by Peggy Savage
She went to visit her father. ‘I can’t believe it, Amy,’ he said. ‘Not again.’ He looked older, she thought, defeated and lost. ‘Come and live here, Amy, away from London.’
‘I can’t, Father,’ she said, ‘I’ll be needed there.’
His eyes filled with tears. ‘It’s just the same,’ he said, ‘all of you in danger. It’s the same nightmare, all over again.’
‘You can come and stay with us if you like, Father,’ she said, ‘but you’ll be safer here in Kent, away from any bombing We’ll keep in touch with you, all the time.’
‘It isn’t right,’ he said. He was trembling. ‘Not again. And Charlie in the Air Force. Not again.’
We are walking a tightrope, Amy thought, waiting for them to come and shake us down. Everyone expected the onslaught to start at any moment, but still they didn’t come. The Germans didn’t come. But they were there – oh yes, they were there. On the 18 September, the aircraft carrier, Courageous, was sunk with a loss of 500 lives, and the Glasgow liner Athena was sunk with 112 lives lost.
‘And we’re dropping leaflets on Germany,’ Dan said. ‘Leaflets! And our esteemed air minister has refused to bomb the Black Forest on the grounds that it’s private property!’
It seemed that death would not wait. Dan was horrified at the number of road accidents in the deep blackout. The surgeons were already working long hours, and the wards were filling up.
‘This is just road accidents, Amy,’ he said. ‘Just the beginning. We’re moving the theatres down into the basement, the cancer hospitals are burying the radium. They’re even killing the poisonous snakes at the zoo. And look at this advertisement in the paper. They’re asking people to send in their binoculars. We haven’t even got enough binoculars. We’re just not ready for this.’
Then, filtering through from the hospital grapevine, he heard a rumour of some dreadful mistake, some hideous mix-up involving the Air Force: British planes shooting at each other, a pilot killed. He didn’t know the details, and apparently it was totally hush-hush, but something had gone terribly wrong. He very deliberately kept it from Amy. The details would leak out sooner or later. She didn’t need to know now.
Charlie stayed at home, sitting around, or pacing about like a caged tiger. He went for walks, watching them manning anti-aircraft guns in Hyde Park and Holland Park. He wondered what it would be like flying bombers, flying through this barrage, and over a hostile country.
It all added to his impatience. ‘What a waste of time,’ he said. ‘Why don’t they get on with it? I’ll have a lot more training to do. I can’t fight a war in a Tiger Moth.’
‘You can help with the garden while you’re waiting,’ Amy said. ‘Mr Hodge is digging the beds over. We’ll be growing vegetables next year. We’ll need the all the food we can grow. We’re bound to be rationed.’
‘OK,’ he said. ‘It’ll be something to do.’
Amy watched him in the garden in his shirtsleeves, young and strong and full of energy. He’s nineteen, she thought. Only nineteen. His life has hardly begun. But she could see how he had changed, how manhood had come to him already, thrust upon him too soon. He seemed to have filled out more, perhaps he was even a little taller. She remembered Dan in the last war, how he had changed from the diffident, rather shy young man she had first met, to a tough, hardened soldier. Not a fighting soldier: a surgeon, but a soldier nevertheless. Did it change me, she thought? It must have. But the only change she could feel was one of fearfulness, fear that the horrors she had seen in France could come again. How must the French be feeling now, she thought, with the memory of their ravaged country still clear in their minds? Perhaps I’m tougher than I was, she thought. She sighed. Who could tell? She had never imagined that she would ever be tested again. Whatever happens, she thought, we’ll just have to deal with it, like we did before.
Dan found Charlie in the garden. ‘I’ve brought you some lemonade,’ he said. ‘Come and sit down.’ Charlie sat beside him on the garden bench. ‘I think we should have a chat,’ Dan said, ‘before you leave.’
Charlie grinned. ‘What about, Dad?’
Dan smiled briefly. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think I know what goes on, Dad,’ Charlie said. He coloured a little. ‘Theoretically, as yet.’
‘Wars are different, Charlie. The same standards don’t apply. Things get looser, less controlled. One tends to live in the moment, whatever that implies.’
