“Twice around,” said White. “I don’t want to wear myself out,” he got out through gritted teeth. He leaned on Georgette for support as he put one foot in front of the other. Every step jolted up his back and turned his neck afire.
“How are the boys?” he asked.
“Oh you know, the usual,” said Carter. “Todd’s his usual cheeky self, Vos is…well,” he shrugged.
“Mysterious,” White finished for him.
“He goes to Lincoln every chance he gets to see his girl.”
“I don’t blame him,” murmured White, “I would too.” For a moment, he let his thoughts drift beyond the next day to the weekend ahead. Elaine had said she would come down and he was looking forward to that. He wanted to put on a good show, talk, be everything he wasn’t the last time she had seen him.
They carried on walking around under the midday sun. White rested on a bench as his strength faded. He talked about life at the hospital, how good the staff were and some of the characters on the ward. Carter let him talk, pleased to see him so animated, so positive despite what had happened. Now the doctors just needed to piece him back together again.
41 - It’s So Bracing
Georgette woke up screaming. The sheets were damp and she was wet through. She scooched into his arms, shivering at the images that had flashed through her head. Carter did his best to soothe her. Shaking, she went to the dresser and poured a glass of water.
This was the second night in a row she’d had nightmares since going to East Grinstead. Carter knew why; his own sleep had been disturbed with images of burnt and ruined men. Now he had something extra to add to his list of demons that haunted his sleep. Not once this week had he gone an entire night without waking up with a feeling of dread reaching for him. Sometimes he thought he was at the bottom of a dark place, reaching for a patch of light that he knew would be his salvation. As he reached for it, water would come spilling over the sides into the gap, filling his mouth, his nose, making it difficult to breathe.
The most prevailing dream was riding the controls of his Manchester in a final dive. The engines would be on fire, the wind would be howling in through large rents in the fuselage. He always woke up when the wings ripped off.
Now Georgette was haunted as well and that pained him. He thought she had enough to worry about as it was wondering if he would ever come back. She got back into bed and they cuddled in the dark. He could feel her heart going like the clappers.
“How do they do it?” she asked. “How on earth do they go on? Those young boys. It’s all too horrible to think about.”
She wondered how White’s girl did it. How she found the courage to go to that place. Georgette would have liked to meet her to find out.
They dozed off and on until the sun came up. Carter ordered breakfast and one of the hotel staff brought it up to their room. Tea for two, toast and jam were quickly consumed, their appetites ravenous and Carter put the tray back by the door. He fluffed up the pillows and leaned back against the headboard. He opened Piccadilly Jim up at the bookmark and carried on reading.
Georgette stood at the foot of the bed, looking at him. She thrilled at the sight of him laying there, the lean muscles on his legs and chest, naked apart from his briefs. She climbed onto the bed, straddling his legs, just above his knees. He made a show of ignoring her. She tugged the book out of his hand and held it up out of reach.
“Hey!” he protested. He came up fighting. Grabbing her around the waist, he reached for the book. She laughed and shifted it to her other hand. Putting one hand around her waist he heaved and rolled to the left. Georgette gave out a yelp and ended up on her back, Carter on top of her.
“I surrender,” she said smiling. Carter leaned forwards and kissed her.
Vos paced up and down the hall waiting for Denise to join him. Bored, he sat in an armchair in the bay window of the B&B. Noisy seagulls wheeled back and forth in the sky, hovering over the fishing boats as they came back in. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair and glanced at his watch again. Denise’s idea of ten minutes was fluid indeed. He debated going up to see where she was then thought better of it.
Vos hadn’t travelled much in England. London held little attraction for either of them. Vos didn’t like the big city and the capital held so many bad memories for Denise she had no wish to return.
The week before they went on leave he’d floated down to Saunderson’s office for a chat. He asked the adjutant if there had been any contact from the Belgian embassy. There had not. He danced around the subject some more and then asked where someone went with a woman on leave. Saunderson choked on his tea, particularly at how quaint the question had been put.
“Well, there’s lots of places,” Saunderson had said, while he bent some thought on it.
“Somewhere with a bit of fresh air would be nice. Not a big town, not London,” Vos had said, rattling off his list of wants.
Saunderson leaned back in his seat, tapping his teeth with the end of his pencil. Vos was a country boy, so he could understand the Belgians dislike of built up towns. He made a few suggestions and the Belgian left to make a few phone calls. He asked around the Mess and in the end settled on Skegness. It wasn’t hard to get to and he was assured that there were cliff side walks and beaches.
That was only partially correct as it turned out. There were nice walks along the cliffs and a long pier, but there the facts diverged. Most of the pier wasn’t accessible. One hundred yards out there was a barrier and beyond that, soldiers patrolled and sat in makeshift pillboxes. The beach looked nice, but there were no donkey rides and the yellow sand was buried under a mountain of barbed wire and tank traps. The beach huts were all shut up and the fairground rides were closed for the duration.
The town was also crawling with sailors who went up and down the prom in their uniforms as the nearby holiday camp had been turned into a naval station. The town wasn’t a fancy place but that was why Vos liked it. There was no veneer of pretension like there was around London.
