by Daisy Styles
‘I was sent to Lincoln to pick up a Lancaster, an aeroplane,’ he added, when he saw the crinkle of confusion on her brow. ‘They’re bally beauties!’ he raved. ‘Four engines, paddle-bladed propellers, huge bomb base,’ he added dreamily.
Rosa grinned; she hadn’t the faintest idea what Roger was talking about, but it didn’t matter – she could have listened to him describing Lancaster bombers till the sun rose.
Seeing her indulgent expression, Roger quickly gathered his thoughts. ‘Anyway, that’s how I came to meet these amazing women. Ironically, they were building the same bally planes that we fly and regularly blow up!’ He gave a rueful laugh, which revealed his strong white teeth and the dimples in his softly tanned cheeks. ‘They were up on ladders, as you can see, so tough, so determined. I loved them all, even the older ladies, who ticked me off for being a reckless pilot!’
Roger’s eyes locked with Rosa’s. ‘She’s utterly beautiful,’ he thought; she had the most wonderful hair, which floated in a mass of silky darkness around her perfect, heart-shaped face; her dark, almond-shaped eyes were alight with excitement; and her full, pouting, pink lips were slightly parted, as if she was holding her breath. Tearing his eyes away from her, Roger asked, ‘Where did you find your models, Rosa?’
Tingling at the caressing way in which he said her name, Rosa replied, ‘They are my friends – Bomb Girls from the munitions factory where I work.’ Winking, she added, ‘Secret location. “Loose lips sink ships,” ’ she said, quoting the Phoenix posters that she saw every day, warning the work force against gossiping to strangers.
‘My lips are sealed,’ he replied with mock solemnity. Staring at a black-and-white sketch of Maggie and Nora titled ‘Cordite Girls’, he commented, ‘I see you prefer pencil to paint?’
‘No,’ she answered. ‘It was all I had to start with – sometimes I use coloured pencils.’
‘I think your work is delightful,’ he said with unashamed enthusiasm. ‘I love the way you’ve caught the women totally absorbed in their work.’
‘They get used to me being around them,’ Rosa giggled. ‘Really, after time they don’t see me, which is what I want.’
He nodded. ‘Know what you mean – always best to catch your models absorbed in their work or truly relaxing at their leisure.’ As a hush fell upon the room, Roger gave her a gentle nudge. ‘Oh-oh, looks like the judges have come to a decision and there’s going to be an announcement,’ he whispered.
Rosa’s stomach flipped, and this time it wasn’t because of Roger Carrington sitting close by her side. She loved her work and was proud of it; she dreaded it being judged by strangers who couldn’t possibly know the hardships of bomb building or the stark conditions munitions girls endured in the factory environment.
‘It’s time to announce the winners, ladies and gentlemen,’ the gallery owner called out. ‘The judges have chosen their top three artists, so starting at Number Three, I have an envelope here for Squadron Leader Roger Carrington from RAF Norfolk.’ Looking genuinely surprised, Roger stepped forward to receive his prize money; then, after shaking the gallery owner firmly by the hand, he quickly returned to Rosa, who by this time had lit up one of her cheroots. ‘Want one?’ she asked. Roger shook his head as he drew out a packet of Pall Mall.
‘Second prize goes to Dorothy Chesterton, who unfortunately can’t be here tonight due to work commitments,’ the gallery owner announced. ‘So, ladies and gentlemen, on to the winner. The first prize goes to a very talented young lady – Rosa Falco.’
As people around her started to applaud and smile in approval, Rosa, weak with shock, involuntarily slumped against Roger, who removed the smoking cheroot from her trembling hands and gave her a pat on the back before helping her to her feet. ‘Off you go, old girl,’ he urged.
Blushing furiously, Rosa received her prize-winning envelope, which contained fifty pounds. She felt it would be rude and careless just to bow and walk away without saying something; she wanted to thank these good people and the gallery owner who’d displayed her work. ‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, thank you, sir, for your services here in your gallery,’ she started nervously. ‘I am an Italian Jew who escaped the Nazis. England and the English welcomed me. The women I paint’ – she pointed at the images of her friends looking down on her like guardian angels – ‘they are Bomb Girls who work so hard to help win this terrible war; I love them very much, they are my inspiration,’ she concluded abruptly, and, with tears stinging her eyes, Rosa returned to her seat, where Roger was waiting for her.
