The Ops Room Girls

by Vicki Beeby

  ‘Ah, so it’s Peter, is it now? Not Squadron Leader Travis?’ Jess gave a delighted grin. ‘I’d have thought he was a bit old for you. He must be at least thirty. I suppose he’s not bad looking, though. I wonder what it would be like to be with a man with only one leg?’

  May gasped. ‘You mustn’t speak about him like that. He’s been kind to me, that’s all. You know I don’t want anything to do with men. Being in the WAAF is a chance to get away from men, not to get mixed up with any others.’

  May’s cheeks were pink, and her mouth had started to tremble, making Evie wonder just how bad May’s home life had been. It was clear to her that May had developed a fondness for Peter, but that had been a long speech for shy May. Evie decided it was time she stepped in to rescue her friend.

  ‘I think that’s wise, May. I agree. This is our first taste of independence. I’m not in a hurry to give it up either.’

  May flashed her a grateful smile.

  ‘Anyway,’ Evie continued, ‘I have more news. Jess – our twenty-four-hour passes have been approved. We’ve got the whole day off next Thursday, same as May.’

  Jess sat up, eyes blazing. ‘We can go into Brighton – do some shopping, go to the pictures. What do you say? Let’s get off this station for a day and spend some of our hard-earned cash.’

  ‘Sounds wonderful,’ Evie said. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to the seaside.’ But it wasn’t the anticipation of seeing the sea that made warmth swell in her chest, or the prospect of a shopping and cinema trip. It was the realisation that after years of loneliness, of wistfully listening to the other girls at school planning weekend visits, she finally had friends who wanted to spend time with her. They could have been planning a day out to a grim industrial slum together and she’d have still been excited. She turned to May and saw the same delighted smile lighting May’s face that she could feel on hers. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I’m game. I’ll see if I can get one of the other drivers to take us to the station.’

  ‘Oh, May, you’re a star.’ Jess enveloped May in an enthusiastic hug. ‘Girls, we’re going to have a wonderful day, and forget all about the war.’

  Evie felt a twinge of guilt. She sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees, and gazed across the land to the patchwork of fields until they merged into a blue smudge that must be the sea. She shivered. ‘I heard our soldiers are completely cut off on the beach at Dunkirk. There’s nothing between us and the Germans now apart from the sea. Are we fools to ignore what’s happening just a few miles away?’

  To her surprise, it was May, not Jess, who answered. ‘If the Germans come, we’ll all be plunged into the dark. One day of sunshine and happiness out of a lifetime of misery – surely we can have that.’ She gazed out in the same direction as Evie. ‘I won’t let them take that away from me.’

  ‘Well said, May.’ Jess patted her shoulder. ‘Come on, I’m dying of thirst. Let’s open this ginger beer.’

  They lay back on the grass, chatting, drinking ginger beer straight from the bottle, but Evie couldn’t quite recapture her earlier carefree mood. She cursed herself for bringing up the subject of the doomed British Expeditionary Force. Gazing up at the sky, she watched the clouds scud past, brilliant white against the cornflower blue sky. How long before German bombers were diving out of those clouds and the twitter of birdsong was drowned by the drone of their engines?

  * * *

  Alex was just finishing another tedious, pointless watch in the Ops Room when the phone rang. Peter picked it up.

  ‘Very good, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell him.’

  He replaced the receiver and turned to Alex. ‘Station commander wants to see you. What have you done now?’

  ‘Nothing, as far as I’m aware.’ He picked up his cap and rose. ‘Better go and see what he wants.’

  Nothing was the perfect description of how he was spending his time. Despite the station commander’s frequent assurances that Alex would get his squadron back soon, there was still no sign of it happening. It was humiliating to be flying a desk instead of being out there with the other pilots who were struggling to protect the BEF from the Germans. When he’d been posted to Amberton he’d been assured he wasn’t to look on the transfer as a punishment. But now Alex was less sure. Maybe the powers that be had decided he wasn’t to be trusted to command his squadron. And always there was the niggling thought that he was to blame. That he should have known the Germans had set a trap for his patrol.

