by Molly Green
‘It’s just that my mother isn’t keen for me to fly and she’d want to know where I was going every Saturday. I don’t want to worry her unnecessarily, so long as Dad knows where I am.’ Raine held her breath.
She noticed Hartman catch her father’s eye. Her father nodded.
‘We’ll soon be changing the clocks,’ Hartman said, ‘so if we say you may leave once a week at half past two, would that suit? Without altering your pound a week,’ he added with a twinkle.
Raine breathed out. ‘Oh, thank you very much, sir. It’s just that flying is what I want to do more than anything in the world …’ She hesitated.
‘Another question for me?’
‘Only when can I start?’
‘Soon as you like.’
She turned to her father with shining eyes. He sent her a wink.
‘Would tomorrow be all right, sir?’ Raine asked.
‘Good to see someone who’s keen.’ Flight Lieutenant Hartman stood and shook hands with her father, then smiled again at Raine. ‘We’ll see you here at eight o’clock sharp tomorrow morning then, young lady.’
Chapter Four
April 1939
Raine loved this new world she’d entered, loved hearing the thrum of planes taking off and landing as she rushed over the aerodrome taking messages, or set to tackling the bursting filing cabinet in between learning to be a pay clerk. She’d hoped to see a bit more of Doug, but he’d left a note to say he was taking some leave and would see her when he got back. Oh, and he hoped she was enjoying her new job.
The new job, if she was honest, didn’t need much of a brain to do it, although there was plenty to keep her occupied. Sometimes she felt more like a tea lady after she’d made the dozens of cups of tea demanded by the people in both her section and two other sections every day. She wasn’t ungrateful, not one bit, but she couldn’t help wishing her work took her closer to the aircraft.
Thankfully, her father merely told Maman that Raine had found a job in a busy office in Biggin Hill with no mention of an aerodrome. Raine knew that name would mean nothing to Maman. She also knew her mother wouldn’t bother to ask where the office was or any details about her work. This time, her mother’s seeming indifference would work nicely in her favour. Raine couldn’t help a wry smile.
The pilots all treated her in a friendly manner and would stop to have a word with her, or give her a flirtatious wink and a smile as they occasionally strolled by her desk, but her boss, Mrs Chilvers, never mentioned anything about her leaving early one day a week. Raine hadn’t even had a chance on a Saturday to go to Hart’s Flying Club to set up a schedule. Should she wait until Mrs Chilvers said something? All of a sudden she caught herself. What was she – a determined young woman who’d set herself a goal, or a meek little mouse waiting for someone else to speak on her behalf? She set her chin. She would be the one to take action. And it was no good going to Mrs Chilvers who might not even know about the arrangement.
Her chance came the following day. And it was with Flight Lieutenant Hartman himself. He stopped at her desk to ask for a file.
‘Thank you, er, Miss—’ he said.
‘Lorraine Linfoot,’ she replied with a smile.
‘Ah, yes, Lorraine.’ He looked at her. ‘And how are you finding us?’
‘I’m enjoying being here and there’s plenty to learn.’
‘Mmm. Well, I’m sure there’s always someone to help with any questions.’ He started to walk away.
She couldn’t let him go.
‘Sir, there is one thing …’
He turned.
Her heart racing, she steeled herself. ‘You mentioned I could have time off once a week for flying lessons, but—’
‘Ah, yes, indeed. But Mrs Chilvers tells me you have a lot to learn and it’s impossible at the moment to let you off early with two clerks away.’
So he had mentioned it to the woman.
‘Sir, if I remember correctly, you said it was part of my—’
Just then one of the senior clerks came rushing in.
‘The new Hurricanes are arriving, sir. You said you wanted to be informed.’
‘Good show,’ Hartman said and hurried off.
Raine hesitated for a few seconds then shot to her feet. She’d dash out and have a look at the Hurricanes. But she’d make sure she kept out of Hartman’s view. She flew out of the door and looked up to see six aeroplanes flying closely together, one after the other, coming in to land. She gasped. What a magnificent sight!
