‘I don’t like using your precious tea.’
‘Don’t worry. The girls bring supplies from the camp. They’re allowed to,’ she added hastily, ‘seeing as they’ve had to be billeted off the camp.’
Meg nodded. ‘How’re they getting on with building the WAAFs’ quarters?’
Mrs Jackson smiled. ‘Slowly.’
Meg chuckled. ‘But I can see you don’t mind about that.’
The old lady shook her head. ‘Those two lasses have changed my life.’ Her smile widened. ‘And I’ll be seeing a lot more of your boy too after they’re married, I expect. He’s a grand lad.’
Meg nodded. ‘I think so,’ she said earnestly, and then added with a smile, ‘but then I could be biased.’ She glanced out of the window overlooking the back garden.
It was the third week in June already and all Fleur’s hard work was beginning to pay off. Lettuces and radishes were sprouting up on top of the Anderson shelter and rows of green ferny leaves had appeared where she’d planted carrots. In the front garden, runner beans were climbing their frames, as too, unbeknown to Mrs Jackson, were the sweet peas at the end of the cottage.
‘She’s working so hard,’ Mrs Jackson told Meg. ‘Every spare minute she’s out there dressed in her old clothes and her woolly hat when it’s windy. And your boy, too, he comes whenever he can. They both helped me yesterday to bottle some gooseberries and make some strawberry jam. Harry’s got a strawberry bed and he gave us some of the fruit. Don’t forget – before you go – I’ll give you a jar.’
‘Oh, how lovely! Home-made jam. That will be a treat. Didn’t you find it tiring? You mustn’t overdo it,’ Meg added with concern.
Mrs Jackson laughed. ‘Oh, they did it all.’
Meg’s eyes widened. ‘My Robbie? Jam making?’
‘Well, under Fleur’s instruction. I didn’t have to do much. I just sat here and topped and tailed the gooseberries. Her mother must have trained her well. She knew just what to do.’
Meg’s eyes darkened as she said, ‘Yes, I expect she did.’ Her tone – though unnoticed by Mrs Jackson – hardened a little as she added, ‘I expect her mother is the perfect farmer’s wife.’
‘Fleur’s even saying,’ Mrs Jackson went on, ‘that she can’t be away too long on honeymoon because a lot of the fruit and vegetables will be ready in September.’
Meg laughed. ‘Well, I think Robbie might have something to say about that, don’t you? But I can understand what she means. She doesn’t want all her hard work – and the produce – to go to waste.’
‘Oh, I think we can manage for a week. Harry will come round and do what he can and even Ruth’s promised to help.’
Meg’s voice was dreamy as she murmured, ‘Perhaps Jake would come over.’
‘I expect he’s got enough to cope with on the farm,’ Mrs Jackson said, knowing nothing of Meg’s inner thoughts. ‘But Kenny will cycle over, I don’t doubt. We – Harry and me – think he’s got his eye on Ruth.’
‘So,’ Meg said, turning away from the window. ‘When will the girls be home?’
Mrs Jackson’s face sobered. ‘I don’t know. There’s some sort of flap on at the camp. I . . . I. . .’ She hesitated to worry the young airman’s mother, but she couldn’t lie. ‘I think there’s a big raid on tonight. We’re not supposed to know, but because so many of the personnel are living in the village at the moment, we . . . we sort of get the feel that something’s going on. They don’t say anything, of course. Not a word. But we’ve got to know how to read the signs.’
‘I see,’ Meg said quietly. ‘So . . . so you think the girls might not be back today at all?’
Mrs Jackson shook her head.
Meg bit her lip. ‘Well, I can’t stay. I have to get back because of my father.’ How she would love to have stayed – to have been here when the girls got home whatever time it was. To know at once that Robbie was safely back. But she couldn’t impose on Mrs Jackson and, more importantly, she couldn’t leave her father for all that time. Since his spell in hospital, he was even frailer and needed a helping hand to climb the stairs to his bed. ‘But I’ll leave the dresses here. They can try them on and help each other with the fitting. Tell them I’ll come back a week today and if they still can’t be here, then they must pin them carefully and leave me instructions. We’ve still over two months to the big day, so there’s plenty of time.’
