Their relief at being spared the wrath of the reaper was short lived. They were called to briefing the following afternoon and it was with some trepidation that Carter took his seat in the briefing room. When jobs were cancelled, you just knew you would be going back sooner rather than later. Hamburg seemed to be the current focus so they were pleasantly surprised when they were briefed for Bremen. It was a harder target than Hamburg but it was not quite as far to go.
A large industrial town, Bremen had a lot of anti aircraft guns around it but it was near the coast and didn’t suffer from the persistent haze you would expect over cities in the Ruhr. Carter had flown some of the early raids over the Ruhr on his first tour. The whole area was usually wrapped in a pungent smog from the factories and foundries and very often, you couldn’t distinguish where the boundaries of one town ended and another began. You always knew you were over the Ruhr from the smell. You could almost navigate your way there if the wind was blowing in the right direction.
L-London was still not ready so once more they mounted Q-Queen. Walsh flew the other spare with a new wireless op. In the morning he’d been told that Bellamy would be away for some time after the doctors had picked bits of shrapnel out of him and rebuilt his arm. Whether he would ever fly again was not certain.
The whole ground staff were out to see the crews off. Etheridge and Dickinson watched from the rail as Asher led the squadron to war. It was not his turn in the rotation. By rights, it should have been Dickinson’s turn but Asher was not oblivious to the prevailing mood and grumbling that had done the rounds the last few days. The men were tired and their patience had been tested so he invoked Squadron Commanders privilege and went instead.
Georgette was at her desk when the Interrogation reports and target photos were delivered from Amber Hill. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer before thumbing through the stack. Her heart froze when she got to the end of the pile and there was no sheet or photograph for L-London. Her hands tightened and crinkled the paper. She had to school herself not to panic or make any outward show of feeling.
She went through the reports a second time. She looked at each one more carefully, checking the name of the pilot and the names of the crew. She found his name on the very last sheet. Alex Carter, Q-Queen. She read the report, making careful note that they had bombed the target late due to strong headwinds.
She frowned as she looked at the photo. There were fires on the ground but a lot of the detail was hidden by thick globs of cloud. A streak of tracer went across the frame, great balls of light. What she could see of the ground didn’t have very many buildings visible. There was a cluster of large industrial type buildings in the top corner, but she had a sinking feeling that they had dropped on open countryside to the south of the city.
She had heard about the Butt report. Working at Group, there were few things that didn’t filter down eventually. She’d heard the claim that most bombs hit nothing or blew up a lot of cows and sheep. She’d not believed it before, but it was hard to argue with what she could see in front of her.
Her team worked their way through the reports from 363 and all the other squadrons, but it didn’t take a genius to see it had been another bad night. 5 Group had put up just over forty aircraft. Half had claimed to have attacked the target. Of those, only two thirds seemed to have gotten near anything of value. The rest had dropped on the countryside or other places. Of the remainder, some seemed to have drawn been away by a decoy fire near Oldenburg. In return, 5 Group had lost two aircraft. One over the target, another presumably to a night fighter somewhere on the way home. Two more had force landed upon return. Overall, not a stellar night in the annals of Bomber Command.
She was drafting an initial summary of the figures around lunchtime when the telegram came. She signed for it and then read the ticker tape pasted onto the card.
HELLO DARLING. DONE 3 IN 4 NIGHTS. AM OKAY BUT VERY TIRED. MISS YOU. A
She asked Wilkinson to take a note to Helen as they were going out the door of Group that evening. He gave her an encouraging smile as he took the note from her. She was very pale.
Carter received a message over dinner. One of the Mess Stewards brought him the note on a silver tray while he was tucking into his pudding. Never had sponge and custard tasted so good.
The nights op had been another struggle to get to and from the target. The winds had shifted and the heavy cloud still clung to the ground in thick clumps making it difficult to get a good fix. It had been a dark night and with Germany blacked out, Woods had a devil of a job finding the way.
They had been drawn towards the glow of flames on the horizon but even in the pitch black, Woods could see it wasn’t Bremen. None of the salient features were there and there was no river visible wending its way north as there should be. They pressed on until they got to Bremen and dropped their bombs after ploughing through a ferocious flak barrage, the worst Woods had ever seen. Poor old Q-Queen had been tossed around like a cork on the ocean. They picked up a few new holes and then beat it home.
Carter rang Georgette’s digs after dinner. He moved a chair from the lounge into the hall and sat by the phone, one hand clapped over his ear while he waited for the switchboard to put him through. He heard voices on the other end of the line.
“Georgette?”
“I’m here.”
It was a bad connection and her voice sounded flat and without colour.
“I got your message.”
She laughed. Two of her house mates came down the stairs, their voices chattering away.
“I got your telegram.”
“I’m sorry I’ve not been able to call the last few days.”
“I know.” She knew full well why he couldn’t call. That had never been a problem with Charles, but bomber squadrons were different to fighter units. “I’ve been following you from here.”
