not revealing anything more than was decent, taking in the rest of the shop. There was no one else in but Myra and the Obergruppenfuhrer, and he looked relaxed enough. He had taken his cap off and set it on the counter and hadn’t drawn his gun, indeed the flap of his leather holster was still closed.