The Brooklands Girls

by Margaret Dickinson

  Mitch squinted at the driver. ‘Good Heavens! Hello, sir. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Earning an honest living,’ the driver chuckled. ‘It’s good to see you again. Quite recovered from your little mishap over there?’

  During the war, Mitch Hammond had served with the Royal Flying Corps, undertaking dangerous missions over enemy territory to take reconnaissance photographs. He had crash-landed in no-man’s-land and had been rescued by Pips and William under fire. At that time, Mitch’s only concern had been that his precious photographs should not fall into enemy hands. It wasn’t until later that he had realized he had put all their lives in acute danger. Pips had been shot in the leg, but had accompanied Mitch back to England and had arranged for the photographs to be collected by a senior member of the RFC – the very man, it seemed, who was now driving their taxi.

  ‘Absolutely, thank you, sir. And how are you?’

  ‘I’m well, thank you, Hammond. Sorry, Mister Hammond.’

  ‘What a coincidence, bumping into you like this.’

  ‘Not really. There are quite a few of us on the taxis – and we’re the lucky ones to have found any sort of work.’

  As they alighted, the driver waved away Mitch’s offer to pay him. ‘Have this one on me, Mr Hammond. Just for old times’ sake, eh? Besides, I owe you one. I got a real pat on the back when I took those photographs of yours to my superiors. They were invaluable.’

  ‘Well, just this once, then, sir. And thank you. Goodnight.’

  As the vehicle pulled away, Pips said, ‘Is that who I think it is?’

  ‘Yes, the guy who collected those blasted photographs that you risked your life for. Damn it, you can’t go anywhere, can you, without reminders popping up?’

  Pips put her arm through his. ‘Come on, let’s find this nightclub of yours.’

  Mitch led his three friends down into another deep-underground cellar. ‘You can get a drink here,’ he muttered as he held tightly on to Pips as they went down the stairs. ‘I think I need one.’

  The room was hot and stuffy. The band thumped out the latest dance music and the laughter, if a little forced perhaps, was loud.

  ‘This must have been written just for you,’ Mitch said as he held Pips close and whispered in her ear.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘“A Pretty Girl is Like a Melody”.’

  ‘But what dance is it?’

  ‘Goodness knows. There’s hardly room to dance properly anyway. We just shuffle around. Don’t you realize, my sweet, innocent country girl, that dancing is just an excuse for a man to hold his girl close?’

  She felt his arms tighten about her, but Pips did not pull away. She knew the incident with the taxi driver had unnerved him and she was willing, just for tonight anyway, to help him forget.

  Ten

  ‘So, what does Paul do exactly?’ Pips asked Milly as they waited for him to pick them up in his car on the day of the race meeting at Brooklands. ‘I do like your new hairstyle, by the way. Very chic. Though what your granny will say, I daren’t think.’

  Milly patted her short hair self-consciously. ‘You’ve got a point there,’ she murmured. ‘Anyway, Paul. His parents have a farm not far from Weybridge and he helps them out from time to time – at harvest time and lambing, that sort of thing – but his main occupation is running a small private racing club at Brooklands. And, of course, he races his own cars there too.’ She smiled archly at Pips. ‘So does your admirer, Mitch Hammond.’

  ‘You can forget any matchmaking there, Milly Fortesque, or I’ll be on the next train home.’

  Milly pretended to pout and then gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘What a shame! You’d be perfect for each other. Oh well, it was worth a try.’

  Turning the focus of attention away from herself, Pips asked, ‘Is there anything between you and Paul?’

  ‘We’re good friends, that’s all,’ Milly said firmly. ‘Oh, I know our mothers don’t believe there can be a friendship between a man and a woman, but we seem to manage it. I’m not ready to settle down yet. Once you’re married you’re expected to conform and to have babies. Maybe one day, but not yet.’

  Pips chuckled. ‘My mother too. That’s part of the reason I was glad to escape to London for a while, though I have to admit she’s not been so bad since Alice and Robert married and had Daisy, though she did say she hoped you would introduce me to all your nice friends.’ She paused and then asked, ‘D’you think there can be just friendship between a man and a woman, then?’

