The Girls in Blue

by Fenella J Miller

  *

  Oscar arrived at Kenley to be greeted by Riley like the prodigal son. ‘Bloody good show – there’s a frightful flap going on. The squadron’s going to France. Still got three bods missing.’

  All thoughts of romance vanished and immediately he was fully focused on the matter in hand. ‘Whose flight are they from?’

  ‘Not yours. Two from mine and one from Cross’s. You’ve got to leave immediately. I’m moving someone across and the three missing chaps will join me.’

  ‘Righto. I take it everybody knows?’ Riley nodded. ‘Excellent. I need to collect my gear and then I’m ready.’

  He wasn’t surprised they were transferring. Things were going badly over there and Hitler was on the move. British troops were pulling out of Norway. It looked as if the war was finally starting. May was going to be a busy month. He’d got an acquaintance at the Admiralty who’d told him the Navy had sunk all but a handful of Germany’s destroyers. This should mean that whatever Hitler wanted it was going to be hard for him to get across the channel as the Royal Navy, with five times the ships, could sink any of the barges.

  The buzz across the water was uneventful and the two flights landed safely on the temporary airstrip in France. He was waved to a space on the perimeter and taxied into place. The bowsers trundled over and immediately refuelled all the kites. He noticed there were armourers waiting – he wasn’t looking forward to firing his guns in anger.

  They were told they were billeted in tents – not ideal but at least the weather was decent for a change. After dropping his gear, he went in search of the commanding officer. He needed the recent gen because, as far as he could see, there was nothing much happening. No sounds of guns, no Luftwaffe roaring overhead dropping bombs.

  The Win Co, his handlebar moustache bristling with indignation, was waiting and gestured that he accompany him to the headquarters, which was a hastily thrown-up Nissen hut. Must’ve been evil living here during the winter.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, Stanton, where’s the action?’ Oscar was about to answer but his unidentified commanding officer continued. ‘The Huns have begun the offensive. Reconnaissance kites have reported the tanks are moving fast and will be in Luxembourg today. It’s going to be dammed busy. Would have preferred a squadron of Spits, but you will have to do. Hurricanes aren’t fast enough.’

  Not an encouraging start to their posting. ‘We’ll do our best, sir, let’s hope the Maginot Line holds them back.’

  ‘It had better or our boys are going to be trapped on the beaches.’ He twiddled with his moustache and then, grim-faced, told him what orders he’d been given. ‘We have to provide cover as long as we can but if the Panzers break down the line then we’ve got to abandon the brown jobs and scuttle back to England. We’re woefully short of fighters and can’t afford to lose what we’ve got here.’

  Oscar saluted to avoid having to reply to such a devastating order. Britain was facing defeat and the next step would be invasion. It made sense to have as many kites as possible available to protect the country.

  Riley and the others turned up later that day and he passed on what he’d been told. ‘Just heard that Chamberlain has resigned and Churchill has been asked to form a coalition government. He has to be better than Chamberlain.’

  ‘It doesn’t look good. Nine months of phoney war and now it might well be over in a matter of weeks with us on the losing side.’

  ‘None of that defeatist talk, Stanton. We are British – we will fight to protect our families. The alternative doesn’t bear thinking of.’ Riley strode off muttering to himself.

  He explained the situation to the other bods and they were equally gloomy. They weren’t being defeatist, merely realistic.

  ‘Pity the bloody army – been stuck out here since last September doing bugger all and now it looks as if they could be wiped out. Do you agree with our orders?’ Roy asked.

  ‘We follow them regardless. There are squadrons out here that have got Fairey Battles and have no chance. We’re the lucky ones. Our Hurries are relatively modern, not outdated like their bombers. The government should have been pouring money into the RAF, not cost-cutting.’

  ‘The Germans have been equipping the Luftwaffe since the last war and their pilots got practice in the Spanish lot. None of us have battle experience. God help us.’ Roy was usually the most upbeat of them all. If he was pessimistic then things were really bleak.

