Churchill’s Angels

by Ruby Jackson

  There was a reminiscent look in Flora’s eyes. When had she last cooked a real ham? ‘Real ham, Fred?’

  ‘It’s a real pig.’

  ‘What if we buy two shares?’

  ‘We get two shares of the pig.’

  ‘How big’s a share?’ Rose was more practical. ‘There’s plenty on this street would buy a share and then what? We pay fifteen shillings and get three sausages.’

  ‘No, lass. More people wants a share, more porkers Tom’ll buy. Seems he’s got a cousin not too far away has a sow expecting a litter. These damn U-boats scuttling all our ships, even farmers are having trouble fattening their animals and so they’re selling. Seems everybody in London’s doing it. Some posh bloke’s even got one in what used to be ’is swimming pool; no water in it, o’course, since they got bombed.’

  ‘And all we have to do is pay our five bob and take scraps to the fire station?’

  ‘That’s it. Good job for George an’ Jake; they’ll love it and makes them feel useful.’

  ‘My Sam’ll be home for Christmas. He loves a nice bit of ham, or what about roast pork with apple sauce? Perfect.’

  Fred and Rose said nothing but they looked at Daisy, who had remained quiet. ‘What about you, Daisy, love?’

  ‘I’m a WAAF, Dad. Who knows where I’ll be at Christmas?’

  Flora, who for a moment had been lost in thoughts of cooking a wonderful Christmas dinner for her eldest son, turned to Daisy. ‘That reminds me, pet, what’s happening with your pilot friend?’

  ‘He’s going to be fine, Mum.’

  ‘That’s nice. So you won’t be visiting him any more?’

  Daisy did not answer immediately. She looked around the little kitchen where the family had had so many happy meals: Christmases, Easters, and birthdays. She looked at her father’s prized wireless. Just recently he had listened to a new programme. ‘Getting my education in my old age, love,’ he had told her as they listened one day during her leave to The Brains Trust. This question-and-answer programme was already well on its way to becoming a national favourite. When would she be back again to enjoy all these simple family joys?

  Flora was looking at her, surprise in her eyes.

  ‘Sorry, Mum, I was just remembering that this kitchen is my favourite place. And no, I will not be visiting Adair in the hospital. Soon he’ll be going to a convalescent hospital and I’ll be at a new air base.’

  ‘We’re glad the lad’s better, but really it wouldn’t be a good idea for you to get too … too what did you say, Fred?’

  Fred was flustered. He would have preferred that Daisy not know that she was being discussed. ‘Can’t remember but it is better that, natural like, you’re separated, Daisy.’

  They were right, of course they were right. She and Adair had nothing in common apart perhaps from a love of planes. But every time they had met, it was as if a small breeze blew on a spark that had been lit the moment he had popped up out of the cockpit of the Daisy, his face and hands covered in dirt and oil. The spark had not been extinguished by separation, but grew ever stronger.

  ‘He’s hoping to spend Christmas at the Humbles’. If I get leave we’ll meet.’

  ‘That’s nice, pet,’ said Fred.

  ‘It’s ages till Christmas,’ Fred reminded Flora later when they were preparing to go to bed and she had been, once again, saying how much she worried about Daisy. ‘Just let nature take its course. She’ll meet a nice lad at this new base. Probably lots o’ lads more like us.’

  Her posting had to come today. The ringing of Rose’s alarm clock woke Daisy but she stayed, curled up in bed, to allow her sister to have the family’s bathroom to herself. Her parents, as always, were up and had already washed before them. Her mind was busy. Had the WAAF forgotten all about her? She had passed the tests and been promoted. Had they thought they’d told her then when and where she was supposed to go? No, she would not panic. The letter would come today. Rose was still busy in the bathroom and so Daisy jumped up, put on her dressing gown and went into the kitchen to help her mother.

  ‘Stir the porridge while I get dressed, pet, and make some toast. Alf brought some butter when he was in …’ she hesitated.

  ‘Visiting Adair, Mum. He’s Adair’s next of kin. How nice of Nancy to send us some of her fresh butter. You could give her some of your share of the pig come Christmas. And no, they never did get round to keeping pigs,’ she added quickly as she could see the question forming in her mother’s mind. ‘Too many other things to look after.’