Mrs Jackson nodded. ‘You’ll be surprised how fast the weeks go and with the girls working different shifts it’s difficult for you to meet up with them. But I’ll be sure to tell them what you’ve said. The big day will soon be here.’
Meg nodded, unable to speak. She was too busy praying that Robbie would be there.
She kissed the old lady’s wrinkled cheek and let herself out of the back door. As she walked down the narrow path between the two cottages, she heard Harry’s voice.
‘Now then, lass. All right?’
She glanced up, and despite her sober thoughts, couldn’t help smiling. To hear the old man call her, a woman of over forty, ‘lass’ always made her laugh. But, she supposed, to him she was ’no’ but a lass’.
‘Mustn’t grumble,’ she answered.
‘Doesn’t do any good if you do,’ Harry chuckled. ‘Nobody listens.’
He moved closer and leant on the fence running between the two pathways. ‘I saw you arrive. I was just coming round. Are you off again?’
Meg nodded. ‘Mrs Jackson doesn’t think the girls are going to be home today.’
‘Ah,’ Harry nodded knowingly. ‘So she said when I popped round this morning. . .’ The idea of old Harry ’popping’ anywhere, made Meg smile again. ‘I’m very fond of them lasses, y’ know. They’re like me own.’
‘Have you any family, Harry?’ Meg asked, trying desperately to get her thoughts away from her own son and, for a few moments, to concentrate on someone else.
‘Aye. Not now, lass,’ his face clouded. ‘Me an’ Doris only had the one son and he were killed in the last war.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Meg murmured.
‘What happened to Robbie’s father then?’ Harry asked, with the bluntness that old age seemed to believe it had a right to.
Meg gave a start and stared at him for a moment, then swallowed nervously. It was an innocent question. Of course, Harry couldn’t know anything. This wasn’t South Monkford . . .
‘My husband,’ Meg said carefully, ‘was quite a few years older than me. He was too old for the last war, but he died in the influenza epidemic just after.’
Harry nodded sympathetically. ‘Aye, I remember that. Took a few from this village. It were a bugger, weren’t it? All them lads surviving the trenches to be hit by the flu when they got home. Bad business. Bad business.’ He eyed her keenly. ‘And you’ve brought that lad up on yar own?’
Meg smiled. ‘It wasn’t difficult. He’s a good boy. And then my father came back – came to live with us. He worked a little at first. Here and there – just odd jobs, you know. And I’ve always been kept busy with my dressmaking.’
‘’Spect you’re in demand now with all the shortages,’ Harry nodded.
‘Well, yes, I am. And I expect it will get worse – or better’ – she smiled – ’depending on your point of view. Now they’ve brought in rationing, women want the clothes they’ve got altering to be a little more fashionable. Keeps their spirits up, you know.’
Harry looked her up and down. ‘You always look so pretty and smart. Now I know why.’ He paused, then cleared his throat and stroked his moustache with a quick nervous movement. ‘Did you find anything useful amongst Doris’s things?’
‘Oh yes.’ Meg was enthusiastic. ‘There was a lovely long silk gown I’ve been able to make into a bridesmaid’s dress. And it was blue – just the colour Ruth wanted.’
Harry nodded. ‘Aye, I remember that.’ His eyes misted over briefly. ‘Doris looked a picture in that.’ Then he chuckled. ‘You might not think looking at me now, but I used to be quite a good dancer. Lov
ed dancing, did the wife, and she always liked to dress up if we went to a proper dance.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Well, I’m real pleased if her things were some use to you. Ruth sorted ’em all out for me. She was real good, didn’t make me part with anything I didn’t want to, but she’s right, it’s high time I let go. Doesn’t mean I’m going to forget my Doris just because I let her old clothes go, does it?’
‘Of course not,’ Meg agreed gently. ‘And I’ve been able to make use of those two nice suits of your wife’s. It was such good material. I’ve altered one to fit Mrs Jackson for the wedding. They must have been almost the same size. I hope you don’t mind. I mean, it won’t upset you, will it, seeing her wearing it?’
‘I’ll not let it,’ Harry said stoutly. ‘I’ll just remember that my Doris would have liked that. They were big pals, y’know. ‘Er and Mary Jackson. Big pals. Alius in and out of each other’s kitchens. Borrowing sugar and a bit of flour. And swapping recipes. No, lass, she’d have been thrilled. And so will I be.’
