The war and impending action had already induced a sense of reckless disregard for conventional behaviour and values. Lined up along the outside of the fence were more than twenty couples locked into passionate embraces. Evie’s ‘Tom’, a former plasterer from London and a ‘whiz’ on the dance floor, was getting carried away. His hands were sliding up Evie’s legs and she was beginning to push away from him, desperate to disengage her lips from his. Smudges of bright red lipstick were smeared across their faces as the struggle intensified.
“Hey, you – soldier. Leave that woman alone!”
Tom released his hold and stared uncomprehendingly in the direction of the voice. Evie did the same. Over the road, standing by the blue MG, was Peter.
“Just keep your hands off that woman. That’s not on, doing that sort of thing in public.”
“Peter, what are you doing?” exclaimed Evie. “Go away. I can look after myself.”
“You heard what the lady said,” echoed Tom, moving across the road to where Peter was standing. “Move your scrawny RAF body out of my sight before I move it for you.”
Evie didn’t like what was happening. Peter looked as if he’d never thrown a punch whereas Tom was brought up in the East End of London and had been fighting for most of his life.
“Just mind your manners, that’s all,” said Peter, backing away towards the car.
Evie noticed that other soldiers were breaking away from their embraces and moving towards the scene of the confrontation.
“Manners. I’ll teach you some fucking manners!” And with that, Tom threw a punch that landed heavily on Peter’s face and knocked him into the car. All hell was let loose after that. Soldiers were running from all directions. Suddenly, Emma was by Evie’s side.
“Get in the car. We must go. Quick!”
Tom, surprised by Peter’s fall into the car, was squaring up for another punch but was knocked off balance by Evie and Emma jumping into the MG.
“Get going, Peter!” yelled Emma.
Tom delivered a glancing blow into the car, hitting Evie on the shoulder and knocking her to the floor. With a roar and a screech of tyres, the car exploded into life and shot forward towards the line of advancing soldiers. Peter managed to take control of the wheel and executed a hand brake turn. More soldiers were advancing from the opposite direction so he aimed the car for a small gap in their lines. Driving up onto the embankment and using the hill to his advantage, he slipped through the gap and sped off in the opposite direction.
Once they were well away from the camp, Peter pulled onto the verge to help Evie off the floor.
“What was that all about then?” she demanded angrily.
“He was groping you. He had his hands up your skirt.”
“That’s none of your business and you had no right to interfere. He was ten times the size of you and could have killed you.”
“I felt responsible for you,” protested Peter. “I brought you both here and I was taking you back. How could I have looked Uncle Jack in the eye if I’d just left you to it?”
“You’re not my keeper. In fact, you’re nothing to me, Peter. Just drive us home.”
The rest of the journey took place in awkward silence, save for the roar of the wind gusting over the open roof of the MG. When they got to Hope Cottage, Emma, who was suffering the after effects of the martini, made her way straight to bed, leaving Evie and Peter alone in the parlour. Peter broke the silence.
“Look, I really am sorry if I acted a bit out of place. I suppose I just didn’t like what he was doing to you.”
“It was none of your business what he was doing to me. I can’t stand people trying to control me,” Evie replied petulantly.
“I admire your spirit. I think it’s important to be a free thinker.”
“Don’t patronise me.”
Peter paused and looked uncomfortably at the floor.
“Evie, I would really like to have a conversation with you but we don’t seem to have any point of contact. It’s a shame. I really like you.”
“Then try harder,” she replied in a challenging tone.
“Erm, tell me about yourself,” Peter stammered awkwardly. “What sort of person are you?” Evie sighed and replied in a monosyllabic voice.
“I’m eighteen. Got no mother, brought up by two men – probably damaged me for life. Boring job, part time nurse – dull, dull, dull.”
“What about boyfriends?”
“I find most men boring too. They just want to grope me.”
“Do you find me boring?”
“Well, so far I have to admit you haven’t been boring, what with dive bombing our house and taking on the entire British infantry single handed. No, you’re not boring – just stupid.”
“Oh,” replied Peter disconsolately, searching for something to say that didn’t sound stupid.
“Don’t take it personally,” added Evie with an artificial brightness to her voice. “I’m just screwed up.”
“Well, in that case you need someone to talk to. What about Emma, she’s your friend?”
“Emma’s screwed up as well. She doesn’t know who her father is. Mother won’t tell her. Sometimes we feel like sisters – almost think alike. But I couldn’t talk to her about things.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t understand them myself. I don’t know why I’m like I am.”
There was a pause whilst Evie poured tea from a pot on the stove.
“What do you remember about your mother?” asked Peter.
“A bit. I can remember playing by her bed when she was ill. I can remember looking at her just after she had died. I thought how beautiful she looked – like Sleeping Beauty.”
“Were you happy?”
“I think I was happy. I had a mother, a father and a doting uncle. But I have this strange feeling that all wasn’t well. I remember Daddy often looking sad. And I remember Mummy and Uncle Jack laughing together a lot. It didn’t mean anything to me then but in recent years ...”
Evie’s voice tailed off.
“Go on. Tell me what you’ve been thinking.”
