Why hadn’t he told Pearl he loved her? That was the thought hammering in Greg’s mind when he woke up the next morning. But when the lists went up on the noticeboard a few hours later, informing him that all serviceable Lancasters would be flying ops that night, he knew why. Walking with Pearl in the dark, he had been swept away by the feel of her in his arms, but he knew that until he had completed his tour he couldn’t promise her anything.
Later, in the briefing, he groaned along with everyone else when the station commander pulled back the curtain to reveal a route marked out in red string heading for Mannheim, deep in enemy territory. This meant a long crossing over land, leaving them vulnerable to flak and night fighters.
He paid attention to the briefing as the Met Officer promised light winds but the possibility of cloud cover over the target. Next to him, Edwin Holland, his navigator, was scribbling notes about the wind speeds. ‘I don’t know why I bother,’ Edwin muttered in an aside in the pause in the briefing while the Met Officer moved to another board. ‘Last time they promised us light winds, we were nearly blown off course by vicious high-level winds.’
‘I’m sure you’ll find time to go to the Met Office to see what Jenny thinks.’ For Greg had noticed Edwin seemed rather keen on Jenny, and wondered why he had never asked her out. But he didn’t know Edwin well enough to ask him, the main reason being that Edwin was an officer and therefore not billeted with the rest of the crew. Greg often wondered if Edwin felt lonely, and made a note to include him in the general invitation to the pub that had become his habit on the day after a mission.
There he was, allowing himself to think ahead again. He had caught himself at it several times recently, most notably when he had been at Mr Haughton’s. When Pearl had been outlining her vision for the future of the Bombshell, he had pictured being there at her side. Mr Haughton’s comment that nobody knew what would happen in days to come had brought him back to reality with a nasty jolt, making him spill his tea.
Looking too far ahead was a dangerous habit to slip into. Greg turned his focus to the briefing. Not that he was superstitious, but he felt that the moment he took having a tomorrow for granted, he would stop concentrating on the job at hand. And even a test flight could be dangerous if he didn’t keep his whole mind on the job.
He managed to stick to his resolution for the remainder of the day, even resisting the temptation to seek out Pearl in the NAAFI in the afternoon lull when there was nothing more to do but wait until it was time to kit up. However, after he had written his letter to his parents, he still had a lot of time on his hands. So, picking up his pencil again and finding a fresh sheet of paper, he tried to put down in words what he wished he could say. He wrote from the heart, not taking the time to find the right word but letting them pour out onto the page.
He was reading it through when the call came round that it was time to head out to the Lancasters. He folded the letter to Pearl away carefully, then pocketed the letter to his parents and made his way to the lockers, following the crowd of airmen all heading in the same direction. It was funny how alone it was possible to feel even in a crowd.
Once he had put his parents’ letter in his locker along with his valuables, he glanced around the room to see if there was anyone present who shouldn’t be there, or anyone who seemed to be taking particular note of what the men were stowing away. But he couldn’t see anything that struck him as odd, so he made an effort to put his worries out of his mind. For him, leaving the locker room was the start of the process of forgetting his personal life and closing his mind to everything but the mission. By the time he had collected his Mae West and parachute, he was only thinking of C-Charlie and his crew.
‘Did you check our forecast with Jenny?’ Greg dropped into a seat on the crew bus next to Edwin. Thankfully, Edwin had never pulled rank and always deferred to him when they were in the air.
Edwin nodded. ‘She said she thought the forecast for low winds was optimistic, but she also pointed out that, as she only collects and plots the data and has nothing to do with forecasting, I shouldn’t take her word for it.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Are you kidding? She’s more widely read than I am. If she thinks there are going to be strong winds at high levels, I’m going to factor them in.’
‘Wise man.’
Time seemed to speed up then. One minute they were scrambling out of the bus at C-Charlie’s dispersal pen, the next moment Greg was strapping himself into the pilot’s seat, the next he was opening up the engines and speeding down the runway. Then they were in the air, climbing steeply.
‘Nice take-off, Skip,’ called out one of the gunners; Greg wasn’t sure which one.
‘All right, concentrate, everyone. Navigator, course.’
