He found himself an empty locker and hung up his flying kit, removed his boots and rummaged about in his bag for his shoes. It was marginally warmer but he still needed his heavy coat. He’d had a gas mask but he hadn’t seen it for weeks. He supposed he’d have to scrounge another one if he went off base. Nobody bothered to carry one otherwise.
His friend nabbed the locker next to his. ‘They’ll have to move this lot nearer to our kites. Bloody shambles, if you ask me.’
‘We’re living in the village – I hope bicycles are available.’
‘That means when we’re on duty we’ll have to kip somewhere here. As I said before – bloody shambles.’
By the time they were ready to leave the room was jampacked. He shouldered his way out of the crush.
‘I think a drink is called for, Roy, don’t you? Something to eat would be good too but I expect we’ll have to wait until we find our billet for that.’
They made their way to the Officers’ Mess, which was strangely empty. In fact, the whole place was like the Marie Celeste. Plenty of admin blokes but no sign of any flyers. ‘Where on earth are the other bods? Surely, we can’t be the only active squadron here? Debden is part of Fighter Group 11. It’s going to be our job to protect London and the south-east from the Luftwaffe when they come.’
Riley overheard his last remark as he came in, closely followed by the rest of the squadron. ‘We’re the first but there are two others already based here. God knows where they are today. Bloody bad show having to put up in the village. They’d better get their fingers out and get our accommodation finished.’
After a few jars no one was binding about having to travel to the village. The NCO who’d greeted them poked his head through the door and yelled above the noise.
‘Transport’s outside, gentlemen.’
He and Roy were billeted in an ancient house three doors down from a pub. Their landlady was an elderly lady who greeted them with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
‘Meals will be served in the dining room. You will also use this as your sitting room. You will use the WC and wash room downstairs. You will not use any other rooms.’
‘Right. Please direct us to our bedroom so we can get settled. Then we’ll eat.’ He didn’t introduce himself and didn’t ask for her name. Keeping it formal and accepting her rules would work best for all of them.
‘It’s the room at the end of the passageway. The door is open. There are towels provided.’
Roy muttered something rude under his breath and Oscar smiled. Why had the irascible old lady offered to accommodate them when she so obviously didn’t want them there? To his surprise the room was large, well appointed, and had a decent fire burning in the grate.
‘Which bed do you want? The one on the right or the left?’ Roy asked.
‘They’re identical. We’ve also got our own wardrobe and chest of drawers.’ He dropped his bag on the bed on the left. ‘She might be a grumpy old lady but we can’t complain about this.’
There were also a pair of old-fashioned washstands with hot water in a china jug and a matching floral basin to tip it into.
Roy pulled open the cupboard underneath the marble top on his. ‘We’ve got a matching po.’
‘Let’s hope we don’t need to use it. I’m not going to unpack now. I’m ravenous. If the food’s as good as the accommodation then we’ve landed on our feet.’
The dining room had obviously been rearranged to accommodate them. The table was now under the window and two comfortable armchairs had been put in front of the fireplace. To his delight, and astonishment, there was a wireless in pride of place on the sideboard. The food was equally impressive and served by a giggling young girl dressed in a maid’s uniform. She, unlike her employer, was delighted they were there.
‘That one’s trouble, Oscar. She’s already got her eye on you. Transport’s going to collect us at eight o’clock. Do you fancy another beer or two before we turn in?’
‘Not for me. I’ve had my quota for today. You go ahead.’ He grinned. ‘Better check there’s not a curfew before you go. I’m going to listen to the wireless.’
‘Then I’ll join you. I don’t want to miss the nine o’clock news. Shall I put it on for the news later?’
They had carefully stacked the used crockery and left the table to be cleared – hopefully when they’d retired. The less they saw of their landlady the better.
12
Bentley Priory was more like a small town than a RAF station. Jane, and the others, scrambled out of the lorry bumping their kit behind them and looked around with interest. They were directed to their new billet, which was referred to as a hut. This was an accurate description as it was a low, wooden building.
There were around thirty beds, all neatly stacked, and they were directed to the ones at the far end. Unpacking and stowing her small items of kit in the locker and hanging up her uniform on the three pegs provided took only a few minutes.
A helpful NCO was waiting to give them a quick tour of the base. ‘WAAFs are stationed at this end in these huts; our ablutions are over there.’ The woman pointed at an identical hut but didn’t give them time to visit. They marched briskly behind their leader and Jane was pleased when they went into a larger building in which was housed the mess, the recreation room and the various offices.
‘Get yourself something to eat and report to this room in half an hour.’
The food was palatable but she was too excited to eat much. There were dozens of WAAF eating but she made no attempt to make eye contact. Time enough to make friends once she was certain she was staying here. It was quite possible some of them would be relocated to other bases at some point.
An RAF officer with a bristling grey moustache waited until they crammed themselves into every nook and cranny before clearing his throat noisily. ‘You girls will be divided into watches. You will work one week on nights and one week on days. The night watches run from one a.m. to five a.m. and five a.m. to nine a.m.
