But climbing into bed that night, Bob Watson’s words came back to haunt her. Ruth seemed to have come round to the idea. She was her friend and, if the worst did happen, Fleur knew she could count on her, but there were still others who viewed a wartime wedding with scepticism and disapproval.
Including her mother. But that, of course, was for a very different reason. Whatever that reason was. Fleur only wished she knew the answer.
Twenty-Three
‘I’ve got a darky,’ Kay said calmly.
Fleur’s heart skipped a beat. An aircraft in trouble. Bob sprang into action, issuing orders for the landing lights to be switched on and the crash crew to be alerted.
‘Better let sick quarters know too,’ he instructed Peggy, whilst Fleur threw aside her sewing and took her seat beside Kay.
Kay was speaking reassuringly to the aircraft in trouble. ‘Hello, B-Beer. This is Wickerton Wood. You are cleared to land. Runway two-zero. QFE one zero two zero. Switch to channel B. Over.’
Faintly, everyone in the control room heard the intermittent noise of an engine.
‘He’s in real trouble,’ Bob murmured, as Kay continued to talk the aircraft down. The spluttering noise came closer and closer and the crash crew, fire tender and ambulance were already moving as close as they dared to the runway. The black shape appeared suddenly, low over the perimeter hedge.
‘God – he’s only just missed it,’ Bob muttered, straining his eyes through the darkness and pulling nervously at his moustache. ‘I hope he doesn’t block the runway just before all our lads are due back.’
Fleetingly, Fleur thought Bob was being callous, but then she realized the tough realism behind his remark. With the runway blocked by a crash, their own returning aircraft would be endangered. Low on fuel, they might not be able to make it to another airfield.
Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, whilst Kay kept up a serene conversation with the stricken aircraft.
Lower and lower the plane came until, with a squeal of rubber, it touched the runway, bounced once and then stayed down, trundling past the control room where every head turned to follow its progress. When the aircraft slowed and came to a halt at the far end, there was a unanimous sigh of relief as the crash crew and fire tender raced after the plane.
‘I think he’s OK,’ Bob said, still watching. ‘Well done, Fullerton. Couldn’t have handled it better myself.’
‘Now there’s a compliment,’ Kay drawled. ‘Could I have that in writing, Flight?’
As the crippled aircraft was towed away, the first call came from Wickerton Wood’s own squadron and the control team swung into their practised routine.
‘Coming to the pub tonight?’
It had been a busy week. The weather had been good and there had been flying almost every night. With one R/T operator off sick, Fleur and Kay had been required to work extra shifts and it wasn’t until the Saturday, when there was no flying, that the friends had an evening off.
Fleur stared at Kay in surprise. ‘Do you think we should?’
Kay, with a little smile on her mouth, shrugged. ‘Why ever not? It’s a free country.’
They glanced at each other, aware that that was the very reason they were all here. Fighting to keep that freedom.
‘What about the locals? I mean we . . . we don’t want to antagonize them any more. We might not get away with it next time.’
There had been no repercussions from the fracas outside the White Swan – much to the surprise of everyone involved.
Kay’s little smile became a smirk. ‘Johnny’s planning something.’
Fleur’s eyes widened in fear. ‘Oh no! He’s not planning to round up a . . . a posse, is he?’
Kay laughed, her dark violet eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘Johnny? The responsible navigator of a Hampden? Really, Fleur. The very idea!’
‘Then – then . . . ?’
‘Ah, now that would be telling. If you want to find out, you’ll just have to come along, won’t you?’ She swung back in her chair to face her desk, adding, with a touch of sarcasm, ‘Or are you chicken?’
‘Is Robbie going?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then so am I.’
As she heard Kay’s soft chuckle, she swung round and marched out of the room. There was half an hour before she needed to be at her desk to complete her morning shift. She wanted to find Ruth.
‘What do you think Johnny’s planning? Trouble?’
Ruth screwed up her face thoughtfully. ‘Shouldn’t think so. He doesn’t seem the type to me.’
‘Doesn’t he?’ Fleur was not so sure. Johnny had had no compunction in flirting with a local girl and causing her boyfriend to be jealous.
