‘All right then, I’ll give you a chance. But only one, mind. You can try taking a cylinder head off.’
‘I can do that all right, Flight.’
‘Mebbe. Mebbe not. We’ll soon see.’
A fitter was detailed to stand over her while she worked, checking every step as she removed the cylinder head and replaced it with a new one. When she had finished he said surprised:
‘You did that well, Winnie. Nice and quick and neat. I thought you’d take all day.’
Flight Sergeant McFarlane came over. ‘All right. So far, so good,’ he grunted. ‘Now let’s see what a mess you make of a DI.’
She carried out her part of the Daily Inspection on the Hurricane with meticulous care, just as she had been taught on the training course. First, she checked the propeller blades for damage and inspected the aircraft outside for any sign of oil or coolant leaks. Then she removed the cowling and examined all pipe fittings, joints and clips and went over all the electrical leads, control rods and couplings. She checked the flexible drive and all the nuts and bolts, and the engine mounting bolts and bearers, and looked over the cowling frames for cracks. When that was done she checked oil, fuel and coolant levels and topped up the air compressor with castor oil.
The Hurricane’s rigger, responsible for the airframe, watched her and chuckled. ‘You don’t want to take it too serious, love.’ He walked casually round the aircraft and aimed a kick at one of the tyres. ‘Nothing wrong with this kite, see.’
Next she ran up the engine and checked the dial temperatures and pressures and the mag-drop. Replacing the cowling afterwards might have defeated her if Ginger hadn’t shown her the trick of it and how to bang home the fasteners with the flat of her hand. When she had finally finished she made sure the chocks were placed correctly in front of the wheels, with the string neatly round the front, as Ginger had once shown her. ‘So’s you can pull ’em away nice ’n easy.’
She went into the office to sign the Form 700. Chiefy McFarlane looked at her through narrowed eyes.
‘You’re saying that aircraft’s serviceable, then?’
‘Yes, Flight.’
‘You’ve checked everything?’
She nodded.
‘What about the air intake?’
She went bright red, realizing that she had forgotten it. How could she have been so stupid? So careless? Chiefy must have been watching her through the window. She hurried back to inspect that the intake was free from any obstruction and returned to the office.
He glowered at her as she signed the form. ‘If I find anything’s wrong I’ll eat you alive.’
As she reached the door he yelled after her suddenly, jabbing a finger at the form.
‘Come back here, woman! You’ve signed in the wrong bloody place!’
When the day’s work was done the fitter who had watched her change the cylinder head stopped by her.
‘We’re off down the Lamb and Flag tonight, Winnie. Want to come along?’
It was the first time they had asked her to join them. She blushed.
‘Thanks, Bob. I’d like that.’
She bicycled the four miles to the pub with them and drank half a pint of bitter.
Ginger nudged her. ‘You’re one of the gang now,’ he said.
‘Mother, this is Neil Mackenzie.’
Virginia watched her mother anxiously as she extended a hand. She was looking at Neil with the same expression she wore when the butcher gave her an unsatisfactory piece of meat.
‘How do you do, Mr Mackenzie.’
‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am.’
As Neil sat down he nearly knocked over a small table. He looked uneasy and out of place in the genteel sitting-room. Mother, seated straight-backed in her chair, went on looking at him in the same way.
‘I hear you come from Canada, Mr Mackenzie.’
She made it sound as though it were some very remote and uncivilized part of the world.
‘Call me Neil, please . . . That’s right, Mrs Stratton. I’m from Hamilton, near Toronto.’
‘I’m afraid I’m not acquainted with your country.’
‘Well, I guess it’s a long way away.’
‘It is indeed. And you are in the Canadian army?’
‘Sure thing. Came over in the summer of ’40.’
‘I see. May I ask how you came to meet my daughter?’
He grinned. ‘Oh, we bumped into each other on a bike ride . . . Matter of fact, I nearly rode right into her goin’ round a corner too fast. I guess it was fate.’
‘Fate?’
‘That we met. Though we didn’t see each other again for a while – not ’til we sat opposite in a Salvation Army canteen in town. Fate again! Then we went ’n bumped into each other again on another bike ride.’ He turned his head to smile at Virginia. ‘Since then we’ve been meetin’ whenever we can.’
‘Really?’