‘Well done, that was beautifully put,’ he said warmly. ‘So what are you going to spend your winnings on – a new hat?’ he joked.
Rosa peered in disbelief at the money peeping out of the envelope. ‘I will give this to the brave men and women who saved me from the death camp,’ she said starkly as she stared up at him with tears filling her eyes.
Without stopping to think if he wasn’t behaving just a little bit inappropriately with a woman whom he’d only just met, Squadron Leader Roger Carrington swept Rosa into his arms and hugged her. Rosa could happily have stayed pressed against his warm chest, but when she saw people dispersing into the night and the gallery owner collecting empty glasses and clearing the overflowing ashtrays, she rather reluctantly left the warmth of his embrace in order to search for her hat and coat.
As they walked down the dark empty streets, Rosa shyly asked, ‘Tell me, Mr Carrington, how will you spend the money you win?’
‘Probably buy black-market petrol to get me back to Norfolk – that’s how I got here in the first place. Paid a chap to fill up my tank, so I could drive up to see my work exhibited,’ he laughed.
‘I hope the long journey you made was worth it?’ she said self-consciously.
‘It was worth it, all right,’ Roger answered with a broad smile. ‘I met you,’ he said with unconcealed delight. Stopping by an old Morgan sports car, he added, ‘Want a lift?’
Rosa halted uncertainly. ‘But … you have to drive far tonight?’
Roger shook his head. ‘It would be hard driving nearly two hundred miles in the dark without any headlights on,’ he told her. ‘I’ll book into a B & B in town after I’ve dropped you off. Just point the way, and I promise I won’t ask any awkward questions about secret factory locations,’ he said with a knowing wink as he opened the rusty old door and helped Rosa into the passenger seat.
As they roared out into the open countryside, which was pitch dark with only a few faint stars to guide them along the narrow moorland roads, Rosa felt breathless with joy. The car was small and cramped, and she had no choice but to sit close to Roger, whose RAF flying jacket smelt of tangy soap and cigarettes. The smell was so enticing she had to stop herself from burying her face in his leather jacket, and when she sneaked a peep at him, intent on driving along the inky roads, she had to stop herself from running a hand through his thick, tawny hair. ‘God, what’s happening to me?’ she thought again. ‘I’m a complete mess.’
Forcing herself to think straight, she asked Roger about his work. ‘I have a lot of dedicated men under me and a team of superb officers; we fly out on bombing-raids most nights and regularly lose good men and planes in the process. It’s tough, but it has to be done.’
Though daunted by the thought of his flying into enemy territory, Rosa asked in as steady a voice as she could muster, ‘You love flying very much, I think?’
Accelerating past a herd of sheep which scuttled away into the darkness, Roger answered with a cheerful laugh. ‘You bet! It’s the best thing in the world.’
‘Don’t you get frightened?’
‘Terrified,’ he confessed. ‘But adrenaline takes over when you see Jerry heading straight for you.’
Imagining the scene too vividly, Rosa quickly changed the subject to something a little more cheerful. ‘Do you have family?’
‘Yes. They live in a big, draughty house full of dogs near Oxford. How about your family?’ he asked. ‘Where are they?’
<
br /> Rosa stared at the rain that was now spattering the car windows. ‘I don’t know,’ she answered flatly.
‘Damn!’ he exclaimed as he slammed the handbrake on and stopped the car in order to apologize profusely. ‘How bloody crass of me. I’m so sorry, forgive me,’ he begged.
Rosa shrugged as she replied, ‘There is nothing to forgive.’
After she’d told him of how she’d been parted from her family, Roger lit up a Pall Mall for both of them. ‘My heart aches for you,’ he said with genuine emotion. In an easy silence, they sat smoking and staring at the stars, then Roger reluctantly started up the engine. ‘If I leave the old lady for too long she cools down, and then I might finish up pushing her all the way back to your digs,’ he joked.
Luckily, the ‘old lady’ leapt into life and they made it to the cowshed, where Rosa quickly stoked up the wood-burner, whilst Roger admired her unique accommodation. ‘This is amazing,’ he enthused. ‘Snug and cosy, and right on the moors – it must be wonderful in the daylight, when you can see the hills and the wildlife.’
