Ann handed the pamphlet over. ‘Enjoy the read,’ she said, turning to go inside. ‘Call me when it’s time to finally put our feet on the ground.’
Alone again, Lizzie tipped her face back to the sky, wondering how the air could smell so different in a foreign country. She’d travelled far and wide in her own plane throughout America, but to be arriving somewhere by boat, at the mercy of a captain instead of her own piloting skills, was a different experience entirely. She’d thought leaving home would be so easy, and in some ways it had been, but waving her parents farewell and actually departing still played on her mind more than she’d expected.
An hour later their ship, the SS Beaverhill, had successfully docked. Lizzie was happy to be the first to head down the gangplank, her companions close behind, towards the crew who were lined up at the end of it, hats in hands. They’d been a fun and rowdy group to travel with; although there had been plenty of flirting and much drinking, they hadn’t been anything other than respectful and Lizzie appreciated it as much for herself as for the women in her charge.
‘I’m almost sad to say goodbye,’ she said, laughing as the captain took hold of her shoulders and planted a big smacking kiss on her cheek.
Lizzie kissed him back, then walked down the line of men and kissed each one, enveloping most of them in big hugs. Some blushed pinker than she’d ever known possible.
‘Thank you for the wild ride, sirs,’ she said, smiling flirtatiously and watching the captain clutch at his chest as if she’d stolen his heart. She wouldn’t miss the old converted coal liner – it hadn’t exactly been the most luxurious vessel – but she would miss the jovialness of the crew.
Lizzie kept walking, looking for her point of contact. She’d been told that Commander Jones would meet them near the gangplank, but it wasn’t until the crowd had thinned that she saw two women, both dressed in impeccable blue uniforms and looking very serious. She hoped this wasn’t a sign of things to come after such an entertaining trip.
‘Elizabeth Dunlop?’
Lizzie smiled and waved as she approached the slightly older of the two women. ‘Lizzie, please,’ she said. ‘And what kind of a welcome party is this? We expected bouquets and symphonies!’ The two women looked at one another and Lizzie laughed at their puzzled expressions. ‘I’m only joking. Sorry, we were warned how straight-laced you Brits were, weren’t we, girls? Seems like the rumours were true.’
The four women with her were laughing, but the two women in front of her were not. She stared back at their bland, unimpressed expressions and sighed. This was going to be a long few months.
‘I’m Commander May Jones,’ the older woman said, with a frown. ‘And this is Executive Officer Ruby Sanders. It’s a pleasure to have you here to join us.’
Lizzie held out her hand. ‘And it’s an honour to join you ladies here, even if the laughs are going to be far and few between. Anyhow, it’s good to have my two feet on solid ground again instead of lurching around at sea.’
They shook hands and she introduced the other four, noticing that her new associates still looked as though they’d sucked a lemon. ‘This is Ann Foster, Sandy Freeman, Brooke Mayweather and Ruth Powers. They’re my best four fliers and we can’t wait to join you ladies in the sky.’
‘Tell us about your crossing,’ Ruby said as May led them away. ‘We heard you were caught in a ferocious storm and had to pass by a German blockade.’
Lizzie shrugged. ‘It was worth it to come here and fly, but I have to confess that knowing the last convoy lost six out of ten vessels didn’t give us the most confidence.’
‘You’re telling us that now?’ Ann shrieked. ‘Those odds were terrible at best!’
‘Tell me more about when we’ll be flying. I hear we’re to be put up at the Savoy in London,’ said Lizzie, ignoring Ann’s horrified question and stepping closer to May. ‘I want to hear all about it.’
‘Yes, you’ll be at the Savoy. We’ll be travelling to London by train in the morning, but tonight we’d like to invite you all to dinner at the Adelphi Hotel. We have a table booked for seven-thirty.’
‘Sounds wonderful. One last fine dinner before we knuckle down and start work.’
Lizzie could almost imagine what they were thinking, these two prim and proper English roses. Was that what they called the pretty, porcelain-skinned women in England? They’d no doubt seen their brazen kisses and hugs of the ragged crew members, watched as they laughed and chatted and disembarked as if it was all an adventure, and were wondering what on earth Americans were about. Once they saw her flying, though, saw her determination in the air, they’d soon realise that any preconceived ideas were wrong. They weren’t guests of the British government for nothing, and she was looking forward to showing them precisely why they’d been given such special treatment.
