Bobby's War

by Shirley Mann

  *

  That evening, when she and Gus were sharing a couple of drinks and a bag of crisps in The Bell, Gus pointed up to the beams and told her about The Bluebell in East Kirkby where RAF crews left their pennies to buy a round when they returned from a mission. It was a tradition that young pilots at Upper Heyford had started to emulate but, even here, a number of coins had started to build up, patiently waiting for their owners to return. His face clouded for a moment. He had witnessed too many crashes by inexperienced pilots who never even got the chance to fire one shot in anger at the enemy.

  Bobby felt a chill in the back of her neck and suddenly looked at Gus in panic. It had never occurred to her that he might die, flying low over the fields of France every time there was a full moon. The thought made her examine her heart. Did she really care for this man? How would she feel if he was hurt?

  She put her hand to her head and ran her fingers through her hair.

  ‘Are you OK, Bobby? You seem a bit distracted. Is my conversation not scintillating enough for you?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine, sorry, it’s been quite a month, I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.’

  She looked intently at the man on the other side of the table from her. He was so attractive but for some reason, he felt more like a friend than anything else. She had often thought about the episode at Tempsford but had never been able to imagine anything deeper happening between them. She looked across at him as he launched into yet another amusing anecdote about a pilot who was so arrogant about his flying ability that his crew tied a blindfold around his eyes before take-off. His bumpy ascent nearly cost them all their lives, Gus told her, but the pilot never boasted again. Finishing triumphantly, Gus looked up for admiration. Bobby studied his face closely and examined her feelings. She liked Gus but in her heart of hearts, she sensed that his easy charm and excellent sense of humour would never be enough for her and that her fierce independence was not the adoring audience he needed. Edward was another matter, she thought. She knew she had hardly skimmed the surface of his character but felt, somewhere deep inside, that he would listen carefully to every nuance of what she was experiencing and would be able to give her the support she needed. Bobby realised that, even without Harriet in the frame, she and Gus were not meant to be.

  *

  Bobby was quiet for the rest of the evening and Gus went to bed perplexed. He was getting a little fed up with this game. He felt a fierce attraction for Bobby but it always felt as if he were chasing a moonbeam. He tried to examine his feelings. Gus had almost found it too easy to be successful with women and had found the challenge of Roberta Hollis irresistible. He always had done but as a grown man, it occurred to him that he might be enjoying the chase too much. What he did not want to do was ask himself how he would feel if he ever really did catch her.

  Chapter 30

  The following morning, Bobby was sitting in the guard room at Upper Heyford waiting for her ‘chits’ for the day. She was not feeling at her most patient and was getting irritated at the length of time she was having to wait. She started to drum her fingers on her trousers. There was a golden-haired WAAF sitting next to her, trying hard not to gaze at the gold-winged insignia on her tunic.

  ‘Hello,’ the girl said. ‘I’m sorry for staring but are they really pilot’s wings?’ She pointed at the wings.

  Bobby smiled at her. ‘My name is Roberta, Bobby for short.’ Slightly embarrassed, Bobby pointed to the insignia and leaned over to explain. ‘I’m in the ATA, that’s the Air Transport Auxiliary, I deliver aircraft .’

  The girl’s mouth dropped open. She had heard about these mythical creatures but had never imagined she would meet one.

  ‘My name is Lily,’ she stammered. Then she came out with a torrent of questions. How did she get to be an ATA pilot, what did she fear most, how did she deal with all the male prejudice, which aircraft was the best to fly and . . . and . . . ?

  ‘Whoa,’ Bobby said, laughing. ‘One question at a time.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Lily said, blushing. ‘I’ve just never met a woman pilot before and it’s just . . . amazing.’

  Bobby looked at the naked adoration on the girl’s face. It was so different from the sceptical comments she got from men and often, the blatant jealousy of women. This girl was just an open book of interest and approval.

