"What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you'd be down at the pub with the other lads."
"I wanted to wait for you. Now that I don't have Martin, I feel almost as though you’re my elder brother. I hope you don't mind." Andy’s voice was soft, nervous; David could sense his fear of rejection.
"Of course I don't mind, Andy. To be honest, I've already come to think of you as part of my family. Now let's get my wet stuff put away, and I'll buy you a pint."
As the two men made their way companionably towards an evening of drinking and dancing, David placed a friendly arm around Andy’s shoulders, secure in the confidence that their new found relationship would see them through whatever trials might lay ahead.
The pilots of 74 Squadron, like so many other pilots, spent the day at their Dispersal Points from one hour before dawn until it was too dark to fly. Some slept, particularly if they had already been in action once that day. Others sat and talked quietly while waiting for the now almost inevitable call to combat. The last day in July was a day like all the rest. It was hot, and a brilliant sun rode high in a cloudless sky. It all seemed so quiet, so restful, but the peace was shattered by the call of the Tannoy.
"Scramble! Scramble! Raid over Dover!"
The pilots of A Flight ran to their planes, and were already airborne by the time the pilots of B Flight, whose planes were parked on the far side of the field, had their engines running. As Reynolds led his Section out over the coast, he sighted a formation of enemy aircraft out at sea.
"Tally Ho! Let's get them, lads!"
Red and Yellow Sections followed their leader out to sea, pouring on every ounce of power they could get, yet never seeming to get any closer to the enemy. At last Reynolds' voice came over the RT.
"Looks like we've had it, boys. Let's head for home."
The six dispirited pilots turned their planes in close formation, and headed back to Manston.
"It's damned frustrating," David said vehemently to Reynolds as they made their way to de-briefing. "If only we could follow them further over France, we could have wiped them out."
"Never mind, lad." Reynolds smiled. "We'll get them next time. Anyway, B Flight might have had better luck than us."
"I hope so."
David followed Reynolds into the de-briefing hut, and was surprised to find Squadron Leader Grey waiting for them. The two pilots stood to attention and saluted.
"Relax, lads." Squadron Leader Grey was smiling. "Before you make your reports, I want to give you a little good news. Reynolds, you got your DFC over Dunkirk, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, now you have a Bar to add to it. Congratulations." He shook hands with Reynolds, then turned towards David.
"As for you, David, you're a credit to this Squadron too. Fighter Command obviously agrees with me, as they’ve awarded you the DFC."
David was stunned. The DFC! He had never expected that. His face broke into a broad grin as he took the Squadron Leader’s proffered hand.
"Thank you, sir."
"It’s no more than you deserve. Well, I must get back to work. Put your reports in and I'll see you in the Mess this evening to celebrate." With that, Grey turned and left the hut.
“Well done, sir! The Bar! You deserve that. We couldn’t hope to have a better leader.”
“Thanks, David. The DFC, hey? You’re a damned good pilot, and deserve the recognition. I’m proud of you, lad.”
“Thank you, sir.”
They were still in the midst of this back slapping and mutual congratulation when Green Section came in to report.
"How did it go, lads?" Reynolds turned towards the newcomers. "I hope you did better than us, we didn't even manage to fire a shot!"
Sergeant Bartlett nodded. "We did all right. The enemy hit Blue Section, so we climbed above them and attacked. We got a couple of probables and a few damaged."
“Great.” David felt the day couldn’t get much better. "What about Blue Section? How did they do?"
Bartlett shrugged. "I don't know. We lost contact with them once we joined with the Hun. Sounds like they're coming back now."
The sound of a plane engine, obviously struggling to keep going, was heard, and the pilots rushed out to see who it was.
"That's Bickell's plane," came a voice from behind David as he watched Blue Leader bring his plane in for a landing.
"His wheels are up!"
The plane was weaving from side to side as though Bickell was having trouble with the controls. Just before touchdown, the nose of the plane was pulled up and the labouring engine took the aircraft in a tight turn around the airfield.
"He's going to try again. That last pass was too fast."
