Out of the Blue

by Val Rutt

  Sammy held out his hand.

  ‘You must be Charlie – pleased to meet you.’

  Charlie extended his hand slowly and, after quickly scanning the uniform, he stared hard at the serviceman’s face. This was the first American that he had seen close up. His main experience was from the cinema and this specimen was disappointing – no suntanned swagger, no chiselled features; nothing at all to suggest a hero. He was not especially tall, his hair was mid-brown and his eyes were more of a non-colour than anything that might catch your attention. His complexion was pale and he had dark circles beneath his eyes. There was nothing that told Charlie that he was in the presence of a fighter pilot. In fact this lean young man was barely more grownup than Charlie was himself.

  Yet, once he had hold of Charlie’s hand, the American grinned and a pair of creases ran in curves, from the corners of his eyes to the widely drawn edges of his mouth. Charlie smiled back.

  ‘I have something that belongs to you outside. D’you wanna come and see what you think?’ Sammy gestured towards the front of the house with a nod of his head.

  ‘My bicycle?’ Charlie’s voice faltered and he flashed Kitty a quick look. ‘Is it all right?’

  ‘I’ve got the kettle on,’ Aunt Vi called from the kitchen as they moved to leave the house. ‘Uncle Geoff will be home in a minute and then we’ll have our tea, so don’t you be long out there.’

  Once outside, Sammy strode up the path and out the gate followed by Charlie and then Kitty. He reached the rowan tree that had been allowed to grow through the hedge. Propped against it was Charlie’s bicycle and Kitty understood why it had taken longer than she had expected for him to arrive at the gate.

  With his back to them, Sammy took hold of the saddle and handlebars and lifted the bicycle round and placed it in front of Charlie as if he were presenting him with a prize.

  ‘I know the colour’s not right but it’s all I could find,’ Sammy said. ‘It’s what’s used on the Spitfires if they need touching up.’

  ‘Spitfires,’ Charlie repeated. ‘Spitfires? Oh my gosh, oh my gosh! Spitfires!’

  He took hold of the bicycle, swung himself on to the saddle and pedalled away down the road.

  Sammy laughed. ‘Well, he seems pleased with it.’ He turned to Kitty. ‘Looks like he won’t kill you after all.’

  Kitty thanked him and smiled back. They stood in front of each other smiling, while Kitty thought to herself, Say something else, stop staring like a fool and say something – but she could do nothing but hold his gaze and smile. Charlie came cycling towards them, his arms out like wings, and they laughed.

  They returned to the gate and met Uncle Geoff coming the other way. Charlie had dismounted and was inspecting the stripes of white paint that now adorned his mudguards.

  ‘So you can be seen at night,’ Sammy said, ‘in the blackout.’

  ‘Charlie’s only fifteen – we don’t let him ride about at night,’ Uncle Geoff said quietly.

  ‘No sir, I only thought – you know, maybe in wintertime for when it’s darker.’

  Sammy stood straight and gave the older man his full attention. Kitty held her breath. She desperately wanted Uncle Geoff to like him.

  ‘Well, maybe he won’t need them come the winter,’ Uncle Geoff said. ‘Now that we have the help of the United States Army, this war will be over by Christmas – isn’t that what people are saying?’

  ‘Sammy joined up as soon as he was old enough – he’s been here since ’41,’ Kitty said. Uncle Geoff looked at her and away again.

  ‘Look,’ Charlie said, wheeling the bicycle towards his uncle. ‘Sammy’s painted the frame with Spitfire paint.’

  ‘Has he now?’ said Uncle Geoff, glancing down at the bicycle then back at Sammy. ‘I wouldn’t have thought the Air Force had paint to spare for boys’ bicycles.’

  Kitty’s heart sank; she could see no hope for Sammy now.

  ‘Well, no sir, you’re absolutely right – it hasn’t. I waited for the ground crew to finish a repair and I kind of worked the brush clean on Charlie’s bicycle.’

  There was a pause and Uncle Geoff nodded and held out his hand.

  ‘Mr Bellamy.’

  ‘Samuel Bailey, sir – pleased to make your acquaintance.’

  Aunt Vi called them in for tea and Kitty stole an admiring glance at Sammy – it might be too soon to say, but it seemed to her as though he had just achieved the impossible and won round Uncle Geoff. He caught her looking at him and smiled.