  Bobby explained to her about how she was the only daughter of a farmer in Norfolk and how she had watched her father and Archie drive, mend and repair the machinery. She paused and then added in a matter-of-fact manner that her male twin had died at birth so no one had even noticed she was a girl and she had learned lots of things a girl would not be expected to know.

  Bobby stumbled over the words, realising how difficult it was, even now, to discuss Michael with a stranger but the girl was too absorbed in her story to notice. Bobby took a breath and carried on. She explained that once her father extended the farm, he had started, at Bobby’s suggestion, to look at the way they sprayed crops in America and decided it might be a good investment to let her have flying lessons.

  ‘What’s it like up there?’ Lily asked breathlessly, breaking in on Bobby’s thoughts.

  ‘It’s incredible, Bobby admitted, suddenly released from her usual reticence. Acknowledging Michael’s death was giving her a freedom she had never experienced before and it felt good.

  She closed her eyes and then opened them to glance across; Lily had her eyes shut too.

  ‘I feel the controls in my hands, the throb of the engine under my feet and I look towards the runway knowing I can whizz over it in a matter of seconds and then that moment when I lift the wheels up . . . there is nothing like it in the whole world. I feel as if I am an angel, taking wing and flying off into the unknown. I feel as if nothing can touch me – although I know I’m at risk from the enemy, faulty machinery or the weather, just like any other pilot, for some reason, I never worry about that. I am in control and nothing can hurt me.’

  ‘Is this what you were waiting for?’ The desk officer was standing in front of Bobby holding out a sheet of paper.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ Bobby said. Lily looked up in surprise to see someone else standing there. Bobby stood up and turned to face the young WAAF.

  ‘Goodbye, Lily, it’s been nice to meet you.’ She turned to go and then turned back.

  ‘Go for your dreams, Lily, no one can deny you the chance to try.’

  She then told Lily about the ATA’s Ab Initio programme, which was now allowing people who had never flown to apply. She saw the girl’s face light up.

  Bobby swept out of the guard room. Behind her was a young woman who had no idea what she could achieve.

  She felt a tap on her shoulder.

  ‘How do I find out about this programme?’ Lily asked breathlessly.

  Bobby told her to ask her superiors.

  Lily thanked her and then suddenly gushed, ‘We may never meet again but I want to say you are the most amazing woman I have ever met and you may have changed my life. I will never, ever forget you.’

  Bobby stared after her. She had been so wound up with everything that had happened to her she had forgotten how important her small part in this huge war machine was and how the role of women in the ATA could be seen as a beacon for women in the future.

  ‘Thank you, Lily,’ she whispered to the back of the disappearing girl.

  *

  The ‘chits’ were finally handed out and Bobby headed out to the Anson taxi she was to fly to Gosport where there was a Spitfire waiting for her to be delivered to Cosford and from there, she was to take a Mustang to Bognor Regis. She hoped there would be a car waiting to take her to the station from there as it was only a grass Advanced Landing Ground and not a full tarmac runway so there would be no chance of a lift in an Anson home. She glanced at her watch. With any luck, if there was a car, she would make it back to Hamble in time for supper.

  This time she had a flight engineer called Walter who was waiting for h
er, looking just as churlish as Luke had the day before. Being second fiddle to ATA pilots was not the most appealing shift and the fact that this one was a woman had already made him the butt of jokes in the NAAFI that morning.

  ‘Let’s go, Walter, I’ve got pilots waiting to be ferried and four more deliveries today,’ she said distractedly, not hearing his muttered reply that he preferred to fly with male pilots.

  They took off with six passengers. Two of them Bobby knew but the others she did not.

  ‘Hi, Dolly, Phil. How are you both?’ she asked.

  Phil leaned over to two other male pilots who were looking suspiciously at Bobby.

  ‘Don’t worry, she’s a good pilot,’ Phil confided. ‘One of the best actually.’

  They all settled onto the double row of seats in the back.

  ‘It might be a bit bumpy,’ Bobby warned. ‘Find something to hang onto. There are some cross winds.’