Lizzie walked through the restaurant and touched her hand to her blonde hair, gently patting her curls to make sure they were still perfectly in place. She was exhausted and ready to fall into bed, but she wasn’t about to let her English sisters in arms think she didn’t have the stamina to join them. She saw May and Ruby ahead, still dressed in their perfect little uniforms, and wondered if she’d dressed up a little too much for dinner with her new colleagues. Trouble was, she’d only packed one nice dress and a pair of heels to go out in, and as far as her hair and make-up went – well, she wasn’t going anywhere without her trademark pink lipstick firmly in place. It didn’t matter if she was flying or dining: she always wore a sweep of Chanel. She thought of her mother telling her to make herself look confident even if she didn’t feel it, then firmly pushed away all thoughts of her and her sobs as they’d parted. Her daddy had held her tight, then given her a smile and a wink that told her everything she needed to know. ‘You can do this,’ he’d whispered in her ear.
‘Ladies,’ she said as she approached the table. ‘Sorry I’m late.’
They both smiled back at her, but May gestured to the vacant seats. ‘We seem to be missing the others, too. Have you seen them?’
Lizzie grimaced. ‘Oh, well, I tried to rouse them but it seems it’ll just be the three of us.’ It wasn’t the best first impression they could have made, but they’d clearly been exhausted and she didn’t want to be too hard on them yet. ‘We had an intense training programme in Montreal and I expect they wanted a decent rest before travelling to London tomorrow.’
‘I see,’ May said abruptly, clearly annoyed. ‘I expect they’ll be more reliable once we reach our headquarters? We also have a rather intense training programme here in England, and I’d hate to think they’re not cut out for it after coming all this way.’
‘You won’t have to worry about them. Drinks?’ Lizzie asked, brushing the criticism off. ‘What do you girls recommend on this side of the ocean?’
A waiter appeared and May spoke up. ‘Three Pimm’s, please.’
Lizzie noticed Ruby’s raised brows.
‘Since when do you drink?’ Ruby asked.
‘Since our American cousins stood us up,’ May replied tartly.
Lizzie stifled a laugh at her rigid response. ‘It’s only dinner, May. Don’t get your knickers in a knot. And do tell me what a Pimm’s is, would you?’
May’s stare was as cold as ice. ‘That’s Commander Jones to you, and I’ll have you know that I wouldn’t accept this level of tardiness from even my newest recruits. Your pilots should be here.’
‘My apologies, Commander,’ Lizzie said, giving her a mock salute before laughing; the look on the other woman’s face was almost comical.
‘A Pimm’s is alcohol and lemonade mixed together,’ Ruby interrupted in an obvious effort to diffuse the situation. ‘Before the war we’d mix fruit with it – it’s divine with summer berries thrown in.’
Lizzie sat back and considered the women in front of her. She wasn’t sure exactly how Ruby fitted in, but May was clearly her superior, and from the way Ruby kept glancing at her, it was obvious she wanted to please her. Perhaps she was new to fl
ying, or at least newly recruited. May was clearly the one she needed to impress, not her little sidekick, and they’d already got off on the wrong foot.
‘So tell me,’ Lizzie said, addressing May. ‘What’s it really like flying those beautiful big planes day in, day out?’
The look on May’s face softened a little. ‘The day you first fly a plane that you know scares the heck out of men? Nothing beats that feeling,’ she replied. ‘Knowing that you’re delivering it, and that within hours it could be shooting at the enemy – it’s incredible.’
‘So what kind of planes will I be able to get my hands on?’ Lizzie asked. ‘Anything exciting?’
‘Well, Spitfires to begin with,’ May said. ‘Depending on your aptitude, you may be put forward for the larger four-engine bombers, but we haven’t had a woman cleared to fly one yet. Training is soon to begin at our all-female airfield in Hamble, and in fact they’re making quite a big deal about who might be the first to officially fly one.’
