SKIMPTON HAD FILLED up with Americans. They were camped along the riverbanks and on the village green. Children followed them singing ‘Got any gum, chum.’ They started collections of empty Lucky Strike packets they found in the street. They made money doing the chip run – fetching fish and chips from the shop and taking them back to the camp. Twice the pub ran out of beer. There were fights about that since locals thought the owners of the pub should save the alcohol for them. ‘We’ll be here long after them Yanks have gone.’ When it was overflowing with customers, and the glasses ran out, beer was served in jam jars.
Every day the soldiers in training ran through the village, and beyond, carrying full kit, wearing camouflage pants and vests. Mr and Mrs Brent made a point of watching the show.
‘Them Yanks have nice bodies,’ said Mrs Brent. ‘Fifty years ago, I’d have allowed them a few cuddles.’
‘Fifty years ago I’d have fought them for you,’ said Mr Brent.
‘Fifty years ago I’d have been worth fighting for,’ said Mrs Brent.
‘Yer worth fighting for now,’ said Mr Brent. ‘But fifty years ago you were a bit of a lass.’
She took his arm and said, ‘Happy days.’
When Izzy skimmed by on her bike, going home, soldiers hooted, whistled and clapped. She was usually too tired to notice or care.
‘There won’t be a virgin left in the village,’ Julia said.
Diane said she doubted there had been many left before they arrived.
Morning and they were in the mess waiting for Edith to bustle in telling them the chits were up.
Izzy was, as usual, spread out over two chairs and in a semi-snooze while watching Dolores, back after two days’ leave, hold up her left hand, fingers spread.
‘Hey, you guys, I’m married.’
Julia snorted. ‘I knew she was after Alfie.’
Diane said, ‘Well, good for her.’
‘I’ll be Lady Meyers,’ said Dolores. ‘But you can still call me Dolores.’
‘We plan to,’ said Julia.
‘We did it yesterday. Just me and Alfie and Mr and Mrs Ramsay.’
Diane asked, ‘Who are they – friends of yours?’
Dolores shrugged. ‘A couple who were passing by. We asked them to be witnesses. Anyway, we just snuck off and married. Big celebrations on Saturday night.’ She held her arms out wide, indicating the bigness of the celebrations. ‘Party at our place, everyone’s invited.’
‘Our place,’ said Julia. ‘Five minutes married and she’s calling Alfie’s home our place. It’s been in his family for centuries. I’m not going to the party.’
Diane called her a sourpuss. She congratulated Dolores and shouted that she’d definitely come to the party. ‘I love a party.’ She turned to Julia. ‘You’re a fool. Alfie throws a wonderful party. And have you seen his wine cellar? It’s vast. Stretches for bloody miles, a huge labyrinth. That’s where all his money’s gone. Wine and the horses. Even counting the amount they swig every night, there’s bound to be lots left for us.’ She leaned forwards, face close to Julia’s. ‘When did you last have a decent glass of Margaux?’
Julia thought about this. ‘I can’t remember. Actually, Walter might like to go. I could introduce you.’
‘Excellent,’ said Diane. ‘Introducing your young man to your friends, this must be getting serious.’
Julia shrugged. ‘A little. Anyway, he’s not young. He’s even older than you.’
Diane smiled and said, ‘Pour soul.’ She turned to Izzy and asked, ‘Going to the party?’
Izzy said she was working on Saturday. ‘I’ll be tired.’
‘Nonsense. You can come with me. We’ll sweep in together and take the place by storm. Then we’ll get filthy drunk and tell each other our dirty secrets.’
‘I don’t have any dirty secrets.’
‘Well, get some by Saturday. I want to hear them.’
Edith stuck her head round the door, said, ‘Chits are up,’ then disappeared. There was the usual scramble, elbowing and jostling and Edith shouting for order.
Julia was duty pilot today, flying the taxi Anson. She dropped Izzy and Diane off at Preston, where they were to pick up Spitfires to deliver to Elvington. Izzy said she’d see Wanda.
‘Good-oh,’ said Diane. ‘I’d like to meet Wanda.’
‘He’s actually Jean-Louis, but he’s stuck in my mind as Wanda.’
‘Well, as long as he doesn’t mind,’ said Diane.
‘He only became Wanda so he could fly. Anything to fly, I suppose.’
‘The things people do for a thrill,’ said Diane.
