by Jenny Holmes
‘Leaving you with a broken leg and lucky to be alive.’
He shook his head and lapsed into silence. His face was drained of emotion in the dim light and his mind was hundreds of miles away, smashing its way out of a burning cockpit after a failed night-time mission over northern France.
In Burnside the build-up to Christmas continued even as enemy bombers flew overhead with increasing regularity. Further afield, the Pact of Steel was strengthened between Hitler and Mussolini. The Italians threatened the British fleet off the coast of Egypt and Churchill made yet another inspiring speech in the House of Commons, broadcast on the Home Service and listened to by millions.
‘It does make you wonder if we’re right to carry on as usual.’ Elsie voiced what many of the Land Girls at Fieldhead were secretly feeling. It was eight days before Christmas and they’d got together in the middle of the week for an extra rehearsal at the Blacksmith’s Arms. ‘I probably shouldn’t say it, but with the Japs and the Yanks at each other’s throats in Hong Kong, besides everything that’s going on in Europe and North Africa, there might be something to be said for having a quiet Christmas this year, without too much fuss.’
‘What, and let Jerry think that he’s got the better of us?’ Brenda’s was the first voice to object. ‘Personally, I’m for keeping calm and carrying on like those poor blighters in London did in the early days of the Blitz.’
There was a slow murmur of agreement from those around the piano.
‘Yes, if Londoners can cope with kipping all night in Underground stations and come up in the morning to find their homes blown to smithereens, I’m sure we can deal with a Messerschmitt dropping the odd bomb over Thornley Dam.’ Kathleen’s steely determination to go on with preparations for the show wasn’t to be shaken. In fact, she’d decided to take it easy at work so that she would have spare energy to put into rehearsals in the evenings. Tonight they were to learn a new song for the finale – Vera Lynn’s ‘We’ll Meet Again’, which was guaranteed to bring tears to everyone’s eyes.
‘These may be dark days,’ Una agreed with her usual sincerity, ‘but I do believe Mr Churchill’s bright light will soon be seen shining over all the land and sea.’
‘Yes, and our job is to bring a bit of that light to Burnside.’ Joyce was at the piano, tentatively running through the melody of the new song. She looked up to see a contingent of three Canadian Air Force men come into the mostly empty pub.
‘Hello there, girls.’ Flight Lieutenant Mackenzie immediately broke away from the trio and treated them to his broad, confident grin. ‘What’s this – a run-through for next week’s Christmas spectacular?’
Brenda mirrored his smile as she came forward to meet him. ‘Yes, but we’ll be forced to call a halt while you’re here, won’t we, girls?’
Kathleen joined her, sheet music in hand. ‘Definitely. We need to keep a few surprises up our sleeve – otherwise the evening will fall flat.’
Mac sandwiched himself between them and shook his head. ‘There’s no chance of that,’ he assured them. ‘Our guys can’t wait for Tuesday. In fact, I’m struggling to find volunteers to man the base while the rest of us come to see the show.’
‘You hear that, girls?’ Brenda called for the others to gather round. ‘Mac is promising us a nice, friendly audience so it won’t matter if we make fools of ourselves by tripping and falling off the stage into their laps.’
Una dragged Joyce and Grace across the room to enjoy the glamorous interruption. Mac smiled at her and said hi and she felt flattered that he remembered her.
‘It’s the girl on the back of the motor bike, isn’t it? What’s your name?’
‘Una. And this is Joyce.’
‘Hi, Joyce.’
‘And Grace.’
‘Hi, Grace. I’ve seen you working behind the bar.’
‘That’s right. I live here.’ Grace knew how popular the Canadian servicemen were and she shared the enthusiasm of the local women. Their smart uniforms, well-groomed hair and the relaxed openness of their smiles caused a flutter of excitement whenever they walked in.
‘Well, ladies, I have some good news.’ Mac enjoyed the attention. ‘Not only are we nice and friendly, as you put it, but I can guarantee you a total of thirty eager airmen.’
Brenda couldn’t help raising a doubtful eyebrow. ‘But you said fifteen.’
‘Yeah, but we got a batch of fresh recruits on account of recent events in the Far East. Is thirty a problem?’