He enjoyed fish and chips sat by the sea, it seemed to improve the flavour somehow, eating them out of newspaper. He was not so keen on pickled cockles or rollmops, those were not to his taste at all.
The days passed simply. They rose late, had walks, explored the Pleasure Gardens and meandered through the day. It had been a long time since Vos could do what he wanted without having to worry about a call to duty.
Denise tried talking about the future but Vos found that difficult. Up till now, he’d every faith that the skipper would see them through, but lately, Vos had begun to wonder. When Q-Queen had upended and gone on that death dive he’d thought that was it. What if it wasn’t all skill but pure blind luck after all? Discussing the future suddenly seemed moot.
When he was training for aircrew all those lifetimes ago, he had a fantasy of life back home in Belgium when the war was over. He dreamed about returning to the mill and picking up the threads of life where he’d left them. More recently he had thought about Denise fitting into those dreams but those dreams had turned to smoke with that last op.
He heard the stairs creak and turned in the chair. Denise appeared at the door with a bright smile on her face. She wore a cream blouse and a tweed skirt and jacket. A red handbag hung from its strap on her shoulder.
“I’m ready. Sorry if it took a bit longer than I thought.”
He smiled and crossed the room to be by her side.
“I was about to send out a search party,” he grinned and kissed her. “Je t’aime. You look lovely.” He took her hands in his and she stepped back, turning left and right slightly making her skirt swish around her knees. He laughed.
The landlady at the B&B had told them about some good walking around Gunby Hall on the edge of the Wolds. They had sandwiches on the bus and sat holding hands, talking in hushed whispers. The hall was privately owned but allowed visitors to walk around the grounds. The mansion dated from the 1700’s and was a modest red brick house with a stable block an
d walled Victorian garden. The gardens were not formally laid out, but followed the style of Capability Brown, rolling undulating lawns, clumps of trees and small lakes. Denise thought it was delightful.
They got the bus back to Skegness, worn out but happy with the day and got back in time for tea. While Denise went upstairs to freshen up, Vos went back to the armchair and grazed on the days newspaper. It was the usual war news and nothing particularly cheery at that.
In the bathroom on the second floor, Denise knelt over the toilet and used a tissue to wipe her mouth. She shakily got to her feet and braced herself off the sink. She looked in the mirror and saw a pale face that was decidedly green around the gills. She had been sick yesterday as well. Denise knew it wasn’t the food, Vos had eaten the same as her, but something was obviously wrong. She would see the doctor when she got back to Lincoln she decided. Feeling better, she had a drink of water, adjusted her makeup, smiled at her reflection and went downstairs for tea.
Back at Amber Hill, Todd had relocated to Bill Edwards farm for his leave. He subjected himself to a week of physical labour, helping every day to feed the chickens and do other work in the fields. For two days he was up to his elbows in grease and oil, fixing the tractor.
Each day he started early, rising with the dawn. He washed in freezing cold water from the well in the yard, ate sparingly and went off to work. The evenings were spent in conversation by the fire in the kitchen, the big Alsatian at their feet.
Todd liked the change of pace. Bill Edwards led a solitary life, did little to court female company and the farm hands left to go to their own homes at tea time.
In the passing weeks, Todd was becoming more and more taken with the idea of having his own farm when he got back to Australia. He would leave the big cities behind and head to the outback. There was plenty of space out there, where a man could be master of himself and beholden to none. After the First War, the government had made farmland available to returning soldiers. Maybe they would do the same thing this time when it was all over.
If Todd’s leave was restful, Murphy’s was more tumultuous. He stayed at Muriel’s flat for three days. As Muriel mainly worked the evening shift at the pub that suited Murphy just fine. The first day was devoted to bedroom gymnastics before they came up for air. They almost consumed each other, taking time out to eat before going back at it again.
They relocated to the pub that evening and Murphy sat at the end of the bar, talking to Muriel while she worked. He watched as she deftly handled the glasses and pulled pints. He smiled as she nimbly avoided advances and cast glances in his direction loaded with promise. The pub locked up late and they returned to the flat to start all over again.
That second morning, he woke tired and spent to the smell of buttered toast. Muriel hovered over him with a pot of tea in one hand and a loaded plate in the other. He sat up and slurped his tea, while Muriel sat at the end of the bed and watched him eat. She’d already had hers and she was content to watch him breakfast.
Trouble brewed that afternoon when they went for a walk in the park. Murphy knew something was up. He could see the internal struggle going on in her face, the furtive glances and the chewing of her bottom lip. He walked on in silence. As they rounded the bandstand in the Arboretum, she finally came out with it.
“What happens when your tours over?”
“Time off, hope I don’t get killed by a pupil and then go back and do it all again, why?” he replied shortly.
“How long is that for?” She knew the answer but she wanted to hear it from him.
“Six months, give or take.”
He flicked his cigarette stub onto the grass. She shuddered at his flat voice.
“Where will you go?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “The skipper got posted up to Scotland for his rest. I can’t say as I like that myself; too cold,” he said, trying to inject a bit of humour back into the conversation. The joke fell flat. Her brown eyes pinched in annoyance and there were glimmers of tears lurking there.
