by Vicki Beeby
‘Has anyone got a torch?’
‘Wait, I think there are some stored under the benches.’ There were further scrabbling sounds, then, ‘Found one!’
A click, then suddenly May was blinking in the amber light. She looked round at the pale, strained faces. There seemed to be fewer than she remembered. Then she shifted her gaze to the entrance or, rather, where the entrance had been and gasped with horror as it filtered through to her brain what she was seeing. Everything beyond Jean Ellerby’s still form lay beneath a pile of earth and twisted corrugated iron. A masculine hand protruded from the rubble.
‘Jesus Christ Almighty,’ Charlie said, but it sounded more like a prayer than blasphemy. ‘Must be Jack Johnson under there.’ The young corporal who had invited Jess to sit with him. May swallowed at the reminder of how quickly things could change in the war. One moment a man was laughing and joking, without a care in the world, the next he was buried alive.
He had to be alive. May couldn’t bear to think of the cheery corporal having his life ripped from him in such a cruel fashion.
Meanwhile, Jess had crawled forward and was now examining Jean Ellerby. ‘Doesn’t look too bad. Just a bump to the head.’ She glanced up at the ceiling. The corrugated iron beside the collapsed section was sagging badly. ‘Better move her to the back, in case more of the roof comes down. Give me a hand, will you, Charlie?’
Between the two of them, they managed to get Ellerby to the back, being as gentle as circumstances allowed. May shuffled closer to the front to make room for them. They found the first aid kit under the bench and Jess tended to Ellerby and Walker.
Worryingly, everyone else seemed to be looking to May for guidance. That would teach her to speak up. She couldn’t help a fleeting thought of Peter. He would know what to do. He had a calm, reassuring presence and exuded a natural air of authority that enabled him to take charge in any situation without the need to bark orders like so many officers. She couldn’t help a glance back at Jean Ellerby.
But someone needed to do something, and everyone seemed to expect it to be her. Maybe some of Peter’s leadership skills had rubbed off onto her, for suddenly she knew what had to be done.
‘We need to clear as much of this rubble off Jack as possible.’ She looked round the group. ‘Is it just Jack under there? I thought there were more of us.’
A girl that May recognised as being one of the cooks in the canteen spoke up. She had been huddled on her bench, weeping, but now she gulped and said, ‘There were two girls between me and the entrance.’
‘Oh, God.’ May gazed at the pile of rubble to the girl’s left. She couldn’t imagine anyone was alive under there.
‘They could be in a pocket of air,’ another girl said.
May nodded. She doubted any of the corrugated iron roofing had survived the blast, but if it had, it could still be protecting those beneath the rubble.
She looked at the cook, who had started sobbing again. A short while ago that would have been her, but with the help of Evie, Jess and Peter, she was now realising she’d developed some courage. Without them, she knew she could all too easily have been like the girl, so she didn’t want to be too hard on her. She spoke to the cook. ‘Help must be on its way by now – the raid’s over. We need to let them know we’re alive under here.’ She pointed to an intact section of ceiling. ‘Find something to make a noise and bash on there for all you’re worth.’
The girl nodded and pulled out her eating irons. She banged her spoon on the roof with a force May wouldn’t have believed possible from so slight a girl. The din did nothing to help the ringing in May’s ears, but at least it gave the girl a task she could usefully do.
‘Right.’ May addressed the others, raising her voice. ‘We need to clear the rubble off Jack and try to find the others.’
It was heart-breaking work. The moment they scooped back one handful of earth and chalky rubble, more trickled in to take its place. Soon May’s nails were torn and bleeding and she had a large bruise on her shoulder where it had been struck by a lump of flint. Part of her wanted to retreat to a corner and cry, but a larger part, the part that had blossomed under Evie, Jess and Peter’s friendship, found the strength to carry on.
After what felt like years of digging, they uncovered Jack’s face. Charlie, who had moved forward to help, bent down and felt for a pulse. But May knew what he’d find, even before he shook his head.
‘He’s gone.’ Charlie took off his jacket and covered the battered face that they’d worked so hard to free. ‘Poor blighter. At least it would have been quick.’
