I didn’t know what to say other than, ‘Why?’
‘It’s difficult to explain,’ he said, ‘but I think, first of all, it’s best if Ma and Lottie sort me out, you know, until I find my feet.’ There were tears in his eyes. ‘You love flying and the ATA need you. That’s a good feeling – to be useful. If you come to Lanyon, you’ll be unhappy. Pa has said he’ll come up for me … in a couple of days …’
It had all been sorted out without me, then.
Charles let go of my hand.
‘I say, old thing, I’m awfully tired tonight. Do you mind if we give the next chapter a miss?’
I closed the book, kissed Charles on the top of the head and took my coat from the back of the chair.
‘I don’t mind at all,’ I answered, holding back the tears and trying to show a bright smile in my voice. I grabbed my coat and turned to leave, but thought of something, suddenly. ‘The thing is, Charles, I’ve got a busy flying schedule tomorrow, I’m going all the way to Prestwick … and if Pa is coming for you on Tuesday … I … well I won’t get to see you before you go …’
He nodded and waved his hand to dismiss me.
‘You’re busy, don’t worry. I’ll see you at Lanyon, whenever you can get down. No hurry.’
‘But, Charles,’ I said, sitting down and taking his hand again. ‘You’re more important than any of that. Why don’t I see if I can …’
He didn’t let me finish. His expression hardened.
‘Don’t see about anything. You’ve got an important job to do. Lottie is at a loose end … she can help.’
‘Loose end? Hardly, Charles. She’s still a WAAF, you know, and there’s Mabel to consider …’
‘You should be getting along now. Last train and all that.’
There was nothing left to say. And as the ward door closed behind me, I felt that I had just said goodbye to a distant relative, not my husband, and for so many reasons, with the train carriage blackout blinds pulled down low, I leant my head against the rocking carriage, and wept the whole way home.
Chapter 26
Katherine
Never email tipsy!
Dear Sam
I’m sitting in Fenella’s car in the car park at Lanyon having just escorted Juliet back to her room. We’ve had the most wonderful day together, touring the local area. She asked if I could take her on a couple of outings – looking for buried treasure, no less! I’m sure Juliet will tell you all about it when she sees you, so I won’t steal her thunder, needless to say, despite scouring most of the Penwith peninsular, we did not find the compass.
I can assure you that I am keeping her well wrapped up and trying my hardest to hold her back from exerting herself too much. There is a very definite feeling of ‘swansong’ about the trip – many last goodbyes, last looks, which is understandable but occasionally unnerving. She’s a remarkable woman, but then you know that already, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am to have met her.
With very best wishes,
Katherine.
P.S. I’m still reading Juliet’s memoirs. She has just missed out on a passionate weekend away with Edward, and now Charles has pushed her away! Nightmare. I’m reading your blog, too. I particularly enjoyed the one about your exploits on Orkney. Did you really dance naked with the Hairy Bikers on the summer solstice?
I put the car into gear and headed down the familiar road to the village, past the school and the pub and down to the harbour. It seemed that Angels Cove had transformed itself into a hotbed of activity during the day and a heavenly host of snowflakes, candles, angel wings and a whole manor of Christmas-themed lights had sprung up all over the village, with lights now pinned on every building, lamppost and harbour wall.
I bumped into Fenella who was standing on the pier wearing a Day-Glo tabard and acting as foreman to two men, one of whom was dangling from a ladder attaching an electrified elf to a telegraph pole. It seemed that Fenella had taken a little speech I made to heart – a tipsy one proffered while snipping seaweed, or eating a full English. I couldn’t remember, but anyhow, a speech about how it was the civic responsibility of the modern-day villagers to rekindle Christmas spirit – and she had taken off to the pub to hunt down and enlist the vicar with an offering (bribe) of gin. Once settled at the pub she had called an extraordinary meeting of the village elders to discuss saving, albeit at the last minute, the Angels Cove Christmas lights festival, and according to the man at the top of the ladder (who really did need to focus a little more on what he was doing rather than look down at me) she had given quite a rousing speech during the meeting which, when combined with her threat of keeping her gin to herself this Christmas, had led to a temporary truce between the two warring parties (Percy and Noel) which was similar, now he came to think of it, to the famous Christmas Day truce between the Germans and the Brits when they had temporarily lain down their weapons in 1914.Fenella had further swayed them (Percy and Noel, not the Germans) by saying that, as the matter of the apostrophe was soon to be cleared up by ‘The Professor’ (a title that refused to be shaken off) who was busy – as she spoke – carrying out crucial research on the issue, it was time to let bygones be bygones and get into the Christmas spirit once and for all, if only for the sake of the children (I was still yet to see any) not to mention the need to keep the tourists happy (ditto) and businesses booming.