“I’ve just started to wonder about Uncle Jack being in the house all that time. I mean, it’s a bit strange having a permanent lodger living in the house. I know it was because he was ill and Mum and Dad needed the money. But I’ve started to get this feeling that there’s a lot I don’t know.”
“You could be just imagining it,” replied Peter thoughtfully.
“I’ll tell you something that almost no one else knows,” continued Evie. “Before my mother died, she wrote me a letter to open on each birthday until I’m twenty five. She gives me a little bit of advice, the sort of things a mother might say if she was here. And in these letters I think she’s hinting at something. It’s almost as if she’s preparing me.”
“Why don’t you open them all and see?”
“No, I won’t do that. In the very first letter she makes me promise to only open each letter on the birthday it’s meant for. If she was preparing me for something I’ve got to wait until the right time.”
There was another pause whilst they both sipped tea.
“Have you told anybody else these things?” asked Peter.
“No, only you. And I don’t know why I’ve done that. I feel embarrassed now. I’d better go to bed.”
“Don’t feel embarrassed. I’m pleased you told me. I’m pleased you trusted me.”
Evie smiled and finished her tea.
“It’s late. I’ll see you in the morning.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek and brushed past him on her way to the stairs. A shiver of anticipation ran through his body.
Alone in her room, Evie felt disturbed by the night’s events. Whilst Peter had been reckless at the military camp, he had an inner maturity which she had only just recognised. He was the first person she had spoken to about these issues and she couldn’t understand what had led her to open up in this way. She hoped he hadn’t been too hurt by her earlier feckless com
ments. Her mind dwelt on the things she had discussed with Peter.
Evie reached across to the silver trinket box that Jed had bought her to keep the letters in. This was her most treasured possession, her one link to the person who could help her understand. She took the key from its hiding place in a small vase and opened the lock. Inside was a neat row of folded letters. At the end of the row were seven remaining unopened envelopes. Evie took the last opened letter and read it once more.
Hello, my darling,
Today you are eighteen and you are quite a grown woman. It will seem a long time since I left you now. I wonder what your world is like. I expect it’s very different from the one I knew. It’s strange writing to you knowing that you will be eighteen when you read this. As I write this letter you are five and you are playing at the foot of my bed with your rag doll. You’re a very pretty little girl but you’re strong willed and impetuous. How will you manage these qualities when you’re older?
Evie wiped tears from her eyes. She knew she was strong willed and impetuous. It was her way of surviving, her way of keeping control when life seemed to overwhelm her. Without a mother there were whole areas of her life she hadn’t been able to discuss. Jed and Jack were loving and caring but they couldn’t understand the turbulent emotions of a teenage girl.
There are still things I want to tell you so that you understand more about me and more about yourself. But the time is not yet right. I want to prepare you, though. Let me just say this. At eighteen you may have experienced, or you may be about to experience, a relationship with a man. This will present you with many different powerful emotions – love, loyalty, desire and possibly despair. But the strongest of all emotions is passion. It’s powerful because it comes not from the mind but from the heart, deep inside of you. It lacks the logic of the other emotions yet is has the power to drive your destiny forward in unexpected ways. You can’t avoid passion if it comes your way but be ready for the chaos it brings with it. Passion is difficult to identify until it has engulfed you. It can cause you to destroy those things that you hold dear whilst at the same seducing your entire being with sublime joy. Passion has many faces, my darling, and I urge you to beware. But I believe you are strong and whilst you will face many dilemmas, as I have done, you will eventually rise above the turmoil.
Your ever loving mother, Alice
Evie tried to imagine what her mother was telling her. Her relationships so far had involved few of the emotions her mother spoke of. She craved attention. She wanted to be liked, to be asked out and to be seen on the arm of a man. But none of this was to do with love or desire. And passion – this was a word that meant nothing to Evie. She had kissed men hard with her mouth open and their tongues interlocking – but was this passion? Evie hoped not. So what had caused this introspection? What had happened that had made her want to connect again with her mother? There was something about Peter that had struck a chord but she didn’t yet know what. She hoped she hadn’t burnt her boats.
Evie got up late the next morning to discover that the car had gone. She was puzzled. She thought Peter was staying until Sunday before returning to his base.
“What’s happened to Peter?” she asked Jack, as she was brewing tea in the parlour.
“He left early, about six o’clock. There was a telegram waiting here for him when he got back last night. He’s being recalled early to Coltishall. There’s some sort of emergency. Seems the Germans are trying to bomb the airfields and obliterate the RAF before they try to invade us. I think it’s serious, Evie.”
The reason for Peter’s early recall soon became clear. From mid July, the BBC was announcing a series of German raids on shipping convoys in the channel. British and other Allied fighters were engaged in heavy dog fights with German Stukas to keep shipping flowing freely. Jack had received a brief letter from Peter thanking the family for their hospitality. One line stood out for Evie.
Please tell Evie how much I enjoyed talking to her and I’m looking forward to many more thought provoking chats in the future.