The six beaming pilots stepped out of the shining new aeroplanes. One in particular caught her eye. Tall with fair hair, and although some way away, his smile as he glanced in her direction looked as though it was on full beam.
A strand of her hair whipped across her face in the wind as she gulped and sent him a shy smile in return. Several pilots whom she now recognised gathered around the six men, excitedly firing questions, and one of them climbed on the wing to have a look in the cockpit. Raine wished with all her heart she could do the same. What would they say if she ran over the grass and asked if she, too, could have a look? Actually, thinking about it, they couldn’t kill her for it.
In the next instant she was running towards Hartman who had his back to her, talking to the clerk who’d announced the Hurricanes’ arrival.
She would tap him on the arm and ask his permission to have a closer look at the planes. But the pilot with the beaming smile broke away and strolled towards her, looking every inch a film star with his sun-streaked hair ruffling and his broad shoulders encased in a smart RAF tunic. She couldn’t look away.
The moment was broken by one of the Hurricane pilots calling him.
‘Marshall, over here. The chaps want to know if you’re going to the mess and—’ The rest of his words were caught by the wind.
So his name was Marshall. She supposed it was his surname. They all seemed to use each other’s surnames or nicknames. Her heart picked up its beat again as he mouthed ‘Sorry’ and turned to the others. She stared after his retreating back, aching to belong – the way they did. All pals together. She sighed. It was just a dream.
With hunched shoulders she trudged back to the building, to her desk, to tackle the never-ending pile of dull paperwork.
Another week passed with Mrs Chilvers dumping as much as she could on Raine’s desk. If she was honest, Raine was a little scared of the woman.
‘I need this chart completed by noon,’ Mrs Chilvers said, ‘so please give it precedence.’
Now, Raine.
‘Mrs Chilvers, may I speak to you about something?’ Raine got to her feet. She was pleased to note she was several inches taller than the woman.
‘What is it, Miss Linfoot? I’m very busy.’
‘It’s about leaving early one day a week.’
‘What’s that?’ Mrs Chilvers barked. ‘What are you talking about? You’re here full time.’
Raine took a breath. ‘Yes, that’s right, but Flight Lieutenant Hartman said I could leave at half past two one day a week – a day to suit you, of course,’ she added hastily.
‘Yes, he mentioned something about it, but I told him it’s not possible.’
‘You see, he promised. It was part of my wages.’
Mrs Chilvers thrust her matronly chest out. ‘And what is the reason, may I ask?’
‘I want to take flying lessons.’
There was a deathly pause. Raine’s heart beat fast.
‘Do you realise we will probably be at war any day?’ Mrs Chilvers began, her voice trembling with annoyance. ‘We shall need all hands on deck to keep this section going smoothly, and all the other administration sections, for that matter, so the men who work here at the moment can be released for duty.’ She stared up at Raine with expressionless eyes. ‘It would be a complete waste of time. And anyway, we’re far too busy to start letting you off early. You’re still learning the job. What would be more use to us is if you could type.’ Mrs Chilvers’s mouth tightened. ‘But you can�
��t, so be grateful we’ve given you a job when you’re not even trained for anything.’ She smiled without it reaching her eyes. ‘Now run along. I need that chart by noon.’
Raine stood. ‘I am grateful, Mrs Chilvers, and you’ll have the chart by noon.’
Cursing under her breath as Mrs Chilvers disappeared, Raine looked at the chart for the staff’s work schedule for the month. It certainly wouldn’t take her two hours to finish. She sat quietly and began to fill in the columns. As she worked, her lips curved into a smile. She knew what she was going to do. It might be the answer to getting a transfer. Something closer to aeroplanes than the pay section. But she would be careful not to let Mrs Chilvers know what she was planning.
