by Jenny Holmes
‘But let’s not talk about Teddy,’ Douglas said now. ‘This is your big day, Jean. We ought to celebrate your promotion tonight.’
Yes, she thought, we ought. ‘What do you suggest?’
‘Is there somewhere you’d like to go? You name it.’
‘How about Northgate, or is that too far?’
‘Not at all; good choice.’ They walked hand in hand and talked as if it was the most natural thing in the world for Douglas to invite Jean out. And that’s how it felt: perfectly easy and comfortable. Still, his heart had beat faster when she’d said yes. ‘What would you like to do there?’
There was a wide choice of cinemas, a theatre and two dance halls in the elegant spa town. ‘I’d like to listen to some music,’ she decided.
‘What type of music?’
‘I don’t mind; anything at all.’
They smiled at each other and stopped in a small clearing with a bench.
‘Shall we sit for a while?’ Jean suggested. And so they sat under the trees in the dappled sunlight, watching leaves flutter in the breeze then spiral slowly down. Hand in hand. Letting the world slow down, enjoying the sunny moment while they could.
Mary wore her new wings with pride as she walked towards the canteen at Rixley. The long train journey from Thame hadn’t tired her. Instead, it had given her time to overcome her nerves about returning as Third Officer Holland instead of a lowly driver. She’d pre-planned her movements on arrival; a late-afternoon walk from the train station to the ferry pool followed by a quick cup of tea and a bite to eat. With luck there would still be enough time to walk through the wood to Burton Grange where she was to take up residence in the women’s quarters. Luckily the weather had been glorious when she’d stepped off the train: all green and golden in the sunlight, with the spire of St Wilfred’s piercing the clear blue sky.
But in spite of her careful preparations, Mary’s nerves got the better of her as she reached the canteen door. This was an awfully big thing she’d achieved – to raise herself up through sheer grit and determination – yet she was suddenly struck by a crippling sense that she didn’t deserve to be where she was now, that somehow it had all been a huge mistake and that her present happiness could be snatched away at any moment. With her hand on the door, she peered through the pane of glass at Olive and Harry doing a jigsaw together and at Gillian Wharton and two of the typists from the ops room laughing at a table close to the door.
I’ll skip the cup of tea, Mary decided as she backed away, straight into Stan.
‘Look who it isn’t!’ he cried.
Before Mary could object he’d swept her off her feet and was swinging her round. She had to hold on to her hat and beg him to put her down. ‘Please, Stan; you’re making me dizzy.’
Laughing, he set her down then slapped her on the back. ‘Look at you, Mary! Those wings suit you, by the way. And you look different. Have you done something with your hair?’
‘I had it cut shorter.’ She straightened her jacket then grinned at him. ‘I’m glad to see your ugly mug. I was about to give the canteen a miss until you turned up.’
‘I could see that. Anyway, it’s good to have you back.’ Giving Mary a push from behind, Stan propelled her through the door. ‘Look who’s here!’ he cried.
In an instant Mary was surrounded by a crowd of well-wishers and swamped by congratulations. While Stan went to fetch her tea, Gordon bet her a fiver that she would make first officer by Easter and Harry admired the changes from afar: a smart new haircut, a broad smile and a touch of rouge and mascara.
‘You won’t want to talk to the likes of us,’ Olive kidded. ‘You’ll be too busy rubbing shoulders with the top brass at the Grange from now on.’
‘No, it won’t make any difference.’ Blushing from the praise, Mary accepted her drink from Stan then sat down with the old crowd. ‘We can all still meet up at the Fox, can’t we?’
‘You bet we can. How was the course?’ Gordon offered her the last biscuit on the plate. ‘Was the theory part the worst?’
‘By far,’ she replied. ‘I thought I’d never get the hang of control configurations and settings on all the different aircraft.’
‘What about the instructors?’ Olive wanted to know. ‘Were they as strict as they say?’
‘Ten times worse,’ Mary admitted. ‘I suppose it’s their way of weeding out the ones who aren’t going to make it.’
Stan sat opposite her, his chest puffed up with pride on her behalf. ‘But you did it, Mary. I’m chuffed to bits.’
