by Vicki Beeby
She left the Clarendon building on shaky legs. She was joining the WAAF. There was no going back, and nothing her mother could do to stop her.
Chapter Three
‘Excuse me, is there room for me in this carriage?’
Evie glanced up at the tall, gangly girl in the doorway, clutching a long, white canvas bag. Then she looked around the empty compartment. She smiled back at the girl. ‘It’ll be a squash, but I’m sure we can make room.’
The girl blushed. ‘Oh, thank you. I mean, I can see it’s empty, but I didn’t know if—’
Evie’s heart went out to her. ‘I’m sorry. It was a feeble joke. Do sit down.’
The girl took off her coat and put it with her bag on the overhead rack; she was so tall she had no trouble reaching that high, unlike Evie, who had been forced to stand on tiptoe. It suddenly struck Evie that her bag looked remarkably similar to her own kit bag.
‘Are you a WAAF?’ she asked.
The girl’s face lit up. ‘Yes. I’m on my way to my first posting.’ She had an accent Evie couldn’t place, placing heavy emphasis of the ‘ing’ of ‘posting’.
‘Me too!’ Evie held out her hand. ‘I’m Evie. I mean, Aircraftwoman Bishop, second class. On my way to RAF Amberton in Sussex.’
The girl gave a delighted squeak. ‘The same as me!’ Her smile transformed her face and now she didn’t look so plain. She clutched Evie’s hand and shook it enthusiastically. ‘I’m May Lidford. Oh, I was so worried about going to my first posting all alone. I am glad I’ve met you.’
Relief washed over Evie. ‘That’s wonderful. I’ll be glad of the company.’ She’d had a hectic early-morning train journey from Leighton Buzzard to London, in a train packed with servicemen, followed by a bewildering series of bus journeys across the city to Victoria Station, worrying all the while that she would miss her train. It was good to know she didn’t have to face the rest of the journey alone. ‘Where did you do your training?’
‘West Drayton to start with – I was there at the beginning of February.’
‘Me too! But I was there in March, then clerk S.D. training at Leighton Buzzard.’ Evie still felt a thrill at the sense of excitement she’d had when she’d had to sign the Official Secrets Act before starting her training as an Operations Room plotter, which was one of the roles that came under the heading of ‘clerk, special duties’. It had given her a sense that she was about to become part of something important. ‘What did you train as?’
‘Driver. I’ve just finished the course in Liverpool.’
Although Evie wasn’t shy, she hadn’t made any friends at her initial training in West Drayton or Leighton Buzzard. She’d looked rather longingly at the girls who had naturally formed groups and wondered how they managed to make friends so easily. She hadn’t had time to be lonely, though; the instructors had taken them through a rigorous schedule of drills, inspections, classes and assessments that filled their waking hours. Now she was on her way to a long-term posting, she was glad to meet another new girl. Maybe making friends wouldn’t be so hard after all.
‘I see you didn’t get a uniform either.’ Evie indicated the plain navy-blue skirt, white blouse and knitted jumper she had left home in. It seemed the authorities had been taken aback by the number of recruits the WAAF had attracted, and there weren’t enough uniforms to go round. The only uniform items she’d received were her gas mask, steel helmet, shoes, a kit bag and her identity tags – a red circular disc and a grey lozenge-shaped one, both with her name and service number stamped into them.
‘No. In the reception depot, they took one look at me and said they hadn’t expected to kit out a giraffe.’ May laughed and Evie joined in, glad to see her shy new friend was able to laugh at herself.
Out on the platform, the guard blew his whistle, and the train jolted forward. Evie hastily closed the window to keep out the steam, then leaned forward to look out, as though the airfield in West Sussex would already be in view.
‘I’ve never been to Sussex before,’ May said, echoing Evie’s thoughts. ‘I’ve never been outside Birmingham. I wonder what it will be like.’
‘This is my first time outside Oxford,’ Evie replied. ‘I just know we won’t be far from the sea.’
‘It’s exciting isn’t it?’ May’s face was alight as she watched the houses of London fly past. ‘I mean, I know I should be sorry there’s a war on, but I’d never have had the chance to leave Birmingham if I hadn’t joined up.’