  ‘I think a stiff drink is called for. Any idea where the mess tent is?’ This question from one of the bods was echoed by the others.

  Nobody bothered to square away their kit – there was hardly likely to be an inspection on the battlefront.

  This was the last opportunity they had to socialise as it kicked off the following day. Over the next ten days they scrambled continuously in a vain attempt to prevent the German bombers and fighters attacking the retreating army. The BEF were being driven relentlessly back towards the beach as Hitler tore through Luxembourg, Belgium and the Netherlands. France was being overrun. The Panzers came around the end of the Maginot line as if it wasn’t there.

  He flew sortie after sortie, narrowly escaped being shot down twice, and had three successful kills to his name. So far he’d lost nobody from his flight but Riley had lost three of his men – all dead – none of them able to bail out successfully.

  They were exhausted and fighting what was obviously a losing battle. Riley told him they’d received the order to return to England. Their base was no longer safe and the bigwigs didn’t want to lose any aircraft unnecessarily.

  ‘Kenley is fully operational and we’ll be based there again. We’ll continue to support the troops as best we can but have to fly from there.’

  ‘Won’t give us as much fuel to play with, sir, and we’ll be spending as long getting there as we can in dogfights.’

  ‘Don’t state the bloody obvious, man, but at least there’s less chance of our kites being bombed when they’re on the ground.’

  The sound of battle was clearly audible and on the last sortie he’d flown he could see columns of soldiers and refugees already fleeing towards the coast. God knows what would happen when they got there – hopefully Churchill was arranging for destroyers and other naval vessels to come to their rescue.

  This time they landed on the new runway and were directed to their designated place on the perimeter. They’d been flying non-stop for two weeks and were to be back on duty the following morning. Not allowed to leave the base but sufficient time to write to Jane, and call his parents. The squadron had departed so suddenly there’d been no time to contact anyone. Neither his fiancée – how he loved being able to use that word – nor his family knew he’d even left the country.

  26

  Jane having been given the all clear by the doctor, and having passed all the necessary procedures to allow her to return to work, was eager to know with whom she would be working. She’d expected to be the centre of attention after her exploits but if anyone knew they were certainly not pestering her with questions.

  Her bed had been as she’d left it, the biscuits neatly stacked, and she slotted back into her routine as if she’d never been away. The three girls she was working with now were equally experienced and she was delighted to find herself on the Kent section of the table, which was the busiest.

  She scarcely had a moment to catch her breath and the days of being allowed out to get a cup of tea and a bun were long gone. The atmosphere in the bunker was positively crackling with anticipation. RAF bombers, accompanied by the fighters, had made successful raids on targets to help Norway, Sweden and Finland who were being invaded. Hitler was beginning to force his way through the Netherlands and she had to concentrate to keep up with the information flowing through her headset.

  Plotting actual raids in and out became routine and she was satisfied she was pulling her weight. There were now an equal number of WAAF in the underground bunker as there were RAF and there was no shortage of requests for her to g
o out with one of them. She always refused with a smile and said that she was engaged to a fighter pilot. This always did the trick because they didn’t want to steal a girl from a fellow officer.

  She had written twice to Oscar and was concerned she had received no reply. She had the telephone number of the vicarage and rang them from the call box. Mrs Stanton answered.

  ‘How lovely to hear from you, Jane. Like you we are becoming concerned at the lack of contact with our son. However, if anything had happened we would have been notified.’

  ‘With this awful business in Dunkirk I expect he’s got no time to write. At least I’m not worried now.’

  Was Mrs Stanton right in thinking she would be the first to hear if anything happened to her son? Surely, as his fiancée, it was to her the news should be sent? She would write to Nancy and Charlotte. None of them got more than a few hours off in between shifts so meeting up was just impossible.