Virginia watched and listened helplessly. She knew already that it had been a terrible mistake to bring Neil home – a vain and foolish hope that her mother might take to him and make him welcome. Instead it was going to be like the dreadful time when she had invited Molly from school home to tea – only worse. Far worse. Neil seemed unaware of it. He was sitting back easily in his chair, one leg crossed over the other and resting on his knee – slouching her mother would no doubt be thinking. She had drawn herself up regally. With a sinking heart Virginia saw that the table was elaborately laid with the best white tablecloth, silver cutlery and damask napkins.
Her mother rose to her feet. ‘Luncheon is ready, Virginia. I expected you some time ago. Perhaps you will help me carry the dishes through. Mr Mackenzie can wait here.’
In the kitchen her mother did not trouble to lower her voice.
‘I expected an officer at least, Virginia. And a gentleman. Not a sergeant and a Colonial! That speech! Those casual manners! What can you be thinking of?’
‘Please, Mother! He’ll hear you.’
‘Just as well if he does. He has quite a nerve, in my opinion. You should never have encouraged someone of his type. I hope you’re not taking him seriously in any way.’
‘He’s just a friend.’
‘Well, I don’t know why you insisted on bringing him home. There’s no room for him here.’
‘He had nowhere to go on leave. He’ll sleep on the sofa, if that’s all right. We’ve only got forty-eight hours. And I wanted you to meet him.’
‘I can’t imagine why. However, since he’s here, I suppose I shall just have to make the best of it.’
Lunch was torture for Virginia. She saw her mother staring pointedly at the way Neil used his knife and fork, and at the gravy stain that appeared on the tablecloth beside his plate. The stew was grey and tasteless but Neil ate heartily and finished before either of them. He wiped his mouth on his napkin.
‘I hope you have had sufficient, Mr Mackenzie.’ Her mother dabbed at the corner of her mouth with hers. ‘I’m afraid our rations in this country are rather meagre. I dare say you are more fortunate in the Colonies.’
‘My folks send me food parcels, and we do pretty well at the camp. I guess we’re lucky compared to you British. I brought some canned ham and fruit with me for you, Mrs Stratton. Hope you’ll accept it.’
‘We have learned how to make do with the little we have, thank you, Mr Mackenzie. In this country we prefer not to take handouts.’
‘Sure. I understand. I didn’t mean any offence.’
The pudding was awful – a pallid blancmange that hadn’t set properly. Again, Neil seemed to enjoy every mouthful, though Virginia could hardly eat hers.
‘You should visit Canada one day, Mrs Stratton. It’s a great country. You’d like it.’
‘I hardly think it likely that I shall ever go there, Mr Mackenzie. And I don’t think it would appeal to me.’
‘You never know ’til you try. When I first got here I was real homesick. Now, I’ve gotten over it . . .’
Her mother’s face was
frozen.
After lunch Virginia took Neil for a walk in the park down the road. They sat for a while by the lake in the sunshine, watching a mother and her small boy feeding the ducks with stale bread. Neil twisted his cap round in his hands.
‘I guess your mum thinks I’m a real backwoodsman, Ginny.’
She said miserably: ‘I’m so sorry about the way she is. She’s never met a Canadian before. She doesn’t really mean it.’
‘I think she does mean it. It don’t matter to me, though. Only I can see it hurts you, an’ that makes me mad. I heard how she spoke to you when you were out in the kitchen.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, close to tears. ‘I hoped you wouldn’t hear.’
‘I don’t care what she said about me. As a mother, I guess she’s got every right to be concerned . . . but is she always like that with you? Treatin’ you that bad?’
She lifted her shoulders. ‘She’s been awfully bitter about everything ever since my father left her, I think. She can’t seem to help the way she is.’
‘Why did he go?’
‘For another woman, she says. I don’t really know. I’ve never seen or heard from him since. But Mother doesn’t seem to have got over it, even though it was a long time ago. And she’s never really got used to living in a small flat. We had a big house near the Common once, but it all had to go when Father’s company failed. He was made bankrupt and that’s when he left – or soon after. You can understand why Mother’s bitter.’
‘Sure. But it wasn’t your fault, Ginny. It wasn’t anything to do with you. Just you remember that. You’ve got your own life. Say, look at that little guy! He’s real cute.’
She looked at the small boy feeding the ducks, but through a blurred mist of tears. He was throwing little pieces of crust haphazardly into the water with funny, jerky movements, and the ducks were flapping and splashing and quacking about after them. She had so wanted Neil’s visit to go right, but everything had gone wrong. Now, he would probably never want to see her again. He would probably believe that she felt like Mother, when what she felt was quite the opposite.
