Chapter Three

Doris had never flown a Mosquito before, and she was enjoying herself immensely. Ever since Penny had taken one up to RAF Marham, her friend had taken every opportunity to wax lyrical about the delights of flying the aircraft. It had gained the nickname “the Wooden Wonder,” and after only ten minutes in the air, she could see why. The controls were light and responded to her every touch. In her opinion, only the Spitfire was sweeter to fly.

Penny had been unable to get hold of her husband on the phone last night, so getting into work earlier this morning to find a plane needed delivery to his base had been a real stroke of luck. Normally, even when an aircraft required a flight crew of two, they still flew alone, but upon finding she was down to fly this plane, Doris had pulled Thelma aside to explain what had happened the previous night and to ask if Penny could crew with her for this delivery. First Officer Thelma Aston had briefly suggested Penny take the flight herself. However, they’d both looked over their shoulders at where their friend was leaning against the door and decided this wasn’t the best of ideas. Thelma had readily agreed, with the proviso that Doris should keep a keen eye on their friend.

It would take around forty minutes to get to the base, and judging by the way Penny was slumped against the side of the fuselage, her eyes staring ahead at nothing at all, it would seem much longer. She’d tried to initiate their usual banter even before they took off, with no luck, so she hadn’t tried to push things. No doubt Penny’s mind was preoccupied with how she was going to break the news to her husband, if he didn’t already know.

The previous evening after everything had hit the fan, Penny, assuming he didn’t know, had tried and tried to get hold of Tom, but the operator had been unable to connect her. After she’d spent over two hours trying, Betty had gently persuaded her to give up and try to get some rest. Reluctantly, she’d agreed, though this left the elephant in the room. Why hadn’t she told them about her marriage to Tom?

At first, Doris had assumed once they were in the air, Penny would relax a little, be more open to talking about last night. So far, this assumption had been very wrong. Apart from speaking up to let her know when she should change course, she hadn’t uttered a word. Perhaps she should ask if her friend was hungry.

“Corned beef sandwich?” she asked.

“Hmm?”

“I asked if you wanted something to eat, hon.”

Penny pushed her flying helmet off her head and ran a hand through her hair, not seeming to notice her unruly brown mop was even more unruly than normal. “No, thanks. Not hungry,” she answered.

“Come on,” Doris persisted. “You’ve got to have something. Don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t have anything for breakfast.”

“I can’t help it if I’m not hungry,” Penny pouted.

“Well, be a love and unwrap one for me then, please.”

After she’d passed Doris a sandwich, Penny left her hand resting upon her friend’s arm. “Look,” she began, “I know how curious you all are about my being married, but I can’t tell you anything at the moment. I can only think of Tom.”

As she’d been given a little opening, Doris asked, “How well do you know his brother, then? Sam, wasn’t it?”

Penny let out a huge sigh, reached into her flight bag, and pulled out the thermos. “Tea?” When Doris pulled a face—she hated the brew the airbase’s kitchen prepared and only ever drank it when in desperate need of a hot drink—Penny poured herself a cup and sat there sipping it for a few minutes before replying.

“Hardly at all,” she eventually answered. “He couldn’t come to our wedding. You see, he was an engineering officer in the merchant navy and at sea at the time.”

Doris had to work hard to stop her hands from twitching on the control yoke, as she thought she could guess what had happened. When Penny had disappeared up to bed, she’d taken the telegram with her.

“Sorry to ask, and tell me off for being nosey, but was his ship…sunk?”

Penny nodded and then clarified, “There’s only so much information they can put on those telegrams, but yes, his ship was sunk, and he’s listed as missing, presumed dead.”

“So there could be a chance he’s alive?” Doris asked, unable to keep a note of hope from her voice.

“His ship was on a convoy to Russia. If I’m being honest, I don’t hold out any hope.”

After stating her opinion, Penny went quiet again, and as Doris didn’t know how to respond, she decided to concentrate on her flying. Thirty minutes later, they came in to land at RAF Marham and were soon parked up at dispersal, near the Operations hut. Once Doris had given in her delivery chit, Penny led the way toward where Tom’s squadron was stationed, ignoring the shouts asking when they should expect the taxi to pick them up. Doris hurried back to tell them they were expecting the Anson to land in about an hour, then ran after her friend, who was striding purposefully onward.

Doris wished she’d copied Penny and left her parachute and flight bag at the ops hut. It wasn’t uncomfortably warm, but because of the flying suit and sweater she was wearing, she was sweating buckets. Wiping a hand across her forehead as she caught up with Penny, an RAF Flight Lieutenant strode past them, his arm snapping up in salute to what he obviously thought was Doris saluting him first. He then stopped in his tracks as he realized Penny hadn’t saluted him.

