The Last Letter from Juliet

by Melanie Hudson

  ‘Hamble is two train rides away from town. I don’t buy it.’

  ‘All right,’ she said with a shrug, taking off her hat. ‘I may have ruffled a few feathers …’

  That was more like it.

  ‘How?’

  She sniffed, took a cigarette and lighter from Anna – who had rushed back at light speed – lit the cigarette and inhaled.

  ‘I took a Spit somewhere I shouldn’t have …’

  ‘Oh, Marie!’ said Anna, her shoulders dropping. ‘Where to this time?’

  Marie exhaled and shrugged.

  ‘Only to St Athan.’

  ‘St Athan. As in RAF St Athan, in Wales?’

  Marie shrugged again.

  ‘But we go there all the time,’ I said, confused. ‘Why was it a problem?’

  ‘Because I should have been at Biggin Hill.’

  We burst out laughing.

  ‘You never did!’

  Maire laughed, too. It was a throaty laugh, a laugh full of cigarette smoke and seductive misadventure. She threw an arm around each of us.

  ‘You bet your ass I did!’

  It turned out that Marie had met a cute RAF pilot in town the week before and having been given the whole day to deliver a Spitfire from White Waltham to Biggin Hill, she had decided to ‘nip’ to Wales en route Biggin Hill to pay a surprise visit to the said pilot and allow him to buy her lunch.

  ‘And you should have seen his face – all of their faces – when I – a broad – jumps out of the cockpit. Priceless. I was sex on legs ladies, sex on legs!’

  We shook our heads, still laughing. Marie had a tendency to represent everything the women of the ATA were repeatedly briefed not to represent – a world of the sexy, show-off, aviatrix! But Marie simply didn’t care.

  ‘So anyhow, some asshole at St Athan blew the whistle and I got my ass hauled in front of the commander when I got back.’

  ‘Back from St Athan?’ Anna asked again.

  ‘What’s with you and St Athan, you doozy? From Biggin Hill! I still made the delivery. I’m not that much of a chump!’

  ‘What happened then?’ Anna and I said, simultaneously, before turning to each other and laughing.

  ‘Happened?’ Marie took a drag on her cigarette. ‘They tried to sack me for a misappropriation of fuel. So, I told him – the boss guy – socked it to him straight. I said, “You damn sonofabitch, I’ll pay for the fuel myself if it makes you feel better. And if wasn’t for my daddy – who’s working his ass off to make damn sure fuel and aluminium keeps on being delivered to this smoggy, soggy shithole of a country, with badly organised rationing and silly men with even sillier moustaches,’ She paused to look at me, ‘– no offence, Juliet – then the Nazis would have rolled in months ago.”’

  Anna and I eyed each other.

  I let Anna ask the obvious question.

  ‘And what did he say to that?’

  ‘He said to get the hell out of his office.’

  ‘Jeez, Marie!’ Anna said, following on with a suitably drawn out whistle. ‘You’ve been sacked!’

  Marie stepped a few paces across the room to stub out her cigarette.

  ‘I haven’t, as it goes,’ she said, her cashmere two-piece hanging from her hips in all the right places. ‘I’m a damn good pilot. I went back in, told him he’d be a damn fool to lose me and offered to come here – a new start, I said, just with the gals. Once he’d calmed down, he saw sense and agreed. I knew he would. I know people, if you know what I mean, and he knows I know people.’

  ‘So, you’ll be flying from here, with us?’ I said, hardly containing my excitement.

  ‘Sure will. I just need to find myself somewhere to live and a place to park the Bentley – a good hotel, maybe?’

  Anna looked at me. I knew what she was thinking and nodded.

  ‘Why not live with us?’ I said. ‘It’s not the Savoy, but it’s homey. And you could leave the car here. We always cycle in – you wouldn’t get the fuel ration to drive a car to and fro everyday anyhow.’

  Marie mocked a shudder.

  ‘Cycle? With my hair?’ But then she beamed. ‘Well, smack me on the ass and call me a hootie dootie! You just got yourselves a roommate! How about we celebrate by going up to town tonight … we could go to the bar at the Dorchester first, and maybe move on to the Landsdowne at Hyde Park Corner for dancing? But then there is the Plygon …? Or how about the 400 Club at Leicester Square? Gerry hasn’t bombed it yet, has he? What do you say?’

