“Come in, Carter, sit ye down, sit ye down.”
Carter parked himself as directed. It was at this point he became aware there was another person in the room. In the corner behind him there was a man in a brown army type uniform. Tall and lean as he was, he didn’t look like a soldier with wire rim glasses perched on his nose.
“I’ve got a job for you,” Etheridge told him. “As the Lancs are so new, Group is rather keen to show people what we can now do. You know, newsreels, that sort of thing.” Carter was already putting two and two together and wasn’t liking the answer. Etheridge continued, indicating the man in the khaki. “So, Mister Cullen is here to do a piece on the life of a bomber squadron, follow a crew around etc. We thought you could assist with that.” The Group Captain beamed at him.
Carter had frozen at the thought of being made into a poster boy for Bomber Command. He didn’t particularly care for shooting a line. Even Archer, the press on type had been pretty discrete.
“Nothing flashy of course,” Cullen reassured him. “I’d like to go up on a test flight, talk to your men if I may.”
“I think that can be accommodated,” Carter temporised, his voice neutral.
“There we are then. Settled,” said Etheridge, pleased that Carter was proving so amenable. Obviously dismissed, Carter stood to attention, saluted and then left the office, Cullen followed after him. He caught up to Carter after some effort, the young pilot was walking fast.
“I’ve been around you know. I was in France with a Blenheim unit right up to Dunkirk,” Cullen said to try and reassure him. “I was in the Western Desert last year.” When Carter didn’t reply he carried on, “I do know what I’m doing.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Carter said without humour. He jammed his hands into his pockets as they walked past the pyro store. “Have you ever been up?”
“A few times,” Cullen told him. “I got the slow boat to Egypt, but I went up for a flip in a Martin Maryland and I went on two raids in a Wimpy,” he said matter of factly. One raid had been on an Afrika Korps troop concentration along the coast near Tobruk. The other had been a five hour marathon hunting for shipping in the Mediterranean. Seeing the flak and tracer at night while they had played tag with the convoy escort had been a hair raising experience. “All unofficial of course.”
Carter looked askance at him, trying to judge if he was pulling his leg. He looked up at the sky and then decided.
“All right then, lets take you to go and get kitted out.”
He changed direction and headed to the equipment hut. He left Cullen in their capable hands to draw a parachute and some flying kit before heading back to his billet to get changed and get Woods. The rest of the crew had been rounded up and were waiting for him when they got out to dispersal. None of them looked impressed at having been summoned.
With the skies threatening rain, no one had felt like going far. Murphy, Todd, Byron and Flynn had been in the Sergeants Mess. The dance might have been that evening but that was no reason not to lubricate their pipes beforehand. Vos had been found in the Mess drafting another missive to the Belgian Embassy in London asking after his family.
Latimer helped Cullen get on board and showed him where to plug in for the R/T. The reporter stood at Carters shoulder behind the pilots seat, his eyes darting everywhere trying to take in as much as he could.
An erk clambered up the starboard mainwheel and used the foot rests halfway up the oleo legs to plug in the trolley acc at the priming panel. That was dead easy in the daytime, not so easy at night. Latimer stood out front where Carter could see him and pointed at the starboard inner. This engine was always started first as it powered the pneumatic and hydraulic systems. The engines were started in sequence and then they were off. For a moment, Carter stared at the hard standing where Walsh’s Manchester had been all throughout their tour. One of the new replacements occupied that spot now but Carter had no interest in knowing his name.
“Just a quick flip, Mister Cullen to give you a flavour of what things are like.”
Cullen nodded. Going up in a military aircraft was always a treat for him, particularly when he could ask questions. Even on first impressions he liked the Lancaster. It felt solid and was like something out of Buck Rogers in comparison to the Wellington.
Etheridge had told him he was getting one of his best men and Cullen believed it. Carter handled her like a pro, flying comfortably. His eyes never rested as they moved in a constant circuit. He looked at the instruments in a particular order, he looked forwards over the nose, he glanced left and right out at that big wing. He took nothing for granted and he maintained his vigilance, even as he answered Cullen’s questions. Cullen compared him with other RAF personnel he had known, in France and in the desert. He was a good man, he decided.
44 - Waltz The Light Fantastic
The dance was on a par with the one at Christmas. Some of the Avro staff had been invited and Carter saw Andrews amongst them when they came in. A few bods from other stations came as well as officers from Group. Church was not above using an evening like this as an opportunity to grease the wheels and keep the Group staff on side. The field was rounded out with some nurses from a nearby hospital as well as a few local dignitaries. Aircraft made lots of noise so it didn’t hurt to keep councillors sweet.
After taking the reporter up, Carter had hustled to get changed and then hot foot it over to Grantham. He saw Helen for twenty minutes over a cup of tea and then took off to get Georgette.
Mrs Lloyd invited him into the parlour to wait and Carter cooled his heels again in the dour front room. The battleaxe was more friendly this time and she stayed in the room, making conversation with him. Carter wondered what he had done to earn such condescension.
Georgette brought an excruciating ten minutes to a close and Carter was grateful for the interruption. After two minutes, his cheeks were tired from smiling. After five, it had been getting painful.
