by Murray Pura
“I’m not quite at the top of my form, but a few more days will see me there.”
She released him, smoothed down her WAAF uniform, and smiled. “Well. Fancy you having no trouble crossing London with Jerry overhead. Will you have some tea?”
“My dear…” Lord Preston could not finish his sentence. “My dear…” Again he stopped.
“Grandfather, it won’t be any trouble. Let me just put the kettle on.”
Lord Preston reached out for her arm and held it gently. “My dear…” he tried a third time.
“Whatever is the matter?” Jane placed her hand over his. “Is everything all right at home? Is Grandmother well? Mum told me she was getting along beautifully.”
Lord Preston nodded. “She is—she’s capital, I thank God.” He did not let go of her arm. “My girl, there is something else.”
Jane’s smile left her face. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“James…” It was all he could get out. “James…”
Jane’s eyes went black as night. “He’s wounded. He’s hurt.”
Lord Preston did not respond.
She pulled away. “I’ll get my coat. I’ll go to him. I don’t care where he is. The RAF will get me a lorry.”
Lord Preston finally forced the words out of his mouth and throat. “He’s been killed. Shot down over the Channel. They’ve recovered his body. He’s to be buried with his brother Peter. I’m so sorry, my girl, so very sorry.”
Jane did not move. The blood left her face. “Are they sure?”
Lord Preston took off his hat and held it in his hands. “There is no doubt.”
“But we were to be married, Grandfather. Before Christmas. I was to be his bride.” Tears shot across her cheeks. “We’d talked about it. Made plans. If Peter died, James had sworn to marry me. On oath.”
“I know, my girl.”
“On oath. You can’t break an oath. You can’t.”
“And he hasn’t. Even in death he loves you. Even at the side of Christ he adores you. Both of the brothers do.”
Jane covered her face with her hands. “I don’t want James at the side of Christ. I don’t want either of them at the side of Christ. I want them here, Grandfather, I want the two of them right here by my side.”
“I know.”
“I can’t live anymore. I can’t. God cannot take both of them away and expect me to survive. He’s asking too much.” She collapsed into Lord Preston’s arms and buried her face in the shoulder of his thick coat, her tears soaking into the dark blue cloth. “I feel dead inside. Absolutely dead.”
“I’m sorry, my girl. I can’t begin…I can’t begin…”
But Lord Preston broke down before he could finish his sentence. They held each other tightly as light flashed behind the drawn shades of the windows and the sound of exploding bombs reached their ears through the glass.
10
September–October, 1940
German raids on London and other British cities intensified during September. On September 24, a night bombing by more than two hundred and fifty aircraft set London ablaze. People began to flock to the underground tube stations for shelter, bringing food and bedding with them and camping out on the platforms. Even though bombs hit the Marble Arch tube station in September, killing twenty people, and the Balham tube station in October, killing sixty-eight men, women, and children, Londoners continued to seek refuge in the underground.
Washroom facilities and first-aid stations were set up, along with canteens that distributed food and drink. Thousands of bunks were put in place at almost eighty stations, and shelter marshals began to patrol the nightly gatherings.
“We must decide what we’re going to do and where we’re going to live,” advised Lord Preston at a family meeting at the vicarage of St. Andrew’s Cross. “Perhaps most of us ought to remove ourselves to Ashton Park and get well away from the bombing attacks on London.”
Victoria glowered, on her feet and using a crutch as her ankle mended. “We are not going to run from the Nazis with our tails between our legs, Father.”
In the end, it was decided to send the children to Ashton Park and have them under the care of Harrison and Holly. Montgomery also went there with two-year-old Paul, while Skitt, refused by the RAF, enlisted in the army. Victoria ordered a grumbling Tim to Ashton Park, and with her house a rubble, she moved in with her brother Robbie, who likewise had seen his daughter, Patricia, off to the family estate in Lancashire. Caroline packed Cecilia off to Ashton Park as well and, her own house also in ruins, joined Victoria and Robbie, though Robbie was at the townhouse very little due to his military duties.
