Home Fires and Spitfires

by Daisy Styles

  Ada’s pretty arched eyebrows shot up. ‘He must have a very important job.’

  Diana gave a weary shrug. ‘How would I know?’ she exclaimed bitterly. ‘I haven’t a damn clue what’s going on.’

  Ada gently stoked Diana’s slender arm. ‘I’m so sorry, I had no idea,’ she murmured sympathetically.

  ‘To be honest,’ Diana confessed, ‘it’s a relief to be able to talk to somebody; trying to get any information out of Harry’s tight-lipped chums on the air base was like trying to get blood out of a stone. I shouldn’t complain: at least monosyllabic Gordon let me know that Harry was still alive when I’d all but given up.’ Continuing on a more optimistic note, Diana added, ‘Lines of communication will be much better for you, Ada. Your boyfriend is a doctor, and, though he’s fighting behind enemy lines, post will get in and out; you’re bound to hear from him soon.’

  Tears welled up in Ada’s big blue eyes. ‘Oh, I hope so,’ she said with such yearning. ‘I really hope so.’

  Within ten days of Jamie’s leaving, Ada received the letter she had been longing for. After Sister Mary Paul (with a concerned look on her face) delivered it, Ada held the envelope to her thudding heart; then she raised it to her nose and sniffed it to see if it smelt of Jamie, but there were no hints of his favourite soap or hospital disinfectant. Chiding herself for being a foolish romantic, Ada hurried to her office at the end of the hospital corridor. After closing the door, she leant against it before she opened the letter and read.

  My dearest, sweetest, darling girl,

  I’m looking at the photograph I took of you at Watendlath: though the picture is black and white I can imagine the beauty of your big blue eyes and the colour of your glorious long hair. God, how I love you! I hope you’re well, my sweet, and all at Mary Vale too – please send them my best wishes. When I think of the Home, so secluded on the edge of that vast marsh washed by the Irish Sea, I marvel at how different it is to the hurly-burly of the casualty clearing station I’ve been posted to. I’m not allowed to give any details of my location – if I did my letter might be destroyed, and it would certainly be censored – but I can tell you about my daily routine. I’m one of four general doctors who work alongside two surgical specialists and a dentist; there are also quite a number of nursing orderlies and theatre assistants. We’re a highly mobile clearing station, ready to move on at any time: our job is to accept the sick and the wounded, assess their injuries and carry out emergency treatment or evacuate them to general hospitals behind the Line. As I say, it’s pretty hectic – we snatch a few hours’ sleep whenever we can and usually eat standing up. How I yearn for Sister Mary Paul’s Eccles cakes and Lancashire cheese sandwiches! When I’m not working or sleeping, I think about you all of the time. I may be surrounded by female nursing orderlies, but I have eyes only for my beloved Sister Dale, who, as far as I’m concerned, outshines the stars. Write back to me, sweetheart, with all your news, even if it’s only to tell me how many marrows Zelda has harvested. I’m keen to hear if my post at Mary Vale has been filled by another doctor. I think not, with all the shortages, which makes me worry about how you’re all managing.

  God bless you, my love, please, please write soon,

  Jamie xxxxxx

  Smiling dreamily, Ada kissed the letter. ‘Thank God, he’s well,’ she sighed.

  Slipping the letter into the top drawer of her desk, Ada resumed her duties, but hours later, at the end of her long afternoon shift, she managed to find time to sit down in her quiet office and write back to Jamie.

