A Kestrel Rising

by S. A. Laybourn

  “Not here. I’d have to write to Ash. She’d send me one. She and Papa ran amok with the camera at Christmas because of the twins, so there’s bound to be one.”

  “This is all getting rather more than a case of needing each other, isn’t it? I know that you love him, and I’d definitely say he’s in love with you.”

  “Whatever the case, I suppose we’ll have to wait until the end of the war. One thing I’ve learned about Francis is that once he’s made up his mind about something, it won’t be changed.”

  * * * *

  My dearest Francis,

  I’m sorry for the delay in replying, but I had to wait for Ash to send me a photograph from home, which is enclosed. I don’t know if you remember but, because of the twins, Papa and Ash got rather carried away with his camera at Christmas, so I asked Ash to find one. I loathe having my picture taken, but I have to admit, even I can bear to look at it. I hope it will do. As for your photograph, thank you. I have a frame for it and it stands on the upended crate that serves as my bedside table. I can’t tell you how much I longed for you when I saw that picture, and how much I still do, every time I look at it. I miss you so much, my darling.

  It’s very much the same as ever here. I’m busy doing my rounds, delivering parts and supplies and whatever else needs to be driven all over the Brecks and Fens. At least the weather has been kind and there’s a lot to be said for driving around the countryside on a sunny day with the window rolled down and, yes, singing my head off. I was offered a promotion, again, but I just can’t bear the thought of being stuck in an office, so I politely declined. I really don’t see myself stuck behind a desk, especially on lovely summer days. There’s too much to see. I still get my cup of tea and sandwich when I go to Newmarket, even after three years. I suppose, in these uncertain times, it’s good to have things that never change.

  I’m sorry to hear about the extended tours. It is fortunate that we managed Cambridge before that happened. It’s so frustrating, darling, being only a few miles apart, and not being able to see each other more than a scant handful of days. I really hope that these longer hours don’t wear you down too much and that you get a chance to relax and, perhaps, nip off to the pub. Speaking of which, that is where we are headed, shortly. It’s been a long week, I’ve put miles on the lorry, and I have a bit of a sore throat from singing all the time. Still, at least I’m safe.

  Take care of yourself. I need you and I miss you.

  Ilke

  Aislinn had taken the photograph. Ilona thought it might have been taken a day or two after she arrived home, while things between her and Francis were still broken. Ash had found her seeking refuge on her yellow settee, her legs curled underneath her as she rested her chin on her hand. One of the twins was just off camera, reaching for the stable cat’s tail and the camera had caught her smiling. It was not much of a smile, but, given her state of mind at the time the picture was taken, it was not bad. She tried to think of something appropriate to write on the back, thinking through her meager memories of poems from her school days

  …would I were, in Grantchester, in Grantchester!

  She wrote the line from The Old Vicarage, Grantchester and put the picture in the envelope with the letter, hoping he would like it

  * * * *

  Ilona returned from a short run on a brilliant early June morning. The Lancasters had left early and it was strange for them to be up during the day. She had spent the previous few days shuttling a lot of parts to the satellite bases where there seemed to be more activity than usual. It was at the back of her mind, what Francis had told her—that he thought something big was in the offing. Her suspicions were confirmed when she returned to the depot office and the desk sergeant was listening intently to the wireless, along with a couple of WAAF clerks. One of them beckoned her over.

  “Have a listen,” she told her.

  Ilona stood, arms folded as the announcer spoke.

  “This is the BBC Home Service and here is a special bulletin read by John Snagge. D-Day has come. Early this morning the Allies began the assault on the northwestern face of Hitler’s European fortress. The first official news came just after half past nine when Supreme Headquarters of the Allied Expeditionary Force issued Communiqué Number One. This said ‘Under the command of General Eisenhower, Allied Naval forces, supported by strong air forces, began landing Allied armies this morning on the northern coast of France…’”

  As soon as Ilona heard the words, ‘strong air forces’, she knew where Francis was and prayed that he would be all right. She picked up her orders and returned to her lorry to continue her work, considering it was best to be busy. She rolled the window down and heard the drone of the returning bombers as she headed out of the gates for another delivery.

  * * * *

  The day seemed endless and the skies were busier than usual. The Desk Sergeant had told Ilona that the bombers were flying multiple missions to support the landings and Ilona wondered if the Fourth was doing the same. In the hut that night, everyone huddled around the radio, listening to every broadcast, trying to glean every fragment of information as to how the invasion was going. No one spoke much, and Ilona kept glancing at the photograph next to her cot, hoping that her namesake was keeping Francis safe and high above the flak and ground batteries.

  “Here is the news read by Joseph MacLeod. All still goes well on the coast of Normandy. Mr. Churchill, in a second statement to the Commons this evening, reported that in some places, we’ve driven several miles into France. Fighting is going on in the town of Caen, between the Cherbourg Peninsula and Le Havre. Six hundred and forty guns of the Allied Navies bombarded the German coast defenses in support of our troops. Our great airborne landings—the biggest in history—have been carried out with very little loss. About four thousand ships with thousands of smaller craft crossed the Channel this morning after the Allied assault had been postponed twenty-four hours through bad weather. On the beaches, opposition was less than expected but heavy fighting still lies ahead. All through the night and today, air support has been on a vast scale. Thirty-one thousand allied airmen have been over France during today alone…”

  Ilona retreated to her cot and picked up the photograph. She sat in silence for a long time, just gazing at Francis’ rare and beautiful smile and ached for him, offering a silent prayer for his safekeeping.