‘Well, I’ll come along too. Tell you what though. At the first sign of trouble we’re out of there and I don’t care if they do think we’re chicken. I’m not incurring the wrath of the owd beezum for anyone else.’
Fleur laughed. She knew Ruth was referring to Flight Sergeant Brown rather than the Squadron Officer Davidson, who was the most senior WAAF officer on the station. Ruth was Lincolnshire born and bred, and though her dialect was not broad there were times when it came out strongly.
‘What on earth is an “owd beezum”?’
‘An old hag.’
Fleur laughed louder. ‘Oh, that’s priceless. I must remember that.’
‘Well, don’t let her hear you calling her it. You’d be on a charge for sure.’
Chuckling, Fleur returned to the control room. Only a few more hours, she was thinking, and she’d be with Robbie.
Later, as Fleur brushed her uniform and polished the buttons on her jacket until they sparkled, she felt butterflies of apprehension begin to flutter in her stomach. Downstairs she found Ruth and Mary Jackson listening to the wireless. Fleur stood quietly for a moment, holding her breath. Was it more bad war news? Then she let out her breath with relief. It was only one of Mrs Jackson’s favourite programmes, In Town Tonight.
‘Oh, sorry.’ Catching sight of her, Ruth jumped up. ‘Ready?’
‘When you are.’ Though Fleur was anxious to meet Robbie, part of her would have liked to stay here safely in the cottage, listening to Mrs Jackson’s wireless.
‘Now, you promise to go to the shelter if the sirens start, don’t you, Mrs Jackson?’ Ruth said.
‘I don’t think I could manage the path in the dark, my dears.’
‘Harry’s said he’ll come and fetch you. Now I want your promise. Please.’ Suddenly, Ruth bent down and kissed the old lady’s wrinkled cheek. ‘We don’t want anything happening to you, you know.’
Tears filled Mary Jackson’s eyes. ‘You’re such dear girls. All right, I promise I’ll try.’
As the two girls walked down the dark lane, arms linked and following the thin beam of Ruth’s torch, she murmured, ‘I suppose that’s the best we can hope for. That she’ll try. But I very much doubt she’ll venture down that path in the dark on her own.’
‘But you said Harry had promised to go round.’
‘Oh, he will, he will.’ Ruth laughed wryly. ‘He’ll go round all right. But I bet they’ll just sit there listening to Mrs J’s wireless and gossiping while the bombs fall around them.’
‘So all that digging was a waste of time, was it?’
‘Not at all. We’ve tried. At least it’s there.’ She sighed. ‘Now it’s up to them. But we can’t make ’em go in it if they really don’t want to.’
They walked on in silence until they saw the blacked-out shape of the pub looming up in front of them.
‘Now then, girls,’ was Bill Moore’s friendly greeting. ‘The lads are already in the corner over there.’
Fleur glanced round and her heart skipped a beat as she saw Robbie, but it was Johnny who rose to his feet from his place beside Peggy and came towards them. Draping his arms around their shoulders, he said, ‘Now, girls, what are you drinking? I’m in the chair.’
As Johnny ordered the drinks, Fleur looked around her t
rying hard not to make it obvious that she was looking for someone. Then she let out a sigh of relief. There was no sign of Alfie Fish and his cronies. Fleur carried her drink across the room to sit beside Robbie.
‘Hello, darling. All right?’
She nodded. She was feeling a little easier, but not entirely relaxed. It was early. There was still time for the local lads to make an appearance. And when Johnny came back and sat down, her fears increased again. He positioned himself so that he sat opposite the door and every so often he glanced up at the entrance.
He’s watching for them, Fleur thought in horror. He really is planning trouble. Her heart began to pound and her hand, held warmly in Robbie’s, trembled a little.
‘Darling?’ he said at once, full of concern. ‘What is it?’
Fleur opened her mouth to blurt out the truth about what was worrying her, when she caught Kay’s eyes. There was a gleam in those violet eyes. A gleam that seemed to say, I thought as much – I thought you were a scaredy cat.