Edwin called out the bearing, and they were on their way, joining a stream of bombers they couldn’t see but knew they must be close to. Greg took his own advice and concentrated on his instruments, taking care to stay at his designated height.
The moment they crossed the Dutch coast, Greg’s fears of heavy flak were borne out. Brilliant flashes burst close to the aircraft, buffeting them wildly, and searchlights scanned the skies. ‘Navigator,’ he called over the intercom, meaning to ask for a course that would take them round the worst of the explosions, but at that moment a cry came from one of the gunners.
‘Lanc going down to port!’
Even as the words tore across the intercom, Greg saw a streak of scarlet plummet only yards from the tip of C-Charlie’s port wing. He instinctively banked, and doing so probably saved their lives, for a fighter appeared out of nowhere, spitting glowing streams of tracer fire at the point where C-Charlie’s tail would have been if Greg hadn’t made his sudden manoeuvre. It shot below his line of sight; simultaneously, several of the crew yelled out belated warnings. Greg didn’t wait for it to come back but threw the machine into a series of violent manoeuvres. He heard the rattle of gunfire, then Sid Eccles, the mid-upper gunner, saying, ‘I think I got it, Skip.’
Greg returned to his designated altitude and levelled out, holding his breath, expecting at any moment to feel the craft judder as bullets struck. But apart from the turbulence from the flak storm, nothing impeded C-Charlie’s flight. ‘Did anyone else see it go down?’ he asked the crew.
There was a chorus of, ‘No, Skip,’ and, ‘Sorry Gramps,’ and a groan from the unfortunate Sid, who would be unable to claim his ‘kill’.
‘Keep your eyes peeled,’ he told them. ‘We can’t count on luck like that again.’ Then, to Edwin, ‘Navigator, bearing.’
After only the briefest of pauses, indicating that Edwin had already anticipated the request and was working on it, Edwin said, ‘One six niner, Skip.’ Once Greg had completed his course correction, eyes straining all the while for any sign of more enemy fighters, Edwin added, ‘The wind speed’s much stronger than forecast. Good thing I paid attention to Jenny. I’ll have to tell her next time I see her.’
This was far too much like forward planning for Greg’s liking. ‘Keep your mind on your task. Get us to the target and have a return course ready for the moment the photo flash goes off. And that applies to all of you,’ he said for the benefit of the rest of the crew. ‘I want your minds alert and your eyes keeping a sharp lookout.’
There was a chorus of assent, and they flew on.
Although they saw more flak as they crossed into Germany, the defences seemed to be concentrating on the aircraft ahead of C-Charlie. Greg wouldn’t let himself or anyone relax, though, and reminded the crew to keep a lookout for enemy fighters. This was one of the longest missions he had flown, and the strain was beginning to tell. Lancasters were huge aircraft, and each manoeuvre took an effort. He could feel his mental and physical reserves draining, so for the first time, he took one of the ‘wakey wakey’ Benzedrine pills pilots were routinely provided with. As the minutes ticked by, he found it had an odd effect, making him feel simultaneously weary and wide awake.
It was a profound relief when Holland announced they were four minutes from the target. Greg sat a little straighter and started looking for signs of the raid – flashes of flak, the glow of fires and the coloured flares the Pathfinders should have used to mark the target. Without needing to be told, Fitz slid down into the bomb aimer’s compartment. Most men would have had a scramble to get into the cramped space, but Fitz had a catlike knack of fitting into the most unlikely nooks and crannies.
‘Over to you, Bomb Aimer,’ Greg said.
‘Right, Skip.’ Then a moment later Fitz muttered something inaudible followed by: ‘Target’s completely obscured by cloud, Skip. No sign of any marker flares.’
The words had barely reached Greg’s ears when a loud explosion rocked C-Charlie, throwing Greg against his harness.
‘Bugger me, that was close!’
Greg thought it was Sid. ‘Report – any damage?’
‘Nothing, Skip. We got lucky there.’
More flak was exploding around them, orange flashes lighting the cockpit. Greg knew their luck could fail at any moment. ‘Navigator, confirm we’re on course.’
‘We’re spot-on, Gramps. One minute to target.’