Progress was slow. She daren’t ask anyone to show her how to actually get the piece of paper in and roll it to its position as her secret would be out. But her mechanical mind soon picked up the basics. To her delight she’d found an instruction book with a clear diagram of a keyboard showing where to place her fingers. It sternly told her not to look down at the letters and even to stick little pieces of paper over the keys if she was tempted. Raine merely kept her eyes fixed on the sheet of paper in front of her. In a week she could type without looking at the keys. It was time to appeal to Flight Lieutenant Hartman. And she would make it official by typing the letter and putting URGENT on the envelope to make sure it got to him personally.
Her chance came when Mrs Chilvers telephoned in sick the following day. She began her letter, the tip of her tongue sticking out between her teeth as she concentrated.
Dear Flight Lieutenant Hartman,
I know you are very busy, but I hope you will understand if I remind you again that you promised during my interview you would allow me to leave early one day a week so I would have time to cycle to Hart’s for a flying lesson. I have kept up with all the work Mrs Chilvers has given me, but I have been here for nearly a month and am very keen indeed to start.
I am very serious in my intentions to become a qualified pilot.
Thank you in advance.
Yours truly,
Lorraine Linfoot
Raine read the letter twice, then stuck it in an envelope. She put Hartman’s name on the outside and wrote PERSONAL and URGENT.
She’d walk over to his building this very minute and leave it on his desk.
The following day Hartman found her as she was in the office kitchen boiling a kettle.
‘Thank you for your letter, Lorraine,’ he said.
She couldn’t tell by his expression if he was annoyed or not. Then to her delight she saw the beginnings of a smile tilt his lips.
‘I hope it was in order to write,’ was the first thing that came to her.
‘I’m glad you reminded me. I’m sorry we haven’t kept to the arrangement. Lot going on at the moment.’
‘I understand, sir, but I’m up to date with my work and Mrs Chilvers isn’t in today, so I was wondering if I could leave early because I still haven’t been to the flying club yet.’
Hartman looked at her. ‘You’re really keen, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Then by all means pack up now and go and see them.’
Raine beamed. ‘Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you very much. You never know. If there’s a war my skills might come in handy.’
‘As I told you before, not with the RAF,’ he said. ‘But it’s still an excellent qualification to have, all the same.’
He swung away, leaving Raine in a pool of happiness.
It took Raine just short of half an hour to reach Hart’s Flying Club. She set her bike in a rack near the entrance, enjoying being close enough to watch a few planes take off and land for a few moments before she turned into the entrance.
She swiftly told the very nice elderly man at the desk that she would like to sign up for flying lessons once a week under the Civil Air Guard scheme. He nodded and took her name and address.
‘Are you on the telephone at home?’ he asked, his pencil poised.
She hesitated a fraction of a second. No, better not. Her mother might answer.
‘Afraid not,’ she said.
Flicking through a large desk diary, he tapped his finger triumphantly on one of the pages.
‘I have ten o’clock this Thursday, but only because of a cancellation.’
‘I can’t,’ Raine said. ‘I work at Biggin Hill but I can be here any afternoon from three o’clock onwards.’
He shook his head. ‘Got nothing in the afternoons. I’ll have to put you on the waiting list.’
She wasn’t going to leave the club without an appointment booked.
‘Oh, please. There must be something.’
He sucked air through his teeth and turned another page in the diary.
‘Ah, this might help, but it’s only half an hour on Fridays – three thirty. Would that do to begin with?’
‘Yes, it would do very well,’ Raine said, breathing out. ‘Tomorrow’s Friday. May I start then?’
‘I’ve already put you down for it.’ He looked up and smiled. ‘You’ll take a Tiger. And because it’s only half an hour it will only cost you half a crown.’
‘Put these on.’ Doug handed her a flying helmet, a fleece-lined jacket and a pair of goggles the following afternoon.
Immediately, Raine felt as though she’d taken a whole step nearer to her dream as she fastened the strap under her chin.
‘First of all, study your checklist and mentally tick off the items one by one.’ He walked her round the Tiger Moth, pointing out things she must look out for, such as the tyres and oil or fuel leaks. ‘And make sure the control surfaces are free and undamaged,’ he added.