‘What did you do before you joined?’
May’s face clouded. ‘Stayed home, keeping house for my father and four brothers.’ She pressed her lips together and glanced down, fidgeting with the buttons on her dark grey cardigan. One of the buttons was dark blue instead of black like the others, and when May moved her arm, Evie could see the left elbow had been darned.
Evie’s heart went out to her, knowing all too well how it felt to wear clothes that seemed to have more patches than original cloth. ‘I’ve always wished I had a brother.’
‘You wouldn’t have wanted mine.’
Evie instantly regretted what was merely meant as a conversational observation. She felt uncomfortable, not knowing if she should ask for more details, or if May would prefer not to talk about it. ‘Is that why you joined up – to get away from home?’
May nodded. ‘What about you?’
‘The same, I suppose.’ Evie, too, was reluctant to explain the whole sorry tale to someone she scarcely knew. ‘My mother thinks I should be happy with my lot in life,’ she said in the end. ‘Wanted me to be content with a humdrum job, get married and live a life identical to hers. The WAAF was my only way out.’
‘Yes! Freedom from men.’ May’s mouth set in a stubborn line. ‘I’m never going back. After the war I’m going to make a life for myself. Get a job. Move to London.’
After the war. As the train puffed south, Evie watched as the suburbs of London gave way to fields and hedgerows. Spring had arrived in the weeks since she had impulsively joined up, and now the first signs of April greenery tinged the countryside. How many more months and seasons would pass before the war was over? What would happen to her in the meantime?
It was nearly midday when the train arrived in Chichester, the nearest mainline station to Amberton. Evie and May wrestled their bags off the luggage rack and climbed down onto the platform. A young man in RAF uniform with a corporal’s stripe on his sleeve stood by the entrance, leaning against the wall, a cigarette in his hand. Guessing he was here to collect them, they hurried up to him and gave their names.
‘Hop in,’ he replied, indicating the truck parked nearby. ‘We’ve still got one more to collect.’
Evie climbed into the truck after May and looked around for the other person they were here to meet. From her seat she could see the passengers who had alighted leave the station and drift away. Then she heard a great hiss of steam and the chug of the engine as the train pulled away. There didn’t seem to be anyone left. The corporal sighed, looked at his watch and dropped his cigarette on the pavement, grinding it beneath his toe. He turned to climb into the truck.
The station door swung open and a glamorous blonde woman in RAF blue strode out, swinging her gas mask case as if it were a Chanel handbag. Her hair was waved in a style more usually seen on a Hollywood actress than a passenger on the Southern Railway. For a moment, unlikely as it seemed, Evie wondered if Ginger Rogers had turned up.
‘Get a move on, Halloway,’ the corporal barked.
‘Sorry I’m late, Corp,’ she said, batting her sweeping eyelashes at him. ‘Nearly missed the stop.’
‘Don’t tell me you were chatting up some poor unfortunate young man.’ The corporal scowled and swung into his seat.
Halloway flashed him a smile, her teeth sparkling white against scarlet lips. ‘Jealous, Corp?’
She climbed in and took her place next to Evie. ‘What ’ave we ’ere? New recruits?’ She stuck out her hand. ‘Jess Halloway. Been here a month already. Stick with me
and I’ll see you right.’
* * *
Evie gazed out with interest as the truck left the town and followed winding roads into the countryside. After the busy streets of Cowley and Oxford, the wide open spaces of the South Downs made her feel as though they were on their way to a picnic rather than her first WAAF posting. A pale green haze hung over the hedgerows, and daffodils nodded their heads as the truck sped past. Occasionally they went through a village, some with half-timbered cottages, others a mixture of flint and red brick. Evie was charmed to see many had thatched roofs. These huddled dwellings, often clustered around village greens, were very different from the rows of identical terraces and semi-detached houses she was used to in Cowley, or the imposing, many-spired college buildings of the city centre.
They had just crossed a humpbacked bridge with a bump that nearly flung Evie out of her seat when a roar overhead made her flinch. Two fighter planes blotted out the sun, propellers whirling, so low she cowered down upon the bench, positive they would hit the trees fringing the road and come crashing down upon their heads. The RAF roundels were clear on the underside of the wings. May squeaked and covered her ears, but Jess’s only reaction was to smooth her hair once the aircraft had safely flown past.
