by Garry Ryan
Sharon stood up. “I wonder what Mother has for us this morning?”
“You seem a little off lately. What’s the matter?” Linda asked.
“Did my mother write more than one letter to Honeysuckle?” Sharon looked directly at her friend.
“She wrote several, actually.” Linda tapped the bench with her palm, indicating that Sharon should sit back down.
Sharon remained standing. “She must have been writing letters while she was in the hospital. Did you read them?”
“Yes, Honeysuckle showed them to me. You must understand that she and Leslie were very close. They remained in contact over the years. When Leslie became ill, she wrote to my mother more often. Your mother was worried about what would happen to you after she died. Honeysuckle shared the letters with me. In the last letter, Leslie said that you might be coming to England. That you had talked about finding your father. She was worried about how you would be received by her family. So my mother asked my father to watch for your name on the passenger manifests of ships arriving from Canada. In wartime, men like my father have access to all sorts of information.” Linda reached into the pocket of her flight suit and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
Sharon watched as her friend struck a match and lit up.
Linda inhaled. “So, by now, you’ve sussed out the fact that our initial meeting was not accidental.” She looked at her friend.
Sharon said, “Your father told you where to find me?”
Linda nodded. “My mother and Cornelia wanted to make sure that you were all right — that you would be safe. The fact that we’re both pilots made it easy.”
“It all seems so calculated.”
“It certainly was at first.” Linda exhaled a cloud of smoke.
“And now?” Sharon was afraid of what the answer might be.
Linda picked at the filter of her cigarette with her thumbnail. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“When the French surrender, we’ll be on our own.” Linda’s father sat in the garden on the east side of their home. Harry’s hair was thin on top. It was more silver than red now. Behind his glasses, there was tired worry in his blue eyes. He sat across from Sharon and Linda. Honeysuckle stepped out of the house and walked toward them.
Sharon thought, They always seem to avoid talking about Michael. I wonder if there is any news?
Linda looked at her father. “Have we got anything left to fight Jerry with?”
Harry glared at her. “What have you heard?”
Linda said, “The pilots who’ve come back from France talk about what it was like. How the Nazis blitzed their way through Europe. I’ve got ears!”
Sharon added, “After a delivery, it’s impossible not to hear the talk. Many say the Luftwaffe has more aircraft and more experience. Hitler has been rebuilding his air force for years, and the RAF has a long way to go to catch up.”
Harry smiled. “Perhaps the pair of you should work for MI5 in London. Your assessment is remarkably accurate.”
“Are you going to answer the question, dear?” Honeysuckle sat down at the table next to her husband. She looked across at Sharon. “Cornelia said she’d be happy to join us for lunch.”
Sharon nodded in reply. She felt tension’s grip behind her navel.
“Churchill got the wrong number stuck in his mind.” Harry looked at his daughter.
Sharon noticed that Harry had a habit of taking his time revealing juicy bits of information. It often took a series of questions before he would get to the point.
“Sharon and I have already flown to most of the RAF airfields. We’ve seen the situation. We’re not idiots, you know.”
Harry’s face was redder than his hair. Honeysuckle put her hand on his.
Harry took a breath. “Winston has the number twenty-five stuck in his mind. He thinks we need that many squadrons to defend England. Dowding is the head of the Royal Air Force. He repeatedly told Churchill that the absolute minimum is fifty-two. On the positive side, some of our pilots are still straggling back from the continent. There are even some Polish flyers who are forming a squadron. It seems clear, however, that we’re going to be below the fifty-two squadron minimum. And it’s absolutely clear that the Luftwaffe has us outnumbered almost three to two. When France surrenders — and I’m saying when, not if — Hitler will feel the need to defeat the RAF before he attempts an invasion of England. If we’re lucky, he’ll put Goering in charge.” He gave Sharon a worried glance.
Sharon covered her mouth with her right hand. I can keep my mouth shut. Don’t worry. “Why is that?”