  He climbed the steps from The Hole and emerged blinking into the sunlight. It always came as a shock to find it was daylight outside, after hours by electric light. Tugging his tunic so it sat straight on his shoulders, he strode to the Admin block and knocked on the station commander’s door. He entered when bid and saluted.

  ‘Come in, Alex. Sit down.’ Bob Law opened a desk drawer, pulled out a silver cigarette case and offered it to Alex.

  Alex declined, but some of the tension eased from his shoulders. It seemed he wasn’t here for a dressing down. He sat down opposite Bob at the large oak desk that dominated the office. Neatly laid out on the desktop was a maroon leather blotter, a fountain pen, an ash tray and an Art Deco wooden photo frame containing a photo of Bob’s wife. A buff folder lay on top of the blotter; Bob tapped it with his fingers as he spoke.

  ‘I’ve got good news for you. You’re getting your squadron back.’

  ‘At last! I mean, thank you, sir. Where?’

  ‘Right here. Group assures me we have space for an additional squadron. I’ve yet to be convinced, but needs must and all that.’ Bob took a silver lighter from his pocket and took a maddeningly long time to light his cigarette. Alex curbed his impulse to grab him by the collar and demand he answer all his questions right now. Would he be flying Spitfires? Which new pilots would he be getting? Were all his original pilots remaining with the squadron? The ones that had survived, anyway.

  ‘Is anyone I know joining us?’ he prompted, after Bob had taken a few puffs.

  ‘You should recognise one.’ Bob tapped ash into the ashtray. ‘You know, it was quite an eye-opener to discover you spoke Czech. I don’t know why you never mentioned it before.’

  ‘It’s not something I really think about.’ Where was Bob going with this? ‘I haven’t spoken Czech since…well, since I was a child. About the squadron, what—?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Well, Group were mighty relieved to learn we have a squadron leader able to speak the language. You see, we’ve had quite a few Czech pilots arrive recently, all insisting they can fly fighters and continue their war against the Germans. Fighter Command have decided to make up the numbers in your squadron with some of them.’

  ‘Have you seen any reports on them? What are they like?’ Although he didn’t care who he had to command as long as it meant he could get back into the air at last.

  Bob looked shifty. ‘There have been a few teething problems with the pilots filtered into other squadrons. Nothing you won’t be able to handle.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Ah, mostly to do with not following protocol.’

  ‘Can you be more specific?’

  Bob scratched his chin then appeared to come to a decision. ‘Very well.’ He picked up the folder from his desk, flipped it open with a sigh and read from a sheet inside. ‘Insubordination, rowdiness, drunkenness.’ Bob looked up at Alex over the top of the sheet of paper. ‘And those are just the good reports. But this is where you come in. You’ve got the advantage of speaking the same language, which means you won’t have the same problems with communication that we’ve had with them so far. You’ll soon knock them into shape. They won’t be ready for operational flying to start with. For a start they need to improve their English so they can understand orders over the radio, and they won’t be used to flying high-performance fighters, either.’

  ‘What will we be flying?’

  ‘Hurricanes.’

  Alex felt a pang of disappointment. He’d longed to get his hands on a Spitfire. Stil
l, Hurricanes were great fighters, too. Given the choice between piloting a telephone in The Hole and being up in the clouds in a Hurricane, he’d pick the Hurricane any day.

  ‘When do the men arrive?’

  ‘Two weeks. In the meantime, I’ve got to sort out billets, hangar space, ground crew and a dispersal hut. Your first Hurricanes are arriving tomorrow.’ Bob tossed the file on the desk in front of Alex. ‘There you go. These are the men you’ll be dealing with.’

  Alex retired to the anteroom in the officers’ mess, ordered tea at the bar then sank into a leather armchair to read up on all the pilots of the soon-to-be-reformed Brimstone squadron. After he’d read the first page, he drained his tea and ordered a whisky. There were only six pilots remaining from the time Alex had commanded them in France; the other ten were Czechs. Bob hadn’t exaggerated when he’d listed the complaints that had already built up against them. It seemed their single-minded desire to take revenge on the Germans led them to regard standard RAF protocols as irrelevant. There had also been several unfortunate run-ins with the civilians near where they’d been billeted. Apparently, the locals had been suspicious of the foreign-sounding men who had suddenly started frequenting their pubs. It had resulted in more than one fight. Alex made a mental note to inform the villagers about the Czech pilots. With the newspapers full of warnings about German parachutists, he didn’t want the farmers to start taking pot shots at the ‘foreigners’ with their shot guns.