  ‘And will you look out the old atlas, pet? Your dad and me was trying to figure out where our Sam would be going. Nice if we can see him in our minds. If he’s walking to Switzerland he’d be in lovely mountains.’

  Again she looked absolutely desolate and Daisy quickly agreed with her that to look at maps of Europe would be a good idea. At least it would give her something to do. She would have to see Frank Wishaw before she left, to encourage him to visit her parents. A big lad wanting feeding up was just what her mother needed. But worry followed worry. Rose was also determined to join the Forces.

  ‘I’ve never been further than Brighton, Daisy. I want some excitement,’ she had said the night before as they’d talked before falling asleep

  ‘Being hurt in an air raid isn’t excitement enough for you?’

  ‘Some might say I’d already done my bit, but Stan and me’s talked. We like each other a lot but we’re not even twenty yet. Plenty of time.’

  Daisy remembered those sweet moments by Adair’s bed when his eyes had said, even promised, so much. ‘Couldn’t agree more, Rose.’

  It was a lovely morning and so Daisy decided to walk over to the cinema where her friend Sally Brewer had fallen in love with not only the silver screen but several of the actors appearing on it. It was so long since she’d seen Sally, who had written just before Christmas about a new part in a play. Sally would not be there but Daisy felt guilty about not visiting the parents who had often slipped Sally’s three particular friends into the cinema.

  Mrs Brewer was thrilled to see her. It was almost a year since Daisy had seen Sally’s mum and she looked different, much thinner than before, although, like her daughter, she had always been thin.

  Now she enveloped Daisy in a warm hug. ‘Daisy Petrie, we knew you were at home and if we hadn’t seen you I’d have been that sad.’

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Brewer. A friend crash-landed near here and is in the County Hospital, and visiting took up some time, and then, well, you know about things at home.’

  ‘I do, indeed, Daisy. Now come on into the office. I’ll make a cuppa and then you can take one up to Ernie in his booth. He’ll be that delighted to see you.’

  Soon they were sitting in the ticket booth chattering away. Mrs Brewer showed Daisy several professional photographs of Sally and talked about all the struggles that beset aspiring actresses.

  ‘And it’s not just auditioning for parts, Daisy, love, but – maybe I shouldn’t say but there’s some men in the business who are … who are … let’s just say who are far from being gentlemen. But I dare say a pretty girl like you has trouble too.’

  Daisy was sure her eyebrows had disappeared into her hairline as she listened to Sally’s mother talk. ‘Gosh, no, Mrs Brewer. I work with other women mostly and we’re studying all the time. Not much time to meet men, bad or good.’

  ‘But you’re in the air force. There’s thousands of men there.’

  ‘The WAAF isn’t the RAF. We’re auxiliaries, helpers, and we’re all women. All the men from the RAF that I’ve met have been …’ she thought for a moment: Adair, Sergeant Gordon. Wing Commander Anstruther, Wing Commander Sapenak, ‘… they’ve been just super.’

  ‘Oh, I’m glad. Not had time to find someone to walk out with then?’

  How to answer truthfully? ‘I’ll be off on a course any minute now, Mrs Brewer, and I’ll be burning the midnight oil studying.’

  ‘That’s my Sally too. Now why don’t you take a cuppa up t
o Ernie? Would you believe that he gets lonely – night after night, even Sundays now, packed cinema, and he’s lonely. Seems a lifetime ago that you four just couldn’t be prised apart and now … Here, give him a bit of chocolate too.’

  ‘We’re still friends, Mrs B. It’s only distance that separates us.’

  ‘I hope so, love. Now give us a kiss and don’t spill Ernie’s tea.’

  Quite difficult not to spill tea when being ferociously hugged but Daisy managed to extricate herself without accident and walked off across the pseudo-marble floor and up the wide red-carpeted stairs until she found the little booth where Sally’s father spent most of his time.

  His welcome was not quite so exuberant as his wife’s but he was obviously delighted to see Daisy.