Harry nodded at her. “Goering is more concerned about the style of his uniform than his tactics.”
Honeysuckle smiled.
Linda shook her head and said, “You don’t have to concern yourself about Sharon. She and I talk about most things. And she knows how to keep a secret.”
Honeysuckle looked at Sharon. “It appears you have picked a very bad time to come to England.”
I’ve been thinking the same thing, she thought. “What are our chances?”
Harry looked out into the garden. “It’s hard to say. Assembling an invasion fleet is a complex undertaking. We still have a strong navy, and our latest fighters are a match for the Luftwaffe’s best. The problem is that we do not have enough Spitfires and Hurricanes, or even enough pilots to fly them.”
“So the situation is desperate?” Honeysuckle asked.
“Well, not exactly.” Harry reached for a cup of tea.
“Well? You make it sound desperate,” Linda said.
“We can track aircraft as they approach our coast.” Harry looked around the garden, checking to see who might be listening. A pair of blackbirds sat chirping at one another on a nearby branch.
“Yes, of course, the Observer Corps.” Linda wagged her finger at her father to scold him for revealing information they already knew.
Harry set his tea down and shook his head. “No, it’s something new. Something quite different altogether.”
“So are you going to tell us or not?” Linda stood to force her father’s hand.
“We will have advanced warning of the Luftwaffe as they form up over France and head this way.”
“Sounds fanciful,” Honeysuckle said.
“Sounds like the Druids are involved.” Linda rolled her eyes.
So that’s what those towers built up and down the coastline are for, Sharon thought.
Harry turned away from his daughter and toward Sharon. “You’re a bit of a mystery. You arrive here off a ship and end up flying for the ATA. Where did you learn how to fly?”
Sharon looked back at him and replied without thinking. “My mother was a secretary for a construction company in Calgary. The owner and his wife took us under their wing. Their children were all grown up, so, on the weekends, we’d often go to their ranch south of the city.”
Sharon looked around the table. Harry, Linda, and Honeysuckle were leaning forward to hear every word.
Linda said, “Go on.”
“My mother’s boss, Douglas, had an airplane he used for work. He’d fly around the country looking at various construction sites. He saw that I was fascinated with flying. When I could reach the controls, he began to teach me.” Sharon thought back to those flights, those weekends and summer holidays she would look forward to the way she looked forward to Christmas morning.
“How old were you when you began flying?” Honeysuckle asked.
Sharon shrugged and looked at them. “Ten. I had a license by the time I was seventeen. Not all of my time in the air is in my logbook. I’ve got well over twelve hundred hours of official flying time.”
“That certainly answers a few questions,” Linda said.
“Like what?” Sharon asked.
“Like why you’re such a good pilot. Like why you can fly better than all of the people who trained us. Why you fly at least as well as the pilots in the RAF.” Linda chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Harry asked.
Linda pointed at her friend. “The fighter pilots often can’t believe it when she lands. Most of them have an eye for the finer points of flying. Their mouths fall open when she steps down from the wing. Some admire her ability. Others, well. . .”
“Well?” Honeysuckle asked.
“I think some are jealous that a woman flies as well as Sharon does.” Linda looked at her father. “In fact, better than most of them.”
“You liked this Douglas?” Harry asked.
Sharon thought for a minute. “He never asked why I didn’t have a father. He just accepted me. He treated me like an equal, like a friend. Douglas taught me that I could be a match for anyone, and that because I was good at flying, there were lots of other things I could do. Flying his Staggerwing gave me confidence. And he taught me how to shoot skeet.”
“A Staggerwing! You flew a Beechcraft Staggerwing?” Linda hit the table with her palm.
Sharon sat back. “Yes, that’s what Douglas had parked in his hangar.”
“So, at ten years old, you flew a Beechcraft Staggerwing?” Linda looked at her father and shook her head. “You’ve been flying a performance aircraft since you were ten!” Linda’s expression and her tone of voice told them all that some great secret had been revealed.
