Mary wiped her eyes. ‘My brother’s an officer over there. My parents are beside themselves with worry. The warships won’t be able to get close enough to the beach so the men must swim. Nigel can’t swim very well.’
Ellie pointed to the sea. ‘Look at that – people have responded to the call on the wireless last night. There are hundreds of little boats heading for France. They are going to fetch the soldiers too. Maybe their help will be enough to save them.’
They remained, sitting on the grass, until it was time to return for their watch. The sky was still noisy with Spitfires and Hurricanes and she wondered if one of them was piloted by Jack or Neil.
There were now more trained radar operators so they no longer worked continuous watches. The news was more encouraging and by Tuesday, 4th of June, the newspapers were reporting that hundreds of thousands of British and French troops had been saved. Churchill was calling it a victory but Ellie didn’t think the families of those who had died would agree. She was aware just how many fighters had failed to return.
She was returning bleary eyed from the night watch two days later when she was waylaid. ‘ACW1 Simpson, you are to report immediately to the CO.’
Her heart sunk. She could think of only one reason why she’d been summoned. With both her brothers, her fiancé and Jack in the RAF she’d been dreading getting this call. Mary had been on edge since the evacuation started and still didn’t know if her brother was safe.
As soon as she stepped into the office she knew the news was going to be the worst possible. Someone she loved had died. She saluted and remained at attention ignoring the suggestion that she be seated.
‘My dear, I have the sad task of informing you that your brother Flight Lieutenant Neil Simpson died yesterday. His aircraft was so badly damaged that he couldn’t land it safely. He was unable to bail out for some reason.’
Ellie heard the words but they didn’t make sense. Her beloved older brother couldn’t be dead. She stared at her CO unable to respond coherently.
‘You have been given a week’s compassionate leave, Simpson. You may collect your travel docket from my secretary. I have arranged for you to get a lift to the station.’
Ellie nodded, dry eyed, saluted a second time and marched out having not spoken a word. She ran to her quarters relieved the hut was empty as the girls would be getting their breakfast. After tossing all her belongings into her kit bag she raced off, praying she wouldn’t meet anyone and need to explain where she was going.
If she didn’t say the words, then maybe it wouldn’t be true. The thought that she would never hear Neil call her his little sister again was too awful to accept. A staff car was waiting and she scrambled into the back, not wishing to sit beside the driver and be obliged to talk.
The journey to Glebe Farm passed in a blur. She remained sunk in her misery, unable to cry in public, torn apart by guilt that she was glad it wasn’t Greg who had died. When she emerged on the station at Romford she realised she should have let her dad know she was coming. She wouldn’t be able to get a taxi so late – none of them liked to work in the blackout.
She slung her bag over her shoulder and decided to walk. There was sufficient moonlight to be able to find her way safely and it shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours. Despite having spent so much of her time huddled in front of a screen these past few months she was still fit and strong.
It was two o’clock when she trudged down the drive. Only then did she think about the problems of getting into the house. She would have to wake Mabel and get her to open the back door.
She was still half a mile away when the dogs arrived at her feet whining and barking with excitement. She’d forgotten the animals were left out overnight to protect the birds.
‘Good boys, I’m glad to see you too. Stop jumping, you’ll have me over. How did you know I was coming?’ Somehow it made things a little easier talking to the dogs as though they understood.
She was a hundred yards away from the dark bulk of the farmhouse when a tall figure appeared from the darkness. He didn’t have to speak, she recognised Greg’s outline immediately.
Dropping her bag, she ran towards him and threw herself sobbing into his arms.
‘Sweetheart, I thought it would be you coming when the dogs shot off. I’m so sorry. Neil was a good chap.’ He held her close and his strength was enough to comfort her.
She gulped and snuffled, wiped her eyes and nose and was finally able to speak. ‘How’s Dad? He must be devastated.’