They agreed.
She also got them to agree to a reinstatement of the Boxing Day party in the village hall, where (again, inspired by our little chat) they would re-enact a wartime Christmas party and make a tidy profit in the bargain by charging gullible visiting Londoners a tenner for entry. She handed me her clipboard and pen through the open car window and said, ‘Write this down – trestle tables, a bit of dilute pop for the kiddies, cheap hock for the adults, wartime songs and paper chains. That’s all we need. Nip down to mine later and we’ll iron out the details. You can drop a flyer through all the letterboxes tonight, the exercise will do you good. And then we’ll get bottling! Park up for now and we’ll go to the pub.’
***
Two gins later, determined to search the cottage once again for the compass, I made my excuses at the pub, turned the key in the door and went into the kitchen to say a quick ‘hello’ to the elf, who was spending far too much time alone this Christmas.
My phoned pinged once the WiFi cut in.
Hi Katherine.
Thanks for taking the time to look for the compass and to visit Juliet. It’s wonderful to see that you’re enjoying yourself and I hope we will get the chance to meet before you go. I have heard so much about you from Gerald, not to mention Juliet, who has also emailed to say that you spent the afternoon together and how delightful you are.
You mentioned the notion of sensing an atmosphere of things coming to a close for Juliet, of final goodbyes, perhaps? Maybe you will understand a little more of her state of mind once you have read further along in the memoirs.
All the very best,
Sam
P.S. I can’t believe she got you to sing at the Minack!!
P.P.S. Strike that. I can!
P.P.P.S. Yes, I really did dance naked with the Hairy Bikers. It was surprisingly liberating. Orkney is a very special place for me. I hope my blog has inspired you to visit there sometime.
Two hours later, with the compass still elusive, I put my coat on and snuggled the elf into an inside pocket (he’d been on his own all day and I didn’t have the heart to leave him again) trundled down to Fenella’s, ate a massive shepherd’s pie dinner, drank and bottled copious amounts of gin, put on a ridiculous Christmas jumper (a present from Fenella) tolerated Christmas songs and made enough paper chains to wrap around Cornwall, before retiring to the pub to talk about the apostrophe with Percy, Noel and Geoffrey, who all seemed to be flagging with the thing. Fenella, with clipboard still at the ready, persuaded the local band who were performing in the pub tonight to put on an impromptu performance at the Boxing Day village party. She then wrestled me into my
coat before sending me out to deliver one hundred flyers through one hundred letter boxes, before dragging me back into Percy’s house, wrestling me out of my coat and handing me a glass of homebrew cider.
Sometime later, at a very early hour of the morning, I found myself turning the key to the cottage once more, drunk, tired and happy. Which is when I made the barking-mad decision to return Sam’s email and went on to empty my heart onto the computer screen.
I told him everything – about my enforced isolation, about the past two Christmases at IKEA (for the love of God, why did I mention IKEA) – and how my life had become a black hole of nothingness until now, when Juliet had persuaded me onto the first rung of the ladder. I told him all about my lovely new friends Percy, Noel and Fenella (the feeder-upper) who had forced me to canoe to the islands (which was a nightmare on account of the fact that my thighs were far too chunky to look good in a wetsuit). But my crowning moment was when I told him Juliet had shown me his photograph and that I wasn’t at all sure about the beard.
