Heartwarming and emotional story of one girl's courage in WW2

by Fenella J Miller

  ‘Mrs B, it’s Jack. I’ve not heard from Ellie and just wanted to know that she’s okay.’

  ‘My Fred’s that worried about it, Jack. He told her not to volunteer and heaven knows where she’s been sent or what she’s doing. We have to send our letters to an office and then they forward them for us. I can give you that address if you like.’

  He wrote it down. ‘Thank you, just what I wanted. I expect she’s too busy being trained in whatever it is and hasn’t got a moment to write.’

  ‘She could always give her dad a call.’

  ‘If it’s a secret establishment I doubt that they have access to a telephone.’

  He spent the remainder of the time before the pips went enquiring after Fred and the farm and then said goodbye. Whatever hush-hush job she was being trained for, she couldn’t be kept incommunicado indefinitely.

  Twenty-seven

  Ellie was none the wiser as to what she might actually be doing at the end of the course even though she’d spent the day sitting with Mary inside a blacked-out cubicle. Half a dozen of these little boxes had been constructed in the main hall of this stately home. An RAF man stood behind them giving them instructions.

  The girls emerged blinking from their confinement, none of them speaking, all of them looking as bewildered as she was. They had half an hour’s free time before they had to go to the canteen for their evening meal.

  She was sharing with Daisy and Mary and as soon as the doors closed she said what she’d been holding back until that moment. ‘What on earth have we been doing? I can’t see how staring at that screen and twiddling the knobs to find a green blob is of any use to anyone.’

  ‘I’ve got a splitting headache,’ Mary said, ‘do either of you have any aspirin?’

  Daisy gave her a couple from the bottle she kept in her wash bag. ‘Half the time we didn’t see anything apart from flashes and lines on the screen.’

  ‘I wish I hadn’t volunteered, I really don’t want to spend the rest of my time in the WAAF shut away like we have been today,’ Ellie said.

  ‘There’s not time to have a lie down or proper wash before we go to eat, I’m not particularly hungry, but if the food is as good as it was at lunchtime I expect I’ll force it down.’ Daisy rubbed her eyes and went to collect her irons from the bedside table.

  ‘The work might be peculiar, but it’s a very comfortable billet we’ve got here. A real mattress and proper sheets is a luxury I’ve learned to live without,’ Ellie said with a smile.

  ‘There’s no telephone we can use and it doesn’t seem as if we’re going to get any opportunity to go outside and get fresh air or exercise.’ Mary swallowed her aspirins with a glass of water and ran a comb through her hair.

  When they were all sitting at the large dining table one of the male officers repeated even more forcefully that they were not to discuss anything they did or saw under any circumstances.

  As they weren’t allowed to make telephone calls or write letters or even walk in the grounds there was no chance that any of them could break the rules.

  *

  The days became weeks and Ellie became more adept at the task of locating the little blobs of light. She now knew they were called ‘echoes’. She was puzzled by the compass scale on the locating control but used it as instructed.

  Already three of the girls had left but fortunately her roommates were still there. As the course came to an end they were told to assemble in the lecture hall where what they had been doing would become clear.

  The Commanding Officer stood up and smiled at them. ‘Thank you for your hard work and for putting up with the monotony and lack of exercise. What you have been doing is learning to use radar interception.’

  Ellie had vaguely heard about this new invention. It was something that could detect enemy aircraft approaching and would give the RAF a huge advantage over the enemy. To have been involved in something so worthwhile made the three weeks of boredom and incarceration acceptable.

  ‘Imagine that,’ Daisy said as they left the lecture room. ‘We’ll be doing really valuable work – much better than anything else that was on offer when we signed up.’

  ‘If I can’t fly then this is the next best thing. Being able to keep our boys safe in the air is a great job. Do you think we’ll get any leave before we’re sent to our postings?’ Ellie said.

  ‘I doubt it. Someone said there’s going to be a leaving party tonight. There will be music, alcohol and men,’ Mary said gleefully.

