A Song At Twilight

by Lilian Harry

  She’d been disappointed that so far the rotund pilot hadn’t taken up her invitation to come and see her. He’d been to the cottage once or twice, with Andrew and some of the other pilots, but she had never had a chance to be alone with him, to ask him if the nightmare was still with him or if, with the change of airfield, it might have receded. She’d tried to catch his eye the last time he’d been here, but he’d simply grinned cheerily at her, as if there had never been any conversation between them, and she’d known that she couldn’t introduce the subject. It had to be left to Tubby himself.

  She picked up one of the jars of jam. ‘Next year, I’ll make more. And bottle some fruit, too. I was thinking, Andrew, we could dig up the back garden and grow our own food. It’s what we’re supposed to be doing anyway, isn’t it? Digging for Victory. D’you suppose the owners would mind?’

  ‘I could find out.’ He kissed her and drew her into the living room. The edge was still in his voice, and she could feel the tension in his body. ‘What are you thinking of growing? And who’s going to be doing all the digging? I can’t promise that I—’

  ‘No, I know you couldn’t do that,’ she said quickly. ‘You don’t get enough time at home as it is.’ Andrew was only able to come home in the evenings, and seldom even stayed all night. ‘May says her grandfather will come and dig it over for me, and after that I’ll be able to manage it for myself. He’ll tell me what to plant and when.’

  ‘You seem to have made some good friends there,’ Andrew observed, throwing himself into a chair and pulling her on to his lap. ‘You’ll have to take me along to meet them sometime soon.’

  ‘They’d like that. They really appreciate what you and the others are doing, you know, even though the airfield has made life rather noisy for them.’ She rested against him. ‘Is anyone else coming round tonight? Tubby, or the new ones?’

  ‘No, I thought we’d have some time to ourselves.’ His arms tightened around her. ‘I don’t get enough time with you to want to share you every evening. I just want a quiet few hours on our own, like an old married couple.’

  ‘That’s lovely.’ She wished he would talk to her, tell her what was wrong. There was something she needed to tell him, too, but she couldn’t do it while there was this hidden tension between them. She made her voice bright. ‘Just what I want, too. And I’ll let Hughie stay up a bit later than usual – it’s lovely for him to have his daddy at home.’ She leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘I was wondering today if we should have a party at the weekend, if there aren’t any alarms. What do you think?’

  Andrew paused for a moment before answering, then nodded. ‘Yes. It’s a good idea. These new youngsters, Hazelwood and Sinclair, could do with a bit of a breather. They’ve been practising with the Typhoons till their ears drop off.’ He frowned. ‘The chaps aren’t all that keen on this new plane, you know. There’ve been a lot of problems with it – carbon monoxide in the cockpit, for a start, just as if it weren’t already too hot inside, and quite a few engine failures. They’ll get sorted out eventually, I know, but we feel a bit like guinea pigs at the moment. Still, it’s good to be flying a fighter-bomber at last. Gives us the best of both worlds.’

  Alison heard this with some disquiet. Andrew usually kept problems like this to himself. Perhaps he was aware that she knew there was something wrong, and hoped to distract her with talk of difficulties with the new aircraft. She decided not to comment and asked instead, ‘Are the two new boys ready to go out with the squadron yet?’

  ‘Next week. That’s why it’d be a good idea to give them a bit of a shindig. Not that the chaps don’t have a brawl in the mess most evenings, but something more civilised might go down well. What are you planning?’

  ‘Well, I thought I might get May to come in and help me with the food. She might do some baking beforehand, if we can get the rations.’

  ‘That’s the stuff. They’d sell you a pat or two of butter too, wouldn’t they, and a few eggs and some cream?’

  ‘They might. They’d rather give it to me, though. Honestly, you’ve no idea how generous they are, Andrew. I know they have their own cow and hens but they don’t have to give it all away. I hardly dare mention a thing for fear Mrs Prettyjohn will wrap it up and press it into my hands.’

  ‘Well, why not come to an arrangement? Tell them that if they offer you something you’ll accept it – as long as it’s not too much – but if you actually ask for something, they’ve got to sell it to you. And then don’t give them too many opportunities to offer first!’

  Alison laughed. ‘I’ll do that. And I’ll pay May for her help. How many shall we ask?’