Eva kept a room there, and so did Charles, who joined the ARP in early October. Libby, her townhouse gone, was welcomed in by Charlotte so that both navy wives now lived together under the same roof and used the same Anderson shelter in the backyard, while Colm was sent by train to Liverpool and Ashton Park along with the other children. Catherine and Albrecht had a tearful goodbye with Angelika, who traveled with Colm and Tavy to the estate, and were offered a set of rooms at the vicarage. Lord Preston was also at the vicarage, at Jeremy and Emma’s invitation, continuing to sit as an MP in the House of Commons and to work as one of Churchill’s advisors. Lady Preston relocated to Ashton Park to be with the children.
“The service you held for Mrs. Longstaff and Darrington and Norah was lovely,” remarked Lord Preston the day after the funeral.
Jeremy took off his glasses and cleaned them with a small cloth. “Thank you. It was the very least I could do.”
“And not only lovely but spiritually significant.”
Lord Preston stood by the fireplace in the parlor. Photographs of Peter and James in their RAF uniforms were arranged on either side of the mantle with a vase of flowers in between. Emma watched the two men from her chair, her eyes dark. She had replaced the fresh cut flowers twice since James’s death.
“I expect you should have liked to have said something at your son’s funeral,” said Lord Preston, taking down James’s picture so he could examine it more closely.
“I’m not sure I could have borne up under the strain, to tell you the truth.” Jeremy continued to rub at his glasses. “Full military honors. Ben and members of his squadron, especially Matthew and Ramsay, bearing the casket from the lorry to the gravesite at King’s Cross. James resting alongside his brother Peter. The vicar at the church and the RAF chaplain conducting the service together. Ben delivering the eulogy. There is nothing more that I could wish for.” He put his glasses back on. “Except a resurrection of the dead.”
“Quite.”
“Baron von Zeltner sent a note via the American embassy,” said Emma from her chair. “And a handsome wreath.”
“Von Zeltner!” reacted Lord Preston.
“We have hung the wreath in the library next to a picture of the twins at Oxford. The baron claims to have had nothing to do with shooting down Peter or James, though he admits the pilots were under his command.”
“That’s not what Lord Tanner broadcast.”
“Von Zeltner says that was a propaganda stunt. And, he feels, a deliberate attack on the Danforth family approved by Goebbels.”
Lord Preston put his hands behind his back. “I have wished a thousand times I had hired anyone but Lord Tanner to manage the hunting lodge in Scotland.”
“The wheels of God and the wheels of human destiny are never motionless.” Jeremy gazed at his sons’ photographs. “We could have held Billy back until he turned twenty-one next year. But what would have been the point? He left Cambridge the day after James was reported missing and enlisted in the RAF. Evidently he had been talking with them above half a year. His physical examination found him flawless. They will rush him through the training as fast as they can.”
“I’m not happy with that plan. Ben tells me the new recruits can rarely do more than take off and land in a Hurricane or Spitfire.”
Jeremy shook his head, still looking at the pictures. “Billy would not be
restrained.”
Lord Preston turned to look at Emma. “How is Jane?”
“She is not at all well. She blames herself for the fact they took up flying in the first place. I wish you would go and see her again, Father. The poor girl is quite devastated.”
He nodded, the lines on his face deepening. “Then I shall. Let me see the week out first.” He coughed. “Kipp didn’t move into Robbie’s townhouse with Caroline and Victoria.”
“No,” Emma responded. “He has gone back to his rooms at Pickering Green. I’m sure he must be driving poor Sean around the bend. All Kipp wants is to get up and go after the bombers. And shoot down von Zeltner. But his arms are still weeks away from permitting that.”
“But von Zeltner denied having anything to do with the twins’ deaths.”
“Kipp doesn’t believe that.”
RAF Pickering Green, Kent
At Pickering Green, Sean was drinking from a cup of tea and standing with a cluster of new recruits. Kipp, arms still in casts, was a few feet away.