She smiled warmly. ‘With a hefty kick and a shove from you,’ she reminded him. Stan was her best pal at Rixley; in fact, her best friend full stop. ‘What’s been happening here while I’ve been away?’
‘Angela ditched a new Spit into the drink,’ Gordon reported. ‘A complete write-off. Bobbie saved her life.’
‘Blimey.’ Taken aback, Mary looked to Stan for confirmation.
‘It’s true. Oh, and Teddy Simpson has taken to roaring about on a Royal Enfield hoping to impress the girls; a Bullet of all things.’ It was a sore point with Stan.
‘And succeeding,’ Gillian assured Mary from the neighbouring table.
‘Watch out, ladies – stand by your beds!’ Olive gave Mary a knowing look. ‘But he’s not my type,’ she added. ‘Now, if it was Flight Lieutenant Cameron Ainslie we were talking about …’
‘Too serious by half,’ Vivien Francis, Gillian’s friend, argued. ‘And you wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of him. I have and it’s not pleasant.’
‘Anyway, thanks everyone, but I’ll love you and leave you.’ Mary downed the rest of her tea then stood up. She was glad when Stan accompanied her outside.
‘Did I mention: it’s good to have you back?’ he asked as they walked slowly across the lawn. He thrust his hands deep in his pockets and kicked at a nearby stone.
‘You did. And it’s good to be back, Stan. But I’d better get a move on if I want to get to the Grange before dark.’
‘What Olive said – about you moving there …’
‘What?’ Mary prompted.
‘If you ever need someone to talk to …’
‘It’ll be you, Stan.’ She felt tears of gratitude well up.
‘That’s the ticket,’ he murmured. ‘But if you’re ever lonely over there and I’m not around, try talking to Jean.’
‘Ta, I’ll remember that.’ It was true: Jean was definitely the most approachable of the officers billeted at the Grange.
‘She takes a bit of getting to know but she’d be a good friend to have.’
Mary nodded. ‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’
‘Make sure you look after yourself,’ he insisted. ‘And good luck.’
Good for Mary, Stan thought as he watched her walk through the deep shadow cast by the control tower towards the wood. She’s got guts for getting this far. Now let’s see how she does as a junior officer in her new surroundings; that’s bound to be a challenge and a half.
Mary had never before stepped inside a house as grand as the Grange. She’d only seen such places from a distance, during day trips to the seaside, travelling through areas where the mill owners had built their mansions. They’d seemed to her no more real than castles in fairy tales – impossibly large and ornate, surrounded by parkland where swans swam on lakes and rows of regimented bushes lined the drive. Recalling the Cinderella fairy tale of her childhood, Mary felt a flutter in her stomach and stood with a nervous smile on her lips. She gazed up the stone steps at the wide doorway.
It was the first time she’d been back to Burton Grange since the German bombing raid and she was shocked by the extent of the damage. A whole wing stood in ruins amid heaps of rubble. Many windows had been boarded up through the rest of the house and the porch over the entrance had collapsed. Chunks of masonry still littered the front terrace.
‘It’s a mess, isn’t it?’ Cameron surprised her by appearing round the side of the house. He’d spied Mary from an upstairs windo
w then run down the back stairs into the stable yard from where he’d emerged on to the terrace. He was still in uniform after a morning spent studying met forecasts with Douglas, after which he’d been delayed by Hilary wanting to reminisce about college days.
A fidgety Cameron had escaped at last then dashed back to the Grange. His intention was to make Mary feel welcome and he’d only recognized how important this was to him when Hilary had held him up. He’d got there just in time to see her emerge from Burton Wood and walk towards the house.
‘Yes, I hadn’t realized how much damage there was.’ She noticed that a bomb had scored a direct hit on the lodge house at the end of the drive and that deep craters scarred the wide lawns.
Cameron came down from the terrace and offered to take her suitcase. ‘We came across an unexploded incendiary last Tuesday,’ he told her. ‘Orders are not to walk in the grounds until the disposal team has dealt with it.’
‘Thank you; that’s good to know.’