In mid August, the focus of the German attacks changed to bombing British airfields in the lead up to the anticipated invasion. Like many people, Jack, Jed and Evie remained glued to the radio, listening to the progress of the battle. August 15th was an especially bad day. The news was sombre.
Here is the news, and this is Alvar Lidell reading it. Today, August 15th, has seen the greatest number of raids so far by the German Luftwaffe on British airbases and coastal defences. British and other Allied fighters have been relentless in their pursuit and destruction of enemy aircraft. Out of 115 bombers and 35 fighters sent, 16 bombers and 7 fighters were destroyed.
The battles continued over the south of England for the next few days, reaching a climax on August 18th when losses on both sides were at their greatest.
This is the six o’clock news. Today has seen intense fighting in the skies over the south of Britain. Allied Spitfires and Hurricanes repeatedly repulsed wave after wave of attacking German bombers.
Evie listened with mounting concern as casualties rose, not knowing whether Peter had become one of those statistics. Then after the 18th, the raids suddenly seemed to subside, caused partly by the poor weather and partly by the exhaustion of pilots on both sides. It was enough for the British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, to address the nation and talk of the ‘tide turning’.
The gratitude of every home in our island, in our Empire, and indeed throughout the world, except in the abodes of the guilty, goes out to the British airmen who, undaunted by odds, unwearied in their constant challenge and mortal danger, are turning the tide of the world war by their prowess and by their devotion. Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.
During this period of intense fighting, nothing was heard from Peter. Jed knew from his military contacts that the Hurricanes and Spitfires from Coltishall were flying every day and that the pilots were near to exhaustion. He also knew that many new pilots were being shot down within days of entering service. On August 22nd, a letter arrived.
Dear Uncle Jack, Jed and Evie,
I was shot down last Thursday. I’m in hospital but don’t worry. I’m going to be alright but it will take a little time. I was hit over Kent by a Messerschmitt. The engine lost power and I had to come down in a field. Unfortunately, the field had been ploughed so the plane didn’t land very well. In fact, it crashed. I now have two fractured legs. They say I’ll be in here for four weeks and then I’ll be fit to fly again. I’ll try to visit you briefly before I’m redeployed.
With best wishes to you all,
Peter
Everyone felt tremendous relief. Evie was surprised by the degree to which she was elated. For the first time since Peter had departed, she felt ready to write him a letter.
Dearest Peter,
We’ve all been following the battles, listening to our little radio in the parlour. It’s terrible that you’ve been shot down but I’m so happy you’re alive.
I feel that we didn’t get off to a very good start when you visited us recently. I think I was a bit too opinionated and, to be honest with you, I thought you were a bit smug. Anyhow, I did enjoy our conversations and hope we can have more of them.
I hope you can visit us again when you’re better.
With much affection,
Evie
Four weeks later, on her way back from work, Evie spied a Spitfire swoop low again over Hope Cottage and perform a victory roll. This time she didn’t fall off her bike, but whoopeed with joy instead and waved frantically at the plane.
Later that same evening, Evie heard the sound of the MG revving outside the house. Pulling off her apron, she rushed outside to greet Peter. He was already out of the car and walking towards her. Without thinking, she rushed forward to throw her arms around him, only realising at the last minute that this was probably presumptuous of her. As a result, she tripped prompting Peter to reach out and catch her, causing them both to fall and end
up in a tangled heap.
“This is some greeting, Evie!” exclaimed Peter from underneath his cap which had fallen over his face. “A peck on the cheek would have been fine.”
“I’m so sorry, Peter. I was just glad to see you’re safe. I didn’t mean to ... I mean, I didn’t want to ...” stammered Evie.
“Hold on, hold on,” replied Peter. “I’ve had your greeting, now it’s time for mine.” And with that he removed his cap and kissed Evie firmly on the lips. “You see, when you’re being chased by German dive bombers and you think your time’s up, you promise yourself that if you get out of this mess you’re not going to hang around being timid. You’ve just got to get on and do what you want to do quickly, before it’s too late. So, I resolved to come here and kiss you, Evie. And, by God, I’m glad I've done it.”
“I don’t know what to say,” replied Evie, breathlessly. “I just know that I’m so pleased to see you safe. How long are you staying?”
“I tell you what. I’ll answer that when we get up off the ground and go inside. Is that a deal?”
Jack was sleeping when they got inside so Evie and Peter had time to talk. Evie felt that she detected a change in Peter – less arrogance and more introspection.
“We were glued to the radio every day, Peter, listening to the news. We’d cheer every time they announced more German losses.”
“It wasn’t just German losses though, Evie. We lost hundreds of young British lads too, killed or maimed. I count myself lucky to have been shot down early and survived. If I’d gone another week I’m sure I’d have died. It was statistically inevitable.”
“How do you cope with the fear up there, the thought that each minute might be your last?”
“A lot of the time you don’t think. You just do what you’ve been trained to do. But it’s strange up there in a Spitfire. When you’re not being shot at or chasing Heinkels, you can feel quite detached from the world below. You’re kind of in between the real world and whatever else there may be afterwards. It gets you thinking about what matters and what is just vanity.”
The Guest Who Stayed Page 27
