Into The Unknown

by Lorna Peel

  Escorting bombers continued and, as time wore on, Charlie began to find it very monotonous. There were one or two skirmishes, but no kills. As December arrived, he began to think of Christmas. The first without his parents, the first he wouldn’t be able to picture them sitting with Clive in the drawing room around the fire, listening to the King’s Christmas message.

  Poor Clive and Toby. It seemed as if neither he nor Kate would be getting leave. He must write to John. Poor John, he wasn’t taking advantage of him, was he? He must ask if he and Lucy could keep an eye on the boys while they were in Market Kirby. What sort of a Christmas would it be for them?

  “Charlie?” He heard Billy’s voice from across the Officers’ Mess, and he put down the newspaper he had been staring at. “Have you heard?”

  “What?” he snapped. He wasn’t a mind-reader.

  “The Japs have bombed Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. We and the Yanks have declared war on them. Bastard Japs, the whole bloody world’s at war now, eh, Charlie?”

  “Yes,” he replied wearily.

  Merry Christmas, world. He closed his eyes and laid the newspaper across his face.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kate curled up in a battered armchair in the NAAFI with a newspaper.

  Imperial Headquarters in Tokyo announced last night that Japan had entered into a state of war with Britain and the United States from dawn yesterday…

  “Well?” Jean asked.

  “Daddy will stop wishing he’d sent me to America now. There’s no excuse anymore.”

  “I still can’t believe your parents turned up like that out of the blue.”

  “That’s Daddy for you. Charlie was furious.”

  “Can you blame him?”

  “No,” she replied. “Oh, you didn’t see what he sent me for my birthday.” She fished a small box out of her pocket and opened it. “It’s a Claddagh ring. Typically Irish. I don’t know where he found it.”

  “It’s lovely.” Jean admired the ring which comprised two hands clasping a heart with a crown on top, but sounded a little surprised. “To be honest, when I saw the box, I thought it would be an engagement ring.”

  “Charlie won’t marry me.” Kate closed the box and returned it to her pocket, keeping to herself the fact that she had thought the same. Her spirits had soared, hoping Charlie had changed his mind and was going to ask her to marry him. When she lifted the silver Claddagh ring out of the box, she had cried with disappointment.

  “Because?” Jean stared at her in amazement.

  “He doesn’t want to leave me a widow.”

  “But he shouldn’t go around thinking he’s going to die.”

  “I know, but…” She sighed, hoping she wasn’t going to cry again. “There’s always the risk, and with what happened in Dunstan Street…”

  “I know. But you would marry him if he did ask, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Kate replied simply. “But I know he won’t.”

  It was now 1942, or fifteen minutes into the New Year, to be precise. Kate stood outside the NAAFI hugging herself, trying to keep out the cold. She hadn’t expected leave, but there had always been faint hope in the back of her mind. She’d written to Toby and Clive but it was little comfort for the first Christmas without their parents.

  She had heard from Charlie. He hadn’t been granted leave either and was toing and froing with bombers almost every day. He sounded quite fed up and, like her, was wondering when on earth they were going to get to go home.

  An article in a newspaper caught her eye towards the end of January. The first American troops had arrived in Northern Ireland. It worried her a little; she had always thought her home in Ballycarn was safe, but it seemed the war was creeping ever closer.

  Belfast had been bombed, Dublin too – by accident – but that wasn’t the point. Could Ireland be under threat of invasion? Eamon de Valera, the Taoiseach – or Prime Minister – of Ireland was resisting Mr Churchill’s offers to enter the war and, for once, her father agreed with him and wrote to her;

  Ireland has spent so long trying to be free of Britain. We’re not going to get embroiled in their war now.

  “Penny for them?” Jean asked and Kate jumped.

  “Oh, I was thinking about home.”

  “Ireland?” Jean glanced at the newspaper article.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  Did she? “Well, it’s hard to say. I was away from home in boarding school for so long, then I was at Commercial College, and then I came to London.”

  She realised she didn’t really have a home. Since the age of twelve, she had been continually moving. Home, boarding school, Commercial College, Dunstan Street, WAAF training camp, WAAF flats, Sector Station, then Rose Cottage.

  Despite the awful circumstances, she thought of the three months in Market Kirby as her most home-like and found herself craving more and wondering if she should ask Charlie to marry her. But what if he said no? That would be horrible so, reluctantly, she forced it from her mind.

  She had to wait until the beginning of March before being granted a week’s leave and scribbled a letter to Charlie to tell him.

  She travelled to Market Kirby by bus, posted the letter, then went home. Rose Cottage was cold and smelt a little musty, having been empty since January, so she lit fires in the kitchen range and in the hearth in the living room. She wandered around the cottage before turning the radiogram on and searching for some soothing music. She fell asleep in front of the fire and didn’t wake until morning.

  Walking to Mr Gibson’s shop, she marvelled how she hadn’t seen Mrs Hodges. Light in Rose Cottage for the first time in months; why hadn’t Mrs Hodges pounced?

  “She passed away in early February,” Kate was told by the shopkeeper. “It was very sudden.”

  Mrs Hodges was dead? Good God.

