The ship steamed steadily through the night. Two days out and without a sign of enemy action. Heading away from North Africa they had expected to receive unwelcome attention before this. Wesley put the finishing touches to the men’s late-night food and stood back waiting for the first arrivals.
In this small ship the food was prepared by a few men who cooked and delivered the plates of food to the seamen, the mess hands running up and down the alleyways with the hot meals. In a space smaller than the average understair cupboard, the Naafi provided snacks and hot drinks throughout the twenty-four hours to the men coming into the mess for brief relaxation.
There was also the usual net bar where they could purchase small necessities. Keeping the men satisfied and making sure the stock was sufficient was a full-time job and all the staff worked longer than the hours for which they were paid. For all of them it was a question of pride to be at their counter providing for the men’s needs throughout the day and night, time-watching was something they never bothered to do. When in port they went shopping to find fresh food and whatever luxuries they could buy to add variety to what they offered in their canteen.
At this time of the night most of those not on duty were in their bunks, fully aware that the peaceable voyage could not be expected to continue, that any moment the klaxon would sound the alarm and they would have to get to battle stations immediately.
The murmur of several conversations reached Wesley, the other assistants chatting to the few customers drinking cocoa before going to their quarters. No one bothered to speak to him. Attempts to involve him in conversations, talk about their families and their hopes and dreams had failed and now most left him alone. In a fighting ship how could he tell them of his disgrace? Heading for home through a route that took them through dangerous waters, where bravery counted, a place where you had to be able to trust your colleagues, how could he admit to his cowardice? How could he be sure he wouldn’t let them down and run, as he had from Ethel’s father?
As he began stacking away the last of the newly washed enamel dishes, he wondered where Ethel was. All his mother had been able to tell him was that she had been seen getting on the London train, but with so many stations in between, she could be anywhere. He just hoped she was safe and didn’t think too badly of him.
The ship gave a sudden lurch. He reached out to stop the last of the plates falling and then hung on as the explosion made everything shudder and heave to starboard. Leaving the galley he ran along the juddering passageway, being thrown first one way then another as the ship floundered and tried to right herself. Up to the deck he ran, joined by others heading for their battle stations, a highly organized team doing what was expected of them, slotting into place with machine-like precision, dealing with the emergency in a well-practised way.
Voices were calling, men running, dressing as they went, stopping to hop into boots, grabbing what they needed as they passed fire extinguishers and choppers and hurrying on, each one knowing where to go and what to do when they got there. Wesley knew they had been hit but there seemed no immediate prospect of them sinking or the order would have been given to abandon ship. He needed to know the site and extent of the damage and from that deduce where his services would be best used.
The ship had slowed and, as the rest of the Naafi team arrived, he guessed from the voices heard shouting orders that the damage was in the after end. There was a terrifyingly loud whoosh, as a fire began.
‘That’s all we need,’ he muttered, aware that fire would make them visible for miles, a perfect target for roaming aircraft. To his mild surprise, he wasn’t afraid, his brain working out how best to help. The rest of his team had arrived and leaving some men to organize drinks and sandwiches, which would certainly be needed later, he made his way to where the ship’s crew was dealing with fires.
The ship was slowly turning, one of the engines damaged, and below, men were making rapid calculations while others assessed the damage.
The fire had taken hold. Wesley joined the fire-fighting team, following the instructions of the fire duty officer, and they worked through the night as the flames were slowly quenched only to revive again and be tackled again, and then again.
When the fire was finally defeated the men were exhausted but their troubles weren’t over. Their position had been radioed to planes nearby and out of the slowly lightening sky three planes zoomed down on them, firing on the men still on deck. The guns on the starboard side were mostly useless but on the port side they were quickly trained on to the diving planes.
There was a second torpedo which sped through the water and missed the bows by a few feet. Below decks, torpedoes were checked but the damage had rendered them useless. A depth charge was aimed on a point where it was judged the U-boat’s position to have been when the damage occurred. The ship was listing heavily to starboard and on the port side it was difficult to lower the sights sufficiently for precise targeting, but they fired anyway. The noise was deafening, it was impossible to see through the billowing smoke, and the smell of burning and the acrid fumes from the gunfire made the men choke and splutter. Through it all the men followed their training instructions and the firing went on as though they were unaware of the continuing attack on their ship.
Above the chaotic row, a muffled roar was heard and those close enough to look in the direction of the fresh assault on their ears saw a bubbling cauldron in the sea close by, as air escaped from the stricken submarine. The weary men passed the news and a ragged cheer was heard. Scramble nets were lowered over the side in case any of the submariners managed to escape.
