by Ruby Jackson
Daisy looked around the room hung with gaudy paper garlands. Men and women wearing, in most cases, extremely unflattering paper hats were talking, laughing, singing. Was Charlie right? Were some of them hiding sorrows?
‘They’ve found family here then, haven’t they, Charlie?’
‘Yes, they have. Now, let’s go. I’ve told the girls in our billet to be back by five. We’ll make our own tea on our wonderful stove. In fact, it’s so hot, I swear we could have cooked the Christmas dinner on it.’
Both agreed that the huge black stove that stood on the concrete floor of the billet was an incredible source of heat. In fact Daisy had complained in a letter home that, since joining the WAAF, she was either too hot or too cold. But to come indoors after hours of hard work in pouring rain, wet through, cold and hungry, and to stand around the stove drinking hot sweet tea was an unqualified delight.
Now she hurried back to the billet with Charlie, apprehensive about the ‘small surprise’. She prayed that it was not a Christmas present. She had been so involved saving up for family and her old friends Grace and Sally that to buy a present for Charlie had never occurred to her. There had been no money left over anyway.
‘Right, let’s get the food out. It’s in the Fortnum parcel. You open that, but do open your mother’s first and we’ll just pile everything together, on a tablecloth, if we can find one.’
‘A tablecloth?’
‘Forget I said that. A blanket will have to do. We’ll pin some holly to it to cheer it up.’
By the time the other residents had arrived, a delicious picnic was set out on the spare bed that had been hauled into the middle of the room. Flora’s jam roly-poly sat side by side with smoked salmon and lobster pâté. Daisy hoped she would not be the only WAAF never to have tasted such luxuries.
‘Here, Daisy, this is for you, and I hope you won’t be offended.’
Charlie, not looking her usual serene self, handed Daisy a small packet wrapped in silver paper and with a silver bow.
‘Too pretty to open,’ said Daisy.
‘Quick, the others will be here in a sec and … oh, Daisy, maybe I shouldn’t have …’
Charlie was as nervous as she was, thought Daisy, and she very carefully eased the silver ribbon off the silver parcel. She could practically hear Charlie’s teeth grinding in frustration as she tried to open the parcel without tearing the paper. At last it was open. Inside was something wrapped in the softest of tissue papers.
‘Tear it, for goodness’ sake, Daisy; it’s only paper.’
Daisy managed to unwrap the package without tearing the paper and gasped. Inside was a knickers and camisole set in pale blue silk embellished with delicate lace. Daisy looked at the gift for some time. She had never seen anything so beautiful, and of course had never dreamed of owning such underthings.
‘Oh God, you hate it. Mummy said you’d be insulted. It’s not new, you see, Daisy. They’ve never been worn. My godmother gave the set to me for my last birthday and, poor darling, hasn’t had my size right in years.’
Her eyes wet with tears, Daisy tried to smile at the other girl, who was so obviously concerned about her. ‘I don’t hate it, Charlie. I’ve never owned anything so lovely in my life, and when you think about it, we’re doing something for the war effort – waste not want not.’
‘Exactly what I thought.’ The words almost exploded from Charlie. ‘Waste not, want not.’ She waited a moment as Daisy still sat touching the silk with one finger. ‘You’re not angry?’
Daisy shook her head. ‘No. You’re a very nice human being, Charlotte Featherstone.’
The girls, so alike and so different, stood for a moment looking at each other and then hugged spontaneously.
‘Time to put the kettle on,’ said Daisy, gathering up the underwear and the wrappings. ‘You do that while I hide the prettiest knickers ever to be seen in this billet. Thank you, Charlie.’
They could hear the rather noisy arrival of their roommates as they hurried to complete the party celebrations.
‘Oh, how lovely. Are we all welcome? I have a bar of chocolate I could contribute,’ said one of the girls eagerly. ‘Sorry it’s not very much.’
‘All donations welcome,’ sang out Charlie. ‘Especially if it’s chocolate.’
