A Day at the Zoo
Ginger called for Jeanette the morning following their visit to the tailor's shop. Although it was cold, the weak winter sun was shining brightly from a clear sky, so they decided to walk to Regent's Park. It gave them more time to be together, hand in hand at first and then once the opportunity presented itself, with their arms around each other's waists. Since he had met Jeanette Ginger understood for the first time why couples wanted to touch each other all the time. Just holding Jeanette's hand made him feel deliriously happy. To have his arms around her was ecstasy.
Ginger could not believe his luck. He had never felt so elated. Jeanette, too, seemed radiant. She smiled at him frequently and his heart lurched every time their eyes met. It had been pleasant going to the cinema with Fiona, he thought, but nothing like this. Jeanette made him feel so alive and glad to be alive.
They strolled past the ruins of St Mark's church which had been hit by an incendiary in 1940 and finished off by HE a few days later. Before the war it had been famous for its tea parties for visitors to the zoo on summer Bank Holiday Mondays. There was now a hut in the grounds to serve as a chapel for worshippers, but the tea parties were no more.
They walked in a leisurely fashion around the park until they came to the entrance to the Zoo on the south side of Prince Albert Road. "Would you like to go in?" asked Ginger.
"Oh yes!" exclaimed Jeanette. "I 'ave never been to a zoo. Our Prince 'as a private one, but I 'ave never seen it."
"Come on, then, now's your chance!" said Ginger with a smile as he led her to the turnstile. "I've seen lots of animals in the wild," he observed, "when I was travelling with Biggles before the war, so it'll be nice that you have the chance to see them, too." They couldn't share the time before they met, he reflected, but at least he could give her the opportunity to experience some of the interesting things he had seen.
He paid their entry fee and they emerged into an open space with paths leading off in all directions.
"What would you like to see first?" asked Ginger. He had not been to Regent's Park, although he had once visited Whipsnade.
Jeanette looked lost. "Why don't you look at the Shetlands, madam?" suggested one of the keepers who happened to be passing.
Jeanette looked puzzled. "What is that?" she asked.
"Ponies. Small horses," Ginger told her. "They may be small, but they're very powerful."
"There's not many animals left now," the keeper told them, to Ginger's disappointment. "It's difficult keeping them in wartime. We have not long got our zebra back after a bomb dropped on the zoo and it escaped. At least we evacuated most of our animals and didn't shoot them all, like Belfast, although all the poisonous snakes had to go in case they got out."
"Any bears?" asked Ginger, relieved to hear about the snakes.
The keeper shook his head. "There are a few chimps," he volunteered,
"Cheemps?" asked Jeanette, bewildered.
"Chimpanzees," explained Ginger. "Small apes."
"That's right," affirmed the keeper approvingly. "There was some artist, Ginger I think her name was, did some watercolours of them – Chimps At The Zoo, I think they called it."
"Ginger?" queried Jeanette, looking at her companion.
"Not me," declared Ginger emphatically. "Anyway, it was a woman."
"Yes, I remember now," the keeper said, "Phyllis they called her. Phyllis Ginger. Nice paintings."
"Let us go and see these cheemps," said Jeanette.
The keeper pointed them in the right direction and they amused themselves watching the apes in the ape house. Ginger wasn't sure quite who was watching whom, but he found their antics entertaining and it made Jeanette laugh. He told Jeanette about some of his adventures with wolves and bears in Canada and Finland and she looked at him open mouthed. She had never seen bears, but she had the southern European visceral fear of wolves and shuddered. Ginger hastened to put his arm round her to comfort her and she put her head on his shoulder, appreciating his touch. Ginger felt a thrill run through him. It had been nothing like this in the cinema with Fiona, he reflected. Holding Jeanette was electric.
They made their way back towards the entrance, their arms around each other. On returning to the main gate, they passed the reptile house. Jeanette went towards the door. Ginger hung back.
"Are you sure you want to go in there?" he asked dubiously.
Jeanette smiled. "Oh yes, they are so …" she paused, trying to find the right word to express what she felt. Eventually she concluded, "they are pretty, the snakes."
Ginger thought that 'pretty' was the last word he would have used to describe snakes. They were his pet aversion. Still, if Jeanette wanted to go in and look at them, he would screw up his courage and go with her. He felt he would gladly die for her, so what was looking at a snake in the scheme of things? The keeper had said all the poisonous ones had gone.
Inside the reptile house it was dark and warm. Jeanette went to the window of the compartment where a python was coiled up. Ginger felt sick at the loathsome sight of the scaly coils; he remembered the one he had met in Africa and, despite his resolve, was reluctant to get any closer.