“I miss you,” he said, meaning it. Time had telescoped for Carter these last few days. It had only been five days since he had seen her and it felt like a month. He could sleep for a week. His earlier energy was flagging fast. “A lots happened. I’m not sure if I’m coming or going.” He stopped himself as his attention wandered.
She heard the fatigue in his voice.
“I miss you too.”
“I need you,” he said. He wanted to see her, needed to. He needed to get away from Amber Hill, even if it was only for a few hours. “Can you get away?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll know in the morning.”
Monday was her normal work day on the roster. If there was an Op Order in from Bomber Command Headquarters then it would be busy, if not, then she might be able to organise something. He understood what she meant but it was frustrating having to wait.
He shot an evil look down the hall as a noisy group of men came out of the bar and headed for the exit. Archer and a few others were heading out.
“Get your number dry,” Archer said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. The hangers on laughed like drains, liking the joke.
“Sorry,” Carter said. “I missed what you said.”
“I said, if there’s nothing on, I’ll get over somehow.”
“I hope so. I’ll wait to hear from you.”
“You sound dead on your feet,” she said with some concern.
“Nothing a good nights sleep won’t cure.” He tried to sound offhand but his voice failed him.
“Then look after yourself,” she told him with feeling. “Tomorrow will come soon enough. Goodnight darling.”
“Goodnight darling.”
24 - Love And War
Saint Vincent’s Hall was set in large wooded grounds. Ever since the war began, the staff at Saint Vincent’s Hall had increased and the manicured grounds had gradually disappeared. Nissen huts surrounded the tennis court and more huts had been put up under the trees. The last vestiges of the hall’s former glory was a small ornamental garden and some long Victorian greenhouses at the rear of the house.
The tall Flight Lieutenant and the p
etite WAAF walked next to each other, very conscious that there were people around them. They needed to find somewhere out of view if that was even remotely possible.
Georgette suggested walking beyond the greenhouses and keep going into the trees. Before Christmas she had found a path that led to a bench seat set in a small clearing surrounded by clumps of thick bushes. Judging from the cigarette butts on the ground, the sentries sheltered here when the weather was lousy. She hoped it would be empty when they got there. Carter had turned up out of the blue and they had slid out to the canteen while she got over the shock.
“You could have let a girl know you were coming,” she gently chided him as she reached across the table and took his hand in hers.
“Sorry, it was a spur of the moment thing,” he said again. “My Flight Commander was coming across and I cadged a lift.”
She blushed under his gaze, fizzing inside. Both of them wanted to say a lot but they were very aware that an Air Commodore was a few tables away. A few WAAF’s were at the other end of the canteen, chattering away and Georgette saw them looking in her direction, wondering who he was.
“You are naughty,” she told him.
“I’m using my initiative,” he corrected her, “I needed to see you,” he said with feeling. She blushed again, pleased he had come and smiled behind her cup of tea. When a clump of Wing Commanders and Squadron Leaders came into the canteen, they decided it was time to move. Still on duty, Georgette couldn’t go far so she took him for a walk around the grounds.
It had been pure chance that he was here. Walking back from the hangar to see his plane, Dickinson had pulled up alongside him in a Tilly and asked how he was doing. After a good nights sleep, Carter felt remarkably refreshed. They chatted for a few minutes about his Manchester and when she would be ready and then Carter asked his Flight Commander where he was going. When he found out he was going to Group, he’d talked Dickinson into letting him come along.
“I’ll be there a few hours,” the New Zealander warned him.
“That’ll be fine, there’s someone I need to see.” Carter replied, offhand. Even a few hours was better than nothing and he wanted to see Georgette. Besides, he didn’t know when he would have another opportunity to get back over.
It took Dickinson forty minutes to cover the twenty odd miles. The New Zealander was a cautious driver and Carter sat in the front passenger seat with a briefcase and a bundle of papers in his lap. A conference of squadron commanders had been called to Group to discuss upcoming changes to operations. Asher had gone on leave that morning and made Dickinson acting CO in his absence.
Dickinson’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel while he drove in silence. He was sure Asher had known about this conference ahead of time and strategically taken some leave to avoid it. Dickinson hated these meetings. Being sat in a conference room, the low man on the totem pole, surrounded by braid was not how he wanted to spend his afternoons.
During the drive, Carter blandly asked when he could have some leave. Dickinson’s grunt was non committal while he concentrated on the drive. He fudged a gear change and banged the stick. Generally crews got a few days off every few weeks so by the usual rule of thumb, Carter and his crew were due, but the mass leave when the squadron was grounded had messed up the schedule to some degree. Dickinson wanted to know what Group had planned before he could properly answer that question.
They had gone their separate ways in the lobby. After a Flight Lieutenant took Dickinson to the conference, Carter scuttled along to Georgette’s office. He wished he had a camera when she looked up from her desk and saw him standing there. He remembered the last time he’d come into her office and the look she had given him then. This time was totally different. She was still shocked, but the warmth in her eyes was worth the trip.