  He flicked through the list of names and the details of each pilot. All had experienced combat flying, he was relieved to see. That would make his job easier. He paused when he saw the name ‘Jiří Stepanek’. Wasn’t that the pilot who had arrived in the Blériot? He read further and saw that it was. He could only hope the other pilots had a better grasp of English. But it looked like he’d have to ask Bob to employ an English teacher as well.

  Still, the prospect of command and action put a spring in his step as he left the anteroom. He was in the mood to celebrate. The only trouble was, he had no one close to share his news with.

  He would go to the pub. Maybe Peter would be there. He hurried outside, only to collide with Evie Bishop as she pushed an ancient rusty bike towards the gates. He dropped the file and papers slithered out onto the path.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Evie gasped. She gave a hasty salute, then propped her bike against the fence and stooped to help him collect his papers. He couldn’t help noticing her face now sported a charming stripe of freckles across her nose, as though she’d seen the sun recently. She’d obviously put her free afternoon to good use yesterday. Although how he remembered Evie had had the afternoon off yesterday, he couldn’t say. He didn’t usually pay much attention to the WAAFs’ comings and goings.

  He waved away her apology. ‘I wasna looking where I was going.’ He checked himself. His maternal grandparents had insisted he speak standard English, punishing him if he slipped into the broader Scots he had spoken in Glasgow. Although he had hated it at the time, he had to admit it had helped his career. It usually came naturally, but it must be the excitement of getting his squadron back that had made him forget himself. A sudden image hit him of sharing his news with Evie, seeing her face light up with happiness for him. It was so powerful he found himself saying, ‘I’ve just had some good news, actually. I was off to the pub to celebrate. Care to join me?’

  ‘Oh!’ A becoming blush tinged her cheeks. ‘I don’t… I mean… I’d arranged to go there with some friends. But I might see you there.’

  ‘I’ll look out for you.’

  Alex watched her departing back, admiring her long legs and slender waist. Then he caught himself. She clearly hadn’t wanted to go with him, and it was for the best. Something about Evie Bishop fascinated him, and he couldn’t afford a distraction. Not now when his whole attention needed to be on getting his men safely through the war. He didn’t want a repeat of what had happened in France.

  Chapter Six

  ‘He did what?’ Jess turned sharply away from the mirror to look at Evie. ‘Oh, now look what you’ve made me do.’ She grabbed a tissue and peered into the mirror hanging above the fireplace, dabbing at the line of crimson lipstick that trailed from the corner of her mouth to a point halfway up her right cheek.

  ‘He asked if I’d go with him to the pub.’

  May poked her head out from round the bedroom door. Her dark hair hung in glossy waves past her shoulders, and she was brushing it out. ‘A man asked you out? Who?’

  ‘Alex Kincaith. But he—’

  ‘Squadron Leader Kincaith?’ May froze, eyes wide, her hairbrush halfway down a lock of hair. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Look, it’s not as if he asked me to walk out with him. He just said he was going to the pub to celebrate good news and asked if I wanted to join him.’ Evie had run over the incident in her head all the way back to High Chalk House. She’d been so surprised by his abrupt question she’d hardly known what to say. She still didn’t know what to make of it. ‘I’m sure if he’d met a different WAAF he’d have asked her instead.’

  Jess, her make-up now flawless, closed her lipstick with a snap and leaned back against the mantelpiece, arms folded. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told him I’d already promised to go out to the pub with you two.’ She’d been relieved when she’d remembered the arrangement they’d made over breakfast.