  As they approached Gosport, she circled, wondering how she was going to land at such a small airfield. She struggled to hold the controls, battling against the wind, which had picked up more than ever. The chatter in the back had stopped and there was a tense silence.

  After pitching and tossing from side to side, Bobby finally brought the aircraft to a halt, right outside the control tower. When she climbed out, the airport’s CO came out of the tower towards them. He looked completely startled. His own squadron was grounded due to the strength of the wind, he informed her, and yet the only aircraft flying was being flown by what he had just called ‘A flaming slip of a girl.’ He was not pleased, but Bobby was and strode past him and a stunned Walter to sign in at the control tower. Then she went to find the NAAFI for a well-deserved cup of tea. She was beginning to be less in awe of these men in uniform.

  The canteen was quiet but a steady buzz of conversation was going on in one corner. Two male ATA pilots that Bobby did not know had their heads together, speaking in hushed tones.

  She took her cup of tea over to them and stood, waiting to see whether they would welcome the intrusion of a female pilot. They looked up, almost guiltily as if caught in an unsuitable conversation and then one of them got up and pulled a chair out for her. She was surprised, it was not often that women were accepted so easily by their male colleagues.

  ‘Bobby,’ she said, reaching over to shake their hands.

  ‘Paul, and this is Harry,’ one of them replied. ‘Just got in have you?’

  ‘Yes, Anson taxi from Upper Heyford.’

  ‘We saw you come in, quite some flying that,’ Paul begrudgingly acknowledged. He paused for a moment. ‘If you’re just in, don’t suppose you’ve heard, have you? About Patsy Collins?’

  Bobby’s insides turned over. ‘What?’ she falteringly asked, remembering the restroom at Hamble the day before when Patsy had talked about going to ‘good old safe Speke and Redhill.’

  ‘Goner,’ was the stark reply. ‘She misjudged the runway at Speke and the wind got her. Took her straight into the gas works. It was lucky only the aircraft went up in smoke, could have wiped out Speke.’

  Bobby stared down at her cup of tea. Reflected in the liquid, she saw Patsy’s face, laughing at jokes, sniffling with a cold and grinning in the taxi on the way to the Gosport party and her own eyes blurred. It seemed impossible that such a good pilot could have had such a tragic accident but she, herself, had experienced that day’s strong winds and knew how the gusts would sweep relentlessly across the exposed Liverpool industrial areas. She took a deep breath to control the tears that threatened to fall. Losing a pilot was a disaster that affected them all, including the two men in front of her and they all looked glumly into their cups. These men had both lost ATA pilot friends, like Bobby had, and it made no difference what sex they were. Bobby stirred her tea fiercely.

  ‘Not good to lose this many pilots,’ Paul said. ‘Especially women. You’ve all been doing a great job.’ He reached across and put his hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

  Bobby was surprised to hear him speak so warmly of female pilots and thanked him with a nod, unable to speak.

  ‘It’s all right, I’ve worked with some damned good women pilots,’ he said, pouring more condensed milk into his tea, ‘and I doubt any man could have just brought that Anson in better than you just now. We’re all at the mercy of the weather, your friend was just unlucky.’

  They all sat in silence and then Paul got up to go. ‘I’m getting the train back, so I’m off. Don’t take off until these winds have subsided,’ he urged Bobby.

  She looked up, surprised at his concern.

  ‘It’s a habit. I’ve got three sisters,’ he said, putting on his jacket and grabbing his helmet and parachute. Bobby took herself off to the toilet, where she leaned back against the cold, white tiles before letting the tears flow. It took time for her to compose herself enough to be able to go to the Met Office to check if the winds really had subsided. An ops manager advised her that the Mustang to Bognor Regis was cancelled but that she should be OK to fly the Spitfire to Cosford.

  Hamble was subdued when Bobby finally got back, and every time she looked around the restroom, she would hear Patsy’s laugh. The whole group was devastated by the loss of a friend and fellow pilot but they all reacted differently. Some wanted to talk well into the night, sharing memories of the girl from Lancashire who had made them laugh on so many occasions while others, like Bobby, took themselves off to bed early to pull the bedclothes around themselves and gently reflect on a war that did not seem to know the normal rules that stipulated young people should survive to old age.