‘Sounds like just the job for me then,’ Lizzie said with a wink, stifling a laugh when May’s face turned to stone. ‘If you’re not earmarking the position for yourself, that is?’
‘We’ll see about that,’ May muttered. ‘But no, it won’t be me. I’m too busy with administration to be in the running, but it’ll be quite the honour for the chosen pilot.’
‘Well, regardless of the aircraft, it must be amazing, flitting around in a warplane all day.’
‘Flitting?’ May asked, now openly scowling. ‘My girls are hardly flitting. With intense flying schedules, multiple planes to deliver daily and weather concerns, my pilots are in life or death situations every time they report for duty. Not to mention that we’re doing this because we’re a nation at war!’
Lizzie held her hands up. ‘Bad choice of words. I was only meaning . . .’
‘You were only meaning what? That my ladies are out there having fun? Because they’re not, Miss Dunlop – they’re out there working hard to make sure we actually have a damn chance of winning this war and bringing our boys home safe.’
Her words were low, snapped almost, and Lizzie knew she’d probably gone too far. But if the English rose couldn’t handle some teasing, then she shouldn’t be running a squadron.
‘So have you lost any pilots yet?’ Lizzie asked, sitting back and crossing her legs at the ankle. ‘In these life and death situations?’
‘No,’ May said, her eyes narrowing. ‘We’ve had some close calls, but our fatality rate is zero and I’m extremely proud of that fact. And trust me, there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t pray to keep it that way.’
Ruby touched May’s arm then, a gesture that took Lizzie by surprise.
‘Tell her,’ Ruby said softly.
Lizzie gazed back at them. ‘Tell me what?’
‘We fly with no instruments and no radios, so when I say that my girls are the best? I mean it. It takes more than good skills to fly that way, Elizabeth, it takes guts and a good dollop of determination.’
‘No radios?’ Lizzie asked. ‘Is this a joke?’
‘It’s no joke that our superiors don’t want our movements or whereabouts to be detected, and we’re not trained to fly with instruments. We’re at war, Elizabeth, in case you’ve missed that very important fact.’ May’s smile started slowly, like a match to a wick, spreading down the line. ‘If that sounds too hard, you’re more than welcome to board a ship and head home.’
Lizzie smiled straight back, clenching her toes, not about to let May see that she’d thrown her off balance. ‘Radios, instruments, bad weather? Honestly, I don’t know what you’re making such a fuss about. I’m sure it’s all in a day’s work for you lot now, and the same will be true for us.’
Lizzie shook out her hair, tipping her head back as the waiter arrived with their drinks. She reached for hers gratefully and took a big gulp. What kind of fools would be expected to fly without radios? It was ridiculous! But she simmered silently, for now; once she was on base, then she’d start to make a fuss.
‘I have a feeling you’re newer to this whole thing,’ she said eventually, to Ruby. She’d noticed how perfectly starched her uniform was, as if it were almost brand new. ‘Am I right?’
Ruby’s cheeks coloured slightly, but Lizzie pretended not to notice as she took another sip. The younger of the two women was tiny – so petite and short, in fact, that Lizzie wondered how she’d even passed the minimum height requirements.
‘You’re right,’ Ruby replied. ‘I haven’t been with the ATA for long. Only months, actually.’
‘So you’re the commander’s little sidekick then? Or are you her office girl?’
‘Office girl?’ Ruby spluttered. ‘No, I’m a pilot, I mean I . . .’
‘Ruby is no sidekick, nor is she relegated to office duties,’ May interrupted. ‘She might look like a doll – in fact I was told by our doctor that a gust of wind might blow her over – but put her up in the cockpit and she’s got the heart of a lion and the bravery of a team of men. Not to mention she’s highly experienced as a pilot.’
Now Ruby’s cheeks were positively scarlet.
Lizzie laughed, and winked at her. ‘I was wondering how she’d snuck in past regulation height. I’d have sent her home the moment I laid eyes on her, experienced or not.’
‘We’re not exactly drowning in women pilots with more than three hundred hours’ flying experience, so when an application like Ruby’s passes by my desk, I don’t give a damn about height restrictions,’ May said. ‘Women were required to have more than five hundred hours’ flying experience in the beginning, but the rules have eased somewhat. Now that we’ve proven we can be trusted not to break their planes, of course.’