With the fires under control, Wesley helped take the wounded below as men were manning the guns and a few were positioned to look for survivors in the darkness that was distorted by the dying flames. Filthy faces, weary limbs, the men stood momentarily in small groups and drank the tea supplied by Wesley’s men, and the work went on.
Another torpedo raced towards the ship like a relentless fish but missed, rushing harmlessly past. There were other U-boats down there bent on revenge. The depth charge fired in an arc of death, as the men concentrated on the danger below, leaving it to others to watch for danger from above.
It was when he came up on deck for the third time that Wesley heard, then saw the planes, three abreast screaming towards them, guns aimed at the deck where men from the damaged areas worked. He was deafened by the sound of the anti-aircraft gun on deck close to where he stood. The gun ceased firing and for a second he was relieved. Then realization came and he ran to where the gunner had fallen sideways, the sight of him leaving Wesley in no doubt that the man was dead.
There were extra Naafi personnel on board on their way home. Many of them went to the first aid post to assist, others helped maintain the supply of ammunition to the gunners. All Naafi staff serving overseas were trained in the use of guns, but not the powerful anti-aircraft weapons used on the ship. Their knowledge and training was simply sufficient to enable them to stand beside the fighting men and take part in any action. Wesley looked at the huge monster on deck and in those few seconds thought it was beyond him. With everyone employed clearing the damage, dealing with the wounded or in the fight against the U- boat attack, he knew he had to try.
Lifting the young boy from the metal seat, lying him as respectfully as he could against the deck rail, he took his place. He was not a complete stranger to the workings of the gun, they had spent some time with most weapons and, quickly understanding the method, after a few false starts he began to fire towards the wave of enemy aircraft some distance away, heading towards them, increasing speed. Beside him a man stood ready to help with the ammunition.
The planes circled once and it was those precious moments that gave Wesley time to prepare. Hatred was in his heart. Seeing the boy no older than himself lying there brought such cold determination to him he wanted to kill in retaliation. Once he had a plane in his sights he fired, followed it and fired again, long before there was a feasible chance of hitting it.
When the plane was close enough he hit it and it changed direction, the engine spluttered and died. He watched as it glided gently down at an oblique angle and went into the water with hardly a splash.
There was no thought in his head for the young pilot. There was only a machine heading for the ship with deadly intent, no image of flesh and blood, or a youngster similar to the one he had just placed on the heaving deck. Moving the heavy gun around, he prepared to deal with the next.
Men who weren’t involved with fighting or with the wounded were busy clearing the debris from the decks preparatory to getting the ship back to order. Others searched the seas for survivors of the U-boat. In all the melee, they miraculously heard a call and threw scramble nets over the side, leaning over ready to help the seaman aboard.
He was obviously injured and couldn’t scramble up unaided. One of the Naafi staff went over the side with a seaman and together they helped the man aboard. To their surprise he spoke English. ‘Blimey mates, I ain’t ’alf glad ta see yer. Me arm’s broke and I couldn’t climb that net for all the tea in China.’
There was no time for explanations as to where he had come from, and if they thought about it at all, their curiosity was brief. There was no time to think about anything but fighting off the attackers and saving the ship.
Throughout the fierce battle the Naafi staff did what was demanded of them. Several ran around providing cocoa and corned beef sandwiches to the usual grumbles: ‘Where’s the horseradish relish then, son?’ Or, ‘Are you sure you put sugar in this tea?’ Or the favourite, ‘Cocoa you say? Smells like tea and tastes like coffee, it must be cocoa.’
Some handed out food, some were involved in the fighting, others worked in the sick bay; several Naafi personnel were injured, some seriously, but fortunately there were none on the list of those who died.
The man who had been rescued from the sea was covered in oil and members of the crew were helped by Naafi staff as they washed him down and provided him with fresh clothes. He was weak with shock and said nothing after his initial bravado as they cleaned him up and prepared him to see the doctor. His watch, on the broken arm, was bent, the glass shattered, and it was doubtful whether it would ever work again.
‘What were you doing out there? Going in after them, now?’ One of the rescuers teased as he wrapped a towel around the man’s shoulders to support the injured arm.
‘Hoping for some fish, I was. The Naafi’s a bit short of something for tomorrow’s dinner,’ the exhausted man retorted. To their amazement he was one of the ship’s crew. He had been blown over the side with the first explosion and had narrowly missed being killed with the direct hit on the U-boat.
The double escape made him famous and from then on he swore he would considered himself immortal: ‘At least till I get home to the missus. She’ll kill me for ruining her father’s wrist watch,’ he joked as he headed for the sick bay.
