The Hurricane was in flames. The fire engine was already dousing them whilst the ambulance crew stood by. They were no longer needed. No one could have survived such a crash. Oscar prayed that Johnny had died on impact and not been burnt alive.
He turned aside and vomited. When he’d finished retching, he straightened and stepped away from the mess. His cheeks were wet. This was his fault. If he’d listened to Johnny, he would still be alive.
‘Bloody awful way to go. Does he have a family?’ Roy was standing beside him staring at the flames.
The heat from the conflagration made the night warm. At least the snow had stopped. He dragged his mind back to the question his friend had asked.
‘He wasn’t married, if that’s what you mean. There must be next-of-kin I have to inform, but their names weren’t on his file.’
‘There’s nothing we can do here, mate – let’s leave them to it. There’ll be an inquiry of some sort and hopefully we’ll find out what happened then.’
They trudged back to base. The flares were out – no further flying would be done tonight. He’d never forget the sound of the screaming engine, the thud as the plane crashed and the noise of the exploding fuel tanks.
The CO was waiting for him. ‘Bad business, old boy. Spare me a few minutes in my office before you go to the mess.’
Oscar was still in his Sidcot suit. By rights this should be removed after flying and hung in readiness for the next flight along with his parachute, the rest of his gear and his Mae West.
‘I’m going to get out of this and then I’ll join you. I won’t be long.’ He turned and hurried away before he could be called back.
Squadron Leader Riley was about the same age as Johnny had been, but he was a happily married man with two children. He wondered why Johnny had been a bachelor. None of his business – the man was dead and he wasn’t going to have any unpleasant speculation about his private life.
Roy was ahead of him and already shrugging on his greatcoat and pulling his scarf tightly around his neck. ‘I’ll come with you, Oscar – makes sense as we both saw the same thing.’
‘No, thank you. This isn’t about what happened but why I let him fly at all. I think he must have told Riley he didn’t want to be a fighter pilot but an instructor. I shouldn’t have allowed him to continue with his orientation knowing how he felt.’
‘You didn’t order him to do it. It was his choice, wasn’t it?’
‘I suppose it was but I’m his commanding officer – I was his commanding officer – and should have made the decision for him. I’ll see you in the bar – get me a pint and a chaser. I’m going to get disgustingly drunk tonight.’
He marched into Riley’s untidy office and was waved to a pew but he ignored the gesture.
‘I don’t understand how such an experienced flyer made such a balls-up of something so simple.’
‘I blame myself…’
‘Stuff and nonsense, Stanton. It was nobody’s fault. Just a bloody stupid accident. Good thing he’s no family to bother us with demands for an inquiry. That isn’t why I wanted to speak to you. I just wanted to tell you that you’ve got to toughen up. You can’t fall to pieces every time someone goes for a Burton.’
‘What sort of man would I be if I wasn’t upset by the death of a fellow officer? I’m not stupid or naïve, sir, I know what’s going to happen. However, I don’t want to “toughen up” as you suggest. I’ll handle it in my own way and I can assure you my ability to do my job won’t suffer.’
He stood to attention and saluted smartly, then about-turned and marched out parade-ground stiff. Tonight he’d learned some valuable lessons. One of them was that he really didn’t like Riley and didn’t want to serve under him any longer. He decided to put in for a transfer even if it meant demotion.
11
Jane lined up with Ivy on one side of her and Prunella on the other, ready to march to their secret destination. Despite the fact that it was still totally dark there was enough light from the glimmer of the torches to see that they were marching through Leighton Buzzard. This wasn’t a big town as they were in and out quickly.
Half an hour later a shouted command of right turn was issued. She saw ahead of them a pair of enormous gates guarded by armed RAF men. For a moment she couldn’t understand what she was seeing. Where had the sky gone?
‘Good heavens, everything’s covered with green camouflage netting,’ Prunella said as they continued their brisk progress up the drive.
‘It must be very top-secret,’ Ivy chimed in.
‘There’s miles of it. I rather like the idea of being involved in something top-secret. I wonder what we’re going to learn to do.’
They were scarcely given time to remove their greatcoats and straighten their skirts before being herded into a large room in the centre of which was a massive table covered with a green baize cloth. It looked like a card table for giants. There was an RAF officer waiting to speak to them and they were told to sit down.
‘You girls are going to be trained as plotters to work with Fighter Command. At this point none of you will know what the word plotter means, so I am now going to enlighten you.’
She exchanged a nervous glance with her new friends. Plotter sounded like someone nasty, someone who hatched schemes behind your back. She didn’t think this could be what they were going to do.
The officer continued. ‘Before you begin your training you will be required to take an oath of secrecy. I cannot stress too strongly the secretive nature of this work. Once you have sworn this oath you will not be able to mention what you’re doing to any member of your family. In fact, not to another human being.’ He paused and glared around the table to see that his words were being heeded. ‘If you break your oath for any reason you will be dishonourably discharged. Do you fully understand what I’ve just told you?’