Fleur closed her mouth and lifted her chin with a new determination. Right then. Let them come. Let them all come. She’d show ’em. She’d wade in with the rest of them and hang the consequences. It would likely be promotion out of the window, but what the hell?
She smiled brightly at Robbie and said, ‘Nothing. It was just . . . just a bit cold walking here, that’s all.’
As it was a warm May night, her excuse was feeble. Robbie looked deep into her eyes and such was their closeness already that he seemed to be able to read her very thoughts. He leant close and whispered against her hair so that no one else should hear. ‘It’s all right. I promise. Don’t worry.’
As he drew back, he squeezed her hand. She gave him a small smile, not in the least surprised that he’d guessed what was troubling her. The time ticked on, with much laughter and jollity in their corner. The drinks flowed. Tommy sat with his arm around Kay. She snuggled up to him and Ruth was engaged in a verbal sparring match with the ebullient Johnny, while Peggy – the quiet one of the group – listened and smiled but did not join in the banter. Thankfully, the local girl, Kitty, was nowhere to be seen and neither – to Fleur’s huge relief – was Alfie.
There was only half an hour left until closing time and Fleur was beginning to relax. Surely, the local lads wouldn’t come in this late. She was laughing at something Johnny had said when, behind her, she heard the door to the public bar open and saw him glance towards it. She knew by his expression that this was the moment he’d been waiting for all evening.
They were here. She knew it. Without even turning round to see, she knew it. Alfie Fish and his pals were here.
Johnny rose and moved out from behind the table and towards them. Involuntarily, Fleur gripped Robbie’s hand tighter. He returned it with a comforting squeeze, but Fleur found no reassurance in the gesture.
She leant towards him. ‘Can’t you—?’ she began, but to her surprise, he put his finger to his lips and whispered, ‘Just wait and see.’
Fleur glanced at Kay but her eyes were afire and a small smile played on her lips. The chatter in the bar room had fallen silent. Everyone was watching now. Sighing inwardly with resignation for whatever was about to happen, Fleur turned round slowly to see Johnny walking towards Alfie and his mates, his hand outstretched in greeting, a broad grin on his face. Then her eyes widened and she gasped in surprise, not just at Johnny’s unexpected gesture, but at the sight of Alfie.
The young man and all his friends were dressed in Home Guard uniform.
‘No hard feelings, lads,’ Johnny was saying. ‘I’d no idea the young lady was your girlfriend, Alfie. As far as I’m concerned, she’s strictly out of bounds from now on.’
He still stood with his hand outstretched, waiting for Alfie to accept his apology and shake on it.
One of Alfie’s friends guffawed. ‘She ain’t his girl. He’d just like to think so.’
His remark cost him a sharp nudge in the ribs from another in the group. ‘Shut it, Tony.’
The smile on Johnny’s face never wavered nor did his hand drop. ‘That’s as may be, but I meant what I said. I’ve no wish to upset any of you local lads, especially’ – he laid emphasis on the words – ‘fellow comrades in uniform.’
Alfie glared. ‘Are you ’aving a laugh?’
For a moment Johnny’s smile faltered. ‘A laugh? No. Course I’m not. What d’you mean?’
‘A’ you ’aving a go at us ’cos we’re not in the proper services?’ His mouth twisted in a sneer. ‘Not one of the Brylcreem Boys?’
Slowly Johnny let his hand drop now. It seemed Alfie had no intention of shaking it. His smile faded too. ‘From what I hear,’ he said in a last-ditch effort to heal the breech, ‘the Home Guard is doing a great job. You – and all your mates – are doing just as much as us. Let’s face it.’ He nodded towards all of them. ‘If old Hitler does get here, you’ll be the ones on the front line. You’ll be the ones fighting on the beaches and in the hills, like Mr Churchill warned. And we – well – if it gets to that, we’ll have failed, won’t we? So, no, I wasn’t having a go.’ He turned away from them to go back to his seat, but over his shoulder he called, ‘Bill, set ’em up for these lads, will you? Maybe a drink’ll make ’em realize there’s no hard feelings. At least, not on my part.’
