by Shirley Mann
One Sunday morning, Lily was off duty and decided to take herself off to church. Born and brought up in a liberal Catholic household, she had never taken her religion very seriously and had breezed through the Catechism with what she believed to be a healthy scepticism. Her father was a Baptist who converted when he married Ginny, and her mum had a very Irish attitude to deity and saints that as long as they were all up there doing their job, there was no need to worry.
The nuns at Loreto had despaired of Lily, failing to make her see the disastrous path her frivolity was leading her along. She had been told off for reading a light-hearted novel hidden inside a philosophical work by Teilhard de Chardin during a retreat and had recklessly discussed whether confession had any value in the modern world with a visiting priest, prompting scandalised glances from Mother Philomena. Getting on the bus to Lincoln, she smiled as she remembered putting a towel around her head to see whether she would look pretty in a nun’s habit.
Not quite the right attitude, she conceded to herself, paying the conductor her 1/3d for the fare.
But this morning, she needed the quiet of a church; the sense of something that had endured two thousand years and the reassuring words that were second nature to her.
Lily stepped off the bus and looked up at the impressive frontage of Lincoln Cathedral. She realised why the pilots scanned the ground for the distinctive landmark towers, indicating they had made it home.
It was raining so she marched on quickly to St Hugh’s where mass was due to be held. Making the sign of the cross with the holy water by the door, Lily felt engulfed by a familiar feeling of peace. She queued for the confessional box and recounted the same sins she had told since she was seven before making her way down the aisle to kneel and make her penance, just finishing in time before mass started. The Latin washed over her as usual, but Lily used the time to assess the last ten months. She knew she had grown up enormously but suspected she still had a long way to go. She looked up at the statue of Mary, smiling beatifically on the assembled congregation and grimaced.
‘It’s all right for you, you had an angel telling you what to do. I’m down here all on my own, trying to deal with potential rapists and vindictive sergeants,’ she silently told the statue. Thinking about an angel made her glance round, then shifting along the pew in an action reminiscent of Form 3a, she ‘made a space’ for her guardian angel. She apologised to the invisible figure for forgetting his/her constant vigilance over her chaotic life and unaccountably started to feel better. She had never really questioned her religion but seeing superstitious young men praying or kissing the side of their Lancaster before they took off on raids, clutching the same parachute like a security blanket and then not returning had shaken her belief that there was anyone at all out there looking after any of them.
She looked along the row at the faces of the servicemen and women who had crowded into St Hugh’s that morning. Their expressions were so intent, there was some serious praying going on. Lily suddenly thought of all the churches all over Europe, both in enemy and allied countries, where mothers, wives, sisters and other service people were sending up similar prayers.
‘It must be like the Tower of Babel up there. I do hope the English pray louder than the Germans.’
It was time for communion and Lily edged out of the pew with everyone else, standing with her hands clasped, waiting to put out her tongue for communion. The choir was singing ‘Sweet Sacrament Divine’ and Lily hummed along in her mind, remembering the Whit processions at school through the gardens to the grotto, hands held in prayer, her white veil flapping across her face.
She noticed as she took communion that the priest looked grey and tired. He was obviously being stretched to the limit supporting his flock. In fact, when she looked around, everyone looked tired. She could have done with a bit of red lipstick to brighten things up.
When Lily came out of the church after mass, the sun was shining, and the early morning rain was twinkling on the pavement. She checked her watch – plenty of time for a cup of tea. She went into the nearest Lyons and gave her order to the girl behind the counter, adding a request for a carrot biscuit from the plate in the glass-topped cabinet in front of her. She smiled as she thought of her dad’s favourite biscuits and then had a pang of homesickness. Her mum would have gone to mass this morning and would undoubtedly have said a prayer for Lily.
I’ll write to them this afternoon, she determined, sitting at a table in the window, and maybe I should catch up on a letter for Danny. I’ve been a bit lazy with him too.
The door opened and a young woman walked in. It was Amy!
Lily started to her feet.
‘Amy!’
The girl turned and froze as she spotted Lily. She was wearing a bright red dress and had on far too much makeup, which stood out against her bleached blonde hair. She was painfully thin and looked ill. She was tottering in heels that Lily hadn’t seen since before the war. Her red fingernails completed the transformation from the mousy haired girl from Mrs Porter’s.
She frantically looked towards the door to see if there was any escape, but Lily was too quick for her and blocked her exit.
‘Amy,’ she said quietly, ‘come and sit down. It’s so lovely to see you. Please.’
Amy reluctantly sat opposite Lily, perching on the chair as if it were covered with nails. She twiddled her fingers around her thumbs, looking around nervously.
‘What are you doing here?’ Lily asked, nodding to the passing waitress, indicating another cup was needed.
‘I . . . I . . .’
Lily took a deep breath and assessed her former friend. She was slightly grubby and there were ladders in her stockings, but worst of all her face was pallid and her eyes darted nervously. It was going to take all Lily’s patience and newfound experience to deal with this situation.
‘Amy, please tell me what’s happened.’
Amy raised her head in defiance and looked challengingly at Lily, but still didn’t speak.