There were only three survivors from the submarine. Covered thickly in oil from the surface of the sea, their eyes were red and painful and they were exhausted, trembling, believing they were going to die. As they were helped on to the ship and washed down, they were given a hot drink by one of Wesley’s staff. ’Gott sei dank,’ was all they said.
Once the remaining two planes had disappeared, and in an attempt to avoid being finished off by the enemy below the waves, the ship closed down and silence was the order. Nothing moved, even the slightest sound would help the listening U-boats to work out their position. U-boats hunted in packs, there would be others seeking revenge for the one they had destroyed.
When the captain decided they were safe to move, the ship began to make way on one engine, still with an ungainly list to starboard, and the Naafi reopened for business. The men had been awake and on duty for twenty-four hours.
Wesley was praised for his part in the battle, and as they limped into port, he lay, unable to sleep, and wondered if Ethel would think more kindly of him.
Duggie tried not to think about averages. Everyone mentioned them, the average life of a pilot, the average number of flights before ‘curtains’. He had done more sorties than many of the men on the field. People were beginning to look at him with admiration and with that certain superstitious anxiety. He looked around him at the fresh young faces of the new arrivals. They weren’t much younger than himself, but they had not yet had time to become weary or battle worn. To the young men, some only months his junior, Duggie was one of the old ones whose days were numbered. Believing him to be only days away from death, they were unnervingly polite.
He tried to talk to Ethel about how he felt, telling it as a joke, laughing at the gullibility of the fresh young sprogs, at the tricks the ‘old’ ones played on them, afraid of sounding scared. Counting the flights, remembering the averages, his dreams were filled with crashes, with the faces of the German pilots laughing at him as he spiralled down to the pitiless earth. He saw the faces of men who had gone; those who had died and others who had been injured and sent home. He saw too, expressions of sadness on the face of Ethel and wondered whether her grieving for him would be more or less than for the others who had failed to return. She showed love for him, but was it more than her being away from home, estranged from her family, and lonely for affection?
They met whenever they were both free, usually in the canteen after closing, where the warmth of the dying fire gave an illusion of comfort. Their loving was so intense that had their whereabouts been a luxurious bedroom or a barn, it wouldn’t have made it more perfect. There were occasions when they just talked, comforting each other by their shared warmth and forgetting for a while the horrors awaiting them, that could fall upon them at any moment. They both wondered if it was love on the part of the other, or the need for pretence.
It was near the end of June when Ethel realized she was several days late. There was no way of finding out whether a baby was the reason. She couldn’t go to the Medical Officer, she might be asked to leave and she had no idea where she would go. The thought frightened her very much and after two more weeks had passed, she confided her fears to Rosie.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said, wringing her hands together nervously. ‘I don’t know how Duggie really feels about me. He could be moved away tomorrow and I might never see him again. What will I do?’
‘Do nothing and tell no one until you’ve thought it through,’ Rosie said. ‘You do have somewhere to go – my Nan’ll have you. Our house is big and there’s plenty of room.’
‘Oh, Rosie,’ she smiled sadly. ‘You can’t expect her to take in a stranger with a baby and no husband.’
‘I know my Nan and I wouldn’t have to ask. I just know she’d agree. So, that’s one thing settled. But as for telling Duggie, that’s your decision. But you don’t have to tell him yet. Take your time and think about it, make plans for both reactions, get used to the idea and then you’ll be strong enough to tell him.’
‘Rosie, you’re wonderful.’
Rosie looked thoughtful for a moment then she smiled. ‘I suppose I must be if both you and my Nan think so.’
When Duggie heard that Ethel was being transferred he was immediately filled with panic. Like many pilots he was superstitious although he denied it vehemently. Ethel was his talisman; his survival depended on her being there to see him home.
He had gone to the canteen one morning and on seeing other girls there, had asked where he could find Ethel. He was told she was in the guard house awaiting transfer and he ran around the field afraid she would be gone.
It was July 1941 and the day was perfect. The sun was strong, the trees were in full leaf, a myriad shades of green, wild flowers were filling the fields with colour. Birds sang joyfully from the hedges, meadowsweet, around the edges of the field where wheat was growing, filled the air with its heady scent. In his panic, Duggie was aware of none of it.
The three girls were standing near the guard room with their suitcases, great coats over their arms, basking in the sun. Ethel and Rosie searched the field with their eyes, hoping for a last glimpse of Duggie. Kate was smiling at one of the men in the guard room who was staring back with obvious admiration. ‘Such a pity we’re leaving,’ she whispered to Ethel with one of her famous winks. ‘That one has the most dreamy smile.’
Rosie recognized Duggie first and nudged Ethel, who ran to greet him.
‘Why were you leaving without telling me?’ he demanded.