“Hey! You there,” he shouted toward Penny’s back. “Don’t you remember how to salute?”

“Sod off!” Penny threw at him over her shoulder without slowing down one jot. Before he could retort, she’d disappeared through an open door into the building Doris presumed housed Tom’s squadron.

His quarry no longer in sight, the officer made the mistake of trying to pick on Doris. “You there! Stand still!” Only when he came around to face her did he realize she was female. It was also obvious he’d never come across a member of the ATA before.

“What do you want?” she asked him directly, again surprising him.

“Don’t you know King’s regulations require you to salute a superior officer?” he spluttered out.

Doris realized she’d totally lost sight of Penny. “I don’t have time for this,” she muttered, hands now planted firmly on her hips. “We’re not in the forces, and I don’t have time to explain myself to some officious little fool!” she finished in her best New York drawl. Turning her back on where the little man’s mouth was doing a fair impression of a goldfish, she hurried through the door.

Inside, she found herself in a whitewashed corridor full of blue-clad RAF people striding every which way. Without a clue as to where she should go, she picked a direction and strode along looking on each door for the name of Alsop, whilst also keeping an ear out for Penny’s voice. She’d walked past an open door upon which was a piece of paper fastened with sticky tape, when she heard what she thought was her friend’s voice coming from within. Stopping, she backed up and took a close peek at the paper to find it read:

Sqn Ldr T. Alsop

Through a crack in the door, she could see Penny stood with her back to the window. In her arms was, presumably, her husband. The problem of what she should do was resolved when Penny saw her over her husband’s shoulder. She mouthed, “Canteen,” and jerked her thumb to her left. Doris nodded and pulled the door closed behind her.

It took her two wrong turns before she passed a half open door from which hung the sign she was looking for. Poking her head around, she found the room contained a number of what had probably been comfy chairs once upon a time. They now looked like the only thing holding them together was the mass of black tape each seemed bound up with. The sole occupant was a young girl who looked barely out of her teens. She had a checked scarf wound around her head to keep long blonde hair under control, and she was reading an edition of The Post.

She noticed her visitor. “Hello, love,” she said, putting down her magazine. Smiling, she asked, “You lost?”

Never one to be slow in coming forward, Doris walked into the room, flopped down gratefully into a seat next to the girl, and put her parachute and flight bag down next to her.

“No. Just waiting for a friend,” she told her, unzipping her Sidcot suit a little.

Upon noticing Doris was wearing a flying suit, the girl’s eyes nearly popped out on stalks before flicking back to where Doris was now returning her smile. “No way!” she exclaimed. “No way, are you a bloody pilot?”

“Guilty as charged,” Doris said, nodding, wondering if she was in for a round of twenty questions.

The magazine she’d been reading tucked down beside her, the girl leant forward, holding out a rather red hand. Noticing Doris’s hesitancy to take it, her cheeks reddened to match, yet she jutted her chin out in defiance and explained, “Forgot to put me gloves on when I had some washing up to do earlier.”

“We’ve all done silly things,” Doris replied, carefully shaking her hand. “Doris Winter, pleased to meet you.”

“Sharon Coates,” was the reply. “Dogsbody, cleaner, yet makes the best cup of coffee in England.”

Doris’s ears pricked up. “Coffee? You did say coffee?” She didn’t know she’d shuffled forward, though she did realize she’d unnerved the younger girl when she shoved her seat backward and her brown eyes went as wide as an owl.

“Um…”

Doris sat slowly back in her seat, placed her hands in her lap, and put a smile on her face, all the better to, hopefully, put Sharon back at her ease. “I’m sorry,” she then began. “I didn’t mean to scare you, only you said the magic word.” At Sharon’s bemused expression, Doris explained further, “Coffee.”

Sharon cranked her head to the side. “What’s so magical about coffee?”

Oh, if only she was able to wax lyrical on what was so magical, Doris thought. Afraid if she did, she might have the girl reaching for a heavy ladle, she contented herself with a condensed version of the truth. “Ever since I arrived here last year,” she said, “I’ve been deprived of a really good cup of coffee. The English are obsessed with tea, and though I’m now able to drink it, I can’t say I enjoy it.”

Sharon’s eyes were now flicking toward the door. She was either hoping someone would walk in and save her, or she was going to yell for help from the first person to pass by the open doorway.

Doris decided to condense further. “Simply put, I’ve yet to have a good cup of real coffee here. Don’t…” She decided to lean in and pretend to confide in Sharon, as she was looking more relaxed. “Don’t even start me on that Camp crap you Brits have.” She consciously pulled a face, which made the girl laugh.