  At the moment she was plotting RAF aircraft in and out – so far no marauding German planes flying in to bomb London. It was heartrending that they always seem to be far fewer inward plots than there were outgoing. The days passed so quickly there was scarcely time to worry about the continuing silence from her beloved Oscar.

  She was amazed that a lot of the girls preferred to do without sleep when they were off duty and went gallivanting into London at every opportunity. No doubt she would have joined them with enthusiasm if she wasn’t already spoken for.

  Things were looking grim for the troops who were streaming towards the beaches near Dunkirk. If the British army was destroyed did that mean the war was lost? The thought of the jackbooted Germans marching into London filled her with horror.

  She was on her way to the recreation room when someone called her name. ‘There is an urgent telephone call for you, ACW1 374. Come with me at once.’ The NCO beckoned her from across the hallway and Jane ran across, her stomach churning.

  She picked up the handset lying on the desk. ‘Hello, who is this please?’

  ‘Thank God, I didn’t think they’d fetch you. I told them it was a family emergency.’

  She had the sense to turn away from the curious eyes before speaking quietly into the receiver. ‘Oscar, I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear your voice. Are you well?’

  ‘I am now I’ve spoken to you. I’ve just got back from France. We’re based at Kenley again. I got your letters but I don’t have time to reply. Keep writing, darling, even if I don’t write back.’

  ‘I spoke to your mother last week and she said if anything happened to you then they would be the first to hear. Could you make sure that I’m on your list of family members?’

  ‘Already done it. Have you had any problems with your memory, headaches and so on?’

  ‘Absolutely splendid my end. There’s no point in my telling you to take care. I know what you have to do as I spend all day plotting our boys in and out. I love you and I want to marry you as soon as we can get time off together.’

  ‘I love you too, sweetheart, and can’t wait to make you my wife. I’ll let my father know.’ The pips went. ‘Sorry, no more change. Bye, darling.’

  The line went dead before she could answer. She blinked furiously, pinned on a smile and turned to face the two WAAFs who’d been listening to the conversation. ‘Thank you for allowing me to take the call. That might be the last time I ever speak to him.’

  ‘Brenda, she’s sitting over there, lost her fiancé last week. Dreadful business this war is and especially for our boys.’

  This was hardly encouraging but the girl meant well. ‘Thank you again. I have to get back as I’m on duty in half an hour.’

  This wasn’t strictly true as she intended to return to her room and write some letters before she was needed again. Both her friends were up-to-date with the situation with Oscar and her parents so there wasn’t a lot to tell them apart from the fact that she was hoping to be married as soon as possible.

  There was just time to hand in the letters before going on duty. There was idle chatter. The plots came thick and fast, and she had no time to worry about what danger Oscar might be in at that very moment.

  When she finished her shift she headed for the mess along with the three girls she’d been working with. There was something different about tonight. All had been gloom and doom this morning, but now people were smiling and acting as if there’d been a great victory of some sort.

  ‘What’s happened? Why are people looking more cheerful than they did first thing?’

  The NCO waiting in line in front of her overheard her question and smiled. ‘You wouldn’t believe what’s happening right now over near Dunkirk. Hundreds of little boats belonging to civilians are collecting our boys from the beach. It’s a blooming miracle, that’s what it is.’

  ‘What about the Navy? Why aren’t they doing it?’

  ‘Dunkirk Harbour has been bombed to bits so the big ships can’t get in. These little boats are ferrying people backwards and forwards as well as bringing them home to Blighty.’

  ‘That’s amazing. Even the weather’s on their side at the moment. No wonder we were so busy last shift.’

  It wasn’t exactly a victory but when everyone had thought the entire British army would be captured or killed it was certainly good news. There would be exhausted soldiers arriving at the coast right now, even as she was drinking her tea in comfort. Their families would have been so worried these past few weeks and so relieved to have their men back in England.

