Back at Hornchurch at the debriefing it was discovered that Luke was one of the missing fighter pilots. Each returning Spitfire pilot was asked what they had seen.
‘Last time I saw Luke,’ Tim reported, ‘he was being chased by a Focke-Wolf.’
‘In which direction?’
‘North-west, I think.’
‘And you didn’t see him hit? Or go down?’
Tim shook his head. ‘I was a bit busy myself.’
‘Quite,’ the officer debriefing the crews murmured. ‘So, he could have come down in northwestern France or even just into Belgium. Is that right?’
‘Yes, sir, I think so.’
‘Very well. We’ll see what intelligence can tell us, but I’d better inform the CO. He likes to tell the families before they hear anything from another source. Do you know any of his family?’
‘Only his girlfriend. She’s an ATA pilot. She sometimes comes here to deliver aircraft.’
‘Ah, yes, now you mention it, I’ve seen them together. Well, Millerchip, not a word to anyone until the CO’s had time to get in touch with his immediate family. I see we have a telephone number for him. Will that be his parents?’
Tim shook his head. ‘No, sir. He lives in a small village in Lincolnshire and that number is the hall. A family called Maitland live there, I think. Luke’s related to them by marriage, but it’s not his home.’
‘But he’s given this number as a contact number in case of – well, in a case like this.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Thank you, Millerchip. That will be all.’
As darkness shrouded the airfield and there was no sign of a damaged Spitfire limping home, the CO decided he must make the telephone calls – or write letters – to the loved ones of the pilots who had not returned. In due course, the parents would receive an official notification from the War Office, but he liked to send a more personal message before then. He regarded all his pilots as being in his care and he felt the loss of each and every one.
He sighed as he picked up the receiver of the telephone on his desk and asked the operator to put through a call to Lincolnshire.
‘I’ll get it, Wainwright,’ Robert said, rising from the dinner table. ‘It’ll probably be for me anyway and we’ve all finished.’
As he picked up the receiver the rest of his family went into the parlour, apart from Alice, who, sensing bad news at this late hour, followed him to the telephone.
‘What is it?’ Alice asked at once as he replaced the receiver.
His face solemn, his eyes anxious, Robert turned to her and put his arm about her shoulders. ‘It was Luke’s CO. Luke was escorting bombers on a mission to northern France. He’s – he’s not come back.’
Alice stared up at him. ‘Oh no! Is there – is there no hope?’
‘There’s always hope, my darling. No one saw him go down, so they don’t know if he bailed out. Or he might have had to land if his aircraft was damaged or he ran out of fuel. There are all sorts of possibilities, so at the moment he’s just posted as “missing”.’
‘Is it usual to telephone?’
‘I’m not sure. The CO – he seemed a very caring man – said he liked to get a personal message to relatives before the official telegram or letter arrived.’
‘He must have a very difficult job.’
‘He must. I wouldn’t want it.’
‘So, what do we do?’
‘I’ll go and tell Peggy and Sam right away.’
‘Would you like me to come with you?’
‘Yes, I would. We’ll get Jake to take us in the car. It’s dark now and there’s no moon. But let’s tell Mother and Father first.’
Henrietta and Edwin were saddened by the news. ‘Tell Peggy and Sam to let us know if there’s anything we can do,’ Henrietta said as Robert and Alice left.
‘I’m afraid we’ve bad news, Jake,’ Robert told him as they climbed into the car. ‘Luke has been reported missing, somewhere over France, we think.’
‘That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.’ Jake had received an official exemption from serving in the forces because of his valuable work on the land, but it didn’t stop him feeling guilty every time bad news came to the district. This time it was even closer to home.
‘Don’t say anything to anyone until there’s been time for all his family to hear.’
‘Not a word, Master Robert.’
He drew the car to a halt outside the cottage where Sam and Peggy lived.
‘Are you coming in with us, Jake?’
‘No, Master Robert. If you don’t mind, I’ll wait here.’
‘We might be some time.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
When Sam opened the door to find both Robert and Alice there, he knew at once that something had happened for them both to call this late in the evening. ‘Come in. Peggy’s in the kitchen. You go into the front room. I’ll get her.’
‘It’s all right. We’ll come with you.’