  ‘Saw wee Grace at Christmas,’ he said as he drank his tea. He shook his head and was silent for a moment before carrying on. ‘What a mess that was, but at least she knows she’s got a home with Brewers and Petries. Grace hoped there might be some family information among Megan’s papers but couldn’t find a thing, not a photograph, a Christmas card, nothing.’

  ‘Which probably proves that Megan didn’t like her family or they didn’t like her.’

  ‘I think that’s it. But we couldn’t find anything about Grace. Where did she come from? She can’t remember. Who put her on the train? She thinks it was a nun. Where did the train come from? No idea, but there was talk at the time about Scotland – or was it Ireland? We hear from her now and again. Not much time for writing but she’s happy.’

  Again there was a silence for a moment as each thought.

  ‘Have you told her about Sam’s escape?’

  Startled, Daisy looked at him. ‘I never even thought, Mr Brewer. I’ll write to her this afternoon. Some friend, me.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Daisy, love. Grace had a thing about your Sam, big handsome lad who was always kind to her. It was the same as my Sally and all those film stars. Means nothing.’

  ‘Happen you’re right,’ said Daisy as they hugged goodbye. But I don’t think you are, she said to herself as she walked briskly home.

  ‘Had a nice chat?’ her father asked as she came into the shop.

  ‘Lovely, but Sally’s mum’s lost weight.’

  ‘I hope you told her you noticed. She’s right proud of it because she’s taking a class at the YWCA.’

  ‘There never was anything of her before.’

  ‘Thin lot, all her family.’ He took his chamois leather cloth from under the counter and moved over to wipe a squashed fly off the display window. ‘There’s a brown envelope for you, Daisy. Mum’s got it.’

  ‘Oh, great. Fantastic.’ She started for the stairs.

  ‘You’re so keen to leave us, love?’

  Daisy stopped and turned to him. ‘Never. I was scared I’d been told and lost the information. Talk later.’ She turned again and fled upstairs.

  The message was more or less the same as the initial one. Aircraftswoman Petrie was to travel by train – a travel warrant was included – to RAF Halton in Buckinghamshire, where she was to take up her new duties.

  The much-used atlas was pressed into service by an excited Daisy. She knew that RAF Halton was a major technical training school that had, in fact, been established during the Great War. But where exactly was Buckinghamshire, and where was the town of Wendover or indeed the little village of Halton?

  She was delighted to find that her new base was only thirty-five miles or so from London. That meant visits home during her eighteen weeks of training might not be impossible. That would please her parents.

  FOURTEEN

  Two days later Daisy arrived at RAF Halton but, this time, she was not with one other slightly nervous recruit. The railway station was wall-to-wall blue uniforms, both men and women. She looked round hopefully but there was not a single face that she even remotely recognised. Her grief at Charlie’s loss welled up more powerfully than ever and she fought desperately to control herself. Had Charlie been there she would have been making friends all over the place, but Daisy was not Charlie.

  Daisy picked up her bags and followed the heaving mass of humanity out of the station. She travelled to the base on a bus that, like the station, was crowded, and the noise level reminded her of her one and only school trip to London. How her teenage friends had shouted and sung. Enough to give anyone a headache.

  ‘Bella White.’ The WAAF in the window seat introduced herself. ‘You look like a rabbit caught in headlights. Relax. They’re nervous.’ She held out her hand and Daisy shook it.

  ‘Daisy Petrie,’ she said.

  They chatted all the way to the camp, as Bella was not slow to ask questions or to tell part of her personal history if the conversation lagged. She was twenty years old, lived with her mother and grandmother in Derby and had worked as the receptionist in an office. She could type, did not take shorthand, could file, and was used to making and receiving telephone calls.

  ‘My boyfriend told me he preferred my cousin, Sheila. He had to, since I found them … let’s say in a fairly compromising situation when I visited my aunt Flo’s flat. Two years I walked out with him and didn’t allow no funny stuff, not without a ring on my finger. Seems Sheila’s allergic to base metals. So I joined up, left them high and dry. You have a lad?’

  Daisy, who was not quite sure what the unknown Sheila’s allergy had to do with anything, said, ‘I’m not walking out with anyone.’

  ‘Well, there’s plenty of spare men around Halton; you’ll soon find one.’