As the Spitfire approached the runway again, its engines cut out and the plane banked steeply to the right. Bickell was obviously fighting furiously with the controls. The Spitfire levelled off just as its belly touched the ground. The plane skidded uncontrollably and hit the shell of a truck, one of a number placed on the airfield to discourage glider landings by the enemy. As the right wing was torn from the plane causing it to veer towards the hangers, David found himself running across the field with the other pilots. The plane had barely stopped moving, only feet from the hangars, when they caught up to it. Bickell was already throwing back the cockpit hood and climbing shakily down.
"Are you all right?" Reynolds helped him down from the plane.
Bickell nodded. "Just a few bumps and bruises."
Glad to see that Bickell was all right, David searched the sky for the final two Spitfires but saw no sign of them as his companions continued to congratulate Bickell on his narrow escape.
"Where's the rest of your Section?" David asked as Bickell sat down, obviously more shaken than he cared to admit.
He shook his head. "We were at eighteen thousand feet, still climbing for altitude when they hit us from above. About fifteen 109s, I'd say. Andy and Steve were both hit in the first pass, then Green Section came in and took some of the heat off us. I was fired on from behind and hit badly; I was lucky to get back in one piece. As I pulled away, I saw Steve hit again and go into a dive. I couldn't get him on the RT. I think he must have been dead already. I saw no chute when he went down."
There was silence for a few moments. It was David who finally voiced the unasked question.
"And Andy? What happened to him?"
Bickell was well aware of the friendship between David and Andy, and could not bring himself to look at his questioner. David knew then to expect the worst.
"When I was disengaging, Andy went spiralling down quite close to me." Bickell was obviously shaken, and took a moment to compose himself. "He'd been hit. He said on the RT that his right arm was useless. His plane was on fire, and I saw him struggling to open the cockpit. He never made it. I'm sorry."
David was speechless. No! Not Andy! he wanted to cry, but the words would not come. He turned and walked slowly back to the Dispersal Point, wondering at the perfidy of fate. Here was a young man with everything to live for. He had given up his life in service to his country and in memory of his brother while David's own brother, Tony, was skulking at home like a coward. In that moment of irrational grief and anger David knew he would never be able to forgive his brother for taking a desk job, while others lay down their lives to preserve all that was good and honourable in the world.
And what was he going to say to Mrs. Richies?
AUGUST 1940
20
Sarah and Jane walked side by side along the shady lane, the summer sun dappling the path beneath their feet. The air was clear and warm, birds sang in the trees and butterflies filled the air. It seemed strange to Sarah that they were a country at war, when everything around her was so peaceful.
"You know, Jane, I’d never been out into the countryside until I was posted here." She sighed. "It will be hard to live in the city again after all this."
"You don't have to live in the city." Jane smiled at her friend. "You could always stay he
re when the war’s over."
Sarah shrugged. "I suppose so. But what about Joe? I couldn't live here without him."
"Perhaps he'll move out here too. Who can tell what will happen after the war?"
"Will you please stop mentioning the war!" Sarah snapped as she turned to face her friend. "I've come here to try to forget about it before I have to go back on duty. I know we only have a few men convalescing here now, but things are sure to get worse before they get better. Hitler’s bound to try to invade this summer, he’d be mad to give us the whole winter to prepare ourselves. From what Joe told me, the initial air battles have already begun. We’ll soon be fighting the Germans on English soil." Sarah shuddered, her voice coming softly now. "I'm afraid, Jane. Afraid that the Germans will come; afraid that Joe might be hurt; afraid that I might not be able to cope with the job when things get tough."
Jane put a comforting hand around her friend’s shoulder.
"You don't need to be afraid, Sarah, you showed after Dunkirk that you can cope with this job. As for everything else, try to put it at the back of your mind. Take each day as it comes. Don't worry about things that might never happen. If the Germans land, and I for one don't believe that they’ll be able to, then we won't go under like the French did. Eventually we’ll defeat the Nazis, even if we have to fight to the last man."