They found the bench and sat down. It was a good spot, sheltered from the wind and out of sight of the huts. It was as private as it was going to get for them. Georgette linked arms with him and they held hands under the shade of the trees. Carter had thought about seeing her for days, now he was with her his mind had gone blank.
“I didn’t know when I’d see you again,” she said quietly and leaned in to him. He sneaked his hand round her shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze.
“I would have come sooner if I could.”
“I know. I’ve had to watch and wait each night. I didn’t think it would be so hard watching those reports come in,” she said glumly. When Charles had been on his squadron she’d not been a WAAF then. She only ever heard snippets from him of what went on so she had no idea what really happened. Her eyes got shiny when she thought back to reading Carters reports, the bare language that glossed over the details but said so much.
“I might be due a few days leave soon,” he said to cheer her up a bit and she brightened at that. It had been hard the last few days not being able to just talk to him and see him whenever she wanted. There was no bus to Amber Hill and she wouldn’t be able to borrow her friends car again any time soon.
“I’m owed a few days as well.”
“Now we just to have to figure out where.” The only hotel he knew near by was The Madison and he didn’t particularly want to take Georgette to somewhere in Lincoln. He wanted somewhere they could be together and be themselves for a few days and really get to know each other. Something on the coast perhaps.
“Goodgie?” he whispered. She smiled when he called her that and gripped his arm. “We’ll sort leave, but lets go for dinner this weekend, make a proper evening of it. How about that?”
“If we’re free?” she cautioned, keeping her tone light and teasing, knowing how hard it was to look too far ahead.
“If we’re free,” he agreed, knowing she was being sensible for a reason, but he was finding it hard to stay grounded when he was with her. He glanced at his watch, knowing the minutes were slipping away. She stiffened as she heard feet on the grass on the treeline behind them. A sentry must be doing the rounds and while they were doing nothing wrong she didn’t want to be caught like lovers in a clinch. Gossip could be poison around this place.
They walked slowly back down the path towards the greenhouses, joined at the shoulder, hands welded to each other, talking to each other in hushed tones. Just before they emerged, he took a chance and they kissed for a moment. They were strictly regulation when they came into the open, a good twelve inches between them as they walked along the duckboards past the tennis courts.
She went round the back of the building and he went round the front. Just before he rounded the corner, he looked back over his shoulder and saw her staring at him, her face drawn with strain. He gave her his best encouraging smile as she walked out of sight.
Dickinson’s conference was still going on, so Carter cooled his heels in the lobby for an hour. He read the newspaper, did the crossword and then moved onto a well thumbed technical manual. Bored, he asked the Corporal at reception for some paper and he fished his fountain pen out of his pocket.
He wrote a few short lines and asked the Corporal to take it to Georgette in her office when he had a minute. A door opened with a bang and footsteps thundered down the corridor. The Corporal scooped the note into the top drawer of his desk in one well practised move and was sat, shoulders back, rigid in his seat by the time the officer went past them and up the stairs. Carter smiled, it was not often you saw a Wing Commander rushing around like a scalded cat. Another door on the first floor slammed shut. The note reappeared back on the desk.
“I’ll deliver it now, sir.”
“Thank you.”
The conference ended a few minutes later. They were buzzing as they walked out clutching their briefcases and folders. Dickinson caught Carter’s eye and pointed towards the exit. He got up to follow his Flight Commander out of the door when he saw Freddie bringing up the rear, escorting everyone out.
“Good lord, Alex.” Carter came to attention and flicked off a casual salute.”I’m afraid it’s a wasted trip old man, I’m going
to be busy for a while.”
“Just checking to see if you’d be free on Friday, sir?”
Wilkinson laughed.
“Don’t you, sir me, you reprobate,” he glanced across and addressed Dickinson. “We did out first tour together,” he explained. Dickinson gave a knowing nod. “Yes, I think Friday should be okay. What did you have in mind?”
“I thought The Madison again, it would make things a bit easier for, Helen?”
“All right,” Wilkinson agreed. He patted Carter on the shoulder. “We’ll get it sorted, but about six or seven makes sense to me.”
“Make it seven,” suggested Carter. “We’ll see you and Helen there,” Carter said pointedly as he shook Wilkinson’s hand.
Dickinson was waiting for him by the Tilly. Most of the other staff had already left, the sound of their vehicles receding up the drive. Dickinson shoved the bumf he’d been given into a briefcase and then chucked his peaked cap behind his seat. He looked back at Carter, one foot in the car, hand on the top of the door.
“Now that we’ve sorted your social life, are you coming?”
“Coming, sir,” Carter replied, getting in the other side. The drive back was more spirited as Dickinson’s mind whirled with details. Big things were coming and the possibilities they opened up sounded impressive. Asher was going to love this when he got back.
As they sped along the country lanes, Dickinson dropped down a gear and swept round the corner, exhaust roaring which was no mean feat in a Tilly, it was hardly built for speed. Carter braced himself against the passenger door as the car leaned into the turn. The spring leaf suspension creaked in protest and then they were down a long bit of straight road. As they careered towards the next corner, Dickinson spoke.
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