  Milly wrinkled her brow. ‘I’m not sure. It ought to be possible, but the trouble is that, sooner or later, one of them might start to have romantic feelings for the other and then it gets complicated. Ah, here he is.’

  Conversation in the car was impossible above the noisy engine, but once they had parked, Paul offered an arm to each girl and they walked towards the track. Already crowds had gathered and the sound of revving engines filled the air. There was a feeling of excitement and expectation.

  ‘Let’s bag a good position to watch the racing,’ Paul said. ‘We’ll take you up to the bridge over the Members’ Banking. You’ll get a good view from there.’

  As they walked, Pips said, ‘How did this all come to be built? And why here?’

  ‘A chap called Hugh Locke King and his wife went to Italy and watched a road race there,’ Paul said. ‘They noticed that there were no competitors from Britain and wondered why. Finding out that we weren’t allowed to race on public roads in Britain, he decided to build a track on part of his estate. Originally, he was going to build it as just a flat oval, but it was suggested that if banked corners were constructed, it would allow greater speeds. They did this, but the increased cost almost bankrupted poor old Locke King; with help from his wife and her family, though, the project was completed and it was opened in June 1907 by the Earl of Lonsdale.’ Paul laughed. ‘I’ve heard tell that the parade round the track after the official luncheon almost developed into an impromptu race.’

  ‘Oh my!’ Pips exclaimed when they reached the bridge and joined other spectators. She gazed around her. To her left was a steep banking on the track which gave way to a long straight, running parallel to the railway – the London and South Western line – which brought racing enthusiasts from Waterloo to within walking distance of the circuit.

  Paul pointed. ‘At the far end of the straight, there’s another banking called the Byfleet and then,’ he swept his arm in an arc, ‘the track goes round and comes to a fork to take the drivers either to the Members’ Banking again or to the finishing straight.’

  ‘How long is a lap?’

  ‘The outer circuit is about two and three-quarter miles.’

  Pips’s eyes sparkled and her heart beat a little faster. How she longed to drive round this track. ‘What’s that building over there?’

  ‘That’s the clubhouse, darling,’ Milly said. ‘The offices of the Clerk of the Course are there.’ She giggled. ‘It’s what they call the centre of operations and it’s also used as changing rooms for the drivers.’

  ‘And over there,’ Paul butted in, ‘is Test Hill, where we put our cars through their paces and, of course, the hill and the whole track are both used by the motor trade for testing their new models as Locke King probably intended all along. The car’s the future, Pips.’

  Pips glanced at Milly. ‘You told me before, Milly, that the RFC were here in the war. Was Mitch here, then?’

  ‘Yes, he did his basic training here and now he can’t keep away. Maybe he’ll teach you to fly, if you ask him nicely.’

  Pips blinked. ‘Eh?’

  ‘Oh yes. Didn’t you know? He’s started up his own flying school here; The Hammond Flying School.’

  ‘I supposed that was my fault really,’ Paul laughed. ‘I’d started my racing club, and, as you might imagine, if you know him well, Mitch was not to be outdone.’

  ‘So, do you fly, Paul?’

  ‘Oh yes. And Mitch races his Sunbeam too. We both belong the
BARC.’

  Pips gazed around the scene before her. ‘They have motorcycle races here too, don’t they?’

  ‘Don’t tell her, Paul,’ Milly giggled. ‘Her brother was telling me that she used to ride his motorcycle in secret before the war.’

  ‘Did you?’ There was new respect in Paul’s eyes.

  Pips nodded. ‘I did, but I haven’t liked to ride it since, seeing as he believes he can’t ride it now. It doesn’t seem fair. It’s gathering dust – and probably rust – at the back of our stables now, I’m sorry to say.’

  ‘If he ever decides to sell it, let me know. I’m sure my friend, Michael, who’s in the motor trade, could find a buyer for it.’ He paused and then asked, ‘You mentioned “stables”. Have you got horses, then?’

  Pips’s eyes clouded. ‘We did have, but they were commandeered in the war. Even my lovely Midnight – a big, black stallion, who’d only let me ride him. We haven’t had the heart to replace them yet. Though,’ she went on, brightening a little, ‘now we’ve got Daisy, maybe we should think about getting her a pony when she’s a little older. Anyway . . .’ she forced a smile, ‘aren’t you driving today?’

