Wish Me Luck

by Dickinson, Margaret

  ‘Darling, it’s all right.’ Robbie hopped towards her, rescued the cup of tea that was in danger of slipping out of her grasp and then sat down close to her and took her hands. ‘I understand. I know it’s worse for you and Ma and Pops when I’m up there. You see, we’ve all too much to think about when we’re in the thick of it, but you’re just all waiting – and fearing the worst. It must’ve been dreadful for you the night we didn’t come back.’

  Fleur sniffed. ‘It was. I stood for ages just watching the blank space on the board.’

  ‘It’s worse for Fleur than for us in a way,’ Meg said gently. ‘She’s on the spot seeing what’s happening.’

  ‘Do you think you should apply for a transfer?’ Robbie suggested, but before he had finished speaking Fleur shot back, ‘No! I want to be there. I want to be near you. I have to be near you, even if it is tearing me apart. I’m not the only one: there are several girls on camp with boyfriends or fiancés – even one or two more are married like us. It’s the same for them.’ She pulled in a deep breath and forced a tremulous smile. ‘No, I’ve just got to keep going but – just for a while – whilst you’re laid up, I’ve got a bit of a respite. And, now you’ve done a full tour, you . . .’

  Her voice faded away at the rather sheepish look on his face. Her heart sank. Without him saying a word, she knew that Robbie would get back on operations as soon as he could. But she said nothing more. She didn’t want to worry his mother. At least she could let Meg stay in blissful ignorance if only for a while. She forced a smile as she added, ‘Now you’re grounded, we can all relax.’

  She looked up at him and he smoothed her hair back from her forehead. ‘Except that you’ve lost Kenny,’ he murmured.

  ‘Yes,’ she said heavily. ‘I’ve lost Kenny.’ She closed her eyes and leant against him. Perhaps one day she would tell him about the heavy guilt that lay on her. How she had bargained for Robbie’s life. But not just now. She couldn’t speak of it just now. It was all too raw.

  The hours of her short leave were over all too quickly. Her goodbyes said, she left the house as the air raid warning sounded. Fleur hurried along the street. I hope Robbie and his mother and Pops go to the shelter. Robbie can hobble that far on his crutches, she thought. And if I can make it to the railway station, I’ll be safe there . . . She could hear the drone of enemy aircraft yet no bombs seemed to be falling on this part of the city. As she hurried along she was sure she heard thuds in the distance, and saw the night sky to the north of the city illuminated by exploding bombs.

  Some poor devils are taking a hammering, she thought, but at least it’s not us tonight. Reaching the station, she found that the trains had been delayed.

  ‘Air raid Newark way,’ the waiting passengers were informed. ‘No trains running until it’s over.’

  And even when it was and the all-clear sounded, the announcement came that the line had been damaged and no trains would be running that night.

  ‘Oh Lor’,’ Fleur muttered. ‘I’m going to be in trouble. I’ll be late back at camp. And I’m not even supposed to be in Nottingham. Oh heck!’

  ‘You stranded like us, love?’ a merry voice called out and Fleur turned to see three young men in RAF uniforms standing together.

  ‘Seems like it.’ She smiled and moved closer. ‘Where are you heading?’

  ‘A place called Wickerton Wood.’

  Fleur’s smile widened. ‘Me too. I’m stationed there.’ She held out her hand and the four of them exchanged first names. Then Fleur suggested, ‘Shall we share a taxi?’

  ‘A taxi? That’ll be awfully expensive, won’t it?’

  ‘Not if the four of us chip in.’

  ‘Righto – I’ll see if there are any outside the station, though they might all have gone by now . . .’ The youngest-looking one of the three men dropped his kitbag and loped off in search of transport.

  The others stood together, feeling awkward, smiling in that embarrassed way that strangers meeting for the first time do. In only a few minutes the airman returned. ‘There’s just one left,’ he panted. ‘Says he’ll take the four of us.’ His grin widened. ‘And he’ll only charge us for the petrol. He’s got a lad in the RAF down south. A fighter pilot. He’s glad to help, he says. Hopes someone’ll do the same for his lad if he’s stranded anywhere.’