“For those of you who have forgotten who I am, I’m Squadron Leader Sean Hartmann. This gentleman, Flying Officer Kipp Danforth, is recovering from his injuries and will soon be back at the helm. Until then, I’m Mother Goose. What do you think of our new pilots, sir?”
“I wish I was going up there with you,” Kipp said. “Best of luck and God’s blessing. It’s all fast and furious once you engage the enemy. But should any of you notice an Me 109 with a black and yellow checker pattern, let me know as soon as you land, all right? If you shoot him down I’ll be brassed off because that’s something I very much want to do myself.”
The recruits stared at him.
Sean read from a sheet of paper in his hand. “So we’ve got Flight Sergeants Packer and Peterson and Miller and Wilkie.” Sean looked up at their faces. “Which is which?”
No one said a thing.
“Let’s go down the row then. Who are you?”
“Packer, sir.”
“Tall and thin.” Sean looked at the next person. “And you?”
“Miller, sir.”
“Short and thin. You look like a Quaker neighbor I had once. Next?”
“Peterson. Sir.”
“Viking.”
“Swedish background, yes, sir.”
“And finally we have Wilkie.”
“Yes, sir. No Swedish background at all, sir.”
“No? That’s a relief. I think one per squadron is enough. Where from?”
“Hampstead Heath, sir.”
“Really? Ever read Bram Stoker?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, Lucy the vampire was terrorizing people on Hampstead Heath. Your skin is fairly white, isn’t it? Get out in the sun much?”
“Don’t care for the summer heat, sir.”
“No? What about mirrors?”
“Pardon me?”
Sean smiled. “Never mind, Wilkie the Vampire. Mirrors it is. Now listen up, all of you. When we go up, stick as close to me as you can. Once you’re in combat, twist and turn like the devil was on your tail. Never fly straight and level for more than a few seconds at a time. Don’t challenge the Me 109 in a dive—it has a fuel injected engine and you don’t. The g-force will push the fuel out of your motor and you’ll stall. On the other hand, if you want to get away, pull a tight turn because the 109 won’t be able to follow you through that.”
Wilkie and Miller nodded at the same time.
“Bear in mind that the tighter the turn, the stronger the g’s. You’ll black out. Don’t be alarmed if that happens. You won’t be gone long, and the stick will still be in your hand a few seconds later when you wake up.”
Only Wilkie nodded.
“Everything will be happening at four hundred miles an hour,” Sean continued. “I know you haven’t had a lot of hours on Spits. Do your best. Get in close. Underneath and behind. Just a squirt. That’s enough bullets to do the damage.”
“A squirt?” Packer squinted at Sean. “Could you be more precise?”
“Count one and two,” Sean replied. “You remind me of a Puritan.”
“A quick count or a slow count?” asked Peterson.
“The Viking.” Sean stared at him over the rim of his cup as he sipped his tea. “Take all the time you like. So long as it’s no more than two seconds.”
A ringing phone. A shout. “Fighters! Angels one five! Large formation!”
“That’s more news than we usually get before we’re in the clouds.” Sean dropped his cup in the grass. “Jump in your kites. Climb to twenty thousand feet and we’ll gain height on the enemy. Keep me in sight.”
“How will we know it’s you?” asked Wilkie, beginning to run.
“Everyone looks the same up there,” added Miller, trying to run ahead of Wilkie.
“I have a dragon painted on my Spit now, do you see it, Mirrors? Do you see it, Quaker?” Sean vaulted into his cockpit. “There’s a great spear going through its swastika heart. That’s me. You can’t miss that dragon, even in a fight.”
Caroline and Victoria’s townhouse, Camden Lock, London
Two weeks later, close to the end of September, Eva was sleeping in her room at Robbie’s townhouse, where Caroline and Victoria had gone to live along with Charles and herself. Charles was asleep across the hall. It was one in the afternoon, but Eva and Charles had been dealing with the latest bombing attack on London till well past midnight.