‘I left a note for you,’ she told him. ‘We didn’t know ourselves until six thirty this morning, less than two hours ago.’ She moved away from Rosie and Kate and they talked.
‘I don’t want to lose touch with you, Ethel. Please let me have your home address so I can find you even if we’re moved without being able to tell each other.’
‘I don’t have a home address,’ she replied, looking away from him.
‘Then the address of a friend. Please, Ethel. I don’t want you walking out of my life.’
‘Wait a moment.’ She went to where Rosie and Kate stood and after a hurried conversation, she came back and wrote down both girls’ addresses. ‘I’m sure Kate, Rosie and I will stay in touch. You’ll be able to reach me through them. Now, can I have your home address?’ she asked, hiding her fear that he wouldn’t comply.
‘I’m being stood down in a few more days, being transferred to where I can help train the new lads.’
‘Thank heavens for that! Where will you be?’
‘I can’t tell you where but I’ll find you somehow.’ He handed her a piece of paper. ‘This is my home address. Don’t lose it, Ethel. I need you in my life, however short it is.’
‘Don’t talk like that, Duggie. I need you too,’ she said softly. She meant it, but at that moment it was more important for him to believe it. She was well aware that she was his good luck charm. Besides, if she had a child, he would want to know, even if his declaration of love was a temporary thing. She could never deprive him of a child.
She loved Duggie but there was still her family looming and threatening to spoil that love. Their moments of closeness eased away the terror for him, she knew that. For herself too there had been comfort in the promises, the pretence that everything would be fine, that the future was theirs to plan.
Yet if her parents found her, something would crumple inside her. She would be afraid to give him her love, her father would consider her wicked. Even now, thinking about it made her want to run away from the implications. Sometimes when she and Duggie were loving and close, the fear was there between the brief moments of passion that blanked out everything but desire and the pleasure of giving him her love.
Kissing was something she enjoyed but which, when imminent, sometimes still terrified her as she imagined her father watching, his temper rising, enjoying the feeling of terror he induced, before storming over to make his fists begin their warning. She looked away from Duggie and wondered whether she would ever be free of Dai Twomey, her father and her worst enemy.
One of the guards came out and spoke to Kate, who turned and beckoned to Ethel.
‘Seems we have to go,’ Ethel said, turning her face to offer her cheek. He pulled her around and held her lips with his own, and embarrassed at having such a large and entertained audience, she froze, then relaxed into the joy of it.
‘Come on, you can do all that later,’ Kate said coming towards them, carrying Ethel’s case as well as her own. ‘Seems it’s another false alarm. They can’t do without us just yet.’
‘Thank God,’ Duggie sighed.
Kate put down the cases and turned to wave at the handsome young airman in the guard room, before trudging back to their hut.
When Duggie took off later that day, Ethel stood with the rest and watched the flight leave. Her heart was racing as she imagined the way he was feeling, believing his luck was running out, convinced that with the hours he had spent flying and the number of flights undertaken and air battles fought growing, his chances of surviving were diminishing. In days he would be safely grounded but that knowledge only added to the stress of his last few take-offs and landings.
Through the hours that followed as she went through the routines of a normal day she wondered about him. Whenever she went outside her eyes would rake the benign blue skies for sight of the planes returning. When the first engines were heard she was afraid to go out.
‘Come on misery-guts,’ Kate called. ‘Come out and wave. You know the boys all look for us as they come in.’
Counting, trying not to count but unable to stop. Three fewer than there should be. Then two, then one. Minutes passed and still she stood and waited. Kate and Rosie went inside to make sure they were prepared for the men when they returned after debriefing. They’d be there demanding char and a wad before they knew it.
Then Ethel heard the sound of an engine. Not a normal sound, but one that told her the plane was in trouble. Spluttering, seeming to stop then cough itself into life again. Then she saw it, hanging to one side, its damaged tail plane alarmingly distorted, making its way towards them. Then it turned and made for the furthest end of the field. ‘Stupid fool, come in close to the fire wagons,’ she muttered. She knew he was convinced of an uncontrolled landing and a fire and he wanted to keep it away from the buildings and people. A final cough and sudden burst of speed then it was down, screaming along the ground, groundlooping, before disappearing from her sight behind the team of fire wagons and red cross ambulance that raced towards it. ‘No fire. Please God, no fire,’ she prayed as she watched the scene.
Frozen to the spot, unaware of Kate and Rosie’s calls, she stood and waited. Others had been watching too and as the stretcher was lifted into the back of the ambulance she ran towards it. The ambulance driver waited at Duggie’s request as she ran breathlessly towards them.