Jeanette turned to him. "Oh, look, Ginger .." she began and then she saw the look on his face in the dim glow of the vivarium. "What is the matter?" she asked anxiously.
Ginger swallowed. "I don't like snakes," he confessed shamefaced. He thought it best to be honest; Jeanette deserved to know he had feet of clay.
"And you 'ave come in 'ere for me?" breathed Jeanette, aware of what he was willing to do for her. She felt humbled.
Ginger smiled ruefully. "I'd do anything for you, Jeanette," he admitted. "Even look at snakes."
Jeanette impulsively put her arms round him and hugged him close. "You are wonderful, Ginger," she exclaimed and kissed his lips.
As he returned her embrace, Ginger felt a surge of desire for her that shocked him somewhat by its intensity. If Jeanette felt his reaction she did not pull away. Biggles had been right, he thought, when he gave me that spot of fatherly advice; when I kiss the right girl I will want to take her to bed. He knew without any shadow of doubt that Jeanette was the right girl. The attraction he had felt in the bedroom at number six rue Marinière or walking and swimming with her in Algeria was nothing in comparison with what he experienced with Jeanette in his arms, her body pressed against his, her lips kissing his.
When they broke off the kiss, Ginger was breathless, his heart thumping. "I think you're wonderful, too," he gasped.
Jeanette was aware that she had felt a powerful attraction for him when they had kissed and she wanted to hold him close and kiss him again. She closed her eyes and half opened her lips, hoping that Ginger would pick up on the cue. She was not disappointed. Their lips met again and this time the kiss was long and ardent. Ginger forgot all about the snakes behind the glass. He forgot everything except that Jeanette was in his arms, kissing him passionately and he wanted it to go on for ever.
When they broke off, he swallowed and panted, "I think we'd better go and have a cup of tea."
Jeanette giggled. "The English always want a cup of tea," she smiled.
Ginger thought it wasn't a cup of tea that he really wanted, but he had better have one instead. A cold bath might come in handy, too, he acknowledged.
Before they made their way to the tea rooms, Ginger tugged discreetly at his tunic, hoping that it would cover his embarrassment. He was thankful he had worn his number one uniform and not his battledress. If Jeanette noticed, she gave no sign. She put her arm through his and leaned happily against him as they walked through the zoo toward the refreshment rooms.
Ginger was still shaken by the strength of his reaction to her body. He wondered if she had been as aroused by the kiss as he had. He knew nothing about women in that respect, he reflected, other than that nice girls didn't do it before marriage. Did women feel the same as men about making love? If he was honest, he admitted to himself, he really knew nothing about women generally, but he did know he was desperate to find out with Jeanette.
Ginger remembered Biggles' advice. He had no doubt he wanted this relationship to continue, develop and come to its natural conclusion. The idea that had been put in his mind by the tailor's mistake had taken root; now it flourished. He knew with blinding clarity that he wanted to marry Jeanette, but did she feel the same way about him? They had not long met and they hardly knew each other, but he was certain she was the one for him. He would have to tread carefully, he thought. He wanted to let Jeanette get to know him and show her that he was seriously interested in her without frightening her off.
He thought back to the giant strides their relationship had made. In Monaco, she had run away when he kissed her on the forehead. In Algiers they had gradually come closer and he had been able to hold her and kiss her cheek when they parted at bedtime. The previous day she had let him kiss her on the cheek in public and they had kissed on the lips for the first time, albeit briefly, when they parted. Today they had kissed properly for the first time and what a revelation it had been! Ginger was grateful he had had the opportunity to kiss Fiona; it made him appreciate how special Jeanette was.
He realised, however, that he must take things more slowly now or he might well end up in trouble. He needed to heed Algy's advice to let his girl set the pace, although he had to acknowledge that if Jeanette encouraged him to 'take liberties' as Biggles had expressed it, he would be hard pushed to say no.
They walked in silence, their arms around each other. Ginger relished the contact. It felt so natural and right.
"A penny for them," offered Ginger when Jeanette did not speak.
Jeanette looked puzzled. "A penny for what?"
"Your thoughts. It's an old English saying."
"Oh, I see," she said and fell silent.
"It means," he prompted, "that I should like you to tell me what you are thinking."
Jeanette looked at him and blushed at her thoughts. She knew she had begun to fall in love with him when he passed out on the floor in the rue Marinière and the intervening time they had spent together had done nothing but deepen her feelings for him. She was sure he liked her, but he was so shy and hesitant, she thought, that she would have to be prepared to put her natural modesty aside in order to reassure him that he could press his suit. He had been glad to take the hints she had dropped to advance their relationship in Algiers, she reflected. Now she must throw reticence to the winds.
"I was thinking that I like you to kiss me," she whispered shyly, amazed by her own boldness.