“Beauty. Hey.” It was Owen in his dark naval uniform and cap.
Eva wrinkled her nose. “Mm?”
“Ich liebe dich.”
She put her pillow over her head. “Who are you?”
“The man in the moon.”
She began to laugh under the pillow. “Not in the middle of the day.” He sat on the edge of her bed. “Sometimes you can see the moon setting in the west in the daytime.”
“Well, moon, you’re disturbing my beauty sleep.”
“I don’t think that’s true. You look spectacular.”
“How would you know? You can’t see my face.”
“I can see the top of your shoulder and the gold of your hair. Takes my breath away.”
“Oh, really, sailor?” Eva threw off her pillow and smiled up at him. “So if you have no breath, how are you going to be able to talk to me?”
“I don’t want to talk.”
He slipped his arms under her and lifted her off the bed, blankets and all, and began to kiss her on the lips. Finally she pushed him back with a gasp.
“Are you trying to kill me?” she asked, catching her breath.
“The last time you accused me of that I was trying to save you from a German fighter at Dunkerque.”
“Ja, well, what are you trying to save me from now?”
“Too much sleep. I only have a day’s leave. Instead of wasting it dreaming of me, why not spend it looking at me?”
She put her arms about his neck. “What makes you think I’m dreaming of you?”
“You would never waste your time dreaming of someone else, would you?”
“What a bold sea dog.” She kissed the side of his face. “Who let you in the door?”
“Aunt Victoria.”
“You couldn’t have known which room was mine. All the doors look the same.”
“Charles doesn’t use perfume. You do.”
She slapped his arm playfully. “You can’t tell.”
“I can.”
She returned to kissing him. “Twice I’ve been woken up by air raids during the day. You’re a pleasant surprise. Why’d they give you leave?”
Owen hesitated a moment as they kissed. Then he said, “I’m shipping out.”
She immediately pulled away. “You’re not.”
“They’re sending a bunch of us up to Scapa Flow in a fortnight. They haven’t told me which ship yet.”
“A fortnight. Thank goodness. At least we have some time. Will they give you another leave?”
“I hope so.”
�
�You must get over to your mum’s and see her.”
“I will.” Owen took off his dark blue cap. “What time do you go on duty?”
“Eight or nine.”
“Make it nine.”
“There might be an early raid.”
He lifted long strands of her blond hair in his hand and put his lips to it. “I’ll pray the Germans are late.”
“Does God listen to your prayers?”
“Sometimes. You’re alive, aren’t you? Despite the fact that every night the Nazis are doing their best to kill you.”
“Me and thousands of others.”
“So far the bounders have missed. And I’ll continue to pray that they miss.”
She touched her forehead against his. “What shall I pray for you?”
“That if the Bismarck tries to break out into the Atlantic we’ll be able to stop her.”
“She’s a big ship, isn’t she?”
“Very big. I’ve seen some photographs from the German press. You can’t see a lot of detail, of course, but she’s a Goliath.”
“So are you David?” She kissed his forehead. “What shall I pray for David?”
“That I have a great big slingshot in my hand the day Bismarck makes her run for blue water.”
“Are you going to be on the Rodney or the Hood?”
“Either will do.”
“All right. And another prayer for you to come back safely to port.”
“I’m in port now.”
“Oh, how glad I am for that.” She reached up and kissed him again.
Parliament buildings, London
The next afternoon Lord Preston was standing in the street outside Church House, a large building where the House of Commons and House of Lords now met. Like many others, he was staring up at white vapor trails high in the sky. A siren had sounded and been followed by the all clear five minutes later.
“I’m sure the fight’s over,” he heard another MP say. “Otherwise they’d be herding us into the shelter.”
“What are we looking at then?” asked a small man at the MP’s elbow.
“A clash that occurred ten or fifteen minutes ago. The vapor trails are dispersing.”
Lord Preston felt a hand on his arm. “Lord Preston.” A woman’s voice.