  ‘Not until the third race. I’ve time to get you two ladies settled first.’

  ‘Oh look, there’s Mitch making his way to the start line. Give him a wave, Pips.’

  They all waved enthusiastically, but Mitch didn’t seem to notice them.

  They could just see the start line in the distance as the cars lined up. When they were all in place, the starter moved backwards to stand in front of each one in turn, raise his flag and then drop it. The car would then speed off.

  ‘Why don’t they all go together?’ Pips asked Paul.

  ‘It’s a handicapping system, so that the smaller-engined cars get a fair chance against the bigger ones. In some races, they have chicanes set out for the bigger cars too, to slow them down a bit. It’s all carefully worked out to be fair.’ He grinned. ‘Allegedly.’

  ‘Why are there two drivers in some of the cars?’

  ‘Some of the drivers take their mechanics with them.’

  At the start, Mitch was in fourth place out of the ten cars racing. By the second lap he was in third place and, two laps later, had moved into second.

  ‘He’ll never get past the chap in first place,’ Pips muttered. ‘He’s driving like the wind.’

  Pips was right; there was no way past the leader and Mitch finished in second place.

  ‘Right, I’ll have to go and get ready,’ Paul said. ‘If Mitch isn’t in any more races, I’ll send him to find you.’

  They watched the second race and just before the third race was due to start, Mitch joined them. He was still in his driver’s suit and his face and hands were black with oil and dust.

  ‘Well done.’ Pips grinned at him.

  Mitch pulled a face. ‘Not good enough. What good is coming second? It’s first – or nothing.’ He nodded towards the track. ‘Paul’s race is about to start. There’s a woman driving in this one.’

  ‘Now, this I must see.’

  Mitch grinned. ‘I thought that’d make you sit up and take notice. Certain clubs that race here allow mixed races too. Paul’s for one. Come on – let’s watch how she does.’

  As the cars lined up, Pips leaned forward to try to pick out the woman driver. ‘I didn’t think they’d let women race again men,’ she murmured. ‘I thought it was only in all-women races.’

  ‘There are those too. There’s a famous one called the “Bracelet Race”. Muriel Denton won it on one occasion. Hers is the Napier with a number four on the side.’

  Pips felt her heart pounding. How she longed to be behind the wheel of a car, hurtling round the track.

  As the race ended, Mitch said, ‘Muriel came in third. Not bad, I suppose.’

  ‘Don’t you dare say it!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘“For a woman.”’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of saying any such thing – especially about Muriel. She’s fearless and is never satisfied with anything less than first place. Just like me.’

  Pips’s eyes gleamed. ‘You know her?’

  ‘Of course. We all know each other.’

  ‘Would you introduce me to her?’

  He put his head on one side and regarded her mischievously. ‘On one condition – that you don’t ask to drive her car.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Pips said airily, ‘I wouldn’t do that. Besides, I intend to drive yours.’

  Mitch stared at her for a moment and then burst out laughing. ‘The cheek of the woman! Come on, let’s go and find Muriel. But I warn you, she won’t be in the best of tempers having just lost a race.’

  But Muriel greeted Pips and Milly with warm, firm handshakes. ‘I lost power in the penultimate lap.’ She grinned. ‘I was lucky to finish third and not conk out altogether. Mind you, I shall be giving my mechanic a roasting.’

  Muriel Denton was a good-looking young woman in her early thirties, Pips guessed, with strong features and a wide smile. She removed her leather helmet and shook her short, brown hair. ‘Let’s go and find a drink. I’m parched.’ She hooked her arm through Pips’s. ‘Interested in cars, are you?’

  Pips chuckled. ‘I’m interested in speed. Horses, motorcycles, cars – even planes, if I ever get the chance.’

  ‘Can you fly?’

  ‘No – though I’d love to learn.’

  ‘But first – I expect you’d like a tootle round this track.’

  ‘I would. I’m working on Mitch.’

  ‘Really? You must be honoured. He doesn’t let just anyone drive his car.’

  ‘He hasn’t said “yes” yet.’

