The Girls in Blue

by Fenella J Miller

  She tipped her irons onto the table and was about to butter the toast when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

  ‘ACW1 374, the adjutant wishes to speak to you.’

  Blearily she dropped her cutlery, took a swig from her tea and followed the NCO out. She knew her food would be waiting for her when she got back – she might not be especially friendly with her co-workers but they wouldn’t let anyone steal her toast.

  Only as she approached the open office door did she stop to think why she should be summoned so formally. Her stomach plummeted. Waves of nausea almost overwhelmed her. She swallowed furiously, pressed her nails into the palms of her hands, hoping the pain would steady her.

  She wanted to turn and run – not go in and be given the worst possible news. She remained for a second frozen in the doorway staring at the WAAF officer sitting behind the desk. Her knees almost crumpled when she saw the sympathetic expression on her face.

  ‘Come in, my dear girl; sit down. I think you realise the news is not good.’

  Her heart was hammering so loud she thought the officer must be able to hear it. She collapsed on the chair and gripped her hands in her lap, hoping she would be able to remain in control when they told her that her beloved Oscar had been shot down.

  ‘I’m very sorry to be the bearer of such dreadful news…’

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, my dear.’

  She didn’t wait to hear the rest. She was on her feet and running from the room just wanting to get away – to be on her own – to grieve in private. Oscar wouldn’t want her to fall apart. She had to be brave for him – carry on regardless and do her job the way he’d done his.

  Where should she go? Outside there might be a corner she could weep in without being seen. She stood in the early morning sunshine, scarcely able to comprehend that the man she loved was no longer in this world.

  She found a corner to hide in and slid down the wall until she was huddled on the ground with her head buried in her knees, her shoulders shaking as she tried to control her sobs. Eventually she was done and scrabbled for a handkerchief so she could blow her nose and wipe her eyes.

  Somehow she pushed herself upright, straightened her skirt, and keeping her head lowered hurried through the building and up to her dormitory floor. She dashed into the bathroom to sluice her face with cold water and then made her way to the room she shared with three others.

  The room was quiet, the blackouts kept drawn to keep the sunlight out whilst those back from night duty got some sleep. She undressed silently and despite her misery folded and hung her clothes in the approved manner.

  All the beds were occupied and she scrambled into hers hoping fatigue would help her sleep. Things wouldn’t be better when she woke up but she hoped she would be more able to cope. As she was drifting off her head was filled with images of Oscar. She cried herself asleep.

  When she awoke the room was empty – the others must have got dressed really quietly allowing her to remain. The girl called Brenda had lost her fiancé last week and she was carrying on with her duties and she must do the same.

  Her head was heavy. Somehow it seemed too big for her neck to support. Her eyes were gritty, her throat raw from crying so much. Every breath was an effort, as if there was a physical weight on her chest. She needed to pull herself together. She was a strong young woman and had dealt with far more than most in her life. She wouldn’t give in to her grief – wouldn’t ask for compassionate leave – but just grit her teeth and get on with it.

  Everything seemed so much more difficult today. Even washing and dressing was a major effort. She glanced at her watch and saw she had two hours before her duty started. She’d been asleep for almost eight hours and yet was so fatigued she could scarcely keep her eyes open.

  However difficult it was she must ring Oscar’s parents and offer her commiserations. She should have stayed to hear how he had died, if his body had been recovered, if there could be a funeral or just a memorial service.

  Lying tidily on the top of her locker was the cloth bag containing her irons. Someone had collected her mug and cutlery and returned it to her. This small act of kindness proved too much for her fragile self-control.

  She collapsed on her unmade bed and rocked back and forth with her arms around her middle as if somehow doing this would hold her together when she was falling apart.

  ‘My dear girl, I’d no idea you were so attached to your father. I thought the reverse was true and can’t understand why his death has devastated you.’ The adjutant was standing by her bed.

  For a moment the words didn’t make sense. Then her addled brain picked out the salient point. ‘My father is dead? Not Oscar – I thought it was my fiancé who died.’

