by Molly Green
She cocked an ear for Suzanne. Her sister was still in the bathroom. Why not unwrap it? She could easily put it back together again so no one would suspect.
Curiosity overwhelming her, and her pulse racing, Raine carefully untied the red ribbon and opened the Christmas paper. She held up the material, allowing it to unfold, and gave a sharp intake of breath.
It was a beautiful creamy-white scarf – a pilot’s scarf. And white was the colour the men wore. Blue for the women. It was as though he was telling her she was on the same level as the combat pilots, helping them in the only way she could – to fly planes out to them so they could do their job. And that he understood and admired her for it. She gave a wry smile. She was probably reading far too much into his gift.
Her fingers smoothed over the shiny surface to the fringe at the end where there was a label: Pure Silk. Nowadays, silk was difficult to get hold of. She turned the scarf over and found a hand-embroidered letter ‘R’ in the corner of one end. He must have had that specially embroidered for her. Cursing herself again for being so horrid to him, she wound the scarf around her neck and stepped over to the dressing table mirror. The image was striking – a creamy-white collar glowing against her dark hair. She turned her head this way and that. Being silk, it allowed her perfect freedom of movement. There’d be no chafing as several male pilots complained of when their girlfriends had knitted them a woolly one.
She laid the scarf on the bed and was just about to fold it back into the wrapping paper when she noticed a slip of paper inside.
Dear Raine,
If all goes well it will be good to see you again and meet your family. This is a small gift for Christmas to keep the cold winds off your neck when you’re in those pesky open cockpits!
I know you will look fabulous in it.
Yours,
Alec
Raine closed her eyes. He’d gone to that much trouble for her. She put her head in her hands and sobbed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
January 1942, White Waltham
‘A warm welcome to White Waltham, Lorraine.’ Pauline Gower smiled at Raine. ‘I’m delighted you got your transfer so you’re on my team again. You’re a real asset to the ATA and I’m very proud of you.’
‘Thank you, Pauline. You don’t know how much that means to me to hear you say that. And it’s wonderful to be back with you, too.’
‘You should be joined by a couple of others from Hatfield very soon,’ Pauline said.
‘Really?’ Raine said in some surprise. ‘No one’s mentioned it.’
Even though she’d been sorry to leave Hatfield, Raine was relieved she’d been given White Waltham. Several of her colleagues had asked for it and been disappointed, particularly as they’d subsequently been scattered across the whole country.
‘Well, you know how quickly things change around here.’
There was no point in asking who the two were, Raine decided. As Pauline said, you never knew from one moment to the other where you’d be.
White Waltham had more than one advantage over Hatfield, Raine was soon to discover. The biggest difference was that it was a mixed unit, which pleased her no end. With her newly found confidence since her training and her experience of already delivering aircraft to front-line squadrons, there should be no question that she couldn’t do the job as well as her male colleagues.
But her real joy was the many classes of aircraft to deliver. She never knew from one day to the other what she’d fly. Also, White Waltham was by far the more active aerodrome. It was nothing to do five deliveries in one day, one of the pilots told her. Also, most of the planes for collection and delivery were brand new, although the same pilot warned her about a special mark Raine hadn’t yet come across: NEA.
‘It’s supposed to mean “Not Essentially Airworthy”, but we call it “Not Exactly Airworthy”.’ The red-haired pilot rolled her eyes. ‘It’s on its last legs and when you fly it you’ll soon find out why she’s on her last journey.’
Raine fervently hoped she wouldn’t be given too many clapped-out planes to deliver. Once again it brought it home to her that the job she was doing was not without its dangers. She drew in a deep breath. There wasn’t another job in the world she’d rather do.
Raine had more or less settled into her new digs. Mrs Grayson, her landlady, was a widow who loved talking and gossiped about everyone – people Raine had never heard of and never wanted to. Even though Mrs Grayson was pleasant enough, her face lighting up when Raine handed over her food coupons, Raine told herself not to get caught up with the over-curious woman. And if Mrs G (as she privately called her) started asking questions, she’d have to make it clear that she’d signed the Official Secrets Act. All right, she hadn’t been required to sign that particular form, but nevertheless she was conscious the pilots of the ATA were under the scrutiny and security of the RAF.