‘He’s taking it as well as can be expected in the circumstances. The funeral is the day after tomorrow. George and Jack have got leave to attend.’
‘I hadn’t seen him since Christmas – but we wrote to each other most weeks.’
‘Actually, I saw him a couple of weeks ago.’
Greg explained how this happened and told her that he’d got a transfer and was joining Neil’s squadron after the funeral.
‘The next few weeks are going to be difficult for all of you. I think almost two hundred planes were lost and God knows how many soldiers were killed on the beaches. We won’t be the only family mourning the loss of a loved one this week.’
‘I hope you didn’t wake anyone when you came out. Did the dogs bark?’
‘I haven’t been to bed yet. I’ve been wandering about out here. Which reminds me, darling, why didn’t you ring? Nobody would have minded being woken up and I could have come and got you.’ He still had his arm around her waist and turned to guide her towards the house.
‘Hang on, I dropped my bag. I better collect it; in case it rains.’
‘No, I’ll get it.’ She stood, numb, whilst he raced off and fetched it. ‘I’ll chuck it on the porch and then we can sit in the garden for a bit and talk.’ He kept his arm firmly around her waist and guided her towards the house. The kitbag thumped nosily on the porch and the dogs barked in excitement.
‘Shut up, you two, you’ll wake everyone up,’ Greg said and they slunk off.
She was so tired she could hardly see straight and would be better off in bed but didn’t want to be alone, not tonight. Greg guided her towards the rose arbor. She stumbled and he swore. Next thing she knew she was in his arms being carried and she felt safe and comforted by his love and strength.
He didn’t continue to the garden but returned to the house and shouldered his way in and took her to the sitting room. He sat on the sofa with her in his arms and then let her cry. She woke later in the morning still in his arms but now they were in her bed and she was in her underwear.
She shot up in bed. ‘Greg, you shouldn’t be in here…’
‘I wasn’t leaving you alone, not when you were so devastated. Are you feeling any better, darling?’
‘Not really, but I’ll be able to cope with you beside me.’ His hair was tousled and he needed a shave but she had never loved him more. ‘At least you are fully clothed, unlike myself.’
‘I’m not an idiot. If you’re okay I’d better get washed and shaved.’ He leaned closer and kissed her gently before rolling off and striding to the door. Only then did she see he had left it wide open.
‘See you downstairs in half an hour. I love you, sweetheart, and I’m so sorry.’
His parting smile was sad and belatedly she remembered Neil had been his best friend. He was grieving too but had put her first as he always did. She dragged herself to the wash-stand and quickly sluiced herself down with the cold water from the jug. She put on a clean shirt and stepped back into her uniform skirt and jacket. She was glad she didn’t have to wear black.
The house didn’t seem the same. It wasn’t just that her beloved brother was dead – she thought it was her. She’d changed, she wasn’t the naïve girl who had left home all those months ago.
Dad had already gone out to work. Farming wasn’t something you could take a break from unless you’d got someone else in to do your job. Even the death of a son didn’t mean you got compassionate leave.
Greg joined her
outside on the terrace – it was too hot to eat in the kitchen. She moved willingly into his arms and they kissed. If anything happened to him she didn’t think she would ever really recover. He was the most important person in her life now. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. ‘Your father has had a letter from Mrs Simpson in response to his telling her about Neil. It seems she will be coming to the funeral. Will you be alright seeing her again?’
‘It’s almost a year since she left. She and Dad are no longer married, but Neil was still her first-born. It wouldn’t be right to stop her coming but I hope Sir Reginald doesn’t accompany her. Which reminds me, why hasn’t he been arrested? Isn’t it treason to support Hitler?’
‘I’m sure he wouldn’t be so crass as to come here after what happened the last time. And you’re right, people like him should be behind bars.’
She’d lost her appetite and put down her cutlery, feeling guilty she was leaving a perfectly good plate of egg and bacon when there was a war on and rationing in place. ‘If you’re not going to eat that, Ellie, do you mind if I polish it off? Pity to waste it.’