The planes were ready. Izzy climbed in, did her cockpit check and thanked the ground crewman who helped her into her harness. She put on her helmet, taxied to the end of the runway and, when she got a green light, took off. Diane followed, five minutes behind her.
By now, Izzy knew the countryside into Yorkshire well, and barely had to look at her map as she headed towards York. Cows in fields didn’t look up, but sheep, she noticed, still scudded in all directions, tiny hurtling white bodies, as she skimmed overhead.
She was in the air so much these days, she even flew in her dreams. Not the lovely flying dreams she had when she was a little girl. This dream was full of the thrum and throb of being in an aeroplane. She’d wake up surprised to find she was in bed. No matter what she did, what perfume she might put on or how many baths she took, she still felt she smelled of petrol and hot metal.
She landed, taxied to the delivery bay, went through the ground routine – tail wheel unlocked, gills open, gauges check, flaps up. She powdered her nose, fixed her lipstick, ran her fingers through her hair and climbed out. Diane was now coming in. She went through the same routine. Together they went to get their chits signed. Then, in the mess, they looked for Wanda.
‘He’s small,’ said Izzy scanning the faces in the mess. ‘Smokes all the time.’
‘Well, that could be anybody,’ said Diane.
Izzy remarked on how quiet it was.
‘Indeed,’ said Diane. She knew that kind of quiet when she heard it. And she’d often heard it. It was the stunned hush that fell on a squadron when they’d suffered heavy losses. She went to the counter to fetch their tea. She thought Izzy might need a cup, she doubted Wanda was going to be around today.
She turned, saw Izzy sitting at a table, hand over her mouth. She’d been told about her friend.
‘Over France,’ said Izzy. ‘Two nights ago. Nobody saw him bale out.’
Diane put her hand over Izzy’s. For a while neither of them spoke. Then Izzy said, ‘He was a frightful lech. All he thought about was flying and sex.’
Diane said she’d met the type. ‘But you liked him?’
‘Oh, enormously. He was fun. Julia would say he’s been bumped orff.’
‘It’s only her way of dealing with things. We all have our own way of coping. I’ve decided to wait till the war’s over, then I’m going to lock myself in my bedroom and cry for days and days. I’ve lost a lot of people.’ She caught Izzy’s look. ‘Starting with my husband. He went down in the Battle of Britain somewhere over the English Channel. I’m not over it. I just try not to think about it. Not for now, anyway.’ She held up her cup. ‘Tea today, tears tomorrow.’
That night, Izzy went to bed early. Outside she could hear American soldiers walking by the river whistling at local girls who were also walking by the river.
She lay in the dark, and, as Mrs Brent would say, made friends with her sadness. She’d found Wanda again, and now she’d lost him. Her father had always told her she wasn’t alone, whatever happened to her happened to others. So probably, right now, in homes all over the world people were grieving for friends, lovers, husbands, sons and daughters they’d never see again. Her father told her thinking of others sharing her grief or loneliness would be a comfort. But, lying there, staring into the gloom, she discovered it wasn’t.
She heard Claire slip out of the front door, going wherever it was she went these nights. Izzy didn’t know, but she suspected to a lover. Later Julia and Walter came in. They’d gone for dinner at the Golden Mallard. She listened to their voices bubble up from the kitchen where they were making tea, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. But when they moved from the kitchen to the living room, Izzy heard Julia say, ‘I don’t want a big do, darling. Just us at the registry office, then a few days together somewhere quiet. Long walks, lovely dinners a lot of time in bed. Then back to work for us both.’
Walter said, ‘Suits me.’
Then they went into the living room, shut the door and Izzy couldn’t hear anything more. But she thought, Gosh. Julia’s getting married. She sighed, and acknowledged a pang of jealousy. She didn’t want to get married, but it would be nice to be asked.
Her love affair was made up of snatched moments. She and Jimmy walked together by the river, they had meals at the Golden Mallard, they drank warm beer at the pub. But most of their time together was spent in bed. He told her he loved her body, her hair, her voice. But he never told her he loved her. She sat up and punched her pillow, and cursed. ‘Bloody life,’ she said. She considered saying ‘fuck’, but couldn’t. It was too rude. Besides, that was the word Jimmy had encouraged her to say. Not saying it pleased her. She wasn’t sure that she and Jimmy were speaking right now.
He’d phoned earlier in the evening. ‘How are you?’ he’d asked.
She’d told him she was fine. ‘Well, not so fine. I found out that my friend died.’
She’d told him about Wanda. He was sorry to hear that, told her to take care of herself.