Other donations were found in lockers and someone remembered seeing a gramophone in the gym and went off to see if it had already been taken. But they were in luck, and although dancing all the new dances, together with the old-fashioned ones, with another girl was not nearly so much fun as dancing with a man, no one dared defy Frau Führer by trying to smuggle in one or two airmen.
Daisy managed to dismiss thoughts of Ron, who had given his young life for his country, Sam in his POW camp, Phil, somewhere on his ship, Grace, homeless and now without her sister, and even Mr Fischer, until much later that night as, too tired and too full of unusual rich food, she lay staring at the soft glow from the coke-fired stove. Around her she could hear light snoring and a few muffled sobs and suddenly, as if a tap had been turned on, all the sadness came rushing in. I don’t want to be miserable on Christmas night. What can I think about?
‘Charlie? Are you awake?’
‘Who could sleep with all this noise?’
‘It’s not bad. You should share a room with my sister, Rose.’
‘No thank you, if she’s louder than Baker over there. I’ve had thoughts of silencing her with a pillow.’
‘Oh, you don’t mean that,’ gasped Daisy, sitting up.
‘Ssh. Of course not, naïve little Daisy. Now lie down and think nice thoughts until you fall asleep.’
‘All my thoughts are unhappy.’
‘I’m thinking of my absolute joy at getting over the obstacle course; that makes me feel like dancing. You must have at least one happy thought like that.’
Daisy could feel her heart swelling as if to make room for her joy. Of course she had a happy thought – the most incredible wonderful happy thought – and the words spilled out, ‘I had a flying lesson.’
‘Liar.’ The ugly word shot across the room from one of the other beds. ‘Working-class girls like you don’t have flying lessons. Half of us wonder how on earth you got into the WAAF in the first place, but then I suppose we do need drones to peel the potatoes.’
The verbal attack was so unexpected and vicious that the over-tired Daisy began to cry. In a moment the room that had been settling down for the night was buzzing again as the girls who were awake took sides. It was only much later that Daisy realised that most of them were firmly on her side.
‘Tell us about your flying lesson, then, Wing Commander. In a Spitfire, was it?’
Daisy said nothing but, feeling humiliated and embarrassed, crawled even further into her blankets.
‘That’s quite enough.’ The voice was Charlie’s, and so full of authority was it that the clamouring girls quietened immediately. ‘We are, each and every one of us, in the WAAF; there is a war on and we need to work together for the greater good. Now let’s try not to spoil our lovely Christmas any more than it has already been spoiled by stupid jealousy.’
There were murmurs of ‘Hear, hear.’
Later, when all the muttering and sniffling had died down, Charlie slipped out of bed and crossed to Daisy. She kneeled down beside the bed. ‘Awake, Daisy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Carmyllie’s a jealous old cow. Some day, when you’re ready, please tell me all about the lesson.’
‘I did have a lesson.’
‘I know. You’re the most truthful person I’ve ever known, Daisy Petrie.’
‘Why don’t you join the ATA, Charlie? It’s women like you they want.’
‘Maybe, but my mother just couldn’t handle it. I’m delighted to have come this far. I’ll live my dreams through you. You will tell me, won’t you?’
‘Nothing much to tell, but I could tell you.’
Charlie crept back to her own bed and in a few moments everyone in the warm quiet dorm
itory was sound asleep.
TEN
Great excitement. There was to be a dance on New Year’s Eve, and more exciting still, the band was to be real; no records, no trying to find good music on the wireless, but real live musicians. Charlie was discovered to be a clarinettist and another girl in the billet had a saxophone with which – she was forced to admit – she had more than a nodding acquaintanceship.
‘Only slightly more,’ she said nervously.
Other band members, both male and female, were found and brought together for a rehearsal.
‘We are superb,’ Charlie told Daisy. ‘Benny Goodman, jazz … name it, we’ve got it. I hope, incidentally, that the bar can come up with cocktails, not flat military beer and cheap whisky, but real cocktails. We need to believe we’re at the Ritz.’
