‘Yes, that’s right, Simon Norwood. How did you know my name?’
‘I heard one of your pals address you,’ she explained.
‘Oh, I see. And you are . . . ?’
‘I’m Yvonne, Yvonne Stevenson.’
By mutual consent, it seemed, they walked away from the cathedral precinct to the cobbled street that led to the town. ‘Do you fancy a cup of tea?’ asked Simon. ‘There’s a little cafe I’ve been to not far from here. They do a good pot of tea and nice cream cakes, too. Well, “mock” cream, I suppose, but it’s as good as you can get.’
‘Yes, thank you,’ said Yvonne. ‘Why not?’
They set off, chatting in a companionable manner. The tea shop was an old-fashioned sort of place, one of the town’s quaint medieval buildings. The room was small and rather busy but they found an empty table for two at the back of the shop. The round table was covered with a pristine white cloth edged with lace, and the wheel-backed chairs held chintzy cushions. The polished floor was uneven in places, there was a delft rack which held blue and white pottery plates and pewter tankards, and on the walls were pictures of Lincoln in days gone by.
‘It’s the sort of place that the Yanks think of as “little old England”,’ Simon remarked as they squeezed themselves into the corner. ‘I’ve seen several GIs here from time to time.’
‘Old England indeed,’ remarked Yvonne. She sighed. ‘It almost makes you believe everything is quite normal, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Simon. ‘That’s why I come here. A touch of normality in a world that’s gone mad.’ They looked at one another, nodding in agreement and understanding.
‘So how long have you been at this camp, Yvonne?’ asked Simon.
‘Just a few weeks,’ she replied. ‘I was transferred from a camp near to Norwich. I joined up last year when it became compulsory for women of my age . . . I don’t mean that I didn’t want to enlist,’ she added. ‘I’d been thinking of it for a while, but my parents and my boyfriend were not all that keen. Anyway, when they brought in conscription for women I was twenty, so I had no choice.’
‘I see,’ said Simon. He guessed she would be twenty-one by now, the same age as himself. ‘And I guess you’re a northerner like me,’ said Simon. ‘I’m from Bradford, Baildon, to be exact.’
Yvonne told him she came from Manchester. ‘You’re part of an aircrew, aren’t you?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I’m a navigator,’ he replied. ‘It’s what I wanted to do when I joined up, and I was proud of myself when I got my stripes. But now I find myself hating what we’re doing. I guess that a lot of us do really, but we don’t talk about it very much. What about you, Yvonne? What job are you doing?’
She told him she was doing clerical work, as she had done back home. She was a shorthand typist, now in charge of her office since her transfer to Lincolnshire.
‘Good for you,’ said Simon. He had noticed that she had two stripes on her arm.
They stopped talking for a while to concentrate on eating the cream cakes. The cream tasted almost like the fresh variety with melt-in-the-mouth sponge and pastry.
‘We’d better be making tracks, hadn’t we?’ said Simon when they had finished.
‘Yes . . . thank you, Simon’ said Yvonne. ‘That was delicious. I shall tell my friends about this place.’
‘Maybe we could come again . . . sometime?’ he asked tentatively. He had enjoyed being with her very much; it was a refreshing change to have some feminine company after the time he had spent almost solely with his male companions.
‘Yes, I’d like that,’ Yvonne agreed, smiling at him in a friendly way.
They made their way down the steep hill that led to the main part of the town. Buses ran from the square to just outside the camp.
‘I’m so pleased to have met you,’ Simon told her as they sat side by side on the bone-shaking bus. ‘I’m glad you stopped to speak to me instead of walking past.’
‘You didn’t think it was too forward of me?’ she asked a little teasingly.
‘No, not at all. As I said before; do you think we could meet up again? No strings attached,’ he added. ‘You said you have a boyfriend, didn’t you? I mean just to spend some time together . . . as friends?’
‘Yes, I have a boyfriend,’ she replied. ‘He’s in the Merchant Navy, so I don’t see him very often. We’ve been going out together for a year or so, but we haven’t got engaged or anything. We decided to wait until this lot comes to an end. What about you, Simon? Do you have a girlfriend?’
