by Shirley Mann
‘Oh, Harriet, I have such a story to tell you, but I can only share a little and you cannot tell a soul. Do you hear me, Harriet Marcham, not a soul?’
Harriet made a little cross over heart like she had done when they were children. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
Bobby quickly ran through some thoughts in her head. She had signed the Official Secrets Act and had been left in no doubt that her activities in France could not be disclosed. She told Harriet she had been ‘somewhere’ and unable to get back and that Elizé had been under threat and had to escape and that, unbelievably, it had been Gus Prince who had piloted them out of danger. She hesitated over her story, but her friend was too stupefied to notice, ignoring the missing details and grasping onto the one piece of information that was of most interest to her.
‘So, you were rescued by Gus Prince? That’s unbelievable!’
Bobby laughed self-consciously. ‘Yes, our hero!’
‘Oh, how romantic. I would have swooned in his arms, but I bet the moment was wasted on you,’ she laughed.
Bobby halted for a moment while she dismissed a vision of Gus’s face close to hers on the bed but then said quickly, ‘There was no time for any swooning,’ and deflecting the attention away from herself she went on, ‘But next time, I’ll tell him to come and rescue you instead. Maybe from all those GIs?’ She looked at Harriet’s enraptured face and was suddenly serious.
‘Harriet, do you mind that I seem to keep bumping into Gus Prince? Do you still have feelings for him?’ Bobby hesitated but then went on, ‘It’s just that, well, I have to admit, I do find him attractive and I don’t know what to do about it.’
Harriet grasped Bobby’s shoulders with delight. ‘That’s fantastic, Bobby, I’ve been waiting years for you to notice men and Gus Prince must be gorgeous now, he was certainly good looking when we were younger. Look, he has to marry one of us,’ she said giggling, ‘and I would love it to be you. I mean if he can’t see what a fantastic catch I am then he doesn’t deserve me.’ She flicked her hair back like a movie star and giggled. ‘Oh, I don’t know, Bobby, he was just a childhood crush, it didn’t mean anything. Of course, if you want to flirt outrageously with him and then drop him, I’ll pick up the pieces when he’s lost and broken-hearted and that’s just fine by me.’
Harriet examined her thoughts honestly. She had forgotten all about Gus Prince until Bobby mentioned she had met him in Scotland. Then, by chance, last week, she had bumped into his mother in the greengrocers. Mrs Prince had been delighted to see Harriet, who was always a favourite of hers and had regaled her with news of her pilot son, hoping the young woman’s eyes would light up with interest. Harriet did not want to confess to Bobby that since then, she had found herself scanning every pilot in blue uniform, hoping he might turn up on her base. She looked sideways at her friend. Somehow, she just could not picture her and Gus as a couple and she decided there would be no harm in daydreaming about how she was the heroine of the story, not Bobby. Such imaginings would, she knew, keep her occupied for hours during the long, tense nights on duty when she was waiting for crews to return.
Bobby was released from any more feelings of guilt by Harriet’s rapid switch of subject to her exhausting shifts.
The news from Coltishall was grim; as a telephone operator Harriet was often on nights, struggling to bring home crews that she had shared breakfast with hours before. Some of them were prised out of the plane, too injured to care, other planes never returned. It was a relentless round of drama and she felt emotionally drained. She tried to think of something positive to tell Bobby. ‘Oh, we had a visit from Ralph Reader’s Gang Show and we all sang along to his signature tune – you know, “We’re riding along on the crest of a wave,”’ she sang, completely out of tune.
‘Oh, I do miss you, Harriet,’ Bobby laughed, reaching over to put her hand over her friend’s mouth to stop the rendition, ‘but I don’t miss your singing.’
Harriet looked quizzically at Bobby. ‘You’ve changed,’ she announced, suddenly worried. ‘You said you found Gus attractive; you’re not in love, are you?’
‘Yes, I think I am . . . but, no, Harriet, not with Gus – or any man for that matter.’ She ignored the merged picture of Gus and Edward that had suddenly popped into her mind and failed to notice the relief on her friend’s face.