‘Are you free tomorrow night?’ Izzy had asked. ‘Only one of the pilots got married and she’s having a party. She’s American. It’s in this big house.’ Thinking these two things would swing it.
‘Izzy,’ he’d said. ‘I’ve had three hours’ sleep and I’m going on duty. All I want to do tomorrow is sleep some more. I’m not in a party mood. Actually –’ But, they were cut off.
Izzy had stared at the receiver, tried to phone him back but the operator told her there were no lines available. In bed now, after listening to the world outside, feeling jealous of Julia and punching her pillow, she settled down to worry about that ‘actually’. What had it meant? What was about to come after it? Actually, I don’t want to see you again? Actually, I’ve met someone else? Actually, I’ve been posted abroad? ‘Damn,’ said Izzy. ‘Damn blast and bugger the phones. Bugger the war. Bugger everything. And bugger saying fuck, I’m not going to do it.’
Next day was warm. The air was soft, the sky cloudless. This was perfection, cycling to work, shirtsleeves rolled up, jacket draped over the handlebars of her bike. Izzy sped in front of Julia and Claire. Today was a flying day for sure. She forgot her worries, because nothing mattered more than joining the sky.
She and Diane were given a plum job, flying back and forth, taking four Spitfires to a unit down the coast where they’d be packed for sending abroad. Izzy took the Spitfires, Diane followed in a Fairfax, a small plane used for ferrying one or two passengers. ‘Lovely work,’ she said.
On the way back from the first delivery, Diane said they might get off early. ‘Give us plenty of time to get tiddled up for the party. Is your young man coming?’
‘No,’ said Izzy. ‘He’s awfully tired. He’s hardly getting any sleep.’
‘Pour soul,’ said Diane. ‘You’re going, though?’
Izzy said she was. ‘I want to meet Alfie.’
Diane told her she’d love him. ‘He’s a sweetie.’ Then, she added, ‘I hope you’ve got your dirty secrets ready. You promised me you’d divulge them.’
‘I don’t have any dirty secrets,’ said Izzy. ‘Do you?’
Diane said of course she did. ‘Very juicy they are, too.’
By now they were circling Skimpton airfield, Diane was too busy landing the plane to say more.
It wasn’t till the second trip back to base, over an hour and a half later, after the second plane had been delivered and signed for, that Izzy got the chance to ask Diane about her secret.
‘I’ll tell you one, if you tell me one. It has to be good, though.’
Izzy said, ‘OK. You first.’
‘My daughter is not my husband’s child.’ She turned to Izzy, smiled and raised her eyebrows. ‘Beat that.’
Izzy said, ‘Really. Did your husband know?’
‘Of course he did. I was very young, very alone and very afraid. Henry was my only friend and when I told him, he offered to marry me.’
Izzy asked, ‘What about the real father?’
‘Oh, he was in the army and buggered off to India as soon as he found out I was in the pudding club. Henry stepped forwards, saved me from scandal. Didn’t even flinch when my father called him a scoundrel.’
‘You must miss him,’ said Izzy.
‘Every minute of every day. Except for when I’m flying, and when I’m being naughty with my lover.’
‘You have a lover!’ said Izzy. ‘Who?’
‘That’s a whole new dirty secret. And one I am never going to divulge.’
‘Do I know him?’
‘Not telling,’ said Diane.
By now they were back at Skimpton, Diane was waiting for a green landing light and was preoccupied. ‘It’s your turn, Izzy. Next trip, you confess.’
The next trip, the third of the day, was in the afternoon. The sun was high. Izzy leaned against the window of the plane, watching its shadow skim over the fields below. This always fascinated her.
‘So,’ said Diane. ‘What’s your dirty secret? I won’t tell.’
‘My boyfriend thinks I’m too withdrawn. I should embrace life more. Laugh and swear and let go.’
‘Yes,’ said Diane. ‘He’s right. You should. But that’s not a secret, that’s more of a moan. You’re looking for sympathy and you’re not going to get it from me. I agree with him. Secrets, please, Izzy. That’s the game we’re playing.’
Izzy didn’t take her eyes off the speeding shadow below. ‘My father doesn’t know what I’m doing. I let him think I’m an ops officer. An assistant ops officer, actually.’
‘Why on earth did you do that?’
‘He thinks a woman’s place is in the home, in the kitchen. Preferably making puddings.’
‘You can’t beat a pudding-making woman,’ said Diane. ‘I do like my puddings.’