  The next time Kitty saw Sammy was the following Tuesday evening at a Welcome Committee Concert organised by Mrs Parkes and Reverend Howles at the request of the American Red Cross. It was due to start at seven o’clock, but Kitty arrived at the village hall at six-thirty with the other members of the choir for a last rehearsal. After they had climbed the steps to the stage and found their places, Mrs Parkes told them what an important job they were doing. Kitty stared intently at Mrs Parkes and tried to stand up straight while Dora jabbed her in the ribs with her elbow.

  ‘These young men are just like your fathers, brothers and sons – they are a long way from home and no doubt missing their families very much. It’s important that we share with them our values and standards and show them some decent society.’

  Kitty knew that Mrs Parkes was shocked that some of the town girls had been seen walking out with American soldiers, because she had overheard her talking to Auntie Vi about it. ‘Consorting,’ she had called it.

  They were singing ‘Linden Lea’ for the second time when the door opened and Sammy stepped into the hall.

  Kitty could be relied upon to carry the melody with confidence, and so Mrs Parkes glanced up from the piano when she heard her falter. Sammy raised a hand in apology and retreated backwards through the open door. The gesture had been aimed at Mrs Parkes and the vicar, standing beside her as page turner, but somehow Sammy had managed to catch Kitty’s eye and smile at her. As the door closed behind him, a wave of murmured interest spread through the choir and Dora turned to Kitty and raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Ladies, please, ladies!’ Mrs Parkes called sharply. ‘We haven’t much time. Let’s run through it once more, if you please!’

  She adjusted her music, flapping away the vicar’s hands as he tried to assist her before adding, ‘And will you kindly concentrate, Kitty Danby!’

  Kitty’s mind was overwhelmed by the intensity of her feelings. So much so that she felt disconnected from what was happening around her. She didn’t take in a word of the vicar’s lengthy welcome speech. And the musical recitals, the singing, serving tea and making polite conversation to khaki-clad Americans passed by with Kitty not noticing anything but her own state of excitement. She kept reliving the happy shock of seeing Sammy smiling at her from the doorway. The hall was crowded and they spoke only briefly, but in Kitty’s memory of that night it was as though she and Sammy had been the only two people there.

  Each time she looked across the hall, she found him immediately, and no sooner had her eyes rested on him than he had looked away from the person he was addressing and their eyes met. Similarly each time she glanced away from the face before her, it would be to find Sammy looking at her.

  When it was over, Aunt Vi had the job of washing up the cups and saucers and tidying the hall and Kitty helped her. By the time they left, dusk was falling. It had been hot inside and as they stepped out into the chill air, Aunt Vi paused to put on her cardigan.

  ‘Well, you sang beautifully, Kitty dear, as usual. I shall write and tell your mum all about it in my next letter – she would have loved to have heard you, my word, she would.’

  Most people had dispersed, but a small group of airmen stood to one side of the door talking and laughing. Sammy was with them and he turned towards them, still grinning from the shared joke. He spoke to Aunt Vi.

  ‘Ma’am, I’d like to walk you and Kitty home, if I may.’

  Before she could reply Charlie rode up on his bicycle and screeched to a stop beside them.r />
  ‘Ah, here’s my chaperone,’ said Aunt Vi, ‘but I daresay that Kitty will be glad of the company, Sammy.’

  As they set off for home, Charlie dismounted and, wheeling his bicycle beside him, he fell into step with Sammy.

  ‘Our mum drives an ambulance in London,’ he said.

  ‘Kitty didn’t tell me that,’ Sammy replied, turning towards Kitty and smiling broadly. Charlie dropped back, moved behind Sammy then sped up on his other side, pushing his front wheel between Sammy and his sister.

  ‘She used to work in munitions but now she’s a driver. I can’t wait till I drive. What’s it like flying a Spitfire?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, it’s great. I mostly fly a Mustang now,’ Sammy said, reluctantly turning his attention from sister to brother.

  ‘Won’t you tell me what it’s like though?’ Charlie persisted.

  Aunt Vi shook her head. ‘Come on, Charlie, let’s you and I go on ahead and leave Kitty and Sammy to get to know each other a bit.’ Then to Sammy she said, ‘Will you join us again for Sunday dinner – you can satisfy this boy’s curiosity then.’

