by Mary Nichols
It was purely coincidence that the wing commander had seen Tony studying his handiwork on the same day as he had been asked if any of his command were handy with a camera. His comment about preferring cameras to guns clinched it, the Wingco told Tony the next morning. ‘It isn’t an easy option.’ he explained. ‘So I want you to think about it carefully. You will be flying a specially adapted Spitfire. Because speed and distance are paramount, it will have no guns, only extra fuel tanks and the latest camera technology. You will be flying over enemy territory completely unarmed and alone. Your only defence if you are spotted will be your speed and manoeuvrability. How’s your navigation?’
‘Not bad, sir.’
‘Want to give it a try?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Right. I’ll get in touch with the Photographic Reconnaissance Unit and if they want you, they’ll send for you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘The work is highly classified, so no talking about it, understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Three days later he was on his way to Heston, just west of London. Before the war, the airfield had been a private one used by civilian flyers, but had been taken over by the Photographic Reconnaissance Unit. It was commanded by Wing Commander Geoffrey Tuttle to whom Tony reported.
‘Glad to have you,’ the Wingco said, after the formalities of introduction were over and they were both seated. ‘The Luftwaffe seem to know what we’re doing here and we’ve taken a battering in the last few weeks, but we’ve been given some extra aircraft and need pilots to fly them. I see you have only just completed your pilot training.’ He turned over the page of a document as he spoke. ‘Came out top of your class for almost everything.’
Tony smiled. ‘Not so good at take-off and landing, sir.’
‘No, but that will come with practice and it’s not so important for the work we do here. The be-all and end-all of the PRU is to take good pictures and get them back to the Photographic Interpretation Unit for analysis. That’s housed at Wembley.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘All three services seem to think they have first call on our time and it’s my task to prioritise. You may be taking pictures of shipping one day for the navy, aircraft on the ground for the air force the next, troop deployment for the army the next, factories or the damage our bombs have caused for Bomber Command, and it all needs precision. Pictures that can’t be interpreted are a waste of fuel, time and often lives. You understand?’
‘Perfectly, sir.’
‘Your kite will not be armed. The guns and armour plating have been taken out to lighten the aircraft and give it some extra speed. You are not in the air to fight and must avoid it at all costs. The cameras and their film must not fall into enemy hands, not to mention aircraft and pilots.’
‘I understand, sir.’
‘Do you want to change your mind?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Good. I’ll take you out to have a look at the aircraft. If you want to take one up and get the feel of it, then do so. Then have the rest of the day to settle in and explore. Tomorrow, you will be assigned your task.’ He stood up and Tony stood too. ‘Go and get into flying kit. I’ll meet you by the hangar in half an hour.’
Tony followed him out and a sergeant conducted him to his quarters where he unpacked and changed, then hurried out to the hangar, where a Spitfire was taxied out onto the runway for his benefit. It looked a little different from an ordinary Spitfire; there was a new bulge under each wing. The port one contained extra fuel tanks and the starboard one three large cameras, which took the same view at different angles. The whole aircraft had been polished to a mirror finish to get an extra knot or two of speed out of it. After a few instructions from Sergeant Drayton, who was in charge of the ground crew, he adjusted his oxygen mask and took to the air.
He was not sure how he felt. There was elation, apprehension and quivering nerves, especially as the Wingco watched him take off, but once in the air, he felt the power of the aeroplane. He took it up to twenty-five thousand feet and nearly four hundred miles an hour. It was a clear day and below him the airfield was spread out like a map. Although he should have been able to see London, it was invisible beneath a pall of smoke. Beneath that, the citizens were trying to get on with their lives, going to work, eating, sleeping when they could.
He operated the cameras from a box in front of him where the gunsight would have been, had he had guns. Turning to return to base he noticed a formation of bombers and fighters below him and realised they were enemy aircraft. His heart started to pound and his gut seized up. Could they see him? What should he do?