  * * * *

  It had been a long day. The invasion was, after a few days, going well, but the satellite bases needed a lot of deliveries and Ilona had spent, by her reckoning, eight hours on the road. The late afternoon drive was miserable because the rain fell relentlessly and it was dark enough that she had to turn her headlights on. She was soaked by the time she returned to the hut, wanting nothing more than a hot shower, supper, then to crawl into bed. All thoughts of comfort, however, were dispelled when she found an envelope on her bed with the much-loved, familiar, careless scrawl across the front of it. She sat on her cot and opened the letter.

  My darling Ilke,

  I’m sorry—so very sorry—that I haven’t written, I know you’ve been worried, but I also know that you will realize how busy we’ve been. Nonetheless, I hope you’ll forgive me for not writing sooner. I can’t tell you what hell D-Day was for us. The day before, we flew a regular mission and then, at ten that night the Colonel told what was happening. We had a briefing, which didn’t finish until eleven. After that, we got all of two hours sleep and we flew our first sortie at around three in the morning. We flew a sweep with the 335th over Rouen. We got back to base just before ten. On our third sortie, we nailed a troop train and then ran into bandits on the way back. I know we shot down four and I think I may have got one, I’m not sure. We had another mission. I was exhausted at the end of the day. I was almost hallucinating by the time we were done, I was that tired. I really don’t want another day like that, again. All that work and not much in the way of results, but, still, at least I got back in one piece.

  Now, we think, we may be going o
n a little out-of-country trip. Today we were all ordered to learn how to refuel our planes and how to give them a daily once-over. Usually our crews deal with that, so the fact that we’ve had to learn makes more than one of us think we’re off overseas for a while. I hope it’s not for too long. The popular choices are either Russia or Italy. Italy sounds better, and Russia just doesn’t appeal at all. I will try and keep you posted, and I’ll bring you a memento, if I get a chance.

  Speaking of mementoes, thanks for your photograph. My God, Ilke, you are beautiful. I can’t even begin to tell you what I thought when I saw that picture. I even went into Thaxted and found a frame for it. Then, I decided I’d best keep it with me, so when I go on a mission, you go with me. There’s a perfect place in the cockpit, on the controls. There you are, reminding me that I need to watch out and get back to you in one piece. I know I’m being a sentimental fool, but you seem to bring that out in me. Your sister took a splendid photograph. I look at it and I see you, the real you and, yes, I would rather be in Grantchester too. I miss you so much that it hurts.

  Until later, my darling, take care,

  Francis

  Ilona reread the letter, hearing his voice speak the words that he’d written. She imagined him lounging on his bed, propped up against a pillow, writing while life in the quarters carried on around him.

  “So,” Grace asked, “did he like the photograph?”

  She nodded. “Enough to carry it with him when he goes on his missions.”

  “How sweet!”

  “It is, isn’t it? I don’t know what to think.”

  “Don’t. Take my advice, Ilke. Don’t think too much, just look forward to the day when this is all over.”

  “It looks like he’s leaving the country for a while, so I probably won’t get any letters until he gets back.”

  “But think how nice it will be when he does get back and writes to you. There’s no reason why you can’t write to him while he’s away because then, he’ll have letters waiting for him when he gets back.”

  She smiled. “That’s a good idea. I’ll just carry on as if he’s still here.”

  * * * *

  My darling,

  I know that you probably aren’t at Debden at the moment and are, probably, somewhere that you don’t want to be, but I decided to write to you anyway, so that you have a letter or two waiting for you when you return. I hope that wherever you are, you are all right.

  I’m glad that you liked the photograph. I’m looking at your picture, as I write this. I hope that my namesake keeps you safe. Don’t worry about a memento. All I really want is for you to come back to me. You nearly made me cry with what you said about my photograph, but I pulled myself together and I thank you for saying such sweet things, I rather like that I make you feel like a sentimental fool, because you have the same effect on me, so I suppose it’s only fair. I keep thinking of you every time I hear, “I’ll Be Seeing You” and I sing it on my trips quite often.

  I have a day’s leaving coming up on the sixth. I have no idea what I will do with it. A day’s leave without you in it seems wasted. I wish you were here.

  I’m off out to post this now, and I’ll look at the moon and think of you.

  Take care, darling.

  Ilke

  * * * *

  Ilona sat on the edge of her cot, stared out of the window and wondered what to do with her day. It was too late to catch a bus to Newmarket to watch the horses and she didn’t feel like shopping in Bury St. Edmunds on her own. It had been two weeks since she had heard from Francis and she tried to push her worries aside as she looked at her shoes and wondered whether she should go for a walk. Anything had to be better than sitting and staring at her feet. She turned as the hut door swung open and one of the girls hurried in, clutching a folded piece of paper.

