There was no time for explanations as to where he had come from, and if they thought about it at all, their curiosity was brief. There was no time to think about anything but fighting off the attackers and saving the ship.
Throughout the fierce battle the Naafi staff did what was demanded of them. Several ran around providing cocoa and corned beef sandwiches to the usual grumbles: ‘Where’s the horseradish relish then, son?’ Or, ‘Are you sure you put sugar in this tea?’ Or the favourite, ‘Cocoa you say? Smells like tea and tastes like coffee, it must be cocoa.’
Some handed out food, some were involved in the fighting, others worked in the sick bay; several Naafi personnel were injured, some seriously, but fortunately there were none on the list of those who died.
The man who had been rescued from the sea was covered in oil and members of the crew were helped by Naafi staff as they washed him down and provided him with fresh clothes. He was weak with shock and said nothing after his initial bravado as they cleaned him up and prepared him to see the doctor. His watch, on the broken arm, was bent, the glass shattered, and it was doubtful whether it would ever work again.
‘What were you doing out there? Going in after them, now?’ One of the rescuers teased as he wrapped a towel around the man’s shoulders to support the injured arm.
‘Hoping for some fish, I was. The Naafi’s a bit short of something for tomorrow’s dinner,’ the exhausted man retorted. To their amazement he was one of the ship’s crew. He had been blown over the side with the first explosion and had narrowly missed being killed with the direct hit on the U-boat.
The double escape made him famous and from then on he swore he would considered himself immortal: ‘At least till I get home to the missus. She’ll kill me for ruining her father’s wrist watch,’ he joked as he headed for the sick bay.
There were only three survivors from the submarine. Covered thickly in oil from the surface of the sea, their eyes were red and painful and they were exhausted, trembling, believing they were going to die. As they were helped on to the ship and washed down, they were given a hot drink by one of Wesley’s staff. ’Gott sei dank,’ was all they said.
Once the remaining two planes had disappeared, and in an attempt to avoid being finished off by the enemy below the waves, the ship closed down and silence was the order. Nothing moved, even the slightest sound would help the listening U-boats to work out their position. U-boats hunted in packs, there would be others seeking revenge for the one they had destroyed.
When the captain decided they were safe to move, the ship began to make way on one engine, still with an ungainly list to starboard, and the Naafi reopened for business. The men had been awake and on duty for twenty-four hours.
Wesley was praised for his part in the battle, and as they limped into port, he lay, unable to sleep, and wondered if Ethel would think more kindly of him.
* * *
Duggie tried not to think about averages. Everyone mentioned them, the average life of a pilot, the average number of flights before ‘curtains’. He had done more sorties than many of the men on the field. People were beginning to look at him with admiration and with that certain superstitious anxiety. He looked around him at the fresh young faces of the new arrivals. They weren’t much younger than himself, but they had not yet had time to become weary or battle worn. To the young men, some only months his junior, Duggie was one of the old ones whose days were numbered. Believing him to be only days away from death, they were unnervingly polite.
He tried to talk to Ethel about how he felt, telling it as a joke, laughing at the gullibility of the fresh young sprogs, at the tricks the ‘old’ ones played on them, afraid of sounding scared. Counting the flights, remembering the averages, his dreams were filled with crashes, with the faces of the German pilots laughing at him as he spiralled down to the pitiless earth. He saw the faces of men who had gone; those who had died and others who had been injured and sent home. He saw too, expressions of sadness on the face of Ethel and wondered whether her grieving for him would be more or less than for the others who had failed to return. She showed love for him, but was it more than her being away from home, estranged from her family, and lonely for affection?
They met whenever they were both free, usually in the canteen after closing, where the warmth of the dying fire gave an illusion of comfort. Their loving was so intense that had their whereabouts been a luxurious bedroom or a barn, it wouldn’t have made it more perfect. There were occasions when they just talked, comforting each other by their shared warmth and forgetting for a while the horrors awaiting them, that could fall upon them at any moment. They both wondered if it was love on the part of the other, or the need for pretence.
