Sam was trundled, much to the amusement of those that they passed, to the medical centre on the base.
‘Here you are, Sarge, no one can say that we boys in blue don’t help out the brown jobbies,’ the bloke, who didn’t appear to have a name apart from being called a disgrace, said as they unceremoniously tipped him out onto the concrete.
Sam’s appalling language expressed his feelings about this manoeuvre. Unrepentant, the three drunken aircrew fell about laughing. Then, as Sam heaved himself up, trying to keep his injured foot from the ground, he watched Ginger drop into the wheelbarrow and his two friends grab the handles and race off with him. If one of them didn’t break something, he would be very surprised.
A doctor had been watching this performance with bemusement. ‘Right, I take it you’re the injured party. It will be a first to treat a soldier. Put your arm around my shoulders, young man, and I’ll get you inside and have a look at that ankle.’
Several extremely painful minutes later, his ankle was declared badly sprained but not broken. It had been securely strapped and he’d been given a pair of crutches – well – loaned them, to be more exact.
‘I’ll find a driver to run you back. You need to stay off that ankle as much as possible. Keep it elevated. I don’t suppose you’ve got a medic on your artillery base?’
‘No, sir, but we have medical orderlies who deal with minor things. We have a doctor at HQ but as he takes care of all four sections, he’s not often there. We have to go to Lincoln for serious medical emergencies. Thank you, I appreciate you taking care of me. I just hope those three silly buggers don’t have to fly tonight.’
The doctor shook his head. ‘Afraid they do, young man. They shouldn’t drink but who can blame them for doing so? They’ll be sober enough to fly if there is an op tonight.’
True to his word, there was a car waiting to drive him back. The medic had offered to get one of his orderlies to ring Sam’s headquarters so his officer knew what had happened and wouldn’t mark Sam as AWOL, but this wasn’t needed as Sam was off duty until the morning.
Hardly seemed worth the bother for the WAAF driver as they were there in minutes, she then had to turn round and drive back. He’d been gone so long he didn’t expect to see the bloody woman who’d knocked him into the hedge but headed for the HQ speak to the lieutenant.
Using the crutches wasn’t difficult and as he swung across the cleared area, Ronnie appeared in the door of the building which was used as the main office.
‘Blimey O’Reilly, good job you didn’t break it.’
‘I didn’t do anything to it – it was that bit of fluff belonging to our officer in her red MG. She must have seen me but made no effort to avoid a collision. I could have been killed – in fact, I would have been seriously injured if I hadn’t been able to throw myself into the hedge.’
‘Our revered officer has a twenty-four-hour pass and we’re in charge. He buggered off at two after the guards were changed. You need to report the accident – any injury has to be recorded and the reason for it. You can also make it very clear who did it and that it was entirely the driver’s fault.’
‘I’ll do that now. Isn’t it time for another practice run? God knows when we’ll actually be called into action but we have to be ready,’ Sam replied.
‘As you’re no use, so to speak, mate, you can do the admin and I’ll do everything else.’ Ronnie smirked, knowing he’d got the best of the bargain. Nobody liked to be buried in paperwork – the army wanted every form filled in in triplicate at least.
Sam found an old crate and put it under the desk so he could keep his foot elevated as the doc had suggested. It ached, but as long as he didn’t move it or try and put any weight on it, it wasn’t too bad. He was lucky.
He was a bit uncomfortable sitting in his absent officer’s chair, especially as this room was shared with the one attached to section B. There were two ATS clerks typing away in the office next door and one kindly fetched his lunch on a tray so he didn’t have to hobble over to the canteen. He was just eating the last spoonful of apple crumble and custard when a dispatch rider on a motorbike roared in with the afternoon mailbag. He recognised her as Clara, the driver of the lorry who’d given him a lift here – what a coincidence.
The door was open and he waved and the ATS girl waved back, kicked the bike onto its stand, removed the neatly tied bundle of letters and ran in.
‘Golly, what happened to you, Sam?’
‘I was run over but it’s not as bad as it looks. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.’ He grinned. ‘Mind you, I’ve only been here ten days.’
‘I’m delivering the mail all over Lincolnshire at the moment so do you want me to give a personal message to Ruth? I’m bound to see her eventually.’
‘Yes, you can tell her about my accident and that I’m perfectly fine apart from a sprained ankle.’
‘I’ll do that. Cheerio, I’d better not linger or I’ll be for the high jump.’