  Daisy wondered if Bella had enlisted simply because of the abundance of unmarried men. She would not ask but was quite sure Bella would have told her had she dared – or cared.

  ‘I was a shop assistant before I enlisted,’ she said, ‘but I always wanted to do something more exciting. Being a receptionist in an office must have been quite interesting.’

  ‘Bored me silly. I joined the WAAF because I thought it would be more fun – really thought they’d plonk me behind a typewriter. Just think, maybe I could have typed a letter to Mr Churchill, but they said I showed aptitude for engineering. Don’t know that I believe them; my mum read in the paper as how they just can’t get enough technicians to keep our planes in the air. Well, I’m not stupid and I don’t mind working hard. This war’s giving a lot of us a chance to better ourselves. What kind of shop did you work in – department store, I should think by looking at you.’

  ‘Me in a department store? No, Bella. I worked in a small grocery shop; dried peas, porridge oats, eggs, tea, just the things families need every day.’

  ‘You’ve got a look of class, not class like that frozen pea over there – ’ she pointed to a young woman in a really beautiful two-piece costume – ‘but still class.’

  Daisy had no idea whether or not to say thank you but by then they had arrived at the camp.

  If she had thought Wilmslow large, RAF Halton was endless, and she laughed a little as she thought of herself and Charlie hobbling up the main road at Wilmslow in their best shoes. They wouldn’t catch her this time. She was a seasoned WAAF, in good sturdy military-issue shoes.

  Hours later she lay exhausted in her bed in a large hut with twenty or so other women. Bella was not among them and she hardly knew whether to be pleased or sorry. Snores and the lighter noises made by sleepers whistled around the long bare room, and Daisy lay waiting for sleep, missing her family, thinking of Adair and too aware of her resurrected grief at Charlie’s death.

  Do it for Charlie. The voice echoed in her head together with her own promise to an unknown little child on Dartford Heath. Excitement grew in her. She had passed one hurdle and was now even closer to her dream. In eighteen weeks, a mere four and a half months, she would be fully qualified to work on aircraft engines.

  But was that all she wanted? Was it even remotely possible that one day she might fly, not a Spitfire or a Lancaster but a small plane like the Daisy? But how? There were no pilots in the WAAF, and the Air Transport Auxiliary was staffe
d by civilians. Had she enlisted too quickly?

  She lay for some time looking at positives and negatives. There were so many positives. In the WAAF she had learned skills and she had found and lost a friend. Do you like me enough to kiss me, Daisy? The voice echoed in her head and she smiled at the very sound. Surely being a WAAF had brought her closer to Adair, and made it easier for her to have another flying lesson. Halton looked as if it was stacked with aircraft. Perhaps here, there would be more opportunities. Excitement at that blissful thought was making sleep impossible, but with her first full day on the course ahead of her she needed to sleep.

  She turned over onto her right side, her favourite sleeping position, but the last thought she had before finally falling into a disturbed sleep was, once again: the ATA is a civilian organisation. How could that be overcome?

  The next three days were soon a blur in her memory, so full were they of activity and change. She began to recognise some of the other women and girls in her hut and in her unit. Mainly they were known by their surnames, as that is how the instructors addressed them. It seemed that she never sat beside the same WAAF twice in a row at a class or even in the mess hall, and had totally forgotten Bella until they found themselves in the same line for dinner.

  ‘Great camp, Daisy, don’t you think? A swimming pool and a cinema, for starters, and have you seen the Officers’ Club – it’s a stately home, for goodness’ sake – I’d love to get in there. I’m going into Aylesbury on Saturday to buy a swimming costume. Come with me and we can come back in time for the “Welcome New Recruits” dance.’

  Daisy had no wish to hurt Bella; she had been very kind and friendly on the bus, but she wanted to really know her way around before she made decisions about friendships or anything else. ‘I haven’t got my bearings yet, Bella; I was planning to have a good look around and to write letters at the weekend, but thanks.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  ‘How are you enjoying the course?’

  Bella smiled. ‘Haven’t a clue, but one of the mechanics is giving me a bit of extra help. He might come in with me on Saturday. I could ask him to bring a mate.’