  “This just came for you.” She handed the paper to Ilona with a grin.

  It was just a scrap of lined paper from an office. Ilona opened it and wondered who would be sending her notes on scraps of office stationery. She stared at the familiar scrawl for a moment or two, her hands shaking.

  Francis Robson requests the pleasure of your company for the day. You will find him waiting at the main gate. Just bring yourself and be quick about it.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “From your boyfriend.” She nodded toward the photograph. “Don’t just sit there gawping, Ilke. He really is waiting, you know.”

  “Really?” She felt the familiar, delicious twist of her gut at the thought of seeing him again.

  “Really and he looks even better in real life than he does in that photograph.” Another grin. “Now I’d better get back to the office before I get in trouble.” She disappeared as quickly as she came, leaving Ilona hurrying to sort out her hair before she rushed out of the hut.

  Her blood sang when she saw him. His hands were in his trouser pockets as he paced the pavement beyond the main gate. He glanced up when she walked swiftly toward him and his smile made the worry and the heartache worthwhile. She never tired of the sight of him in that uniform.

  “Darling,” he whispered against her throat as Ilona found herself swept up in his arms.

  She clung to him, trembling. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “Believe it.” He kissed her, bruising her lips before he stepped back. “It’s a lovely day and I’m taking you for a picnic.”

  “You are?”

  “Somewhere quiet and remote.” He kissed her again. “Where no one can find us. I brought the food and a blanket.” He opened the car door for her. “I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am to see you, darling.”

  He slid in beside her and started the car. “You know the roads around here. Where should we go?”

  “Head for Brandon.” She told him. “It’s not far and there’s some quiet spots up on the Brecks, provided we stay south of town. If we go too far north, we’re likely to get run over by tanks.” Ilona watched him as he turned the car out toward the main road. She touched his hand to reassure herself that he was real.

  “Did you miss me?” He touched her cheek.

  “Yes.”

  “I hated being so far away from you. There were times when I wondered whether I’d get back in one piece. I hope I never have to go to Russia again.” He shifted gears.

  Ilona winced at the grinding noise.

  “Have I told you how much I hate Harry’s car?”

  She told him to take a right turn onto a narrow lane south of Brandon. It soon turned into a rough track that led out onto a wild, untouched stretch of tall grass, heather and clumps of wind-blown trees.

  “Well, this is certainly quiet and out of the way,” Francis said as the car bounced along the track, kicking up clouds of pale sand.

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  He pulled the car over at the top of a small rise crowned with a copse of trees. “Will this do? I don’t think the car can take any more.”

  Ilona opened the door and stood in the high, yellow grass. The land was silent, apart from the warm breeze as it shifted through the grass and the trees. “It’s perfect,” she replied. The heather was alive with bees and their faint hum tugged at Ilona’s memory for a moment. She looked at Francis and knew that her mother was right. That there were different kinds of love, and she was weak with what she felt.

  “It is.” He handed her a folded blanket and took a small box from the boot of the car. “Food,” he told her. “Don’t worry, none of it’s Russian. It’s all from the base.”

  She spread the blanket on a flat patch of ground beneath a tree. High grass rose all round them and a robin chattered in the branches above.

  “I’m getting rid of these.” Francis removed his jacket and wrestled with his tie. He rolled his shirtsleeves up and grinned at her. “Your turn.”

  She was glad to get rid of the jacket and tie and she was aware that he watched her as she unfastened the top button of her shirt to free her neck from the eternal torment of the starched
collar.

  “I don’t know that I’m ready for anything to eat yet,” he said, softly. His hand strayed to her face. “How about you?”

  “No, not yet.” Ilona closed her eyes when he kissed her. His lips trailed from her mouth to her throat and he slid his fingers beneath the buttons of her shirt. They yielded to his touch.

  “Ilke.” He eased her back onto the blanket. “I’ve thought of no one but you. It’s been hell being so far away. I’ve run out of ways to say how much I miss you.”

  Ilona looked at him, her hand on his face. “Then don’t.” She ached for him. “There’s no need for you to say anything.”

  His answer was to cover her mouth with his own. Then, there was no need for words for some time.

  * * * *

  “The Russians are insane,” Francis said as they rested after lunch.

  Ilona gazed up at the sky and watched a kestrel, a distant speck above the grass and the trees. Francis’ head rested on her stomach while she stroked his hair.

  He turned and rested on his side, facing her. “I did have white bread and jam. But that was the only highlight of the trip. I can’t remember the last time I had white bread.”

  “White bread was the high point of the whole trip?” She giggled. “What was the low point?”

  “It’s a toss-up between running to the trench during an air raid in nothing but my shorts, or the armed soldier standing by the toilet block.”

  “Oh dear, that sounds a bit rough.”

  He kissed her stomach. “It was. You wouldn’t believe how the Russians dealt with the unexploded shells.”

  “How?” She quivered as his lips moved across her skin.

  “They shot them.”

  “Good heavens.” She caressed his cheek.

  He propped himself up on his elbows. “It’s all over and done with now. I’m here, with you, and that’s all I wanted.”