‘I’m still your friend,’ Lily said in a reassuring voice, ‘and I’m not going to judge you.’
There was still no response.
‘Look, Amy, I sleep next to Gladys from Glasgow who has had, shall we say, a chequered career and I’m not the one to condemn anyone for the way they’re dealing with this stupid war. We’ve already been through a lot together; remember I am your friend.’
Amy looked at her suspiciously and took the cup from the disapproving waitress, who was handing it to her as if she might be infected.
After several minutes of twiddling her teaspoon around the cup, Amy started to speak.
‘I’m still on sick leave, honest. I haven’t gone AWOL. The doctors have said I’ve got mental problems. They wanted to give me electric treatment, but I ran away.’
She looked up to gauge how Lily was reacting. When she saw there was no change in her expression, she carried on.
‘I found some girls who took me in but there was no money.’
Again she stopped and looking searchingly into Lily’s eyes.
Lily put her hand over Amy’s and gave it a squeeze.
‘They showed me a way to make some.’
The silence was palpable.
Bit by bit, the truth came out and two cups of tea later, Lily had the whole story.
Amy had been taken in by girls who worked in the local factory but made extra money on the side by ‘entertaining’ the troops. For a couple of weeks, Amy had resisted, but by then she was drinking more and the girls’ behaviour started to feel less shocking. She went out with a sailor and he bought her nylons and gin. She found she could bargain certain actions for food and drink.
‘I’m only doing this for now,’ she said, looking down at her feet. ‘I’ll go back to Coventry soon and see my dad, but right now this is all I can deal with.’
She looked up, almost inviting Lily to argue with her, but Lily kept quiet, just nodding gently.
‘I can’t feel anything, Lily
, there’s nothing there.’
Lily had a sudden longing to see Alice’s solid frame at her side but gave herself a little shake.
‘OK, Amy, this is what we’re going to do. We’re going to go back to where you are staying and get you changed into something more suitable and then you’re coming to camp with me. We’ve got a lovely welfare officer who will help you.’
Amy stood up, pushing the chair back with a scraping noise.
‘No, I can’t . . . I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can.’ Lily took her arm, put some coins on the table and pushed her towards the door. ‘You can’t go on like this. This isn’t you. You’re not well. Your family must be frantic with worry. We’re going to sort this together.’
Amy’s strength seemed to ebb out of her and she let herself be walked up the main street and even muttered directions to Lily.
Lily’s mind was racing. How much trouble was Amy in? Her dad must be worried sick and the police would be looking for her. They arrived at a squalid flat above a chemists and Lily watched as Amy gathered a few measly belongings and crammed them into a bag. The four beds were unmade, there were empty baked bean tins on the floor and the dark green curtains were still drawn. There was an overriding smell of cigarettes and Lily was dying to open the window to let some fresh air in but made do with just opening the curtains a little so that Amy could see to change into a blue skirt and a blouse with stains on the front. She put the high shoes upside down on one of the beds and then delved underneath for some flat brogues. Lily noticed a picture of Amy’s mum, dad and two brothers on a table next to some blankets on the floor, which Amy stuffed into the bag as well. Amy quickly scrawled a message to the three girls who lived there to explain her sudden departure but her body language had changed. She was back to being pliant, mouse-like Amy, content to be shepherded and guided by Lily.
The guards on the entrance to the camp looked very suspiciously at the blonde-streaked Amy when Lily reported back. She asked to see the welfare officer and was not surprised when they said they weren’t prepared to let either girl through the barrier until the officer came to meet them. Lily explained the situation to the tall, kindly woman, taking her slightly to one side so she could whisper. The welfare officer looked over at Amy who was standing with her head down in the guard-room. All the bravado had gone out of her and she looked very young.
The welfare officer took charge.
‘Come with me, dear. We need to make some telephone calls.’
Amy followed meekly, glancing at Lily fearfully.
‘It will be OK, Amy,’ Lily smiled. ‘They’re here to help you and won’t let you be hurt. I will check up later and see how you are doing, I promise. I’m here, Amy, I’m not going to abandon you.’
Amy nodded resignedly and went out of the door. Lily stared after her.
Chapter 24
Lily’s shifts were relentless as the bombing raids on Germany increased in frequency, but in between the frantic schedules she managed to visit Amy at the East Kirkby Medical Centre. Lily began to see the colour come back into the girl’s pale cheeks and the blonde hair was beginning to grow out. On the day Lily finally made Amy laugh, she came out hugging herself in glee. The welfare officer had had intense conversations with Lily about Amy, bridling with indignation when she heard about the electric shock threat. Pulling strings, the officer arranged for Amy to see a gentle psychiatrist who had gradually gained her trust. They were starting her on some new medication used for traumatised service people and she was, bit by bit, starting to lose her haunted look. After a couple of weeks, Amy was finally sent back to Coventry, accompanied by the sympathetic welfare officer, who used her own forty-eight-hour pass to go with her. On the day she left East Kirkby, Lily went to see her off and gave her a hug.
‘I really don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been in that café that day,’ Amy said shyly. ‘Thank you . . . you’re my guardian angel. That’s twice you’ve saved my life.’