  Marie’s eyes burned with excitement, but with only two days off in ten, we didn’t tend to burn the candle at both ends. Anna frowned and rubbed her chin nervously.

  ‘Ah, come on, Anna,’ Marie persisted. ‘Live a little!’

  ‘But what about sleep?’ Anna asked. ‘We’re flying tomorrow.’

  ‘We’ll sleep on the way back, on the milk train! Then it’s just a short trip to Eastleigh and we’re home. I’ve looked into the whole thing. I’ll drive us to Eastleigh and leave my car at the station. We’ll be back by dawn, fresh and ready for another day. Ah, come on. What d’ya say?’

  Marie had obviously done her homework and got the whole thing worked out.

  Anna and I smiled at each other.

  What else could we say, but … yes!

  Chapter 20

  Juliet

  An explosive evening

  We gathered in my bedroom after work – hair, lipstick, nails – just the usual preparations for a girls’ night out, except for the uniform, of course (Marie insisted we wear our uniforms into town) and there was also the minor issue of the chance of being bombed, and the gas mask holders slung over our shoulders …

  ‘I wouldn’t normally wear this colour for a night out,’ Marie said, slipping on her skirt over her stockinged legs and turning to me with a wink, ‘but you bet your sexy asses this little baby’ – she put on her chip hat at a jaunty angle – ‘will get us a date with any hot guy in town tonight, too.’ She turned to Anna and threw a lipstick in her direction. ‘Honey, you look too pale. Try this … it’s called Passion Blush!’

  Anna opened her compact, applied a little lipstick and clicked it shut.

  ‘Listen, Marie …’ Anna began, handing the lipstick back. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  ‘What about, honey?’ Marie stood in front of the mirror, taking in a last admiring look.

  ‘It’s just … we need to be careful tonight …’

  Marie rolled her eyes in my direction before placing a hand on her hip and turning to face Anna.

  ‘Here we go. What’s the buttoned-up Canadian prissy missy gonna preach to me now?’

  ‘That’s not fair, Marie. Not fair at all. I just don’t want you to get in trouble. And don’t pretend you didn’t get the brief about how to behave, because I know all the Americans did …’

  ‘Brief?’ I asked, buttoning up my ATA tunic and glancing down at my wings with a smile. Marie waved her hand dismissively.

  ‘Oh, she means some bullcrap we all got – just after we got off the boat – about fitting in with you guys. Some buttoned-up suit read us the riot act – how to behave in Britain. No showing off, no flashing our American dollars around and absolutely no annoying the natives. A damn cheek, if you ask me. If not for the U-boats I’d have jumped right back on that ship and sailed home!’ Marie turned to Anna. ‘I don’t give a damn what those po-faced prudes say, and neither should you! None of us knows what tomorrow might bring, and if I’m going down, then I tell you now, honey pie, I’m going down dancing …’ She softened and linked arms with Anna, who was looking more than a little apprehensive. ‘Oh, stop your fussing and worrying. You’re gonna have a fabulous time tonight!’

  We grabbed our cardboard gas mask cases which were hanging on the pegs by the door. ‘Oh, I meant to say,’ Marie went on, ‘The Billy Townsend band is playing at the Empire, how d’ya fancy meeting up with some old friends of mine at the Savoy, first …’

  ‘Friends?’ I asked, closing the door behind us and plac
ing the key under a cracked tile.

  ‘Just some Navy guys, and Dirk might be there …’

  ‘Dirk?’ I asked, stepping through the door.

  ‘Bogarde. You know. The actor.’

  Anna and I stopped. Our mouths gaped.

  ‘What now?’ Maire asked, genuinely surprised at our incredulity. ‘I know him. He’s a nice guy. A bit annoying when he’s drunk, but aren’t they all? But listen, one of the Navy guys is a real hottie and I need you gals on my wing tonight, just don’t let me flirt too much.’

  Anna sighed again.

  ‘If you sigh one more time, Anna Beatrice Moore!’ Marie chided, linking her arms through ours and marching us down the road towards her car. ‘It’s only dancing – except maybe the sirens will go and we’ll all get blown to kingdom come, then maybe – finally – you’ll both listen to me about having a good time!’