Lizzie chuckled then, finally seeing something about the Brit to like. ‘If a man had to demonstrate three perfect landings, a woman would be asked to do six just to prove herself, am I right?’
‘Precisely.’ May held up her glass, nodding. ‘Lizzie, it must be frustrating not to have your own national women’s squadron established yet.’
‘After Pearl Harbor I expected to hear news immediately, but so far all they want is their best women pilots flying with you Brits. No offence, but I’d rather be flying American planes in American airspace instead of being sent on some glorified work experience mission on the other side of the world.’
May shrugged. ‘No offence taken. I’d feel exactly the same.’
‘Now, tell me, how did you start flying?’ Lizzie asked, deciding to at least try to get along with her new colleagues. ‘And how in God’s name did you manage to convince a bunch of old men to let women ferry fighter planes? I’ve been petitioning for years – I want to wring all their wrinkly old necks!’
‘Do you have all night?’ May asked, brows arched high. ‘Because I did the same. The only reason we finally received a green light was because they needed us, pure and simple. And to be honest, after the Battle of Britain, we simply didn’t have enough trained pilots left. We literally ended up losing a quarter of our RAF pilots and they couldn’t spare any for ferry work. It was suddenly a case of them looking foolish by not using us, and you’ll no doubt find the same thing will happen in your country. They’ll need you, and then it’ll be the army chasing you, not the other way around.’
Lizzie waved the waiter over. ‘Another round of these, please,’ she said. ‘And what are we eating, ladies? Is there steak on the menu? I’m ravenous! Please tell me you can do a decent steak here?’ The waiter nodded. ‘Well, steak it is then,’ she continued, as the other two ordered. ‘Now, Commander Jones, tell me about your first flight. When did you become a pilot?’
May settled back in her chair. ‘I was what my parents called a flying addict when I was growing up. I was always trailing around after my older brother, begging him to take me up with him,’ she said, a smile playing across her lips. ‘When I finally started having lessons on my own, I learned at Brooklands, which was a pretty famous flying club here before the war. We both learned
there. Then I went on to work for my uncle, taking punters up for joy rides. I suppose flying was in my blood.’
‘And your brother? Is he a pilot?’ Lizzie asked, intrigued. ‘I bet he’s one of the best in the air force now?’
‘My brother is an excellent pilot,’ May replied quickly. ‘Better than I’ll ever be.’
Silence fell, and Lizzie cleared her throat. ‘The commander of her own squadron thinks a man is better than her? I expected more from you, Jones.’
When May’s gaze met hers, it was cold, the warmth completely gone. ‘I’m merely stating a fact, Elizabeth. He is a truly exceptional fighter pilot, and I give credit where credit is due.’
Lizzie held up her hands; she’d clearly hit a button. ‘And I apologise. I didn’t intend to get off so thoroughly on the wrong foot with you.’
May didn’t respond, other than to cross her knees and fix her gaze on Lizzie, who wondered exactly what nerve she’d hit. She couldn’t figure it out. She’d researched May Jones and her crew months ago, and there was little professionally that she wasn’t aware of.
‘So, tell me,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘What does this Attagirls saying mean? I understand it’s a play on words, but . . .’ She let the question hang.
‘It’s slang, something we say to encourage a young woman here. Like, that’s a girl, you can do it,’ Ruby explained, finally speaking up. ‘So it’s a play on that saying.’
Lizzie watched as May smiled up at the waiter when he arrived with their meals, seeing how warm she could be when she wanted to be.
‘There’s a bit of a joke here that ATA stands for ancient and tattered airmen,’ Ruby said, leaning in a little closer. ‘And they love nothing better than calling us the always terrified airwomen, because they know it drives us all mad.’
‘And it couldn’t be further from the bloody truth,’ May swore.
They all laughed, and Lizzie picked up her knife and fork to eat her steak. It was served with mashed potatoes and peas, covered in a dark sauce that smelt delicious, and she suddenly realized how hungry she was.
The Spitfire Girls Page 5