  ‘Righto. Come on, love. Need any help?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ Fleur smiled. ‘As long as he gets us back to camp, I’ll ride on the running board.’

  They laughed but they all squeezed into the car, three squashed in the back and the airman with the longest legs taking the front seat beside the driver.

  ‘Now then, mi duck, what are you doing out with these young rascals?’

  Fleur laughed. ‘I’ve only just met them on the platform whilst we were waiting for the train. I’ve just been home to see my husband.’

  There was a unanimous groan and one of the airmen said, ‘Just my luck! And there I was thinking I’d met the girl of my dreams.’

  In the darkness, Fleur smiled to think that that was just how she had met Robbie.

  There was laughter before another asked, ‘Your husband? What does he do?’

  ‘He’s a wireless operator on bombers, but he’s on sick leave. A broken leg.’ She stopped herself saying more. These boys looked incredibly young. They were probably just out of training. Maybe this was their first posting. It wouldn’t do to talk to them about crash-landings.

  ‘How did that happen?’

  Fleur chuckled. ‘You seem to be asking an awful lot of questions. I’m not sure I should be telling you.’ And again, the car was filled with laughter.

  They chugged along, going at a steady pace through the blackout with only the pencil-thin beams from the partially blacked-out headlights to illuminate their way. It wasn’t until the early hours that they reached the gates of the camp.

  ‘Now for trouble,’ Fleur muttered as she clambered out. ‘I’m about four hours late.’

  ‘So are we,’ one of the airmen said cheerfully. ‘But it’s hardly our fault Jerry decided to drop a few bombs – just to make us feel welcome.’

  ‘Right, tip up, chaps. Let’s pay this kind feller for bringing us. At least we’ve got here. If we’d waited for the train it could have been a week on Tuesday!’

  Fleur fished in her bag to find her money but the airman said, ‘No, love. We’ll sort it. It’ll be nice for us to have a friendly face about the camp. This is our treat. All right, lads?’

  ‘Yeah, course it is. Where is it you work, Fleur? Canteen, is it?’

  Fleur smiled to herself. Why did all men take it that the only job women could do was to serve them their meals?

  ‘No. I’m in Control. I’m an R/T operator.’

  ‘Really? That’s great. It’ll be good to know we’ve got you watching out for us when we’re up there.’

  Did she imagine it, or was there a tiny note of apprehension in the young man’s voice?

  Fleur was allowed straight into the camp, but she had to bid the others farewell whilst they waited for their identities to be checked and all the formalities for new arrivals to be gone through. Thankfully, Fleur slipped away into the darkness towards the WAAF quarters and crept into the room she shared with Ruth.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness!’ Ruth sat up in bed at once. ‘I’ve been that worried. Are you all right? I’ve been ringing your home, but it seems the lines are down.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Fleur whispered. ‘There’s been an air raid in the Newark area, but I was in Nottingham.’

  Ruth’s chuckle came out of the darkness. ‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me? Good job you’ve got back when you have, else you’d’ve been for it. How did you get back? Are the trains running?’

  ‘No. I met three RAF lads coming here, would you believe, and we shared a taxi.’

  ‘A taxi? Heavens! Have you come into a fortune?’

  ‘No,’ Fleur giggled softly as she climbed into her single bed. ‘They paid. But the driv
er was very generous. Didn’t charge us the going rate as we’re RAF. His lad’s serving down south.’

  Ruth sighed and lay down. ‘There’s still some nice people about.’

  They lay in silence for a few minutes and Fleur was just about to fall asleep when Ruth asked tentatively, ‘D’you think your folks are all right? I mean, you said the air raid was in the Newark area, didn’t you?’

  ‘Mmm,’ Fleur said sleepily. ‘They’d be after the airfield there, I expect. But we live several miles from Newark. Right out in the country. There’s nothing there worth bombing.’

  ‘But the telephone lines are down.’

  Fleur yawned. ‘Well, they will be, won’t they? But they’ll be all right. Our farm’s miles from anywhere. Right out in the wilds. Dad didn’t even build a shelter . . .’ And with that, she fell asleep.