  The following day, Bobby tried to put all thoughts of Patsy out of her head and concentrate on packing for No. 1 Ferry Pool, White Waltham, for her big bomber training. She could not believe how guilty she felt that her life was moving on while arrangements for Patsy’s funeral were being posted on the noticeboard. She was due at Transport for ten o’clock so she ran past the wooden board, only pausing in the corridor for a second while she took in the time and date of the service. She sent a fervent prayer to the heavens that she would be able to get time off to attend the funeral.

  Chapter 31

  Roberta Hollis leant over her book in the classroom at White Waltham. She had her ruler across the page, testing herself on the next paragraph. She was enjoying the total concentration of the intensity of the training. It was like going back to school with disciplined days and concentrated study time and after Patsy’s funeral, she particularly appreciated how hard work blocked out other thoughts. The funeral had been such an emotional event with Patsy’s large family from Lancashire filling the front pews. Not all the Hamble girls had been able to make it, but there were enough of them to form a guard of honour as the coffin passed, their heads held back stiffly to honour their friend. The patient engineering instructors at White Waltham had also heard about the female ATA pilot and it made them work even more tirelessly to make sure that the young people in front of them would never be unsure about which instrument did what, how to deal with different weather patterns and how to cope with unforeseen problems. One, a tall man in his fifties, called Reg, constantly warned the young women in his classroom about the risks of flying dozens of different aircraft at a moment’s notice in all conditions. A veteran instructor, he had seen too many names being posted of people who had sat in those very desks in front of him now. His words resonated in particular with one young pilot in the front row with deep auburn hair who still cried every night for her dead friend.

  ‘You never put your personal safety at risk, fly in fog or fail to prepare adequately,’ he told them for the third time that week.

  ‘You never fly in anything but a completely professional manner and you never think you know better than the Met Office. Take your time to do your navigation plan and at the first sign of danger, find somewhere to land.’

  He sighed and set them their next task, which was looking at how the transmission worked on a Wellington.

  Reg was an experienced pilot
himself, but he knew that being an ATA pilot was a particularly dangerous career and one that was exacerbated by the hectic schedules they had to follow and the range of aircraft they had to fly. He had a daughter in the Navy in Portsmouth and as he looked at the bent heads of the young women in the classroom, he decided he might go through the safety checks one more time before tea with them.

  *

  Later that night, Bobby was going through her notebook. She studied the bewildering set of notes about fuel and oil systems, speed propellers, gauges, flaps and undercarriages, which were different in every plane. She decided she would go to the library after dinner to find out more about how the American aircraft systems, with more electrical systems, could be de-mystified. She had to learn them so thoroughly that, even under pressure, she would be able to carry out a strict cockpit drill before taking off. There were terrifying stories about rushed engineers leaving spanners in the cockpit, which ended up under a rudder pedal, and that could be fatal. It was drummed into all of them that one mistake or a hurried departure could cost them their lives.

  The test flights on the twin bombers always included the pilot being able to fly with only one engine in case of failure or an enemy hit and most trainees struggled to keep the huge wingspans level without two operating engines.

  ‘A Wellington has a wingspan of eighty-six feet and two inches,’ Reg told them all the following day during a practical session on the runway.

  ‘No wonder they won’t stay straight,’ Audrey, the girl Bobby was sharing her digs with, whispered. ‘it’s like trying to fly with twenty eagles tied to each other.’

  The group looked up at the huge beast that was towering above them.

  Reg continued, ‘It is seventeen feet high, so obviously you’ll need a ladder to climb up, not swing yourselves in like on a Spit.’

  He then went on to explain how the catch on the door opened two ways and how you had to remember the correct way to push it. He then asked for a volunteer, but before anyone could speak, he turned to Bobby, who was immediately on his left and pushed her towards the ladder. ‘You’ll do. Up you go.’