‘Not at all.’ Kathleen swept aside any complications – such as space and the number of chairs available. ‘The more the merrier.’
‘We’ll check with the caretaker.’ Brenda felt a twinge of resentment against Kathleen. Since when had she taken over the role of impresario? ‘But don’t worry – I’m sure we’ll be able to squeeze you in at the back.’
‘That sounds good to me, Miss Motor-bike-rider.’
‘Brenda.’ She gave him her brightest smile. As far as she was concerned, you could keep Italians with their romantic, rolling arrivedercis and their donna bellas. For her, this cool, up-front Canadian charm did it every time.
‘Well, Brenda, you can squeeze me in at the back any time,’ he assured her with a wink. ‘Hey, Brenda and Una, why not come and talk numbers with my squadron leader?’ Mac took each of them by the elbow and clicked his heels smartly at the rest of the group. ‘Excuse us, ladies. And please, don’t hold up your rehearsal on our account. We’re like the three monkeys – we promise not to look, listen or speak a word.’
Brenda and Una felt themselves being ushered towards the bar. They soon had drinks in their hands and while Jim Aldridge introduced Una to his companion, Mac commandeered Brenda all to himself.
‘So, Brenda, how do you like the Land Army?’
‘I like it a lot. It beats working in a butcher’s shop.’
‘The outdoor life must suit a girl like you. It does wonders for the figure, for a start. And yeah – that’s a compliment.’
‘Thank you.’ Unabashed, Brenda sipped her cider and enjoyed his admiring glances. There were none of the complications here that she’d encountered with Bill Mostyn – it was out and out flattery.
‘And is there a guy tucked away back home?’ he wanted to know. ‘I guess there must be, for a good-looking gal like you.’
‘No guy,’ she insisted.
‘How come?’ Mac leaned one elbow on the bar and gave her his full attention.
‘Because I choose not to toe the line. I mean, I don’t take any of the usual clap-trap – hearts and flowers, and such like. I prefer people to be straight with me.’
Mac gave a hearty laugh. ‘Clap-trap! Is that even a word?’
‘It is where I come from. Anyway, what about you? Are you engaged to a “gee-whiz” girl in Toronto?’
‘Vancouver,’ he corrected. ‘No fiancée, gee-whiz or otherwise.’ He turned to tap Jim Aldridge on the arm. ‘Vouch for me, sir – tell Brenda I’m single and fancy free.’
Brenda leaned behind the two men and spoke to Una in a stage whisper. ‘Take my advice – do not believe a word they say!’
‘Hey, that’s not very nice.’ Mac played Brenda’s game and pretended to take offence. ‘We’re Canadians, not Italians, remember. Talking of which, did you hear that they’re thinking of closing down Beckwith Camp?’
It was as if a bolt from a crossbow had thudded into Una’s ribcage. She felt all the blood drain from her face and had to hold onto the bar to stay upright.
‘Come again!’ Brenda too was startled.
‘Don’t worry – it’s not happening until after Christmas so you won’t be playing to a half-empty house.’
‘But what do you mean?’ Brenda tried to frame a sensible question. ‘If they close the camp, where will the prisoners go?’
It can’t be true, Una thought. He’s made a mistake.
‘According to what I heard, they’re moving them further north, to the west coast of Scotland.’ Puzzled by the impact his snippet
of information seemed to have made, Mac shrugged and tried to move the subject on. ‘The plan is for us to expand our base and use the Beckwith Camp huts for new trainees.’
‘Wait a second – why Scotland, for heaven’s sake?’ Brenda asked.
It was Aldridge’s turn to fend off questions. ‘I guess that information is classified.’ He spoke with authority, making it clear that such talk was off limits.
‘What will you Land Army girls do without the POWs working with you?’ Mac wondered in the same amused tone as before. ‘Who’ll do the heavy work?’
‘We will.’ An arch look from Brenda made it clear that his last remark had caused offence. Then a quick glance in Una’s direction told her that she had to get her friend out of the smoky pub into the fresh air. She put down her glass and grabbed her by the arm. ‘Now if you’ll excuse us, Una and I have to go and powder our noses then get back to rehearsal.’