  But for some reason she couldn’t explain, Ruth was left wide awake staring into the darkness.

  Forty-Six

  Meg read the news in the paper the next morning and her blood ran cold.

  The bombing raid last night in the Newark area caused loss of life and severe damage to properties. Several of the bombs fell outside their target and a remote farmhouse some distance to the west of the town, which should have been considered relatively safe, received a direct hit. The farmer received extensive burns whilst trying to rescue his wife from the building, which was destroyed by fire. Sadly, his efforts were in vain and his wife perished. The man is in hospital and is thought to be in a critical condition. The names of the casualties have not yet been released as next of kin have yet to be informed.

  ‘Robbie, oh, Robbie . . .’ Meg was hurrying up the stairs to his bedroom, breathless as she pushed open the door. ‘Oh, Robbie, it’s Jake – it’s Fleur’s folks. I know it is.’

  ‘What?’ The young man sat up in bed and snatched the paper from her trembling hands. He scanned the newsprint whilst she sank down on the end of the bed, clasping and unclasping her hands in agitation.

  He looked up at her. ‘It doesn’t mention South Monkford. It could be anyone. It doesn’t even give the name of the farm. What makes you think it’s them?’

  Meg stared at him and pressed her hands to her bosom. ‘But South Monkford is west of Newark. And I just know, Robbie. I feel it. In here. I know it sounds daft to you, but I just know.’

  ‘Well, there’s one way to find out,’ Robbie said, swinging his legs out of the bed and hoisting himself upright. ‘We’ll ring the hospitals.’

  ‘Oh, Robbie, can we do that?’

  He looked down at her and tenderly touched her cheek. ‘Anything, Ma, to take that devastated look off your face.’

  Robbie spent half the morning in the phone box at the end of the street, feeding in coins one after another and hopping on his crutches between it and the corner shop for more change. After several calls – he lost count how many – he replaced the receiver slowly and pushed open the door of the box. As it swung to he leant against it briefly and his glance went to the front door of his home.

  She was standing on the step, her hands clasped together, looking up the street towards him, but as he pushed himself away from the phone box and began to limp towards her, he saw her fingers flutter to her mouth. Then she turned and disappeared inside the house.

  She knew already, from the droop of his shoulders, that he was about to bring her bad news.

  The news was broken to Fleur by Caroline Davidson. How many more tragedies is this poor girl going to face? she was thinking as she said gently, ‘My dear, we have just received information that your home was hit in last night’s air raid.’

  Fleur swayed momentarily, but remarkably she remained standing at attention. Silently, she was thinking, I was glad that it wasn’t the city getting it last night and all the time . . . But aloud, all she said was, ‘Are they dead, ma’am?’

  ‘Your mother – I’m sorry – yes, but your father is in hospital. Evidently, he wasn’t in the house when it was hit, but he tried to get into the burning building to save her. He’s . . . he’s very badly hurt, my dear, but he is still alive.’ There was a pause and her unspoken words seemed to hang in the air. At the moment. ‘He’s in hospital in Nottingham. I need hardly say you are released from your duties immediately. I am issuing you with a seventy-two-hour pass on compassionate grounds . . .’

  The journey back to Nottingham by public transport was impossible, but Caroline had pulled strings and arranged a lift for Fleur with an RAF vehicle due to go to the city that day. The journey seemed to take three times as long as normal. All the way, Fleur repeated the same prayer. ‘Don’t let him die. Oh, please don’t let him die.’

  This time she made no rash bargain with God, but just prayed simply and directly.

  She reached the hospital late at night, and though their resources were already stretched the nurses found her a bed in an unoccupied side ward for the night.

  ‘If we need it, we’ll have to turf you out,’ they told her cheerfully. ‘Now, come along to the staff room and we’ll get you something to eat.’

  ‘How is he? Can I see him?’ was all Fleur wanted to know.

  ‘Best not tonight, love, he’s sleeping now.’

  ‘Can’t I just see him? I promise not to disturb him.’

  ‘I should wait until the morning, love.’ The sister was gentle and understanding but there was a note of authority in her tone. ‘You’ll feel better able to cope after a night’s rest.’

