The twins have grown beyond all recognition. Little James is mad about planes and spends most of his time running around the house with his arms held out, pretending to be one. Nancy, on the other hand, plays with her dolls and is very much a Mummy’s girl. They both kept us all very busy but they are still sweet, adorable and loveable. I’m just happy that I don’t have the job of looking after them. This was, really, the first Christmas where they could actually appreciate what it was all about and the sitting room was a mess on Christmas morning with the paper and the toys and the chaos. I was glad to get out of the house for my walk, even if it was still very foggy and dank. I assume you weren’t flying in that. Your grandparents look very well and I think they missed having you there as much as I did. I had to face some very close questioning from your grandmother, especially after the painting was unveiled. In any event, I think everyone is happy that you and I get along so well.
Right, darling, duty calls. I have a lorry load of parts to deliver and, as you will know, the RAF waits for no one, so I must go.
I long for the day when I can see you again. Until then, take care.
Ilke
Hello, sweetheart,
Thanks for your letter. I’m glad that you liked the painting, although I’m sorry that I left you to try to explain why I sent it to you. As for my Christmas, it was messed up by the fact that we couldn’t land at Debden because of the weather. We were forced to land at another field, but the Debden cooks made sure that we didn’t want for anything and we received turkeys, whiskey and cigarettes to soften the blow. All in all, it wasn’t a bad Christmas, although, obviously, I wished I were elsewhere. We did have to work Christmas Day and, I’m proud to announce that our squadron was responsible for the three hundredth kill for the Fourth.
We have a new colonel. He’s not bad. I don’t think anyone will ever be able to replace Blakeslee. Colonel Stewart is a different kettle of fish from Blakeslee, but we all seem to get on pretty well. By the way, I have been promoted and am now Major Francis Robson, which means that I lead my own section now. Harry is now a Captain. That promotion is well deserved. Now we have a war to finish. I really hope it’s over soon. I’m so tired, darling, and I just long for peace and quiet and you.
Look after yourself for me.
Francis
* * * *
“Where on earth has the time gone?” Grace asked as they sat outside on the steps on a cool April evening.
“I don’t know.” Ilona watched the fading twilight. “When Francis said that it would all end this year, I didn’t really believe him because it seemed that there was so much left to be done, but I guess he was right.”
Across the channel, in Germany, cities were toppling under the advance of the allies. A pile of letters from Francis, safe in the case beneath her cot, testified to the steady, bloody fall of the enemy. His spring had been spent on strafing missions, shattering the spirit of the Luftwaffe. Every day, the BBC Home Service announced another milestone. Today had been no exception, with the news that Nuremberg had fallen to the American 7th Army and the Russians were engaged in the battle for control of Berlin, at the heart of the empire.
“What will you do when it’s all over?” Ilona asked Grace. “After all these years of working.”
She shrugged and lit a cigarette. “I have no idea. For a start, I’m going home and sleeping for a month, in my own bed, if my parents haven’t got rid of it. Beyond that, I don’t know. I’m hoping I can find a job in an office somewhere. What about you?”
“I have no idea. I probably won’t be driving lorries for a living. Think of all those men coming back from the war. They’ll be wanting jobs, so there won’t be room for me.”
“What about Francis?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to wait and see. I would like to think that he‘d finally tell me that he loves me and I can tell him the same. I know I want to spend the rest of my life with him, after over three years of snatching moments here and there and months wasted on misunderstandings. We haven’t talked about ‘after’ because it seemed like tempting fate.” She rested her chin on her hand. “I reckon he won’t be here for long when it’s all done because he told me that he has flown many more combat hours than he should have. He fiddled his logbook so that he could fly longer, and he’s even outlasted Blakeslee and he was, apparently, a master at fudging the books. Anyway, it means that when it’s all over, he’ll be sent home almost right away.” She sighed. “I just hope we get a chance to see each other before that happens. He told me to look out for him, in his plane, because he said if he gets the chance and he thinks he can get away with it, he’s buzzing this airfield because he says before this is all over, he wants me to see him fly.”