"That," said Sarah, a frown creasing her brow, "is what I'm very much afraid of."
The two young women crossed the stile back into the Heronfield estate. Jane pointed out a young man in lieutenant’s uniform, not an uncommon sight in a convalescent home.
"Isn't that Tony Kemshall?"
Sarah took a closer look and nodded. "Yes, he said he'd joined up. It looks as if he’s being posted somewhere now he’s in uniform."
"Will you miss him?" asked Jane, smiling mischievously. "I'm sure he'll miss you. He seems to have taken quite a fancy to you!"
"Stop it, Jane!" Sarah found herself laughing at her friend’s ridiculous statement. "He's too rich, and his family is far too important for him to be interested in me. Besides, I'm in love with Joe. I like Tony’s company, but I could never think of him as anything more than a friend."
"Well, as you enjoy his company so much, I think I'll leave you two alone together. He's heading this way." Jane turned to leave as she spoke.
"Don't be silly, Jane. I'm sure you’d enjoy his company too. Why not stay here with me?"
"Are you frightened your feelings might run away with you if you’re left alone together?" Jane laughed.
"If you’re going to say ridiculous things like that, it's probably better if you do go!" said Sarah, trying unsuccessfully to hide her laughter.
Jane said no more. With a quick wave, she ran through the trees towards Heronfield House. Moments later Tony strolled up to Sarah, his eyes on the form of the retreating nurse.
"Was that your friend?"
Sarah nodded in reply, still struggling to control her giggles.
Tony smiled an open, boyish smile that Sarah found rather endearing. "Did I say something funny?"
Sarah shook her head. "No. Not you. It was Jane. She has a peculiar sense of humour at times."
"I hope I didn't scare her off, although I'm glad she's gone." He smiled at Sarah's wary frown. "I have to leave this afternoon, and I wanted to see you to say goodbye."
"Surely you could have said goodbye to me in the company of my friend?"
Tony nodded. "Yes, but it wouldn’t have been as easy. You see I have a bit of a confession to make. I've become rather fond of you since I got back from Dunkirk, and I enjoy spending a few moments alone with you. I hope you don't mind." Tony waited breathlessly for her response, hoping that she would give some sign that she cared for him. He was beginning training in a few days, and the atmosphere at home left him needing someone to be close to, someone who could understand him and help him through the bad times ahead. After what seemed like an endless silence, Sarah spoke.
"I'm flattered to think that you’re fond of me" she said carefully, beginning to think that maybe Jane had been right about Tony’s feelings after all, "and I enjoy your friendship too. 'Though I'm not sure what Joe would say if he knew we kept spending time alone together."
"Is it really that important to you, what Joe thinks?" Tony did not want to hear the answer yet knew that the question had to be asked.
Sarah nodded and smiled, and seeing the happiness in her eyes Tony did not need to hear her reply.
"Yes, it’s very important to me what he thinks. I’d never do anything to hurt him."
Tony’s heart felt heavy with the realisation that this beautiful young woman, whom he had known for such a short time, belonged to someone else. He forced a smile to hide his feelings.
"Our friendship can't hurt him though, can it, Sarah?" he questioned. "All I ask is that you allow me to talk with you from time to time. You understand me so well, better than my own family."
Sarah noticed the hurt in his voice. "Don't worry,” she said gently. “They'll come round in the end. Until they do, you can come and talk to me whenever you like."
"Well," Tony was smiling again, "I won't be back to Heronfield for some time. I begin work tomorrow. That’s what I really came to tell you."
Sarah nodded. "I guessed as much when I saw you in uniform. It suits you by the way." Sarah realised that this was perfectly true. She observed his slim figure in dress uniform, and sadly wished that Joe could wear something similar. Not realising the turn of her thoughts, Tony leant forward and kissed her gently on the cheek.
"Thank you, Sarah. It's nice to be appreciated. Now I really do have to be off, or I’ll miss my train."
Sarah was still blushing after the kiss, and found it difficult to raise her eyes from the leafy floor. At last she had her feelings under control, and was smiling again when she looked up.