  ‘Well, all the squadron, of course. Robin and Jackie, and all the rest – you know them already. But we’ve got some Poles coming soon – might ask them along, if they’re here by the weekend.’

  ‘Poles?’ She looked at him blankly for a moment, then her face cleared. ‘Oh, you mean Polish airmen! Oh yes, ask them as well. I just hope we’ve got room for everyone.’

  ‘You don’t need enough room at a party,’ he said. ‘You need not quite enough – much more fun! It’ll be quite a celebration. A welcome, I mean, for the new bods.’

  ‘Mm.’ Alison looked at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. ‘Actually, it might be more of a celebration than you think.’

  ‘Why?’ He twisted his neck to peer into her face. ‘What’s happening? Is someone coming to stay? Your parents – mine? You haven’t said anything before.’

  Alison gave him a mysterious look. ‘Someone’s coming to stay, but it’s not my parents, or yours. Still, it’s not quite certain yet. You’ll have to wait and see.’ She kissed his nose and swung her feet to the floor. ‘And now you can go out in the garden and play with your son while I get our dinner ready and start thinking about the party. You do realise we’re on rations, don’t you. It won’t exactly be a lavish spread.’

  ‘Some of Mrs Prettyjohn’s bread and your home-made jam will do,’ he said, trying unsuccessfully to pull her back on to his lap. ‘And I want to know who’s coming to stay. It’s not fair, keeping me in the dark like this. I shouldn’t have to worry about things when I’m flying my new Typhoon.’ His plaintive tone had no effect on Alison, who merely ruffled his thick, dark hair.

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ she said heartlessly. ‘You’ll be pleased, I can tell you that – and that’s all I am going to tell you. Just wait and see.’

  She whisked away into the kitchen, leaving her husband lying back in the armchair, warmed by her affection. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t come home in the evenings, he thought. I don’t know what I’d do if I hadn’t got Alison to make things bearable.

  It had cost him enormous effort to come into the house that evening as if he were a normal man, coming home from a normal day’s work. As if nothing bad had happened. As if he’d enjoyed every moment, just as Alison seemed to have enjoyed every moment of her day, picking blackberries, making jam and pies, planning a party. And this surprise visitor, who was presumably going to be here in time for the party.

  Well, whoever it was, she had obviously made up her mind it was to be a nice surprise, and God knew he could do with one of those at the moment. And somehow he was going to have to tell her what had happened today.

  He closed his eyes, seeing it all again in his mind and trying to find the right words. He knew just what a shock it would be. Their cosy evening would evaporate into sadness; at the very least, she’d probably want to cancel the party. But Andrew knew they must go ahead with it. Nobody could be allowed to grieve for too long, or they would never take to the air again.

  That afternoon, he and Tubby had been on patrol along the Channel and had been surprised by a pair of enemy Heinkels. In the ensuing fight, Tubby Marsh had shot one down into the sea. But even as his yell of exultation had sounded in Andrew’s ears, a third had dived on him, straight out of the sun.

  His aircraft disintegrating in a ball of flame, Tubby had spirall
ed into the waves below.

  ‘Tubby?’ Alison said in a small, disbelieving voice. She stared at Andrew as if she suspected him of playing a cruel joke. ‘It can’t be true. Not Tubby.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is,’ Andrew said. She was back on his lap and he held her in his arms but she lay stiffly against him, not responding. ‘I saw him go down myself. There was no chance.’

  ‘But you’ve been together since you first started at Cranwell,’ she whispered. ‘He’s never even had any accidents. He’s a brilliant flyer, you’ve always said so.’

  ‘Not in his hearing!’ Andrew said, thinking of the insults and banter he and Tubby had shared over the years. He pulled his wife’s head gently down to his shoulder and stroked her hair. ‘Darling, I’m afraid it doesn’t make any difference how good a flyer you are, when someone comes out of the sun and shoots you down.’

  He stopped, wondering if he had said too much. Alison knew the dangers he faced, but they seldom discussed them. Like the pilots, she ignored them and pretended to herself that they didn’t exist. But when something like this happened, pretence was impossible and sometimes it couldn’t be recovered. Andrew had known pilots – excellent flyers, too – who had broken down at that point and been unable to face it again. Some had finished up in hospital, some were now working at desks, and one had shot himself.