She rushed off, leaving him smiling whilst he rummaged through the letters. There was the continued clatter of typewriters in another room and the occasional ring of the telephone.
Eagerly he flipped through and found what he was looking for. A letter from Ruth – just what he needed to cheer him up. He put it to one side whilst he finished separating the letters into piles – one for each hut. There were a couple for the officer but he just dumped them in the empty correspondence tray.
A clerk had seen the motorbike and came through to collect and deliver the mail for him. He shouldn’t read personal correspondence when on duty but as he was ostensibly in command of his section, he took the risk.
He opened the envelope carefully, not wishing to tear the contents in his enthusiasm. He was looking forward to hearing Ruth’s news, but his eyes widened as he began to read.
Dear Sam,
The most dreadful thing has happened and I hope you get this letter really quickly.
Jill has just had two letters from Arthur. The first saying he was heavily in debt and asking to borrow some money – gambling debts.
The second saying that he’d paid his debts as a family friend had lent him the money then he said that he’d been promoted and was going out to Cairo at the end of the month.
We both know what it’s like in Egypt and I’m afraid that you can’t put off reporting him any longer. Jill thinks that him going to Cairo is a good thing and I didn’t want to disabuse her.
I hope you’re well. I’ve settled in and will write again about mundane matters.
Please let me know what happens and if you want me to make a written statement. I suppose they could also ask Jill as I’m sure she won’t lie about it if asked directly by an officer.
Best wishes
Sam scanned it again and it didn’t make more comfortable reading. This was the worst possible time for this information to arrive. Simpson wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.
He couldn’t go in search of the officer in charge of another section with an injured ankle. He smiled wryly. The sections were connected by telephone so there’d be no difficulty speaking to whatever officer was in charge over there.
He heaved himself to his feet, grabbed his crutches and went in search of his friend. Ronnie saw him hobbling his way and came to meet him.
‘What’s up? You should have sent someone to fetch me.’
‘You’d better read this letter from my girlfriend. You’ll see why I didn’t want to wait.’
Ronnie quickly read the letter and his happy smile vanished. ‘Sod me. This isn’t good – we’ve got Simpson over a barrel and he’d have to pass the information to the War Office. Bloody typical that he’s not here just when we want him.’
‘This Arthur Humfrey isn’t leaving for two weeks, so I don’t think another day will make any difference. Our officer will be back tomorrow morning so it can wait until then.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Simpson isn’t going to like the conversation I intend to have with him. I’m tempted to report that woman to the police as well as to the army – set things in motion.’
‘Do it. You’ve got a telephone and I’m sure the operator will connect you to the local constabulary even if you don’t know the telephone number.’
‘Right, I’ll get onto it. Everything tickety-boo up here?’
‘No problems.’
Sam’s injured ankle was throbbing by the time he returned to his desk. This made him even more determined to report the dangerous driver. After a few clicks and whirrs, he was connected to the police station in Lincoln.
He reported the incident and the constable who’d answered the telephone said somebody would be out to see him later today.
He was sharing a pot of tea and a plate of broken biscuits with Ronnie when a black sedan turned into the site.
‘I reckon this is the bobbies. They’ve obviously sent detectives rather than a constable on a bicycle,’ Ronnie said as he went to investigate.
Sam had written down exactly what took place, added the names and numbers of the RAF pilots and a full description of the car and the driver. He didn’t want to get any details wrong in the official complaint.
He saw an oldish man with thinning brown hair, in a rumpled suit, emerge from the front passenger seat, closely followed by the driver, also in plainclothes, presumably his sergeant.
The two of them headed straight for him, ignoring Ronnie, who mimed that he was going to fetch a fresh pot of tea. Sam had pushed himself upright, balancing on one foot by holding onto the edge of the desk.
‘Thank you for coming so promptly, officers. I’m Sergeant Sam Johnson – the injured party, as you can see.’ He gestured towards the two chairs already positioned in front of the desk. The older man took one and the younger one did the same and immediately got out his little black book and licked the end of his pencil.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Brown – that’s Detective Constable Reynolds. Now, Sergeant Johnson, please give me the details of what happened.’
Sam handed the detective constable what he’d written and the young man nodded his thanks. He also gave a verbal report and when he’d finished, the inspector frowned.
‘Unfortunately, Sergeant Johnson, I know exactly the person and vehicle you describe as this isn’t the first time I’ve had a complaint about her reckless driving. However, this is the first time she appears to have deliberately run somebody over. Are you quite sure she saw you?’