‘Hurricanes,’ she announced.
‘From Amberton?’ Evie gazed after the Hurricanes, which were now disappearing behind a large house in the distance. A thrill rippled down her spine.
Jess nodded. ‘We’ve got three Hurricane squadrons at the moment, but there’s a rumour we’re getting a new one soon.’
May seemed to have recovered from her shock and was gazing at the point they had last seen the Hurricanes with wide eyes. ‘Do you think they’ve been in combat?’
‘Nah. That’s all happening over in France. Hurricanes and Spitfires don’t have the range. They’ll have been on a training flight.’ She leaned closer to the other two. She shot a glance at the corporal and lowered her voice. ‘There’s a new officer just arrived in Ops, though, come from France. They say his squadron was shot to bits. He’s got a bit of a sharp tongue, but that doesn’t stop half the girls swooning over him. Squadron Leader Kincaith is going to break some hearts, you mark my words.’
Evie’s heart sank at the thought of working with a sharp-tongued officer. Not that she had any intention of vying for anyone’s affections, no matter how good looking he was. ‘I’m being posted to the Operations Room. I hope he’s not too bad.’
Jess grinned. ‘He’s not so bad really. I work in Ops, too, by the way. Go on, don’t look so surprised. I can put on a posh speaking voice.’ She straightened up her shoulders, stuck out her chin, and recited with perfect diction, ‘The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain. How now, brown cow?’
All of a sudden, Evie wasn’t looking at a working-class Cockney girl, but a fragile upper-class English rose who looked as though she spent her days taking tea on the vicarage lawn.
‘Gosh, how did you do that?’ May asked, gazing at Jess with admiration.
‘I was an actress before I joined up. You don’t get very far in that profession unless you can talk posh.’
‘Can you teach me?’ May asked. ‘They said I showed aptitude for clerk, special duties, but my speaking voice wasn’t clear enough.’
‘I can try. What are you posted as, then?’
‘Driver.’
‘Go on! That’s the best job. You get to drive pilots.’ Jess said ‘pilots’ like most people would have said ‘film stars’. ‘When did you learn to drive?’
‘My dad’s a…’ May’s gaze shifted from Jess’s face before meeting her eyes again. ‘Well, he’s a sort of delivery man. He taught me to drive so I could help out.’
‘Of all the luck! You’ll be out, driving the top brass while I’m stuck down The Hole, under the nose of Flight Officer Hellerby.’ Jess grimaced at Evie. ‘It’s Ellerby really, but all the girls in Ops call her Hellerby. You’ll understand why soon enough.’
Evie’s heart sank. ‘Is she really awful?’
‘I’ll say. Only last week she bawled me out in front of everyone for putting the wrong number of fighters on a plot. ’Umiliated, I was. Wasn’t my fault, neither. It was that bugger Stanley Nixon who didn’t get it right when he rang the number through. But Hellerby always comes down hard on us girls when we make a mistake. Plenty of the men think girls shouldn’t be allowed in Ops, and Hellerby ’ates it when we do anything that gives them an excuse to complain.’
While in Leighton Buzzard, Evie had heard that some male officers weren’t happy with allowing WAAFs any job that wasn’t typing or cooking. ‘Are all the men like that? Against women taking over the men’s jobs, I mean?’
‘Some of them were at first, but most of them have seen we’re just as good as the men, if not better. The senior controller, Peter Travis – he’s an absolute dear. He’s always saying us girls do a better job than the men. You’ll like him. You and me together, we’ll win round the likes of Hellerby and Kincaith.’