She nodded vigorously as did every other girl. The entire group looked like marionettes having their strings pulled from above.
‘There will be two days of lectures explaining how the RDF chain works. Those initials stand for range and direction finding. The air defence of Britain depends on this warning system. The information that you handle is what will allow air raid sirens to be sounded, for the fighter squadrons to be directed towards the incoming bombers, assist rescue operations and instruct any gun crews for gun-laying and firing.’
This was a really important trade to be in. Jane’s pulse raced at the thought that she would be doing something valuable for the first time in her short life. Then two WAAF NCOs handed out sheets of paper – some sort of official secrets document – and they all signed their names. These were collected and then they were dismissed and told to reassemble for the first lecture in half an hour.
Plenty of time to find the ablutions and the mess for a quick coffee and biscuit. Prunella and Ivy were good sorts and she thought they would become chums.
‘I don’t like the sound of having lectures. I’m not good at taking notes,’ Ivy said.
‘I don’t think we have to know all the technical stuff off by heart,’ she replied. ‘We just have to be able to do whatever it is we’re being trained for. Do either of you know what our particular special duties are going to be?’
‘We’re going to be plotters – not that I really know what that entails. I expect we’ll understand once we start the actual training.’
Prunella joined in the conversation. ‘Ivy’s right, Jane, no point worrying about it. Look, the others are starting to move so we’d better go with them. Being last wouldn’t look good.’
There was a scientist in mufti to deliver the first lecture. He explained that they should think of the way that a stone dropped into a pond and made ripples travel out from it. The radio waves worked in the same way and the ripples spread outwards until they came in contact with something metal – an incoming or outgoing aircraft – and then a signal would appear on a cathode-ray tube (whatever that was) and whoever was watching the screen would know there was a po
ssible enemy raid.
The next day was taken up with similar technical lectures and at the end of it, Jane thought she had grasped the essentials. The main thing, it seemed to her, was being able to work quickly. She’d been impressed by the films of radar stations where she saw the radar operators sitting in front of the screen.
Her head was spinning and her eyes sore and she actually welcomed the march back to their billet as the crisp winter air cleared her head wonderfully.
‘It will be Christmas in a couple of weeks. Do you think we’ll have finished our training by then?’ Ivy asked as they sat down for tea.
‘I don’t think they’ll post us until the New Year as one of the others told me the training lasts for four weeks. We have to take a series of tests and if we don’t pass then we get sent back and have to take up normal duties.’ Prunella always seemed to know what was going on.
‘I think this whole thing sounds fascinating and I’m so glad I’m part of this team. I really don’t want to be one of those who fails the tests.’ Jane was determined to concentrate and make sure she didn’t get the dreaded tap on the shoulder.
The work was so engrossing that she had little time for anything else and ignored the invitations to go out when they had their late passes and remained in the snug little billet to study on her own. The only drawback to this privacy was that she had far too much time to think about Oscar. At odd times of the day or night she would see his face with his angelic curls and mesmerising blue-grey eyes and wish things could be different, that she was different and could allow someone into her life.
Christmas Day was like any other apart from their meal being served to them by a couple of officers and NCOs. What a strange tradition that was – she didn’t enjoy having her superiors watching her eat but it didn’t seem to bother anyone else.
No one got any leave and the following day it was training as usual. Learning the RAF code names for each letter had been a doddle for her as she had an excellent memory.
The filter room was huge and dominated by an enormous strangely shaped table. On closer study she realised it was actually the coastline of England. The table was divided into large squares each bearing capital letters to identify its position. She was given a box of counters of different colours each representing a different station. To add to the confusion there were different shapes amongst the counters. Triangles were for the estimated number of aircraft, circles were used to show position and squares the estimated height of the incoming aircraft.
Once she had the headset on and had plugged in the lead they had been connected to the mock station. A man’s voice announced the tracks and it was her job to plot what he said. Anyone doing the job of teller or plotter had to speak clearly and have no regional accent so they could be easily understood.
The first few days she’d been slow but then it had fallen into place. She was now confident she understood her role and could plot the information about incoming and outgoing aircraft smoothly. She had no difficulty passing the various tests and was delighted to pass out top of the group.
Ivy and Valerie had vanished from the billet halfway through but Prunella was still there. She wondered if the two of them would be posted together. Only half the group were going to Fighter Command headquarters and her new friend, unfortunately, wasn’t in the group. In fact, no one from her billet would be going with her.
She was glad she hadn’t made close friends as having to say so many goodbyes would have been more difficult. She was now an Aircraft Woman Second Class, was no longer a recruit but a fully qualified member of the WAAF. Writing to Nancy and Charlotte was her only comfort as for some reason she no longer received any letters from the vicarage. Perhaps the reply to her last letter had yet to catch up with her. She often wished she’d not turned down the opportunity to exchange letters with Oscar.
*
By the middle of January Oscar’s flight was fully equipped with both men and kites. Johnny’s death had knocked them all sideways but life moved on and no one even spoke about him now. The funeral had been small and attended only by his squadron. Johnny was buried in a churchyard where space had been reserved for RAF fatalities who had no family to insist that they were buried closer to home. A miserable place to end up.