Everyone was excited except Daisy. Not only had her mind been full of thoughts of Grace and how she was coping since her sister’s death but also she had been ordered to report to Captain Jenner’s office at eleven thirty on the morning of New Year’s Eve. She had told no one except Charlie but was terribly worried.
Something’s happened to Phil. No, they would have told me right away. Sam. No. She went through her entire list of family and friends and decided that it was obvious that each and every one was perfectly all right or she would have been told immediately. So stop worrying.
But then I must have done something. What could I have done?
Daisy was modestly pleased that all the instructors appeared to be quite happy with her progress.
She scrubbed her face with her washcloth, brushed her hair until her scalp almost squealed in protest, stood in her underwear and ironed her uniform until Charlie teased her that she was in danger of wearing a hole in it, and still worried.
‘You’ve done so well you’re getting a forty-eight-hour pass.’
‘Right.’
‘It’s time. I’ll walk over with you.’
Charlie left Daisy at the door of the Führer’s office. Daisy knocked and a deep, vaguely familiar voice told her to enter.
Adair Maxwell, in full flying gear, was standing beside the desk.
The strangest feelings swamped Daisy. It was like nothing she had ever experienced. Her stomach was churning but in the nicest possible way, the way she had felt when at fourteen she had been waiting to run in the finals of the one-hundred-yard race. She was aware that her face had turned pink, and the awareness only caused her to blush more furiously. She was incredibly pleased to see him.
‘Adair,’ she said, and immediately wondered if she should have saluted him. He was an officer and he was in uniform.
‘You look very smart, Daisy Petrie.’
‘Captain Jenner?’
‘Thinks this is a romantic liaison. She has tactfully withdrawn but will be heard coughing in the corridor – about now,’ he finished as there was a discreet cough from outside.
Daisy saluted as Frau Führer entered.
‘Thank you, Captain Jenner,’ said Adair. ‘I’ll take Aircraftswoman Petrie off for a flying lesson now, but I’m delighted to accept your very kind invitation to the dance.’
‘You’re more than welcome, Squadron Leader. Wing Commander Anstruther did tell us you might be visiting.’
Daisy was looking in fascination at the rather worn beige carpet. She had no idea what to make of what she was hearing. She had seen the wing commander several times in the distance and now it appeared that Adair knew him. With the first pang of real jealousy she had ever experienced she found herself wondering if he also knew Charlie.
‘Ready for your lesson?’
That was Adair, the young man she had worked beside for hours, the same young man who had taken her up for her first ever flight.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said, and saluted Captain Jenner.
They were quiet until they had left the office block.
‘Sorry, I wasn’t able to warn you, Daisy. We’ve been really busy and I wasn’t told until yesterday.’ He stopped. ‘It’s lovely to see you.’
She said nothing as she could think of nothing to say. ‘You too’ didn’t sound right and might give the wrong impression.
‘You are free to come up with me? There isn’t something else you’d rather be doing?’
‘You really mean you’re here to give me a flying lesson?’
‘Of course, Daisy Petrie. I told you I’d teach you to fly. I was asked to fly a VIP down and now that he’s safely delivered and I’m here, I asked if you could be allowed to take a lesson with me. You’re my reward for good behaviour. I need to fly my passenger back tomorrow and so I’m free to escort you to the dance.’
‘Escort? It’s not the kind of dance with posh frocks.’
‘Good. I don’t have a posh frock. There, Daisy, how would you like a little spin in her?’
Daisy looked at the little yellow bi-plane. ‘A Tiger Moth.’ She knew that it was constructed of wood and Irish linen and not much more, and yet it was a powerful little plane. ‘I’ve read about it but never seen a real one. You’re really going to take me up in her?’
‘No. You’re going to fly me. To be honest she’s even easier than the Aeronca.’ He leaned over into the cockpit and brought out a flying suit. ‘Do your best to pull this on over your uniform; my passenger’s a bit bigger than you. I’ll stroll over towards the hangar. Cough loudly when you’re dressed.’
He walked off, his back to Daisy and the bubbles of pleasure that had been building up exploded in her stomach. What a wonderful New Year’s Eve.
As quickly as she could, she pulled on the flying suit.