How she missed the motherly Mrs Adamson and her kind husband. She shrugged. At least the room here was bigger than the Adamsons’ attic space, but even though Mrs G had provided a spare hot-water bottle and an extra blanket, the room felt freezing.
It was her second week at White Waltham and this morning the weather didn’t look promising for a delivery. It had rained all through the night and although it had stopped, there was a bank of ominous-looking clouds. The ferry pilots were having a really difficult time with their deliveries with this awful winter. Today, she’d been to the Met Office several times in between too many cups of coffee, waiting for it to lift, but there was still no sign of a break. The rules were that every pilot should make their own decision about whether to fly or not when the weather was poor. It was entirely up to her. And she couldn’t make up her mind.
At half past eleven she decided to walk over to Ops and see what the other pilots were saying about the weather. A figure at the noticeboard turned round and beamed.
‘Oh, Lorraine, I hoped I’d run into you soon,’ Stephanie said, giving her a hug and reminding Raine of the same exuberant welcome she’d given her at Christmas. ‘Isn’t it jolly that we’re both here? I’m so pleased to see you.’
To Raine’s surprise she, too, was delighted to see a familiar friendly face. She gave Stephanie a quick hug back. ‘Good to see you, as well,’ she said. ‘When did you arrive?’
‘Last night in pouring rain. They gave me a temporary bed because it was so late, but Pauline mentioned I would be in the same digs as you – Mrs Grayson, isn’t it?’
‘It is,’ Raine said.
‘What’s she like?’
‘Her heart’s sort of in the right place,’ Raine laughed, ‘but she likes to know everything.’
Stephanie chuckled. ‘I expect I’ll meet her later today. For the moment I’m just finding my way around. I want you to tell me all about it – if it’s as good as Hatfield. But here, come and look at this notice.’
Raine stepped over to the noticeboard and read:
ALL WOMEN PILOTS WILL REMOVE THEIR TROUSERS IMMEDIATELY AFTER LANDING.
‘What!’ Raine turned to Stephanie who was roaring with laughter. ‘How perfectly ridiculous.’ But she couldn’t help laughing, too. ‘We should carry out these instructions to the letter, because whatever daft man wrote that deserves a treat from the women.’
‘We should all get together and do exactly that,’ Stephanie said, still chuckling. ‘Are you game?’
‘It would definitely give them all the shock of their lives if we did,’ Raine said, ‘marching into the mess in our blouse and knickers.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Whoever wrote it obviously finds women in trousers so threatening they haven’t stopped to see what a stupid sentence it is. Well, I shan’t be taking any notice of it.’ She slipped her arm through Stephanie’s. ‘Come on, I’ll take you to the crew room and we’ll see what the others are doing about going up today.’
They were still laughing about the notice when they arrived at the crew room. Stephanie immediately went to the window and groaned.
‘Isn’t this weather
frightful? I’ve been sitting here simply ages.’ Rita Donovan, an experienced pilot, looked up from her book.
‘Do you think there’s any sign it’s lifting?’ Raine said.
Rita shook her head. ‘None whatsoever.’
‘I can’t bear it if we have to hang around, wondering whether to go or not.’ Stephanie lit a cigarette.
They sat for a few moments chatting, all the while glancing out of the window. Stephanie finished her cigarette and stubbed the end into an ashtray.
‘Right, I’m going.’ She rose to her feet.
‘I don’t think that’s wise, Stephanie,’ Raine said. ‘It still looks very hazy.’
Stephanie made a face. ‘I actually quite like flying in poor weather. It keeps you on your toes.’ She slung her parachute over her shoulder. ‘I was always known as Stormy Stephanie when I was first training.’ She laughed. ‘Are you coming, Raine?’
