Chapter Eight

“There’s something wrong,” Walter uttered as soon as Ruth walked through the door of the Hamble Gazette the first Monday morning in December, “but I can’t put my finger on it.”

The paper usually put out only one issue a week. However, after reading the Beveridge Report—properly titled “Social Insurance and Allied Services,” only this was such a mouthful it had quickly become named after its author—Ruth had decided its contents needed to be summarized and reported to her readers, most of whom wouldn’t have heard of it but would be affected by it.

Ruth did a twirl, making certain her coat was open and her neck exposed. “Ta-da!”

Walter shook his head and slumped back into his seat. Bobby, released from his leash, took up his spot of the week, shuffling his body under Walter’s feet. “No, I give in.”

Ruth hung up her coat and took her own seat. “My scarf? I always wear my powder blue scarf with this pullover.” At least he was a better reporter than he’d make a policeman, she thought. “It’s chosen this morning to go missing.”

Scratching Bobby’s neck with his toes, having slipped off his shoes, Walter mused, “Haven’t quite a lot of clothes gone missing from both your place and Betty’s? I seem to remember Shirley mentioning she’d lost a scarf at the hangar dance. I don’t suppose it ever turned up?”

Ruth shook her head. “No. We turned the place upside down, but never found it. Chances are, she simply lost it on a walk sometime and forgot. Though perhaps it’s still somewhere in her belongings back at the cottage.”

“Ah, well.” He shrugged his shoulders before looking back up. “Have you heard from her?”

“Betty told me she received a letter from her the other day. I’m glad you brought it up. Everyone’s going over to Betty’s tonight for a reading. Are you on patrol?”

Taking out a small notebook from his top pocket, Walter flipped a few pages over before shaking his head. “I’ll be there,” he told her.

“Good. Seven o’clock all right?”

“No problem. I can start packing tomorrow night instead.”

“Sorry. Packing?” Ruth asked puzzled.

“My fault,” he said. “I had notice from my landlady last week. Her son’s been invalided out of the Army.”

“Oh, no!” Ruth uttered, her hands flying to her mouth. “Has she told you what happened?”

“Well, I didn’t like to pry, but she did mention he’d been shot.”

Ruth couldn’t answer back straight away. Hearing about this tragedy reminded her of Joe, her son, captured by the Germans and now lying injured in a prison camp.

Realizing the effect the conversation was having upon his friend, Walter got to his feet, put the kettle on, and perched on the edge of her desk. Slowly, he leaned forward and pulled Ruth’s head onto his shoulder. There were no tears, no shudders shaking her body. There was nothing, no reaction. This wasn’t good. He really wasn’t sure what to do. “Ruth?”

“Hmm?” Finally, she looked up, having to draw back so she could see Walter’s face. “Oh, I’m sorry. I expect you know what was on my mind,” she stated.

Walter kissed the top of her head before letting her go and going to make the tea. “Here you go,” he told her, handing her a cup. “You’ve the last of the sugar, but I thought you needed it more than me.”

“Thanks, very thoughtful.” Ruth smiled back. After sipping her tea steadily, she eventually composed herself enough to ask, “Where does this leave you? Do you have somewhere to stay?”

Walter shrugged his shoulders. “I’d heard the Victory had a room going spare.”

Ruth frowned, and Bobby barked in his sleep. Slowly, a smile actually crept onto her face. “Nonsense, at least whilst Shirley’s away, I’ve a room free. You should come and stay with me.”

Walter gave the offer some thought before turning a grin toward her. Sometimes, Ruth made it so easy to tease her. “Didn’t I hear Betty saying she was going to partition her loft for Celia? I could ask if I could stay there.”

However, Ruth wasn’t the editor of a newspaper for nothing. “Firstly, until you’re married, you will not live under the same roof as your Doris, engaged or not. Secondly, Celia’s due back in a few weeks, so you’d have to move back out. No, come and take Shirley’s room. I would say you can have the room Lawrence normally takes, but I’ve found the window doesn’t fit since the bombing. We missed it when we were taking stock, and it’d be a bit like living in an icebox.”

“Won’t Shirley be back for Christmas, though?” Walter asked.

