Home Fires and Spitfires

by Daisy Styles

  Feeling light-headed and queasy from the clouds of cigarette smoke circulating in the stuffy room, Diana was relieved when it was time for her break; desperate for some fresh air, she made her way outside, where she smiled when she heard Harry’s quick step behind her.

  ‘Sweetheart,’ he cried, as she rushed into his arms. ‘It’s wonderful to see you.’

  Diana could barely speak for happiness; all she wanted was to stay just as they were, locked in each other’s arms.

  ‘Then he can never go away again,’ she thought wistfully.

  Smiling into her beautiful, radiant face, Harry kissed her soft pink lips. ‘I’ve missed you, my darling.’

  Knowing just how vital it was for her to talk to him as soon as possible, she quickly said, ‘Can we go out for dinner tonight, somewhere quiet, away from here?’

  Harry gave a roguish smile. ‘Certainly, and spend the rest of the night making love.’

  Hoping that nobody had heard his passionate declaration, blushing Diana quickly glanced over her shoulder.

  ‘Sweetheart,’ she warned. ‘People might hear.’

  ‘I don’t care who hears,’ Harry declared as he lifted Diana up and swung her around. ‘You’re my girl, Diana Bishop – and I love you!’

  Harry booked a cosy, candle-lit table for two in the village pub, which served good ale and surprisingly good local game that enhanced the usual dreary rationed food.

  ‘You look more beautiful than ever, darling,’ he whispered softly, as they sat facing each other.

  Diana smiled. She’d taken a lot of trouble dressing for the occasion; she longed to wear one of her gorgeous, silk-crêpe feminine dresses, but none of them fitted her any more. In the end she relied on her three-strand pearl necklace with matching droplet earrings (a twenty-first birthday gift from her parents) to add glamour to her rather plain mauve-coloured twin set and pleated black skirt.

  With Harry’s eyes lingering over her face, Diana felt, for the first time in weeks, like a desirable woman again. Wanting to hold the moment for as long as possible, she decided to drop her bombshell at the end of the evening rather than at the beginning, little knowing that Harry had his own bombshell to drop. After they’d been served a bitter blend of chicory coffee, Harry surprised her by taking a small velvet box from his pocket and laying it on the table. Her heart in her mouth, Diana watched as he flipped open the lid to reveal a ring with a cluster of diamonds and sapphires set on a thick gold band.

  ‘Love of my life, darling Diana, will you marry me?’

  Astonished and completely overwhelmed, Diana gasped at the sight of the beautiful ring that glittered in the candlelight. Gazing into Harry’s handsome face, which was presently suffused with emotion, she cried out joyfully, ‘Yes! Oh, yes!’

  Reaching for her left-hand, Harry slipped the ring on to her wedding finger. ‘It fits,’ she cried in surprise.

  ‘Of course, it fits!’ he chuckled. ‘I’ve been planning every detail of this moment for weeks.’

  ‘Oh, Harry, Harry,’ she sighed, as she gazed dreamily at her engagement ring. ‘I never expected this.’

  He leant across to tilt her chin, so he could look into her eyes, which sparkled almost as much as the large pale-blue sapphires on her finger.

  ‘You didn’t think I loved you enough to want to spend the rest of my life with you?’ he teased.

  Diana tensed; she couldn’t go on deceiving him. The moment of truth really had come.

  ‘Sweetheart,’ she started nervously. ‘I’ve got a bit of a surprise for you too.’

  Seeing her lips quiver, Harry sat bolt upright. ‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Well, yes …’ she mumbled nervously.

  Now quite alarmed, Harry tone was sharp: ‘For God’s sake, what is it?’

  Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Diana blurted out, ‘I’m pregnant.’

  For several long seconds Harry just stared at her. ‘Pregnant –’

  ‘Three months’ pregnant, to be precise.’

  ‘God!’ he gasped. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’

  Diana protested in her own defence: ‘Because you’ve been away so much! I never know where you are when you go away – I couldn’t even send you a letter,’ she told him pointedly.