She wiped her eyes quickly with the back of her hand. ‘Neil, you don’t believe I think like Mother, do you?’
He turned back from watching the boy and smiled at her. ‘About me being only a sergeant and a Colonial? No, Ginny, I know you don’t. You’re not made like that. But I guess she’s right that I’m not good enough for you.’
She stared at him in anguish. ‘Don’t say that, Neil! Please don’t.’
They looked at each other and his smile faded. He took hold of her hand and said earnestly: ‘Trouble is, Ginny, I don’t know for sure how you do feel about me. I mean, we’ve been seein’ each other all these months, off ’n on, but you’ve never given me a clue . . . never let on what you’re thinkin’ . . . never let me get close in any way . . . You told your mum I was just a friend – I heard that too, couldn’t help it. Is that the way you feel?’
She turned her head away. ‘That’s what we are, aren’t we – friends?’
‘I hoped we were more ’n that. A whole lot more. I wasn’t goin’ to say a thing yet, but I’m scared now that if I don’t maybe I’ll go and lose you for some crazy reason to do with your mum. I love you, Ginny. Have done ever since I first saw you that day on the bike when I came harin’ round that corner . . . First of all I didn’t think I had a chance with you, but lately I’ve begun to think different. But I knew I had to take it real slow. See, I want us to get engaged, Ginny. To get married, soon as we can. To go back and live in Canada one day, when the war’s over. I’ll take good care of you, I swear it. An’ my folks’ll love you. What d’you say?’
The tears began again, trickling down her cheeks.
‘Gee, Ginny, if it’s that bad an idea . . .’
‘No, no.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m crying because I’m so happy.’
He laughed and caught her against him. It was the first time she had ever been kissed. Presently he said:
‘I’ll speak to your mum as soon as we go back.’
She pulled away from in alarm. ‘No, not yet, Neil. Let’s keep it to ourselves for a little while longer. Please.’
‘All right,’ he said reluctantly. ‘If that’s what you want. But we’ll have to tell her in the end.’
He put his arm around her and drew her close against him. The little boy and his mother had gone and the ducks were paddling quietly on the lake. The sunlight shimmered across the surface of the water. I don’t want anything to spoil this for us, she thought. Not yet. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes tiredly. Not yet.
‘Kookaburras and wattle?’ Digger said, leaning against the bar in the Black Bull.
Anne shook her head. ‘What on earth are those?’
‘First one’s an Aussie bird. Second’s a yellow flower. Grows everywhere.’
‘I’ve heard of the Outback,’ she said. ‘You’ve got a lot of that.’
‘Too right. How about dingoes. Heard of those?’
‘They’re wild dogs, aren’t they? Up jumped dingo, yellow dog dingo . . . that’s from some poem or other.’
Digger lifted his beer mug. ‘Don’t know about the poem, but you’re right there too. Nasty, savage creatures you wouldn’t want to meet.’ He took a long swallow.
‘Bondi beach,’ she said, suddenly inspired. ‘Surfing.’
He looked over the mug admiringly. ‘My word, you’re getting better all the time.’
‘Sheep. Gold. Opals. Pineapples. Sugar cane.’
He whistled. ‘You’ve been cheating. Looking things up.’
‘No, I haven’t. I swear it. I just remembered what we learned at school. Tasmania and apples.’
‘Good on you! What about wine?’
‘Wine? You mean you have vineyards? I don’t remember learning about that.’
‘Oh, my word, yes. It’s good wine, too. Good as German or French any day. I’ll bet you thought we drank Fosters all the time.’
‘Fosters?’
He groaned in mock despair. ‘You mean to say you’ve never heard of Fosters? That’s terrible! Best beer there is.’ He took another swig. ‘Better than this Pommy muck. Heard of The Wet?’
‘Is that another beer?’
He laughed. ‘Strewth, no! It’s the rainy season in Australia. Comes down in bloody torrents.’
‘We have that all the year round.’
‘All right, try these. King’s Cross and Paddington.’
‘They’re in London.’
‘They’re in Sydney, too.’
‘Couldn’t you think of your own names?’
‘Yeah. Woollamaloo, Wagga Wagga, Wollongong.’
‘I like those. They sound lovely.’
‘Matter of fact, we pinched those from the Abos.’