Rosa nodded as she boiled milk for cocoa. ‘I love this place – it is a good home for me.’
‘Do you have it all to yourself?’ he asked.
‘I share with my best friend; she is nursing in London for a while.’
When the cocoa was made, they sat side by side on the old battered sofa with their feet toasting by the crackling wood-burner. ‘I never expected anything like this,’ Roger chuckled as he cuddled closer to Rosa, who certainly didn’t move away from him. They sat talking and smoking for well over an hour; then Roger reluctantly dragged himself to his feet. ‘You need to get some shut-eye, or you’ll be useless on the bomb line tomorrow,’ he joked.
‘You too must rest before you drive tomorrow,’ she said anxiously, as they stood rather awkwardly in the open doorway. ‘Please, be careful, Roger,’ she added softly.
‘I will, I promise,’ he said, as he fastened his leather flying jacket and wound a long, woolly scarf around his neck. Then, to her delight, he leant in to kiss her on both cheeks, where his lips lingered before he forced himself to draw apart from her.
‘Goodbye, beautiful Rosa!’ he said with a flourishing bow, which made her laugh. ‘Promise you will write to a poor pilot stuck in the middle of nowhere?’ he implored with a charming smile.
‘My English is not so good,’ she answered with a blush.
‘Rightio, better idea!’ he exclaimed. ‘We’ll send drawings to each other: little postcard drawings of our lives in different parts of England.’
‘Yes!’ she cried in delight. ‘But please, no pictures of you in dangerous places – I will worry,’ she said before she could stop.
‘I promise I won’t worry you,’ he said tenderly.
Blowing a kiss over his shoulder, he walked towards his rusty old Morgan, which, after he cranked it up, slowly shuddered into life. ‘Goodbye, sweet Rosa!’ Roger called as he leapt aboard and released the handbrake.
‘Goodbye!’ she called back as the car lurched forward and Roger, still waving farewell, disappeared from view.
Rosa waited until the noise of the engine had completely disappeared; then she went back into the cowshed, where she lay on her bed wondering if she’d just dreamt about spending an evening with handsome Squadron Leader Roger Carrington.
22. Mr Snowman
Gladys’s return to the Phoenix on a bleak late-autumn evening sparked off a rush of excitement. ‘Now that we’re back together we should cheer each other up and start making plans for Christmas. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all celebrate Christmas together at Yew Tree Farm?’ Kit said excitedly.
‘Will you be able to manage, Kit, what with you being pregnant and having a toddler to look after too?’ Nora asked solicitously.
‘I’ll be fine – nearly over the morning sickness,’ Kit replied as she affectionately patted her tummy.
‘It’ll be Stevie’s very first Christmas,’ said Violet with a dreamy smile. ‘My little boy’s first Christmas, imagine that.’
Her friends gathered around the canteen table exchanged an indulgent smile; there was no more doting, besotted mother than Violet.
‘It’ll be nice for us to be together and share the cooking,’ Maggie said eagerly. ‘Though I haven’t heard whether Les will get leave.’ Her eyes strayed to Gladys, who had so far not involved herself in the conversation.
‘I don’t think I can leave mi dad on his own,’ Nora fretted. ‘Since Mam and our kid died, he gets over-emotional at any kind of celebration.’
‘Well, then, bring him too,’ Kit exclaimed. ‘The more the merrier.’
‘Will your husband like so many people in his house?’ Rosa enquired.
‘My friends are Ian’s friends. The offer’s there,’ Kit continued. ‘Though it’s probably too early to make plans, a lot could happen before Christmas,’ she prophesized in all innocence.
‘Yeah, we might win the war!’ Nora said drolly.
‘Or we could be on night shift all over Christmas,’ Maggie groaned.
‘Actually,’ Kit quickly added, ‘there’s something else on my mind.’
Her friends turned to stare at her earnest face.
‘You’re not having twins?’ incorrigible Maggie teased.
‘Will you be quiet, Maggie Yates, and give the woman a chance to speak?’ Violet chided her with a smile.
‘It’s just,’ Kit started, ‘we mustn’t forget in all the excitement that Christmas will be a special time for Edna too.’