  ‘Ah!’ There was a pause as they walked a little further. ‘I didn’t catch your name. Milly, I know already of course.’

  ‘Pips Maitland.’

  Muriel stopped suddenly, forcing Pips to a standstill too. She turned towards the other woman with a question in her eyes. Muriel was staring at her. ‘Now that,’ she said slowly, ‘explains it.’

  ‘Sorry, you’ve lost me.’

  ‘Pips Maitland. You’re the nurse, who risked her life to save Mitch when he crashed in no-man’s-land in the war, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well – um . . .’

  ‘No need to be modest, my dear. You got shot in the leg during the rescue and you brought him all the way back to England, didn’t you? So, now I understand. He owes you a ride in his car around Brooklands at the very least. Come on, let’s get that drink.’ She called back over her shoulder as they began to walk again. ‘Milly, dear, do keep up.’ Then she lowered her voice to add, ‘She’s a sweet girl, but a little flighty.’

  ‘Not near the trenches, she wasn’t,’ Pips murmured, sticking up for the girl she now regarded as her friend.

  ‘What? What d’you mean?’

  ‘She wasn’t qualified – or even trained – as a nurse, but she was a huge tonic to the troops and to the other members of our ambulance corps when she joined us.’

  ‘Milly went out to the front? You’re having me on.’

  ‘Absolutely not. She followed her aunt and uncle – Mr and Mrs Wallis.’

  ‘Where were you when she joined you?’

  ‘We went to Arras and then back to Ypres for the third battle there. The one they call Passchendaele.’

  ‘My God! Milly Fortesque was at Passchendaele?’

  Pips nodded. ‘She was.’

  ‘Well, now I’ve heard everything. Why did she never say?’

  ‘We don’t talk about it much. None of us do.’

  Muriel glanced back over her shoulder to where Milly was walking arm in arm with Paul, her tinkling laughter echoing across the ground between them. There was suddenly a new respect in Muriel’s eyes. ‘Well, well, well. Who’d have thought it? No wonder she wants to dance the nights away now. I just thought she was a society good-time girl – the sort they call a flapper these days, but now I understand. She’s trying to forget too.’

  ‘She saw some
dreadful sights and went through some tough times. We all did.’

  ‘How long were you there?’

  ‘I first went out in September 1914 and apart from a couple of trips home, I was there the whole time.’

  Muriel’s face was suddenly bleak. ‘Were – were you ever at the Somme?’

  Pips nodded. ‘Yes, from the end of June 1916 until the end of the Battle of the Somme, though I went home on leave then.’ She said no more to this woman whom she’d only just met, but that had been a tough time for Pips. On her return after seeing Robert and Alice marry, she had been distressed and hurt to find that her lover, Giles, had fallen in love with one of the other nurses.

  ‘Anywhere near Thiepval?’ Muriel asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  ‘Very near there, yes. Why?’ Pips turned to look at Muriel and saw her swallow hard.

  ‘My darling husband – Captain Roger Denton – was killed on the first day of the Somme – the first of July – near Thiepval. I was told that he died instantly and didn’t suffer, but I know that could have been an out-and-out lie.’

  ‘It was a catastrophe. We saw it happen. We witnessed the bombardment of the enemy lines for several days beforehand and we were there when the troops marched to the front and when the mines were exploded. And then they went over the top.’ Pips was silent for a moment. ‘The shelling hadn’t done its work – the Germans had dug their trenches too deep. The mines did a lot of damage, of course, but not enough and when our lads began to walk towards the enemy lines, they were met with a hail of machine-gun fire. And yet our boys still kept going. Thousands were killed on that first day alone.’ She squeezed Muriel’s arm. ‘If your husband was in those first waves, it is very likely that he was killed instantly. I’m not going to lie to you, Muriel, it was a slaughter, but in most cases, death – if it came – came swiftly. Though, of course, there were a lot of casualties too. We were overwhelmed with wounded. My own brother, who went out as a doctor, lost his arm trying to bring casualties in from no-man’s-land.’

  ‘You – you don’t remember hearing my husband’s name.’

  Pips shook her head. ‘We rarely got to know their names and then probably only their first names. But no, I don’t remember him. I’m sorry.’