  It was as bad for wives and families, and they had no control over it at all. They just had to endure.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about me, you know,’ he said. ‘I’ve had my crash.’

  Alison was silent for a moment. Then she said, ‘You know that doesn’t make any difference.’ She raised her eyes and gave him a steady look. ‘It’s all right, Andrew. I understand the risks. Every time I say goodbye to you, I wonder if it might be the last time. But there’s nothing we can do about it. We’ve just got to go on.’ She paused. ‘What about the party? We can’t possibly have it now.’ She looked at him accusingly. ‘You knew this, and you let me go on chattering about parties. Oh, Andrew!’

  ‘No,’ he said forcefully. ‘We must have it. Cancelling it would just make everyone even more miserable, and that’s dangerous. A miserable pilot isn’t taking the care he should, and if he’s upset over something like what happened to Tubby, he’s likely to be frightened as well. His reactions aren’t as good, he’s not in the right frame of mind, and he’s at even greater risk. A frightened pilot is a dangerous pilot – how often have you heard me say that?’

  Alison stared at him, remembering how she had quoted those very words to Tubby. How she had tried in vain to persuade him to confess his fears, to tell Andrew or to go to the station doctor. But in the end, it hadn’t been fear that had killed him. As Andrew said, it didn’t matter how good a flyer you were, if someone came out of the sun and shot you down.

  If Tubby had had time to know anything, he must have known that. He had known, in the end, that he hadn’t died a coward. She hoped that it had been some comfort to him, in those last terrible moments.

  ‘We’ve got to have the party,’ Andrew repeated quietly.

  ‘Yes. All right.’ She looked at him, trying to gauge the depth of his own distress. ‘Oh, Andrew, it’s awful. Poor Tubby. He was your best friend.’

  ‘I know.’ But he was still taut, his sorrow held like a tightly wound ball of elastic deep inside him. She knew that he would not let go easily. He was too used to this, too used to keeping his emotions under control when pilots were killed. It happened too often.

  But this was Tubby. This was the man he had started his RAF career with, the man he had stayed with all these years, the man who was as close to him as a brother.

  She made up her mind. He would have to hear her own news sometime, and perhaps it would help him to hear it now. She wound her arms loosely about his neck and smiled at him a little tremulously. ‘Well, perhaps I won’t wait till then to tell you who our visitor is. I’ll tell you now. Although I’m not sure we can really call him a visitor. Or her.’

  ‘You mean there are two of them?’ He seemed relieved to have the subject changed. ‘Why can’t we call them visitors, then? How long are they staying?’ A sudden thought struck him. ‘We’re not getting evacuees, are we?’

  ‘No – and there aren’t two of them, either. Not as far as I know, anyway.’ Her lips twitched. ‘It’s just that I don’t know yet whether it will be a him or a her.’

  ‘You don’t know?’ He stared at her. ‘What on earth are you talking about? For heaven’s sake, you must know who it is!’ He gave her a suspicious look. ‘Come on, out with it. What are you laughing at?’

  ‘Can’t you guess?’ she asked, her joy bubbling up even through the sorrow she felt for Tubby. ‘Someone coming to stay – not a visitor but someone coming to live with us – and I don’t know whether it’s going to be a him or her?’ She laid some extra emphasis on the words. ‘I don’t know if it will be a boy or a girl.’

  There was a brief silence. Then Andrew said, ‘Are you telling me that we’re – we’re having another baby?’

  ‘Yes!’ Her smile spread over her face. ‘Yes, we’re having another baby, Andrew! It’s due next May. Or early June.’ Her smile turned to laughter. ‘What do you think? Isn’t it wonderful?’

  ‘Wonderful,’ he said. ‘Yes, it is. It’s wonderful.’ He kissed her and rested his cheek against her head. ‘Another baby. Another little boy or girl that we’ve made … it’s terrific news, darling. And an even better reason for having our party.’

  Chapter Five

  Alison wasn’t the only one to wonder if they ought to be having a party so soon after Tubby’s death.