  ‘You said no to an officer?’ May pulled the brush from her hair and clutched the doorpost as though it was the only thing holding her up. ‘I’d never have dared.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’d turn down an officer for us.’ Jess looked uncharacteristically uncertain. All of a sudden, she looked younger; less like a Hollywood actress, more like the English girl of twenty that she actually was.

  ‘We’re friends, aren’t we? I mean, I’ve never really had friends before, and I don’t want to lose you now.’

  Jess gave her a beaming smile. ‘You’re a true pal, Evie. That’s what you are. None of my so-called friends in London would have said no to an ’andsome man to spend a night with the girls instead.’

  ‘My father never let me go out in the evenings, so I’ve never had friends before,’ said May. ‘But that’s what you both are to me. Friends.’

  Evie smiled at them both, feeling a surge of affection for the two girls. When she’d dreamed of the friends she would make at Somerville, she’d imagined bookish academics just like her, but she was glad she’d met May, with her artless affection, and Jess, with her daring and sense of fun. They both showed Evie what had been missing in her life. Even though she had only known them for a few weeks, she couldn’t imagine life without them.

  ‘Now, are you both ready for a friends’ night out?’ Jess asked.

  Evie returned from her musings with a bump. ‘Oh no,’ she said, her stomach lurching in dismay. ‘I mean, Kincaith will be there.’

  ‘You told him you would. You can’t back out now.’

  ‘But what would I say?’

  ‘You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.’ Jess patted Evie’s arm. ‘You’ll be with us. Anyway, aren’t you a bit curious to know what he wanted to celebrate? It must be good news if it made Kincaith want to go out for a pint with a pretty girl instead of glare at her across the Ops Room.’

  ‘I suppose…’

  ‘Besides, we’re celebrating an’ all. You two look cracking in your new uniforms, and if that’s not a cause for celebrating, I don’t know what is.’

  Evie couldn’t resist looking down at her smart new air force blue tunic and skirt, and smoothing them down. For a new batch of uniforms had finally arrived, and both Evie and May were now fully kitted out, down to the huge ‘blackouts’ – the most unflattering knickers Evie had ever seen. Designed to repel all invaders, as Jess had put it. But while the other WAAFs complained how the wide belts bunched their tunics around their hips and rear end, Evie couldn’t get over the thrill of having clothes that were brand new. Not a patch or frayed hem in sight. A gla
nce at May’s shining eyes told her May felt the same. ‘I do feel as though I’m finally a proper WAAF. All right, then, the Horse and Groom it is. What do you say, May?’

  May beamed. ‘A night out at the pub with my friends. Who’d have thought I’d ever say that?’

  ‘Are we ready then?’ Jess glanced at the mirror and smoothed a stray blonde lock into place.

  ‘No wait, I have to do my hair first,’ said May.

  ‘You’ve got beautiful hair. Why do you want to go scraping it back from your face? You look like Katharine Hepburn with it down.’

  May flushed. ‘Don’t say that. You know I don’t.’

  ‘You look gorgeous,’ Evie said firmly. ‘Jess is right – with those cheekbones and eyebrows, you’re the spitting image of Katharine Hepburn.’

  ‘No. You’re just saying that.’ May scraped her hair back from her face and darted back into the bedroom.

  Jess shook her head with an exasperated sigh. ‘Whoever told her she was ugly should be shot. She’s a real looker.’

  Evie agreed. Personally, she thought May’s father and brothers had a lot to answer for. She could only guess what poison they’d dripped into the poor girl’s heart. She thanked her lucky stars she’d had a father and mother who’d loved her. Maybe she and her mother hadn’t seen eye to eye over how she should live her life, but she couldn’t deny Dora loved her.

  May reappeared with her hair now fastened in a severe bun.

  Jess put an arm around her shoulders and marched her to the mirror. ‘Now look at that face. You’ve got natural beauty, you ’ave. The kind you grow into. Not like me, who needs to pile on the lipstick and powder.’

  May looked into the mirror, but her gaze slid from her face to Jess’s. ‘You’re just saying that to make me feel better.’

  ‘I’d never do that.’ Jess reached up to touch May’s hair but dropped her hand when May flinched. ‘I won’t take it down if it makes you uncomfortable but let me do this at least.’