Through the summer months of 1943, life in Doddington continued. Edwin was still a member of the local Home Guard and enjoying every minute. It had given him a new lease of life, even at eighty-three, and Henrietta still ran the estate with Jake’s help.
‘Goodness me, we’re in the middle of September already and there’s still so much to do on the farm and in the orchards. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jake,’ she said yet again. ‘But I can’t say I’ll be sorry to hand over the reins to Miss Daisy and you when the war is over.’
‘Do – do you think we’re going to win, Mrs Maitland?’
Henrietta stared at him in surprise. ‘Don’t ever doubt it, Jake. Not for a minute. With Churchill leading us, we can’t possibly fail.’
Jake smiled. ‘He does inspire folk, doesn’t he?’
‘It’s his indomitable spirit that keeps us all going. Now, tell me your ideas for planting for the next year . . .’
Remarkably, the energetic Henrietta – now in her seventy-ninth year – still found time to involve the women of the village in the war effort. At home, the family were still fortunate in having enough staff to keep the hall running as it always had, though Cook sometimes despaired of how to produce appetizing meals with the rations. In the village, the women were all heavily involved in the WVS and in caring for the evacuee children who were still with them. All of them that were still there had settled in very well. Even Len was happy for Bernard to go to his workshop any time he wanted. Little by little he began to show the lad the work and Sam, too, guided the boy through the art of blacksmithing.
As for Florence Everton, she had never been happier. At last – even if it was only temporary – she felt like a real mother. The two little waifs, June and Joan Carter, who had arrived bedraggled and frightened in Doddington, had blossomed into boisterous, merry little girls. And Florence loved them.
‘I just don’t know what she’s going to do when they go back home,’ Conrad confided in Robert. ‘She’ll be heartbroken.’
‘Have you ever thought about adoption? I don’t necessarily mean those two, but you know that after the war there are going to be plenty of unwanted babies – ones born either out of wedlock or whilst husbands were away. Not all communities will be as forgiving or as supportive as ours was to Peggy over Luke.’
‘Yes, perhaps you’re right, Robert. I’ll talk to Florence about it. Perhaps it would give her something to focus on instead of worrying about when she’ll have to part with these two.’ He smiled fondly. ‘They are adorable, though.’
Betty Cooper had never married, but she loved her job at the hall as lady’s maid to Mrs Maitland and Alice. Peggy, too, still worked part time there except when her boys were home on leave – which, sadly, wasn’t very often now.
‘Do you know,’ she said one morning when she was helping her sister to put away the laundry in Henrietta’s bedroom, ‘little Kitty Page comes faithfully twice a week to visit me to ask after Harry?’
Betty smiled and shook her head fondly. ‘She’s a nice little thing.’
Peggy laughed. ‘We’ve always called her “little Kitty”, but she must be eighteen or nineteen now. She works hard on the farm and in Mrs Maitland’s grounds, but she’s forever smiling, bless her.’
‘You sound fond of her.’
‘I am.’
‘Would you like her as a daughter-in-law?’
‘I would, but I don’t think it’s ever going to happen. Harry’s such a flirt. Mind you, when he was home the other week, he did go to see her.’
‘Is he still just up the road at Scampton?’
Peggy shook her head. ‘No, his squadron has moved to Coningsby now.’
‘That’s still not far away, though, is it? Still in Lincolnshire.’ Betty paused and then added, ‘But I do hope he doesn’t break little Kitty’s heart. She obviously idolizes him.’
‘Always has done, right from being a little girl.’
Betty sighed. ‘War’s cruel, isn’t it?’
There was silence between the two sisters for a moment as they remembered their own terrible losses in the last war.
‘Let’s hope it’ll all be over soon and the boys will be back home,’ Betty murmured, almost afraid to voice such hopes. ‘Then we’ll see . . .’
It was only two days after this conversation that Peggy arrived at the hall, her face blotchy from crying and tears still coursing down her cheeks.
‘Oh, whatever’s the matter?’ Betty pulled her into the kitchen and pushed her gently into a chair.
‘It’s – it’s Harry.’
‘Oh no,’ Betty breathed. ‘Tell me. Tell me quickly.’
‘We had a telegram. He crashed his plane. Down south somewhere.’
‘Is he – is he . . .?’
Peggy shook her head. ‘He’s still alive, but – but he’s terribly injured. That’s all I know, Betty. I don’t even know where he is. I just wondered if – if Mrs Maitland . . .?’
‘Of course she’ll do whatever she can. We both know that. Come on, let’s go and see her. She’s in the parlour with Cook planning the day’s meals.’
Betty knocked on the door and opened it. ‘Mrs Maitland, I’m sorry to interrupt, but this is urgent. Harry’s been badly hurt in a plane crash. We wondered—’
‘Oh come in, Betty. Is Peggy here? Oh yes, I see she is.’ Henrietta stood up and held out her arms to the weeping woman. ‘Come in and sit down. Cook, please would you ask Sarah to bring us hot, sweet tea. Poor Peggy’s had a nasty shock. Now, dear, tell me all you know.’
Peggy hiccupped and dried her tears, but fresh ones soon welled. ‘I don’t know much, Mrs Maitland. That’s the worst.’
‘I’ll telephone Scampton. He’s still based there, isn’t he?’
‘No, no, he’s still with the same squadron, but they’re at Coningsby now.’ Whilst she drank tea and tried to stop shaking, Henrietta telephoned the RAF base, but when she came back into the room, she had no more news. ‘They don’t know any more than we do at the moment, but they said his crew will be on their way back. They’ll know more when they can debrief them.’
‘What – what does that mean?’
‘After any mission, they talk to all the crews to find out everything that happened,’ Henrietta explained gently. ‘Or as much as they can tell them.’
