Swim Until You Can't See Land

by Catriona Child

  Have to dash, my roommate is pointing at the clock. Lights out in ten minutes and I must wash my face before bed. It’s a strict life sticking to curfews!

  Much love,

  M

  Marièle sat in the communal lounge, a cup and saucer balanced on her knee. She took a sip of tea and watched the others around her. A couple of the men played chess and smoked, Celia read a book while Doris chatted up one of the male officers. They’d spent the morning learning how to assemble and take apart a Bren gun. Then they’d had firearms practise out in the yard, peering round doorways and corners, shooting at targets which flew in and out of sight on ropes and pulleys. Marièle could still see the flash of the cut-out torso if she closed her eyes. It was strange to think they’d been shooting at pretend people earlier, yet here they all were now, civilised, tea and crumpets for supper in the lounge.

  ‘Where do they get all this food from?’ Eliza asked, spreading jam on another scone. ‘I’m grateful for these morning runs, I’d never fit in my clothes otherwise.’

  ‘I’m worried I’ll have to take my overalls with me when we leave, it’s all I’ll fit into,’ Celia replied, looking up from her book.

  ‘Only the best for the British army,’ Marièle laughed. ‘I think it’s all grown and made nearby. I’m surprised they’ve not had us out fishing, or pulling up tatties.’

  ‘Tatties?’

  ‘Potatoes,’ Marièle put on a fake posh accent.

  ‘Why do you think they’re keeping us up late tonight?’ Eliza asked, ‘I’m so tired.’

  ‘Another scheme, I suppose. Who knows? You can never get a straight answer round here.’

  Marièle drank her tea and helped herself to a scone. Everyone looked tired. Different to that first day, turning up off the train in their skirts and stockings, hair done, even a bit of makeup. Doris still persevered with the lippy but the rest of them had given up. Would rather have an extra five minutes sleep. No point anyway, it all sweated off when they were sent on yet another cross-country run.

  Marièle may have been eating more, but she’d lost weight rather than gained any. She lay awake at night, felt the poke of her hipbones, the tightness in her thighs, the shrinking of her bosom. She noticed it in her face too, her cheeks thinner; like the rest of them, she had purple shadows under her eyes, dirt under her fingernails, blisters on her feet. She admired Doris for still having the courage to chat up a fella, Marièle had never felt less attractive.

  Just to have a morning when she wasn’t woken up by someone blowing a whistle outside her bedroom door. That would be bliss. Or one night where she slept right through, undisturbed by Eliza’s snoring, not lying awake thinking about George.

  A room of her own, now that would be heaven. Her own room wasn’t so far away right now. Just a train ride. It was odd to be so close but not to be able to visit. She couldn’t even tell them she was so near. They all thought she was in London, living in the FANY hostel, learning to be a driver.

  What were Mama and Father doing now?

  Cath?

  She glanced at a clock on the wall. Father would probably be reading or listening to the wireless. She wasn’t sure about Mama, suddenly childless after all those years of doing nothing else but bringing up her children. Had Marièle made a terrible mistake leaving them? She had to do something though – didn’t see herself following the life of Mama.

  Marièle felt the homesickness tug at her. She bit down on the inside of her mouth. She wouldn’t let herself cry. Not here in front of everyone, anyway. None of them did that. She knew Eliza cried herself to sleep some nights and she’d heard someone crying in the toilets the other day. At first she hovered outside, waiting for them to come out so she could check if they were okay, but then she changed her mind. Walked away quickly, so whoever it was would come out and think they’d got away with it. They all put on a front here, acting brave, trying to do well in the training, when they were all exhausted and missing things back in their normal lives.

  Well, as normal as life could be these days.

  ‘Right, you lot, on your feet. Yes, yes, I know, I’m tired too. I’d rather be in bed than having to organise you lot. Outside, please, outside.’

  Marièle put down her tea, followed the rest of them, slipped her hands inside her pockets, away from the chill of the night air. The sky was clear, she could see the stars.