  ‘I think that a couple of the girls have already got to know their instructors quite well. The chap we had suffered from bad breath so we had to keep facing front and I don’t really know what he looks like.’

  The others laughed. ‘Any port in a storm, Ellie. I’m not averse to a bit of how’s your father as long as they smell a bit sweeter than the one we had teaching us,’ Mary said.

  ‘I think we were unlucky because somebody told me they’d had a nice bit of slap and tickle with their bloke.’

  ‘I only intend to canoodle with a Brylcreem boy, officers only for me.’

  ‘Daisy, I’m shocked. I’m glad that I’m engaged to Greg and don’t have to worry about being chased by officers or other ranks.’

  ‘I’m not surprised you said yes, he’s a bit of all right,’ Mary said as she led the way into their accommodation.

  *

  The following day Ellie was posted with her friends to a radar station at Rye on the south coast. They were received enthusiastically by the male operatives as these poor chaps had been working every day without respite.

  The nearest town was miles away and none of the men had been allowed leave because of the shortage of trained personnel. There was no suitable accommodation at the camp so they were billeted with a local doctor and his wife. This meant a two-mile walk morning and evening, but it did mean she was getting plenty of fresh air and exercise now.

  Another girl was added to their group as they had to work in teams of four. Vanessa was an ex-deb and talked as if she had a plum in her mouth. Despite her initial reservations Ellie thought she was a good egg.

  The first morning they were escorted to the hut where they were to work. Although it was a mile or two from the coast the bitter wind from the channel battered its wooden sides relentlessly.

  ‘Right, ladies, this is how things work,’ they were told by a depressed looking male officer. ‘You will work eight hours on and sixteen hours off on your watch. One of you will operate the screen, one fix the position of the echo and inform central control. The third is to record everything in a log and the fourth to act as telephonist and tea maker. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir. How do we decide which duty we have?’

  ‘Simpson, isn’t it?’ Ellie nodded wondering how he knew her name. ‘You change your duty every two hours. It doesn’t matter where you start – you’ll do each task in a shift.’

  No one minded who did what first. Her first duty was as a telephonist. The hut was totally blacked out, rocked in the wind from the sea, and even with greatcoats, scarves and balaclavas on they were still cold. Only constant mugs of hot, sweet tea kept them from freezing to death.

  Occasionally Ellie had the energy to go into town when her time off coincided with daylight – but usually she was too tired to do anything but catch up on her sleep. So the months drifted past with only her weekly letters from Greg and Jack to break the monotony. Nothing much was happening to either of them and they were both bored and eager for the war to start in earnest. The only telephone available was in town so calls were now a thing of the past.

  ‘It’s not so bad being in this beastly hut now the weather’s improved,’ Vanessa said as she and Ellie sipped their tea and Daisy and Mary got on with the real work. Answering the telephone and scribbling down anything that was spotted on the screen were less stressful than the other two.

  They were conversing in whispers although the other two couldn’t hear them as they were wearing headsets.

  ‘It
might as well be winter the amount of sunlight we get to sit in. It’s May, a heatwave out there, and we’re all as pale as ghosts.’ She finished her tea before continuing whilst Vanessa jotted down a few things in the log book. ‘The news isn’t good, is it? Hitler has stormed across Holland and Belgium and the Prime Minister has resigned.’

  ‘We’ll be better off with Winston Churchill – he’s a man who knows what he’s doing. My brother is in France and Mummy has heard nothing from him. General Gort is in charge of the army, you know, and Clive thinks the world of him, so I expect he’s fine.’

  Unfortunately, accommodation had now been built for them at the base and they had to leave their cushy billet with the doctor. Ellie wasn’t looking forward to being there next winter as it was basic to say the least, and they didn’t have a wireless. If they wanted to hear the news they had to remain in the recreation room with everyone else.

  As a non-smoker she found the blue haze created by the smoke unpleasant so spent as little time as possible in there. This meant she often got news second hand.