Greg thought rapidly. He could repeat the bomb run and hope the cloud cover cleared, or continue by dead reckoning and release the bombs when Edwin said they were over the target.
Then Fitz cried, ‘Skipper, I can see the marker flares. We’re nearly there.’
Greg relaxed. A recent development in Bomber Command had been the introduction of the elite Pathfinder squadrons. They were the first aircraft at the destination and dropped coloured flares onto the targets. This gave the following bombers a clear site to place their bombs. The Pathfinder squadrons had started up while the squadrons at Fenthorpe had been on training missions with their new Avro Lancasters. Now they were back on operational duty, it made finding the target much easier. Even Greg, who didn’t have the clear view that Fitz had, looking as he did through a glass panel in the nose, could see the red flares a little way ahead with ease.
‘Left, left, steady,’ Fitz called. Then, ‘Bombs gone.’
The moment the photo flash came, Edwin called out the new bearing without being asked. Greg banked immediately, willing them out of the danger zone before they were hit by flak or another fighter plane. He had barely completed the manoeuvre when there came a loud crash, and the Lancaster rocked violently. Greg felt the shock through the control column and had to fight to stay on course.
‘Report!’ he yelled.
There was a lengthy pause, long enough for Greg to fear the worst. Then came: ‘Tail gunner here, Skip. There’s a hole in the fuselage the size of Lincoln Cathedral. Sid and George are down.’
‘How bad?’ Greg ran a quick eye over the instrument panel but couldn’t see any sign of any systems failure. It was a blow to have both the mid-upper gunner and the wireless operator out of action, though.
‘I can’t tell,’ came the reply. ‘My hydraulics have jammed and I can’t get out to see them.’
‘You’d better get back to see what’s happening,’ Greg told Allan Doughty, the flight engineer, who was already unbuckling his harness. ‘See if you can get Knight free and tell him to man the turret.’ They would be hopelessly vulnerable to attack if all their gunners were out of action. ‘Fitz, get back there and give first aid. Then man Sid’s gun if he’s not able to.’
He immediately addressed the helpless tail gunner. ‘Help’s on the way, Knight. Hang on.’
‘I don’t have much bleeding choice, do I?’ came the reply.
Greg winced at the fear in Jack Knight’s voice and could only imagine what it must be like to be trapped in that exposed perspex bubble with flak exploding all around him. ‘I bet you anything you like we’ll get you out safe and sound.’
‘Anything?’
‘Anything at all.’
‘Okay. If I make it back, you have to hang the adjutant’s cap in a tree.’
‘Deal.’ Greg had no idea how he was to get hold of Sheldrick’s cap, but he’d agree to anything at the moment if it took Knight’s mind off his predicament.
By this time Doughty had reached the tail gunner’s position, and Greg fell silent as he waited for a report. All he could do was continue along the course Edwin had given him and pray they weren’t coned by the searchlights. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he saw three searchlights home in on an unfortunate Lancaster, pinning it in full view while flak converged on the area. Then two fighters came into view, both making for the helpless Lancaster that couldn’t shake itself free from the cone of light no matter how much it turned and dived. Greg watched with his heart full of pity as it caught fire, then plummeted into a steep spinning dive. He saw no parachutes, nor did he expect to, knowing it would be impossible for the crew to extricate themselves once the Lancaster had started to spin, as they would be pinned by centrifugal force.
Along with pity, he also felt guilt. Guilt at the relief he felt that the defences had focused on another Lancaster, leaving them free to escape. He put C-Charlie’s nose down, sacrificing height for more speed in his bid to reach the coast and get away from the flak batteries and searchlights before their luck ran out.
It was some time before Doughty returned. ‘I managed to get Jack free, and he’s now manning the mid-upper turret. The hydraulics on the tail gunner’s turret have seized up, so we’ve lost that position. His shoulder took a hit from shrapnel, but it’s not too bad. I managed to stop the bleeding and he insists he’s well enough.’
‘How about George and Sid?’
‘Not good but I think they’ll make it. Sid got a nasty wound to the side, and George burned his hands putting out a fire where the shrapnel hit. He’ll be okay but his hands are too badly burned to operate the wireless. Fitz is still giving Sid first aid.’