‘Hi, Ethel, hell of a poor landing, eh?’ Duggie said. ‘A ground loop. I’ll never live it down.’
Blood covered his face but she was assured by the team that he was ‘a lucky sod and he’s got hardly a scratch’.
‘We thought we might as well give him a ride as we were there,’ one of the men joked.
Later that day he came to find her, one side of his face wrapped in white bandage like that which had frightened Rosie many weeks before. He insisted he was fine. He was smiling, half of it hidden by the bandage, and Ethel wondered if having a crash landing had broken his average and he felt less vulnerable than before. All talk of his being stood down had been forgotten – a week later he was flying again.
After his first flight following the crash he invited her out.
She was certain about the baby now and knew Duggie had to be told, but not yet. She had to wait a while longer. He might think he had been trapped. After all, there had been no mention of their marrying. If he was worried and flying… She would blame herself if he was hurt, convince herself that she had caused him to lose concentration by telling him. It was no good, the news would have to wait until he was grounded. Then he’d be safe.
‘Yes, we could all go to the pictures.’ She forced a smile.
Duggie shook his head. ‘Just you, Ethel. Let’s leave Kate and Rosie out of it this time, shall we?’
She looked doubtful and he said softly, ‘I’m not like your father, I don’t hit out at every imagined insult. I love dogs and I’m kind to my grannie.’ He tried to make her smile but failed. ‘I won’t even kiss you if that’s what you prefer, although, I must tell you that I want to kiss you, and make love to you, more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.’
‘I don’t know…’
‘What’s wrong, love?’
How could she tell him?
‘Let’s go somewhere where we can talk, a café? Although,’ he said ruefully, ‘that wouldn’t be much of a change for a Naafi girl, would it?’
She agreed, having made up her mind that now was the time to tell him about the baby. Her heart raced as she wondered how he would react. He would probably ask her to marry him and she knew that was the sensible thing to do, but how could she? How could she meet his family and not tell them about her father? She couldn’t. She would have to pretend her own family didn’t exist and keep up that pretence all their lives. Not a good start to a marriage, lying to his family, living in fear of her father finding her.
They went into town in a car borrowed from one of the officers who owed Duggie a favour, but it petered to a halt before they had travelled more than a couple of hundred yards and they had to push it back inside the gate.
‘Damn,’ Duggie joked, ‘I planned for it to give out miles from home so we had to spend the night somewhere.’
They caught the bus, which was crowded with other men and women from the camp, and found a small restaurant with pork on their menu. They were given a corner table near a blacked-out window, and they ordered a meal.
‘I expect we’ll need a magnifying glass to find the pork,’ Ethel said.
‘At least the gravy should be tasty.’ He leaned over and held her hands with his. ‘D’you think they’ll let us mop it up with some bread?’
She didn’t attempt to remove her hands from his until the elderly waitress came with their meals, which were surprisingly good.
Ignoring the bus stop with the line of uniformed figures waiting to go back to camp, they walked. Ethel had not managed to bring up the subject of her condition, although she didn’t try very hard. It was so difficult to come out with such earth- shattering news on a walk through the mild summer evening. In a brief lull she took a deep breath to tell him she had something to say, but he interrupted, unaware of the effort she was making to tell him her news. It was another reprieve and she was thankful.
‘Talk to me about your father,’ Duggie said.
‘He’s a bully, what more is there to say?’
‘He didn’t always frighten you like he does now,’ he coaxed. ‘What happened to change things?’
‘I don’t know! That’s what’s making it worse. He’s always been hard on my brother, Sid. I think he was disappointed that Sid didn’t argue and fight like he did. He was always trying to make him fight and hitting him when he wouldn’t. Me, he more or less ignored. Just before my sister killed herself in that horrifying way, he started on me, calling me names, accusing me of being wicked. He began hitting my brother more than he usually did and my mother had horrifying bruises from his flying fists.
‘Something had happened that made my sister prefer dying to being alive, and sent my foul-tempered father crazy with hatred. But I don’t know what it was.’
He was watching her face in the dull light as they strolled along the quiet lane. Her expression and slight intonations in her voice made him ask, ‘But you do have a suspicion?’
‘I do, but it isn’t a very nice one.’
‘Tell me,’ he coaxed. They were near an isolated cottage, abandoned since the airfield came into being, and he pulled her into the protection of its walls.
‘You know that my father was in prison on several occasions? Two of them long sentences?’ She felt rather than saw his nod. ‘It was always for fighting or some other violent behaviour. On one occasion he was in prison for two years, found guilty of grievous bodily harm. Sid said he once narrowly missed going down for longer, charged with attempted murder. It was while he was in prison that I was born. I was more than a year old before I saw him for the first time.’ She hesitated a moment before adding, ‘Perhaps my father found out I am not his child.’