  Suddenly aware of her pale, strained face, Harry asked anxiously, ‘Are you all right, sweetheart? Have you been ill?’

  Diana pulled down the corners of her mouth in a grimace. ‘I’ve been pretty sick,’ she confessed. ‘A number of the Ops girls have commented on how awful I look.’

  ‘You could never look awful, my darling.’

  With Harry’s sweet proposal fresh in her mind, Diana was more than aware that what she had to say next might shatter the romantic atmosphere, but knowing that Harry might suddenly disappear at any time made her resolutely push on.

  ‘We don’t have to keep this baby,’ she started. ‘I’ve had plenty of time to consider and …’ Her voice wavered. ‘Maybe it would be a good idea to think about having it adopted?’

  Harry’s brow creased. ‘Really?’

  Forcing herself to be practical, Diana continued, ‘We never planned for a baby; the timing right now, with you away so much and me working around the clock on the base, is all wrong.’

  Looking sad, Harry reached out to take her hand. ‘I’m not sure that I altogether agree with you.’

  Struggling to hold back her tears, Diana added angrily, ‘I could kick myself for getting pregnant in the first place; I’m old enough to know better.’

  ‘We’re both old enough to know better,’ Harry said, giving her a sly smile. ‘We have got rather carried away in our love-making recently.’

  Recalling their nights of passion, Diana blushed. ‘We should have been a lot more careful.’

  Across the table Harry leant in to wipe tears from her cheek. ‘I have no regrets, my darling,’ he responded passionately. ‘I’ve just asked you to marry me; what you’ve just told me makes me want to marry you even more.’

  ‘Because you pity me?’ she asked miserably.

  ‘No! Because I love you, Diana, and … I don’t want you to have our child adopted,’ he added honestly.

  ‘You want to keep it?’ she asked incredulously.

  ‘I most certainly do!’

  Looking confused, Diana said, ‘Won’t being a father hamper your career?’

  Harry burst out laughing. ‘No, but it might hamper yours!’

  Knowing that his lovely young fiancée was pregnant filled Harry with a huge wave of protective love for her; so far nobody but he knew of her condition, though he saw with new eyes over the next few days how his fiancée’s previous flat belly now had a gentle swell. If he had noticed, surely it was only a question of time before others did. Worried that he might be called away from base sooner rather than later, something that he was anxious to play down for fear of upsetting Diana, Harry made a surprising announcement one night after they’d eaten their tripe-and-onion supper in Diana’s kitchen, pleasantly warmed by the Aga that Diana kept well stoked up with wood and coal.

  ‘Darling, it might be a good idea to have a chat with the local vicar fairly soon,’ Harry suggested. ‘If he could procure a special licence for us, we could get married right away.’

  Overcome with emotion, Diana rose and went to sit on Harry’s warm knee. ‘I’d absolutely love that,’ she told him, as she brushed her lips against his cheek.

  ‘Well, then, let’s try to see the vicar this week.’

  Diana blushed shyly, ‘Do you plan to tell him I’m pregnant?’

  Kissing the top of her head, Harry said, ‘No, my sweet. I’ll just say I’m required for urgent duty and we would like to be married before the RAF whisks me away.’

  ‘Do you really think that might happen soon?’ she asked, as she laid her head against his strong shoulder.

  Stroking her long, beautiful hair, Harry could feel Diana’s body tense as she waited for his answer. The last thing
he wanted to do was to upset his beloved, but, given the circumstances, he could hardly lie.

  ‘It’s more than likely,’ he admitted. ‘But, young lady, posted elsewhere or not, I want us married right away.’

  ‘We’ll have to notify our parents,’ Diana reminded him. ‘Mummy’s bound to want to invite the world and his dog, and she’ll insist on bridesmaids and a lavish wedding breakfast,’ she sighed.

  Harry stopped her wandering thoughts with a kiss. ‘What do you say that we keep it a private affair? Just me and you and the vicar? After all it’s not so unusual these days,’ he added. ‘With men briefly home on leave lots of couples tie the knot without any pomp and ceremony.’