Grace laughed. “Are you serious? Is he mad?”
“He’s been flying for nearly six years. Of course he’s mad. I’d certainly like to see that happen.”
“So would I. I suppose we’d best keep our eyes peeled, then.”
* * * *
My darling,
I do believe it’s nearly over. Yesterday, we laid waste to enemy airfields around Prague. We had to dodge some heavy flak, not my favorite pastime, but I came back in one piece and we destroyed over one hundred planes at three airfields. I really hope that’s an end to it. I miss the dogfights, but I’ve had enough now. I’m tired beyond words.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I’m not going to write anything down, but, when this is all over and done with, I need to see you, darling. There’s a lot I need to say that would be best left unwritten. You are the reason I have stayed for so long. I could have gone home ages ago, but I wanted to see this war out with you. That’s all I will say for now. Look for me at home, after this is all over. I will find you.
I still intend to pay you a flying visit. Perhaps you had better warn the tower that they could expect a visit from two Mustangs with red noses. Harry is all for it too, and, being that he has been my wingman forever, it seems fitting that he comes along for the ride. I hope Stewart lets us get away with it.
Anyway, that’s enough for now, my darling. Look after yourself for me and, we will see each other soon.
Francis
* * * *
By the beginning of May, it was clear that there was little left to be done. The WAAF drivers dragged their chairs out of the depot and sat in the sunshine, chatting idly. Hitler was dead and Berlin had fallen to the Russians. The bombers were parked beside the runway. Their crews also enjoyed the sunshine, playing cards and waiting for orders that never came. The base had taken on an air of anticipation as everyone waited for news that it was all over. The skies were silent until the seventh of May when the silence was pierced by the roar of Merlin engines. Ilona heard them first and the girls ran as quickly as they could to the runway, making it just in time to see a pair of Mustangs take a low pass over the airfield. Someone must have radioed the tower, because there was no alarm or outrage, just a crowd of curious onlookers watching as the lead plane swept along the line of the runway, its wings glinting brightly in the afternoon sun. Both planes rose in a dizzying climb, circled around and did a beautifully executed Victory Roll as people cheered. Ilona wept, laughed and waved madly. She doubted that Francis could see her, but she didn’t mind, it was enough to know that he’d carried out his promise and carried it out with panache. She felt a fierce rush of pride as the two planes did one final pass before rising into the morning sun and veering toward the south. Their engines faded into a silence interrupted only by birdsong as the base returned to normal, the day’s excitement over. For a moment, Ilona remembered how it had all began, with the Spitfire shattering the peace of a drowsy September afternoon. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Even after nearly six years, the sound of the engines still thrilled her and part of her soared away with the rapidly disappearing planes.
* * * *
By the following day, it was all over. The bombers were disarmed and people were huddled around radios listening to the king’s speech
. It was no exception in the WAAF hut, where long-hidden bottles of whiskey and sherry were taken from their hiding places and everyone sat near the wireless while the windows were open to the May breeze and the sunlight.
“The German war is therefore at an end… Today we give thanks to Almighty God for a great deliverance, speaking from our Empire’s oldest capital city, war-battered but never for one moment daunted or dismayed. Speaking from London, I ask you to join with me in that act of Thanksgiving… Let us remember those who will not come back. Their constancy and courage in battle, their sacrifice and endurance in the face of a merciless enemy. Let us remember the men in all the services, and the women in all the services, who have laid down their lives. We have come to the end of our tribulation and they are not with us at the moment of our rejoicing…”
Ilona gazed past the knot of smiling WAAFs and out of the open window, remembering a long ago May and a man with blue eyes who’d once loved her. She raised her glass to his memory and took a long sip of whiskey. She wondered if, somewhere, somehow, Ian knew that it was all at an end. She wiped her eyes, determined not to cry on this day of all days.