  Darling Heart,

  Thank you so much for your wonderful letter, which filled me with a mixture of both delight and relief. I can’t believe that you’ve been gone for nearly a fortnight – it feels more like a year. Every time I hear car wheels scrunching on the gravel drive, or pulling up at the entrance, I run to the front door thinking it’s you arriving to start your surgery. The residents miss you very much – all of them regularly ask how you are and send their best wishes. Sister Mary Paul longs to send you a hamper full of goodies, but I’ve explained it might not get delivered to the right person, or, worse still, might even end up in the hands of the Germans, which really infuriates her. You’re quite right, we haven’t got a replacement doctor, and it’s more than likely we won’t get one either. I’m not sure what we’ll do in emergencies, which, as you know, your ex-GP in Barrow is supposed to cover, but he must be working himself into the ground now that you’ve left his practice. We’ll manage somehow – we have done in the past and we will do so again. When I think of you barely sleeping and eating on the hoof, I want to fly over to your side and take care of you, my own sweet Jamie, you’re so very precious to me. Do you remember the rather elegant resident, Diana? She and I have become quite friendly since we now have something in common: our men are both posted somewhere overseas. She, poor girl, has not seen her fiancé in months, and she’s carrying his child. I feel guilty when I compare myself to Diana. You’ve been gone barely two weeks and I’ve already heard from you, while she, poor girl, has heard nothing in months. War is so cruel. I try to stay strong, but when I think of you so close to the enemy my resolve breaks and I have to stop myself from crying. Write as soon as you can, my darling, and take good care of yourself.

  I love you so very much,

  Ada xxxx

  Diana couldn’t help but feel a stab of envy when Ada told her that she’d received a letter from Jamie.

  ‘You must be so relieved,’ she said, with a generous smile that immediately made Ada feel guilty.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ada quickly apologized. ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned it.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry,’ Diana retorted. ‘The machinery of war rolls on and we can’t do a thing about it.’

  Feeling overwhelmingly sad for Diana, Ada reached out to take her hand. ‘If only you had an inkling of where Harry was,’ she said wistfully.

  With a catch in her voice, Diana replied, ‘As long as he’s alive, I can just about bear anything.’

  Two hundred miles away, flying his single-engine Lysander light aircraft over France, Harry’s thoughts were all about Diana. His present work, picking up SOE and SIS agents in Allied-controlled territories, was so top secret he couldn’t speak a word of it to anybody, which meant that every time he took off on a mission he worried about what might happen if he didn’t make it back – what if he ‘bought it’, as the chaps on the ground said? Now permanently posted outside of England, Harry had never had the opportunity to explain his treacherous war work to Diana, and he was sure the RAF wouldn’t explain or apologize to her if he were suddenly to disappear on a clandestine mission. Risks were part of the job, and, as there were only a few experienced pickup pilots available, Flight Lieutenant Harry Langham was in no position to say no to his senior commanding officers.

  Patriotism aside, Harry’s heart ached for the hurt he knew he must have caused Diana. She had been so determined, so tough; even when it was obvious that she was terrified, she had still kept a brave face just for his sake. His RAF colleagues in the viewing gallery had regularly (and in complete privacy) applauded him on his choice of a girlfriend who could clearly keep her mouth shut and not blab all over the mapping table to the other WAAF officers. Even now the poor girl didn’t have a clue about his movements. Recently Harry had been so concerned about Diana he had bent the rules and got a message out to Gordon, who had been reluctant to do anything like passing on messages.

  ‘For God’s sake, man, you don’t have to tell her where I am or what I’m doing,’ Harry had pleaded over the phone to his stuffy friend. ‘Just tell her I’m alive.’

  Even now Harry had no idea if Diana had ever got his message.

  Forcing himself to concentrate on his perilous landing in a dark field, Harry scanned the sky for Morse signals, which would be flashed from both the ground and the air signalling mutual recognition before he began his descent. This last leg was always short, just two or three minutes before he recognized a village, a bridge
or a railway junction, and then, at the end, a friend in a field flashing the Morse letter he was expecting. He would only be on the ground briefly, long enough to pick up the returning agent and perhaps exchange a handshake with the undercover operator, who sometimes gave him a bottle of brandy; once he was given French perfume.

  ‘For your wife,’ the Frenchman had said with a wink.

  His well-meaning sentence had cut Harry to the quick. He had never married the woman he loved, the woman who was carrying his child alone and unprotected. What kind of a man was he? Doing his bit in the war, fighting Hitler, was without a doubt the right thing to do, but Diana was paying the price for it. Things had not been going well recently; the Resistance ring with whom they had been liaising had recently been rounded up and executed. Harry knew that if any of the men and women in the ring had broken under interrogation, the Germans would be on his tail soon. He needed to be sure that if he was taken out by a sniper, Diana would be informed of his death, and hopefully told exactly what he had died for.