  “Kate?” She heard her name being called as she was opening the front door to Rose Cottage, laden down with shopping. She turned and John grinned at her. “I thought I saw you. Welcome back.”

  “Thanks, come in.”

  “On your own?” he asked, following her inside, along the hall and into the kitchen.

  “Yes.” She put her bags down on the table and massaged her fingers. “I’ve written to Charlie, but I don’t think he’ll get leave.”

  “How long have you got?”

  “Only a week. John,” she smiled, “thank you so much for looking after Clive and Toby at Christmas and New Year. They told me you and Lucy had them over for dinner. It was so kind of you.”

  “Well, it looked as if it would only be the two of them so they came to the vicarage and we had a great time. They’re much better, more talkative, and thinking about the future.”

  “That’s good. What happened to Mrs Hodges? I couldn’t believe it when Mr Gibson told me.”

  “A heart attack. She dropped dead in the Post Office. It was quite a shock to us all; the village won’t be the same without her.”

  “No,” Kate replied, wondering if she should smile or not. “How is her husband?”

  “Distraught. He’s gone to stay with relatives up north. How are you?”

  “Tired,” she admitted. “I really need this week off, but I’m thinking of calling Clive and Toby’s school, though, to see if they can come home for the weekend. I know I can’t make up for Christmas and Charlie not being here but…”

  “I think that’s a great idea. They’re good lads.”

  “Yes. They both want to join the RAF, you know?”

  He nodded. “They did mention it. Toby’s father was in the RAF, wasn’t he? And with you and Charlie, I suppose it’s to be expected.”

  “I suppose so. I don’t know what their parents would have said, though.”

  “I’m sure they’ve thought about it a lot. They did seem pretty definite at Christmas.”

  “Yes. Thank you again, John.”

  “Not at all. Now, I’ll leave you to unpack your shopping. Lucy and I might see you before y
ou go back?”

  “Definitely. I’ll be at table tennis on Saturday, with or without the boys.”

  She unpacked the shopping, then searched for the school’s telephone number, counted out her change and went to the telephone box outside the Post Office. She spoke to Miss Ridley who put her through to Mr Jacobs. He thought it was an excellent idea and the boys were allowed home from Friday afternoon to Monday morning.

  “This is great.” Toby grinned at her as they travelled home on the bus. “When old Jacobs asked to see us, we thought, ‘Oh, God, what have we done now?’”

  “We had a letter from Charlie the other week,” Clive told her. “Says he’s busy. You look tired, Kate.”

  “I am tired. I thought they were never going to grant me leave. So this weekend we’re going to do as little as possible.”

  They went to the pictures, determined to avoid any war films. They were lucky as a comedy was playing that week and Clive was still laughing when they got home.

  The following evening, they had great fun at table tennis. She lost badly to both Clive and Toby before leaving them to it.

  She saw them to the bus early on Monday morning and both boys gave her bear-like hugs.

  “Thanks, Kate, you’ve been great.” Toby kissed her cheek.

  “Write and tell me how the exams went, where you are, and what you’re up to.”

  “We will.” Clive kissed her on both cheeks. “Look after yourself.”

  She received a letter from Charlie a couple of weeks later. He missed her and wished he’d had leave the weekend the boys were home. It was a more cheerful letter than his last, but she sensed he was still down in the dumps. Being in her Sector, she could keep an eye on what he and his squadron were up to, and she suspected he didn’t like escorting bombers at all.

  Thankfully, she got a cheery letter from Toby and Clive to tell her that their exams had gone well and they were very optimistic about their results. She wrote to congratulate them only to receive another, this time worrying, letter from them.

  We haven’t heard from Charlie in ages. Three months, actually. When did you last hear from him?

  Back in the spring, she realised with a shock.

  We wrote to him about our exams and we did expect a letter back fairly quickly. We did read in the papers that things were ‘busy’, but we did hope to receive a postcard at least. Could you write to him and see what’s up?

  Kate did, anxiously asking him what was wrong that he couldn’t find five minutes to write to the boys at such an important time. A week later she got a reply.

  Of course, I didn’t forget them. If you didn’t already know, I’ve been busy with sweeps and bloody babysitting.

  Babysitting was the term he used to describe escorting bombers.

  I wrote to them not long ago and I was going to write to them when they got their results. They are old enough, surely, not to need a pat on the back every time they do something.

  Now wait a minute, she thought. This is their Higher School Certificate, their final school exams, we are talking about.

  I’m due leave soon, I’ll write to them from Rose Cottage.

  It was the worst letter she had ever received from him and she followed with concern the failed raid by Canadian and British troops on Dieppe on the northern coast of France. Charlie’s squadron had been involved in the fierce air battle but she knew he was safe, thanks to a visiting WAAF from his base. Surely now he could write to the boys?

  She had to wait a long time for some good news. The boys passed their exams and Charlie signed them into the RAF. Kate was relieved but worried, too. That hadn’t been like Charlie at all.

  November came and went and she heard nothing from him. She didn’t know what to do – she couldn’t write a stinging letter to him demanding he send her a twenty-second birthday present – so she decided to wait and see if he wrote to her at Christmas, but again there was nothing.