“We shall have failed and the blood of our dearest will have flowed in vain if the victory which they died to win does not lead to a lasting peace, founded on justice and goodwill… To that, then, let us turn our thoughts to this day of just triumph and proud sorrow, and then to take up our work again, resolved as a people to do nothing unworthy of those who died for us, and to make the world such a world as they would have desired for their children and ours…”
By the end of the king’s speech, everyone was sniffling and hugging each other as the enormity of the occasion finally hit home. For the first time in nearly six years, they would all be at a loose end. They would be trying to retrieve the lives they’d left behind and moving on. The thought terrified her that all she had to do now was to go home, wait, and hope that there was room in Francis’ life for her. She glanced at his photograph.
“Are you all right, Ilke?” Grace asked.
“I think so. I know we’ve expected this, but now that it’s all over and done with, it’s scary.”
“Yes,” she sighed. “It is a bit scary, but I’ll worry about that when I’ve woken up with a thumping hangover tomorrow.”
The NAAFI opened its doors shortly after the king’s speech and, for the first time in ages, it was packed with pilots, ground crew, WAAFs…personnel of every rank. There was free beer and music and even Ilona allowed herself to be persuaded to dance long into the night. A few souls started a bonfire out on the field and everyone stood outside under the waning moon and the stars and sang until their throats were sore and the sun began to creep over the flat, eastern horizon, flooding the silent Brecks with a pale, rosy light. The dawn pierced Ilona’s soul, and she thought—with a sharp pang—of home, of the trees and the fields dozing under the late spring sunlight and of Papa reading his paper and Mama waiting for her. It was time to go home.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Aislinn’s voice drifted out of the open window and onto the lawn as Ilona called to Maeve and Golly and set off for a walk. She’d been home for three weeks and there had been no word from Francis. She’d written to him before leaving Mildenhall, to tell him that she was going home but had heard nothing. She hoped that it was because he was busy tidying things up and getting ready to leave. As May began to creep to a close, she’d forced herself to face the fact that her future would not have Francis in it. Her parents maintained a tactful silence, although she could tell that her mother was dying to say something. The only comfort she had was that the Reardons hadn’t heard from him either.
She headed into the woods and followed the old, familiar path along the edge of the field to Anna’s bench. She had spent a lot of time there since her return, thinking. She was sure that Anna had spent a lot of time there doing the very same thing. The little wild garden was at its best with a riot of love-in-a-mist spilling across the chamomile in a blue haze. Foxgloves nodded against the wall, full of bees and pollen. She thought that Anna would be pleased to know that her refuge still existed and that it was still ablaze with color in the late spring. She sat and pulled her knees up under her chin, wrapping her arms around her legs as she watched the breeze move through the rich, green barley in languid, silvery waves. Golly ran into the woods in search of burrows that needed widening and Maeve dropped heavily at her feet and rested her graying muzzle on her front paws with a sigh. The land slept under a tawny haze, the sun was lost behind high, wispy clouds and Ilona thought that she could smell rain.
The twins were wearing her out. They had passed into the terrible twos and even her beloved James was showing a willful streak. The house was never quiet because Charlie had moved in and was at a loose end while he tried to decide what to do. He’d left the Navy and didn’t want to return to London. Ilona suspected that he’d become too used to the country life and the ease of living in a big house. Her parents wouldn’t have the heart to tell them to leave and she didn’t want to spend her days seeking refuge from the noise and chaos caused by the children. It was her house too, but she felt like a lodger. She missed her friends, the nightly chatter and the visits to the pub. She missed the freedom, she missed the driving and the roads and the wintry Brecks. She missed the moors and the snow. She missed the roar of the bombers when they took off and she missed listening to the radio with the other girls. She missed Francis’ letters and she missed writing to him. It seemed that she had fought for a life which now had little purpose. She hadn’t signed up to fight a war that would give her the right to sit and do nothing but read books all day. She wondered whether she should leave home and find a college somewhere, where she could learn how to make a living. She hated the thought of working in an office, having managed to avoid it for five years, but she could not see herself driving lorries forever.
She wished that Aislinn had not been singing that song because now it was caught in her head. “I’ll be seeing you,” she whispered, her throat tight.