He retreated out of the house, held open the passenger door of the car for Georgette and then they were off. He drove fast all the way and Georgette clung to the door as he rounded corners above what she considered a sensible speed in the rain.
Carter escorted her into the hall and relaxed once they were inside. He snagged a table and got a few extra chairs for when the rest of his crew arrived. Woods brought Yvonne over and introduced her to Georgette. Yvonne was tall, with a lithe figure, a knockout, even when wearing the less than flattering WAAF uniform. She was the same rank as Georgette and the two women hit it off straight away, deep in conversation almost immediately.
Woods disappeared to get some drinks and Carter sat back, content to let someone else do the talking. He scanned the room, seeing the ebb and flow of people as they moved and talked and danced. It was the same hall where the Christmas dance had been held and a band were on the stage, banging out a mix of big band music. Various couples were on the floor, moving around with a great deal of energy.
No doubt he would be prevailed on to dance at some point. Carter did his best not to brood. The last time he had been in this hall was with Walsh and his crew, White, Archer and a host of others. Even Wilkinson had cried off tonight. To be fair, with a wife about to give birth, Carter would give him that one. He shook his head and took the pint that Woods handed him. Life went on. It was a dance, a chance to let his hair down.
He saw Flynn, Byron and Murphy at the bar. They nursed pints while they looked at girls. Todd was nowhere in sight but Carter just assumed he was lost in the crowd somewhere. Woods sat down next to Carter. They shared a look, nodding to absent friends.
Georgette turned to him and gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. He smiled and pushed the gloom to one side, pleased to have a night off with charming company.
“How long do you think it will be before we’re back on ops?” Yvonne asked him. Carter thought about that. He didn’t particularly want to talk shop, but he could understand Yvonne’s curiosity; she was only asking what everyone else was wonder
ing. Now that the squadron was operational again, it was only a matter of time before they were thrown back into it.
“I’m no wiser than everyone else,” he demurred. “I’d have thought you’d have more of an idea than most of us.” He could see her green eyes gauge that. Obviously she assumed his being a senior man on the squadron meant he had an inside track to some information the rest of them didn’t have. “No crystal ball, but I can’t see Group hanging around for long, can you?” He batted the question back to her. Suddenly he noticed someone he had not expected to see.
“In fact, ask him.” They all turned to see Wilkinson approaching their table. “Hi, Freddie. How did you get permission to be out tonight?”
Wilkinson smiled. He stood behind Carter, leaning on the back of his chair. He looked tired, with dark rings under his eyes.
“Flying visit. I’m here with the old man but I’ll be heading back soon enough.”
There was something in the way Wilkinson said that which peaked Carter’s antenna.
“Flap on?” he enquired.
“No, nothing like that. I’ve just got to get back to, Helen.”
“How is she?” asked Georgette.
“Climbing the walls,” Wilkinson replied, laughing.
“You staying for a drink?” Carter motioned to a free chair.
“Can’t,” said Wilkinson. “I’m heading back shortly. I just wanted to take the opportunity to say hello.” They shook hands. He nodded to Yvonne and Georgette. “Ladies.”
He was gone as quickly as he had come, gliding over to the Air Commodore who was talking with Church and Etheridge.
As Wilkinson left, Vos arrived with Denise. Unlike Georgette and Yvonne who were in uniform tonight, Denise was in a dark green off the shoulder dress. Her hair was pinned up to show her neck to the best advantage.
“Good evening, mademoiselle.”
Denise grasped him by the shoulders and kissed him French fashion on either cheek.
“Good evening, Monsieur Carter.”
“You look lovely,” he told her. Her cheeks coloured as she sat down next to Vos.
“Would you like to dance?” Carter asked as he turned to Georgette.
She didn’t need asking twice. They went to the floor as the band struck up with a pacy number that stretched Carters dancing skills. Georgette laughed when she saw how clumsy he was. Cool in the air, bit of a mess on the ground.
Across the room, Flynn saw Carter dancing and low whistled when he clapped eyes on Georgette.
“Brother, get me one of those and I’ll be happy.”
Murphy laughed like a drain.
“Fat chance, the skippers been seeing her for ages, aim a little lower.”
They had already exchanged knowing looks when they clocked Woods with his red head. Flynn looked round the rest of the hall and saw a few girls that caught his eye. He discussed the finer points of a blonde sat across the dance floor from them and a pretty brunette near the bar. Byron held himself more reserved than his two companions. He’d been out a few times with these two and once they had a few pints in them, they were like two rutting stags, egging each other on.
He detached himself from them and went to get another pint. He couldn’t wait to start ops. No doubt, Todd would tell him he was insane to be looking forward to something like that, but he didn’t care. It had been over a year of hard work to get to this point, now he would get to put into practice everything he’d been learning. He was swinging away from the bar when he bumped straight into someone, spilling his glass.
“Oh god, I am so, so sorry,” he apologised. He bent down to pick up her purse and as he came back up, he locked gaze with a pair of deep blue eyes. He straightened up, tugging a handkerchief out of his pocket and tried wiping beer off her arm. He stopped as she took the hanky from his hand, their fingers touching.