  ‘Oh dear, how absolutely dreadful. I should have made myself clear from the start. Come with me; what you need is a hot drink and something to eat whilst you recover from the shock. Small wonder you were overcome.’

  The band around her chest vanished, the weight lifted and she surged to her feet and flung her arms around the unfortunate officer who’d come to her rescue. ‘I’m glad that man is dead. I don’t want to know the details. I should have stayed and heard the rest, so it’s my fault I got the wrong end of the stick.’

  ‘I’ll arrange for you to speak to your young man. You will need to hear his voice before you can believe he’s well.’

  ‘That would be splendid, thank you, ma’am.’

  ‘First you will eat and drink, then the telephone call.’

  Jane was ushered into the office from which she’d fled a few hours ago. Tea and toast were fetched and whilst she tucked in Captain Bevan rang Kenley.

  27

  Oscar was a strong swimmer, confident and competent in the water, and knew his best chance of survival was to conserve his energy and remain in one place. He kept his legs moving in the hope that it would keep his body temperature up but after an hour of doggy paddling in circles he could no longer feel his feet.

  The sun was setting, casting orange light across the sea. He smiled wryly. If this was the last thing he was going to see on this earth it wasn’t such a bad view. He’d had plenty of time to think about what might have been.

  He might have been married to the woman he loved. He might have had children with her. He might have survived the war and become a vicar like his father. He wasn’t afraid of dying – his faith protected him.

  What almost unmanned him was the thought of how devastated his beloved Jane would be when she heard that he’d died. She’d had more than enough misery in her life and didn’t deserve to lose the one person who loved her.

  Hypothermia was beginning to kick in – he recognised the symptoms – lethargy and wanting to fall asleep. His teeth no longer chattered. He was quite relaxed and ready to move on to the next place.

  Bloody hell! His eyes opened in shock when he remembered the package he’d rescued. Was the distress flare inside it? His fingers refused to obey his command but suddenly there was a glimmer of hope. It was difficult unwrapping the small bundle and several times he went under, swallowing water and emerging spluttering and even colder.

  When his fingers gripped a hard cylinder, his spirits soared. He had a flare. If he let the rocket off now it was dusk it might be seen – if he’d done it earlier when the sun was out, he doubted it would have been. Maybe the Almighty had plans for him on earth and it wasn’t his time to go after all.

  The flare had been submerged in the sea for hours but the oilskin cover should have kept it dry. Would it still fire when he pulled the string? He held it above his head and prayed. There was a faint hiss and a wonderful, beautiful, red fountain sprayed into the darkness.

  It continued to burn for several minutes and he held it aloft twisting his head from side to side and listening for any sound of a ship approaching. Then there was a faint chugging of a small motor and the flickering beam of a handheld torch began to quarter the water.

  He would have shouted if he had th
e energy but holding the dying flare was all he could do. Then something splashed into the water by his head.

  ‘Grab hold of it; we’ll pull you in.’

  From somewhere he found the strength to hook his arm through the cork ring and hang on. Minutes later he was being pulled out of the sea. He was barely conscious but was aware the little boat was packed with soldiers. ‘Bloody miracle, that’s what it is, that we happened to be passing just when his flare went off.’

  ‘No point in putting a blanket round him. He’s bloody soaked. Let’s get his clobber off.’ The speaker grabbed his arm. ‘Come on, mate, help us get them bleeding wet things off of you.’

  He raised and lowered his arms and legs on command but had little control over his movements or theirs. ‘Thanks,’ he managed to mumble. ‘Stan…’ He was trying to tell them he was Oscar Stanton but the words wouldn’t come.

  ‘Stan, it’s dead man’s clothes, mate, but poor Jimmy won’t mind. He can have the blanket.’

  He was warmly dressed in the dead soldier’s uniform and plied with hot sweet tea. This was accomplished in the confines of the small boat and reminded him of a parlour game he’d played as a child.