  The air raid warning did sound that night, but not before we had spent a couple of hours settling into what promised to be a fabulous evening. The ‘Navy guys’ Marie had referred to were not simply junior officers, but men of high rank and great significance in the War Office, with a great deal of gold visible on their jacket sleeves. Marie had been right when she said that wearing our uniforms into town would guarantee us the best tables and heaps of attention. The women of the ATA had caused quite a stir in the press and, much to Anna’s annoyance (and my amusement and Marie’s delight) once settled into the dancehall we became celebrities of sorts, but my wedding ring acted as a significant enough buffer to keep some, but not all, male attention at bay. I spent the evening sitting at a table chatting to a happily married man RAF pilot. He was flabbergasted to find that ATA pilots were expected to fly in some fairly dodgy weather, without any understanding of how to fly blind – in cloud. Seeing it as his moral duty to correct this, we spend the evening conducting an impromptu lesson on instrument flying, which I loved.

  The surprise of the evening was Anna, who – much to Marie’s delight – had an absolute humdinger of a time. I was sitting quietly for a moment, watching her swirling around the dance floor with yet another suitor in tow, when the air raid warning sounded. The sad, monotone drone of the siren was all too familiar to us now, and although unnerving, did not send us into a frenzied scramble towards the shelters as it once might have done, although perhaps, tonight, it should have.

  Billy Townsend silenced the band and announced that we should all make our way to the exits and head to the nearest tube station, which was only a street away, to take shelter. Anna made her way towards me from the dance floor and I glanced around to find Marie. I couldn’t see her anywhere, but I did see someone else, standing across the ballroom as if freeze-framed in space and time, the crowd ebbing as one continuous movement past him.

  It was Edward, and he was staring at me.

  Anna pushed me forwards towards the exit, but I couldn’t move.

  ‘Come on, Juliet,’ Anna shouted above the hullaballoo and the sound of the siren. ‘Grab you gas mask. We need to go.’

  ‘But what about Marie …’ I asked, suddenly pressed against a table and losing Edward’s face in the crowd. ‘I can’t see her. You go out, Anna. I’ll just go take a quick look for her, won’t be a mo.’ I turned towards the dance floor, straining to find Edward’s face in the crowd.

  Anna grabbed my arm. ‘Oh, no you don’t. She’s a big girl, she’s probably out already. Come on, this way. There’s another exit down here, see?’

  Reluctantly, I followed Anna, her hand in mine, to the exit, the crowd gaining momentum now. We were just stepping out onto the street when a bomb pierced through the high domed ceiling of the ballroom and landed with a direct hit on the dance floor, sending a tsunami of debris – glass and walls and chairs and tables and band instruments and doors – flying through the air. Anna and I were knocked off our feet into the road, having had moved away just enough to avoid being buried (dead or alive) by the debris. I lay there in shock for a few moments. Anna’s hand reached across the void and squeezed on mine. We lay for what seemed like an eternity but must only have been seconds, waiting for the noise of the collapsing building to stop. Two words – two people – flashed through my mind: Marie and Edward.

  The first sound to penetrate the silence once the rubble had settled was the bell of the Fire Service truck as it worked its way through streets to reach us, which was tricky as access was barricaded by the detritus of other collapsed buildings flattened by the bombing. The bell acted as a call to arms, leading the able-bodied survivors to clamber over the rubble in a desperate attempt to find friends. The Fire Service attached a hose to the hydrant and sprang into action against a fire that was now taking hold behind the stage, which seemed utterly surreal now in its new, open-air status, completely visible to the street.

  We searched for Marie before being dragged away by members of the Auxiliary Fire Service. We looked on at the devastated scene as the bodies of the men and women we had just been dancing with – bodies of those who hadn’t rushed to get out quickly as Anna had made us do – were pulled from the rubble and laid to rest on the side of the road.

  We heard Marie before we saw her. She was sitting on her knees on the road behind the bombed-out dance hall and through a cascade of tears she was singing Anna’s favourite song – Over the Rainbow. A man’s head was cradled in her lap, his Army uniform shredded by flying glass, a bright red line trailed from his open skull across Marie’s skirt and pooled on the road.

  I rested a hand on Marie’s shoulder.

  ‘Did you know him?’ I asked.

  She shook her head. ‘No, but he was just left here and I didn’t want him to be alone.’