  Delighted by his suggestion, Diana smiled in relief. ‘Yes, darling, let’s keep it a private affair.’

  The morning the vicar’s letter arrived, Diana cycled to the air base faster than she had ever cycled before. She was desperate to show Harry, who had been working throughout the night, the letter in which the vicar had suggested a few dates for their wedding day. Giddy with excitement and breathless with exertion, she signed in, then hurried past the armed guards to dash into the Ops Room, where her eyes immediately flew up to the gallery. As usual there were the officers, chain-smoking as they barked instructions to the WAAFs surrounding the mapping table. Diana did a startled double-take when she realized that Harry wasn’t at his usual desk, talking down the line to Radar.

  ‘Where is he?’ she thought.

  Thinking Harry might have popped out to stretch his legs, or even be in the officers’ mess eating breakfast, she went in search of him, but found him nowhere. Realizing that now she would be late for work, she ran back to the Ops Block. She had just taken her place around the mapping table when her friend pushed an envelope into her hand.

  ‘Your young man asked me to make sure you got this,’ she said with a saucy wink.

  Throughout the morning shift Diana didn’t have a private moment to open the letter, which burned in her pocket; finally, when she was granted a five-minute tea-break, she went outside and (hardly daring to breathe) read Harry’s letter.

  My Darling,

  The call that I’ve been expecting came last night. By the time you read this I’ll be on my way. Stick to the plan we made, arrange the wedding, I’ll be back next week at latest. I love you, sweetest Diana, be brave.

  Yours,

  H

  7. Dunkirk

  A few days later Dora arrived for work looking like she’d been to hell and back. Seeing her colleague’s haunted expression and red puffy eyes, Ada quickly removed Dora from the nursery and took her into the privacy of her own office, where Dora all but collapsed into Ada’s arms.

  ‘We got a telegram last night,’ she wailed. ‘Our Perce is dead!’ Almost incoherent, she slumped into the nearest chair, where she lit up a Woodbine that she drew on heavily.

  ‘Oh, Dora, I’m so dreadfully sorry. What happened?’ Ada gasped in horror.

  ‘We can only go off what we read in the papers about Perce’s ship, HMS Wakeful,’ Dora explained. ‘They loaded up at Dunkirk but on their way home they were torpedoed by a U-boat. Sunk …’ she sobbed.

  Recalling the horrifying radio announcement describing the evacuation of Dunkirk, Ada gave an involuntary shiver.

  ‘Dear God,’ she thought. ‘What must poor Perce and his crew have gone through?’

  But for the courage of the crews of the little Dunkirk boats, who had stepped in at the request of the government, the British Expeditionary Force might have been lost altogether. Just thinking of the Allied troops, thousands upon thousands of men and boys, all lined up in ranks awaiting rescue, brought tears to Ada’s eyes. After a humiliating retreat through the countryside just ahead of German forces, the troops must have thought, once they were on the beaches almost in sight of the White Cliffs of Dover, that they were nearly home and dry. As it turned out, they were tragically stranded, sitting ducks for the Luftwaffe, who ruthlessly strafed them where they stood. Ada would never forget Churchill’s speech to the nation after the event.

  ‘We shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be.’

  Against all the odds little crafts had braved the Channel (and the Luftwaffe) to bring home over three hundred thousand troops. Yet again Hitler had been denied victory but at a high cost: three thousand British troops had been killed during the evacuation, one of whom was Dora’s young son, Percy.

  After Dora had smoked three cigarettes in rapid succession, Ada implored her to go home, but poor Dora, utterly distraught after receiving the telegram that every mother dreaded, refused point-blank to leave Mary Vale.

  ‘I can’t be in the house with memories of the boys all around me,’ she sobbed. ‘Mi husband couldn’t face it either – he’s gone to’t shipyard and I’ve come ’ere – working’s the only way we’ll ever get through this,’ she said, pinning her cap firmly on her head and setting off resolutely for the nursery.

  Shirley’s gentle heart ached for Dora. ‘God help the poor woman,’ she said to Ada. ‘To lose a boy so young, and in such a horrible way.’