‘Daytime they run from nine a.m. to one p.m., one p.m. to five p.m. and then five p.m. to nine p.m. You will now be informed into which watch you’ve been put.’ He nodded and then the NCO who had been their guide took his place.
‘It’s a ten-minute coach ride to the Operations Room. You must be waiting to embark a quarter of an hour before your shift starts.’
She then told them when they would be starting work and with whom they would be sharing with. Jane and her three cohorts were to work nights but not start until one a.m. the day after tomorrow. They had been given a thirty-six-hour pass and as the other three girls were heading for London first thing next morning, she decided to go with them.
It was snowing heavily by the time they reached the city and she was grateful to be wearing her warm greatcoat over her thick blue uniform. She parted company with the others and they agreed to meet up at the hotel in Tothill Street, the Sanctuary, at midday and go in search of some lunch together. They would then make a trip to the cinema. It would be dark when they came out of the cinema. Wandering around in the blackout wasn’t something she was looking forward to but she would be with the others so it shouldn’t be a problem.
It was just possible there might be some correspondence from either Nancy or Charlotte in Poplar as they had arranged to send their letters there until they had a permanent address. The last time she’d braved the East End she’d been in civilian clothes and accompanied by Charlotte. Now she was in uniform and quite happy to complete the journey on her own.
Apart from the brown sticky paper criss-crossing all the windows and an abundance of men and women in uniform, things seemed very much the same in the city. The sandbags were still there, signs pointing to communal air raid shelters prominent on street corners, and despite the horrible weather people seemed quite cheerful.
She’d managed to buy a bag of pastries and she hoped this gift would make her unexpected visit a welcome one.
This time there were no women gossiping on their doorsteps wh
en she turned into the street in which Nancy lived – or had once lived – to be more accurate. She knocked on the door and it was opened by Mrs Evans, wraparound pinny firmly tied and her hair in curlers under a headscarf.
‘Well I never did! Come in, miss, my Nancy said you might call in one day. She ain’t here – she’s been posted to Catterick where she’s doing ever so well.’
Jane handed over the bag of cakes. ‘I thought you might like these to go in the lunchboxes.’
‘Ta, ever so. We’ll have one between us now.’
The kitchen was warm and the kettle hissing gently over the range. There was no sign of Mr Evans or the two youths. They must be on a different shift to the one they’d been on last time.
‘Sit down, I’ll make you a nice cuppa.’ She took a currant bun from the bag and carefully cut it in half before putting the rest in a metal bread bin. ‘I’ve got a pile of letters for you. I reckon some of them are from your folks but there’s one from my Nancy and two from that posh girl what came with you for a visit.’ Mrs Evans rummaged about behind the assorted china dogs and other ornaments on the mantelpiece and pulled out a satisfyingly thick pile of envelopes.
‘How exciting. I’ve been writing here to both my friends in the hope that they will call in like I have to collect them one day. If Nancy is now settled at Catterick I can send my letters there in future.’
‘I ain’t too clever with writing and such, none of us are, but I’d be ever so grateful if you’d put my Nancy’s new address on them three letters.’
One of the envelopes she recognised as having come from her, the other two had Charlotte’s handwriting. She quickly crossed out the London address and replaced it with the one for Catterick. These could be popped back into the postal system without having to put another stamp on them.
She sorted out her correspondence and put the ones from Mrs Jackson to one side to be read in privacy. She didn’t want Nancy’s mother to see two letters fall out of the envelope and have to explain the reason.
The ones from Charlotte she opened immediately and looked at the dates. One had been written in November and the other only last week. She would read them in order.
Dear Jane,
As promised I’m writing to Nancy’s home address in the hope that you are able to get there and collect my letters.
I can’t tell you exactly what I’m doing now but it’s special duties. I’m certain that you are doing the same – signing the Official Secrets Act was a bit of a bind but necessary. I should complete my training by the end of this month and then hopefully be posted somewhere where you can write.
I was told that just sending letters with my name and number on to Victory House in London should be sufficient for them to be forwarded on to me. I think I shall do the same for you in the New Year.
Nancy is going to be an equipment assistant – the person who hands out the spare parts to aeroplanes and clothes to airwomen. She and Nora are hoping to be posted to the same place as they’ve both been accepted for this trade.
I’ve been too busy to socialise – I expect it’s the same for you. Also, like you I have no contact with my family. I can’t say that I’m bothered by this.
Maybe we’ll eventually both be posted near enough to London to meet. I really do want to stay in touch.
My very best wishes,
Charlotte
Dear Jane,
Unfortunately, my posting is too far away from the city to even contemplate coming up to see you. Therefore, letters will be the only way we can stay connected for the moment.
There’s no telephone available for us and the nearest one is three miles away in the village. I’m billeted with a delightful family, delicious food and a very comfortable room. However, because I work shifts, I’m rarely there.
I look forward to hearing from you when you get one of these letters.