Johnny returned to his seat, picked up his glass and drained it. Near the bar the youths stood in an uncertain, embarrassed group.
‘What’ll it be then, lads?’ Bill asked easily, though Fleur could see he was keeping a close eye on the undercurrent of tension still in the room. Then the one called Tony ordered himself a pint, and the atmosphere relaxed a little as the rest of the group followed his lead, until there was only Alfie who had not taken up the well-meaning offer. He was still glaring malevolently across the room at Johnny – indeed, at all of them, Fleur thought, quaking inwardly, though she was careful not to show apprehension on her face.
Bill had just pulled the second pint when the familiar wail of the air-raid warning siren sounded.
‘Right, everyone in the cellar,’ Bill roared above the din, but the Home Guard lads slammed their pints down on the bar and made for the door, Alfie in the lead, as the first bomb landed with a thud that rattled the windows and shook the doors. The rest of the locals were diving towards Bill’s cellar.
‘We’d best get back to camp,’ Tommy said, taking the lead. ‘Are you girls going down the cellar?’
Ruth glanced at Fleur. ‘We ought to get back to Mrs J’s. Her ’n’ Harry are never going to go down the garden to the Anderson. I know they’re not. Not unless we’re there to drag them into it.’
‘Right you are, then,’ Fleur said at once. Strangely, she’d been more worried about a fight breaking out between the RAF lads and the local boys than she ever was about a few bombs falling.
‘And where do you think you two are going?’ Robbie said as Ruth and Fleur rose and began to head towards the door.
‘Back to the cottage,’ Fleur said. ‘Those two old dears won’t venture down to the shelter in the dark on their own.’
‘Wouldn’t they be safer to stay put?’ Another thud, further away this time but nevertheless a warning. ‘Now it’s started.’
The two girls looked at each other. ‘I still think we should get back to them. Be with them for once.’
‘All right. I’ll come with you,’ Robbie said and as Fleur opened her mouth, he added, ‘and no arguments.’
‘Come on then,’ Tommy said, ‘whatever you’re doing, we’d best get moving and let Bill here get down into his cellar.’
They all turned to the landlord, who was calmly clearing up, washing glasses and wiping down the smooth, polished bar top.
Another crump, a little closer again this time.
‘ ’Night, Bill,’ Johnny called. ‘We’ll let you get down the cellar.’
‘Oh, I don’t bother,’ the big man said calmly. ‘Jerry didn’t get me last time an’ I doubt he will this.’ He nodded towards them all
. ‘’Night all. You tek care, now.’
They glanced at one another, shrugged and, chorusing ‘Goodnight’, went out into the noise of the air raid overhead.
Expecting to see the streets deserted whilst the enemy bombers wrought their havoc, they were startled to see figures running this way and that, illuminated by flames that were billowing from a building a little way down the lane opposite the pub.
Silhouetted against the bright orange flames licking the night sky was the black shape of a square tower.
‘That’s the church,’ Ruth gasped. ‘Oh, how terrible. A lot of the villagers use the crypt as a shelter.’
‘Come on, lads,’ Tommy said. ‘We’ll go and help. You girls go down to the cottage. You too, Kay. Don’t try getting back to camp on your own. Not in this.’
But Kay shook her head. ‘No, I’ll come and help too.’
‘We’ll come back,’ Ruth added, ‘once we’ve got the old folk into the shelter.’
Robbie took hold of Fleur’s arm. ‘I don’t suppose it’s any good me asking you to stay in the shelter, is it?’
‘Not a chance,’ she retorted and grinned up at him, the light from the burning building flickering eerily on his face.
He squeezed her elbow swiftly. ‘Take care, then. Give my love to the old folk. We’ll all meet back here at the pub . . .’ And then he plunged after Tommy, Johnny and the others.
Twenty-Four
‘Come on, Fleur. Let’s get the oldies into the shelter and then we can get back here. Else we’ll miss the fun.’
Fleur swallowed a hysterical laugh. It was not quite what she would call fun, she thought, as she began to run down the lane after Ruth.
Bombs were still falling with a frightening regularity, but they were further away from the village now.
Wish Me Luck Page 17