After talking to Roy he’d decided not to put in for a transfer. Better the devil you know, and all that. He was certain his squadron would be moved once things kicked off. They were too far north to intercept any Huns that came in over the channel. That’s where the action would be. His speculation proved correct as when he and his flight returned from a practice sortie there was a message for him to report to Squadron Leader Riley.
Things were still a bit sticky between them but they got on as well as they needed to. ‘Sorry, took longer than I thought, sir.’
‘Well, Stanton, you’re here now. The squadron’s transferring to Debden. We’re being replaced by Spits. The weather’s excellent – no ice or snow forecast this week. The Met thinks there’s some foul stuff coming in next week so that’s why we’re going now.’
‘Right, sir. What’s the gen? Do we go when ready or fly down as a squadron?’
‘As long as you get off today.’
This meant he had an hour at best to get the rest of the flight organised. Sometimes it could take half an hour to get all the kites fuelled and checked. Roy was hanging about outside the office knowing there must be something important going on.
‘Good, we’re moving to Debden. We’ve got to get there today and I really don’t want the new bods to land at a strange base in the dark.’
‘I think they’re still getting changed. Do you want me to round them up or speak to the erks? Get the kites refuelled?’
‘I’ll speak to the mechanics. You gather the chaps.’
In just over the hour he was back in his cockpit doing his preflight check. It was a bit cramped with all his gear jammed in behind him as well as his chute. He was wearing his sheepskin flying jacket under his Sidcot suit – these weren’t official issue but anyone who could afford to have one made would have one on. Having to wear full uniform plus a tie was madness – hopefully things would relax a little once they were actually doing the job they were trained for.
They were going to fly in loose formation but everyone had the coordinates and none of them should get lost on such a short hop.
He raised his thumb and Roy on his left responded as did Donald on the right. He took off smoothly and climbed steadily to 10,000 feet. It was just over two hundred miles and a Hurry’s max speed was 340 mph. They would cruise at around two-thirds max and complete the journey in under an hour.
Engine noise meant a flyer never really got to experience the silence of the sky. His headset, which he wore over his helmet, cut out the worst of the roar and the rattle of the fuselage. He’d told his men to maintain radio silence – good practice for when they were flying in battle and had to concentrate on what was being relayed from the ground.
When he was ten minutes from Debden he connected with the base and was told they could land as they arrived.
‘I’m going in first. Roy next and then the rest of you come in when the runway’s clear.’ The green light flashed below, his flaps were down, the undercarriage lowered and his touchdown was immaculate. Always a bonus to do it well when you had an audience.
He was guided towards an empty space on the apron. There was more than enough room for all twenty-four of the squadron to park safely. He’d visited Debden a couple of times and was pleased to be posted there. It only had grass runways and like most of the RAF bases was still frantically trying to build extra hangars, accommodation and so on in order to be ready when the fighting started. From here he could catch a bus to his home in Suffolk easily enough if he got a twenty-four-hour pass.
The only downside about this move was the fact that he’d had to hastily sell his beloved car to one of the blokes who was remaining in situ.
The last letter he’d had from Mum had been more encouraging
about the attitude of his pacifist father. He rather thought he was no longer considered the black sheep of the family for making the RAF his career. Like most young men he’d known this war was coming and wanted to be ready to protect his country.
He unclipped his harness, released the Perspex cover to his cockpit and reached behind him for his kitbag before standing up.
‘Welcome to Debden, sir. I’m in charge of the ground crew for your flight. Bobby Mullins is me name.’
Oscar chucked his belongings to the ground and scrambled out after them before answering. ‘Good to meet you, Bobby. Flight Lieutenant Oscar Stanton – call me Oscar unless the CO’s around.’
With his kitbag over one shoulder and his chute over the other he headed for the main admin building where, if he remembered rightly, there was a locker room to stow his gear. God knows where he would be billeted as he doubted there would be accommodation on the base for all of them. It would have been nice to have had some sort of transport provided as the hike across the airfield was almost half a mile.
‘Good afternoon, sir, welcome to Debden,’ an NCO saluted him as he stepped into the building.
‘Thank you.’ He pointed down the corridor. ‘Do I put my gear in the same place as last year?’
‘Yes, sir.’ The man looked at his clipboard. ‘Could I have your name, please?’
Oscar gave it and was about to wander off when the NCO called him back. ‘I have the address of your temporary billet, sir. Unfortunately, things aren’t quite ready to accommodate your squadron here.’
He held out his hand and was given a piece of paper. He would be living in the village of Debden, which was about two miles from the base. Fat lot of good that would be when action started. At least there were a couple of decent pubs where he could spend his free time.
As he made his way to the locker room the corridor filled up with the remainder of the squadron as they arrived. He increased his pace. It would be a scrum in there if all of them were trying to undress and sort themselves out at the same time. Roy was right behind him.
The Girls in Blue Page 11