‘Just great.’ Greg addressed the rest of the crew. ‘Everyone who can stay on his feet, I need you to keep a sharp lookout. We don’t have a hope shooting back at any fighters, so we’ll need to evade them. Sing out if you see anything.’
Taking his own advice, Greg stared out into the night sky, looking for the slightest movement against the stars that would reveal a night fighter. The return flight was going to be a long, tense journey.
Pearl couldn’t sleep. She had stood outside, watching the Lancasters take off on their mission and listening to the fading growl of their engines. Then she had returned to her hut. But sleep eluded her. She wished she was on duty. At least then she would know when the first Lancasters returned, and she would know when C-Charlie arrived. But here in her narrow bed, all she could do was toss and turn, trying to get comfortable, clutching the thin blankets around her as, once the stove had gone out, the heat faded. Although she knew it would be hours before the planes returned, she couldn’t help but strain her ears, listening for the first sound of Merlin engines.
Minutes stretched into hours until finally she could bear it no longer. She scrambled out of bed and groped for her uniform. She would go and volunteer with the WAAFs who made tea for the returning crews. At least then she would see Greg the minute he arrived. Or be among the first to know if he didn’t make it. As awful as that would be, it was preferable to hearing it from someone else, seeing the bad news in their eyes before they even said the words.
As she crept to the door, pulling on her coat, a sleepy voice spoke from the darkness. ‘Where are you going?’ It was Jenny, thankfully.
‘The operations block. To help with making the tea.’
‘Hang on. I’m coming with you.’
A short while later, they were on their bikes, heading for the place outside the operations block where the buses would unload the returning crews. A small huddle of WAAFs had already gathered, bundled in their coats and stamping their feet to stay warm. Pearl was surprised to see Thea there, for she had been on duty that day and would have been working on C-Charlie, her assigned Lancaster, until the crew had boarded. ‘Couldn’t you sleep, either?’ she asked.
Thea shook her head. ‘The crew are like family. I often stay up when they’re flying ops.’
‘You do?’ Why had she never known? An uncomfortable thought occurred: maybe Thea was right. Maybe she still hadn’t learned to listen to her sister.
Then an even more unwelcome thought struck. If Thea regularly volunteered to meet the returning crews, she would be around the lockers at night when they were unattended. And no one had reported any valuables missing until after Thea had arrived at Fenthorpe.
Pearl scarcely heard Thea’s reply over the ringing in her ears. No. She refused to believe it. Her gut reaction when Greg had accused Thea had been to defend her, and she stood by that decision. Hadn’t Greg himself admitted that it would have been just like Max to give Thea his tiepin? She had known Thea since the day her sister was born and, although she had often despaired that she would never stop getting herself into trouble, that trouble had always been down to mischievousness and lack of common sense. She had never done anything criminal.
‘Do you know where tonight’s target is?’ she asked Thea now, more for the sake of dispelling the unwanted suspicion than for any real interest. If she’d been on duty that night she would have known, but the location was kept a closely guarded secret from anyone who didn’t need to know.
‘Mannheim,’ Thea told her. ‘I heard the crews talking about it when they were boarding the plane.’
Mannheim. Pearl dredged up the memory of the maps pinned up around the Watch Office. That was well inland. Greg didn’t often speak of his missions, but he had said that the further over enemy territory they had to fly, the more trouble the anti-aircraft defences were. She gazed up at the sky, wishing she could hear the sound of the returning Lancasters.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood craning her neck, but her focus was jolted back to ground level when someone patted her arm. It was Jenny. ‘They’ll be fine. It’s too soon to expect anyone back – Mannheim’s a long flight.’
‘I know. I’m sure you’re right. I can’t bear this waiting though. My mind seems to run away with itself and picture all sorts of horrors.’ She turned to Thea to make a comment, only to see a space where she had stood. ‘Jenny, did you see where Thea went?’
Jenny shook her head. ‘No idea. Wait. Is that her?’
Pearl looked and saw Thea’s dim shape emerging from the door of the operations block. ‘Sorry,’ she said when she got back to Pearl’s side. ‘I was bursting for the loo. This cold wind is playing havoc with my bladder. I had a good idea, though.’