  ‘There you are, all right and tight. Jammed in next to me and Bob you’ll be warm enough. Get some kip, old son; it’s a bloody long run to Dorset.’

  At dawn the boat docked along with dozens of others. He stumbled ashore, still half asleep, and was bundled onto a waiting train. He slept on and off, only waking when the train pulled into a station and well-wishers passed beer and food through the window.

  Everyone thought him a soldier rescued from the beaches of Dunkirk and for some reason this amused him. The bods who’d saved his life weren’t with him or they could have explained but he was too damn tired to bother.

  When the train rattled and clanked to a halt everyone piled off but he remined where he was. His legs refused to function, his head hurt and he was finding it hard to swallow. Better to sleep until he felt better. He was roused by a guard.

  ‘What we have here, then? Your mates forgot to wake you. Up you come.’

  Oscar wanted to tell him he was ill, knew there was something else he had to say but instead he closed his eyes again. He was vaguely aware of being manhandled onto a stretcher, being wrapped in a blanket and then woke up in what he thought might be an emergency department of a hospital.

  Two nurses were deftly removing his clothes. There was something about his uniform that he should tell them but he felt too awful to bother. He wasn’t dead and that was all that mattered – the rest could wait.

  *

  Jane listened to the one-sided conversation and gathered Oscar wasn’t available. Captain Bevan put down the receiver and shrugged. ‘Flight Lieutenant Stanton is safe and well and at this very moment his Hurricane is being rearmed and refuelled. The officer I spoke to has promised to get him to telephone here when he is free to do so.’

  ‘Thank you very much for trying. I don’t expect him to have time to ring. He’s going to be concentrating on helping with the rescue of thousands of soldiers from the beaches. I apologise for being silly this morning. I’m fully recovered now and I suppose I must hear the details about my father’s demise.’

  ‘If you’re quite sure. He took his own life. He hanged himself in his cell.’

  ‘That’s a relief.’ The look of shock on the captain’s face made her hurriedly continue. ‘Oscar knocked him out and if he’d died from those injuries that would have been so much worse. I suppose he couldn’t stand the shame and humiliation of a trial.’

  ‘Do you wish to apply for compassionate leave?’

  She was about to refuse but then reconsidered. ‘My mother’s being held on remand as well. I must go and see her. I suppose that I’ll have to arrange the funeral and so on.’

  ‘How long do you think you’ll need?’

  ‘No more than a day. If I am able to get a visitors’ pass then I’m certain I can get to Holloway prison and back before blackout tomorrow. I’ll do my shift tonight and then leave immediately afterwards. I will be back on duty the following day.’

  ‘I’ll issue you with a twenty-four-hour pass and a travel warrant. I’ll arrange for you to visit your mother late morning. That should give you ample time to make the necessary arrangements for Mr Hadley.’

  *

  Jane arrived at the prison in good time for her visit, which was scheduled for eleven o’clock. The building looked more like a castle than a place where women were incarcerated. The guards were impersonal when they searched her and she was ushered through various checkpoints and into a bleak room and told to sit on one side of a table. There was a chair on the other, presumably for her mother.

  A few minutes later a woman she scarcely recognised was brought in. No longer smart, her grey hair lank around her face and dressed in prison clothes. All her animosity vanished. Whatever her mother had done, she didn’t deserve this. Her life had been miserable too and she had probably been bullied and coerced into cooperation and was as much a victim as Jane had been.

  Ignoring the female guard, she jumped to her feet and rushed over to hug the emaciated woman. ‘Mum, I’m going to get you out of here. That horrible man is dead and we’re free of him forever. He can never hurt either of us again.’

  She was waiting to be told sternly to sit down but to her surprise when she looked round, they were alone. ‘I couldn’t believe it when they said my daughter had come to see me. I thought I’d never see you again. How can you forgive me for what happened?’

  ‘It’s in the past, Mum, we must both forget about it. Sit down and I’ll bring my chair around next to you as we’ve got so much to talk about.’