Duggie didn’t make any comment on the rights or wrongs of her deduction but instead asked, ‘And how do you feel about that?’
‘Relieved, I suppose. Thankful that the hot blood that runs through his veins doesn’t taint mine or any children I might have.’ The mention of children churned her insides but she avoided the opportunity offered to tell him her news. Instead she went on, ‘It’s Mam I fear for. If it’s true, then she’s in danger, and I don’t know what I can do to help her. We both ran away and left her, my brother and I. Since then I’ve heard nothing. I don’t even know where Sid is and he certainly doesn’t know where to find me if anything has happened to her.’
He hugged her, touched her cheek with his lips, offering her comfort and waiting for her to continue.
‘Until now I’ve despised her for not standing up for me, for allowing him to treat us so badly, but now, if what I think is true she’s more in need of sympathy than criticism.’
‘How does this connect to your sister’s death?’
‘She must have been the one who let it out. She was fifteen years older than me, she would have known.’
‘Hardly a reason to… do what she did.’
‘Killing the messenger, isn’t that what they say? His anger was in need of a target and she was it. She must have been terrified by his reaction. You’ve no idea how frightening my father could be. He’d block out all reason, make you unable to think. I honestly believe I’d have confessed to anything once he started on me with his accusations.’
‘The thing you must remember, Ethel love, is that few men are like your father. Loving someone, being loved in return is a wonderful gift. You’ll have to meet my parents. Their love is a light that fills their home. It touches everyone who enters. My sisters and I had a wonderful childhood, the warmth of it has stayed with me ever since.’ He moved slightly, until his cheek pressed against hers. It was only a second, smaller movement, for him to find her lips.
Ethel began to move away but his words had filled her eyes with tears and her heart with pictures of a perfect love untouched by hatred or anger and she wanted to experience a love like that. His kiss began to heal the fear and confusion and as they walked on she knew that he was right, that love was a gift and having found it she would be a fool to let it slip away. But she still failed to tell him that she was carrying his child.
Many hours passed each day without Wesley Daniels entering her thoughts. Even when the image of him flashed on her mind, it was brief, gone in a fraction of a second. Wesley was a part of her life already fading into a misty memory, one of those vague yesterdays that were no longer real. She knew she was in love with Duggie but still had doubts, wondering whether that love was real, or a pretence that someone needed her. That was a feeling she hadn’t known since her father had sent Wesley away and had driven her from home. Now there was no contact with her family, she needed to be tied to somewhere. ‘I’m like a balloon escaped from a child’s hand,’ she remarked once to Rosie. ‘Given a freedom I didn’t want and wasn’t prepared for.’
The war, the precariousness of life, with new faces appearing only to fade into oblivion days later; with young men telling her about their ‘Dear John’ letters from girls who had sworn to love them for ever, how could she be sure about Duggie? Nothing seemed real any more.
As the three friends waited for the new posting they were regularly told was imminent, the month of July moved slowly on. Wheat, barley and oats ripened and was harvested in the fields, flowers bloomed on fallow land and gave swathes of beauty in unexpected places. Pilots died and were replaced by eager-faced young men whose training was becoming more and more brief.
Duggie met Ethel whenever they were both free and they often stopped at the abandoned cottage to talk and kiss and make plans for when war ended and they were free. The place was sealed with padlocks and wrapped around in barbed wire so they couldn’t get inside. Instead they would sit on Duggie’s greatcoat on the ground, leaning against the stout walls.
She still hugged the secret of the baby to herself, still pretending for much of the time that she was mistaken and it wasn’t true. She and Duggie talked of a future but that future was years away, with a life to build before they could live it. This baby was a future that was as close as a few months.
One evening Ethel sensed he was worried. She coaxed him to talk about his work and he admitted that he had a strong feeling that he wouldn’t come back from his next flight.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve allowed the talk and the superstitions to get to you,’ she said quietly. ‘I thought we agreed that rubbish was for the new boys.’
‘The trouble is, they’re all “new boys”. The number of my flying hours are way above everyone else’s and my time is up.’
They talked about fear and how it can ruin concentration and cause crashes when there’s no other reason. ‘You have to put this out of your head,’ Ethel pleaded.
His kisses were a comfort, and as they grew more and more urgent, she didn’t hold back. She desperately wanted him to believe in their future together, he had to believe that they had years of loving ahead of them, his life depended on his believing. In a matter of moments, she found herself caught up in a passion over which she had no control. It wasn’t the most romantic of places, less comfortable than the canteen with its slowly dying fire.