  ‘Right. You each have an individual scheme to complete. Take a slip of paper, your task is written on it. Once you know what you have to do, off you go. No waiting around to discuss or confer, you’re on your own tonight.’

  Marièle took the slip of paper, stepped back so she could read it using the light of the house.

  Find the dead letter box located 2km west and 3km South of HQ – 56.910502, 5.84404. Memorise and destroy the message waiting for you. Follow the instructions on the message, complete and return to HQ by 02.30.

  8 June 1943

  NAME OF RECRUIT: Miss Marièle Downie

  PROGRESS REPORT – Fitness improving, asks intelligent questions, struggles slightly with map reading and compass navigation – as a consequence did not complete night mission in allotted time.

  June 1943

  Dearest Cath,

  Well, how are you, darling? I’m being kept frightfully busy, which explains the rather erratic nature of my letters. Being in the FANY keeps me on my toes but it’s rather dull work, I’m afraid to reveal. Reveal, that’s a laugh, as if I reveal anything these days!

  It seems I’m to remain a driver for now, so spend most of my days ferrying awfully important people around. Some of them are very pleasant and we have a joke but others are frightfully serious and downright rude to your friend – the lowly driver. Think Mrs Walker multiplied by about a hundred! Gosh, you should see me, driving around London . Me, who struggled on my old push-bike. I keep thinking of that afternoon we took the notion to cycle to Peterhead. What an awful idea, why did we do it? My posterior aches just thinking about it.

  Well, I shall love you and leave you. Not much free time for me, I’m afraid. Much love to you and say hello to the gang at work. I do hope we haven’t lost any more of our boys.

  M

  ‘Who do you keep writing to? Is it your sweetheart?’ asked Eliza.

  Marièle sat at the shared desk in their room, while Eliza sat on her bed, feet resting in a tub of hot water.

  ‘No, I don’t have a fella, it’s my friend Cath back home.’

  ‘Any of the fellas here caught your eye then?’

  Her lips were wet from the snow which had started to fall again, and Marièle felt the kiss burn against her cold skin.

  ‘I’ll admit there are some handsome ones here, but nobody special.’

  ‘I hadn’t noticed, I’m a married woman after all.’

  Eliza laughed, splashed water over the edge of the tub with her feet.

  ‘You’re not supposed to tell me that, no personal information remember?’

  ‘Oh nonsense, they can’t make me take off my wedding ring,’ Eliza replied. ‘Besides, you just told me about your friend Cath.’

  ‘Gosh, I did. Oh dear, I’m never going to pass this training.’

  ‘Do you see Mr Tracy up there?’ Eliza pointed to a black and white cut-out picture of Spencer Tracy. ‘My Bill looks like a young Spencer Tracy. That’s why I’ve put that up there, they won’t let me have a real photo of him.’

  Eliza ran a finger across the picture.

  ‘What do you think they’d do if someone struck up a romance here?’ Eliza asked. ‘Doris’s already been caught sneaking over to the men’s quarters.’

  ‘I don’t know. She’s some girl, isn’t she? I don’t think any of the fellas are worth a week of six am runs though.’

  ‘No, you’re right, what a punishment! My poor feet,’ Eliza rubbed at them, water dripped onto the carpet. ‘I can’t believe they made us go on a ten-mile hike today. Back home, I never go further than the shops or the pictures.’

  ‘At least y
ou didn’t make a mess of your compass reading. I ended up adding an extra five miles on by mistake.’

  ‘Oh yes, poor dear. Come and stick your feet in here.’

  Marièle sat next to Eliza on the bed and pulled off her thick socks. She sunk her feet into the tub, her blisters stinging in the water.

  ‘I hate these hideous socks,’ Marièle balled them up and threw them against the wall. ‘So itchy. This feels wonderful.’

  The initial sting had dissipated and the water soothed her tired and aching feet.