Digger drained his mug and pushed it across the counter towards the landlord. ‘Same again, sport.’ He winked at Anne over his shoulder. ‘Have to keep it filled up ’case they run out.’
‘Stuttgart,’ Sunshine snapped, making it sound like a bad sneeze. ‘That is our target for tonight, gentlemen.’
‘Our target, you mean,’ someone in the row behind Anne whispered resentfully. ‘You don’t have to bloody go. All that bloody way.’
She looked at the red tape stretched across the map on the wall behind the Group Captain – representing something like five hundred long miles there and five hundred long miles back.
Sunshine was glowering round the briefing room. ‘Industrial area . . . diesel-engine and ignition factories . . . penetration into Southern Germany . . . impose ARP measures over a wide area . . . high morale value . . . maximum effort expected.’
She listened to him giving his usual harangue. All available aircraft on the station were being bombed up. It was going to be a big one.
Digger and his crew were sitting near the front, to her left. Digger was looking carefully unconcerned, smoking a cigarette and leaning back in his chair. Twenty-nine ops behind
him and only this one to go, and it had to be a snorter.
When the briefing was over he passed close to her as he left the room.
‘Didgeridoo,’ she said.
‘Stone the crows!’ He grinned. ‘Never thought of that. That one deserves a gong.’ He tugged a button off his tunic and pressed it into her palm. ‘Here you are. The Wollongong. Aussie medal for the best Pommy sheila I ever knew.’
The long wait began. She lay on her bed, sleeping in short bouts, listening for the distant sound of engines that would herald the bombers’ return. This was the hardest part. Sunshine, no doubt, would be peacefully asleep and dreaming of promotion and medals (his own), but many on his station and under his command would be watching, listening and waiting as the hours of darkness dragged by.
After dawn they began to come back, the faint drone of the first arrivals swelling gradually to a roar when they circled above the aerodrome. One, she could hear, was in bad trouble, flying on a single faltering engine. She held her breath as it passed over very low; after a few moments a horrible thudding whoomph shook the building. As the first crews stumbled into the de-briefing room she saw without asking a single question that it had been a very shaky do. Their faces told the story before they began to talk of murderous flak, marauding night fighters and kites going down in flames.
Six of them failed to return, among them Digger and his crew. She waited for a long while with the squadron CO, sitting in the empty room with the sound of the clock ticking away hope. There were no late stragglers and there was no news.
She skipped breakfast and went outside, still hoping against all likelihood for the sight of A-Apple or any of the others in the sky. She fingered the black Australian Air Force button in her pocket.
Oh, Digger, I’ve thought of a whole lot more that I was going to tell you . . . swagmen, billabongs, tuckerbags, billies, coolibah trees and Waltzing Matilda.
Virginia watched the ladybird crawling slowly across the back of her hand and wondered if insects had any feelings at all. Or did they go through their short lives in a state of blissful ignorance of such things – feeling and caring nothing, driven only by conditioned reflex and blind instinct. Sometimes she wished that she had none. That she could live without always dreading this and fearing that and being so nervous about the other. It spoiled everything. Now, at this moment, sitting in the shade in a corner of the field, the bikes propped against the tree, she was happy – happier perhaps than she had ever been in her life. But that happiness was still tinged with a gnawing fear that it might not last. That Neil could not really love her as much as he said, that he might not really want to marry her, that something somehow would go wrong . . . She looked at him lying on his back on the grass close by, his hands behind his head, his eyes shut, and could not trust her good fortune. It had taken a long while for her to overcome her shyness with him and she could remember the very instant when it had finally dawned on her that she was in love with him. He had taken her to watch him play in an ice hockey match in Brighton between Canadian and British servicemen. Two teams had been scratched together and somehow equipped. She had watched from the edge of her seat as the players tore round the rink at breakneck speed chasing the tiny puck. There had been horrifying collisions, spills and thrills and the best thrill had been when Neil had scored one of the goals. He had swept down the side of the rink, flicking the puck before him and veered across to shoot straight past the keeper into the goal mouth. She had been on her feet with the rest of the Canadians in the crowd, yelling and clapping, though she knew she should have been supporting the other side. The match had ended in victory for the Canadian team, after a fierce struggle, and to her relief, Neil had come off the ice unscathed. He had looked up to where she was sitting, laughing and waving. As she waved back she had realized suddenly how she felt about him and the knowledge had filled her with both happiness and trepidation.
Bluebirds Page 47