Raine noticed two men in overalls looking on, ready to turn the propeller and pull away the chocks. They were smirking. Were they talking about her, a girl, having the audacity to think she could learn to fly? She decided to ignore them.
‘Doesn’t the mechanic do the checks?’ she asked.
‘Yes, but it’s always the final responsibility of the pilot,’ Doug said. ‘Now, use the cockpit checklist,’ he instructed, tapping her on the shoulder and handing over a sheet of paper once they were strapped in. ‘Make sure you’ve completed every one of them before take-off. This time I’ll show you everything as I’m checking and saying the names aloud, and you follow them on your list.’
Raine’s eyes dropped to the sheet of paper. She skimmed through it but it meant very little, so she quickly focused her attention on the instrument panel in front of her.
Doug leaned over her shoulder and pointed to the various controls. ‘This is the rev counter, the air speed indicator, altimeter to see how high you are. Here’s the oil pressure gauge, the control stick—’ He broke off. ‘Put your fingers round it to get the feel. It’s very sensitive so it only needs a light touch.’
She took the stick in both hands, the skin stretching over her knuckles in her nervousness.
‘No, not like that,’ he remonstrated. ‘You’re gripping it – just use one finger and thumb … yes, that’s better. Now, pull it gently towards you to rise up, then gently push away to descend, then move it to bank left … that’s it … then the opposite to go right.’
She vaguely heard the word ‘throttle’ and a few other names, but she knew she wasn’t taking any more in. Then she suddenly remembered something he hadn’t mentioned.
‘Where are the brakes?’
‘The Tiger doesn’t have them,’ Doug said nonchalantly. ‘You’ll come to a natural stop when you land correctly.’
‘That’s what I wanted to ask you about,’ Raine said. The ‘no brakes’ remark had made her chest tighten. ‘I’m a bit scared of landing.’
‘Don’t be,’ he came back. ‘You won’t be doing anything like taking off or landing on your first lesson – or your third. So don’t worry.’ He patted her back. ‘Okay … are you ready?’
‘Roger.’ Raine’s voice came out in a squeak of nerves, beads of perspiration gathering over her top lip
.
This was it. No going back. She felt sick with fear and excitement as Doug’s voice came over the speaking tube attached to her helmet.
‘Okay. Switch on the ignition.’
She gave a satisfied smile as the engine flared. But her smile vanished when Doug shouted for her to open the throttle. She’d forgotten where it was. If he’d ever shown her, that was.
‘Okay, I’ve got it,’ Doug called. ‘Don’t do anything more …’ He paused. ‘Right. Off we go. Remember, always take off and land into the wind.’
When the plane was airborne Doug continued to shout various manoeuvres and instructions. Occasionally she understood, but often her mind went completely blank to the point where she didn’t even know her left from her right. More than once she was too heavy with the control stick.
‘You’re banking too hard,’ he shouted and she felt him adjust the plane. ‘Now, hold it steady and we’ll cruise for a couple of minutes.’
Her nerves frayed, she tried to straighten by jerking the control stick again. And again she felt him right it. She almost wept with frustration and fury with herself. She’d wanted to do so well, to show him what a good pupil she was.
‘Right, I’m going to bring her down,’ Doug called. ‘I’ll tell you what I’m doing at every stage.’
A few minutes later they had touched down and were taxiing along the grass landing strip.
She let out a long sigh. The flight had been a disaster. She squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears. She’d never get the hang of it. He helped her from the cockpit without saying anything.
‘I’m so sorry, Doug.’
‘What for?’
‘I was awful. I couldn’t keep up with everything.’
‘Don’t fret,’ Doug said. ‘It wasn’t that bad for a first time and there’s a lot to learn.’ He gave her arm a light squeeze. ‘The main thing is, did you enjoy it?’
‘I loved it more than anything, but I didn’t think it was going to be that difficult.’
‘It isn’t. It just takes practice. And if you must know, I didn’t expect any more from you, but …’ he looked at her sternly, ‘I will expect more the next time and you’d better have improved. And the third time you’ll be flying without my help – except for the take-off and landing.’