  ‘I don’t know how she’ll ever get over it,’ Ada murmured.

  ‘Would you mind if I went to the chapel, Ada?’ Shirley begged. ‘I need to be close to God to pray for Dora’s lad and for all the others that died alongside him.’

  ‘Dearest!’ Ada exclaimed, as she hugged Shirley tightly. ‘Please go and take all our thoughts with you; for sure, your prayers will go more quickly to heaven than anybody else’s.’

  While Shirley found solace in the chapel, Dora found some solace from the babies she nursed. Holding their warm bodies close to her heart eased some of the agony that racked her, and seeing their little hands eagerly reaching out to her as she bent to lift them from their cradles even brought a shadow of a smile to her lips. When Ada found Dora (half asleep herself) cradling a baby, she begged her to take a break.

  ‘Come into the kitchen and I’ll make you a nice hot cup of tea,’ she suggested.

  After she’d drunk her tea and chain-smoked several more Woodbines, Dora spoke with a catch in her throat.

  ‘Our Jack doesn’t know about Perce, and we can’t tell him ’cos we don’t know where he is.’ Burying her face in her hands, Dora started to sob. ‘God spare our Jack,’ she wept. ‘If anything should happen to him, me and his dad would have nothing to live for.’

  The following day when Dr Reid arrived for his first day on duty, Ada gave him an update on all his patients and informed him of the latest arrivals too.

  ‘I gather you know Gracie Price, from Barrow,’ she said.

  Jamie nodded. ‘She came to my surgery, a strong young woman. I recommended that she should come here to have her baby. As I recall I had no concerns about her pregnancy.’

  Closing the surgery door so they could continue in private, Ada came straight to the point. ‘I do have concerns for a relatively new arrival, a young German woman,’ she started. ‘Her name is Zelda; she’s the first patient on your list this morning,’ Ada added, as she nodded at the list she’d drawn up and left on his desk. ‘I was hoping that once she had settled into the Home, her condition might improve but if anything it’s worsened.’

  Jamie frowned as he buttoned up his laundered doctor’s coat. ‘How has it worsened?’ he asked.

  ‘She barely eats, takes no exercise and, once her chores are completed, she hides away in her room.’ Ada took a deep breath. ‘She’s not popular among the residents either; the only person I’ve ever seen her talking to is Gracie, with whom she shares a room.’

  ‘Are the residents hostile to her?’ Jamie enquired.

  ‘They’ve certainly not put themselves out to welcome her,’ Ada told him hotly. ‘I’ve overheard some of them whispering behind Zelda’s back: they call her ‘The German – the enemy’, that kind of bigoted rubbish!’

  Jamie couldn’t help but notice that
when Sister Ada’s blood was up her blue eyes flashed with passion; he also couldn’t fail to see how her tight belted uniform emphasized her slender waist and hips, and the stout black brogues and thick black stockings that she wore did nothing to take away from her long, shapely legs. He dearly wished that he didn’t find Mary Vale’s Senior Sister quite so attractive, but every time he saw her (and this was only his second visit) his heart involuntarily skipped a beat.

  Even though Ada had forewarned him, Jamie was nevertheless shocked by Zelda’s wasted appearance. Seeing how tense and nervy she was when she walked into his surgery, he attempted to speak to her in rusty, faltering German, which she responded to eagerly.

  ‘Women here – hate me! Call me Fascist, Nazi.’

  Shocked, Jamie struggled on in German. ‘I apologize for their unkindness; they are prejudiced.’ He frowned as he tapped the desk searching for words. ‘The most important thing is you must take care of your baby,’ he insisted.

  Zelda’s huge, sorrowful dark eyes brimmed over with tears, and, abandoning herself completely, she gave an agonized sob. ‘I have NOTHING to live for!’ she cried in German.

  Realizing how desperate his patient was, probably on the point of a nervous breakdown, Jamie replied in a mixture of English and German. ‘Zelda, you have something to live for; if you die, your baby dies. Is that what you want?’