It was near the end of June when Ethel realized she was several days late. There was no way of finding out whether a baby was the reason. She couldn’t go to the Medical Officer, she might be asked to leave and she had no idea where she would go. The thought frightened her very much and after two more weeks had passed, she confided her fears to Rosie.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said, wringing her hands together nervously. ‘I don’t know how Duggie really feels about me. He could be moved away tomorrow and I might never see him again. What will I do?’
‘Do nothing and tell no one until you’ve thought it through,’ Rosie said. ‘You do have somewhere to go – my Nan’ll have you. Our house is big and there’s plenty of room.’
‘Oh, Rosie,’ she smiled sadly. ‘You can’t expect her to take in a stranger with a baby and no husband.’
‘I know my Nan and I wouldn’t have to ask. I just know she’d agree. So, that’s one thing settled. But as for telling Duggie, that’s your decision. But you don’t have to tell him yet. Take your time and think about it, make plans for both reactions, get used to the idea and then you’ll be strong enough to tell him.’
‘Rosie, you’re wonderful.’
Rosie looked thoughtful for a moment then she smiled. ‘I suppose I must be if both you and my Nan think so.’
* * *
When Duggie heard that Ethel was being transferred he was immediately filled with panic. Like many pilots he was superstitious although he denied it vehemently. Ethel was his talisman; his survival depended on her being there to see him home.
He had gone to the canteen one morning and on seeing other girls there, had asked where he could find Ethel. He was told she was in the guard house awaiting transfer and he ran around the field afraid she would be gone.
It was July 1941 and the day was perfect. The sun was strong, the trees were in full leaf, a myriad shades of green, wild flowers were filling the fields with colour. Birds sang joyfully from the hedges, meadowsweet, around the edges of the field where wheat was growing, filled the air with its heady scent. In his panic, Duggie was aware of none of it.
The three girls were standing near the guard room with their suitcases, great coats over their arms, basking in the sun. Ethel and Rosie searched the field with their eyes, hoping for a last glimpse of Duggie. Kate was smiling at one of the men in the guard room who was staring back with obvious admiration. ‘Such a pity we’re leaving,’ she whispered to Ethel with one of her famous winks. ‘That one has the most dreamy smile.’
Rosie recognized Duggie first and nudged Ethel, who ran to greet him.
‘Why were you leaving without telling me?’ he demanded.
‘I left a note for you,’ she told him. ‘We didn’t know ourselves until six thirty this morning, less than two hours ago.’ She moved away from Rosie and Kate and they talked.
‘I don’t want to lose touch with you, Ethel. Please let me have your home address so I can find you even if we’re moved without being able to tell each other.’
‘I don’t have a home address,’ she replied, looking away from him.
‘Then the address of a friend. Please, Ethel. I don’t want you walking out of my life.’
‘Wait a moment.’ She went to where Rosie and Kate stood and after a hurried con
versation, she came back and wrote down both girls’ addresses. ‘I’m sure Kate, Rosie and I will stay in touch. You’ll be able to reach me through them. Now, can I have your home address?’ she asked, hiding her fear that he wouldn’t comply.
‘I’m being stood down in a few more days, being transferred to where I can help train the new lads.’
‘Thank heavens for that! Where will you be?’
‘I can’t tell you where but I’ll find you somehow.’ He handed her a piece of paper. ‘This is my home address. Don’t lose it, Ethel. I need you in my life, however short it is.’
‘Don’t talk like that, Duggie. I need you too,’ she said softly. She meant it, but at that moment it was more important for him to believe it. She was well aware that she was his good luck charm. Besides, if she had a child, he would want to know, even if his declaration of love was a temporary thing. She could never deprive him of a child.
She loved Duggie but there was still her family looming and threatening to spoil that love. Their moments of closeness eased away the terror for him, she knew that. For herself too there had been comfort in the promises, the pretence that everything would be fine, that the future was theirs to plan.