“I’m; George,” he said, tongue tied.
“I’m, Louise.”
He guided her away from the the bar towards the exit, neither realising they were still holding each others hand. Flynn saw Byron leaving with her.
“Bloody hell. We’re stood in the wrong place,” he muttered. Sick of waiting, he crossed the floor, smoothly moving round the dancing couples as he straightened his tie and approached the blonde who had been flirting with him.
The evening went well. It was a good way to round out three very intense weeks of learning to fly all over again. Carter drank more than usual and was quite tight come the end of the night. He went outside to get some fresh air and clear his head while Georgette went to freshen up in the ladies room. Denise was already in there when she came in. Her eyes were red rimmed while she tried to apply some liner. Georgette offered hers and Denise took it gratefully.
They stood next to each other, looking at their reflections. Georgette brushed her hair. It had flattened a little and she put a bit of bounce back into it, looking at herself from a few angles as she did so.
She glanced at Denise out of the corner of her eye, noticing how pale she was. She looked quite down, which was strange. She had danced as much as Georgette had, dragging a reluctant Vos onto the floor before also dancing with Carter and the big Canadian.
The band had finished with a few slow numbers for the couples and Georgette had enjoyed moulding herself to Carter as they went round in slow circles. She had rested her head on his chest, happy while his arms were around her. She had seen Vos and Denise doing the same, talking softly as they danced.
“You make that dress look wonderful,” Georgette told the French girl. Denise brightened at the compliment and straightened, running her hands down the fabric.
“Thank you. It’s a little tight,” she patted her stomach, “but there’s so little choice these days with the ration coupons. The landlady helped with a few alterations. I’m not so good with sewing.”
“My compliments to the tailor,” she said with a wry smile. She wasn’t so good at needlework herself. The girls figure was lovely, although she had gained some weight the last few months. Georgette’s reasoning came to a crashing halt with that thought. She looked at Denise again, seeing where the weight had gone.
“Does he know?” Georgette asked the French girl. Denise’s hand froze as she applied some lipstick. She shook her head and leaned on the counter, her shoulders shaking.
“Non, I haven’t told him.”
“Don’t you think you should?”
Denise looked at her in the mirror, her eyes wide, scared.
“How far along are you?”
“A few months I think.” Her eyes welled up, big fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she said, her words halting.
She turned to Georgette and buried her face in her shoulder, finally overwhelmed by it all. Taken by surprise, all Georgette could do was put her arms around her, patting her shoulder as she tried to soothe her. Her mind raced as she tried to decide what to do. There wasn’t much she could say here in the ladies room.
“I know it’s scary. Listen, we need to talk about this, I mean really talk about this, but not now.” Denise sniffed, nodding. “We’ll take you home and I’ll come and see you, and we can have a good chat about it, okay?”
Denise brightened at that. She blew her nose and once her eyes had calmed down, they spent a few minutes putting her makeup to rights. They came out as if nothing had happened to find Vos and Carter impatiently walking up and down outside. Carter glanced at his watch, looking a little surprised at how long it had taken.
“We were about to send out a search party,” he said, his tone playful.
“She wasn’t feeling well,” Georgette replied. “She’s been a bit sick.”
Vos came over, his face creased in concern. Denise nodded, mute as he asked how she was. Georgette buttonholed Carter about taking them home.
“Darling, it’s pretty late to try and get a bus and I hate the idea of Denise riding in one of those mouldy old trucks. Could we give them a lift?” She gave Carter her best smile.
There was not much he could say after that.
They had to get creative to squeeze everyone in. The car wasn’t really built for four. Vos sat in the front and Denise sat on his lap, arms around his shoulders. Behind the front seats was a void which could take a few suitcases. It was tight, but Georgette squeezed herself in there. She could look over Carters shoulder while he drove. He had the window down to stay sharp, his brain was still a bit soft from the booze.
Somehow they got to Lincoln without hitting anything and Carter pulled up outside Denise’s digs. Denise and Vos went up. Georgette went with them, making a fuss of her and then talking with the landlady. Georgette could see Mrs Peck thought a lot of Denise, so it was easy enough to enlist her help and get a phone number.
“Thinks the world of her, he does,” said Mrs Peck. “Always round to see her when he can, which must be quite hard being on them bombers.”
Georgette nodded. Vos came down the stairs and stuck his head round the door to the parlour at the back of the house.
“She’s sleeping now. She was sick again,” he told the landlady.
“I’ll look after her, don’t you worry,” Mrs Peck reassured him.
“I know you will.”
On the drive back to Amber Hill Georgette sat on Vos’s lap this time. Carter dropped his navigator off at the gate and then went on to Grantham.
He yawned as they set off. He was flagging a bit after a few drinks and he still had to get back to Amber Hill after this. He took his time as the blacked out headlamps did little to light the way. He was concentrating on his driving, half listening to Georgette when something suddenly caught his attention. He hit the brakes when Georgette told him the secret.
“She’s what!”
“Pregnant, darling,” Georgette said it slowly so he could absorb that. “With child,” she repeated. Carter digested that news for a second.
“What about, Vos?”
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