‘I just wish I knew where he was,’ Peggy whispered. ‘And if he – if he . . .’
‘As soon as we know, Peggy dear, we’ll arrange for you to go to him. I promise you that.’
‘Daisy, I have a special job for you today,’ the Operations Manager greeted her as the girls arrived at the office to collect their chits. ‘A Lancaster crashed last night on Romney Marsh and the crew need to be taken back to Coningsby as quickly as possible. They’re on their way here by lorry and you’re to take them back in the Anson.’ She grimaced sympathetically. ‘I know it’s fairly near where your folks are, but I can’t allow you any time off to visit them this time. Sorry, but we need the Anson – and you – back here.’
Daisy hid her disappointment quickly. ‘Of course. I’ll be ready when they get here.’ She said no more, but silently she was thinking, oh please, don’t let it be Harry. Then she shook herself. That would be far too much of a coincidence.
Half an hour later, the covered lorry arrived, bringing six exhausted and shocked crew members. After greeting them, she said, ‘Let’s get you a quick cuppa before we go.’ As she guided them towards the mess, she said, ‘I thought a Lancaster had a crew of seven. Who’s missing?’
‘The pilot. Harry.’
Daisy’s heart lurched. ‘Not – not Harry Nuttall?’
One of the airmen moved forward. ‘Yes, that’s him.’ He paused and then said, ‘You must be Daisy.’
‘Yes, yes, I am. How did you . . .?’
The airman tried to smile through his weariness. ‘He was trying to get to you. To Hamble. He said, “If we can get to Daisy somehow, she’ll help us”.’
Over their tea, the story unfolded. The flight engineer, whose name she discovered was Bob Hudson, explained, though with one or two interruptions from his fellow airmen.
‘We were on a low-level mission to the Dortmund-Ems Canal . . .’
‘It was the second one. We’d tried the night before and had to abort because of fog.’
‘And last night was a bit of a disaster as well. We certainly lost two aircraft that I know of – possibly more. We were hit as we were turning for home and badly damaged. Harry decided to alter the route a bit. He said if he could keep us flying over land and get across the Channel at the narrowest point, we could land at one of the southern airfields.’
‘He’d got it all planned out in his mind. If he could get us as near Brenzett as he could, they’d help us get to Hamble and you’d take us home.’
Daisy nodded. ‘His brother’s at Brenzett at the moment and I’m here.’
‘And also he reckoned Romney Marsh would be a good place to let the aircraft crash after he’d bailed out. Only he didn’t – bail out, I mean.’
‘We were losing height all the time, but he managed to get us across the water,’ Bob went on, patiently allowing his colleagues to interrupt now and again. ‘I’ve never been so pleased to hear our navigator say, “we’ve just crossed the English coast”.’
‘Then, when we knew we were over land, he told us to bail out, which we did, but he carried on, trying to find an airfield, we thought.’
‘But we understand now that he crash-landed on Romney Marsh.’
‘Sounds as if his undercarriage wouldn’t operate because he belly-landed in a field and smashed into some trees.’
‘At least he didn’t crash on houses, which is what he wanted to avoid. I bet he picked Romney deliberately.’
‘Killed a cow though, by all accounts.’
‘So we all started walking towards Brenzett and met up there.’
‘Do you know how Harry is and where he is now?’
‘The lads at Brenzett saw the aircraft crash and sent an ambulance.’
‘He was badly smashed up, we’ve heard. He might lose his left leg and he’s got injuries to his face.’
‘He’s been taken to the Royal Berkshire Hospital.’
Daisy frowned. ‘Why there? I’d’ve thought there was somewhere nearer.’
‘Because there’s a fantastic surgeon there who will save Harry, if anyone can.’
‘He’s a protégé of the man who operated on Douglas Bader.’
‘Ah,’ Daisy said. ‘Then he couldn’t be in better hands. Did he see his brother, d’you know?’
Bob shook his head. ‘We didn’t know anything about his brother. He just mentioned you at Hamble.’
Daisy nodded. She’d have to let Luke know as soon as she could, but first, she must telephone the hall. ‘And now, I’ll get you back to Coningsby, but can you give me five minutes? I must make a telephone call.’
‘To his family, I presume?’ Bob said.
Daisy nodded.
‘Just tell them where he is and his injuries, but not all the details we’ve told you.’
‘Of course not.’
‘Granny?’ Daisy was saying a few minutes later. ‘Have you heard about Harry?’
‘Yes, Daisy, but we know very little.’
‘All I can tell you is that he’s been taken to the Royal Berkshire Hospital in Reading. His left leg is very badly injured. He might lose it, but there’s a splendid surgeon there. I can’t tell you any more, but I think you should get Peggy and Sam down there as soon as possible.’
The urgency in her tone spoke volumes to Henrietta. Luckily, Peggy was at the hall, insisting that working would keep her mind occupied and she’d also be on hand if messages came through. Five minutes later, Henrietta was saying, ‘Of course you must go to him, Peggy. He needs you.’
‘But I – I daren’t go on my own, Mrs Maitland. I’ve hardly ever been out of the village. And Sam – well – I dun’t reckon Mester Dawson’ll let him have time off.’
Betty gave a derisive snort. ‘You leave Len Dawson to our mam. She’ll sort him out.’
‘You can go down by train or we’ll get Jake to take you. But first, we must sort out some accommodation for you. I know just the person to help with that. Leave it to me and you go home and pack, Peggy. Betty, you go with her and help her.’ Despite the gravity of the news they’d just had, Henrietta’s mouth twitched. ‘And ask your mother to go to Mr Dawson’s workshop and tell Sam.’