‘Well, let’s not beat about the bush, Dad. You think I’m going to jump into bed with anything that comes along?’
‘I don’t know, Charlie. You might.’
‘Did you?’
‘No, of course not,’ Dan said. ‘But I knew more about the consequences than most. We had to give lectures to the boys about venereal diseases.’
‘And you’re going to give me one now.’
‘Not a lecture, Charlie. Just a warning. At least we have sulphonamides now for gonorrhoea but it doesn’t stop reinfection. Be careful, and use a sheath. And don’t ever ignore the symptoms – pain passing urine and cloudy pee. And syphilis gives you a rash. And don’t ever be too embarrassed to ask me about it.’
‘Dad,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s the last thing I’ll be thinking about.’
Later, in his room, he realized that it wasn’t quite true. He thought about girls a lot. They all did – all the boys. As far as he knew, none of his friends had been to bed with a girl. It was all talk, really, or just a bit of fumbling about in the dark. You were supposed to wait until you got married, which seemed reasonable to him. He was far more frightened of getting a girl pregnant and having to marry her than of getting VD, though he imagined that would be fairly horrible. Not to do it – that was the answer. Wait until you’re married.
He lay on his bed, his hands behind his head. Flying. That was the thing. He must get into fighters. He wanted to fly a Spitfire more than anything – more than girls, even. He tried to imagine being in a dogfight, and couldn’t. It was going to happen though. It was coming. It rather put girl friends in the shade. He sat up, ran his hand through his hair. Am I going to be frightened? Am I going to be able to do it, again and again? He wanted to go at once, wanted to face it at once, get that first time over with. Then we’d see. It was the waiting that was bad.
The summons came at last. Charlie was confirmed in his rank of pilot officer and ordered to report to St Leonards to an Initial Training Wing for further training. Amy and Tessa went with him to the station. It was alive with young men again, carrying their suitcases and gasmasks, saying goodbye to their families. Everything she did seemed to recall the past. She remembered standing on Victoria station, saying goodbye to her father when she left for France in the Great War. Now she knew how he’d felt. She hugged Charlie close. ‘Telephone tonight if you can, darling. Keep in touch, all the time.’
‘I’ll be all right Mum,’ he said. ‘I’ll only be training.’ He kissed her cheek and got into the train. ‘I’ll see you soon.’ The train pulled away, out of the station. The next time I see him, she thought, he’ll be in uniform.
She and Tessa drove home and Tessa made some tea. ‘I feel so useless, Mum,’ she said. ‘Girls will be doing all kinds of things and I’ll be doing nothing – just going on as if nothing has happened.’
‘Life has to go on,’ Amy said. ‘The war won’t last for ever. Your job is to qualify. You’ll be of use then.’
‘Well, I can help a bit in the vacations,’ Tessa said. ‘I can be a volunteer firewatcher at a hospital or something. It was in the paper.’
Amy sighed. ‘Yes, darling.’
Charlie arrived at St Leonards on Sea to join the Wing. They were to be housed, apparently, in one of the hotels. He got a taxi from the station and joined the group of young men trooping into the hotel: all pilots, he supposed. He wondered how many of them wanted to fly fighters. Competition.
They were given their rooms, and a pep talk and their schedules. There was to be no flying for a few weeks. A
groan ran round the room. They were to be introduced into the service as pilot officers, drilling, lectures, and endless PE with a tough-looking gentleman who was a very successful British boxer. No nonsense there then.
He met some of the other pilots in the lounge. ‘No flying,’ one of them said gloomily. He was tall and fair-haired with eyelids that drooped over an expression of sardonic amusement.
Charlie introduced himself. ‘Charlie Fielding,’ he said.
‘Tim Crighton.’ They shook hands. ‘Perhaps they’ll let us out after dinner, and we can find a pub.’
‘A nice thought,’ Charlie said, ‘but it isn’t going to happen – not until the weekend anyway.’
They met again after dinner. ‘We can get a beer here,’ Tim said. ‘What’ll you have?’
‘Half a pint,’ Charlie said. Tim ordered it, and a pint for himself.
‘Well, here we are then,’ Tim said. ‘How did you get into this racket?’