‘But I am in love with life, Harriet. For the first time . . . I’ve realised . . . well . . . how precious it is.’
Bobby lowered her head and slowly carried on, almost talking to herself. ‘I’ve never allowed myself to feel much because somehow I didn’t think I deserved love, but now,’ she paused, glancing towards the house, ‘that little girl has shown me how it’s possible to reach out – despite everything that’s happened to her – and what it’s made me realise is that if you trust people, they will take you to their hearts.’
Bobby was silent for a moment. She envisaged Gus’s face, expressing love for her. That was followed by the scene back in France when she remembered Raoul beaming and recounting, for the umpteenth time, amusing stories to his new extended family. Then there was Michel with a serious expression planning his next pick-up points while the long-suffering Claudette bustled around the kitchen. And finally there was her own family, offering ribbons, teddies and trips round the farm.
‘Why have I never noticed the goodness in people before?’ she asked Harriet.
‘Because your heart was locked up in that mound of earth over there,’ Harriet replied in a matter-of-fact manner. ‘Look, Roberta Hollis, you had a strange childhood, that’s for sure, and you’re definitely a strange girl.’
Bobby pushed her gently and they both laughed.
‘But,’ Harriet said, more seriously, ‘I do think there’s something I’ve heard about. It’s called being a twinless twin. You’ve always felt guilty you survived and Michael didn’t, but now you need to start to live for two.’
Bobby started to pluck at the straw under her fingers. There was a long silence filled only by the caw of the rooks in the nearby trees.
‘Would you give me five mins, Harriet? There’s something I have to do. Don’t go anywhere.’
Bobby got up and walked slowly towards the square railings by the barn. Harriet watched, her eyes pricking with tears, feeling this was a crucial moment in her friend’s life.
Bobby stood with her back to her friend and to the house and spoke to Michael, as she had many times, but this time, it was different, she felt his presence like she had never done before.
‘Michael, I need to have your permission to live for both of us. I’ve discovered over the past few weeks that I may not be the self-sufficient, driven girl who only needs flying to survive. I’m beginning to see changes in me and in our crazy family and now I’ve got Michel and Elizé to protect as well. But I need you to know that I haven’t abandoned you. But I can’t go on feeling this terrible guilt so will you . . . please . . . let me go?’
She ended her one-way conversation by reaching down and putting her hand gently on the angel’s head and wiping her eyes. It felt strangely warm, even in the early evening March air and she was sure it was smiling more than usual. Her fingers stroked the top of the marble and she closed her eyes. For the first time in her life, she felt at peace.
She turned and looked at the house that had always filled her with foreboding, but now, she ran towards it, pulling at Harriet’s hand on the way past.
‘Come on, Harry, we need one of Mrs Hill’s scones, and we need one now!’
Chapter 29
It was as if Bobby had not been away. She sat in the large armchair at Hamble and tried in vain to reply to the letters she had received from Gus and Edward. The difference in the tone of the letters summed up the two men. Gus’s were casual and chatty, as if nothing had happened between them, whereas Edward always had some excuse to write to her. Something to do with advice on which trains were likely to be cancelled or which foodstuffs were going to be scarce. She inevitab
ly ended up writing something non-committal to both of them – a little like the postcards she always sent when she went away on holiday as a child – telling them both the same things, without going into detail.
When she had returned to base, it was quite normal that no one questioned her absence. There was no time to check on each other’s movements. Being an ATA pilot could be an isolating experience for a group of girls who raced around the country, only passing each other occasionally in a NAAFI or on an Anson and after her experiences in France, the companionship of Elizé and the unexpected warmth of her family, Bobby was feeling lonely. She needed to fly to take her mind off the events of the previous couple of weeks. It had all been too much for her to process and the swirling fog outside did nothing to help her clarity of thought. The girls chatted around her, swapping stories of boyfriends, aircraft differences and the best RAF base to grab a bed in but Bobby’s mind was racing. She was fretting about Elizé and whether she was settling at the farmhouse, she worried at night about whether Michel and Raoul were safe and now she knew what Gus’s role was in the war, she knew all too well what risks he was taking. And then there was the incomprehensible role of Edward in all that had happened. Incapable of concentrating, she threw down the notepaper in frustration.