The Wingco’s words echoed in his brain: You are not in the air to fight and must avoid it at all costs. He did not have important film on board, but he did have a valuable aircraft. He climbed even higher and circled, waiting. In spite of his extra clothes and warm flying gear he was frozen with cold and could hardly feel his fingers and toes. He saw some Hurricanes on the tail of the enemy aircraft and three of the enemy fighters went down in flames. The bombers droned on. Once again alone in the sky, Tony brought the Spitfire down and taxied to a stop.
‘How was it, sir?’ Sergeant Drayton asked as he climbed out of the cockpit.
‘Bloody cold, but the aeroplane is out of this world. It flies like a bird. I couldn’t believe the speed of it.’
‘The boffins are making it faster all the time. I should go and get warm, sir. We’ll take over here.’
Tony took his advice. He had a hot bath and went to the mess for dinner and afterwards he wrote to Louise. She would be disappointed that he was no longer at Coltishall and the weekend they had planned would have to be postponed. He couldn’t tell her in a letter what he was doing, but hinted that it was something different and very much to his liking because he would not be killing anyone. She might assume from that he was working with the ground crew or in an office. Well, that didn’t matter. The bulk of the letter was a reiteration of his continuing love for her and he found himself carried away by that. ‘I will love you to the end of time and beyond,’ he wrote. ‘I can’t wait to hold you in my arms again and kiss you until you cry for mercy.’
‘Soppy,’ he told himself as he read it through, but it was how he felt and it was the sort of thing he wanted to hear from her. The censors might have a good laugh at his expense, but what the hell! He folded it into an envelope and propped it beside the framed photo of Louise on his bedside cabinet ready to take to the post. He was fast asleep when his roommate came in and tumbled into bed.
The next day he was flying over the Channel ports, where the Germans had been assembling a fleet of barges, presumably in preparation for an invasion. Only by taking photographs on a regular basis could it be seen how the number had grown all the time the Battle of Britain was being waged in the skies, but the pictures he had taken on the last few days had shown the number shrinking. Today there were hardly any. Had Hitler given up his idea of invasion and sent the barges back where they came from? He turned for home.
As soon as he landed, the ground crew removed the film from the cameras and took them to the processing unit on the base for a preliminary examination before sending them to the Photographic Interpretation Unit at Wembley where there was technical equipment for more detailed analysis. Tony, anxious to see if what he had surmised was borne out by the pictures, went over and watched them being developed.
‘Thank God, it looks as though they’ve gone,’ he was told. ‘I’ll get these over to PIU. Good work, Flying Officer Walsh. Better get some rest.’
Tony went to his room to strip off his flying gear and stretch out on his bed. It had been nerve-racking, wondering if he might come up against enemy aircraft or be caught by the anti-aircraft guns protecting the ports, but the speed and height of the Spitfire made him feel comparatively safe, even when he had dived low to make sure he was over the target. It gave him a feeling of euphoria, of being invincible. He picked up Louise’s photo from his bedside locker. It was that image that had s
tarted it all off. ‘I’m back safe and sound,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll write to you after I’ve had some shut-eye. I love you.’ He kissed it and put it back on his locker and in no time at all was fast asleep.
Jan, high in the sky above London, looked down and felt a great lurching in his stomach that had nothing to do with the eggs and bacon he had consumed a couple of hours earlier. It was because the burning city reminded him of Warsaw and Rulka and their parting. It was something he relived in his mind over and over again, everything they had said, every touch, every poignant look, every tear bravely withheld. Could he have done more, said more, reassured her more, left her with more optimism? Should he have disobeyed his orders and stayed with her? Was she alive even?
The stories reaching the Polish fighters from goodness knows what sources were so horrendous he was almost inclined to hope she was dead and not having to suffer. Any show of resistance was being put down with mass public shootings. ‘Rulka, my love,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Don’t do anything rash. Stay safe.’