Yet if her parents found her, something would crumple inside her. She would be afraid to give him her love, her father would consider her wicked. Even now, thinking about it made her want to run away from the implications. Sometimes when she and Duggie were loving and close, the fear was there between the brief moments of passion that blanked out everything but desire and the pleasure of giving him her love.
Kissing was something she enjoyed but which, when imminent, sometimes still terrified her as she imagined her father watching, his temper rising, enjoying the feeling of terror he induced, before storming over to make his fists begin their warning. She looked away from Duggie and wondered whether she would ever be free of Dai Twomey, her father and her worst enemy.
One of the guards came out and spoke to Kate, who turned and beckoned to Ethel.
‘Seems we have to go,’ Ethel said, turning her face to offer her cheek. He pulled her around and held her lips with his own, and embarrassed at having such a large and entertained audience, she froze, then relaxed into the joy of it.
‘Come on, you can do all that later,’ Kate said coming towards them, carrying Ethel’s case as well as her own. ‘Seems it’s another false alarm. They can’t do without us just yet.’
‘Thank God,’ Duggie sighed.
Kate put down the cases and turned to wave at the handsome young airman in the guard room, before trudging back to their hut.
When Duggie took off later that day, Ethel stood with the rest and watched the flight leave. Her heart was racing as she imagined the way he was feeling, believing his luck was running out, convinced that with the hours he had spent flying and the number of flights undertaken and air battles fought growing, his chances of surviving were diminishing. In days he would be safely grounded but that knowledge only added to the stress of his last few take-offs and landings.
Through the hours that followed as she went through the routines of a normal day she wondered about him. Whenever she went outside her eyes would rake the benign blue skies for sight of the planes returning. When the first engines were heard she was afraid to go out.
‘Come on misery-guts,’ Kate called. ‘Come out and wave. You know the boys all look for us as they come in.’
Counting, trying not to count but unable to stop. Three fewer than there should be. Then two, then one. Minutes passed and still she stood and waited. Kate and Rosie went inside to make sure they were prepared for the men when they returned after debriefing. They’d be there demanding char and a wad before they knew it.
Then Ethel heard the sound of an engine. Not a normal sound, but one that told her the plane was in trouble. Spluttering, seeming to stop then cough itself into life again. Then she saw it, hanging to one side, its damaged tail plane alarmingly distorted, making its way towards them. Then it turned and made for the furthest end of the field. ‘Stupid fool, come in close to the fire wagons,’ she muttered. She knew he was convinced of an uncontrolled landing and a fire and he wanted to keep it away from the buildings and people. A final cough and sudden burst of speed then it was down, screaming along the ground, groundlooping, before disappearing from her sight behind the team of fire wagons and red cross ambulance that raced towards it. ‘No fire. Please God, no fire,’ she prayed as she watched the scene.
Frozen to the spot, unaware of Kate and Rosie’s calls, she stood and waited. Others had been watching too and as the stretcher was lifted into the back of the ambulance she ran towards it. The ambulance driver waited at Duggie’s request as she ran breathlessly towards them.
‘Hi, Ethel, hell of a poor landing, eh?’ Duggie said. ‘A ground loop. I’ll never live it down.’
Blood covered his face but she was assured by the team that he was ‘a lucky sod and he’s got hardly a scratch’.
‘We thought we might as well give him a ride as we were there,’ one of the men joked.
Later that day he came to find her, one side of his face wrapped in white bandage like that which had frightened Rosie many weeks before. He insisted he was fine. He was smiling, half of it hidden by the bandage, and Ethel wondered if having a crash landing had broken his average and he felt less vulnerable than before. All talk of his being stood down had been forgotten – a week later he was flying again.
After his first flight following the crash he invited her out.
