The Waiting Hours

by Ellie Dean

  Then, unable to resist the temptation, he raised the glasses to the hill above Coombe Farm and adjusted the sights. There was quite a gathering up there, and he gave a wry smile as he slowly panned along the line of rather blurred figures, for they really shouldn’t have been there. He recognised the five girls and Brendon’s father; assumed the older couple were the farmer and his wife, and then froze as the unmistakable figure of Dolly came into view.

  He looked away, trying to dismiss all thoughts on whether Dolly had spoken to Carol, and what her reaction might have been. He would no doubt find out soon enough – for right now he had far more important things to occupy him, and he needed to concentrate.

  As the time approached for the naval bombardment he was joined by the others, who stood rigidly to attention, their field glasses scanning the bay and the destroyers lying at anchor close by.

  ‘I say, old chap, what time do you make it?’ asked a whiskery old British colonel. ‘Shouldn’t the barrage have started by now?’

  Felix quickly checked his watch. ‘You’re right, sir. They’re late.’ He felt a stab of alarm. ‘And look, the first wave of landing craft is just rounding Start Point.’

  Six sets of binoculars were quickly focused on the Royal Navy destroyers – and then back to the beach. The silence was deafening.

  ‘What the dickens is going on?’ demanded a portly brigadier. ‘Why are the guns not firing?’

  No one could answer him, for they weren’t in communication with Naval HQ in Plymouth, or anyone else for that matter.

  ‘Damned bad show, if you ask me,’ muttered the old colonel into his flowing moustache. ‘If the army had been in charge things would have gone to plan.’

  They watched in puzzled silence as the large fleet of flat-bottomed landing craft approached the shore to be met by a smattering of half-hearted gunfire, which quickly died. The heavily armed men clambered out the moment the boats scraped against the shingle, and ran up the beach, doubled over beneath their huge backpacks, to take cover where they could find it.

  As yet more craft arrived unhindered by gunfire or naval bombardment the foreshore became covered by infantrymen and engineers crawling like crabs towards the Ley in preparation for the inland assault that would come once the beachhead had been secured.

  Felix glanced at his watch again. Almost an hour had passed since the bombardment should have started – and now the second wave of landing craft was slowly emerging from around Start Point. What the blazes was going on at Plymouth HQ? Had there been an incident out at sea? Or had Admiral Moon decided to cancel the bombardment altogether?

  He was about to put his theories to the bluff old colonel when all hell broke loose.

  Three RAF Typhoons screamed overhead and dived towards the inland ‘safe’ targets, letting loose their under-wing rockets before going into a steep, arcing climb for a second run. The deep booms of naval gunfire filled the air, and the men on shore took this as their signal to open fire, while others were still approaching in the shallow landing craft.

  But the firing was so wild, Felix felt the zing of a bullet pass by his ear, and although the troops on shore had been given dummy bullets, all six men dropped instantly to the ground to continue their observance on their bellies.

  The Typhoons raced back, letting off more rockets before swiftly leaving the area as buildings and farmland exploded into dust from the shells coming from the destroyers. Bullets were flying on all sides, men were scuttling for any shelter they could find, and the landing ships were bobbing about on the water like corks as the naval onslaught turned the calm sea into a maelstrom.

  The men aboard the ships kept their heads down as the skippers wrestled to get them ashore, and once they were in shallow water, they scrambled out and tried to wade in. But the sea was churning, waves swelling and breaking over them with every blast from the ships, throwing the men off balance, their ungainly packs, heavy weapons and sodden uniforms weighing them down so they were forced to crawl ashore.

  And then two more light bombers arrived, letting loose their deadly cargo over targets on the beach and further inland. The explosions rocked the ground, blistering the air with deafening blasts as the naval guns continued their heavy shelling.

  Felix and his elderly companions ducked and covered their heads as the nearby Manor House Hotel took a direct hit, showering them in debris and dust, the wind of the explosion threatening to blow them off the hill.

  Two more explosions followed in quick succession, and then the bombers roared away, their task over for the day. The naval bombardment fell silent – as did the guns on shore – and Felix dared to lift his head. What he saw sent a chill right through him.