  *

  The sorties were relentless. Oscar and his squadron did what they could to protect the hundreds of little boats from aerial attack but there weren’t enough of them. He’d flown non-stop for hours; only on the ground long enough to be refuelled and rearmed and grab a mug of tea and a pee behind the kite. He’d lost one man – he’d gone down in flames on the beach.

  His radio chattered, warning him there were bandits approaching rapidly. Then a Spit flashed past and engaged the Messerschmitt about to fire on him. His task was to shoot down the bombers before they could drop their lethal load on the helpless soldiers cowering on the beach below.

  When the bombs dropped, a geyser of sand shot into the air leaving behind death and destruction. The radio burst into crackling life again. ‘Skip, big bastard heading our way. Tally-ho.’

  Oscar should have led the attack but things were more fluid up here. Flying in rigid formation was impossible – in fact, downright dangerous. The three of them dived in unison at the German bomber. He fired three continuous bursts into the fuselage, exhausting his ammunition, and then flew upside down to see if he’d been successful.

  The other two bods did the same and saw that smoke poured from the bomber. A hit – a kill. ‘Yellow leader to yellow two and three. Return to base. Fuel is too low to continue safely.’

  He didn’t see the Messerschmitt but he felt the impact of the bullets as they ripped through the kite. He immediately lost power. He was too low to bail out safely. He would have to ditch and hope someone picked him up before he drowned.

  It was strangely peaceful with no engine sound filling the cockpit. His radio was kaput so he couldn’t send a Mayday with his position. He watched with a sense of unreality as Yellow two and three went in pursuit of the kite that had shot him down.

  Thank God it was calm and sunny today. Ditching in the sea when it was rough was usually fatal as there was little hope of rescue finding a pilot in large waves. All flyers were trained to land without an engine but none of them had actual experience of doing it in water.

  He was in God’s hands now. There was nothing he could do apart from release his harness and pray that his kite stayed afloat long enough for him to scramble out.

  The channel was approaching faster than he’d like. He’d opened his cockpit but hastily slammed it shut. There could be a tidal wave of water when he hit and then it would pour into the cockpit and the plane would go down instantly.

  He braced himself. The nose hit first. Then the wings – an
d the kite bounced but remained on the surface. All he had to do was open the cockpit and wriggle out. He must take his chute as the dinghy was attached to it. The cockpit refused to move. The water reached his knees. He hammered frantically on the Perspex and it slid back.

  He was up to his neck in cold water. The weight of his sheepskin jacket would drag him down. With a despairing heave he was free. The suction from the sinking plane took him down with it. He remembered to keep his mouth shut whilst kicking his boots off.

  His Mae West served its purpose and he slowly bobbed to the surface. His chute was floating next to him with the inflatable hopefully still underneath. He was alone – no boats anywhere and no sign of his mates in the sky. It would be dark in a couple of hours and zero chance of being picked up after that. If he knew in which direction to go, he could paddle to France. First, he must get the dinghy to inflate and scramble in.

  He managed to release his chute but the little boat was damaged and hadn’t inflated, as it should have done, on impact. There were things he needed somewhere in a side pocket. He must try and find them before the dinghy sunk, taking him with it. He found an oilskin package and wriggled it out. He stuffed it inside his life jacket just as the chute and boat vanished beneath the waves.

  What seemed like a millpond from above was in fact the reverse – the swell of the waves meant he couldn’t see in any direction. It was June the first. Was this going to be the day he died?

  *

  Jane was coming off an all-night shift, weary to the bone, and eager to get some breakfast before she fell into bed for much-needed sleep. She was too tired to chat. Although she insisted to anyone who cared to ask that she was tickety-boo, she really wasn’t. It might have been better to have taken the base doctor’s advice and had a further week on sick leave.

  She had a persistent dull ache behind her eyes, which even aspirin didn’t alleviate. She poured tea into her tin mug but ignored the cooked breakfast on offer and just took toast. She found a space on the long table, nodded to the others who nodded back. They’d all been on nights and just wanted to eat and go to bed.