‘Absolutely. In fact, I’m equally sure that she deliberately swerved so she hit me. She couldn’t have known my injuries would be minimal.’
‘Have you had any contact with this woman before?’ The policeman was carefully not mentioning the driver’s name, although he obviously knew it.
Ronnie arrived with Chalky – the private who’d told them about the MG – in tow, along with a fresh tray of tea and biscuits, which were received with pleasure by the visitors.
‘This is Gunner White,’ Sam said. ‘He can tell you more about the driver.’
Chalky’s story was also written down and the unauthorised absence of Simpson was also noted. Sam realised this had probably screwed his chances of getting any cooperation from the lieutenant as he’d inadvertently already dropped him in it.
Ronnie was trying to attract his attention. His friend pointed to the letter Sam had just received from Ruth and then nodded vigorously.
‘There’s another thing I need to ask you about. I’m not sure that it’s your jurisdiction but I do know this information needs to be passed up the chain of command somehow.’
‘Go ahead, Sergeant, I’ll listen whilst I drink my tea and eat my biscuits.’ The way he said this made it clear the DI would only remain until he’d finished both.
Sam was used to giving brief reports to his superiors and gave this information in the same efficient way. He then handed over the letter from Ruth for the officer to read for himself.
‘Hmm. I can see why you’re concerned about this. As it happens, I’m exactly the person to deal with this matter. Better it comes from outside the services as it will go directly to the person who needs to know.’
He drained his mug and stood up. ‘Forget about the Cairo business – better you don’t know what happens. I’m sorry you were run over by that woman. Yes, I do know who she is but she’s the daughter of somebody very important and I think it best that I don’t reveal her identity. There are going to be serious repercussions for your officer and this young woman. I give you my word that I don’t intend to let this incident be pushed under the carpet.’
Sam gripped the edge of the table ready to stand up, but Brown shook his head.
‘No, remain where you are. I’m sorry you were injured. I’ll be in touch. I’m going in search of the RAF airmen to get their statements. Good afternoon, gentlemen.’
Sam relaxed after the inspector had gone. He’d done his duty and the problem was someone else’s now.
* * *
Ruth was delighted to see Clara arrive on a motorbike with the next morning’s letters. She was on admin duty today and envied her new friend the freedom to be racing around the county with correspondence or messages.
‘Good morning, Clara, I didn’t expect to meet up with you so soon. Are you now firmly established in Lincolnshire?’ Ruth asked with a smile.
‘I put my name down for overseas postings but was told that girls usually, unless they’re nurses or doctors, remain in Blighty,’ Clara said. ‘We’re bound to invade before long and then they’ll need every soldier they’ve got, regardless of their sex.’
Clara handed over a neatly tied bundle of letters. ‘Actually, I delivered to your Sam the other day. I expect there might be one for you in amongst this lot. He said to tell you that he’s sprained his ankle but is tickety-boo. I expect he’ll have given you the details.’
‘Are you allowed to use your motorbike when you’re off duty? I really need to see him as soon as I can. I’m entitled to a twenty-four-hour pass every twelve days and that’s the day after tomorrow.’
‘As you’re an ATS bombardier, I don’t see why not. I’ll come and get you – I can’t promise to be able to do more than take you there and you’ll have to find your own way back.’
Ruth wanted to hug her but decided it wouldn’t be approved of as they were being closely watched by Lieutenant Smithers, who wasn’t enthralled to be in charge of a mixed artillery battery.
‘You’d better get on as we’re being scrutinised by my officer. He’s convinced that we ATS spend most of our time chatting.’
Clara laughed and roared away. Ruth hadn’t thought to ask her if she also collected letters, but it didn’t really matter. Sam must have received hers by now and her stomach churned at the thought of the possible repercussions of reporting Arthur – definitely for Sam, but possibly also for her.
* * *
There was a dance in the village that night and those with an evening pass were off duty and going officially and some of those who should remain in camp were going to sneak through a hole in the hedge and catch the bus too. Jill, who was in high spirits, thinking her fiancé’s problems were over, was also attending.
Ruth hadn’t needed to make excuses not to spend time with her as Jill had pointedly ignored her since the incident with the letters. Ruth knew that when Jill discovered what had been set in motion, she was even less likely to want to continue the friendship.