  19. Novice

  Apart from being Matron of Mary Vale, Sister Ann was also Shirley’s spiritual mentor in the convent of the Sisters of Holy Mary. Under her tender care Shirley had been guided through her postulancy period by the older nun, who had monitored her reading of the scriptures and her understanding of the rules of the religious office she yearned to join. In that capacity she had been invited one grey misty November morning into the Reverend Mother’s study in the silence of the convent to discuss Shirley’s imminent future. Recalling Shirley’s wild impatience some months ago when she had first approached the Reverend Mother for permission to join her order, Sister Ann said with an indulgent smile, ‘The dear child was so full of passion she would have taken her final vows right there and then.’

  The Reverend Mother returned her smile. ‘Shirley’s learnt patience during her postulancy; she’s also learnt the routine of the convent from the inside, and she’s been obedient to our daily timetable.’

  ‘She’s been so generous with her time,’ Sister Ann said with a ring of pride in her voice. ‘Insisting on cleaning the wards – it’s her best time for prayer, she always says – and she’s been a God-send in the kitchen, helping Sister Mary Paul, who is getting on in years.’

  ‘I’ve had to insist from time to time that Shirley devotes herself to reading, prayer and getting to know our Sisters, as well as to scrubbing floors and baking bread,’ the Reverend Mother chuckled.

  ‘She has fully embraced all of that,’ Sister Ann assured her superior.

  ‘So now we need to talk to Shirley about the next stage of her training: becoming a novice in our order and living like a professed Sister,’ the Reverend Mother continued. ‘The timetable is fuller than she’s used to, and she’ll be introduced to more spiritual duties, particularly those that involve her taking part in Divine Offices.’

  Sister Ann’s eyes welled with tears. ‘Shirley is a deeply spiritual young woman; I know she will embrace those duties with love and dedication to Our Lord. I have no doubt that she’ll treat all with loving kindness and be a peacemaker, just like she is now,’ she said confidently.

  ‘She’ll wear the white veil of a novice over our order’s habit and will have the title “Sister”,’ Reverend Mother continued. ‘And she can change her name if she wishes. At the end of two years, if Shirley feels ready and our order are in agreement, she could request to make her final vows.’

  ‘This will be a testing time for her vocation,’ Sister Ann commented.

  ‘If it becomes too stressful, Shirley knows that at this novitiate stage she is free to leave at any time,’ the Reverend Mother pointed out.

  Knowing Shirley’s overwhelming desire to dedicate herself to God, Sister Ann shook her head. ‘With respect, Reverend Mother, I believe that’s highly unlikely. I’ve never known anybody more committed to becoming a nun than Shirley is.’

  Sister Ann waited for a suitable moment to arise when she could speak in private with Shirley about the Reverend Mother’s decision. On a chilly morning, as the sun struggled to pierce through the banks of clouds that loomed over the Irish Sea, Sister Ann spotted Shirley reading her prayer book on a bench in Mary Vale’s garden. The gardener, sweeping up the leaves that were presently banked high around the edges of the lawn, greeted her gloomily. ‘Morning, Matron,’ he muttered darkly. ‘If there’s anything good to be said about a day when the Germans have done their worst.’

  Sister Ann nodded in sympathy with him: the nation had woken up to the terrible news that Coventry and its beautiful cathedral had been destroyed by a Luftwaffe raid consisting of over one hundred bombers.

  ‘It is dreadful news indeed,’ she agreed.

  ‘The Boche are trying to take the heart out of the nation,’ the gardener growled. ‘Burning and wrecking our beautiful cities and ancient monuments. Let’s hope the RAF give ’em back as good as we got,’ he added angrily.

  Sister Ann, who couldn’t go along with his vengeful thoughts, simply made the sign of the Cross.

  ‘God help the poor souls who suffered,’ she answered fervently.

  ‘Amen to that, Sister,’ the gardener said, and he went on his way.

  Shirley laid aside her prayer book when Sister Ann sat down on the bench beside her.

  ‘Good morning, Sister,’ Shirley said fondly, and kissed her friend on the cheek.

  ‘I have news for you, Shirley,’ Sister Ann started. ‘The Reverend Mother thinks the time has come for you to take your novice’s vows.’