‘So do I,’ said Izzy. ‘Maybe one day I’ll take up pudding-making. But right now I’d rather be a pilot. Only my father thinks it’s a man’s job. He’s sure no man would want me because of that. And he hates to see women in trousers. It really upsets him.’
‘That’s his problem, not yours. You have to tell him what you do. You should be proud to be a pilot.’
‘I am.’
‘So tell him.’
‘It isn’t that easy,’ said Izzy. ‘You don’t know what he’s like. He’s right about everything. He has a loud voice that drowns you out. He’s a man. He’s full of manness.’
‘Oh, I know what he’s like. I had to tell my own father when I was but a slip of an unmarried girl that I was pregnant. I know about that rightness and the utter, controlling manness.’
Izzy said, ‘Well, you’ll understand why I haven’t told him.’
‘I understand. But I don’t condone it. You can’t be one Izzy – the Izzy we all know and love here at the base – and another Izzy back at home. You can’t live by another person’s rules. You have to be you, the complete Izzy, wherever you are.’ She looked over at Izzy to see what her reaction was. But Izzy wasn’t looking at her; she was staring down at the shadow. ‘Look,’ said Diane. ‘I’ll come with you and we’ll confront your father together. Or, even better, invite him down here to visit us. Me, Julia, Claire and Dolores will win him over with our womanly wiles; he won’t be able to resist. He’ll be so proud that you’re one of us, a lady pilot.’
‘I don’t think I am one of you,’ said Izzy. ‘I’m just me.’
Diane asked what the hell she meant by that.
Izzy said that the other pilots were all rich. ‘You’re all poised and confident and you’ve all got posh accents. I’m just ordinary.’
‘Oh, Izzy, that’s nonsense. You’re not ordinary. Nobody’s ordinary. Ordinary’s a myth dreamed up by people with no self-confidence. You think Julia and Claire and the others don’t doubt themselves? Of course they do. You went to proper school, learned about poetry and grammar and multiplication. We got taught by governesses. We learned what fork to use at dinner parties, how to walk with our heads up, how to keep silent when men were talking, how to shoot and ride. We were groomed for marriage. This working for a living is a revelation to us. We all think that you know so much more than we do about life, proper life. God, I envy you working for Betty Stokes Flying Show. Izzy? Are you listening to me? Can I ask what the hell you’re looking at?’
‘I’m watching our shadow,’ said Izzy. ‘We’re being followed by a cloud.’
Diane looked down. ‘That’s not a cloud. That’s smoke.’
Izzy looked harder. ‘It is smoke. Bloody hell.’
They were coming into Skimpton and could see the base.
‘Damn fuel tank’s leaking,’ said Diane. She was calm, composed. ‘We’ll just shoot over the base. Let them see what’s up. Perhaps you should jump out.’
‘At this height,’ said Izzy. ‘I’ll hit the ground before my parachute opens. Besides, I don’t want to jump out. I’ve always dreaded doing that. And I won’t leave you.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Izzy, it’s only a little fire. We’re just about home. I’ll be fine.’
‘So, I’ll be fine, too.’
By the time they were skimming over the base, flames were sparking out, caught in the slipstream, flashing behind them. People on the ground saw them and started running. Hooters sounded. The ambulance and fire engines, bells clanging, raced up the runway.
Diane brought the plane low. ‘Bloody hell, Izzy. I’m not liking this at all.’
Flames licked up the side of the cockpit. Shot past Izzy’s face. ‘Fuck!’ she shouted.
‘That’s the ticket,’ said Diane. ‘Bit of cursing helps.’
They bumped down, rushed along the runway. Flames curled round the plane. Smoke curdled round them, thick billows. Izzy wrestled with Diane’s harness. She couldn’t see what she was doing.
The fire engine was clanging alongside them. Izzy was aware of people outside. The plane slowed, stopped. The roar of the blaze drowned her shouts. ‘I can’t see anything!’
There were people on the wing outside, yanking at the door. Hands were reaching for her, grabbing her, hauling at her. She was pulled out. Dragged clear.
The noise was awful. Hooters – the airfield alarm – an ambulance and fire engine bells rattling, people shouting. There was a woman screaming.
Several men were holding Izzy. One had her in a headlock. She struggled, bit and kicked. The heat was searing and she was being heaved back from it. She realised that she was the woman screaming. She was flailing her arms, shouting, ‘Diane’s still in there! Diane’s still in there!’