There was still no sign of the missing girls, and May knew in her heart that they must also be dead.
They all remained in silent contemplation for a moment, with no sound but their breathing, heavy from their exertions. The cook stopped bashing her spoon on the iron roof. No doubt all thinking, as May was, how easily it could have been them lying dead. Then May heard it: a dull thump coming from the other side of the rubble; muffled voices.
No one needed telling. As one, they drew breath and yelled, and the cook resumed bashing her spoon. After a moment May hushed them, and she held her breath, waiting. Then came a voice, sounding clearer now. ‘Hang in there. We’re nearly through.’
They cheered again. May was startled by a touch on her arm. It was Jean Ellerby. Judging from the lines radiating from the corners of her eyes, she was in pain, but she now had a large dressing over her head wound, and at least she was conscious. ‘You did well there, Lidford. It’s not everyone who can keep their head in a situation like this. You and Halloway did the WAAF proud. I’ll be putting you both in for a commendation.’
The next moment, May was engulfed in Jess’s arms. ‘You were wonderful, May. I’m so proud of you.’
May hugged her back. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you. I was so scared at first. If you hadn’t started us singing, I’d have been a quivering bundle of nerves even before the bombing started.’
Then there was another tumble of falling rubble, and daylight poured into the shelter. Those inside cheered as, one by one, they half scrambled and were half dragged from the hole. May found herself standing in warm sunshine, a blanket wrapped around her. Then she was engulfed in an enthusiastic hug.
‘Oh, May, thank God! I’ve been so worried. Are you hurt?’ It was Evie.
May hugged her back, relief making her knees tremble. ‘I’m fine. But—’ She swallowed. ‘Oh, Evie. The ones by the door…’ She stepped back and wiped her eyes, forgetting how grimy her fingers were until she felt the cakey mud smear across her cheeks.
‘Here.’ Evie produced a large, clean handkerchief and handed it to her. Then, as May wiped her face, she asked, ‘What about Jess? How is she?’
‘She’s fine. She was right behind me.’ May turned and pointed at Jess, who was that moment being helped out of the burrowed entrance. Evie dashed over to lend a hand.
That was when May’s gaze fell on two still forms laid out beside the crater, covered by blankets. Two more rescuers moved towards them, carrying Jack Johnson. The airman’s head lolled, and his arms dangled, knocking against the legs of those bearing him. The men placed him reverently beside the other two and draped a blanket over him.
May started to shake, and her teeth chattered. She tried to stop it, but they only clacked harder.
A strong arm wrapped around her shoulder. ‘Good God, May! Were you down there?’ Peter’s voice rumbled in her ear.
She didn’t trust herself to speak, knew she’d disgrace herself by sobbing if she tried. She simply nodded and then dabbed at her cheeks with the borrowed handkerchief to blot away the tears that she couldn’t control.
‘Come and sit down.’ May allowed Peter to guide her to the steps outside the officers’ mess. She went to sink down on them, but Peter hoisted her up and marched her inside.
‘What are you doing?’ she gasped. ‘I can’t go in there.’
‘I can bring any guest I choose, and I choose you.’
His l
ast three words made May’s stomach swoop. Don’t be ridiculous, May, he doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s being kind, that’s all.
Ignoring May’s protests over her filthy state, Peter guided her into a large yet cosy room, filled with luxurious armchairs and sofas. There was a bar in the corner, where two airmen were busy with brooms. From the clink of broken glass, May guessed most of the glassware hadn’t survived the raid.
‘Sit here,’ Peter said. ‘What would you like to drink?’
May became aware that she was parched. ‘A cup of tea, please.’
While Peter went to fetch it, she perched on the edge of the nearest armchair. Its high back, padded arms and soft cushions invited her to sink into it, but she was terrified of ruining the plush maroon upholstery. She’d thought the chairs in the schoolroom at High Chalk House were the last word in luxury, but this chair belonged to a whole other world, as far removed from the schoolroom as the schoolroom was from the poky back room of her father’s house in Birmingham.