  Shirley’s eyes opened wide in delight. ‘Oh, thank God!’ she exclaimed, then, completely overcome with emotion, she threw her arms around Sister Ann’s neck and wept. Struggling to control herself, Shirley wiped away her tears and stared incredulously into her mentor’s beaming face. ‘Who would ever have thought this blessing would come to me?’

  ‘It is God’s will, dear,’ Sister Ann answered simply. ‘He called you to do His will.’

  Shirley, looking flushed and emotional, could only whisper, ‘But am I worthy enough, Sister?’

  ‘Yes, child,’ her friend answered firmly. ‘You are more than ready to begin the next part of your spiritual journey.’

  Shirley went into retreat several days before taking the veil; and, as she prayed in silence for God’s guidance, Sister Mary Paul began to completely overdo things in the kitchen. Helped by anyone who could spare an hour, the old nun cooked up pies and cakes for the guests and religious Sisters who would attend the meal after the ceremony. Meanwhile, in the convent, the mistress of robes completed Shirley’s new habit and veil. On the night before the ceremony Sister Ann cut Shirley’s chin-length mousy-brown hair; then, after helping her into her new habit, she showed her how to pin the veil to her head. The reflection of Shirley’s pale face in the small mirror hanging on the convent wall showed an expression of sheer joy.

  ‘I look like you, Sister Ann!’ she exclaimed.

  The older nun smiled proudly. ‘Yes, Shirley,’ she agreed. ‘You look like a proper nun at last.’

  The following morning Father Ben adorned the convent altar as for a solemn feast: dozens of candles in polished brass candlesticks flickered and glowed, their light reflected in the life-sized brass crucifix placed in the middle of the altar, now draped in starched white linen and adorned with a richly embroidered golden mantle. While the nuns sang harmonious Latin chants, the new novice was led into the chapel by Sister Ann. When she knelt at the prie-dieu holding a candle to her calm, peaceful face, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Pungent incense, swung from a smoking thurible by a solemn-faced altar boy, floated up into the carved rafters of the chapel, which resounded to Shirley’s sweet voice as she made her formal vows of Poverty, Chastity and Obedience. After the ceremony the Sisters of the order of which Shirley was now firmly a member led her through a metal grille into the privacy of a dark cloister, where they reverently dressed Shirley in her new robe. Carrying a veil and a wreath of white roses, the young novice was led back into the cha
pel, where she knelt before a smiling Reverend Mother. The nun covered Shirley’s head with the veil and secured the wreath of roses. With tears streaming down her face, Shirley stood to embrace her superior, while Father Ben prayed softly.

  ‘By the symbolic shedding of clothes and dressing yourself in Jesus Christ you thereby lay aside the life of a lay person.’

  Father Ben completed the moving service with the naming ceremony. ‘Sister Theresa,’ he said to Shirley, who smiled with joy at the sound of her new religious name, ‘you no longer bear your father’s name.’

  Ada exchanged a knowing look with Sister Ann: they both knew exactly what the other was thinking. Shirley, now Sister Theresa, would be overjoyed to have severed all links with her father and the brutal life she had endured with him. Safe in the bosom of her Sisters, with the attribution of a new name symbolizing her new life, Shirley felt herself filled with blessings she never imagined herself worthy of.

  It was a squash in Mary Vale’s dining room: what with all the residents, the nuns and the visitors, the room was loud with chatter and laughter, and after the long ceremony everybody was desperately hungry and longing for cups of hot tea. Shirley had to be banned from the kitchen and from rushing around serving out cakes and egg-and-cress sandwiches.

  ‘This is your day, Sister Theresa,’ Sister Mary Paul exclaimed, as she added another cake to Shirley’s plate. ‘It’s our turn to serve you.’

  After the solemnity of the ceremony Shirley felt spiritually overwhelmed; now surrounded by so many kind, smiling, familiar faces, she felt emotionally overwhelmed too. It was almost a relief when the residents and the visitors said their farewells and she was left alone with her Sisters, who escorted her back to the chapel. Shirley was finally left alone to her own prayers and thoughts. It was well over an hour later that Sister Ann found her still kneeling at the prie-dieu, with her eyes closed and her hands crossed before her.