She was on duty at the gun park tonight so couldn’t go to the dance even if she’d wanted to. She would have to turn a blind eye to the illegal exit of some of the more daring girls.
Tonight she was the spotter, which meant she had the binoculars and if an alarm came through it was her job to scan the sky and locate the bomber or fighter that was approaching the base. She had to yell to the range finder and then whoever that was would twiddle her dials and the information would pass to the predictor and then on to the guns.
It was cloudy, hiding the late-evening sun, too light for searchlights if there was an alarm so it would be down to her to call the direction for the range finder.
There was no alarm raised – and she spent the evening listening to the wireless. The girls who’d had the evening officially free, plus those who hadn’t, returned in high spirits from the village dance just before curfew.
Was it wrong to wish that there would be an air raid so their highly trained section could put their skills into use? The bombers on the base had continued to have heavy losses and it was heartbreaking knowing how many of the brave boys who crewed these massive planes failed to return after each raid.
* * *
The following afternoon, just after the two o’clock parade, when the guard changed and those who’d been manning the guns swapped to general duties, there was the most extraordinary news. Ruth wasn’t given it directly – a bombardier wasn’t important enough to be included in the initial briefing – but was told that she had to collect a notice and pin it to the board outside her accommodation hut.
She read it with growing incredulity. It appeared that the Air Ministry had decided to lay concrete runways at Binbrook and the squadrons were being transferred elsewhere. This meant that there was no further need for the RA sites until the spring when squadrons would return.
The girls crowded around and naturally they were astonished that they were going to be posted somewhere else so soon after their arrival.
‘When do you think we’re going to go, Corp?’ May, a jolly girl, asked.
‘I know no more than any of you. I’m sure we’ll be informed when those in charge of this sort of thing have the information. Until then, we carry on as usual,’ Ruth said firmly.
Jill grabbed her arm and drew her to one side. This was the first time her erstwhile friend had spoken to her directly. ‘Do you think it will be in a few days or a few weeks?’
‘Days, I imagine. We’ll know we’re leaving when the squadrons have left. To be honest, I’m glad the poor boys are being sent somewhere else. Maybe flying from a different base will improve their luck.’
‘As we’ve been trained together, do you think that we’ll transfer as we are or be broken up?’ Jill asked.
‘We’re part of a four-section Royal Artillery unit and I’m pretty sure we’ll be posted as we are.’ Ruth didn’t know anything more than Jill did but hoped what she said was true.
‘It would be spiffing if we were sent to London. There’re a lot of RA sites protecting the city,’ Jill said. ‘I’d definitely be able to say goodbye to Arthur if that was the case.’
‘London would be good but not for me as I wouldn’t be able to see Sam when we get a day off.’ Ruth smiled as she heard the distinctive roar of a motorbike approaching. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve got to change and grab my things as a friend of mine is going to give me a lift to Lincoln.’
Clara didn’t come into the site but waited outside the barrier. She waved as Ruth ran out to join her.
‘I hope you’ve pinned your hat on really tight, otherwise you’re likely to lose it,’ Clara said.
‘I thought of tying a scarf around my head but I’d probably be considered improperly dressed if I did. I’ve never travelled on the back of one of these and I’m really looking forward to it.’
She’d changed from her battledress into the uniform she had to wear when she left the base and wished she’d been allowed to keep the trousers on as it would be so much warmer and easier on a motorbike. Clara was wearing jodhpurs as asking her to ride a motorbike all day in a skirt would be silly.
‘It’s not far to Skellingthorpe and you’re lucky that the weather’s dry. It’s beastly on a bike when it’s wet.’
Ruth wriggled onto the pillion and put her arms around Clara’s waist. Her new friend revved the engine and they took off smoothly. It was impossible to talk so she just enjoyed the scenery, even if it did speed past at a terrifying rate.
Almost too soon, they arrived at the barracks where Sam was based. They both presented their papers and the vigilant guard raised the barrier and they rode in. Ruth wriggled off, straightened her skirt and hugged Clara.
‘Thank you so much for bringing me. I didn’t have time to tell you that Binbrook’s closing until the spring for proper runways to be put down. I don’t know where I’m going to be but I’m sure we’ll find each other.’
Clara had kicked the bike onto its stand, turned off the engine and had already removed the correspondence from the pannier and had it in her hand. She marched off to deliver it, leaving Ruth to go in search of Sam and hope that he had at least an hour off sometime in the day so they could talk.