‘Have you heard anything from Pauline Gower?’ Daisy asked on her weekly telephone call to Gill towards the end of the month.
‘Not a thing. I’m thinking of writing to her myself.’
‘So am I. Let’s do that, Gill. It can’t do any harm and she’ll see how keen we are.’
‘They might accept you because you already have a pilot’s licence, but I’ve got nothing – yet.’
‘How’s it going with Lord Bunny?’
Daisy heard Gill’s chuckle down the wire. ‘Amazingly well. He’s arranged for me to have flying lessons locally with someone who’s a qualified instructor, so that I can get my licence. Dad’s going to pay for the lessons. My mum and dad have been so good about it all. What about yours?’
‘The same.’
‘Your granny’s not too mad at you for planning to leave her in the lurch?’
Daisy giggled. ‘No, she understands.’
‘So,’ Gill said, as she ended the conversation, ‘let’s both write those letters.’
Several weeks passed and still they heard nothing. Gill completed her training and applied for her pilot’s licence. ‘Now, we can go together,’ she told Daisy.
‘If we ever hear anything,’ was Daisy’s morose reply.
‘We’ll just have to be patient. The poor woman is probably inundated with nutcases like us wanting to fly her precious aeroplanes.’
‘Patience is not one of my virtues,’ Daisy retorted and they ended the call in a fit of the giggles.
The whole country was shocked by Hitler’s swift advance through Western Europe. In April, his army invaded Denmark and Norway.
Alice was tearful. ‘What will happen to William and his family if Hitler invades Belgium? Will they be taken prisoner? I mean, we won’t get any more letters now, will we? I won’t hear anything.’ William’s letters had been spasmodic of late and now Alice realized that she would probably not receive any more.
Robert put his arm around her and held her close. ‘We’ll ask George if he can find out anything for us. Besides, the Germans can’t take every Belgian prisoner.’
Her eyes swimming with tears, Alice looked up at him. ‘But William’s British. They’ll think he’s a spy, or something.’
‘He’s lived there since the end of the last war, darling. He has a Belgian wife and family. Try not to worry. I think William will be quite safe.’
On 10 May, a momentous day, the Dutch and Belgians fell to the German invaders and Winston Churchill became Prime Minister in Britain following Chamberlain’s resignation. He faced an uphill task, one that would involve some difficult and heartbreaking decisions, but his bulldog attitude and his patriotic speeches inspired everyone.
‘He’s the man for the job, no doubt about that,’ Robert said confidently when the news gave the Maitlands and all those around them hope for the future even though the war news only got worse.
‘The Germans have reached Amiens on the Somme,’ Robert said over the dinner table a few days later. His eyes met Alice’s gaze, as they both remembered the horrors they had witnessed.
‘Not again,’ Alice whispered. ‘What must the poor folk who live there be going through?’
‘It doesn’t bear thinking about,’ Robert said solemnly.
‘Now that is something else I could do,’ Edwin said.
‘No, you couldn’t. Not at your age. Old men running about with guns and bayonets. Don’t be ridiculous, Edwin.’
‘But it would give me a bit of exercise, Hetty, my love. And Conrad will be on hand. He’s going to be the captain, I think, because he served in the last war. And Sam is going to be his sergeant. I’ll be well looked after, I promise you. And I do so want to be involved in something useful.’
Henrietta sighed and then asked, ‘What about Robert? Is he going to join this – whatever they’re calling it?’
‘The LDV – the Local Defence Volunteers. Didn’t you hear Anthony Eden’s broadcast just over a week ago asking for men not serving in the forces to form such units all over the country? The newspapers say there has been a magnificent response. But no, Robert doesn’t feel it’s for him.’ They were silent for a moment before Edwin added, ‘He’s going to offer his services as an air-raid warden in the village, though whether they’ll accept him or not, I don’t know.’
‘Oh well, you must do what you want. But do be careful, Edwin. You are eighty now.’
‘As everyone keeps reminding me,’ he murmured wryly.
‘Have you still not heard anything?’ Daisy asked Gill over the telephone.