  Come on sweetheart,’ I said, at the arrival of the stretcher bearers. ‘You need to leave him to the auxiliaries now.’

  Marie sniffed, nodded, took a deep breath of the dank air, rested the man’s head on the floor, stood, attempted to brush down her tattered, blood-stained uniform and – as only Marie could at such a time – asked Anna for a comb to run through her dust-covered hair. We began to edge away but didn’t get very far before Anna stopped in the middle of the road and threw her arms around Marie.

  ‘We thought we’d lost you,’ she sobbed.

  Marie used her thumbs to wipe away Anna’s tears.

  ‘Lost me?! Me? You gotta be kidding, honey. No Gerry bomb is gonna stop this Yankie-doodle-dandy from having a good time!’ She looked down at her uniform again and then at us. Our uniforms were our pride and joy. It was heart-breaking to see them in tatters.

  ‘Sonofabitch Gerry bastards!’ she said. ‘Look at the state of us! We’ll head straight into town next day off and buy new!’

  ‘Yes, let’s do that,’ I said, brightly, trying to help Marie bolster Anna who had begun to shake. ‘Looks like it’s back to Austin Reeds for new togs, eh, Anna?’

  ‘Austin Reeds?’ Marie scoffed, incredulous at my choice of tailor as we continued down the road. ‘Not this time! This time we’ll go to my own personal tailor, and hey,’ she nudged Anna’s shoulder, ‘how about I treat us all to a fabulous silk lining in the jacket, a matching one just for the three of us? The Spitfire Sisters. How do you fancy silver? Too obvious?’

  ‘A silver lining!’ I repeated. ‘Oh, yes, that’s a fabulous idea!’ I threw my fists in the air, shouting out. ‘Spitfire Sisters, forever!’ We stopped at the entrance to the tube. Marie turned to Anna who was still shaking and put a big-sisterly arm around her shoulder. ‘And afterwards, how’s about we get dressed up and have a few drinks with some pals of mine at the 400 Club, and then off to the Plygon for some dancing – if it’s still standing, that is. We’ll spend the night at my place in Chelsea, make a real good night of it, whad’ya say?’

  Anna turned to me and shook her head with a resigned smile.

  ‘After tonight, I’d say you’re barking mad. But yes, thank you. I’d love to!’

  We boarded the train at Waterloo Station, utterly dishevelled. Despite Marie’s desire to rouse spirits, as
she rested her bruised head against the blackout blind and closed her eyes, I noticed several stray tears escape from her long lashes and ebb down her beautiful face. Anna rested her head on my lap and smiled up at me before closing her eyes. I stroked her light chestnut hair as the carriage helped to rock her to sleep. And as the night train headed west and left a broken but not defeated London in its wake, my heart seemed to be finding it a strain to simply keep on beating, not just because of the tragic events we witnessed tonight, but at the not knowing … the not knowing if Edward Nancarrow, whose face I had glanced briefly across the crowd at the Empire, was dead or alive.

  Anna woke just before Southampton and glanced up at me.

  ‘Who’s Edward?’ she asked in a whisper, trying not to wake Marie and wiping sleep and dust from her eyes. ‘You were shouting for him, when we were searching for Marie, you kept shouting his name.’

  I looked away, further down the carriage, anything rather than to catch her eye.

  ‘Oh, no one in particular,’ I lied. ‘Just someone I used to know. I thought I saw him in the crowd.’

  At which point Marie stirred.

  ‘I’ve made a decision,’ she said, stretching her long arms skywards. ‘The Bentley’s a bit of a gas guzzler and I can never get enough coupons to fuel it.’ She raised the blackout blind, causing us to blink but allowing the morning sun to fill us with light. ‘So, I’m going to buy me a motor bike! A real beaut of one, too.’ She looked from Anna to me. ‘Whad’ya think?’

  Chapter 21

  Juliet

  Summer 1941

  A surprise communication

  I was in the Met Office at Hamble, self-briefing the weather for a delivery to Scotland when Marie, sidled in. She nudged my shoulder and handed me a note, folded into four.

  ‘What’s this?’

  Marie leant her back against the map table and smirked.

  ‘What’s this, my ass! You’re the dark horse, no mistaking, Third Officer Caron … or should I say, Mrs Lanyon. No wonder you use your maiden name in the ATA. I would too with a man like that on my tail.’