“You’re saying that it’s unfair that I learned to become a good pilot?” Sharon felt anger leaping over logic.
“No. It’s just her awkwardly uncivil way of saying she admires your flying ability.” Honeysuckle stood, put her hands on her hips, and leaned back with her eyes closed and her face to the sun. “Come on, Harry, you’ve got to do your duty.” She winked at her husband.
Linda blushed.
Sharon thought, What was that wink all about?
Harry and Honeysuckle got up and walked into the house.
“What’s got your knickers in a knot?” Linda asked.
Sharon looked at her friend while cocking her head to one side.
Linda went to say something, stopped, and then said, “I know! It’s me who’s upset. It’s just that my parents act as though Michael was never here. They seem to think that ignoring his disappearance will make everything all right!” She used a handkerchief tucked up her sleeve to wipe tears away.
Yes, it is strange.
“It’s that stiff upper lip! It makes me so furious! I can’t pretend that everything is going to be okay!” Linda stood up.
Sharon followed as Linda walked down into the garden, along a stone path, and into a stand of trees. She stopped and stood with her hands holding her elbows. The sun dappled her head and shoulders. A breeze shifted light and shadow. Her red hair changed shades.
Sharon moved alongside her friend.
“Michael and I used to spend hours playing here among the trees. We felt safe here. Now it feels like nothing is safe anymore. Bloody Nazis!” Linda looked up into the branches of the trees. “This oak tree was his favourite. He loved to climb it. He’d try to get me to follow, but I never would.”
“How come?”
“I’m afraid of heights.” Linda turned to face her. “Isn’t that hysterical?”
“Flying is completely different, actually.” Sharon lifted her chin, tapped it with the back of her hand, and winked at Linda.
Linda’s laughter was sharp and short. “Come along. Your grandmother will be here soon. She might walk into the house and catch my parents in flagrante delicto.”
What are you talking about? “What do you mean?”
“Making the beast with two backs.” Linda looked flustered.
“Speak English!” Sharon followed Linda back to the house.
They found Cornelia sitting at the table in the back garden. She stood as the two young women stepped into the open. “Oh, good. I was afraid I’d arrived at the wrong time.”
Sharon almost laughed out loud.
“No, not really,” Linda said. “My parents should be out momentarily.”
As she spoke, Honeysuckle stepped outside, followed by Harry, who carried a tray with tea and sandwiches. Both were smiling and looking a little flushed.
Within minutes, all were seated around the table with a cup of tea and a pyramid of sandwiches within reach.
“Marmaduke and his family are arriving next week for an extended visit.” Cornelia made no attempt to hide her excitement.
Honeysuckle sipped her tea before saying, “How nice.”
To Sharon’s ears, Honeysuckle’s tone said that Marmaduke’s visit was very far from being nice.
Linda said, “Yes, quite a few people from London are making extended visits to the countryside.” She stuffed a cucumber sandwich into her mouth as if hoping to stop herself from saying more.
Cornelia carried on as if she hadn’t heard. “I haven’t seen the grandchildren since last summer, when they stayed for a month.”
Sharon felt a pang of jealousy at the mention of cousins she had never known. They’re nothing to do with me.
“Nothing like an imminent invasion to bring a family together,” Linda said.
Harry glared at her. “It will be good for you to see the grandchildren.”
Cornelia touched Sharon’s hand. “I hope you’ll be able to visit, so I can introduce them to you.”
“Sharon wouldn’t miss it!” Linda turned to her friend. “And neither would I!”
Honeysuckle said, “Linda, would you help me bring out dessert?” She stood up.
Linda smiled. “Of course, Mother.”
Sharon gathered plates and followed them into the kitchen.
Honeysuckle closed the door behind Sharon and said to her daughter, “What is wrong with you?”