‘No, but I’ve written again to Miss Gower and told her all about the flying lessons I’ve been having with a qualified instructor and that I’ve applied for my pilot’s licence and that I expect to get it any time soon. I also reminded her about you – that we applied together and want to join together, if that’s possible.’
Two days after this conversation, they both received letters inviting them to a flying test. They travelled to Hatfield Airfield together. They had both dressed conservatively, but smartly. They wanted to give the impression of being capable and committed. The first pilots in the women’s branch of the ATA had been subject to some scepticism and even derision in the press. Even Lord Haw-Haw had made derogatory remarks about the women pilots of the ATA in his Nazi propaganda broadcasts. Daisy and Gill knew they had to be on their best behaviour – at least for now.
‘Wow,’ Gill muttered as they passed the security gates and looked around them. The airfield was alive with aeroplanes taking off and landing, with ground staff and engineers busy everywhere. They found the ATA offices in a small wooden hut behind the de Havilland aircraft factory and reported to the adjutant on duty. She gave them instructions and soon they were walking towards a Tiger Moth.
‘Good old Lord Bunny. At least I know what I’m doing with this aircraft.’
‘Me too.’ Daisy grinned. ‘Thanks to Uncle Mitch and Jeff. I’ve had a flight in the one Uncle Mitch has at Brooklands.’
‘Our trouble is going to be that we haven’t much experience on anything else.’
‘I expect there’ll still be some sort of ATA training if we get in. The woman Paul introduced me to said as much. Come on, let’s go and find whoever’s testing us and see which of us is going up first.’
The pilot testing them was probably in his early forties. He was tall and thin and smiled very little. But Daisy was not one to judge. In these difficult times, no one knew what unhappiness another person was coping with.
She climbed into the cockpit and prepared herself.
‘Three circuits and landings,’ the pilot said curtly through the speaking tube. How different he was from the calm, encouraging tones of Jeff Pointer, but Daisy straightened her shoulders, carried out all the checks she needed to do and took off smoothly. Once in the air, however, the aircraft swung from left to right and Daisy fought to bring it under control. Her first landing was bumpy – not at all what she had hoped to achieve. Her second and third take-offs and landings were better, though not as perfect as she would have liked. She just hoped they were good enough.
Gill went next and Daisy watched her from the ground. Her flights seemed to go much better.
As they walked back to the office, Daisy moaned, ‘I made a right pig’s ear of it. I don’t think they’ll pass me.’
‘You’ve got more flying hours than me. That’s my worry.’
They each had an interview with the Commander, though it was more like a friendly chat.
‘We are developing our own training programme,’ she told them. ‘You start by ferrying light, single-engine aeroplanes. You will then be given further training and testing so that you can advance to other “classes” of more powerful aircraft at your own pace and on your own merits rather than by any set time. Once you are qualified to fly a particular “class”, you are then given detailed ferry-pilot notes to enable you to fly similar aircraft within that class, but which you may not actually have flown before.’
Daisy nodded enthusiastically, but could hardly contain her excitement. ‘How long will it take to graduate to flying Spitfires?’
The Commander smiled indulgently. ‘Sadly, at present, women are not permitted to fly combat aircraft. But never fear, Miss Maitland, we are working on that.’
They returned home to wait for an agonizing week until they were told that they had both passed the test. They were to be issued with passes and told to be fitted for a uniform. They were to report back to Hatfield in the middle of June.
‘Aunty Milly wants to take us both to her Savile Row tailor to be fitted properly for a uniform. Her treat,’ Daisy told Gill over the telephone. She giggled. ‘She’s heard some horrific tales of the girls not being fitted properly because the tailors are men and too embarrassed to measure them properly!’
‘Oh, but I can’t let Mrs Whittaker pay for my uniform.’
‘Yes, you can. She says it’s a gift to us both. We’re to go as soon as we can and stay with her until they’re made, which should be just in time for us to report back to Hatfield on the date we’ve been given. Oh, do say yes, Gill. We’ve got a war to win.’