Should she cough or call him?
‘Ready or not, here I come,’ called Adair.
‘You are very funny, Adair Maxwell.’
‘I know, and you look adorable in that suit, Daisy Petrie. Climb aboard.’
Why was it that the controls seemed made to fit her hands, that the plane responded to her commands, that the quiet voice behind her was definitely the most beautiful voice she had ever heard? Soon they were in the air, and below them she saw, not the fertile land of Kent, but the vast concrete mass of the airbase. Why did it suddenly look so beautiful? She smiled and listened to the disembodied voice.
‘Time to descend, Daisy. You won’t see the ground exactly as you were able to see it in the Daisy, but trust yourself and the plane, and put her down.’
There were several airmen and WAAFs standing watching as gently and surely Daisy set the little plane down and taxied her towards the hangar.
‘Well done. Now, out you get and greet your admiring public.’
‘Adair?’
‘Every person out there thinks you’re a man. What a lovely little surprise we have for them.’
The last thing Daisy sought was notoriety. ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘What will they think?’
‘What do you want them to think? You’re a girl and you’re learning to fly. That’s it. If you treat it as the norm, so will they.’
Muttering, ‘I hope you’re right,’ under her breath, Daisy clambered out and dropped to the ground, followed by Adair.
‘Well done,’ he said loudly, and held out his hand so that she had no option but to shake it. ‘I’ll take the helmet.’
Daisy would have preferred to keep her identity hidden but had no choice. She took off the helmet, handed it to him, and said, ‘Thank you, sir,’ in as steady a voice as she could muster.
There was nothing but the sound of their shoes on the tarmac as they walked away from the plane and then someone clapped. By the time they reached the hangar everyone who was standing around was clapping or stamping feet, not only the women but many of the RAF personnel too.
‘Well done, sir,’ shouted one. ‘Always choose the stunners.’
Daisy blushed furiously.
‘Enjoy, little stunner,’ came Adair’s voice beside her. ‘I’m afraid it won’t last.’
What did he mean? She could not possibly speak to him with so many WAAFs and aircrew standing around,
and then she saw Felicity Carmyllie from her own billet and the dislike in her eyes was palpable.
‘Wonder what the working-class tart had to do to get a flying lesson, or do we really need to wonder?’
Daisy had never been subjected to such animosity and she felt the tears well up in her eyes.
‘Cry and I’ll hit you, Daisy Petrie.’ It was Charlie, who went on talking cheerily as the base personnel let them through, many still clapping and congratulating her.
Adair had disappeared into the office block. Had she thanked him? Did he really mean that he was taking her to the dance? It was an all-ranks party to celebrate the start of the New Year, but he was a senior officer, and a decorated one at that.
Once Daisy and Rose had been reading about military decorations and both girls had thought decorations meant streamers and balloons and had tried hard to visualise brave soldiers ‘decorated by the King’. Now Daisy knew that a decoration was a medal. How many decorations did Adair have and would he wear them to the dance?
‘Why have you been hiding your tame squadron leader, Daisy Petrie?’
Daisy had missed lunch and so Charlie was taking her back to the billet to drink tea, eat up all the Christmas leftovers and, she hoped, tell all about the dashing pilot.
‘He’s not my squadron leader. I didn’t know he were a squadron leader when I met him. He were only a lad in an old plane.’ Her newly learned grammar had deserted her in her stress.
‘I’m so glad.’
‘About what?’
‘That he’s not your squadron leader, for he is totally divine and now fair game. You did hear him say he would call for you at eight?’
Daisy looked around at the slim and not quite so slim figures relaxing on their beds. ‘You’re having me on, Charlotte Featherstone.’
Charlie crossed her heart. ‘Scout’s honour. Now, come on, tell us about the flying lessons. The very idea makes me feel faint. Where, when, why, how much, the whole lovely story.’
After Daisy had told the audience that she thought them all rather silly, she told them, in as few words as possible, how she had met Adair, worked with him on the engine, and had eventually been given a flying lesson. She did not mention the Czechoslovakian ace.