  What was wrong, she wondered, as she lay on her bed. She and Jean were on a break and she watched enviously as her friend read her boyfriend’s Christmas letter, laughing softly every now and again.

  “All right.” Jean swung her legs off her bed and sat on the edge. “What’s up with you and Charlie? No birthday present. No Christmas letter, no nothing. Are you finished or what?”

  “Not as far as I’m concerned,” she replied.

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know,” she cried, fumbling up her sleeve for a handkerchief.

  “Look,” Jean soothed. “He’s probably under a lot of strain. All those escort missions…”

  “He’s never forgotten before, and he’s not writing as often to the boys either.”

  “Oh?” Jean looked and sounded as puzzled as she was. “Well, why don’t you write to that friend of his and ask him if he knows what’s wrong?”

  “Billy?” She wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of going behind Charlie’s back.

  “Otherwise, I don’t know.” Jean stood up and stretched. “Come on, back to work.”

  Kate mulled it over for a few days, couldn’t come up with a better idea, so she sat down one evening at the beginning of January 1943 and wrote to Billy.

  Dear Billy,

  Happy New Year. Just a quick note to ask you about Charlie. Please don’t tell him I’ve written. I’m worried about him. I didn’t hear from him on my birthday in November or at Christmas. He hasn’t been writing to Clive and Toby very often either, and with them in the RAF now I thought he would have, especially as he would be able to tell them what to expect. I did write to ask him why he hadn’t written to them after their exams and got a rude reply. Do you know what’s wrong with him, Billy? Could you try and find out on the quiet? I don’t know what to do. Has he ever been like this before? Could you let me know? I hope you’re well yourself.

  Thanks for your help.

  Kate

  She got Jean to address the envelope, in case Charlie saw it and recognised her handwriting, and posted it. All she could do now was wait.

  Just over two weeks later, she received a reply.

  Dear Kate,

  Thanks for your letter. I don’t want to worry you even more, but I’m worried about Charlie, too. I asked him what he got you for your birthday. He told me he had got you a watch, but I knew that wasn’t true because he hadn’t been outside the gates of the base in weeks. He had a couple of weeks leave back in August and he went to Rose Cottage but it didn’t seem to do him any good at all. He’s just so restless and he drinks and smokes like nobody’s business, too. His flying is fine. He’s an excellent pilot and flight commander but, I don’t know. He’s not himself and, Kate, if he doesn’t improve soon I’m going to have to report him to the Medical Officer. What if he starts flying badly? He could put the whole flight at risk.

  Write to him again and I’ll make sure that I’m there when he reads it, to see what he says. I have to practically drag words out of him.

  I’ll write again if I have more news.

  Billy

  “Oh, God,” she whispered as she put the letter down.

  “What is it?” Jean demanded and Kate passed the letter to her and watched as she read it and sighed. “Oh, Kate, I’m sorry.”

  “What can I do?”

  “I don’t know. If he’s as bad as this, then it might be a good thing if he is reported to the MO and rested.”

  “Rested. I just don’t think it’s that,” Kate said and judging by Jean’s face, her friend didn’t think so either. “If he’s ill, he needs treatment.”

  “I know. Leave it up to Billy. He sees him every day, he’ll know what to do.”

  “I hope so,” she replied.

  Chapter Sixteen

  If Billy asks me one more time if I’m all right, I’m going to thump him, Charlie thought as they walked from being debriefed to the Officers’ Mess. They were first into the room so he slammed the door and turned on his friend.

  “I’m fine before you ask for the millionth bloody time.”
>
  “I wasn’t going to ask that,” Billy replied with infuriating calm. “I was going to ask you whether you’d heard from Kate lately.”

  He hadn’t heard from her for ages. “No.”

  “Are you going to write to her, then? Surprise her?”

  “Mmm,” he replied non-committally. If she couldn’t be bothered to write to him…

  “What about Clive and Toby? How are they getting on?”

  “What the hell is this?” he demanded and Billy took a step backwards. “Twenty bloody questions?”

  “I’m only trying to make conversation. You haven’t exactly been chatty lately.”

  “Oh, well, I’m sorry! Hello, Billy, how are you? Lovely weather we’ve been having lately.”

  “Charlie, for God’s sake, what’s the matter?” Billy retorted as the door opened and the room filled with men.

  Charlie heard Billy swear and watched him go and get a drink. Billy sat down in the corner furthest away from him and drank deeply from his glass.

  That’s it, Charlie thought, sulk. He lit a cigarette, went to a table, and picked up a newspaper. Christ, Billy could be so bloody childish at times.

  The Medical Officer beckoned him into his office the following evening.

  “A quick word, Charlie. I know you’ve got post, but this won’t take very long.”

  Swearing under his breath, Charlie shoved Kate’s letter into the pocket of his tunic, went in and stood in front of the MO’s desk.

  “Sit down, Charlie.”

  “I thought you said this wasn’t going to take long?”

  “It won’t if you sit down. Please.” Charlie did as he was told, but with bad grace and the MO smiled at him. “How are you feeling in general, Charlie?”

  “Fine. Why?” Charlie stared suspiciously at him.