"Goodbye, Tony. I hope the job turns out to be all you want it to be."
Tony nodded. "I'm sure it will." He was suddenly serious, his thoughts turning to what might lay ahead for him in France. Then with a laugh and a quick wave he turned and ran back towards the lodge. "'Bye, Sarah. See you again soon."
Sarah waved back, feeling unsure of herself, as she always seemed to after talking with Tony. He seemed so open and outgoing, yet she felt that there were depths to his character that few, if any, knew about. With a shrug she turned again to the path through the trees, and made her way back to Heronfield House and her waiting patients.
21
The barbed wire caught on the shoulder of Tony’s tunic as he struggled to crawl beneath its lowest strand, and he heard the material tear. With a muffled curse, he continued to drag himself towards the end of the tunnel. His hands and knees slipped in the slimy mud which clung to his clothes, weighing him down and making his task all the more difficult. His breathing was laboured when he finally pulled himself free of the wire and struggled to his feet. Yet, without pausing to regain his breath, he ran on towards the river which flowed swift and deep between its banks after the previous night’s rain. As he broke from the cover of the trees into the bright sunshine he heard someone crashing through the trees behind him, and redoubled his efforts. The riverbank was only a few yards away now, and after stumbling breathlessly across the intervening space he plunged down the steep, slippery slope into the cold water, which stretched ahead of him for some twelve yards. He found himself struggling to keep his head above water. The weight of his clothing was already dragging him down. He would normally have swum the narrow stretch swiftly and without difficulty, but in his exhausted state every stroke was a painful struggle, every breath an agony. His breath was coming in short, harsh gasps when he reached the other side and, despite the need for speed, he rested on his hands and knees for a moment, head down, oblivious to the water which coursed from his body in shinning rivulets. Finally, with a massive effort of will, he dragged himself to his feet and began to pull himself laboriously up the riverbank.
A meadow stretched before him, an
d on the far side of it he could see an army truck parked in the shade of the spreading branches of a large oak tree. Forcing himself into one final effort to overcome his exhaustion Tony broke into a run once more and headed for the truck, his aching muscles screaming to be allowed to rest as he forced one tired foot in front of the other. At last he was there. The shadow of the tree stretched invitingly as Tony threw himself down beside the truck, thoroughly exhausted.
"Not bad, Kemshall." Sergeant Hopwood jumped down from the truck. "First back. But the others aren’t too far behind."
Tony rolled over and looked back across the meadow to see a rag-tag group making their way towards the truck, each as filthy and exhausted as himself. Within five minutes the whole group were back, sprawled beside the vehicle in the shade of the tree, their laboured breathing gradually easing, their bodies aching. Sergeant Hopwood climbed up onto the tailgate and looked down at his new charges.
"Right, you lot, that was just a taste of things to come. By the looks of you all you're totally unfit and ill prepared for what lies ahead of you. But mark my words," he glared down at them as he spoke, "by the end of these three weeks you'll be running the course in half the time it took you today, or I'll want to know the reason why!"
The new recruits looked at each other in disbelief as Hopwood’s voice barked again.
"Now up you get, you lazy lot. Into the back of the truck. When we get back to Base you’ll have ten minutes to change into dry clothes before meeting me in the lecture hall for basic map reading. Understood?"
"Yes, sir" came the tired chorus.
"I didn't hear you!" The Sergeant’s yell brought them all to their feet.
"Yes, sir!" they shouted as they scrambled tiredly into the back of the truck.
As the truck pulled into the drive, Tony caught a glimpse of the old country house that was to be home for the next three weeks. It was older than Heronfield but built along the same lines, and it was owned by a similar family. Like Sir Michael, the owner of this house had given up his home for the duration of the war. But unlike the Kemshalls, this family had to vacate the property altogether. It was one thing to allow a family to stay within the grounds if the house was being used as a convalescent home, but quite another if its purpose was to train spies. Tony had been told this would be just the first part of his training, concentrating on his physical fitness. After this morning’s performance he was beginning to realise that it would not be as easy as he imagined.
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