Linda said, “You can all live in your fantasy worlds, where we never deal with reality, never mention Michael’s name, and never say how Marmaduke blamed his mother for the old bastard’s death, but some of us have to live in the real world! There is a war on, and Marmaduke is moving in with his mother to save his skin and lay claim to the estate!”
Sharon looked at Honeysuckle.
“That’s true.” Honeysuckle faced Sharon. “Your uncle, unfortunately, is much like his father.”
The phone rang.
Linda picked it up, listened, then hung up. “Sharon, we’ve been called back.”
Sharon heard relief in her friend’s voice.
Within thirty minutes, Sharon and Linda were in the back seat of Cornelia’s Rolls-Royce, her chauffeur at the wheel. Sharon looked out the window at stone walls, gardens, and thatched roofs. This is my first summer in England and my second ride in a Rolls-Royce. It felt remarkably similar to a Buick she’d had a ride in once.
Linda looked out the other side.
After half an hour, Sharon said, “Did they say why we’re being called back?”
Linda shook her head. “Mother wouldn’t say. It was all very cryptic.” She made eye contact with Sharon and glanced at the driver. The message was clear: anything said would be reported back.
Sharon looked ahead and saw the eyes of the driver studying her. She thought for a moment, trying to remember the driver’s face, and found she could not.
Sharon passed the rest of the trip in silence, memorizing the route, noting that the road signs had all been taken down in order to make navigation difficult for an invading army.
As they approached the airport, more military vehicles and men in uniform were visible. One group marched in the opposite direction with broomsticks instead of rifles on their shoulders.
Sharon saw a blend of anger, determination, and fear on their faces.
CHAPTER 4
[ JULY 1940 ]
“What’s the matter with you?” Linda sat behind Sharon in the Anson, their ride to the first delivery of the day.
Roger was up front, concentrating on his instruments. It appeared his frequent belching was an attempt at holding down a breakfast of greasy sausages he called bangers.
Sharon looked out her window for a glimpse of the ground. There was the hint of green treetops disappeari
ng into a world of grey cloud. “I was hoping to fly today.”
“Today, tomorrow, next week, don’t worry — you’ll get back to Biggin Hill. I just hope. . .” Linda put her hand over her mouth.
“What? Spit it out!” Sharon glared at her friend. The Anson hit a patch of rough air. She grabbed the back of the seat in front of her. The wings flexed. The airframe groaned.
Linda looked around for a paper bag. “I hope your father isn’t a disappointment.” Her eyes rolled and she swallowed hard.
“Here.” Sharon pulled a paper bag from her coverall pocket.
Linda grabbed the bag and held it over her mouth and nose. “Don’t you ever get airsick?”
Sharon shook her head. She looked out the window. A railway line ran about five hundred feet below the aircraft. “It’s usually tension that does it to me. I think we’re getting close.”
They felt and heard Roger throttle back.
Sharon looked ahead, but couldn’t see much out of the cockpit windows because of Roger’s hulking frame, so she looked out through the side. I hope he wasn’t drunk last night. And I hope he isn’t drunk right now.
The flaps extended.
The wheels thumped down.
They passed through dense cloud and into the open. She could see the approach to the runway.
There was a bump of turbulence.
Linda threw up.
The wheels kissed the runway.
The cabin filled with the sweet-sour stink of vomit.
“Your stop, Canada!” Roger said.
When she climbed out the side door, Sharon had her gear in one hand, and Linda’s airsick bag in the other. She moved away from the wash of the propellers tugging at her coveralls. For a moment, Linda’s ashen features were framed in the rectangular window. The engines revved, and she was gone.
Sharon walked toward the dispersal hut.
A group of pilots waited near the canteen, looking at the clouds, sipping tea, and munching on white bread sandwiches.
Bully beef. Sharon’s stomach turned at the thought of what passed for meat in England. She looked at the bag in her hand. Oh, no.
“Wrong time of the month? A bun in the oven, perhaps?”
