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going then we three can do better. You can sing up front, Rosa, you can do percussion, Joy, and I’ll do tambourine.’
    ‘That’s not a proper skiffle,’ Rosa said. ‘We need instruments and a guitar.’
    ‘Have you seen the prices of kit? Even a Junior Skiffle set is twenty-three and six. Where will we get a hooter, cowbells or a tap box?’
    ‘Auntie Lee has cowbells from Austria. I’ve seen them,’ Joy suggested. ‘But who will play guitar?’
    ‘Don’t need one yet. We can all sing in tune; we’re in school choirs.’ Connie was not going to let a little thing like string instruments get in the way of her big idea.
    ‘Not me. I got chucked out months ago,’ quipped Rosa.
    ‘I know, but you can sing when you want to, and in tune. We’ll practise in Mama’s allotment shed so we won’t disturb the guests. We can show Neville he’s not the cock of the midden.’
    ‘We’ll have to have a name,’ Joy added. ‘Something pretty to go with our outfits.’
    ‘That’s just a detail. What we need is to sing in tune, play a few percussion bits and look “with it”, like beatniks.’ Connie was full of ideas now, not outfits.

    ‘Mummy will want us to look smart on stage,’ Joy argued. She was so plump, thought Connie, she’d look like a sack of potatoes in the full skirts and petticoats that were all the rage.
    ‘We’ll wear black, with scarves round our necks and cut-off trews like Audrey Hepburn,’ added Rosa who was heavily into the beat scene. ‘And ponytails, lots of black eye make-up and mascara.’
    ‘Mummy says we’re too young for eye make-up,’ Joy persisted, and they each gave her one of their stares.
    ‘Mummy says, Mummy says … We’re practically teenagers now, not babies. We do what we like.’ Rosa wouldn’t budge. ‘I’m not dressing like Shirley Temple.’
    ‘Oh, shut up, both of you. Let’s find a good song and learn it and see how we can dance and jig a bit. But don’t tell Nev. He’ll have a hissy fit if he’s not the boss of the show.’
    ‘But he is very good-looking,’ Joy offered.
    ‘Mamma says he’s a big soft quilt,’ Rosa replied.
    ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ the Winstanley girls asked as one.
    ‘You know, a mummy’s boy … She never lets him do anything.’
    ‘Nev’s all right,’ Joy defended.
    ‘In small doses,’ Rosa replied.
    ‘Stop bitching, you two. Let’s get our act together. This is going to be fun.’

    Soon they were all dashing from school to do their prep before changing into their trews and carrying the Dansette up the field to the shed for rehearsals. Connie was listening under the bedclothes to Radio Luxembourg into the small hours to find a good skiffle hit number, something a bit folksy that suited girls’ voices.
    ‘What about “Last Train to San Fernando”? We can do that with comb and paper, hooter and a tambourine. It has a swing to it, don’t you think?’
    They practised for weeks, and Neville noticed their absence at the club.
    ‘What’s up?’
    ‘We’re doing something with Rosa, and she can’t come to our club ’cos she’s Catholic.’
    ‘They’ve plenty of clubs of their own without gatecrashing ours. So what’s so important that keeps you from listening to the Railroaders?’
    ‘Nothing,’ Connie smiled, seeing his lips purse just like his mother’s when she was thwarted.
    ‘You can tell me,’ he grinned, waiting for the gossip to unfold. ‘You’ve got a boyfriend at long last?’
    ‘Buzz off, I’m busy.’
    ‘Suit yourself,’ he snapped ‘But don’t forget the Youth Club Skiffle comp next week. We’re doing “Freight Train”.’
    ‘Better you than me; it’s fast,’ Connie replied.
    ‘So? Since when has your cousin ever been afraid of a challenge?’

    ‘Good luck,’ she waved, smiling sweetly. Now they had something to aim for too. May the best one win.
       
    On the night of the competition, the girls tucked themselves in a corner of the Drill Hall out of sight.