  ‘So, what do you tell your friend? Your letters would never get through if you told her the truth.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve told her I’m enlisted with the FANY, not a lie, and that I’m a driver in London, a complete falsehood. I feel awful making up these stories, but I like writing to her. Maybe one day, I’ll be able to tell her the truth.’

  Eliza nodded and lay back on the bed. She laid her feet in Marièle’s lap and Marièle rubbed at her damp toes and soles. Her feet were soft, the skin beginning to wrinkle.

  ‘You are a dear. It’s hard, isn’t it? I’ve been meaning to write to my son, but he’s so young, I just don’t know what to say to him.’

  ‘Gosh, Eliza, I didn’t know you had a wee boy.’

  ‘A minute ago you were telling me off for giving out personal information. To be honest, it’s too upsetting to speak about him. Don’t let on, but I’ve got a picture here under my pillow.’ She reached underneath and handed Marièle a photo, its corners bent and creased.

  ‘Oh, he’s a wee sweetheart, what’s his name?’

  ‘Adam. He’s only three, my little lamb. Abandoned by his mummy and daddy.’

  Eliza slipped the photo back under the pillow, but left her hand there.

  ‘How can you bear it?’

  ‘It’s hard, I won’t lie. I turned them down a few times, but they were very persistent. I sometimes wish I hadn’t answered that ad looking for French photographs.’

  ‘That’s how they got me too.’

  ‘He’s very resilient though. My mother-in-law and sister are looking after him. If Bill can go off gallivanting with the forces then I can do my bit too. It’s his future after all. That’s what I keep telling myself. Besides, it’ll all be over soon, won’t it?’

  ‘If we’re lucky it might even be over before this training is,’ Marièle replied, squeezing Eliza’s feet. ‘Hopefully before the next obstacle course.’

  11 June 1943

  NAME OF RECRUIT: Miss Marièle Downie

  PROGRESS REPORT – Miss Downie works hard and her map reading has improved as a result. She possesses a dry sense of humour and gets on well with the other recruits. Concerns remain regarding her age, although youth may work to her advantage in France.

  Marièle stood in the empty hanger while the trainer fixed her into her safety helmet and harness. The doors of the hanger were open and the sun shone in as she was hoisted into the air and swung back and forward, back and forward, back and forward. It was hard to pretend you were in a parachute, the swinging motion was so relaxing.

  ‘Ladies, this isn’t meant to be fun, it’s serious. You are learning how to parachute. How to fall from a great height and not get hurt.’ The trainer shouted up at them.

  Marièle tried to remember what he’d told her before she was strapped in, but the swinging motion was too hypnotic. She closed her eyes, let the harness take her weight. It was like a cradle, back and forward, back and forward, back and forward. Oh, to be a child again, not to worry about wars and George never coming home.

  Back, forward, back forward, the seconds ticked away as she swung.

  Tick, tock, tick tock, back, forward, tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, back, forward.

  She kicked her legs out underneath her, as if she were on a swing, kick, kick, kick, faster, higher, faster, higher.

  Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock.

  The silver cross hit against her chest as she swung faster and faster.

  Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock.

  She wanted to go so fast that she rocked away the seconds, minutes, hours, days. She wanted to swing time away, rush on towards the future, the end of the war. They say time heals; could she swing so fast that the lump in her chest broke down and disappeared? Cheat the grieving process by speeding through it.

  Or maybe she could go backwards in time if she swung the opposite way? Back to before the lump formed, stop George from leaving. Warn him not to go.

  ‘You up there, Miss Downie?’ She heard someone shout her name and opened her eyes. The trainer jumped, grabbed her by the ankle, slowed her down.

  ‘This isn’t a swing, it’s a tool,’ he shouted at her. ‘Out you get, onto the landing apparatus.’

  She joined another group of recruits. Took her turn at sliding down the wooden chute which hung over a crash mat, at jumping out of the old fuselage they had set up.

  Her stomach lurched as she fell into space, then the ropes went taut, simulating the parachute descent. She hung in the air briefly before being launched into the drop and roll of her landing.