She shivered again, only now noticing that the blanket she’d been given upon emerging from the shelter was still draped around her shoulders. She huddled in it and shuffled closer to the edge of the seat, wishing she was out in the sunshine with Evie and Jess.
Peter returned with a cup and saucer. She took it, marvelling at the delicate china which was so fine as to be translucent. She wished her tea had arrived in a battered enamel mug. She wouldn’t be afraid of dropping that.
Peter sank into the opposite chair with a sigh. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you’d be more comfortable in here after all you’ve been through, but I’ve got it all wrong.’
‘Oh no, you’ve been so kind, and I’m grateful. I just…’ She made a gesture that took in the sumptuous furniture, the oak panelling and the fine china, willing him to understand. ‘I don’t belong here.’
A faint smile curved his lips. ‘You know, there are still days when I look around this room and feel I don’t belong here, either.’
‘You?’ May took a sip of tea to hide her confusion. To her surprise it was strong and sweet, not the tasteless, pale, slightly flavoured hot water she’d expected to find in a place like this. It was an honest, working-class brew. She drank it gratefully. ‘Ah, that’s good.’
Peter laughed. ‘I asked for the kind of tea my mum would make. “Drink up,” she’d say. “It’ll put hairs on your chest”.’ He looked around the room with a sad smile. ‘She sacrificed so much to let me stay on at school. And when I joined the RAF, it was as a sergeant pilot. We weren’t all from Eton and Harrow, you know. So I should have realised how uncomfortable a place like this can make you feel.’
He rose. ‘Shall we finish our tea outside?’
May nodded, relieved, and sprang up so fast her cup rattled on the saucer. As she followed him outside, she longed to ask him more about his background, but didn’t know how to begin. But she couldn’t deny something had changed between them. Not that the news that his background might not be so different from hers made her like him more – Peter had never made her feel uncomfortable about her own humble beginnings. No, it was the way he had looked after her. If her dad and brothers had witnessed her being dragged out of a collapsed shelter, they wouldn’t have asked how she was or made her a drink. They would have complained their supper was late. But Peter’s care cracked the brittle shell she’d erected around her heart as protection against her family’s indifference. Maybe not all men were like her father. Peter had gone out of his way to be kind to her yet seemed to expect nothing in return.
A blossom of warmth flowered in her chest.
* * *
Evie eyed her two friends with concern as she passed them steaming mugs of cocoa. ‘Are you sure you’re both well enough to go back on duty tomorrow?’ They had both been sent back to High Chalk House and told to take it easy for the rest of the day. Evie had worked extra watches to make up for the WAAFs who had been too shaken to go back on duty, but then had been given the whole night off to make up for it. She’d returned to find Jess and May much recovered, but still looking pale. Jess had a large bruise on her forehead, and May’s shoulder was still painful. She also sported a raw-looking graze on her chin.
‘I can’t speak for May, but I’m fine,’ said Jess, wrapping her hands around her mug. ‘Besides, I’d never be able to look our pilots in the eye again, if I cried off sick after just being trapped in a shelter for a short while.’
‘What about you, May?’
May didn’t seem to hear. She gazed into the distance, blowing the steam off her cocoa.
‘May?’
Jess laughed. ‘She can’t hear you. Too busy dreaming about Peter Travis.’
‘What?’ May’s eyes snapped into focus, and she blushed. ‘I wasn’t!’
‘Admit it. I can’t believe he took you into the officers’ mess. What was it like?’
‘I’ve already told you about a thousand times.’
‘I know, but I’m trying to imagine it, so I can dream of being entertained there by a handsome pilot.’
The conversation looked like going round in circles for some time yet. Evie yawned and rose. ‘Well, I might have been given the night off, but I’ve got to get up early. I’m off to bed.’
May reached up and took her hand. ‘Are you all right, Evie? You look a bit pale.’
Evie forced a smile, although she did, in fact, have a slight headache. ‘I’m fine. Just tired from focusing so hard all day. It’s getting so that I still see plots when I close my eyes. I hope we have a quieter day tomorrow.’