  The Royal Sands Hotel was just a pile of burning rubble, and where the beach had once reached its boundary there was now a massive bomb crater. Surely no one could have survived that? But there was movement down there, so perhaps, by some miracle, young Herby was okay.

  He scanned the area with his binoculars. Fires were blazing from hill targets, men were lying on the beach as if afraid to move, while others struggled to reach the beach from the still turbulent sea.

  And yet, among all the chaos, landing craft were still coming in.

  Felix knew that the landings would take the rest of the day and all through the night, for once the beachhead was secure, the supplies, fuel and equipment for the men would be offloaded at Landcombe Cove, which lay between Blackpool Sands and Strete. Convoy T4 would leave harbour after midnight tonight to deliver their cargoes tomorrow morning so the push inland could go ahead to complete Operation Tiger – and then in early May there would be a final exercise, code-named Fabius, which would be carried out over six days. He could only pray it would go better than today’s fiasco.

  He felt quite sick as he looked down at the beach where the old hotel had once been, for now the medics were attending – stretchers were being carried away to the line of waiting ambulances – and the men he’d thought frozen in fear on the beach were still there, but now covered in blankets to await the same swift transfer.

  ‘I’m going down there,’ he said.

  The brigadier stopped him by grasping his arm. ‘You have no clearance to be on the exercise ground.’

  ‘Clearance be damned,’ he said, wrenching away from him and running to his car.

  He realised he’d actually do no good down there, so drove at speed without a thought for his own safety, and within minutes was screeching to a halt outside the crowded hospital assembly area. There were five ambulances, three jeeps and four trucks – the latter bearing the walking wounded who were immediately assessed by the nurses before being helped into the hospital by the comrades who’d brought them.

  Felix gave each man a word of encouragement and then waited on tenterhooks until the doctors had finished examining the men in the ambulances. There seemed to be a lot of them, and by the look on the doctors’ faces, the news wasn’t good, and as the blankets were drawn over them, his greatest fear was borne out.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said a young American nurse, ‘you can’t be here.’

  ‘I’m looking for Sergeant Cornwallis of the Military Police,’ he said firmly. ‘He’s my driver, and I need to know he’s all right.’

  She was about to reply when one of the doctors climbed out of the ambulance and grimly shook his head. Felix’s heart thudded and an overwhelming feeling of dread chilled his blood. ‘Herby Cornwallis?’ he asked gruffly.

  ‘I’m sorry, General. He didn’t make it.’

  ‘Can I see him?’

  ‘If you wish, but I warn you, it’s not pretty.’

  Felix had been in enough battles to know how ugly death could be, so he nodded his thanks, climbed into the ambulance and firmly shut the door.

  He drew back the blanket, looked at the devastation caused by those shells and cradled what remained of Herbert Cornwallis gently into his arms.

  ‘It’s okay, son,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve got you now, so you rest easy.’

>   45

  Coombe Farm

  Nipper had shot off with his tail between his legs at the first bang, no doubt seeking shelter from all the noise under someone’s bed. Carol had gripped Dolly and Betty’s hands as the bombardment had begun, flinching at every boom and bang, gasping in horror as the rockets and bombs tore the heart out of the hills and the beach she loved.

  None of them had spoken while the flotilla of landing craft struggled to get to the beach, the men fighting their way through the churning water as the carnage unfolded around them – and then still more boats had come into the bay and the gunfire had rung out, machine guns hammered and shells exploded.

  Ida, Maisie and Pru clung to one another, perhaps reliving the London Blitz which had wiped out their homes and killed so many of their friends, while Millicent hid her face in Jack’s shoulder, unable to watch as yet more troops arrived in their landing craft.

  Frank’s expression was grim, his great frame unflinching even when two bombs went off almost simultaneously on the beach below them. He went to Betty who was trembling and tearful and tried to reassure her that Brendon was in Plymouth – that his part in the rehearsal was quite straightforward and safe, and wouldn’t take place until early the next morning.