Ginger's heart leapt. "Oh good!" he exclaimed with enthusiasm, feeling very relieved by her encouraging response. "Because that's exactly what I was thinking, too!"
Jeanette smiled. "I am glad," she breathed, blushing prettily. Ginger thought she looked too beautiful for words.
It was probably just as well that they had reached the tea rooms, he thought, or he would have been tempted to repeat the experience. Jeanette seemed to have enjoyed it as much as he had, which was a good sign.
The tea rooms were full of pilots under training, as they were billeted in the luxury flats by the zoo and the refreshment rooms were where they were fed. All eyes were on him as he ushered Jeanette in and drew up a chair for her at a vacant table. He wasn't sure if they were envying him his wings or his companion. He liked to think it was the latter. He felt ten foot tall with Jeanette on his arm. Suddenly he realised the trainees were standing. As a Flying Officer he outranked them. Embarrassed that he had ignored the junior officers in his pre-occupation, he murmured 'at ease'. The room settled and the chatter resumed.
Jeanette looked at him admiringly. Ginger blushed and ordered a pot of tea for two and some scones from the elderly waitress.
They chatted and laughed while they slowly sipped the beverage. Ginger wanted time to stop ticking away. He was only too well aware how short his leave was. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching before he carefully separated the two halves of his scone, scraping the thin layer of margarine and jam from the top and concentrating it on the lower half.
Jeanette watched him curiously. "What are you doing?" she asked.
Ginger smiled and put a finger on his lips. "Shh," he urged. "We're not supposed to waste food, but I thought we'd feed the ducks afterwards," he told her. "They can feast on half a scone." He wrapped it carefully in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket.
"Docks?" queried Jeanette.
"No, ducks," corrected Ginger with a smile. "Birds. They swim on the lake and go 'quack, quack'."
"Oh les canards!" exclaimed Jeanette joyfully, clapping her hands together with delight.
"Oh!" gasped Ginger involuntarily as the gesture set up a movement in her breasts that immediately relieved the discomfort of the frustration he had been feeling after their kiss.
He flushed and took a gulp of tea to cover his embarrassment at the incident.
"Are you alright?" asked Jeanette anxiously at his exclamation.
"Yes, thank you, I've never felt better," he told her truthfully. "The tea was a bit hot, that was all," he lied. He was beginning to think that being in love was like going through puberty all over again.
They finished their tea and walked out into the park. The lake was deserted when they reached it, but a few mallards were scattered around the bank or floating on the surface.
Ginger took the remains of the scone from his pocket, unwrapped the handkerchief and broke the cake into pieces. He held out his hand to Jeanette and suggested she throw some pieces towards the ducks. She took some crumbs and scattered them on the ground. There was a loud quacking and several mallards waddled over, squabbling over the food. Jeanette laughed. Ginger thought the sound was the loveliest thing he had heard.
They had nearly finished throwing the crumbs to the birds when Ginger became guiltily aware that an RAF officer was approaching them. He looked across and to his relief recognised their Station Adjutant, a veteran of the Great War. Ginger saluted smartly and proudly presented Jeanette.
Squadron Leader Toddington, or Toddy, as he was better known in the squadron, shook her hand solemnly. He looked the pretty Monégasque up and down approvingly, thinking she was a much better match for young Hebblethwaite than the Flight Officer in his section. The pair of them looked radiantly happy, he thought. It was a pleasure to see young people laughing and having a good time when the war had dragged on so long.
"You seem to be enjoying yourselves," he observed with a twinkle in his eye. "I bet you'll be sorry when your leave is finished," he murmured to Ginger.
The young man nodded emphatically. "I've only got 48 hours left, including today," he said miserably. "It's gone in a flash."
"You may be able to get the occasional 12 hour pass," Toddy said with a wink. "Provided there isn't a flap on."
Ginger looked at him gratefully. "Thanks, Toddy," he breathed, knowing that if he could get hold of some transport twelve hours would enable him to get up to London and take Jeanette out for a picnic.
"For what?" asked the Adjutant innocently. "I haven't said anything," he said meaningfully. "Officially," he added after a pause.
"No, of course not," acknowledged Ginger, but he knew that Toddy would be sympathetic to any request he made. "That wouldn't do at all, would it?"
"Most improper," agreed Toddy nodding sagely. "Anyway, you don't want to be wasting your leave talking to an old fogey like me," he smiled. "Enjoy yourself while you can."