Raine hesitated. There’d been a challenging note in Stephanie’s voice and she didn’t want to be seen as a coward. She looked round at the others. Mary was writing a letter to her fiancé and Evelyn was staring out of the window.
‘What do the others think?’
Evelyn looked round. ‘Much as I want to get my delivery done, I’m not going to risk it until this lot clears. I think anyone going up at the moment would be mad.’
‘Mary?’ Raine said.
Mary put down her pen and stood by Evelyn at the window.
‘I don’t like the look of it,’ she said. ‘It’s not actually foggy, but it’s not far off. But they did say it should lift around mid-morning, so I’m with Evelyn. I’m going to wait awhile.’
Stephanie rolled her eyes. ‘I’m going to give it a go – do a quick circuit and see what it’s like. I’ll let you know.’
She was back in twenty minutes. ‘It’s fair visibility,’ she said, ‘once you get above the cloud.’ She grinned as the pilots shook their heads at her for disobeying the rules. ‘I can’t stand mooching around here so I’m going to do my delivery.’
‘Come back if it gets bad,’ Raine said. ‘We don’t need any catastrophes.’
She waited another hour, flicking through the Aeroplane magazine, but with her mind on her delivery. Glancing out of the window once more, she decided the thick haze was finally lifting.
‘What do you think, girls?’ Raine said.
‘I think it’s time to pick up our chits,’ Evelyn said, ‘or we’ll look proper wimps when Stephanie makes a successful delivery.’
Raine was given a Hurricane – a plane known to be remarkably reliable and one that had distinguished itself in the Battle of Britain. It wasn’t a long flight to Birmingham. She’d get a train back to White Waltham before it got dark. With even better luck she might be able to hitch a flight back.
She’d been cruising for half an hour, pleased that she’d decided to beat the haze, dipping in and out of the clouds, enjoying the intoxicating thrill of the plane and the freedom it gave her as she managed to follow the outline of the river. Occasionally she spotted the railway track that she wanted to follow from her map – then it would disappear. Not long now and she should see the aerodrome.
Completely relaxed, her thoughts turned to Alec, wondering if he’d tried to get in touch with her. Had anyone told him she’d been transferred? Would she ever see him again? She fingered the white silk scarf he’d given her. Even though she was enclosed in the cockpit, she’d worn it on every single flight since. It made her feel closer to him somehow.
Was she falling in love?
Irritably, she shook her head as though in answer to her unspoken question. But that kiss. She’d wanted more. In that moment, she’d wanted to fold into him. But he’d been angry with her. She fought down the replay of those last minutes – when she’d told Ronnie she’d be glad to see the back of him. How would she have felt if the situation was reversed? She’d be devastated and would never forgive him. And yet … even though his kiss wasn’t loving – or tender, even – somehow, by that very act, she was forced to admit that he’d opened up her heart.
But did he feel the same?
She snapped out of her reverie when she realised she was in sight of the aerodrome. Good. She glanced out, hoping to spot a space in between the landings and take-offs of other aircraft. There was still low cloud but thank goodness she could just make out where she was going to come down. Time to start losing height. She took hold of the selector lever to lower the undercarriage.
It didn’t move. Frowning, she pulled again. Still nothing. And she was losing height.
Concentrate, Raine. Grab every ounce of muscle and this time you’ll do it.
She glanced ahead. She needed to get the damn wheels down within the next minute – two at the most. What on earth was wrong? She yanked it again, her arm feeling as though it would burst from its socket, and gave an almighty pull. Heart pulsing in her throat, her muscles now screaming in protest … Please God let it give. She drew in a sharp breath and tried pulling the lever again, but the undercarriage of the aircraft refused to budge.
She sucked in another ragged breath and pulled again. Did it give just a little that time? Gathering the last remnants of her strength, her lips parted, her breath coming fast, the sweat trickling down her forehead, she could have cried as the lever finally shifted and the two green lights shone brightly, confirming the wheels were in position.