‘Forget!’ hooted Maggie. ‘You must be joking. Every time Malc walks past the cordite line, he gives us the latest countdown to their wedding day. I think the poor fella’s nervous,’ Maggie added with a cheeky wink. ‘You know, their first night.’
‘But Malc, he was married before now, yes?’ Rosa asked.
Maggie waved her hand dismissively. ‘That’s as may be,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But it must be years since he did, well, you know what,’ she giggled.
‘Oooh, Mags, you are a tinker!’ Nora squealed.
As all the girls tittered, Rosa cast a glance in Gladys’s direction – what on earth was the matter with her? She’d arrived back from London subdued and withdrawn. At first Rosa had put it down to exhaustion; the journey from London to Pendleton had taken nearly all day, and Gladys told her she’d barely had anything to eat or drink. But, as the days went by and Gladys returned to work at the Phoenix Infirmary, a place where she’d formerly been very happy, and there was still no significant improvement in her spirits, Rosa really began to worry.
One night as she was sleeping she thought she heard Gladys crying softly in the next room; unable to bear the sound of her weeping, Rosa rushed to her friend’s bedside. ‘Mia cara, Gladeeees, darling,’ she murmured softly as she clutched Gladys’s hand. ‘Talk to me, please,’ she implored.
Gladys shook her head. ‘Not now, Rosa, not now,’ she begged.
‘You sick? I get you something?’ Rosa fretted.
With her lovely, dark brunette hair fanned out on her pillow, Gladys whispered, ‘I’m not ill, just so sad. I’ll be fine, I just need time.’
Rosa had no choice but to wait until Gladys was ready to talk to her, but it wasn’t easy, especially when the other girls passed comment on Gladys’s subdued mood.
‘She’s not been right since she went to London,’ Nora commented.
‘Them bloody Southerners!’ Maggie joked. Seeing Kit’s and Violet’s disapproving looks, she quickly moderated her tone. ‘It obviously doesn’t suit her being away from us, that’s all I was trying to say, like,’ she quickly added.
‘It’s not fair,’ Kit exclaimed. ‘Just as she was getting back to normal after leaving ENSA, then this goes and happens.’
‘I wonder what did happen down there in London?’ Nora murmured darkly.
‘Nowt good from the look of things,’ Maggie replied.
‘Don’t forget how badly Gladys took Myrtle’s death,’ Violet reminded the gr
oup.
‘We all did,’ choked Nora, who cried every time anybody mentioned Myrtle by name.
‘It makes no sense; she was excited about her training,’ Rosa reminded everybody. ‘She could not wait to get started.’
‘She’s come back looking terrible,’ Nora fretted. ‘She’s lost weight; she doesn’t eat; she’s quiet, no chatting and laughing these days.’
‘Also I hear poor girl weeping in the night,’ Rosa informed the group in a whisper.
‘Oh, dear,’ murmured Violet. ‘Something really is wrong.’
Sweet-natured Nora refused to be despondent. ‘She’ll buck up now she’s back with us,’ she said positively.
Rosa smiled at Nora’s genuine earnestness. She really was one of the kindest souls on earth; she hoped Nora’s optimism was justified, but her instincts told her that the pain Gladys had returned home with would take a long time to go away.
Kit amused her friends by telling them about Billy’s exciting days at the day nursery. ‘The staff have been making Christmas decorations with the children. I keep telling Billy that Father Christmas isn’t coming for a long time, but it makes no difference.’ She burst out laughing as she added, ‘He says he wants a big red nose, just like Rudolph’s!’
‘Stevie seems to like Arthur singing carols to him at bedtime,’ Violet said, as she lit up another cigarette before the hooter called them all back to work. ‘ “Silent Night” gets him off to sleep in no time,’ she added fondly.
A few days later the first spatter of snow fell over the moors, and the children in the Phoenix nursery watched in wonder as it drifted by the window and settled like a white blanket over the garden. With an excited smile on her face, the matron turned to the children. ‘Shall we build a snowman?’ she whispered.
Billy’s face lit up. ‘Snowman! YEAHH!’ he cried, heading for the door.
Matron, who had a soft spot for the irrepressible little boy with his wide smile and laughing eyes, called out loudly, ‘Coats on first, children.’