Twenty-Eight
Life at Wickerton Wood had been fairly mundane for several weeks, if being involved with bombing raids could ever be described as mundane, but on the day that Meg came to visit a bigger mission than usual had been planned for that night and everyone on the airfield was tense.
Take-off, with more than the normal number of aircraft taking part, went smoothly and everyone in the watch office heaved a sigh of relief as the last bomber lumbered into the air and disappeared into the deepening dusk. The airfield was strangely silent after the drumming of dozens of engines. Yet for some reason the staff were unable to relax into their usual diversions for the waiting hours. Peggy made copious cups of tea until Fleur said, ‘Do you know, when this war’s over, I don’t think I’ll ever drink tea again.’ She was trying to lighten the atmosphere, but failing. ‘It’s my landlady’s cure-all and we seem to drink gallons of it here too.’ Fleur, more than anyone, was feeling jittery. When she’d pricked her finger twice sewing a button on her blouse, she gave up and tried to read. But the words on the page blurred before her eyes and the light romantic novel seemed out of place when she was in the middle of a real-life drama.
The aircraft were late – all of them – and Bob began his restless pacing as he always did. At last, the first call sign came over the airwaves and one by one the planes limped home. And many of them had some damage. Several were landing on almost empty tanks. One plane had a damaged undercarriage and slithered off the runway to land on its belly on the perimeter track, the crash crews and fire tenders screaming out to it at once.
Then there were only three left to return, but the airwaves were silent. Fleur glanced up at the blackboard. Her heart missed a beat and then began to thump wildly.
Beside Tommy Laughton’s name, the space was blank.
The minutes seemed to turn into hours whilst they all waited. The wireless crackled and a voice requested permission to land. But it wasn’t Tommy and Robbie’s aircraft. Kay snapped her answer. It was the first time Fleur had ever seen her colleague show any sign of stress whilst on duty.
The aircraft landed safely and then – there was silence once more. The tension in the watch office mounted. No one spoke as the minutes ticked by.
At last, when they were almost ready to give up hope, the radio crackled into life once more, and Fleur almost fainted with relief as she heard, ‘Hello, Woody, this is D-Doggo calling . . .’
Fleur flew into his arms, not caring who saw them, not caring if she was reprimanded.
‘I thought you weren’t coming back. I thought we’d never get married. I thought. ..’
Though exhausted, with heavy dark rings under his eyes, Robbie could still raise a smile. ‘Hey, what do you take me for?’ He put his arm about her as they continued walking towards the debriefing centre. ‘I’m not the sort of chap who leaves his girl standing at the altar. Not even Adolf is going to stop that.’
‘Oh, Robbie . ..’ She was crying openly now.
He paused a moment and turned to face her, taking her face between his hands. ‘I have to go now, darling. You know that. But I’ll see you tomorrow.’
She nodded. ‘Get some sleep. You look all in.’
His eyes clouded. ‘It was a bad one, Fleur. Our plane is badly damaged. But the one good thing is we won’t be flying tomorrow. So I’ll see you tomorrow night and you can tell me how all the plans are going. Love you . . .’ He kissed her soundly on the mouth and turned to follow his weary crew into debriefing.
Suddenly, the tiredness washed over Fleur. Anxiety for Robbie had kept her going, but now that he was safe, the sleepless hours finally caught up with her. By the time she had walked to the cottage – it would be a while before Ruth could come home – Fleur had scarcely the strength to climb the stairs and fall into bed. So it wasn’t until the following morning that Fleur heard from Mrs Jackson that Meg had visited.
‘I told her I didn’t think you’d be home yesterday, so she didn’t wait, but she left the dresses for you to try on .. .’ Mary Jackson repeated Meg’s instructions about the fitting. Then she added anxiously, ‘Fleur, I’m sorry, but I told her I thought there was something big going on at the airfield. I hope I didn’t worry her.’
Fleur stared at her. She opened her mouth to say, Of course you’ll have worried her. You shouldn’t have said anything. You shouldn’t have said a word. . . But seeing the troubled look on the old lady’s face, her swift anger melted and instead she said, ‘Robbie’s back safely. I’ll let her know somehow.’