Lily watched the truck pull out and waved towards the back of it. She smiled to herself. That’ll teach you to go to church, Mullins.
*
The following week, Lily had a particularly harrowing night duty. The last few weeks had drained her emotionally and physically and she couldn’t remember the last time she had relaxed and let her hair down. The raids were more regular and she was having repetitive nightmares about planes going down in flames. The empty chairs at breakfast were constantly being replenished with young, fresh faces. They seemed to be getting younger and younger.
There had been heavy losses and the WAAFs were becoming partially inured to the tragedies that were unfolding around them. But they were also aware they were simply storing up their reactions for after the war. Now was not the time.
Lily was off duty and was moping around the hut. Freda took matters in hand, recognising that Lily was suffering from what they all called ‘the blues’. She insisted Lily should go out and when she asked around on her behalf, she found that two other girls were free as well. Lily had been so involved with Amy’s rehabilitation and endless night duties that she was almost surprised when Mary and another girl, Beryl, told Freda they would love to join her and Lily at a showing of The Talk of the Town.
Before she went, she just had time to write a letter to Alice, keeping her up to date with Amy. The common-sense replies from Alice, who was still in Montrose, had kept her going and although neither of them mentioned any losses, she knew she too was going through similar tragedies. When the bleakness of it threatened to engulf Lily, she pictured Alice with her size seven feet, striding towards her Morse set. It helped. She toyed with the idea of a letter to Danny, she had received two from him and he definitely needed a reply, but she decided to curl her hair instead.
There was a queue for the flicks that night and the three girls stood in line, chattering about the comparative charms of Clark Gable versus Cary Grant. For the first time in ages, Lily felt the tension start to seep out of her hunched shoulders. There were three airforcemen behind them and they were mucking about, pretending to be Clark Gable in Boom Town. Their American accents were appalling, and the girls couldn’t help but laugh. By the time they went in, the boys had very firmly positioned themselves next to the three WAAFs. One was called Ted and he had freckles that crinkled on his nose when he smiled. He leaned in towards Lily as the plot thickened in the film and finally put his arm behind her, dropping it onto her shoulders. She gave him a warning look and he took it away but after the film there was an hour left before the girls’ passes ran out so they went to the pub for a drink. Lily started to relax as the banter increased and she found she was enjoying herself. The three boys walked them back to the bus and Ted gave Lily a peck on the cheek as she turned to him to say goodbye.
‘I could take you for a little spin in my plane if you like,’ he said tantalisingly over his shoulder as he walked away.
Going up in an operational aircraft for a joyride was strictly forbidden but Lily had heard of it happening. She stared after Ted and felt a shiver of excitement edge up from her toes to her head. She had forgotten her dreams to fly, and the thought of soaring above Lincolnshire was a heady prospect.
Ted was definitely going up in her estimation.
It was three days before Lily could see Ted again. He had arranged to meet her in the NAAFI at dinner time and whispered to her that she needed to ‘be prepared.’ It was a day when the top brass were all in a meeting and everyone was slightly more relaxed as there had been no flying the day before due to ground fog.
‘Meet me at two at number four hangar and don’t tell anyone,’ he said quietly. She nodded, too excited to speak.
‘We’re doing a low-level formation exercise, I can taxi round and pick you up there with the rest of the crew. Keep it quiet though.’
At five to two, Lily cycled to the hangar. The rest of the crew were already there and she approached them carefully, not knowing whether Ted had told them she was coming, but she nee
d not have worried.
‘Here she comes – Miss Earhart,’ one of them said, a short, stocky ginger haired chap.
Another, taller young man with a moustache handed her a helmet and a parachute. ‘Put the helmet on and tuck your hair up,’ he said.’
The crew surrounded Lily as they walked across the runway and she climbed into the Lanc, cursing the straight WAAF skirt. Aircraft were not designed for women and especially not women in skirts. As she tried to climb sideways into the plane, she was aware that the young navigator was behind her and was getting a full view of her backside as he rushed forward to propel her up.
She tumbled into the fuselage, marvelling that there was so little space – or comfort – and positioned herself against the side of the plane, trying to perch on a tiny ledge just as she felt the fuselage begin to throb. She caught a glimpse of the four Merlin engines out of the window by the navigator as they revved up and Lily wasn’t sure whether it was the engines making her shake or the thrill of finally being in an aeroplane. She glanced across at the navigator, a boy called Bill, who looked as if he had hardly begun to shave. He had his maps and compass spread in front of him. He smiled at her. The runway was speeding underneath them and then the huge machine lifted into the air, leaving Lily’s stomach behind on the ground. The roar of the engines was so loud, she could hardly hear, but bit by bit, her ears got used to the sound and she found she could hear the voice of the navigator telling her to look out at the other two planes that were flanking them. The enormous wings seemed only inches away from Ted’s plane and as the three Lancs flew in line abreast, Lily held her breath. The airmanship was so impressive. Bill told her they were going towards the Wash and Lily glanced down, seeing flat fields and cattle scattering in alarm. She smiled as she saw two farm workers hurl themselves against a barn, unsure whether the low planes were friendly or not.