“Hmm. I don’t know. I’ll get Betty, or one of the girls, to ask. You have given me an idea, though. Come back with me tonight before we go around to Betty’s. I haven’t been up to my loft for yonks, so I’ve no idea what’s up there, but how about we see if we can make it into a place where you could be happy sleeping?”

“Ruth, I’ve never said so, and don’t take this the wrong way, but after having to bunk down at Mrs. Dunn’s place, I’d be happy anywhere.”

Contenting herself with a raised eyebrow, Ruth pushed her empty cup aside and picked up her notepad. “Come on, this article won’t write itself, and the sooner it’s done, the sooner we can get back to the cottage and see what we can sort out. What have you got so far?”

Back at his desk, Walter picked up his own pad. “I’ve been playing around with headlines. How does this one sound? It’s only a work in progress, mind you—The Welfare State.”

****

“You wanted to see me?”

Betty looked up from the paperwork occupying her, a little surprised to see Jane standing before her desk in the flight line hut. Not normally nervous, Betty temporarily forgot what she wanted to talk to her about. Then she noted a Tiger Moth trundling by, and she chided herself for being silly and smiled up at her friend.

“If you’ve the time?” Betty asked.

Jane pulled up a chair. “For my friends? Always. What can I do for you?”

Betty cleared her throat. “Where to start? You know how much I’ve appreciated what you’ve done for me, looking after me, so to speak, whilst I haven’t felt able to fly.” Jane didn’t answer but raised an inquiring eyebrow, urging her to keep talking. Betty took a deep breath and, before she changed her mind, asked Jane, “Can you put me back on the active flying roster?”

Jane nearly slid off her seat. “Well, not what I was expecting to hear today. I have to ask, what brought this on?”

Betty got to her feet, opened the door to the hut, and went and stood out on the wooden decking. An Anson was beginning its landing approach, and as Jane joined her, they both watched it come in for a perfect landing and begin to taxi past. From the pilot’s seat, Penny waved to the two of them.

“I’d forgotten how beautiful it is, you know, flying.” She turned to face her friend, an expression of determination upon her face. “I want that feeling again.” Then she proceeded to explain, “We were looking through my sister’s things, trying to find any clue about the key.”

“The Miss Marples ride again, eh?” Jane stated, resting her hand upon Betty’s shoulder.

“The girls do seem to have a twinkle in their eyes again, yes,” Betty agreed. “Anyway, we found a business card from a London bank. Of all places, it was hidden inside the lining of my old flying suit.”

“She was quite something, your sister,” Jane told Betty with a wide smile, shaking her head.

Betty just returned her smile.

“So I now need to ask, when are you off to London?”

Betty had the good grace to shrug her shoulders. “Very perceptive. It’s not something you want to discuss over the phone. I’ve been waiting until one of the girls has a day off which coincides with one of mine, and then I’ll call up in time to make a personal appointment.”

Jane and Betty had been friends for a long time, so Jane didn’t hesitate. “Come on, you.” She took her friend by the arm. “Let’s go back to my office.”

Once back in the ops hut, Jane opened the door of her office, and the two sat down. “First things first—getting you back flying. We’ll have to make this official, so as soon as you get back from London, Thelma can take you up in a Moth, and as soon as I’m satisfied you’re not going to crash us into a hill or something, I’ll want you to solo. Next step, back up in the Magister, followed by our old Spit. If all goes well, we’ll have you out on deliveries within the following week. Now…” She fixed her friend with a look to brook no argument. “This doesn’t get you out of your current job, so you won’t be going on deliveries every day. Understood?”

Betty nodded.

“I’ll tend to use you as cover for when we have girls on leave, or there’s a flap on. It’s what someone with your job would normally be expected to do anyway. Sound good?”

Betty grinned like the cat that got the cream. “Sounds very good to me, boss.”

“Good.” Jane nodded and pulled her desk diary toward her. Opening it, she licked her fingers. “Now, let’s see when we can get you and one of the girls on the same day off.”

****

“Get those scissors to work, Penny,” Doris advised as soon as her friend came through the front door, even before she’d had the chance to hang up her coat and bag.

“Again?”

“Again,” agreed Mary from where she sat on the floor, surrounded by the remains of newspapers.

Penny sighed and flexed her fingers. “All right, all right. I’ll go up and change and be right down.”

As Penny hurried up the stairs, Betty shouted, “Fish pie in twenty minutes!” after her.