He saw a lone Messerschmitt below him to his starboard and banked away to go after it. The pilot didn’t see him until he had fired his cannon and then it was too late; the shkopy was spiralling downwards in flames. ‘That one is for Rulka,’ he said, looking about him for more. His blood was up and he was in a white-hot fury. But the sky was empty and he turned back to the airfield. Tomorrow would be another day and he did not doubt the bombers would come again just as they had to Warsaw. The only difference was that Hitler had to cross the English Channel to invade the British Isles and while there was an air force he would not risk it.
When he first came to England he had doubted the people’s will to resist. He had wondered if they might, like the French, seek an armistice, but he soon realised they were every bit as determined as his own countrymen to win. Led by Winston Churchill, who had replaced Chamberlain as prime minister, they were stoically fighting on. The ‘wet behind the ears’ British pilots had turned out not to be so wet; they were as gallant a crew as you could meet anywhere. He was proud to call them comrades.
As soon as he landed he went to debriefing and claimed his ‘kill’, then to his quarters and flung himself on his bed and slept. Waking three hours later he realised he was still in his flying kit. He stripped off, had a bath and went to the mess for dinner. With luck he might be able to eat his meal in peace, but that hadn’t happened for days. The only thing that would stop the bombers coming over was bad weather, and there hadn’t been any of that. After the terrible winter, the summer had been glorious.
So much for the stories that England was a country of rain and yet more rain, and if it wasn’t raining the fog was so dense you couldn’t see a hand in front of your face. It was a beautiful country, just as the girls were beautiful, not the ugly freaks they had been told to expect. Louise was lovely, not only to look at, but in her temperament. They had been writing to each other for weeks now and with every letter, he learnt a little more about her, about her life at Cottlesham and the children she taught. She made it all seem so pleasant, a million miles away from the death and destruction he witnessed every day. And she understood about his frustration and misery over leaving Rulka and always made him feel better about it. Next time he had a few days’ leave, he’d write and ask if he could visit her.
There were always airmen from Watton enjoying what free time they had in the bar of the Pheasant and Jan was made welcome and was soon exchanging hair-raising stories with them and making jokes. His English was very good, but sometimes he did not see the point of the humour and had to have it explained to him, which caused more hilarity. Louise, glad to see him so relaxed and enjoying himself, sat quietly in a corner and listened.
‘Where did you find him?’ Jenny asked, pausing from collecting glasses to sit down beside her. ‘He’s dishy. He clicked his heels and kissed my hand when he arrived. And he was loaded with flowers. I’m not sure if they were meant for me or you, but I put them in water.’
Louise had guessed where the flowers came from, a glorious bouquet in a range of vibrant colours. ‘I think all the Poles do that. It’s the custom with them.’
‘Where did you meet him?’
‘On a train. The other people in the carriage were being nasty to him and I stuck up for him.’
‘Does Tony know about him?’
‘Of course. I don’t have secrets from Tony. Besides, he’s married.’
‘That doesn’t mean anything these days.’
‘It does to me and it does to him. He adores his wife but he had to leave her behind in Poland and he doesn’t know what’s happened to her. I’ve been trying to cheer him up.’
‘Very successfully, it seems,’ Jenny said, as a gale of laughter came from the other side of the room.
Jan was laughing but Louise detected the underlying strain he was under. There were dark rings round his eyes and the blue eyes themselves were bleak. This was a man almost at the end of his tether.
‘Where’s Tony now?’
‘Near London somewhere.’
‘Not the best place to be right now.’