‘It’s not definite. Mac only said they’re thinking of closing the camp.’ Brenda leaned Una against the forge door and fanned her face with the copy of the Vera Lynn song that she had in her pocket. ‘He didn’t say that they actually will.’
‘How will I cope?’ The bolt had struck and Una was struggling to breathe. ‘I’ll be lost without him. I won’t be able to stand it.’
‘Stop. Listen to me. You’ve only known Angelo for five minutes. It won’t be the end of the world, I promise.’
Una grasped her wrist. ‘Brenda, he can’t go to Scotland. He can’t.’
‘You’ll be able to write to him. He can write to you.’
There was a terrible pain in her chest. ‘No, it’s not the same – words on a page. His English is …’ She trailed off into a dry sob.
‘Listen, it might never happen. Take a deep breath, try to calm down.’
‘I need to see him face to face,’ Una pleaded.
‘When? Uh-oh, you mean now, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
Una’s stricken look quickly convinced Brenda. She glanced at her watch to see that it was ten to seven. Fifteen minutes on the bike would get them to Penny Lane. ‘All right, I’ll drive you over there. Wait here. I’ll fetch our jackets and tell Grace and the others where we’re going.’
Without wasting any time, she kept her promise and five minutes later they were on their way, travelling at high speed and meeting no traffic. ‘Hold tight,’ she warned Una as she leaned the Sloper into a sharp bend. Luckily there was no ice or fog and only the lightest of drizzles in the air.
Una’s heart was thumping, her mouth dry. She didn’t notice the road or anything about her surroundings. Brenda was taking her to see Angelo – that was all that mattered.
They turned into Penny Lane and Brenda eased off the throttle. ‘Be prepared – they might not let us in,’ she warned as the bike slowed down. ‘I’ll think up some excuse about preparations for the show, but it depends who’s on sentry duty.’
I have to see him. I have to talk to him.
‘Do you hear me?’ Brenda prompted.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll do my best. Here we go.’ She revved again, passing the Canadian base and arriving at the sentry box outside Beckwith Camp with a roar of her engine. ‘Angelo would have to be deaf not to hear that,’ she said to Una as they got off the bike. ‘Keep your eyes peeled.’
They walked the twenty yards from the lane to the gate where the sentry stepped out, his rifle at the ready. Beyond the gate, there were lights on in the huts and the usual sounds of doors opening and closing, men’s voices calling in Italian and footsteps coming and going.
Neither Brenda nor Una recognized the private who barred their way. He wore steel-rimmed glasses and his face was broad and smooth, his hair clipped in army-style short back and sides. ‘Yes?’ he asked.
‘We’ve come about the Christmas show at Burnside,’ Brenda began in her most perky manner. Una stayed tucked in behind her to hide her pale face and shaking hands. ‘It’s on Tuesday of next week. We’d like to talk to your sergeant to finalize numbers.’
There were more voices. One was Angelo’s, Una was sure.
The dark pine trees behind the camp swayed in a wind that blew gusts of cold mist against their faces. Voices were raised. A door slammed shut.
‘The sergeant is busy. Come back tomorrow in the daylight,’ the sentry told Brenda.
‘We can’t – we’ll be busy working.’
‘Then make a phone call if you can’t come in person.’
‘Listen – all we need is the number of prisoners so we can set out enough seats.’ Brenda could see from the sentry’s blank expression that she wasn’t getting anywhere. ‘You ought to make sure that your name is on the list too,’ she said with her most winning smile. ‘And Albert and Jack – tell them that it’s going to be a jolly good show. They should try to come.’
‘Miss, I haven’t got time to listen to this.’ Eyeing Brenda’s thrown-together outfit of breeches, airman’s jacket and felt hat, he sniffed and shook his head. ‘There are reports of an intruder. A man was seen in the vicinity.’
Una peered over his shoulder and saw a figure she was sure was Angelo being marched by an armed guard towards the single brick-built building in the camp. The door was opened by someone inside then closed firmly behind them.
‘Just five minutes with your sergeant,’ Brenda implored, though by now she knew it was useless.