Five minutes later, Penny joined her friends sitting on the lounge floor to cut out strips of newspaper and help to glue together what she believed was going to be the world’s longest paper chain.

“You do know we’ve still got about three weeks until Christmas, don’t you?” she asked pointedly of Doris.

Doris, who appeared totally oblivious to the piece of paper she’d glued to her left ear, looked at Penny as if she’d completely lost the plot. “I know. We are so behind where we were last year! If we don’t get a move on, we’ll never get all the decorations up.”

“We’re behind,” Mary felt the need to point out whilst shaking the front page of last week’s Hamble Gazette free from her hand, “because we don’t have Shirley to pressgang into the production line.”

Everyone’s moaning was for show, as Doris’s enthusiasm for Christmas was legendary, even though they’d only had one together so far. Considering how difficult food and presents were to obtain, she seemed to be going all out on the homemade decorations. Already Betty’s lounge and hall were strung about with so many streamers and paperchains that the ceilings were barely visible. The holly tree in Ruth’s garden had been virtually stripped bare—with Ruth’s permission, of course—and both cottages were festooned with its branches. This did mean an occasional yelp was heard as someone accidently brushed up against a sprig of holly, but Doris refused to let any be taken down. Ruth’s house was taking shape in much the same fashion, though she had insisted the holly in her place was limited to the lounge. Everyone in Betty’s, barring Doris, was in full agreement with her. The one thing they all did agree with was the greenery, as Doris had also raided the trees lining the riverbank, making the places look Christmassy and livening up the dreariness of the dull evenings. Wartime shortages or not, it was evident Christmas was coming to both of the riverside cottages.

By the time seven o’clock rolled around, the fish pie had been consumed, the washing up done and dried, and the lounge was full to bursting. Ruth had turned up with Walter and informed everyone he was going to be her temporary lodger. He was promptly inundated with offers of helping him move his things in. After he’d reassured them everything he owned could fit into a couple of suitcases, the room settled down, and Betty pulled out Shirley’s letter.

“Everyone ready?” she asked, taking up position before the window.

To the accompaniment of much nodding, Betty began to read:

“Dearest Betty,

“Before I forget to say, thank you very much for sending on to me my Ted’s letter. It was waiting for me when I got to my billet. Such a treat—he even said he was behaving himself!

“I’ve been here five days, and I don’t think my feet have touched the ground. They’ve got us flying all the hours God sends, and probably a few more besides—and I’m loving it! I soloed, officially, as my instructor said, yesterday and now have my license. I can’t believe it. Honestly, if you’d have asked me if this all would have been possible last year, I’d have said world peace breaking out with Hitler dancing a tango down Pall Mall with Churchill would have been a better bet. I can’t thank you all enough. Please ask Jane to thank Lizzie for me.

“I can’t say where we’re billeted, but it’s a lovely old manor house, I think you’d call it. I share this big old room with ceilings so high I can’t touch them even when I bounce on my bed. Please don’t tell anyone I do this. There’re three other girls in my room, and they’re all a little bit older than me, so I’ve been taken under their wings. I don’t think they want to see me get into trouble. Mind you, I did tell them some of what we got up to last year—don’t worry, Betty, I’d never tell anything I shouldn’t—and since then, I think they’ve been hoping I’ll lead them into an adventure of their own. I think it should be me who’s looking after them!

“Speaking of adventures, good luck with finding out about you-know-what!

“Now I’ve soloed, I’ve started on the Magister, and then it’s the classroom. That’s the bit I’m not looking forward to. I know you all went through the books with me and tried to drum it into my thick head, but I can’t help but be worried. I don’t want to let you lot down. I know I have a lot of work in front of me before I can wear my wings.

“Oh, I have learned one thing already. The mechanics here don’t like the trainee pilots tinkering with the engines. The one on mine a few days ago didn’t sound great when I started it up, so I shut down and had the engine cowling open and was up to my elbows when I was yelled at to leave well enough alone.

“I’m going to stop now, Betty. I’m not much of a letter writer. Pass on my thoughts and love to everyone, please, and I’ll write again soon. I hope to hear from you too and assuming we get Christmas leave, see you soon.

“Lots of love,

“Shirley”

Doris nudged her fiancé in the ribs. “Are you going to tell her you’re sleeping in her room, or shall I?”