Dear God, that had been a close call.
She forced herself to take some deep breaths, which steadied her heartbeat, but just as she thought she was safe, the clouds dropped lower and she could no longer see the aerodrome. It felt as though she were flying through milk. Glancing at the petrol gauge she swallowed hard. The fuel was running low. She eased the throttle back to start the descent. Running her tongue over her dry lips, she strained to look through the windscreen. Thank the Lord, there was the railway track again so the aerodrome must be close. She felt the tension in her shoulders subside.
But as though waiting for the last possible second to frighten her, the clouds parted just enough to show her she was much nearer to the ground than she’d thought. Thank heavens she could make out the aerodrome again. The sky was eerily quiet. She felt completely alone. No wonder there wasn’t anyone else about in this weather, she thought grimly, as she steered the plane towards the runway.
The wheels touched the ground. She let her breath out in relief. But seconds later a terrible jolt threw her back in her seat then knocked her forward. She heard a faraway thud as her head hit the instrument panel.
What the bloody hell’s happening?
She was aware of the Hurricane swerving, followed by a thunderous roar as the undercarriage collapsed beneath her. And then she heard a sickening ear-splitting noise as the underbelly of the plane screeched along the concrete runway.
Hold it steady. Don’t let it flip over.
Biting her lip hard she switched off the engines, but the plane juddered on. Feeling like minutes, though she knew it must only be seconds, she somehow managed to bring it to a shuddering halt. Sparks flew. She needed to get out fast.
As she struggled to release herself from the cockpit she heard the roar of the fire engines. Firemen jumped down and ran towards her.
‘Out!’ one of them shouted.
She grabbed her parachute and scrambled onto the wing, her legs like jelly. One of the firemen held out his hand for her to jump down.
‘Come on, miss,’ he said, his arm firmly round her waist. ‘I’m getting you into the ambulance.’
Before she could protest she found herself being half carried into the back of an ambulance and laid out on the narrow bed.
‘I’m all right, honestly,’ she said to the medic on duty.
‘We’re going to have you checked over,’ he said, ‘just in case you’re concussed.’
Raine lay quietly, shivering a little. The landing had obviously jolted her more than she’d realised.
‘I don’t understand what happened just now. The undercarriag
e suddenly collapsed.’
‘Don’t you worry about a thing. We all saw what happened.’ He put a blanket over her.
‘I’m so worried about the plane.’
‘They’ll deal with the plane, so don’t you worry.’
Easy words. But they did nothing to alleviate Raine’s anxiety. Major damage would have been caused to the fuselage, but would there be more structural damage in the plane itself? Was it beyond repair? Whatever the condition she knew she would have to give a detailed explanation as to what had happened.
In the sick quarters a brisk doctor examined her and asked her various questions about her job.
‘Not much wrong with you,’ he said after a while, ‘though you might get a rather nasty bruise on your forehead and it’s a bit swollen.’ He logged a few notes, then looked up. ‘Best thing for you is to get a cup of tea and something sweet. Take a couple of aspirins and go to bed early. I’m sure someone will find you a bed at the station. You don’t want to be catching any train until tomorrow when you should be right as rain.’
The doctor’s prediction was correct. By morning, Raine’s forehead had come up in an angry purple bruise but the swelling had already started to go down. Although still a little shaky from yesterday’s events, she felt a whole lot better after her fried egg and tinned tomato breakfast.
When she’d finally arrived back at White Waltham Pauline Gower immediately put her under strict instructions to rest for the day. Staying in bed was not at all what Raine had in mind. No, she’d spend her time mooching round the village, though it was soon evident there was very little in the shops since the owners’ efforts at Christmas. She bought her mother some fake pearl earrings, wishing she could afford the real thing, and a birthday card.
After a quiet supper on her own at Mrs Grayson’s she decided to settle in the sitting room and listen to the wireless; find out what was happening in the news. She’d just tuned in when Stephanie breezed through the door, stopping abruptly when she caught sight of Raine’s forehead.