‘Did you hear me, miss? An intruder.’ The sentry tapped his rifle butt. ‘Step back. Go straight home if you know what’s good for you.’
With despair in her heart, Una pulled Brenda away. The entrance was barred. Angelo was in trouble with the guards and it was her fault. They walked back to the bike and Brenda started the engine.
‘Just our luck to come up against a stickler for the rules,’ she muttered.
Una felt the Sloper kick into life. I’ll write, she thought as she gripped the cold metal of the narrow luggage rack behind the pillion seat. I’ll tell Angelo how much I love him and I always will …
CHAPTER TWELVE
Friday morning saw Grace, Brenda and Una working together at Brigg Farm. Roland set them to work on a new set of potato clamps in a field furthest from the farmhouse where they were exposed to a bitterly cold wind. It blew the thin covering of powdery snow into their faces and froze their fingers. Today there was to be no comforting bonfire and no help from the team of POWs, the dour farmer warned them as he left.
‘You’re out of luck,’ Neville remarked to Una when he arrived with the horse and cart two hours later to collect the full sacks. A knitted balaclava protected his head from the worst of the cold and he wore a threadbare jacket over two jumpers and a set of his father’s combinations. He jumped down clumsily from the driver’s seat and set to work lifting the sacks.
‘What do you mean by that?’ she retorted as she stood up straight to ease her aching back.
‘Your Angelo is filling in for Frank Kellett over at Home Farm, so there’ll be no lovey-dovey chats for you today.’
While Grace and Brenda worked on, Una took Neville to one side and felt in her pocket. With numb, mud-encrusted fingers she drew out the letter she’d written the night before. ‘Can you make sure he gets this?’
He took it and tucked it into his inside pocket then held his hand out for payment.
Again she fumbled until she found a sixpence and gave it to him. Then she picked his brains. ‘Nev, have you heard any rumours about them closing the camp?’
‘No. That’s news to me.’
‘Are you sure? Nothing about the Canadians taking it over?’
‘Not a dicky bird,’ he assured her. He frowned when he realized that this would put an end to his source of extra income then considered putting up his charges for as long as it lasted before taking pity on a miserable Una. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll find out for you.’
‘And you’ll deliver the letter today?’ In it she’d poured out her heart, telling Angelo that her feelings for him were true and they would neve
r change, that she kept the little box he’d made for her under her pillow and it was where she stored his precious letters tied with a red satin ribbon. There was much more – a promise that she would go on loving him even if the war were to force them apart, the hope that he felt as she did and would not forget her. The war would end eventually. Their countries would make peace and after that they could be together.
‘I’ll get it to him if I can.’ Neville was making no promises. His dad had given him a list of jobs as long as his arm – take Major down to the smithy for a full set of new shoes, replace the washer on the yard tap, collect a dozen eggs from Winsill Edge.
‘Please.’
‘I said I’ll try.’ This go-between lark wasn’t easy. His best bet was to track Angelo down before he finished work at Home Farm, which would mean making a detour on the way to Horace Turnbull’s hen farm. He could do that before he took Major to the forge.
Una mouthed a thank-you and went to rejoin Grace and Brenda while Neville loaded the sacks.
‘Chin up,’ Grace murmured as an anxious Una watched him drive the cart away. ‘Did I hear him say that Angelo is filling in for Frank?’
‘Yes.’ Una made a reckoning of the number of days that the Kelletts’ son had been missing. ‘It’s Friday today and he vanished on Monday morning. That’s five whole days. Emily must be worried sick.’
Brenda started on a fresh layer of straw, unearthing yet more potatoes. If anything, the weather was turning even colder and frost nipped at her fingers and turned them red-raw. ‘Do you remember the intruder we heard about on Wednesday night?’ she began as Una got back to work. ‘I was wondering if it might have been him, by any chance.’
‘The sentry at the camp warned us about it,’ Una explained to Grace. ‘But what would Frank have been doing there?’
‘Maybe he was on the lookout for something to eat?’ Grace suggested.
‘Or for a place to keep warm.’ Brenda could see why Beckwith Camp’s kitchen storeroom and wood fires might lure Frank in.