  Flying schedule permitting, Sammy accepted and Aunt Vi shooed Charlie away. Kitty and Sammy walked on in silence for a few minutes until the shadowy figures of Aunt Vi and Charlie, wheeling his bicycle beside her, disappeared in the gloom.

  ‘You know, I shouldn’t be here by rights,’ Sammy said at last, ‘in Kent, I mean. I made an emergency landing a few weeks ago – I’m still getting fixed up.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Kitty. ‘Were you hurt?’

  Sammy shook his head and laughed. ‘No, I’m fine – it’s my plane that took it bad. It was going to be my last flight for a while – I was due R and R after that – you know? Rest and recuperation? But now I’ve volunteered for something that means I have to stay here a while.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll be able to come on Sunday?’ Kitty asked.

  ‘I hope so – but I was wondering if I could see you sooner than that.’

  Kitty felt her insides tipping over.

  Sammy went on. ‘This will maybe sound like a mean thing to say but I sure am glad that you fell off that bike.’

  Kitty laughed. ‘Yes, well I’m glad that you came along and found me – though I’m not glad that you made an emergency landing – I don’t like the sound of that.’

  Sammy stopped walking and touched his fingers against her elbow. ‘It was kinda hair-raising – I never thought that I wasn’t gonna make it, but it was a close thing.’

  ‘Sometimes we hear engines spluttering out and I always try to imagine the pilot inside, and hope that somehow he knows that I’m wishing him safely down.’

  Sammy imagined how it might be to fly a mission having this girl willing him home and he suddenly understood what had been intriguing him and drawing him to her. Talking to her was as easy as thinking.

  ‘I flew over your house the day after I found you. I was test-flying a Spitfire and I wanted to have a look at your place from the sky.’

  Kitty thought, He flew over my house. She said, ‘I’d love to see that.’

  ‘Well, actually, I was hoping to see you.’

  ‘And did you?’ Kitty caught her breath and tried to remember.

  ‘No, I saw your uncle working in the garden but you were nowhere to be seen.’

  ‘I would have waved,’ Kitty said. It was too dark to see his face properly, but she could feel his attention on her and the warmth in his hand. Sammy’s fingers slid down her arm and found her hand and they walked on.

  ‘So, can I see you tomorrow? It’ll be around nine by the time I get free. It’s kind of late – do you think it’ll be okay?’

  ‘Yes, I should think it would be all right.’ Kitty felt certain that Aunt Vi would be pleased to see Sammy; she could imagine her plumping up the cushions for him and offering him a cup of Ovaltine. But she was not sure that Uncle Geoff would welcome him.

  ‘I’ll tell Aunt Vi to expect you,’ she said, secretly hoping that it would be one of Uncle Geoff’s nights to meet Tom Farrell for a drink at the pub.

  They continued to dawdle home. Kitty listened carefully as Sammy described the home farm where his mother made cakes that he called snow buns because they melted in the mouth. He asked her about London. Kitty told him how she felt as if her life were on hold until the war was over.

  ‘When I left the school here I wanted to go home and do a secretarial course, but my mum won’t have either of us coming back to London until the war’s over. So I help Aunt Vi and I volunteer for war work locally. Charlie’s been doing farm labouring, but what he really wants to do is fight the Nazis.’

  ‘Your mother is right – you’ve gotta stay right here,’ Sammy said, ‘and Charlie’s not going anywhere either – this war will be over long before he’s old enough to fight in it.’

  When they reached the house, they paused by the rowan tree where, unseen by anyone who might have been watching out for them, they kissed. It was sweet and simple that first kiss: a brief touching of lips. Kitty went inside and called out a goodnight and climbed the stairs to her room. Dear me, she thought as she closed her bedroom door and leaned against it, I’ve fallen in love.

  August 2006

  Kitty reverses out of the carport that stands on what was once Uncle Geoff’s vegetable patch. A horn blares from a passing car and Kitty jumps and hits the brake hard. People drive far too fast round the lanes, she thinks. You wouldn’t want to walk along them at night these days; you would be risking your life. Kitty drives to Maidstone and parks at June’s house. June comes to the door with a can of furniture polish in one hand. She gives Kitty the key to her father’s bungalow.