  Weekends no longer existed – they didn’t get days off. On Sunday, 26th May, her watch had been from midnight to eight o’clock in the morning. When she and the other members of the team headed for the canteen later that day, everyone off duty was congregated in the recreation room listening to the wireless.

  Hitler was driving the British and French armies back to the coast and they were being fired at and bombed. The RAF fighters were protecting the soldiers as they retreated and British warships were trying to evacuate as many as they could before they were killed or captured.

  *

  Greg decided to ask for a transfer to a fighter squadron. That was where the main action was going to be and he didn’t want to be a bus driver any longer. He wanted to take a more active role in shooting down enemy aircraft. Dropping bombs on civilians wasn’t supposed to happen, but he knew, like everyone else in the squadron, it was inevitable. He wasn’t comfortable with the idea of killing innocent people; by becoming a Spitfire or Hurricane pilot he wouldn’t have to do that.

  When he handed in his request the adjutant looked less than pleased. ‘I see from your log book, Flight Lieutenant Dunlop, that you have some experience flying a single engine plane. We are desperately short of pilots of any sort and I don't expect you’ll get a transfer as this would mean losing an experienced flyer from here who I doubt we would be able to replace.’

  Greg was about to reply but the adjutant continued.

  ‘Nevertheless, I’ll put this through, but don’t get your hopes up, old chap.’ He waved his hand and Greg was dismissed.

  There was nothing to do apart from the occasional night flight to keep their skills honed when weather permitted. He’d got a forty-eight-hour pass but as Ellie was away somewhere training there was no point in him leaving the base.

  He was cycling around the apron just as a Tiger Moth landed. He pedalled furiously towards it and arrived just as pilot jumped out.

  ‘Can you give me a lift? I don’t care where you’re going – I just want to get away for a bit?’

  ‘I’m delivering spare parts – if you care to give me a hand unloading them, I’d be happy to.’

  Greg discovered the middle-aged airman was returning to Hornchurch where he was based. Neil was there; it would be grand to catch up with his friend as he hadn’t seen him since Christmas, almost four months ago.

  He grabbed his overnight bag, made sure his whereabouts for the next twenty-four hours had been logged, and was ready to scramble into the front seat of the little plane.

  Even with his flying jacket and helmet on it was cold in the open cockpit. At least he had a heated flying suit when he went up in the Blenheim.

  The short hop to Hornchurch was over too quickly. The pilot landed smoothly, they shook hands, and Greg went in search of his friend. He found him in the Officers’ Mess.

  ‘Good God! How the hell did you get here?’

  ‘I cadged a lift. I’ve got two days’ leave and this seemed as good a place as any to come.’

  Over a beer he told Neil about his wish to become a fighter pilot. ‘I doubt I’ll get a transfer, but I had to ask. I just hope my CO doesn’t think I’m lacking in moral fibre and has me demoted and sent to scrub latrines for the duration.’

  Two chaps overheard his remark. One of them, Greg realised, was wearing the insignia of a Wing Commander. He was about to leap to his feet and salute but the man waved him back.

  ‘Ever been up in a Spit?’

  ‘No, sir. But I’ve logged twenty hours in single engine kites.’

  ‘Bus driver, are you? What’s your squadron?’

  Greg told him and the man pulled a face. ‘Bloody Blenheims are absolutely useless. Not fast enough and vulnerable to enemy attack. Simpson, let him have a spin in your crate. See how he goes. Do three bumps and circuits.’

  His friend didn’t look too pleased about this but could hardly refuse a senior officer. Once they were outside he gripped Greg’s elbow. ‘If you prang my Spit I’ll kill you. There aren’t any spares – not enough coming from the factories at the moment.’

  Neil stood on the wing and ran through the basics. ‘Pre-op flight check is the same. Good luck – take care of her.’ He jumped down and a couple of ground engineers took over. Moments later the Merlin engine roared into life – the propeller turned and it was chocks away.

  Greg taxied from the apron onto the runway. Waited for the green light and then took off. The Spitfire was a joy to fly, a bit claustrophobic inside the closed cockpit after the space in the Blenheim, but this was more than made up for by its responsiveness.