She drank her tea in silence trying not to think about the reason she was home. ‘By the way, I don’t even know how old you are or when your birthday is. In fact, how have we got engaged when we know so little about each other?’
‘I’ll be twenty-four on 28th June. I have two sisters, one ten, the other eight years older than me. My parents don’t live together and I’ve not spoken to my father either for over a year.’
‘I think you told me that before. My birthday’s not until October and I’ll be twenty then.’
The telephone rang and she jumped to her feet and went to answer it. The caller was another neighbour ringing to give their condolences and ask when the funeral was. She replaced the receiver and scrubbed her cheeks dry with her sleeve.
Mabel spoke from behind her. ‘I’ve just heard that three families in the village have lost someone too. I don’t suppose it’s going to get any easier. Them blooming Germans will be over here dropping bombs on us soon.’
‘I keep telling myself that Neil died fighting for us – but it doesn’t make it any less horrible.’ She swallowed the lump in her throat and pushed herself away from the table she’d been slumped against. ‘Do you need any help getting the rooms ready?’
‘Bless you, Ellie, but that’s not your job. My friends are helping out with the wake. We’ll give your brother a good send off, don’t you worry.’
*
Having Greg there helped to ease her grief. He understood how she was feeling and was there for her to cry on whenever she needed him. The mantelpiece and windowsills in the sitting room were crowded with condolence cards. Greg made himself useful on the farm while she took the dogs for a walk, answered the telephone, and replied to the cards.
Somehow, she staggered through the two days, but couldn’t have endured it without Greg being there. Dad turned to Mabel for comfort and this was how it should be. This was no longer her home. She had grown up, was a responsible member of the WAAF doing essential war work, and she knew that in future she would be a visitor to Glebe Farm not a member of the household.
George and Jack shared a taxi and arrived on the morning of the funeral. Because of petrol rationing there would be no procession, the coffin would be taken directly to the church by the undertakers.
Her brother hugged her, not something he usually did, and he seemed genuinely distressed. ‘I thought it would be me that would go first, I can’t believe he’s gone. Bloody war – bloody Germans.’
‘Mum’s coming – did you know that?’
He looked uncomfortable. ‘Actually, Ellie, I took Fiona to meet her and Grandpa. Don’t look so horrified, Sir Reginald has learnt his lesson and cut all ties to the fascists. He had nothing to do with that unpleasantness, it was someone else on the list.’
She stepped away from him, shocked by his admission. Jack was waiting his turn to embrace her. ‘You look good in your uniform, Ellie. I’m pleased to see you, but wish it was in better circumstances. We lost fifteen from our base – some of them good friends of mine.’
‘George just told me he’s been visiting my mother and that horrible man. How could he betray the family like that?’
‘You told me that he’s always been your mother’s favourite. Stands to reason he’d want to keep in touch. You don’t have to see any of them again after this if you don’t want.’ He dumped his kitbag by the door and put his arm through hers. ‘Let’s go for a walk in the garden. There’s something I want to tell you that might cheer you up a bit.’
She couldn’t think that anything he had to say would make her feel any better.
‘Did you know that they are taking on female pilots in the ATA? A girl turned up at the base the other day. She was delivering some spare parts and left with a bloke who needed a lift. She was flying a Tiger Moth like the one we had. Why don’t you apply?’ He handed her a form he’d been keeping in his inside pocket. ‘I picked this up for you in case you want to have a go at getting in.’
She took it and quickly scanned the page. It appeared she had exactly the qualifications they were looking for. ‘I wondered what ATA stood for, now I know – Air Transport Auxiliary.’
‘It seems they only had male pilots, but we’ve lost so many blokes they’ve decided they’re going to take on suitably qualified women. This means the men can leave and join an active squadron. It’s a civilian operation so I’m not sure exactly how it works.’