“And what about us?” she asked at last.
He cocked his head, his antenna picking up the danger signals too late.
“I’ll stay in touch, Muriel.”
She stiffened at the casual way he replied to her question. Us, meant far more than staying in touch as far she was concerned. She had devoted herself to him and she felt it was poor compensation to be told that he would, keep in touch. Murphy backtracked fast.
“What I mean is, I’ll come whenever I can get leave, letters, calls.” He gave her hand a squeeze and kissed her cheek. “You know that.” He looked her in the eye and said it again. “Anyway, I’m not going anywhere at the moment. There’s still ten trips left to do. I’ll be around for a while.”
Suitably mollified, she clung to his arm as they walked along.
The second act came two days later. Murphy and Muriel were walking back from the high street when a female voice shouted his name. He cringed as soon as he heard it. He carried on walking, determined to bluff it out but of course, his luck wasn’t good enough for that.
Hurried footsteps caught up to him and Joan came into view in front of him. One hand kept her hat from falling off and she was winded from having to run to catch up to him.
“I thought it was you,” she said. Murphy grimaced. Joan took in the situation in a fast half second. She saw the way this woman hung off his arm, literally glued to his side. “Who’s this?” she asked, nodding towards Muriel.
“I might ask you the same question,” Muriel shot back tartly. She straightened to her full height. Her nails dug into Murphy’s arm. Joan looked from one to the other. Murphy just had a pained expression painted on his face.
“Martin?” Joan’s voice went up a few strident notches.
Murphy coughed, cornered and he knew it.
“Right.” Joan stepped back, her mouth pulled into a thin line. Her hands shook from gripping her handbag so tight. The slap came from out of nowhere. It caught him on the left side of his face with a resounding crack. Joan turned on her heel and stalked off down the street without a backwards glance.
Murphy rubbed his face and suddenly found staring at his shoes incredibly interesting. He dare not look up to see who was watching him.
“Well, that was unpleasant,” he said, trying to brazen it out.
Muriel separated herself from him and held herself rigid.
“I see,” she said. She couldn’t trust herself to say anything more. Murphy reached out to her but she flinched and took a step back. “I see it all now.”
Certain things clicked into place. The evenings when he was busy suddenly took on a whole new light. She thought about that conversation in the park two days before. “I’ll stay in touch,” he’d said. She gave him a knowing nod, turned on her heel and walked off at a fast clip.
“Mureil!” He raced to catch up with her. He got within arms reach when she turned on him, eyes blazing and caught him a corker with an opened handed slap. He didn’t bother following her after that
When he returned to the flat an hour later, he found it locked and his bag on the threshold step. His clothes had been shoved into it willy nilly and his shaving kit dumped on top. He pushed his forage cap back on his head and scratched his forehead.
There was no way he was going back to Amber Hill with his tail between his legs. He found a boarding house, paid a weeks rent and unpacked his things into the rickety chest of drawers in the corner. Now he was free, he could stretch his legs a bit.
42 - To Fight Another Day
Carter pulled into Amber Hill at the main gate. The Corporal scrupulously checked his ID and nodded to the other SP to raise the gate. Carter let in the clutch, shoved it into gear and sped off to the mess. Woods was walking up the entrance steps as he parked outside. His navigator turned at the sound of the engine, saw who it was and waved, waiting for Carter to join him.
“Hi, Woody, good leave?” Carter asked, his tone breezy. The big man grinned.
; “Good enough. Time for a drink?” he asked, making the universal sign of holding a glass.
“I should think so. Lead on.” He opened the door and Woods went in first. Carter breezed past the message slots, the only thing waiting for him would be a Mess bill and that could wait. They got themselves a space at the bar and Carter ordered two beers. Once they were served, they turned, backs to the bar, hand clasping the pint pot.
“Be it ever so humble,” said Carter.
“There’s no place like home,” Woods finished for him.
Considering how fast they wanted to get out of this place one week before, it felt good to be back. Batteries recharged, Woods was raring to go. The Mess was pretty empty and Carter asked the steward where everyone was.
“There’s no ops on are there?”
“No, sir. I expect they’re all up trying the new aircraft out,” he replied matter of factly, polishing a beer glass before putting it back on the shelf.
“What new aircraft?” Carter asked.
The steward looked at him like he was stupid.
“They started arriving yesterday. The squadrons stood-” but he was talking to empty air, they had already scrambled out the door to Carter’s car. They sped off to the hangars, ignoring the speed limits.
Carter stood, open mouthed as he saw three aircraft alongside each other outside the hangar. The one nearest to them lacked any squadron codes and only had the roundels on it. It was an Avro Lancaster. He wandered over and had a good look round. It was just like the prototype they’d seen all those months ago at Ringway.
They went back to the Mess, finished their beers and had another one. Some other officers came in and said hello. Vos appeared around four, had one drink, mumbled something about having a good leave and then went to get changed for tea. Carter drove over to his billet and breezed into his room, wanting to talk about the new kites with Walsh.
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