‘Don’t send her a telegram,’ Ruth said, her mouth full of porridge. ‘That’ll scare the living daylights out of her.’
Fleur bit her lip. ‘But how can I let her know then? I can’t go in person, we’re on duty again tonight, aren’t we?’
Ruth nodded. ‘But Robbie probably won’t be flying. His plane won’t be ready for tonight.’ She glanced up at Fleur. ‘Did you see it?’
Fleur shook her head.
‘Badly shot up, it was. One engine out of action and holes all down the fuselage. It was a miracle they got back at all, and even more miraculous not one of them was hurt.’
Fleur shuddered and sent up a silent prayer of thanks.
‘I’ll ring Mr Tomkins at the shop on the corner. He’s the only one with a telephone in our street, but he doesn’t mind taking messages for folks. ‘Specially not now. And his little lad positively longs for the phone to ring.’ Robbie laughed. ‘The little tyke gets a few coppers from anyone he delivers a message to. More, if it’s good news he brings.’
‘I hadn’t the heart to tell Mrs Jackson off, but she really shouldn’t have said anything.’
Robbie pulled a face. ‘Ma knows the score, I doubt she’s any more worried than usual. But I will ring. There might be something on the wireless about it being a bad raid. Then she will worry.’
‘Let’s walk down to the phone box and do it now,’ Fleur insisted. Although it wasn’t her fault, she felt guilty that Meg had been burdened with extra anxiety. Though the worry would always be present, miles away in Nottingham she was usually unaware of exactly what was happening. But not this time.
As they walked down the lane, arm in arm, Robbie said, ‘At least I’ve a bit of good news. My leave for the whole week after the wedding has been granted.’
Fleur grinned up at him. ‘Mine too. I heard yesterday.’ She hugged his arm. ‘So where are you taking me on honeymoon?’
‘Ah – now I haven’t quite decided. But I’ll tell you one thing. One of the chaps is lending me his sports car for the week, so as long as I can scrounge enough petrol we can go anywhere you like.’
‘I don’t care. Just as long as we’re together.’
They reached the phone box and Robbie got through to Mr Tomkins. ‘Just get your Micky to nip down the street and tell Ma and Pops I’m OK.’
‘Right you are, lad . . .’ Fleur, squashed into the box alongside him, heard the shopkeeper’s voice faintly. ‘Glad to hear you’re OK. All ready for
the big day, a’ yer? All the best from me and the missis.’
‘Thank you, Mr Tomkins,’ Robbie said and turned to Fleur. ‘Did you hear that?’
Fleur nodded as Robbie bent his head to kiss her. ‘Oh, I’m ready for the big day all right.’ Only the sharp rapping of someone on the glass window, anxious to use the telephone, finally disturbed them.
On a warm day towards the end of June, Fleur was at the end of the cottage tending the growing row of sweet peas. She sprayed the plants with water and then pinched out the side shoots. Pulling up one of the plants where the leaves had turned yellow, she said, ‘You’re not going to give Mrs Jackson any pretty flowers, are you, poor thing?’
‘Fleur, Fleur – where are you?’ She heard Mrs Jackson calling from the back door. Not wanting to give away what she was growing in secret along the wall, Fleur quickly moved into the front garden, paused a moment to inspect the row of runner beans and then went around the house by the pathway.
‘Did you call?’ she asked innocently as she rounded the corner.
‘Oh, there you are, dear. Come in and listen to this on the wireless. We can’t believe it!’
‘What is it? What’s happened?’
Mrs Jackson beckoned. ‘Come and listen – you’ll never believe it.’ The old lady turned and hurried as fast as her legs would take her back to her seat beside the wireless. Harry was sitting in the chair on the other side and, as Fleur took off her boots and stepped into the kitchen, she saw the old couple, one on each side of the wireless, leaning towards it, straining to hear every word the news announcer was saying.
‘What’s happened?’ Fleur asked again, to be answered with a ’Shh’ from both of them.
Fleur listened but could make no sense of the final words of the bulletin and, as Mrs Jackson switched off the wireless, Fleur glanced at them in turn, the question on her face.
‘Old Adolf’s invaded Russia.’
‘Russia?’ Fleur was shocked. ‘Whatever for? I thought he’d signed a non-aggression pact with Stalin?’
Wish Me Luck Page 20