  ‘Tell him I’ll be round at six with his tea.’

  Kitty leaves her car outside June’s and walks down the road to Bert’s. She lets herself in and calls out to him. His voice reaches her from a back room and Kitty walks down the hall and through the kitchen to a sunroom where Bert is sitting in front of open patio doors.

  ‘Ah, Kitty,’ he says and leans forward in his chair.

  Bert’s eyes are watery and blue. Brilliant white tufts of hair sprout from a mostly bald head. Once a big man, he is now thin. His shoulders, collar bone, hips, elbows, wrists and knees, the points which used to connect toned flesh and muscle, now protrude through his clothes.

  ‘Hello, Bert dear. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Mustn’t grumble,’ he replies and begins to cough. The coughing lasts a minute and leaves him breathless. Kitty takes the letter from her handbag and passes it to Bert, then she goes to the kitchen to make them some tea. She calls back as she leaves the sunroom. ‘Just think – I would never have got it, if I hadn’t taken on Vi and Geoff’s old place.’

  Kitty returns with the tea and waits while Bert finishes reading the letter. He holds a magnifying glass over the sheet of paper. His lips move as he reads.

  ‘I suppose he’s dead, then? This lad’ll be wishing he had been interested in the war when his grandad was still alive.’

  ‘They’re so busy with their own lives these days,’ Kitty says.

  ‘Huh!’ Bert pulls a face then returns his attention to the letter. ‘He’d have been well into his eighties now. I’m ninety-three next month.’

  ‘He’d be eighty-two,’ Kitty says. ‘He was four years older than me.’

  ‘He flew a Mustang P-51.’

  ‘Yes.’ Kitty passes Bert a mug of tea. ‘I thought that you would know better than me the sorts of things this young grandson of his would like to know.’

  Bert nods his head and lifts the wavering mug to his lips. He blows across the surface of the tea before sucking in a mouthful.

  ‘He was a nice lad, yes, he was – no swagger about him like some of them.’ Bert leans towards Kitty as if he is confiding a secret. ‘He was a bloody good pilot too, in those cockpits for up to six hours at a time they were on those escort missions. Bombing the German factories you see, Kitty, leading up to D-Day. Muck up Nazi plane production. Keep t
he Luftwaffe out of the skies. The P-51s were fast – they put Rolls Royce engines in them.’ Bert’s eyes shine and he smiles at Kitty. ‘Not as quick to turn as the Spits to my mind, but they were fast, blow me they were. And they could go the distance.’ He nods his head, agreeing with himself.

  Kitty puts her tea down and pulls her handbag on to her lap.

  ‘I’ve brought a pen and notebook Bert, hang on a second, I’ll write it all down.’

  May 1944

  Bert had finished a last check of the guns when Sammy approached and climbed on to the left wing of the Mustang. He liked this boy’s ease with the machine. You could see that Sammy didn’t feel claustrophobic inside the cockpit. In fact, he looked as though he would like to pull everything in closer if he could. Bert watched as Sammy stowed the survival kits before stepping into his shell. He wriggled about in the seat settling into the familiarity of the space. He adjusted the rudder pedals and passed his arms through the shoulder harness, briefly reaching down to pat the inflatable dinghy and slide his hand over the survival pack. He raised the left-side panel of the perspex cockpit enclosure then lowered the upper portion. He secured the pins and made sure the handle was locked in place and that the felt moulding on the seals was in position. He grinned at Bert and gave him a thumbs-up before beginning the pre-flight procedure.

  There was a sign in the cockpit that said Do not exceed air speed of 500 mph and before every take off Sammy kissed the tips of his fingers and pressed them on to the sign for luck. Sammy radioed his readiness and waited, while in the field around him, the engines of other planes roared into life. Sammy checked the rendezvous times he had scribbled on the back of his hand, then glanced at his watch. Right on cue he received the order he was expecting from his flight leader.

  ‘Red Two, this is Red Leader. Prepare to taxi for take off. Over.’

  Sammy snaked his way up the field followed by his roommate, Mike, who was flying Red Three. At fifteen seconds past the minute, the two Mustangs took off into the pre-dawn sky. At thirty seconds past they were followed by two more. When the whole of Red Group was airborne they pulled the Mustangs into their flight formation and set a course for Germany. They looked like a flock of mechanical geese.