There was no slow awakening, not gradually rising desire, just the urgent need to give him the certainty of their love. She had to convince him that he had a future and she would share it if that was what he wanted. He had to rise in the air and take part in the protection of the airfield, confident and sure.
They lay down and held each other tightly, beginning to become aware of the cold concrete, the worn path biting into them. Afterwards, Duggie was ashamed of treating her so badly. He was close to tears. ‘I’m sorry, Ethel. I shouldn’t have treated you like that. I didn’t plan for that to happen in a place like this. You deserve better care than I give you. I’m so sorry.’
‘There were two of us involved, in case you didn’t notice,’ she said, kissing his stricken face and finding his lips again, teasing them, softening them into a smile. ‘Now, let’s get up before we’re frozen to the ground – and how would we explain that to the medics?’
‘Please believe that I love you for more than this.’
He tried to tell her how ashamed he was, of his lack of control, his taking advantage of her in such an unromantic place, how every time should be special, but each time she stopped his words with a kiss.
‘It was wonderful. You were wonderful and this is a night we’ll never forget,’ she whispered.
‘I love you, Ethel, and in spite of my behaviour tonight, I respect you. I want to spend my whole life with you.’
Now was the time to tell him, while he could still change his mind about how he felt, but the words wouldn’t come. ‘I love you too,’ she whispered softly.
Rosie and Kate could see by her eyes that something good had happened. In their Nissen hut, which they now shared with eight others, they whispered and wheedled the story from her until a shoe went hurtling across the beds with the addition of several voices warning them to ‘Be quiet or else’.
This caused Rosie to giggle and Ethel was glad of the distraction. Lovemaking and her feelings for Duggie were not subjects for general discussion. She pretended sleep when Kate spoke again, but heard Rosie whisper to Kate, asking her not to tease, that Ethel was a bit unhappy at present. She got out of bed and called them outside where she told Kate about the baby. ‘So much for the nickname ice queen, eh?’ she said. She expected a lecture on her stupidity but Kate was thrilled at the prospect of being ‘almost an auntie’.
‘How can you be “almost an auntie”?’ Ethel laughed.
‘Well, you two are almost my sisters, aren’t you?’
There was no arguing with Kate’s particular kind of logic and they talked excitedly about the fun the baby would bring into their lives.
Over the following days, Ethel stood with the rest as the planes were counted back. She didn’t register any of the anxiety of previous times when some of the planes were late. Duggie was safe, her love had made sure of that.
‘What will happen to me?’ she asked her friends in one of their moments of quiet. ‘I’ll be thrown out of the Naafi, that’s certain, and I’ve nowhere to go. If my father finds out about this he’ll kill me.’
‘You don’t want to lose it, do you?’
‘I sort of hope it isn’t true. If I’m truthful I don’t want it to be true. I’m not ready to look after a child. When I have a baby I want to do it properly. This isn’t the time, Kate.’
‘Tell Duggie. His family sound the kind to accept you. Welcome you in fact. What parent can turn their back on a grandchild?’
‘My father for one!’
Rosie gave a long sigh. ‘I’d love a baby to enjoy and love and watch grow. Not having a father or mother as I grew up makes me want to give a good childhood to a daughter or son. But I don’t think I’ll ever marry.’
‘Why ever not? Of the three of us, I’d have bet good money on me being the one remaining alone, and look what happened to me. That’s what’s so wonderful about life. We none of us know what the new day will bring.’
That night there was a bombing raid on the airfield and as they stood in the trench Kate whispered, ‘This should shift it, if that’s what you want, poor little thing. You might not have to tell Duggie after all.’
All the planes took off immediately the warning was given, not wasting to remain on the ground as convenient targets. The bombers came over, heavy and sluggish compared with the fast, fierce fighter planes, but their aim was good and bombs destroyed three of the stores and one of the hangars. With hats as their only protection, they couldn’t resist looking up and watching the dog-fights going on above them.
They saw a bomber coming down, clearly out of control, and they ducked into the trench as an explosion rocked the ground, the sound of it going on for ever, the shrapnel clattering on corrugated roofs near them, alarmingly large pieces of planes crashing around them.
There was a brief and eerie silence before the sound of men and machines indicated the all clear and time to start clearing up. As soon as the raid ended, Ethel led the others to where the ambulances were already gathering up the wounded. They had helped before but this time they guessed the loss of personnel was high. Bodies littered the ruined buildings and were scattered on the ground, some unrecognizable as human beings.