Jess scowled. ‘I doubt it. I think today’s raid was just the start.’
Evie had a horrible feeling Jess was right.
Chapter Thirteen
If anything, the action was more intense the next day, although, thankfully, no raids got through to Amberton. Reports filtered through of heavy damage to other stations, and the Chain Home station on Ventnor had been damaged. Plots still came through thick and fast, and all four squadrons only had the briefest time to refuel and rearm between patrols before being scrambled again.
Evie did her best not to think too hard of Alex. Tried not to wonder, each time Brimstone squadron took off, if this would be his last flight. Instead she concentrated on her task, back and shoulders aching from bending over the table and pushing the plots with the long rakes. After all, she wasn’t the only plotter with a friend in one of the squadrons, and everyone else managed to go about their duty calmly.
Then, just before she was due her first two-hour break, a report from Milan Mašek crackled over the R/T. ‘Belfry, Brimstone Green Two. Green Leader has crashed in the sea.’
There was a brief silence. From the corner of her eye, Evie was aware of one of the plotters – Harriet Digby – standing upright, the plot she’d been about to place still in her hand.
‘Brimstone Green Two, Belfry. Did you see a parachute?’ It was the assistant controller who spoke, Peter being off duty.
A hiss of static filled the room for an agonising stretch of time. No one spoke, and Harriet Digby remained frozen until Milan’s voice came through the R/T. ‘Belfry, Brimstone Green Two. No parachute.’
The assistant controller gave the order for the coast guard to be contacted. ‘Although I doubt he’ll have survived.’
Harriet gave a little gasp and sank into her chair. One of the WAAF officers hurried across to her, and Evie recalled seeing Harriet dancing with Alex’s second-in-command, Flight Lieutenant Harper. She’d even heard rumours the pair had become engaged despite the short time they’d known each other.
Harriet stood up and drew a shaky breath. ‘I’ll be all right, ma’am,’ she said, and turned back to the table.
But Evie was close enough to see the tears splashing upon the table after the officer had returned to her post.
She couldn’t shake off the memory of Harriet’s grief, or the thought of the pilot who’d crashed into the sea. Her thoughts inevitably turned to Alex. How would he react to losing a member of
his squadron? She also couldn’t forget that he was still out on patrol. Just because he hadn’t been shot down yet, it didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen. If she felt this way now, how would she feel if she was walking out with him? She shot a sidelong glance at Harriet. No, she’d made the right decision to remain friends.
But the tension as she strained for updates on Brimstone squadron’s whereabouts, mingled with the concentration, only served to worsen the headache that had plagued her all day. Therefore, when she was released for her two-hour break, she grabbed a hasty cup of tea from the canteen then ambled out of the station and into the cool of the woods. Maybe an hour or so strolling along the shady paths would be enough to soothe her head and her spirits before it was time to return to The Hole.
She deliberately chose a path that wound around the hillside and led to the opposite side, away from the incessant roar of aircraft. She could still hear them from this path, but the sounds were muffled, and she could push them to the back of her consciousness. It was torture, not knowing if each Hurricane coming in to land was Alex’s.
Making a huge effort, she tried to enjoy the moment, breathe in the air, tinged with its scent of leaf loam, and let the birdsong drift over her. The wind in the leaves sighed like breaking waves, and every now and again there was a rustle and a flash of russet as a squirrel leapt from branch to branch. She paused by a tangle of brambles, surprised to see deep purple blackberries. She’d been so focused on her duties the past few weeks, she’d forgotten it was now late summer. Back in Cowley, she’d always eagerly watched for the signs of the passing seasons, so it was a shock to realise she’d let these first hints of autumn’s approach pass her by. With death haunting the lives of the men and women on the station, she’d lived day-to-day, not daring to look too far ahead. But here they were, only a few weeks from autumn. She knew from snatches of conversation overheard in Ops that if the RAF could hold out against the Luftwaffe until the autumn storms arrived, the Germans would have to delay their planned invasion. No wonder they were throwing their full might against the air force now. The Germans had to break the air force before they could attempt a full invasion.