  Ben and Tony discussed it as they sat in the mess over a pint of beer. Neither had been in the air at the time, but they’d known as soon as the squadron came back that they’d lost someone. Often, when this happened, the missing pilot telephoned from somewhere else in the country where he’d been forced to land, and returned – with or without his aircraft – to jeers and catcalls. But this time, everyone knew that Tubby would not be coming back.

  ‘He was Andrew’s best friend,’ Tony said. ‘I don’t know how he can still laugh and joke with the others. I don’t know how anyone can.’

  ‘No, but we’ve got to do it just the same,’ Ben replied. ‘You know that as well as I do. We’ve seen it so many times already. There’s no time to sit around weeping and wailing. We have to get up there and fight, and thinking about what happened to Tubby – and what might happen to us – isn’t going to help.’

  ‘I know.’ They were silent for a moment or two, then Tony asked, ‘Have you lost anyone yet, Ben? Friends, or anyone in your family, I mean?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘We’ve been lucky so far. But there are four of us in it now …’ His voice faded slightly as he thought of the odds against all four of them coming through the war unscathed, then he said, ‘What about you?’

  ‘I had a cousin in the Navy. He went down in the Hood. My aunt, his mother, died soon afterwards. She was widowed in the ’flu epidemic in 1918 and he was the only child. She just didn’t seem to be able to go on living.’

  Ben could find nothing to say. Behind every death, there must be an equally tragic story. It wasn’t just the men – the soldiers, the sailors, the airmen – who lost their lives, it was the huge gap they left behind, in the lives of those who loved them. And some of those people would never recover.

  ‘I know a girl whose fiancé was killed,’ he said after a minute or two. ‘She was pregnant – they’d been going to get married, but he went away without even knowing about the baby. Her parents turned her out and she came to live with my people as a maid.’

  ‘I suppose she had to give the baby away,’ Tony observed. ‘That’s what usually happens, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, she didn’t, as it happens. She kept it – it’s a little girl – and they’re still with my father and mother.’ Ben hesitated. ‘I’m her godfather, actually. She’s rather a nice girl – the mother, I mean. And Hope’s a little
sweetheart.’

  Tony gave him a curious look, but before either could speak again, Andrew came over, bringing a tall, fair-haired man in the uniform of a Polish pilot. He was very upright and correct, standing almost to attention as he came to a halt beside their chairs.

  ‘This is Stefan Dabrowski,’ Andrew said, and they stood up to shake hands. ‘He’s joining the squadron.’ He didn’t need to add, in Tubby’s place. The three men nodded at each other and sought for something to say.

  ‘Have you been in England long?’ Ben asked at last.

  ‘Since just after the beginning of the war. As soon as Hitler invaded, we came here so that we could fight him and win back our country.’ His English was very precise and he spoke with a quiet purpose that slightly startled Ben. He was used to the jovial bravado of the British and Canadian pilots he had met, with their breezy enjoyment of flying, as if it were still all rather a game, despite the fact that the ‘game’ was deadly enough to kill their fellow pilots on a regular basis, and he shared their desire to score as many ‘kills’ as possible. But this Pole seemed to have a deeper motivation. It was as if he understood more than Ben about war and its meaning.

  ‘I can’t imagine what that would be like,’ Ben said at last. ‘Losing your country, I mean. I know we’re fighting to stop Hitler invading us, and I know he’s nearly done it once or twice, but he’s not succeeded and I hope to God he doesn’t. But for you …’

  Stefan Dabrowski nodded. ‘It’s different when you have seen your neighbours overrun, and know that it’s your turn next. The march of jackboots through your streets – the raiding and the killing, having nowhere to hide.’ His pale, ice-grey eyes glittered. ‘I mean to kill as many of them as I can,’ he said quietly. ‘And so do my friends. They may have taken our country from us, but we shall take it back, and with interest.’

  There was a brief silence, then Andrew said, ‘And good luck to you, Stefan. Now, the reason I’ve brought you to meet these two characters is partly to get it over with as quickly as possible, and partly to invite you all to my house for a bit of a knees-up on Saturday night. It’s time you saw civilisation again. My wife’s going to lay on some bread and jam, maybe a sausage or two, and we’ll put on some music and roll up the carpet for some dancing. Not that there’s much room, but I dare say you won’t mind having to cuddle up a bit.’