They were unable to deal with it at first, walking slowly towards one of the victims, hoping someone would come and relieve them of the heart-breaking duty. It was little Rosie who reminded them that the tragic victims were people they had known and had probably served only hours before. She was comforted in some way by remembering how Baba had talked her through the aftermath of that first terrible raid.
‘Someone’s son, nephew, cousin, father, brother – or sister,’ she added as she stared sadly at the body of one of the Waafs. Many of the men and women had refused to leave their work and had stayed in the hangars.
Kate found it hardest to assist. She was tearful, trembling uncontrollably, and unable to approach the still forms of the dead or comfort the people lying horribly wounded. Rosie encouraged her but, realizing it was useless, she and Ethel sent her back to the canteen, reminding her that there was a need for hot drinks with plenty of sugar. ‘Forget about rationing for once. This is an emergency.’
While Kate and some of the others went back to check that the canteen was not damaged and begin the routine tasks of providing food and hot drinks, Ethel and Rosie went to help with first aid for the wounded. They were off duty but that was irrelevant at a time like this.
Outside, once the wounded and the dead had been taken away, work went on with the important task of making the runways serviceable again. The worst damage was around the buildings, which meant more injuries, but the runways had received hits and clearing the ruined buildings, salvaging what they could and filling in craters, went on at a pace, so the Spitfires could return to their base.
Their training was not thorough, but using their basic common sense and doing exactly what the doctors, nurses and orderlies told them to do, they gave valuable help in giving first aid to the wounded during the first few hours. The saddest part was laying out bodies for identification. Rosie, shy little Rosie, coped amazingly well. She spoke calmly to the wounded, dealt respectfully with the dead and, later, Ethel and several others told of the young girl’s dedication.
They returned to the canteen after three hours, exhausted but satisfied they had done all they could. The canteen building had mercifully escaped serious damage, having lost several windows, and a door, blown open by the blast, that was no longer able to be closed. But their hut was no longer habitable. They were back to sleeping in one of several hastily erected tents. Ethel gathered up the books and the cash and made sure it was handed over for safe keeping. That evening they volunteered for duty as the other shift had been working for even longer than themselves. For Ethel it was better to work than to wait for the flight to return. She heard them landing but they were too busy to go out and count them down.
When one of Duggie’s flight came in for sustenance, Ethel smiled and asked where Duggie was. ‘I’d have thought they’d finished debriefing by now, doesn’t he want a cup of tea?’ she asked. Then her throat tightened as she saw the sorrow in the man’s eyes. ‘He’s all right, isn’t he? I didn’t see him among the wounded and – tell me!’ she shouted.
‘Two Spitfires were lost and Duggie’s was one of them. He crashed in the field the other side of town. Making for the woods where he was unlikely to cause any further deaths,’ the stricken man said. His voice was trembly and he gestured to Rosie and Kate to go to her, then turned away. Ethel wouldn’t want to know about the fire and he didn’t have the strength to talk any more. He’d had enough tragedy for one day.
A few hours later, as Ethel lay unable, unwilling to sleep, the pains began and she suffered a painful and heartbreaking miscarriage.
‘It was one thing considering the inconvenience of having a baby, being all cool and calm and discussing it as though it was happening to someone else, but losing it was something very different. It’s devastating. Among all the deaths, all the insanity of this stupid war, it was a new life and new hope. I want it back,’ she sobbed as Rosie held her. ‘I want to hold Duggie’s child in my arms.’
Kate was tearfully sympathetic. Having been told so recently, the news had been exciting. She hadn’t had time to consider the down side of Ethel’s situation. Trying to prevent anyone from guessing that Ethel was unwell, she did more than her share of the work and allowed Ethel to rest for most of the shift the following day and the next.
After nights with practically no sleep following the exhaustion of the raid and its aftermath, the three of them were looking forward to sleeping once the lunchtime session was ended. They went into the repaired Nissen hut and collapsed on their beds with a sigh of relief, but two minutes later they heard, ‘Come on, ladies, the lorry’s coming in fifteen minutes and this time you really are leaving us,’ the sergeant shouted. ‘Off to Kent you are, you lucky people. Or was it Scotland? Or East Anglia? No, I’ve got it, it’s Berlin. You’re to get the food and char ready for when our boys arrive, OK?’
‘How many sugars in your tea?’ Kate asked. ‘Just in case you aren’t skiving as usual and actually get there!’
‘I can’t go,’ Ethel whispered. ‘I’ll have to report sick.’
‘Oh no you don’t. We aren’t going to be split up because you’ve got a bit of a problem. We’ll help. Rosie’ll carry your case and you can lean on me, right? Is my lipstick on straight? My hair not too straggly? My eye-shadow even? Off we go then to find some other poor unsuspecting lads to drive crazy with desire.’