‘You all right, Bobby?’ Patsy asked. Patsy had passed all her exams to be able to fly most types of aircraft. She often had her head in a book learning the controls, insignia and capabilities of everything from a Moth to a Wellington and had a single-minded attitude to her job that Bobby had always tried to emulate.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Bobby lied. ‘Just fed up with being stuck here. I need to get up there and feel the air underneath the wings of the plane.’
Patsy unexpectedly reached over and touched her hand. ‘I know, there’s so much going on out there and we’re stuck here, waiting for the fog to clear.’ She stared through the window. ‘You know, Bobby, this fog sums up the war. It’s like living in a world where none of us can see straight. We hear one bit of good news and then one bit of bad that seems to cancel out that glimmer of hope. We’re such a small part of it all. I think the whole country is waiting for the confused picture out there to suddenly clear and reveal a blue sky to victory. It’s no wonder you’re feeling a bit at sixes and sevens.’
Bobby looked at her and nodded gratefully. That was exactly how she was feeling. Their role was such a small part of the bigger picture, she had not recognised how small their part was until she had gone to France. All over Europe, the world probably, she realised, there were little pockets of people doing tiny amounts to try to preserve their freedom while in Germany and Japan, their people were also fighting for what they believed they were entitled to.
‘Do you think there will ever be a blue sky?’ she asked Patsy, suddenly needing reassurance.
Patsy smiled. She pointed to the headline in Bobby’s newspaper. ‘Allies invade Holland by air’, it proclaimed.
Sally was holding court as usual, regaling them all with details of a party at The Ritz in London she had gate-crashed the previous weekend. Patsy went over to help Sheila with her sewing and Christine was doing jumping jacks by the window. It was all far too normal.
Bobby went back to her letters, fingering one in her left hand from Gus and one in her right from Edward.
Really, these men are becoming a bit of an issue, she thought. I like them both, but they’re so different. I know Gus is interested in me, but, Edward? She blew out a sigh. She had no idea how he felt about her. She tried to imagine her life with one of them and the vision always merged in her head. One appealed to her sense of fun and the other was such a safe, reliable option but, she suspected, with hidden depths. In all honesty, though, she was not sure he had even noticed her.
Edward was an enigma that was beginning to keep her awake at night and while he was certainly solicitous and polite, there had been no sign of anything other than a friendly concern. She suspected, he, too, was furious with the attempt to force a relationship between them. If she knew anything about Edward Turner, it was that he was a man who made his own decisions. On the other hand, Gus’s declaration had completely unnerved her. She had no idea whether their relationship was anything more than a physical attraction? Did he know her at all? Was he enough for her?
In the end, she was saved from writing to either of them by the loudspeaker, which went off to announce that the weather was clearing and the ‘chits’ were about to be handed out.
Bobby was due to go take her exams soon to be able to fly the twin-engined big bombers like Manchesters and Wellingtons. It was a huge opportunity for her to rise to the lofty heights reached by only a few men and even fewer women and she wanted to make sure she did nothing to blot her copybook, so she stood eagerly in line by the hatch, waiting for the sheets to be spread out in front of them.
‘I’m off to Scotland,’ Theresa said with a groan. She was a tall girl who was married to a male ATA pilot; they were always trying to fix their deliveries so they could meet up en route. Charlie, her husband, she complained was scheduled for Cosford, so their rendezvous was going to have to wait. She knew that with good weather, the trip to Scotland could take three hours or if the fog persisted, it could be four days before she got back to Hamble so her face formed a pout and she turned away from the hatch clutching her ‘chits’.
‘I’m for Bognor, Abingdon and Ronalds . . . way,’ Alena, a Polish girl said slowly. ‘Where is Ronalds . . . way?’