‘No, not me.’ He smiled. ‘I don’t really think it’s the right time to be making commitments, although I know lots of couples are doing so . . . Would you like us to meet again, then?’
‘Yes, I would, Simon,’ she agreed. ‘I’ve made some good friends since I came here, like I did at the last camp. The girls in the hut with me, we all get on well together. But it’ll be nice to have a change of company now and again.’
They alighted from the bus and he said goodbye to her just inside the main gates. Their huts were on different sides of the camp. They agreed to meet in the NAAFI in a few days time.
Simon whistled as he made his way to his hut, feeling more cheerful than he had for ages. What a very nice girl she was, like a breath of fresh air. He told himself, though, that he must make his head rule his heart and not get involved in a romantic entanglement. Yvonne knew the score, though; he guessed she was not the sort of girl to play around when she already had a boyfriend.
As Simon’s friendship with Yvonne continued he began to look forward to seeing her more and more. During their times together he was able to forget, if only for a short time, the fears he still encountered with every flight, and the gruesome memories that haunted him in the night when he was unable to sleep.
Yvonne was a good listener, and he was able to talk to her about anything and everything. They met in the NAAFI, and went to dances in the sergeants’ mess. Sometimes they walked the mile or so along the country lane to the pub in the village or went into Lincoln to the cinema. Sometimes they were on their own, and other times with a small group of friends.
As the weeks went by, however, Simon began to realize that it was difficult to have a purely platonic relationship with a member of the opposite sex, especially one as attractive and friendly as Yvonne; but he knew it was what he must try to do. He did hold her hand, though, when they walked back from the village late at night. The darkness was a little scary when owls hooted, bats flittered to and fro and small creatures of the night scampered into the bushes.
One night as he said goodbye to her near to her hut he plucked up courage and kissed her gently on the lips. To his surprise she put up her hand and drew his face down to hers. ‘Kiss me properly, Simon,’ she whispered. He did so, feeling her warmth and eagerness as she responded to him.
‘There,’ she said. ‘There’s no harm in that, is there?’
‘No, none at all,’ he agreed. ‘Thanks for tonight, Yvonne. It was just what I needed – the film, I mean – to take my mind off everything.’ They had been to see a light-hearted musical starring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. ‘I’ll see you in a day or two. There’s a big op coming up, so I’d better catch up on my beauty sleep,’ he grinned.
She smiled at him, very fondly, he thought. ‘Yes, see you soon, Simon. I’ll be thinking of you; I’ll say a little prayer for you. TTFN!’ She waved cheerily as she left him.
He knew it would be very easy to fall in love with Yvonne. That kiss had certainly made the earth move for him, but they had agreed ‘no strings’, and he knew he must try to keep to that.
Nineteen
The next time he saw Yvonne it was a couple of days after the next op – one that had turned out to be the most disastrous yet, for Simon. On returning to base after a raid on Germany the damaged plane had burst into flames and their pilot had been killed.
‘What a waste of life! He was such a bloody good skipper,’ Simon told her. ‘I don’t think I shall e
ver make sense of it all.’
He found it helped, if only a little, to go over the happenings of that dreadful night, and Yvonne was always ready to listen. There had been assistance at the scene almost immediately. An ambulance and fire engine had soon arrived, whilst several of his colleagues were trying to beat back the flames engulfing their pilot, but his burns had been too severe and he had died in hospital the following day. The plane, of course, was completely destroyed. The mid gunner was still in hospital, following concussion, but was expected to make a good recovery.
‘Were you very close to your pilot?’ asked Yvonne. ‘You hadn’t known him long, had you?’
‘No, it was only our fourth op together. No, we weren’t close mates with him. He was a commissioned officer, and the rest of us are just sergeants.’ The wastage amongst commissioned officers was so great that many of the non-commissioned men were promoted to what were known as sergeant pilots. ‘But he was so calm and level-headed, you couldn’t imagine him making a mistake. He must have let his guard slip for a moment. It had all been going so well, then the enemy plane appeared out of the blue. I couldn’t believe it when I heard that bloody great bang . . .’