For three sorry pages I rambled on, my fingers tip-tapping on the keyboard as I poured out the random threads of my pinball mind, before concluding that if he managed to get home for Christmas then he must stay at home, at Angel View – there was more than enough room (and food) for the both of us. After pressing ‘send’ (an action I regretted three and half seconds later), far too engaged with Juliet’s story to contemplate sleep, I decided it was time to make myself a sobering coffee and return to Juliet’s memoirs, but this time I began by sending out a little prayer that Edward and Juliet would be given the happy ending they deserved.
Chapter 27
Juliet
Christmas 1942
News spread around the ferry pool that a select number of women were to be chosen to be trained to fly the four-engine bombers, such as the Wellington and the Lancaster. This was fabulous news. Other than the battle for equal pay with our male counterparts in the ATA, who earned, in the modern-day equivalent, £300 per month more than the women, we had achieved parity in our work, and being allowed to fly the big bombers would mean that the last male stronghold had fallen. I was determined to be one of the women chosen to fly them.
Before too long, my wish came true, and I returned to Hamble after a successful multi-engine conversion course to discover that I had been awarded for my passion and commitment by being granted a little leave for the holiday season.
But to return to Lanyon at Christmas?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to, wasn’t sure at all. Charles’ letters were short and perfunctory and when I telephoned the house, the majority of the phone call was spent talking to Lottie or Ma Lanyon, rather than to Charles. While at Hamble I was able to put my disastrous marriage out of my mind, keep going and carry on! And besides, how could I think about Charles, when Edward was always in my thoughts and prayers, scorched into my brain like cattle branding.
I asked Lottie once, on the telephone, if she ever bumped into that chap, Edward Nancarrow. She said she didn’t, come to think of it. The chaps from the other side of the house kept very neatly to themselves. A lock had been put on the adjoining door with the message to the Lanyons (except Pa) being a very clear, keep out!
This was both a relief and a huge disappointment to me. If Edward was seen at Lanyon, at least I knew that he was safe and, if I should ever want to get in touch with him, I would know where to find him. But if Edward had left Lanyon, then goodness knows if I would ever see him again – if he was alive or dead, even – and the thought of either not seeing him again was beyond anything my poor broken heart could deal with.
In the end, I decided to go. I flew to Lanyon and took Anna with me. Two Spitfires were to be delivered to RAF Predannack on the twentieth of December and knowing the location of my family home, the duty programmer for that day gave the flights to us. A taxi Anson would collect us at eleven a.m. on Boxing Day – Anna was to be awarded leave too. Marie didn’t mind missing out too much. She would stay in Hamble and hold the fort (while also cavorting with a new squeeze she had met in Southampton the month before).
The flight to Cornwall was heavenly. Anna, still under-confident about flying in formation, insisted I stay on her wing. With a cloud base of about three thousand feet, we were able to skim underneath the cloud layer and follow, for the most part, the Great Western railway line the whole way down.
Lottie was waiting for us at Predannack, wearing her smart WAAF uniform and – I was thrilled to see – a vibrant bright new smile. She waved madly at us from her perch on the balcony of the control tower as we taxied in.
‘She’s cheered up then,’ Anna whispered as we walked towards the operations room. Lottie, who despite being a WAAF was still completely oblivious to correct military protocol, ran wildly towards us, tripped over my parachute and fell straight into my open arms.
‘Oh, Juliet!’ she shouted. ‘It’s so wonderful to have you home for Christmas! You, too, Anna!’ She leaped forward to give Anna a hug. ‘Welcome to Cornwall!’
Anna responded by ruffling her hair. ‘Steady on,’ she said, ‘I need to pee, and then I need to eat. Do me a favour Lottie and point me in the direction of somewhere I can do both!’
We ate lunch in the airman’s dining hall. It never failed to surprise me just how much the wearing of our Sidcot flying suits could rouse such a stir. Lottie was getting glasses of water when one young woman dashed up to Anna – as Anna was about to spoon rice pudding into her mouth – with a pen and a notebook and asked for her autograph. Anna shrugged, put down her spoon and scribbled her signature across the book. The young woman, looking at the name, was clearly disappointed.
‘Oh,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I thought you were Amy Johnson … she flies for the ATA, doesn’t she?’
Anna bit her lip in an effort to remain polite.