‘I’m going to apply. The WAAF would never have let me leave a few months ago, but they’ve got plenty of radar operatives now so they might well agree. I’d be better off doing something very few girls can do.’
This information had definitely cheered her up. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. He hugged her back then gently removed her hands.
‘Don’t encourage me, Ellie, I never could resist a pretty girl even when she’s spoken for.’
‘Thank you so much. Now I’ve got something to look forward to. I’ll fill this in right away – would you post this for me when you leave this evening?’
The leaflet that accompanied the form explained they were only looking for female pilots with more than two hundred hours in the log book and she had over two thousand. There were stamps in the drawer downstairs and she thought she’d get one and bring it up, rather than take the envelope down. This was the second time she’d applied for something without telling anyone – she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t told Greg. Being a civilian would be better as far as he was concerned as she could leave whenever she wanted to.
*
Dad was driving his truck. She and Mabel were sitting in the front and George, Jack and Greg had to make do with the back. George obviously wasn’t pleased but got in without comment. They arrived only minutes before the hearse.
There were no wreaths on the coffin, just a large bunch of garden flowers. Sombre music could be heard in the church. Greg, George and Jack took one side of the coffin and three other RAF officers took the other side. The vicar moved in front and led the procession into the church whilst solemnly intoning the words from the funeral service.
Ellie put her arm through Dad’s and dropped in behind. Mabel had already taken her place in the congregation. Mum should have been there with them.
She bit her lip and marched as she’d been taught by the drill sergeant. As long as she concentrated on her steps she wouldn’t break down. The church was packed. Even with her eyes firmly to the front she was aware there were a dozen or more grey-blue uniforms.
A pew had been reserved for them at the front. Mum and Sir Reginald were already occupying two of the seats but there was plenty of room for Dad, George and her, but Jack and Greg would have to sit elsewhere.
The service followed the usual pattern, too many hymns and too many prayers before they got to the eulogy. She’d expected George to do this but it was left to the vicar, who’d scarcely known Neil, to tell ever
ybody what an exceptional young man her brother had been, and how much he was going to be missed. He ended by saying he died for King and Country and to keep his family safe.
Her handkerchief was sodden and she wished Greg was beside her and not George. Eventually the service was over and the entire congregation traipsed outside for the burial. Neil wouldn’t be lonely here, with more than two dozen Simpsons in adjacent plots. Their family had bought this corner of the churchyard one hundred and fifty years ago and she hoped, when her turn came, she could rest with them as well.
Greg was beside her and she turned her face against his shoulder needing his comfort. As one by one people moved to the grave to pay their respects he led her to a quieter spot. ‘Come on, let’s get it over with, darling.’
‘I don’t want to speak to her or him…’
‘I know, but you must. They’re waiting for you.’
Without his arm moving her forward she would have run away. She had expected her mother to look more elegant. happier, but the reverse was true. The woman standing nervously beside Sir Reginald couldn’t meet her eyes. Ellie’s animosity evaporated. Suddenly she was sorry for her. Dad was happy with his new life but her mother obviously wasn’t.
‘Mother, thank you for coming…’
Sir Reginald interrupted her. ‘It’s not your place to thank your mother, miss. Of course my daughter would attend her son’s funeral.’
Ellie ignored him. ‘I’m glad you came. I hope we can stay in touch.’
Again, the bully spoke for her. ‘My daughter is no longer part of your life, young lady. She is back where she belongs. Come along, Charlotte, the car’s waiting.’
He grabbed her mother’s arm and marched her away. ‘That was quite horrible. Mum wasn’t allowed to even speak…’
‘Sweetheart, don’t feel sorry for her. It was her choice to leave Fred and go back to him. Forget about her.’
‘I’m going to try and get her on her own at the wake. I can’t bear to think of her being unhappy.’ She looked around at the crowd of RAF personnel milling about the graveyard. ‘Who are all these men?’
Heartwarming and emotional story of one girl's courage in WW2 Page 26