  ‘Is he . . . is he . . . that bad?’

  The woman’s face sobered. ‘He’s not good, my dear. I can’t lie to you, but the doctor will talk to you tomorrow.’

  ‘Does he – my father, I mean – know about my mother?’

  Sadly, the sister nodded. ‘Yes.’ More briskly, she went on, ‘Now, a bite to eat, a sleeping pill and into bed with you, my girl.’

  Exhausted by the journey, grieving for her mother and worried sick about her father, Fleur did not expect to sleep a wink. But the sister’s pill knocked her out for a full ten hours and she might have slept even longer if a merry little trainee nurse hadn’t bounced into the room, pulled open the curtains and woken her up.

  ‘I’ve brought you some breakfast, miss,’ she beamed. ‘We don’t do this for everyone, but your dad’s a bit special.’

  Fleur heaved herself up in the bed and rubbed her eyes. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Oh, yes. We’ve all been vying to be the nurse who looks after him.’

  ‘Has he come round then?’

  ‘He comes round for a bit and keeps apologizing for being such a trouble. But he isn’t, miss, I promise you. Then he drifts off again. But he’s a duck, ain’t he?’

  Despite her anxiety, Fleur smiled. She looked down at the tray, not expecting to be able to eat a thing. To her surprise, she suddenly found she was very hungry.

  ‘How is he?’

  The little nurse’s face clouded. She moved closer to the bed. ‘It ain’t my place to say, miss. You must ask the doctor or Sister, but’ – she leant closer – ‘he’s still very poorly but I heard ’em say he’s going in the right direction, if you know what I mean. But – please – don’t tell ’em I said owt, will yer. I could get the sack.’

  ‘Of course I won’t. And thank you.’

  ‘That’s all right. See yer later.’

  Fleur finished her breakfast, washed and dressed and stripped the bed. She knew it would have to be changed, and anything she could do to help the busy nurses she would do.

  Now, she thought, taking a deep breath, I wonder if they’ll let me see Dad.

  He was in a small ward with three other seriously ill patients, each with their own nurse. Though she had tried to prepare herself, Fleur gasped when she saw her father swathed in bandages. She wouldn’t have recognized him.

  ‘He was badly burned,’ the sister told her. ‘But the medical profession are making huge strides in the treatment of burns. It’s because of the war, you know. So many pilots, poor boys, get burned when they’re shot down.’


  Fleur shuddered. It could so easily have been Robbie she was coming to visit. Robbie lying in the bed . . .

  She moved closer. ‘Dad? It’s me. How . . . how are you feeling?’ It was a stupid question, but she didn’t know what else to say.

  He didn’t answer her and she glanced up at the sister, a question in her eyes.

  ‘Keep talking to him. We want to try to get him to regain consciousness fully. And you’re the best person to get him to do that, Meg.’

  Fleur stared at the sister. ‘Why did you call me “Meg”?’

  The sister blinked. ‘Er – I’m sorry. I thought that was your name.’ Obviously embarrassed, she looked first at her patient and then back to the girl.

  ‘No, it isn’t, but just tell me why you thought it was?’

  ‘Er – it’s the only name he’s said when he’s drifted in and out of consciousness.’ The sister’s face cleared. ‘Oh, it was your mother’s name, was it?’

  Slowly, Fleur shook her head. ‘No, as a matter of fact, it wasn’t.’

  ‘Oh dear, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.’ The sister was obviously upset and worried. ‘I have put my foot in it, haven’t I?’

  The sister was only young for the post she held, little older than she was, Fleur thought. In all the forces, promotion came earlier and earlier and the nursing profession was every bit a fighting force as any of the others. They were all working round the clock for the same thing: the end of this war.

  ‘It’s all right.’ Fleur touched her arm. ‘Honestly. The thing is – I know who Meg is. And if he’s calling for her then—?’

  The sister nodded. ‘Yes, if you could find her. It really might help him.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Fleur whispered. ‘I can find her.’

  Forty-Seven

  ‘Sit down, dear. There’s something I have to tell you.’