  ‘Keep your legs together. You girls should be good at this, it’s all about modesty,’ the trainer shouted. ‘You need to learn to fall the right way if you want to earn your paratrooper’s wings.’

  July 1943

  Darling Cath,

  It’s me again. I know it’s not long since my last letter, but I must confess writing to you is a comfort at the moment. Gosh, I’m homesick. My days keep me very busy but I have a bit of spare time before bed and that’s when it hits me. I’ve got myself into the routine of writing a few paragraphs to you. It makes me feel better. It’s like writing a diary, except that I can picture you reading and imagine your responses, it’s almost like having a real chat with you.

  I hope they’ll give me some time off soon.

  M

  ‘I thought the wind would be louder up here,’ said Eliza, ‘but you can’t hear anything over the engines.’

  They lined up ready to jump, girls first, the men following on at the back. The trainer had taken them to one side earlier at the airfield, told them the reason for the order as they climbed into their bulky overalls.

  ‘Don’t let me down now, ladies. When you jump first it means the men won’t chicken out. Can’t see the girls getting the better of them, now can they?’

  Marièle thought she’d be unable to go through with it when the time came. Thought she’d have to be forced out, had even told Eliza to go behind and give her a hard shove on the back if she hesitated. It was one thing jumping off the Fan strapped into a harness, but quite another jumping out of a plane and trusting yourself to a parachute.

  When the time came though, she found it surprisingly easy. Much easier than the six am obstacle courses, the ten mile hikes, the cross-country runs.

  The map-reading.

  Something everyone should do at least once in their life.

  She wished she could tell Cath about it, instead of inventing yet another story about driving officers around London.

  ‘How can you stay so calm?’ Eliza whispered. ‘I thought you needed a push!’

  ‘I don’t know. It just feels okay now we’re actually up here.’

  ‘Speak for yourself, don’t you worry it won’t open?’

  ‘C’est la vie,’ Marièle shrugged.

  The smell of the Lysander and the noise of the engines as they rose higher and higher soothed her. She sat on the edge of the drop hole, legs buffeted by the wind as they dangled under the plane, her static line attached to the fuselage.

  She placed her hands flat on either side of her, felt the fuselage vibrating. She didn’t need a shove on the back when the light flashed from red to green and the arm of the trainer swung down.

  GO!

  She was happy to go, happy to jump. Her head throbbed with the thrill of it, the blood pumping in her ears.

  It was beautiful. The mosaic of fields and towns, growing and spreading out bene
ath you. Turning from coloured shapes into real things, from abstract to actual, as the wind rushed through. She preferred the abstract, felt a twinge of regret as things came into focus. It was almost a shame to hit land, to have to run and gather up your chute before the wind caught it and dragged you along the ground.

  It was Doris who came up with the nickname, Marièle, Mariemerle, Merle.

  Soon everyone called her it, ‘Merle.’

  ‘You deserve that badge, Merle,’ Eliza said, as Marièle stitched the cloth wings onto her tunic.

  29 June 1943

  NAME OF RECRUIT: Miss Marièle Downie

  PROGRESS REPORT

  Marièle has performed well during training, no reason why she should not proceed apart from the obvious age issue. Her highest score on the obstacle course was 147, well above the 78 needed to pass. Has also performed well on other duties, although still lacks aptitude in map reading. Has a natural talent for parachuting and has outshone the other recruits – men included!

  RECOMMEND HER FOR THE NEXT STAGE

  April 2007

  Hannah Wrights Her Mark On The World Stage

  Medal down under for Scottish swimmer

  Hannah Wright was celebrating last night after winning a bronze medal at the World Swimming Championships and achieving a new British record in the 100m Butterfly. Hannah swam a personal best time of 57.89 and finished third in a thrilling final, missing out on second spot by three hundredths of a second.‘ A medal and a new British record, well you can’t ask for more than that really,’ Hannah said after her race. ‘I knew I had it in me to get the British record, and I thought there was a chance of a medal if I swam that fast, so I’m just delighted with my performance.’