As Sam ushered them into the kitchen, Peggy looked up, stared at their solemn faces for a brief moment and then tears filled her eyes.
‘Which one of them?’ she whispered before Robert could speak. ‘Tell me quickly.’
Robert took her hand. ‘Sit down, Peggy love. It’s Luke. He’s been posted missing over France.’
As his words filtered into her shocked brain, she murmured, ‘Missing? Not – not killed?’
‘No. None of his fellow pilots saw his plane go down so they don’t actually know what happened. Not yet.’
‘And they’ll let us know if they hear any more?’
‘Of course. You’ll be getting an official communication of some sort that will just say the same, but don’t let that worry you,’ Robert said and explained the kindness of Luke’s CO.
‘So,’ Sam said, ‘there’s hope, then?’
‘Yes,’ Robert nodded and repeated what he had said to Alice earlier, ‘there’s always hope.’
Luke strained his eyes through the darkness, watching and listening. A light drizzle had begun, but beneath the trees, he was sheltered. When the farmer had returned his cows to the field after milking, he had brought a basket of food and a bundle of clothes. There was even a rain cape that Luke now had around his shoulders. The clothes fitted him well enough not to draw attention to him; some old clothes of the farmer’s, he guessed, who was just a little taller and broader than Luke was. He’d even thought to bring underwear too, so that now Luke was not wearing anything that was British. The only things he’d kept – which he would have to dispose of quickly, if he faced capture – were his watch, his compass and his dog tag.
‘We’ll hide your uniform with the parachute. Show me where it is.’
Together they’d pushed Luke’s clothes deep into the bushes.
‘When you are safely away,’ the farmer had said, as they walked back to the edge of the copse, ‘I will burn them all.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Now, you must stay here hidden until dark. Someone – a young man – will come for you. Don’t ask him any questions, nor will he ask you any, but you need to tell me where you’d like him to take you, if he can.’
‘Can you tell me where we are, because I have no idea?’
‘Not far from Dranouter in Flanders.’
‘Belgium?’ Luke couldn’t keep the surprise from his tone.
‘That is correct.’
Luke thought quickly, turning over an idea in his mind. ‘Could he get me to Ypres, do you think?’
The man shrugged. ‘That shouldn’t be a problem. It will take about three hours to walk there. Easier, probably, than the normal way to the coast. All the ports are heavily guarded.’
He glanced at Luke but said nothing. Feeling he owed the farmer some kind of explanation, but not wanting to give the man too much information, Luke said carefully, ‘I know Ypres. I’ve been there before.’
‘Ah.’ The farmer was thoughtful for a moment then shrugged again. ‘There will be help there if you need it. You’ll just have to find it. But be careful, the Germans are there.’
The farmer had left him then and the long wait until darkness had begun.
It was gone midnight when he heard a rustling through the grass as someone came up the slope towards him. The figure, clothed in black and with a hood hiding much of his face, paused only a few yards from where Luke was standing, still and silent. The figure cupped his hands around his mouth and hooted softly like an owl. Luke gave an answering call. Trained in following the direction of a sound, the man moved closer until they could see each other through the gloom. They shook hands and the guide spoke in English, though he was not as fluent as the farmer and said only a few words. ‘We go to Ypres – yes?’
‘Yes, please.’
After the farmer had left him for the last time, Luke had pondered whether he should have told him the real place he wanted to go to, but then decided it was safer to say Ypres. He had to trust his life to these strangers – he needed their help – but he didn’t want them to learn too much about him. Besides, he could find his own way from Ypres.
‘About thirteen kilometres,’ his guide was saying. ‘Maybe further. No roads, only country.’
‘I understand,’ Luke said, thankful for the sturdy boots the farmer had brought him. Luckily, they fitted well, otherwise he might get blisters walking that distance.
They set off, his guide walking a few paces in front of Luke, pausing every few minutes to look and to listen. They were fortunate; there was no sound of patrols or of any vehicles. The good people of the district were in their beds and the Germans thought the open countryside hardly worth a look. No doubt, if they were looking for him, it would be near where his aircraft had crashed. As he walked, he thought about those at home and wondered how he could get a message to them that he was alive, if, at the moment, not exactly safe.