‘Oh, that’s on the Isle of Man, you’ll love it,’ Patsy told her, laughing. With her longer experience in the ATA, she always had titbits of information about every runway. ‘The land appears in your port window at the last second before you think you are about to ditch in the sea. And the weather there is always much worse than here. I’m off to good, old safe Speke and Redhill. Should be back in time for a drink.’
Bobby scanned her sheet. A Hurricane to Brize Norton, an Anson to Lee-on-Solent and then, a Spitfire to Upper Heyford. She would have to get a move on with marking her maps, they had already lost a couple of hours of the morning.
Once all her pencil marks were sketched onto the maps, she raced to the Met Office to check the latest weather reports, then to the signals room to get the latest barrage balloon reports and finally to the locker room to pick up her overnight bag and her parachute. Bobby checked her overnight bag for the maps, toothpaste and brush and bit of Pears soap, makeup and night things. She zipped it back up and grabbed her white scarf that went everywhere with her, then she tucked a £1 note for an overnight stay and the bar of chocolate for glucose into her handbag and walked onto the runway.
The first two trips went smoothly; they were both routes Bobby had done before and she felt a moment’s pride when she brought the Anson in smoothly in strong crosswinds. Without an automatic wheel drop system, she needed help to wind them down and had been assigned Luke, a young flight engineer who scowled all the way at having to be second in command to a woman all the way from Brize Norton. He had prepared so many complaints about her piloting skills but when they landed at Lee-on-Solent, he nodded at her in reluctant approval. His approbation was wasted on Bobby, who was too busy looking for her next delivery, a Spitfire to take to Upper Heyford. It was a route she was not familiar with and had to concentrate on but once she had spotted the airfield with its round Nissen huts, she skilfully brought the aircraft to a standstill on the tarmac near the control tower. Bobby looked around her. There were Wellingtons everywhere, it was a busy training station and its young pilots would soon be moving on to an operational Bomber Command airbase elsewhere.
She looked with envy at the high turrets of the Wellingtons and the impressive engines that propelled these huge aeroplanes. Her exam to raise her to a Class IV was in two weeks and on Monday, she was due to go to White Waltham to train for it. Her stomach turned over. The prospect of flying one of those great beasts was immensely exciting – and terrifying.
‘Hey, it’s one of those female pilots,’
a voice called.
She turned around, a little fed-up with the ribaldry that always followed such a call.
‘Gus!’ she squealed with delight and then pulled herself up, suddenly embarrassed. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘More training, more sprogs,’ he said, delightedly grasping her shoulders and giving her a hug. He could not believe his luck. Without a full moon to fly agents by, he had been drafted in at the last minute to cover for a pilot and he had been really bad-tempered about having to leave his post at Tempsford to go and spend three days with rookies in Oxfordshire but it seemed the fates were with him. Since Tempsford, he had been cross with himself for rushing things and had decided all he needed was time and Bobby would be his.
‘How long have you got, any time for a cuppa, a drink, dinner, a lifetime?’ he laughed.
She looked at her watch. It was too late to fly back to Hamble before dark.
‘Do you know what, Gus Prince? You may just be in luck. I might have to stay over.’
Gus sent a silent prayer of thanks to the darkening heavens.
She arranged to meet Gus later and then left him dealing with his pupils to go and sign in. She also talked a welfare officer into assigning her a bed for the night.
Maybe this was a sign, she thought, as she swilled her face. Perhaps she was fighting fate and it was written in the stars that they should meet up. It occurred to her that it could be that fate was taking a hand because she could not.
‘Stuff and nonsense,’ she muttered through her toothpaste. A practical girl from a child, Bobby had always felt like the master of her own destiny, it was just that, at this particular moment, she did not know what that destiny was.
She paused as she was about to put the toothbrush back in its bag. A disturbing vision came to her . . . that of Harriet’s pretty face. She glared at her own reflection in the mirror in disgust. No matter what Harriet said, somehow, Bobby had always been convinced Gus was destined for Harriet.