  Carol doubted he knew that for certain, and she wondered if his words of comfort were as much for himself as for Betty.

  The bombardment came to a sudden end as the fighter bombers flew away and the shooting petered out on the beach. They left a deafening silence behind them.

  Dolly’s hand had been like ice in Carol’s grip. Now her face was ashen as she borrowed Carol’s binoculars and looked through them to the distant headland above Blackpool Cove where they’d all seen the blurred figures earlier.

  Dolly breathed a trembling sigh of relief. ‘I’ve seen enough,’ she said quietly, handing back the binoculars.

  ‘I think we all have,’ said Jack, helping Millicent to her feet. ‘If there’s to be more of the same tomorrow, I’ll take’m leaf out of Nipper’s book and stay at home.’

  Dolly looked at Carol. ‘I’ll go back and get settled in the pub. Perhaps, this evening, you could come over and join me?’

  Carol regarded her thoughtfully and then nodded. ‘I’ll come straight after supper, and then you can tell me what’s bothering you.’

  ‘Oh dear, am I that easy to read?’ Dolly plastered on a smile. ‘We’ll talk later. I can’t think straight after all that terrible noise.’

  Pru and Maisie had rushed off straight after supper to help Jack and Millicent with the calving while Ida was taking her turn in the bathroom. Carol was washing dishes and tidying the kitchen when she heard the sound of a jeep pulling into the yard.

  ‘Tell Herby I won’t be much longer,’ yelled Ida from the bathroom.

  Carol grinned and went to answer the door. ‘Oh, hello, Felix,’ she said in surprise. ‘We all thought it was Herbert coming courting.’ She looked out towards the jeep and frowned when she noticed it was empty.

  ‘This isn’t a social call, Carol,’ said Felix, his expression sombre. ‘Is Ida here?’

  Carol’s heart began to thud. ‘She’s in the … It’s not … Please, Felix, tell me it’s not Herbert.’

  The sorrow was stark in his eyes. ‘I lost five young men today, Carol. Now I need to talk with Ida.’

  ‘Where is he then?’ demanded Ida, emerging from the bathroom, dressed and made up to the nines. ‘Don’t tell me you left him outs—’ She fell silent as she looked from Carol to Felix, her smile crumpling, the muscles working in her face as tears filled her eyes. ‘Not my Herby,’ she whispered, shaking her head. ‘No, not Herby.’

  Carol hurried to put her arm about her shoulder as Felix stood awkwardly before them, hat under his arm, his features stony. ‘What happened, Felix?’ she demanded.

  ‘I regret to inform you, Ida, that Herbert passed away in the line of duty this morning. I will inform his mother personally, but thought it was right to tell you before you heard from loose talk.’

  Ida collapsed into a kitchen chair with a howl of distress, buried her face in her hands and sobbed. ‘My Herby,’ she wailed. ‘My lovely Herby. I can’t bear it.’

  ‘What went wrong, Felix?’ asked Carol.

  ‘I don’t know, but I aim to find out,’ he replied grimly. He gently put a hand on Ida’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, honey,’ he said softly. ‘He was a fine young man, and I know he was very fond of you. I hope you can take some comfort from that.’

  Ida shrugged off his hand and looked up at him, her face streaked with make-up and tears, her eyes filled with rage. ‘I loved ’im, and now ’e’s gorn – and you done it – you and the bloody army and navy and them bastards in charge. It were just supposed to be a rehearsal,’ she ended in a screech. ‘A bloody rehearsal!’

  Carol grabbed her before she could attack Felix, and held her tightly as the storm of tears continued. ‘You’d better go,’ she said to him. ‘I’ll manage here.’

  ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘Betty’s moved back into the pub and the others are busy with the calving. They won’t be back for a while. But you could go to the pub and warn Mother I won’t make it over there tonight.’

  ‘I didn’t realise she was here,’ he replied coolly. ‘But of course I’ll tell her. Do you want her to come and be with you?’

  Carol shook her head. ‘Tell her I’ll see her tomorrow.’