The truck jolted to a stop. Evie had been so absorbed by Jess’s information, she’d neglected to look where they were going but now she saw they had stopped in front of a barrier. A man in air force uniform, a rifle slung over his shoulder, hurried out of a hut and, giving the driver a wave, raised the barrier to let them through. Evie’s heart sped up. They were here! She looked around with interest as the truck drove through the gateway and passed several red-brick buildings and, further away, a group of Nissen huts. Many of the huts had sandbags stacked around them, and several men were hauling more down from a truck and adding them to the stacks. A large field lay beyond the buildings, with an orange windsock flapping at the far end. Wooden huts were dotted around the edge of the field with fighter aircraft standing nearby. Evie could see men, tiny as ants from this distance, crawling over the wings of some of the aeroplanes or working on the engines.
A thunderous roar split the air behind her. Evie jumped; next to her, May give a startled yelp. Three more Hurricanes swooped so low Evie could swear her hair ruffled when they passed overhead. The vibrations of the engines thrummed deep in her chest. She followed their path as they banked into a steep turn, following the edge of the airfield.
Jess tapped Evie’s arm and pointed to a grassy hump in the ground with a descending ramp leading down. There were more sandbags protecting the ramp, and a guard stood at the entrance. ‘That’s The Hole,’ she said, raising her voice over the growl of the Hurricanes. ‘Where you’ll be working.’
Evie eyed the dark entrance with trepidation. It looked for all the world like the entrance to an underground tomb.
The truck jerked to a halt outside a red-brick building.
‘Come on.’ Jess jumped down. ‘The pair of you need to report to the Squadron Officer and get your arrival chits signed. I’ll show you where to find her. Meet me out here when you’re through and I’ll show you around.’
Before Evie followed, she couldn’t resist watching the Hurricanes as they completed their circuit and glided down to land. She shivered from a mixture of nerves and anticipation. Maybe she wasn’t in Somerville College, but this place, and the other airfields like it all over Britain, was where the action was going to be, and she was going to be a part of it.
* * *
Jess met Evie and May on the steps of the Admin block once they’d reported to the Squadron Officer. She took their arms. ‘Come on, I’ll show you around. I’ll take you to the Waafery first, so you can drop off your kit.’ She pointed to a large house which stood just beyond the bounds of the station. Only a high hedge separated it from the airfield. ‘There it is. As you can see, we get a grandstand view.’
‘Gosh, you could fit about twenty houses the size of my dad’s in there,’ breathed May.
Evie, too, looked at the house in wonder. Even at this distance, she could see it looked more like a small manor house. ‘I’d get lost in a house that size. I thought we’d be sleeping in Nissen huts.’
‘It’s even better inside. Mind
you, it’s a tidy step, but a thousand times better than a Nissen hut.’
They hefted their kit bags onto their shoulders and Jess led them back to the station entrance. ‘It’d be quicker if we could get to the house from the airfield, but there’s no way through the hedge.’ Jess glanced at May. ‘You’ll be all right. Most of the WAAFs get ferried in and out of the Waafery by truck, but those of us in Ops have to fend for ourselves. It’s about a twenty-minute walk. I usually cycle, though.’
They turned right out of the gates and strolled down the tree-lined lane that hugged the perimeter of the airfield. Evie could see that although it was a pleasant walk in the sunshine, it would be miserable in the rain or dark. ‘I suppose I could send for my bike,’ she said. It would mean writing to her mother. Her insides knotted at the memory of Dora’s look of shocked pain and betrayal when Evie had returned from Oxford and announced what she’d done. Ever since, Dora had treated her with icy politeness, placing a barrier between them that Evie had been unable to break down.
Not that she’d tried too hard. Even now, thoughts of her mother had her clenching her fists into tight balls. She forced herself to focus on the present, let the birdsong and views of rolling downland wash away the anger. It was pointless dwelling on what couldn’t be changed. Pointless, but oh, so easy.
As they turned into a narrower lane, she plucked a random topic of conversation from the air. ‘Why did you join up, Jess?’ she asked. ‘Being an actress sounds so glamorous.’
‘Not as glamorous as you might think.’ Jess’s pretty face clouded briefly, but then she gave an over-bright smile. ‘Anyway, when I saw a poster of a WAAF in blue, I ’ad to join up. The colour suits me, don’t you think?’
Evie smiled, as she was supposed to, and decided not to press Jess on her true reason for joining the WAAF. They walked on in companionable silence, Evie enjoying the birdsong and the musical sigh of the wind in the trees.