‘Come inside; let me show you around.’ Feeling unexpectedly nervous on Mary’s behalf, he led the way up the steps and through the door. ‘There’s a library over to your left if you ever want some peace and quiet. The lounge bar is on the right. That’s where we generally congregate in the evening. Straight ahead is the corridor leading down to the kitchens and servants’ rooms. The old hospital wing is out of bounds, of course.’
Mary had a vivid memory of driving up in the Tilly wagon to a scene of fire and smoke, of screams and cries for help. Hunched, coughing figures had stumbled from the smoke and a cool, calm Cameron had taken charge of transporting the injured to the hospital. ‘Where am I to sleep?’ she asked him now.
‘Upstairs; I’ll show you.’
He led her up a flight of stairs, past a torn painting of a woman in a high white wig to a half landing with an arched window overlooking the grounds.
‘Congratulations, by the way. I mean it, Mary; very well done.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Cameron,’ he reminded her.
‘Thank you, Cameron.’ To call the second in command by his first name didn’t come naturally, but he was kind and polite, and was obviously going out of his way to settle her in.
‘The female quarters are up there to your left. Bathroom at the far end of the corridor. I believe your room is the first on the right, next to Jean’s.’
‘Thank you,’ she said again.
‘Men’s rooms are on the second floor. I wouldn’t venture up there if I were you. Not without a gas mask.’
‘No?’
‘Some of us are scarcely house-trained – dirty clothes strewn around all over the shop, wet towels on the bathroom floor …’
‘I see.’ Her lips twitched then expanded into a broad smile. ‘I’m used to that; I grew up with two brothers.’
Cameron liked Mary’s grin. It showed her white, even teeth and transformed her whole appearance. He had to resist an impulse to move closer and take her by the hand. Perhaps too complicated. Most definitely too soon. ‘Roll-calls usually happen out in the stable yard. Would you like me to explain the drill now or later?’
‘Later, if you don’t mind.’ She took her case and went on up the stairs. Who needed a staircase this wide and ceilings this high? she wondered. What was the point of the fancy plasterwork and who was responsible for dusting the glass chandeliers? Not me, thank goodness, Mary said to herself as she turned left at the top then opened the door to her room. It’s not my job to scrub floors or fetch and carry for Lord and Lady Muck; not any more.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Teddy and Bobbie’s Saturday-night mystery tour had begun with a train journey to Northgate. They’d walked out of the station into an impressive square lined with elegant clothes and jewellery shops then strolled hand in hand along a broad, steeply sloping street, past an imposing town hall to the Spa Ballroom, a large Victorian dance hall advertising twice-weekly events on a poster beside the door. There was a wide entrance where groups of young men stood and smoked, mostly in uniform and all eager to eye up the girls who ran in skittish groups up the marble stairs.
Teddy and Bobbie followed a group of such girls into a glass atrium decorated with palm trees in ornate glazed pots. There was a ticket office to one side and a cloakroom to the other. ‘Don’t be long,’ he told her as he queued to buy tickets and she went to take off her black satin cape and powder her nose.
She reappeared in her emerald-green chiffon dress with its full skirt and an off-the-shoulder neckline. Bobbie had dithered for a long time over the dress: was it too formal for wherever it was that Teddy was taking her? But then he’d promised somewhere ‘much nicer’ than the dingy Anchor. Was it too revealing? She’d studied her reflection in the full-length mirror in Angela’s room (what would Angela’s opinion have been?) then hurried back to her own room and changed several times before deciding on the green dress after all. Now, emerging from the cloakroom and seeing Teddy’s glance of approval, she was glad she had.
‘Do you hear that?’ Teddy nodded his head in the direction of the music floating up from a room below. He led Bobbie towards a wrought-iron balcony, looking suave and at ease in a dark blue suit teamed with a white shirt and grey silk tie. ‘That’s a Glenn Miller number.’
Bobbie gazed down on a crowded dance floor where sailors on leave held their sweethearts close for a romantic Viennese waltz and eager Tommies leaned in to whisper sweet nothings in the ears of girls they’d only just met. She made out a small stage at the far end of the room where musicians in dinner jackets played piano, violin, drums and saxophone. There was a bar serving drinks in a side room off to the left.