‘While you were on the loo?’
Then it struck Pearl that there wasn’t a ladies’ lavatory in any of the buildings Thea could have come from. But before she could say anything, Thea laughed and said, ‘I get all my best ideas there, don’t you? Anyway, I thought this might make a good article for the Bombshell. Instead of A Day in the Life, we could write A Night in the Life and describe what it’s like to wait for the bombers to come back.’
‘That’s not a bad idea. Do you want to write it?’ And Pearl pushed aside her glimmer of suspicion in her eagerness to occupy her mind with the newspaper.
It was a good hour before Jenny suddenly said, ‘Quiet! Can you hear engines?’
Her heart racing, Pearl held her breath and listened. It took a moment but then she heard it too: a distant throb, more felt than heard. A hush fell over the group, and Pearl wondered how many girls, like her, were silently praying that their sweethearts were returning safely. The distant noise resolved itself into a hum and then a roar.
‘It’s them!’ Jenny cried.
Soon the dark shapes appeared in the sky, and the runway flares were lit. As the Lancasters descended one at a time and made their landings, Pearl wished more than ever that she was in Flying Control, listening to the voices of the pilots as they requested their landing instructions. Greg might have already landed, but she wouldn’t know until the buses returned, bringing the crews back to be debriefed.
The first buses set out for the dispersal points, and the WAAFs hurried into the small kitchen to make the tea. Even though she was now occupied, Pearl continued to count the returning bombers. Thirty had taken off earlier – she had counted every one as it roared overhead. Now she kept a mental tally as they returned. Four so far, the ear-splitting noise as each landed and then taxied to the dispersal points drowning out the noise of any others that might be approaching. Then the buses started to roll up to the huts, and the WAAFs hurried to meet them as the crewmen climbed out, making sure each one was given a mug of tea.
‘Thanks, love,’ the man said who took Pearl’s offering. He wrapped his hands round the mug and grinned at her. ‘Perishing cold up there tonight.’
Pearl eyed all the emerging men intently and her heart fell when she didn’t see any faces she recognised. But already the air was filled with the drone of more engines. Surely C-Charlie would be among them.
The men filed off towards the locker room and then on to the debriefing hut. Pearl had been tempted to ask them if anyone knew if C-Charlie was safe, but she remembered Greg telling her that they usually didn’t know of the fate of any of the other members of their squadron until they were back on the ground and could see for themselves who was there. So with each man she greeted him with a smile as she handed him his tea and said, ‘Welcome back,’ and let him move on. Some of the men were gabbling and laughing ten to the dozen, slapping each other on the back and discussing their next trip to the pub. Pearl thought they were probably feeling the effects of an adrenaline surge now that they knew they had survived another dangerous mission. Other men seemed to be so tired they could barely hold up their heads. She watched them file past, all the while counting the next group of Lancasters coming in to land. Eight… nine… ten. It was only with a great effort that she continued filling more mugs and handing them out and stopped herself from running all the way to Flying Control to consult the board and find out which Lancasters were back and which were still unaccounted for.
The main group of Lancasters seemed to be arriving now, and for some time they circled the airfield, waiting for their turn to land; and, as time went on, Pearl’s tally slowly but steadily increased to twenty. Each time a bus rolled up she would start forward eagerly, only to be disappointed when none of Greg’s crew emerged, although she did her best to hide her disappointment and welcome each man back with a friendly smile.
There was another lull in the arrivals when the count reached twenty-five. Pearl, who had fought back her anxiety throughout the early arrivals, now felt sick. But many of the crews were still with their Lancasters, waiting for buses, so she tried to comfort herself by telling herself: He’ll be on the next one. He’s got to be here. Just wait. I’ll see him get out of the next bus, and imagine how glad he will be to see me.
The buses were bringing the last of the crews that had so far arrived when Jenny grabbed her arm.
‘Can you hear it – more Lancasters!’
She looked almost as fraught as Pearl felt, and she was reminded that Jenny was friends with Greg too. And Edwin. The reminder that she wasn’t alone in her fears prompted her to offer Jenny a reassuring smile. ‘I’m sure C-Charlie will be in this group.’