  46

  Cliffehaven

  Beach View was in mourning, and Peggy felt utterly helpless as she lay in the darkness unable to sleep because of the disturbing and painful images that were flashing through her mind. Matthew Champion was dead – all that youthful exuberance and sweet nature gone in an instant as his plane had been shot down.

  Peggy shuddered, for she’d witnessed the dog fights over the Channel and seen planes bursting into flames and plummeting to earth – it was a horrendous way to die, and she could only pray that Matthew had known nothing about it.

  Poor little Rita was devastated, and although Peggy yearned to comfort her, she’d gone upstairs to mourn alone. And then there was her Anne’s Martin, Kitty’s Roger and Charlotte’s Freddy – all listed as missing in action. The only glimmer of hope to cling to was that parachutes had been reported in each case. But had they survived? How badly injured might they be? Would anyone find them in time and give them proper medical care?

  She turned restlessly on the pillow, her thoughts going to Owlet Farm in Somerset where Anne would have received the news by now – and to the tiny cottage in Briar Lane where Kitty and Charlotte were faced with the possibility that their unborn babies might never know their fathers. Peggy could barely imagine the pain and fear they would all be going through, and for poor little Kitty it would be doubly hard – for not only might she lose her husband, Roger, but also her beloved brother, Freddy.

  Peggy’s only solace was that the girls had each other to bear the awful burden, while her Anne had Aunt Vi and young Sally; but what of Anne’s little girls – would they lose the father they’d only just got to know? The thought was too much to cope with, and she buried her face in the pillow as the hot tears came.

  She felt so alone, yearning for Jim’s arms around her, his soft, lilting voice soothing away her fears as she heard the steady beat of his heart against her ear. But he was on the other side of the world, fighting the Japs – and the realisation that the next knock on the door could be for her made her curl up, the pillow stuffed over her mouth to stifle the wracking sobs that might wake Daisy.

  The soft tap on the door was followed by the pad of bare feet, and the dip of the mattress as Rita climbed in beside her. Peggy determinedly swallowed her tears and tenderly drew the motherless, heartbroken girl into her loving arms to give her comfort and the assurance that her grief was shared and she didn’t have to mourn alone.

  Yet, as Peggy cradled the sobbing girl, she stared into the darkness, aware that the long hours of waiting for any news of the others had only just begu
n.

  Coombe Farm

  They’d all been woken by the sound of the big guns at two in the morning, and had come to the conclusion the rehearsal must be continuing out at sea. As it was a pitch-black night, there would be nothing to see but flashes of gunfire on the horizon, and because they’d witnessed more than enough the previous morning, and it would only upset Ida even more, they’d vetoed the idea of rushing up there to watch and tried to get back to sleep.

  Carol had lain awake, fretting over why her mother had turned up so unexpectedly, refusing to reveal what was worrying her before she’d returned to the pub. If something had happened to Pauline or anyone at Beach View, surely she would have said – so what on earth had brought her down here?

  She became aware of Ida moving restlessly about in her bed as the distant booms and bangs continued. The poor girl was distraught, and Carol knew just how she felt, for that initial shock was a body blow, and it would take time and many tears to come to terms with her loss. But at least she was surrounded by her friends, and Jack and Millicent had been very kind when they’d all returned from the byres to discover what had happened. It was at times like these that people pulled together, and Carol knew from experience that the unity went a long way to help in the process of healing.

  She pulled the blanket over her shoulders and shivered as a particularly loud bombardment echoed through the silence. Brendon would be out at sea tonight, and she could picture Betty alone in her room at the pub, probably awake and just as worried, having witnessed the debacle on the beach that morning. Carol shivered, for she knew from the experience of waiting to hear if David had survived the latest battle that it was these waiting hours that were the hardest to bear.

  The Welcome Inn

  Dolly had woken at two in the morning, and in the darkness she heard the faint sound of heavy gunfire which seemed to be coming from the Channel. Knowing that her grandson was out there tonight, she shivered with apprehension. These manoeuvres might be rehearsals for the real thing, but something had gone terribly wrong the previous morning for boys to have been killed, and she dreaded to think what disasters might lie ahead.