‘Let’s dance.’ Teddy led the way down curving, pink marble stairs.
Bobbie followed in high spirits. It was ages since she’d been to a proper dance; not since she’d left home, in fact. She was immediately caught up in the lively atmosphere and had a sudden giddy sensation when Teddy took hold of her around the waist then steered her on to the floor. She soon found that he was an expert dancer, able to guide her through the crowd and move with a smooth, fluid rhythm that made him stand out from other, less skilled hoofers.
‘This is better than the Anchor, I take it?’ He whirled her gracefully, making her skirt flare out behind.
‘Much better.’ Their cheeks were so close that they almost touched and his hand on her back drew her firmly in.
Bobbie Fraser really was a slip of a girl, Teddy thought as he held her tight. He usually preferred them taller and more rounded. She was pretty, though, with a slightly turned-up nose and pointed chin that gave her an elfin look. They were attracting plenty of gratifying attention from onlookers: unshowy wallflowers in faded pink dresses and shy corporals with unflattering haircuts standing awkwardly at the side of the room. ‘Where did you learn to trip the light fantastic?’ he asked Bobbie as the waltz drew to a close.
There was a smattering of applause for the musicians. ‘At school. We had a dance teacher called Miss McKinley. It was a girls’ school so my partner was always a tall girl called Peggy Irvine. Peggy was with the WAAFs as a wireless operator the last I heard.’ Teddy’s amused smile made Bobbie blush. ‘Why, what did I say?’
‘Nothing.’ He pinched her waist. A slip of a girl and so naive. ‘What slogan do they put on the recruitment posters? “Serve in the WAAF with the men who fly.” You can take that invitation in more ways than one!’ Teddy winked then listened to the start of the next number: a foxtrot this time.
‘“Serve” … Oh yes, I see. Oh no, Peggy’s not like that.’
‘Don’t you believe it; everyone’s like that in this day and age. And why not?’ Teddy took advantage of the fact that the more complicated dance had put off many couples, leaving more space on the floor. ‘Everyone is much more free and easy, don’t you find?’
Bobbie kept up with his nimble footwork: slow-quick-quick turns as their feet skimmed the floor. ‘Some people are,’ she conceded. She really must try to sound more worldly. ‘And
you’re right: why not? None of us knows where we’ll be or what we’ll be doing this time next month; or even if we’ll still be anywhere at all.’
‘Quite.’ There was always something about Bobbie that amused Teddy; at the moment it was the blindingly obvious effort she was making to behave more like Angela. ‘Your Miss McKinley certainly succeeded in teaching you the ropes.’
‘Thank you, kind sir.’ Bobbie smiled prettily as the band upped the tempo and they danced on.
‘Anyway, I hope your Peggy is living for the moment with the men who fly. Most of the WAAF girls I’ve come across do.’
‘Don’t we all?’ she replied gallantly.
‘We do,’ Teddy agreed as they went on skipping and spinning across the polished floor. ‘After this dance we’ll stop and have a drink. What do you say?’
Jean and Douglas had ended up in the Spa Ballroom after a leisurely stroll through the quiet streets of Low Northgate, up the hill towards the dance hall, drawn there by the faint strains of music drifting out on to the pavement.
‘Shall we go inside for a drink?’ Douglas had suggested. ‘You won’t mind just sitting and watching? I’m not up to dancing, I’m afraid.’
‘A drink would be nice.’ Jean had enjoyed the drive over the moors. They’d witnessed a spectacular deep red sunset above a band of dark blue clouds then watched the light fade from the wild landscape – a sight that had convinced Douglas and Jean that war couldn’t destroy nature and that the old ways of life would survive all conflicts. Sheep would always graze amongst the heather. Red kites would continue to soar.
Jean had found Douglas a considerate and interesting companion as usual. She learned that his father was a tea merchant who had tried to dissuade his young son from his bookish ways by encouraging him to take up rugby and cricket, without much effect. ‘I preferred my geometry theorems and my kings and queens of England,’ Douglas had confessed. Jean in turn had shared her love of the Brontë sisters. ‘Jane Eyre especially. I first read that book when I was eleven and I was convinced that Charlotte Brontë had written it about me!’