  If she’d been surprised to be left alone, she was astonished when the guard returned with a metal tray, two mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits. The woman put them down with a smile and then left them to continue their conversation in private.

  ‘I don’t know what you want me to do about a funeral…’

  ‘Nothing at all. I believe we could have him cremated and no sort of service at all.’

  Her mother had obviously been thinking about this as it hadn’t occurred to her this could be arranged. ‘Right, I’ll get in touch with the authorities and set that in motion. I can’t believe that you’re still being held here. Why hasn’t your solicitor got you released on bail at least?’

  ‘I refused to see one. I thought I deserved to be here as my cowardice almost killed you. I knew what he was going to do but thought if I was there then I could help you get away.’

  ‘We can talk about it when you’re away from here. I’m going to speak to someone now. I’m sure I can find a solicitor to represent you.’

  ‘I don’t know where I’m going to go if they do let me out. I don’t want to go back to that house.’

  ‘That house must belong to you now. Sell it and then you can buy something smaller. Do you want to live in Lattimore or somewhere else?’

  Her mother had become more animated as she drank the tea and ate the biscuits. ‘I’ve got friends there even though I couldn’t see as much of them as I’d have liked to. I like Mrs Jackson. Do you think they would let me stay at the vicarage whilst I found myself somewhere else?’

  ‘I’m sure that they would. I can hear someone coming so I think I’m going to be asked to leave. I’ll do my best to get you released today but it might take a bit longer. I’ll get in touch with Mrs Jackson and ask her to meet you. She could go to the house and bring you something to wear as well.’

  The door opened and a tall, thin middle-aged man, with sharp eyes and a nose like a beak, stepped in. He was accompanied by a younger man with a pronounced limp and a smart suit. ‘Good morning, I’m Mr Thorogood, governor here. This is Mr Denny, a solicitor.’

  They shook hands and the two guards rushed in with extra chairs. ‘My mother wishes to be represented now and I hope Mr Denny has come here to do that. I don’t want to press any charges. I want her released immediately if pos
sible.’

  ‘Excellent. The police have no wish to pursue the matter now that Hadley is dead. Mr Denny has some papers for you to sign, Mrs Hadley, and then you can leave with your daughter immediately.’

  Two hours later Jane and her mother were in a taxi heading for the station. The clothes that her mum had been wearing had been found. With her hair up in its usual French pleat and a modest amount of make-up, Jane was satisfied no one would know she’d just been released from prison.

  The governor couldn’t have been more helpful – apologetic almost – and had allowed her to use his telephone to call the vicarage. Mrs Jackson would be waiting at the station to collect them. In the rush to leave there’d been no time to ring the prison where that man had died. This would have to wait until this afternoon.

  The vicar offered to make the arrangements for the cremation. He also made an appointment for her mother to see a solicitor in order to get all the financial matters settled.

  ‘I’ll go to the post office right away and withdraw sufficient for Mum to have something in her purse. I’ll reimburse you for her board and lodging, obviously. She might be with you for a few weeks as she can’t buy herself another house until everything’s done.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing, Jane. Your mother is welcome to stay as long as necessary. In fact, there’s a cottage available in the village as the tenant moved away to live with his daughter somewhere in the North of England. It would be ideal and the rent isn’t extortionate.’

  ‘That sounds perfect. Thank you. I really need to go. I was given until tomorrow morning but I would like to get back as soon as possible.’

  ‘We can take your mother to see the cottage tomorrow morning. I think my wife is taking her to collect some clothing and toiletries from the house before it gets dark. Goodbye, Jane, please bring your young man to meet us if you get time.’

  He patted her on the shoulder and she smiled her thanks. She gave her mother a quick hug, refused a lift to the station, and set off briskly to walk the two miles. She was fortunate as a train to London steamed in half an hour after her arrival. She crossed the city on the underground and had time to find herself something to eat before catching the train to Uxbridge.