Very best wishes,
Charlotte
Was it possible that her friend was doing the same work that she was? Was she somewhere in the RDF chain, possibly a plotter too? It was confusing that their job was referred to as being a plotter or a filterer – neither of which sounded anything like the actual work involved. She supposed that they were actually filtering information from the radar stations positioned around the coast and then plotting it on the big table with the map engraved on it.
Mrs Evans plonked a mug of tea and half a bun on a chipped floral plate, in front of her and then sat down opposite. ‘Do you have an address for your other friend now?’
‘I do, thank you. I’ll write to Nancy when I get back to my base and give her the instructions for writing to me. I do want to stay in touch with her. I think it’s doubtful that we’ll be able to meet in person, at least for a while, as our postings are so far apart.’
‘Never mind, love, it’ll all come out in the wash. They’re ever so busy down at the docks and I don’t reckon my boys will be called up as long as they work there. That’s what Ruby’s ma said, any road.’
Jane picked up the grubby envelope with the almost illegible writing. ‘I’ll read the one from Nancy now. It’s good news about your boys. It must be a dreadful worry for those with sons not in reserved occupations.’
‘Half the little buggers what were evacuated last year have come home. They ain’t too keen on the country life, that’s for sure. It didn’t seem natural having no kiddies playing in the streets.’
She looked up from the letter, which was more a note than anything else.
Dear Jane
I hope that you are doing okay. Me and Nora are happy. I got a letter from Charlotte but I ain’t had one from you. Write me soon.
Luv,
Nancy
‘It won’t be safe in the East End when the bombing starts. But I can see why the children wanted to be with their families and not living with strangers miles away.’
‘There’s a shelter down the end of the road and one of me mates says as she’s going to use the underground, not so cramped and dark as one of them blooming things.’ She pointed proudly to a battered pram parked by the door. ‘I got me things ready in there. Pillows, blankets and such what we’ll need. All I got to do is shove in a thermos of tea and we’re tickety-boo.’
‘I just hope things aren’t going to be as bad as everyone says.’ Jane drained her tea and ate the last few mouthfuls of bun. ‘Thank you so much for keeping these letters for me. The tea and cake were delicious but I’m afraid I have to go as I don’t want to be late back and be put on a charge.’
This wasn’t strictly true as she didn’t have to be back at Bentley Priory until tomorrow evening. Wearing uniform gave her the courage to do things she wouldn’t have dreamt of a few months ago.
Elizabeth was the only one of her group waiting for her when she arrived at the hotel. ‘The other two are still wandering about Oxford Street. I’m afraid it’s only the two of us.’
*
The weather deteriorated and the heavy snow and freezing conditions meant no flying was possible. Not much had been going on even when it was safe to go up. Oscar’s flight was given a forty-eight-hour pass and he thought he might go and see his family.
‘Bloody horrible weather – I doubt the buses will be running. These narrow roads will be blocked with snow,’ Roy said gloomily.
‘In which case there’s no point in trying to get to the vicarage. I should think the trains will be running, albeit slowly. What about heading for London? We could catch a show, go to the pictures. What do you say?’
‘I’ll speak to the rest of the blokes. If we’re all going maybe we can borrow some transport that could negotiate the road to Saffron Walden.’
‘Good show. Going in that direction might be better than trying to cut across country into Suffolk to see my folks.’
Since his arrival two weeks ago he’d settled into his billet and managed to buy a battered bicycle from a villager who no longer used it. Roy hadn’t been so lucky so had to travel on the crossbar. So far they’d managed to av
oid going headfirst into a ditch but it was only a matter of time, especially with the weather so dire.
An hour later he was squashed in the front of an army lorry with Roy and the others were rattling about in the back. The driver had arrived at an opportune moment to deliver ammunition to the ack-ack guns that protected the base and had been happy to drop them off at the station.
Again fortune favoured them and as they tumbled onto the icy cobbles the sound of a train whistle meant they didn’t have to wait. The ticket collector waved them through and they skidded onto the platform and dived into the end carriage just as the train pulled out.
Eventually they disembarked at Liverpool Street. ‘If it’s going to take so bloody long to get back, we need to be here lunchtime tomorrow,’ Roy said.
Oscar made sure the others were aware that being late would get them put on a charge. Satisfied they understood he parted company with the others who already had plans to carouse the night away at a seedy nightclub they knew somewhere in Soho.
‘Shall we find ourselves a hotel before we do anything else?’
‘Where we stay depends what you want to do tonight. I fancy a film and a slap-up meal.’
‘Exactly what I was going to suggest. We need to head for Piccadilly – there are half a dozen cinemas around there. I’m sure we can find a guesthouse in our price range somewhere in one of the back streets close by.’
They caught the underground and emerged into flurries of snow. The pavements were, as one would expect, quieter than usual. The pedestrians tramping, heads down, presumably eager to get out of the nasty weather as soon as possible.
‘We should have worn our gas masks – everyone else has one dangling round their neck,’ he said.
‘As you still don’t have one, that would have been a bit tricky. We should have worn our flying boots – my feet are already frozen.’
The Girls in Blue Page 12