“I’m an idiot, Maeve. A complete and utter idiot.”
Maeve sighed and continued to doze while Golly ran riot in the woods, barking because he’d probably found a hole worth widening. Ilona hoped that the terrier would not be bitten again. His muzzle was crisscrossed with scars from the bites of angry animals that he’d unwisely disturbed in the past. He was a terrible patient and she knew that she would be the one that would have to wrestle with him to dress his latest wound. She waited for the inevitable yelp of pain and indignation that was sure to follow but, instead, he kept barking. Maeve lifted her shaggy head, her tail thumped softly on the chamomile, releasing perfume from the bruised leaves.
“What is it, old girl?” Ilona asked, as the dog climbed to her feet and stared along the track. Golly was in a frenzy of barking and she began to think that he might have got himself stuck in a burrow, which he sometimes managed to do. She stood with a sigh. “I suppose we’d better go and see what the fuss is about.”
Maeve loped down the track, barking once.
Francis walked up the slope toward her, ignoring Golly, who wove frantic circles around his legs. His eyes were brilliant and the breeze tugged at his hair. He wore his uniform and the vague sunlight glinted dully on the Major’s pins and on the wings on his tunic. For a moment, she froze to the spot and just watched him. Then, somehow, she found the presence of mind to walk toward him and he swept her up into his arms and held her tightly in silence for a long time, while Golly clamored around them and Maeve yawned and returned to the bench.
“Ah, God, Ilke,” he whispered into her hair. “Ilke.”
She breathed in the scent of his skin and clung to him, weeping.
He stepped back and took her face in his hands. “Don’t cry, my darling,” he whispered. “Please don’t cry.”
“All right, I’ll try, I really will.”
“I’m sorry that I haven’t written. I wanted to, but it’s just been too busy. I haven’t had t
ime to draw breath and as I said in my last letter, everything that I wanted to say to you, I wanted to tell you myself.” He kissed her. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”
“I was hurt. I’ve been spending the last three weeks trying to figure out what I had done wrong.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong, my love. Believe me.”
He put his arm around her waist and they walked back to the bench. He pulled her gently down beside him. “I should have known I’d find you here. Ash told me that you’d gone for a walk. I should have looked here first.” He touched her face. “I haven’t got a lot of time, darling, but I have a lot to say so please be patient and bear with me.”
“I will.”
He took her hand. “There’s something about this place. It’s like a confessional. I always seem to end up telling you everything here.” He looked at the sky and swallowed. “Nearly six years ago, I realized that I was my father’s son after all. I don’t have his gift with words. I don’t have his calm or his common sense but it seems that in one thing, I’m just like him. When I came here, it was because I loved flying and I’d wanted nothing more than to join the RAF. Then, one day, I came to this big, rambling house set in big, rambling grounds. The place was so old that it looked like it had grown out of the soil like the trees that surrounded it. To me, it was just another social call. I remember standing there in the hall, surrounded by hugging relatives and milling dogs and not looking forward to making polite conversation, yet again. Then I looked up the stairs and I was lost. That’s how I knew that I was my father’s son. I don’t even remember seeing Aislinn. All I saw was you in that green dress. There was fire in your hair and I knew exactly how Dad had felt when he’d seen my mom for the first time. I’m not like my father because I’d lacked the wit to say anything that would make you see me. I turned into a complete wordless idiot. The more I tried to think of something to say, the angrier I got with myself and the more it made me look like an arrogant jerk. It was very clear that you weren’t impressed and that made me feel even worse.” He shook his head. “I walked back to my grandparents kicking myself and wondering how I could make amends. When you turned up two days later I thought, perhaps, I could get things right. That’s why I invited myself to go with you to the village, but I made a hash of that too. Then, to top it all off, instead of just saying goodbye to you that night, like a normal person, I had to make my parting words sound like a bloody threat.” He rolled his eyes and smiled. “I was a real idiot, darling. I’m sorry.”
A Kestrel Rising Page 27