Dusk was falling as they walked round the airfield arm in arm. ‘Shall we go down to the pub and have a drink?’ asked Yvonne. ‘Or do you want to keep a clear head?’
‘The next op isn’t for a few more days,’ he replied, ‘unless there’s an emergency. Yes, maybe that’s a good idea. And I’ll try to talk about something else. No amount of talking can make any difference.’
They met a few friends in the village pub and Simon managed to join in the banter and not to let his sadness and anger show. On the way back to the camp he felt more relaxed than ever in Yvonne’s company.
‘Feeling better now?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘A little better . . . I must admit I’m scared, though, Yvonne. I can’t say that to the others, but I can tell you, can’t I? The thought of boarding that plane again scares the pants off me. Not the same plane, of course, nor with the same skipper . . .’
‘How many more ops have you to do this time?’
‘Oh, four or five, I’m not sure. I’ve lost count. Then I’ll be grounded for a while, thank God.’
‘It’ll pass,’ Yvonne said gently. ‘All things pass. Who knows; one big push and then it might be all over?’
‘Let’s hope so,’ said Simon. ‘I don’t think I can stand much more.’
Neither of them spoke for the next few moments, but as if by mutual agreement they walked towards the shrubbery at the edge of the camp, near to the perimeter fence. They had exchanged a few kisses since that first time, and Simon knew that Yvonne was feeling the same as he did. They were falling in love. He knew now that he could hold back no longer.
They stopped by an oak tree. Yvonne leaned back against it and opened her arms to him. ‘Come along, Simon,’ she said gently. ‘I think you’re in need of a spot of comfort, don’t you?’
He nodded silently before putting his arms around her and kissing her in the way he had wanted to for so long. It was October and the leaves had fallen from the trees making a soft carpet on the ground. It was a balmy evening, not at all cold for the time of the year. Simon took off his greatcoat that he was wearing and laid it on the ground. He didn’t feel guilty that they were breaking their promise to one another to remain just good friends as they made love for the first time. It was a tender and gentle consummation of what they felt, more a quiet need in both of them than a raging passion.
He sighed as he buried his head on her shoulder, stroking her hair and kissing the softness of her neck. ‘I know we said we wouldn’t . . . but thank you, Yvonne. I suppose it was bound to happen, wasn’t it?’
She smiled at him. ‘It was what we both needed. Come along, Simon. We’d better get a move on.’ She laughed easily. ‘Brush yourself down, or there’ll be some comments made.’
They brushed the dry leaves from their clothing, emerging a little sheepishly from the coppice, but there was no one to see them. The camp seemed deserted, but there was more sign of life as they came near to the huts and the main buildings; couples walking arm in arm, as they were, and a group of AC2s returning rowdily from wherever they had been.
He said goodnight to her at the corner of her hut, kissing her gently on the lips. ‘Goodnight, love,’ he said, using an endearment common to all northerners, but one he had not used before in speaking to Yvonne. ‘Sleep tight.’
‘Dear Simon,’ she said, stroking his cheek. ‘You sleep well, too.’
Simon felt lighter in spirit as he went to bed that night, not brooding so much about the ill-fated flight that had killed one of his comrades and wounded another. It wasn’t as if this had not happened before, but it had affected him more deeply this time. He was realizing more than ever the futility of it all, and wondering how much longer he could continue. How he wished – and prayed – for an end to it all, but there was no sign of a swift end in sight.
He felt, though, as he lay there that he was not alone. ‘Thank you, Lord,’ he whispered, daring to believe that there really was someone watching over him. He did not dwell on what had happened with Yvonne. He would think about that another time.
The next op, two days later, was completed satisfactorily, but the op that took place the following night was to prove fateful for Simon. Again, it was on the homeward flight that they ran into trouble. This time they were aware of the enemy plane suddenly appearing, and after a brief skirmish it was shot down. But Simon had been wounded. The bullet entered his left shoulder, but as he doubled up with the pain and felt the blood start to flow he found himself breathing a sigh of blessed relief that he would be out of it for a while.