‘I learnt to fly at Cambridge – in the air squadron,’ Charlie said. ‘Then I joined the volunteer reserve.’
‘Same here,’ Tim said, ‘at Oxford.’
‘Did you get your degree?’ Charlie asked. ‘I left early.’
‘I’m nineteen,’ Tim said. ‘So no.’
‘What were you reading?’
Tim grinned. ‘God knows. I’ve forgotten. Have another?’
‘No thanks,’ Charlie said, ‘it’ll keep me awake.’
‘I don’t know what all this is for,’ Tim said. ‘Square bashing and knees bend. Sounds like a waste of time to me. We should be flying.’
‘Get us fit, I expect,’ Charlie said. ‘And what they said – introduce us to service life, discipline, and all that.’
‘If you’ve been to a public school you know all about that,’ Tim said. ‘Mine was a shocker. I nearly got thrown out. Ill-disciplined behaviour.’
Charlie thought of Arthur. ‘A lot of the chaps haven’t been to public school,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think they need to be taught anything about self-discipline. They have to have it in buckets to get anywhere.’
‘Thank God for that then,’ Tim said. ‘It isn’t going to be that sort of war – me Chief, you Indian. Everybody’s going to be in it. The Germans aren’t going to care where you went to school when they shoot you down.’
Charlie wasn’t sure whether he was joking. He preferred not to think about being shot down. ‘What do you want to fly?’ he said.
‘Fighters,’ Tim said. ‘I’m too much of a coward to fly bombers.’
Charlie laughed. ‘Me too. Spits, I hope.’
Charlie phoned home and Amy answered. He sounded very cheerful, she thought. ‘I’m here for four weeks,’ he said. ‘I’ll be square-bashing, doing endless PE, and learning how to behave like a gentleman in the mess. And tomorrow I shall be getting kitted out with uniform and a regulation haircut. You won’t recognize me with no hair. No flying. Still, it’s not for long. I’ll see you soon.’
They did PE every day. ‘I feel as I’ve been beaten up,’ Tim said. ‘That boxer’s a sadist. It’s worse than school.’
‘Hardly,’ Charlie said. ‘He’s trying to get you as fit as he is.’
Tim sighed. ‘He’ll never succeed.’
They did endless parades on the promenade, and attended lectures about officers’ administrative duties, and one from a short, grim, unsmiling doctor, about venereal disease.
‘What a dreary old sod,’ Tim said. ‘I shouldn’t think he’s ever had the opportunity.’
Charlie grinned. ‘I’ve already been through all that with my father. He’s a doctor.’
‘You listen to your daddy then,’ Tim said. ‘This uniform‘ll be a girl-magnet, especially when we get our wings. We’ll be beating them off.’
Charlie laughed. ‘I’d be too exhausted at the moment. And after that I don’t suppose we’ll have the time. That’s if the Germans ever come. They seem to be taking their time.’
‘Oh they’ll come,’ Tim said. ‘They’ll come.’
They waited for their selection: bombers or fighters, or army support or instructors. ‘I wonder how they choose?’ Charlie said.
‘It’s all in the mind.’ Tim said. ‘They have secret psychological tests that you don’t even know you’re taking. It’s a kind of voodoo.’
Charlie laughed. ‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed, then.’
On Saturday night they went out to a pub in the town. It seemed to be full of uniforms and girls and the noise was deafening. They managed to get a table in the corner and Tim struggled to the bar and came back with two pints of bitter. ‘Just what I said, Charlie, girls everywhere.’
‘Go on then,’ Charlie said, ‘magnetize one.’
Tim gazed round the room, his eyes narrowed. ‘She looks nice,’ he said. ‘That girl over there – the blonde.’
‘Go on then,’ Charlie said. ‘Do your stuff.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Go and talk to her,’ Charlie said.
‘I can’t do that.’ Tim blushed faintly. ‘We haven’t been introduced.’
Charlie laughed. ‘Tim,’ he said, ‘you’re all talk.’
Tim lit a cigarette. ‘Not about everything,’ he said. ‘We’ll see.’