He acknowledged Ginger's salute and strode off across the park. Ginger wondered briefly if Toddy would mention to Biggles that he had seen them by the lake. His eyes met Jeanette's and they both smiled happily; Ginger knew that he would tell Biggles anyway, even if Toddy didn't. He wanted to share the enjoyment of the day by telling everybody about it. Well, not quite everybody, he acknowledged; everybody except Bertie, he thought, sadly. There was something not quite right there. Bertie had been positively vitriolic at times when he and Jeanette had gone walking and swimming in North Africa. Perhaps he had had a bad experience with a girlfriend, thought Ginger charitably. It must be hard to see someone else enjoying himself if you had fallen out with your best girl, he reasoned. He felt sorry for anyone who didn't have a girl as wonderful as Jeanette to be with.
He shook the last crumbs from his handkerchief for the ducks and took Jeanette's hand. Together they strolled towards the West End. Ginger wanted to find some way he could indicate to Jeanette that he now felt committed to her and that he wanted their relationship to turn into something deeper and more permanent than mere friendship. He felt he had reason to hope that she would reciprocate his feelings. As they wandered down Regent Street, heading for Bond Street, looking at the meagre shop window displays, he suddenly realised how he could do it.
"Jeanette," he murmured hesitantly, "I'd like to buy you a present."
"A present?" she queried.
"Yes, something to show that I think you're special," he explained diffidently. "A brooch." He hesitated and then plunged on, "RAF wings. If you'd wear it – for me? To show …" he took a deep breath and then concluded, "that you are my sweetheart."
Jeanette caught her breath and looked at him adoringly. Boldness had indeed been her friend. "I will be proud to wear it for you, Ginger," she told him softly, thrilled to accept his gesture of commitment. "I am very 'appy to be your sweetheart."
Ginger grinned delightedly, feeling very relieved that she had not refused his suggestion. If Jeanette was prepared to wear his brooch, that meant she was willing to show the world she was his girl and his alone. The acceptance of a piece of jewellery, especially one that had such romantic significance, marked a great leap forward in their relationship.
"Then let's go and choose one," he suggested enthusiastically. He headed for the nearest jewellers and ushered Jeanette in.
"We'd like to look at some sweetheart jewellery," he told the assistant.
"Certainly sir," the elderly man replied with a knowing smile. "RAF, I take it," he added, acknowledging Ginger's uniform.
"Yes, a pilot's brevet," replied Ginger.
The assistant drew out a tray with a variety of designs. The price of each was indicated below the item. Ginger realised he had enough in his account to buy any of the brooches and he was thankful that Biggles had made him be prudent with his allowance and pay.
"Choose whichever one you would like," he told her.
Jeanette looked at the tray of brooches and pointed to a small enamel pair of wings pendent from three silver bars. "That one," she said. "I would like that one because it swings."
"An excellent choice, madam," the assistant congratulated her as he took the brooch and put it in a small box.
Ginger handed over the cash and put the receipt in his pocket.
"Shall I wrap the box, sir, or would madam prefer to wear the brooch now?" asked the assistant.
Ginger looked at Jeanette interrogatively.
"I would like to wear it," she told him shyly.
Ginger took the brooch out of the box and pinned it to her dress above her left breast. His hands were shaking as he did so and he found it difficult to close the clasp. At last he managed it.
"There," he said proudly. "It looks very smart."
Jeanette touched the token of his affection with her fingers and then stroked his cheek tenderly as the sales assistant busied himself with restoring the tray to the display case in the background. "I am very proud to wear it for you," she told Ginger again earnestly, aware that she was making the avowal before a witness this time, "and very 'appy to be your sweetheart," she added blushing.
"And I'm the luckiest man alive!" exclaimed Ginger quietly, gazing into her eyes, oblivious of all else. He took the box from the counter and handed it to her. "Here, put this in your handbag; you can keep the brooch in it when you are not wearing it."
Jeanette looked into his eyes lovingly and breathed, "I shall wear it always for you – 'ere, by my 'eart, where you will always be."
Ginger felt his heart leap. He couldn't have hoped for a better or clearer response! Jeanette understood his gesture and felt committed to him, too! He wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss her, but contented himself with holding her hands. He turned to see the elderly assistant regarding them understandingly. "Thank you," murmured Ginger as they prepared to leave the shop.
"Thank you for your custom, sir, madam," responded the assistant as he came across and opened the door for them.
Outside the sun was still shining brightly and Ginger could have sworn he heard birds singing despite the season. He felt his heart was singing too as he emerged onto the pavement with Jeanette on his arm. Smiling happily, they carried on down the thoroughfare having no particular aim in mind, just ecstatic to be together. The future, as far as Ginger was concerned, was as bright as could be, war or no war. The fighting seemed a million miles away at least for the next twenty-four hours, but he knew that when his leave was over and he resumed the struggle, he now had something – someone - that made the battle worth while.