Fortunately they were in sight of home. The plane had not been damaged and there were no more casualties amongst the crew. His comrades staunched the flow of blood from what was not a life-threatening wound. It was enough, though, to put him in the camp hospital for the next few days.
It was good to see his mates, and Yvonne, who all came to visit him.
‘You jammy devil!’ said Steve. ‘That’s you grounded for a while . . . Seriously, though, you’re due for a respite from it all, aren’t you?’
‘True enough,’ Simon agreed. ‘Only two more ops and then I would be due for some leave, but I can’t say I’m sorry to be missing them.’
‘Poor old Simon,’ said Yvonne, kissing his cheek. ‘Does it hurt very much?’
‘Yes, it’s bloody painful,’ he answered truthfully. ‘But it could have been much worse. There’ll be a scar where they got the bullet out, but what does that matter? Thanks for coming to see me. It’s strange to be lying here and being waited on.’
‘Make the most of it,’ said Yvonne. ‘You deserve it.’
She didn’t stay long, nor did she say ‘See you soon,’ or any such words; but Simon was quite sure he would see her again.
A few days later, when he was discharged from the hospital, he was asked to report to the Wing Commander. He was told that after his leave, which was due immediately, he was to be taken off flying duties. When he returned to the camp in two weeks time he was to be an instructor, teaching new recruits who were aiming to be navigators. He felt as though it was an answer to his prayers.
There was hardly time to say goodbye to his mates and to Yvonne. He caught up with her in the NAAFI to tell her his good news, but they were unable to spend much time together as she had promised to go out with some of her friends later that evening and she did not want to let them down.
‘Good luck, Simon,’ she said. ‘You deserve a break if anyone does. Enjoy your leave . . . and I’ll be seeing you.’ She kissed him fondly but without a great deal of passion, giving a cheery wave as she went out of the door with her friends.
He felt a little deflated. It would have been good to spend the evening with her, but they were not beholden to one another, and there was the boyfriend in the Merchant Navy that she never mentioned any mo
re.
He spent a little more time with his mates before going back to his hut and packing his kitbag ready for departure the next morning. His parents did not know he was coming home so soon, although they knew about his injury. It would be a nice surprise for them when he arrived, and he was looking forward very much to seeing them again.
Simon enjoyed his leave and the welcome rest and relaxation. It was good to see his parents again, and his sister, who came home from the farm where she was working as a land girl. He found, though, as the time drew near or him to return to camp that he was looking forward immensely to seeing Yvonne again.
On his return he was relocated to a different hut where he would be in charge of a group of AC2s, several of whom would be amongst the trainee navigators that he would instruct each day. He met his new room mates, unpacked his bags and settled in, and after the evening meal he made his way to the NAAFI, hoping to see Yvonne again. He could not see her when he entered the room, so he sat and chatted with a group of his old flying mates, catching up on what had happened during his absence. His eyes kept straying towards the door, looking out for the young woman he was now thinking of as his girlfriend. In a little while a group of Yvonne’s friends came in; Phyllis, Mavis and Eileen, all of whom he had met before. He was expecting Yvonne to follow, but she did not appear.
The trio of girls sat at a table, then Mavis got up and went to the counter. ‘Excuse me,’ Simon said to his pals. ‘I’ll just go and see if Yvonne is around.’
He expected a few meaningful guffaws or sly remarks, but the men were silent and he saw Steve and Andy glance warily at each other. He crossed the room and sat down next to Phyllis and Eileen. They greeted him in a friendly way, but he noticed a glance pass between them, as he had with the men.
‘Hi there, Simon. Enjoyed your leave?’
‘We’ve missed your smiling face. It’s not the same without you.’
‘Hello there,’ he said. ‘Yes, I’ve had a good rest more than anything, but it’s nice to be back. Er . . . is Yvonne around? I though she would be with you.’
Cast the First Stone Page 18