To her surprise, a shine came to Sharon’s eyes, and she patted Doris’s knee before winking and getting to her feet. “You poor thing. Let me see what I can do.”

For the next minute or two, all Doris could see was Sharon’s bottom in the air as she rummaged in a lower cupboard. Various swear words accompanied her ministrations, leaving Doris bemused as to what she was doing until, “Ah-ha!” Sharon turned and displayed a small round tin in her hand. From the way she was grinning from ear to ear, you would have thought she held a gold medal from the Olympics. Retaking her seat, she undid the lid, peeked inside, presumably to confirm it contained whatever she thought it did, and then held it out toward Doris. “Take a whiff!”

Deciding whatever was in the container wasn’t going to be something nasty, Doris accepted the tin. As it neared her face, a familiar scent engulfed her nostrils, and her eyes flicked down and beheld a brown substance which only a few minutes ago had seemed about as out of reach as, say, world peace. Slightly unbelieving, she lifted the tin to her nose and took a deep breath; Doris closed her eyes and went to heaven.

“Could I interest you in a cup?” Sharon’s voice interrupted her daydreams.

Somewhat reluctantly, Doris opened her eyes and focused attention on her new best friend in the whole wide world. “Do you need to ask?”

Sharon let out a chuckle before gingerly releasing Doris’s fingers from around the tin. “I’m sorry it’s only instant, but it is American. One of our pilots had a cousin who was based at Polebrook,” she informed Doris as she waited for the kettle to boil.

Even with the prospect of coffee to savor, Doris couldn’t help but detect the past version of the verb. “Was?”

Sharon, who had been facing away from Doris whilst speaking, now turned around to face her. Unsurprisingly, considering what she was saying, there were tears in her eyes. “He was killed over France two days ago.”

The coffee forgotten, Doris got to her feet, and sensing what was the cause of Sharon’s reaction, she enfolded the girl in her arms and let her sob into her shoulder. It didn’t take long, leaving Doris to suspect she had shed most of her tears on her own over the last day or so. “Were you keen on him, hon?”

Sharon’s head bobbed against Doris’s shoulder.

“But he didn’t know you were alive, huh.”

“You could tell?” Sharon asked, turning her eyes up at Doris, who gave her another squeeze before letting her go and standing back a little.

“It’s not quite the same, but I lost my husband a number of years ago, so I can sense this type of thing. Let me guess,” she asked. “There’s no one at home you can talk to? No sisters? Mum?”

“Mum was killed back in 1940,” Sharon revealed. “It’s only me and me dad now.”

Words couldn’t help, but Doris said what was expected. “I’m really sorry, Sharon.”

Sharon stepped away, took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes, then blew her nose. “It’s okay. These things happen, and it’s not as if there’s anything anyone can do about it. Now,” she said, doing her best to brighten up, “let’s make you this coffee. Can’t stand the stuff meself,” she added.

Five minutes later, Doris was slouched back in her seat, the look upon her face as one of who had drunk the nectar of the gods which, so far as she was concerned, was the case. After immersing herself once more in the savory scent, she turned her head. “You may have saved a life today, Sharon.”

Her young friend then pressed the tin into Doris’s hand. “Here. You have this. You’ll appreciate it more than anyone here.”

Gripping the tin as if it contained gold or diamonds, Doris took a few moments to find her voice. “Are you sure?”

Sharon patted Doris’s arm and smiled a genuine smile. “Very sure.”

Doris then sat back to enjoy her drink whilst Sharon proceeded to wipe down the surfaces, explaining she had to get the place clean and tidy, as she was due off in a few minutes. “So what brings you here?” she asked, as if she’d remembered her initial fascination of being in the presence of a female pilot.

“Delivered a Mosquito,” Doris told her, noting how Sharon was wiping the same bit of tabletop over and over again, “though I’m actually waiting on my friend, who’s got to break some bad news to her husband.” She’d prefer not to go into details with a stranger, if she could get away with it.

Sharon, however, despite her reaction to the death of the unknown owner of the coffee, certainly knew when not to push. “Must be a great life, up there in the clouds,” she mused. Doris decided not to comment. The last place you wanted to be when flying was inside a cloud.

Doris was saved from having to find anything to say when a sergeant pilot knocked on the wooden frame of the doorway and poked his mustachioed face inside. “You still up for the dance at Polebrook this Saturday, Sharon?” He then noticed the room had another occupant. “Sorry to disturb you. Stan Atkins at your service.”

Doris waved a hand toward him. “Third Officer Doris Winter, at yours.”

“Pleased to meet you, love. So,” he turned his attention back to where Sharon stood watching him. “You on?”

“Would I miss the chance to catch sight of Clark Gable? ’Course I’m on!”

Doris’s eyebrows nearly shot off her forehead.