‘She’d better be,’ Thea said, appearing as if by magic at Pearl’s side. Pearl had noticed that many of the ground crew and aircrews referred to the Lancasters in the feminine, in the same way that sailors referred to their ships. ‘If Greg doesn’t bring her back in one piece, I’ll give him an earful for giving the crew more work.’
Pearl chuckled, although she didn’t feel much like laughing. ‘And I’ll tell him off for giving us a scare. Come on, that’s the next bus arriving.’
But C-Charlie’s crew wasn’t on that one, either. Finally, twenty-eight Lancasters were back, their crews all transported to the operations block and given their tea, while C-Charlie’s crew was conspicuous by its absence. Although Pearl stared at the sky, willing the darkness to lift so she could gaze to the horizon and search for the two final Lancasters, the sun stubbornly refused to rise. And two Lancasters remained unaccounted for: C-Charlie and P-Peter.
The WAAFs in the kitchen started to pack up. ‘Might as well face it, that’s all we’re getting back tonight.’
‘Oh, please wait a little longer,’ Pearl begged. ‘I’m sure they’ll be back in a minute, and they’ll be desperate for a hot drink.’
The woman in charge relented. ‘I’ll give them another fifteen minutes.’
‘Thank you. They’ll be here soon, I’m sure of it.’ But she wasn’t sure at all. She kept telling herself that just because Greg hadn’t got back to Fenthorpe, it didn’t mean he wasn’t safe – he might have made an emergency landing at another airfield. But as the minutes ticked by, she felt her faith draining away.
Then, ten minutes into the fifteen-minute extension, Pearl heard the unmistakable sound of Merlin engines. ‘This is them, it has to be.’ The wait while the Lancaster came in to land and taxied to its dispersal point was unbearable. A bus set off to meet the crew, and then Thea announced in a low voice, ‘They’ve sent ambulances.’
‘Oh, God.’ A layer of ice seemed to be constricting Pearl’s heart. There came another agonising wait until the bus returned.
When it jerked to a halt with a squeal of brakes, Pearl grabbed a cup of tea, marvelling that she had strength enough to hold it. She approached the bus, fighting to drag air into her lungs.
When the door opened and Greg stepped out, Pearl thought her legs would fold up under her. She did her best to put on a bright smile, knowing he must be exhausted and not wanting to let him see her fear. ‘Welcome back,’ she said, handing him the mug.
There was definitely light in the sky now, enough to see that he looked tired, but he brightened when he saw her. ‘Now there’s a sight for sore eyes. Sorry if we gave you a scare. We were dodging enemy fighters over the North Sea and took a roundabout route home as a result.’
‘I’m just glad to see you back. I heard they’d sent ambulances to your crew.’
‘Nothing too bad, thank God. Some shrapnel wounds. The wireless operator and mid-upper gunner will be out of action for a few days but should be okay.’
Knowing Greg was exhausted and still had to endure the debriefing, she gave him a little push. ‘Go on. I’m sure you’re anxious to finish up and get to bed.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll come and look for you in the NAAFI tomorrow afternoon if you’re around?’
‘I’ll be there some time after two.’
He gave her a jaunty wave and strode off after the rest of his crew.
Pearl knew she should return to her hut to grab what sleep she could, but found she was shaking so much she had to lean against the nearest wall. How many more times would she have to do this? How many more anxious waits could she bear? Maybe I should request a transfer. It might not be so bad if I didn’t know for sure which nights he was on ops.
Then a tap on the arm roused her from her musings. ‘Come on, Pearl, you look exhausted,’ Jenny said.
Pearl levered herself off the wall and followed Jenny to fetch their bikes.
‘Awful about P-Peter, isn’t it?’ Jenny said in a low voice as she picked up her bicycle.
‘Is there any definite news?’ Pearl felt terrible for forgetting about the other late bomber.
‘No. Just listed as missing.’
Pearl stepped onto her pedals, thinking of the families of P-Peter’s crew who now faced an agony of uncertainty. At least she had the comfort of knowing Greg had arrived safely. This time.