They were even more impatient when they heard that RAF pilots had shot down several German bombers attacking naval vessels at Rosyth. ‘And here we are,’ Tim said. ‘Playing soldiers.’
At the end of the month they were given their assignments. Charlie and Tim had a beer afterwards to celebrate.
‘Fighters then,’ Tim said. ‘Maybe we’ll get to the same squadron, so I won’t bid you goodbye.’ They were sent home again to wait.
Mrs Brooks took Sara to see the headmistress at the village school. The headmistress seemed flurried and distracted. ‘I expect you’ll be coming here, Sara,’ she said, ‘until we get ourselves sorted out. I don’t know how we’re going to cope with all these extra children.’
‘I was at a grammar school,’ Sara said. ‘I have to go to a grammar school. I need to do science and Latin. I was doing them before.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ the headmistress said. ‘We certainly don’t have those facilities here, or the staff.’
‘What about the local grammar school?’ Mrs Brooks said. ‘Can’t she go there?’
‘Well, I can speak to them,’ the headmistress said, ‘but I expect they’ll be in the same boat. They’ll have a lot of extra children. You’ll have to come here for the time being, Sara.’
Sara couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t all stop, just like that. They couldn’t take it all away from her. Her mother said she would come at the weekend to bring her some more clothes. I’m not staying here, she thought. I don’t care what happens. She’ll have to take me home.
She went to school for the rest of the week, but cried when she came home the first day. Mrs Brooks was concerned. ‘What is it, dear?’ she said. ‘What happened?’
‘Nothing,’ Sara said. ‘But I can’t go there, to that school. I’ve done all that before. It’s a waste of time. I want to go home.’
Nora came on Saturday. Mrs Brooks gave her a cup of tea and then left her alone with Sara.
Sara burst into tears. ‘I can’t stay here, Mum,’ she said. ‘It’s a baby school and there’s no room at the grammar. I might as well be dead.’
Nora almost lost her temper, torn between Sara’s tears and the prospect of her actually being dead if the Germans bombed London. She put her arms around Sara, trying to be calm. ‘What can I do, Sara?’ she said. ‘Nearly all the children have left. How would I feel if anything happened to you?’
‘I don’t care,’ Sara sobbed. ‘I want to come home. My school’s still going.’
Nora sighed. ‘I’ll speak to your dad,’ she said. ‘See what he thinks.’
‘He’ll do what you say,’ Sara sobbed. ‘He isn’t going to be there, is he?’
Three weeks went by. ‘Is there a war on or not?�
� Charlie said. ‘What am I supposed to do at home? I’ll have forgotten how to fly anything at this rate.’ His impatience, he knew, was largely apprehension. He wanted to know how he would react, how he would take it. Staying at home thinking about it wasn’t helping.
He went to visit Tessa at Cambridge.
‘You look nice in your uniform, Charlie,’ she said. ‘They’ve had some RAF pilots staying at Clare, doing training, marching about and trying to make dates with the girls.’
‘What are you up to?’ Charlie said.
‘Thorax and abdo this term,’ she said. ‘It’s an odd feeling, holding someone’s heart in your hand, if you think about it.’
‘Don’t think about it,’ Charlie said. He found that he didn’t want to talk about anything dead, even to Tessa. Death was something that he preferred not to think about. It was something that happened to other people, something to joke about – ‘going for a Burton’ they called it. It wasn’t going to happen to him. How could it? He was so full of life, there was so much to do, so much going on. ‘It’s just part of your training – that’s all.’
‘We’re digging up the college gardens to grow vegetables, and we’re all doing fire-watching.’
‘Surely they won’t bomb Cambridge?’ Charlie said. ‘Surely they’re not complete vandals?’
‘Who knows?’ Tessa said. ‘We’re fire-watching anyway, and we’ve got stirrup pumps and long shovels for incendiaries. It’s all a bit strange. The place is half-empty. Lots of the boys are going, just like you, Charlie.’
The weeks wore on. The attacks from the air didn’t come. Nothing happened. Life seemed to have a strange transparent skin of normality, while underneath wild and horrible things were happening. The British Expeditionary Force left for France, the battle ship, Royal Oak was sunk at Scapa Flow, the war at sea was destroying and killing.