The first raid of the Blitz had been bad enough but that had only been the beginning; the constant bombing night after night was exhausting the population and the night before had been the worst yet. According to Jan, a pall of acrid smoke hung over the city, bits of blackened paper and charred rags drifted about on the breeze and there was broken glass, brick and cement dust everywhere, even some distance from the destruction. The government had admitted in news bulletins that thousands of people had been made homeless and thousands more were without water, gas or electricity. The House of Commons had been reduced to rubble and many other famous landmarks damaged. And it wasn’t only Londoners who suffered; other big cities had been subjected to their share. It was a bad time everywhere. Greece had fallen, Germany had invaded Crete, there was fierce fighting in North Africa where the Germans had gone to the aid of the Italians, and Malta was being bombed out of existence. Everyone was feeling and looking drab. What was needed was some good news to cheer everyone up.
‘I know,’ Louise said. ‘But he tells me he isn’t in active combat. I think he’s got a desk job.’
‘That’s a waste of a good pilot, don’t you think?’
‘Perhaps, but I’m not complaining. Jan has been getting more and more exhausted and I don’t want that for Tony.’
‘When will you see him again? Tony, I mean.’
‘He’s due some leave, but hasn’t been able to get away. Soon, I hope.’
‘Time, gentlemen please,’ Stan called from behind the bar.
The RAF men drained their glasses and left to pile into the Humber car that had brought them from the airfield and were soon gone. Jan came and sat down beside Louise. ‘I like your friends,’ he said, watching Stan slide the bolts in place on the door. Jenny was hanging tea towels over the pumps on the bar.
‘And I’m sure they like you.’
‘They fly Blenheims. That’s what I was doing when I first came to England.’
‘Yes, and I recall you didn’t think much to it.’
He laughed. ‘We have to do the job given to us, don’t we?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed.
‘I am glad I met you. I think I was going a little bit mad before, becoming reckless, and that is not good.’
‘Glad to help. Have you heard any news of your wife?’
‘No, none. The people at home have ways of communicating with the Polish government in London and sometimes we hear things, but not often and then we don’t know how reliable it is, or how old. I think it is perhaps dangerous for the people at home to send messages and the London government-in-exile cannot waste time trying to find out about individuals. It is not easy, so many have died …’ His voice faded.
She put a hand over his. ‘Don’t despair, Jan. The war will end one day.’
‘That was almost the last thing I said to Rulka, “The war will end and I will come back …”’
> ‘Hang on to that thought.’
‘I am trying. Have you heard from your Tony?’
‘Yes. He writes that he is busy, though what he’s busy doing, I have no idea.’
‘But he is in England?’
‘Yes.’
‘And he doesn’t mind that you write to me and let me come and stay with you?’
‘You are not exactly staying with me, are you? We are both staying at the Pheasant which is a respectable public house. Yes, he knows. He said if he was in your shoes he would be glad to have someone to cheer him up.’
‘You do cheer me up. You make my stay in England not so bad. If I did not have Rulka and you did not have Tony …’
‘Yes, I know.’ She stood up, unwilling to continue that topic. ‘It’s time I went to bed.’
He followed her from the room and up the stairs. On the landing, she stopped outside her door. ‘Goodnight, Jan.’
‘Goodnight, Louise.’ He took her hand and put it to his lips in his usual fashion, then grabbed both her shoulders and pulled her forward to kiss her cheeks, first one, then the other. ‘That is the kiss of a true friend and I am your friend, should you ever need one.’
‘I know,’ she whispered and fled into her room, closing the door and leaning back against it. Was Jan getting a little too amorous? How could she tell? She had so little experience of the ways of men, particularly of men living with danger every day of their lives. Did it change their character, make them more impulsive, less likely to consider the consequences of what they did? Did they care more, or less?
She crossed the room and stood looking out of the window at the night sky. It was a clear night, the half-moon was bright; the bombers would be back and Jan’s colleagues would be up there, fending them off. But not Jan, not tonight. He was probably already asleep in the next room, dreaming of his Rulka. Poor man, he had so wanted a friend and it had only been a friendly peck on the cheek to say thank you. She pulled the blackout curtains shut and switched on the light so that she could see to undress. Tomorrow, after church, she would take him round the village and introduce him to a few people, so that he could make more friends.