‘She did. But I’m afraid she’s dead. It was in the papers, didn’t you see?’
The young woman’s shoulders dropped.
‘Dead? That’s terrible. But how?’
‘Flying accident, delivering for the ATA as it happened. She crashed into the Thames, I’m afraid.’
Anna tapped pointedly on the notebook in the girl’s hand. ‘But trust me, that signature will be worth a fortune one day, so I’d save it if I were you!’ (Marie was having a definite influence on Anna’s increased confidence).
The girl smiled, tapped her nose, tucked the notebook into her pocket, gave Anna a sudden hug and went on her way.
Lottie returned to the table with the drinks.
‘I’ve just been chatting to one of the girls,’ she said. ‘There’s a Christmas dance in the mess hall tonight. I know you won’t want to come, Juliet, what with just getting back to see Charles and everything, but you’ll come with me, won’t you, Anna?’
Anna turned to me. She knew I was dreading seeing Charles. Despite my letters and phone calls home, we had become almost entirely estranged, and anyway, a party at Predannack would be great fun.
‘I’m not sure,’ Anna said, uncertainly, glancing in my direction. ‘Wouldn’t your parents think it was a little rude if I disappear off, first night and all?’
‘Don’t be silly! And you don’t mind do you, Juliet.’ They both looked at me.
I shook my head in answer, trying to feign excitement for them both. Anna noticed my disappointment, Lottie didn’t.
‘How is Charles, by the way?’ Anna asked, diverting Lottie’s attention away from the party.
Lottie scrunched her nose.
‘Oh, you know. He’s getting there. Some days good, some days bad.’ She nudged me. ‘You can always tell when he’s been on the phone to Juliet, though. It cheers him up no end.’ I glanced at Anna, confused. Charles, cheered up? ‘Speaking of which,’ Lottie went on, ‘you must be desperate to see him, Juliet, and here we are chatting away.’ She stood and glanced around the dining hall. ‘I’ll just nip and see if I can tee us up a lift with one of the chaps on the squadron. Pa doesn’t let me use the old Rover anymore, so I
have to cycle everywhere, or walk, worst luck! Back in a mo—’
She turned to leave but seemed to remember something and turned back quickly.
‘Oh, I almost forgot!’ She perched herself on the arm of the chair next to mine. Her face was on fire with excitement. ‘Remember that chap, Edward Nancarrow? The one I took quite a shine to before the war?’
Anna’s ears pricked up.
‘Well he’s back at Lanyon and you’ll never guess?’
‘Go on …’
‘He’s not married at all! I’ve no idea where he’s been lately, but I was chatting to him in the garden yesterday and …’
I swallowed.
‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘I said … Ma and Pa are having a drinks party on Christmas Eve and he’s coming along as my guest!’
Lottie let out a little excitable shriek and dashed off. I glanced up at Anna who lips were moving but the sentence was taking a while to form. I put my hand up.
‘You don’t need to say a word, Anna. Not one word.’
I went to the party at RAF Predannack that night, and I went because Charles urged me to. From the moment we said our forced, ‘Hello’s’ in the lounge in front of Ma, it was obvious that Charles was as uncomfortable as I was at the thought of acting out the part of married couple within the close confines of a much-reduced household and the anxious gaze of his parents. It was with a resigned and weary acceptance that we played our parts, knowing that Christmas at Lanyon would prove, once more, to be nothing short of an odd, displacing and emotionally exhausting time.
The only person Charles would allow to fuss around him was Ma, and as for sleeping in the same room together? Charles suggested it was probably best if I slept in the guest room as he was suffering from insomnia and anyway his valet – who wasn’t a real valet but rather Pa Lanyon’s old retainer who worked at the house for practically nothing – needed to have easy access to him to help with dressing and washing and so on. I was, in all honesty, relieved at this, and thanked God for Anna’s encouraging spirit around the house. Something had changed with Anna recently. I didn’t know if it was the indomitable Marie having a super-charging effect, or if flying the Spitfire was spurring her on, but her confidence and sense of joy had gone from strength to strength.
The Last Letter from Juliet Page 19