  He did a circuit and came in to land. He repeated this manoeuvre three times and each one was perfect. He felt as if he’d been born to fly this fighter and it made him even more determined somehow to win himself a place in one of the squadrons.

  ‘That was capital. Thanks so much for allowing me to take her up. She’s everything I’ve heard, and more.’ He clapped his friend on the back and Neil laughed.

  ‘You handled her as well as anyone in the squadron. If the Wing Co agrees I’ll see if you can borrow Digger’s kite when we go for a mock sortie later today. Digger’s wife has just produced their first sprog and he’s got compassionate leave.’

  Greg couldn’t believe his luck. If he proved himself then it would make his application more attractive as he wouldn’t need to receive any further training. He and Neil spent the next couple of hours together. By the end of it he was sure he understood what he’d have to do.

  ‘You must keep your eyes peeled, constantly look from side to side for enemy planes. Be able to manoeuvre, spin and loop in order to evade the enemy gunners,’ Neil told him. ‘You only have a couple of minutes of ammunition so you have to make it count. Our job is to shoot down the bombers before they can drop their load.’

  Neil drained his glass before continuing. ‘Talking about acrobatics reminds me of Jack Reynolds, I think he’ll make an ideal fighter. He’s had years of experience. Ellie said in her last letter he’s now stationed at Croydon and flying a Hurricane.’

  For some reason hearing about Reynolds gave him an uneasy feeling. Why was his fiancée writing to another man?

  He enjoyed every minute of the exercise and believed he slotted in as if already an experienced fighter pilot. The Wing Co sought him out just after they landed and said he would do his best to facilitate a transfer as Greg was exactly the sort of chap he was looking for.

  That night there was a social at a nearby village hall and he had no option but to attend along with everyone else. He was also to spend the night in the bed of the absent Digger.

  The hall was full of eager partygoers. There was dancing for those who wished to do so, card tables at the far end and silly party games for the children. Only tea and buns were served, but there was a convenient hostelry a few doors down and, like everyone else, he nipped down there for a quick pint every now and again.

  As the event
got going a group of land girls walked in – to his astonishment he recognised one of them. It was Elizabeth Hamilton, a deb he’d had a brief relationship with before he’d joined the RAF.

  ‘Gregory Dunlop, I can’t believe it’s you. Or should I say Flight Lieutenant Dunlop?’ Elizabeth hesitated for a second and then stepped in as if expecting him to kiss her. Instead he offered his hand and she shook it vigorously.

  ‘Elizabeth, I never imagined you would join something so mundane as the land army. But I must say you look very well on it.’

  They stepped to one side so they could continue their conversation in private. He told her he was engaged and that his fiancée was doing something hush-hush in East Sussex. She said she’d joined up to escape a persistent suitor.

  He was introduced to the other three girls and in turn he introduced them to Neil. A very pleasant evening was spent dancing and chatting. Although he’d left his old life behind he was still pleased to hear how his erstwhile friends were coping with the war.

  He returned to his temporary billet three sheets to the wind and humming the hokey-cokey. Elizabeth had the day off tomorrow and they’d agreed to meet up for a picnic. He felt the same way about her as Ellie did about Jack. When he explained to Neil, his future brother-in-law told him life was too short to miss out on a bit of light relief. If his friend didn’t see any harm in seeing an ex-girlfriend then there was no need for him to feel guilty.

  Twenty-eight

  Ellie and her friends walked to the cliff edge to watch the appalling inferno of bombs and shells that were dropping on the BEF trapped on the beaches at Dunkirk. The fact that all three of them had been promoted to ACW1 no longer seemed important.

  Wave after wave of fighters roared overhead in a desperate attempt to protect the men from the Luftwaffe.

  ‘I don’t see how they can survive for much longer,’ Ellie said to Daisy.

  ‘I know we can’t actually see what’s happening, but the flashes and explosions on the other side of the channel are quite clear.’