She was certain about the baby now and knew Duggie had to be told, but not yet. She had to wait a while longer. He might think he had been trapped. After all, there had been no mention of their marrying. If he was worried and flying… She would blame herself if he was hurt, convince herself that she had caused him to lose concentration by telling him. It was no good, the news would have to wait until he was grounded. Then he’d be safe.
‘Yes, we could all go to the pictures.’ She forced a smile.
Duggie shook his head. ‘Just you, Ethel. Let’s leave Kate and Rosie out of it this time, shall we?’
She looked doubtful and he said softly, ‘I’m not like your father, I don’t hit out at every imagined insult. I love dogs and I’m kind to my grannie.’ He tried to make her smile but failed. ‘I won’t even kiss you if that’s what you prefer, although, I must tell you that I want to kiss you, and make love to you, more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.’
‘I don’t know…’
‘What’s wrong, love?’
How could she tell him?
‘Let’s go somewhere where we can talk, a café? Although,’ he said ruefully, ‘that wouldn’t be much of a change for a Naafi girl, would it?’
She agreed, having made up her mind that now was the time to tell him about the baby. Her heart raced as she wondered how he would react. He would probably ask her to marry him and she knew that was the sensible thing to do, but how could she? How could she meet his family and not tell them about her father? She couldn’t. She would have to pretend her own family didn’t exist and keep up that pretence all their lives. Not a good start to a marriage, lying to his family, living in fear of her father finding her.
They went into town in a car borrowed from one of the officers who owed Duggie a favour, but it petered to a halt before they had travelled more than a couple of hundred yards and they had to push it back inside the gate.
‘Damn,’ Duggie joked, ‘I planned for it to give out miles from home so we had to spend the night somewhere.’
They caught the bus, which was crowded with other men and women from the camp, and found a small restaurant with pork on their menu. They were given a corner table near a blacked-out window, and they ordered a meal.
‘I expect we’ll need a magnifying glass to find the pork,’ Ethel said.
‘At least the gravy should be tasty.’ He leaned over and held her hands with his. ‘D’you think they’ll let us mop it up with some bread?’
Ignoring the bus stop with the line of uniformed figures waiting to go back to camp, they walked. Ethel had not managed to bring up the subject of her condition, although she didn’t try very hard. It was so difficult to come out with such earth- shattering news on a walk through the mild summer evening. In a brief lull she took a deep breath to tell him she had something to say, but he interrupted, unaware of the effort she was making to tell him her news. It was another reprieve and she was thankful.
‘Talk to me about your father,’ Duggie said.
‘He’s a bully, what more is there to say?’
‘He didn’t always frighten you like he does now,’ he coaxed. ‘What happened to change things?’
‘I don’t know! That’s what’s making it worse. He’s always been hard on my brother, Sid. I think he was disappointed that Sid didn’t argue and fight like he did. He was always trying to make him fight and hitting him when he wouldn’t. Me, he more or less ignored. Just before my sister killed herself in that horrifying way, he started on me, calling me names, accusing me of being wicked. He began hitting my brother more than he usually did and my mother had horrifying bruises from his flying fists.
‘Something had happened that made my sister prefer dying to being alive, and sent my foul-tempered father crazy with hatred. But I don’t know what it was.’
He was watching her face in the dull light as they strolled along the quiet lane. Her expression and slight intonations in her voice made him ask, ‘But you do have a suspicion?’
‘I do, but it isn’t a very nice one.’
‘Tell me,’ he coaxed. They were near an isolated cottage, abandoned since the airfield came into being, and he pulled her into the protection of its walls.
‘You know that my father was in prison on several occasions? Two of them long sentences?’ She felt rather than saw his nod. ‘It was always for fighting or some other violent behaviour. On one occasion he was in prison for two years, found guilty of grievous bodily harm. Sid said he once narrowly missed going down for longer, charged with attempted murder. It was while he was in prison that I was born. I was more than a year old before I saw him for the first time.’ She hesitated a moment before adding, ‘Perhaps my father found out I am not his child.’
An Army of Smiles Page 11
