He glanced up when she walked in. “Well, I never.” He grinned. “ACW Lowe, I’d heard that you were coming back. I’d really hoped that it was true and here you are. Welcome back.” He rose and shook her hand warmly. “It’s great to have you here again.”
She managed a smile. “Thank you, Corporal Harris, Sir. It’s nice to see you again.”
The Corporal’s smile faded. “How do you feel about being back here, Lowe?”
“I’m not sure, sir. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. After all, it’s been nearly three years. But I did notice the Blenheims when we drove in.”
He scratched his cheek. “The 219 is here for a little while,” he told her. “But don’t worry. I don’t expect you to drive buses again, not if you don’t want to.”
“I’d rather not, if that’s all right, sir.”
“Good, good. I have another job in mind for you, since you have three years of driving under your belt. We have a few outlying places that we provide bits and pieces for, so it will be a bit like what you were doing at Mildenhall, although the roads might be a bit more challenging at this time of year. Mind you, you did your training in north Wales in the middle of winter, so I reckon you’d be ideal for the job, if that’s all right with you.”
“That would be perfect, sir.”
“Excellent, then that’s sorted. Now, just leave that lorry where you’ve parked it and get yourself and your colleague settled. I should think you’re tired after that long trip.”
“Yes, sir. It will be nice to have a bit of a rest.”
He shook her hand once more. “Glad you’re back, Lowe, I really am. I’m proud of you.”
Ilona saluted. “Thank you, sir.” She left the office before he could see her tears.
They collected their bags from the back of the lorry and hurried toward the women’s barracks. Ilona found the old, familiar pathways, the shortcuts and the windbreaks and after a little while, they reached the hut. She took a deep breath and paused at the bottom of the steps. “Here we are. Welcome to your new lodgings, Helen.”
The day workers would be in there now at the end of their shifts and she wondered if Faith was still there. She had been at Christmas. Ilona opened the door and walked in. Outwardly, nothing had changed. Some unfamiliar faces turned and glanced at the new arrivals, offering tentative smiles. She looked toward the far corner and her old friend’s face was a picture.
She leaped up from her cot and raced down the room. “Ilke! I don’t believe it!”
Ilona was swept up in her friend’s embrace and they both laughed and cried while the others looked on.
“What on earth are you doing here?” she asked, finally, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“They’re handing Duxford over to the Americans so we all had to go somewhere else. The RAF sent me here.”
“That will be that Corporal Harris, I’ll bet. He sulked for months after you left. I heard that he put in a request to get you back.”
“He was certainly happy to see me and he’s given me a great job, driving all over the place, so I don’t mind.”
“But how do you feel about being back here?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Not so bad, now, but then I’ve only been here less than an hour. I saw the Blenheims.”
“The lads are back for a little while. They just got here and, yes, Sandy is still with them and we’re still together.”
“That’s wonderful, I’m glad to hear that.”
“You know, Sandy would love to see you. But are you sure?”
“I’m sure. A lot has happened to me in the last three years, I’ve moved on and I’m ready to look back without crying or falling apart.” She sat on her cot. “I was upset when I found out that I was coming back here but I need to say goodbye to Ian properly and, by being here, I can do that. I can finally let go.” She swallowed at the knot in her throat and gazed up at the ceiling. “Because someone made me realize that, as much as I thought I’d got better, I still have my ghosts and I don’t think that he is prepared to live with them.”
“It sounds like you have a story to tell,” Faith said.
“I have, but perhaps not here and now.”
* * * *
Ilona was surprised how easily she fitted back into Catterick. Corporal Harris kept her busy, sending her on errands all over North Yorkshire which, in late winter, proved challenging when trying to reach the remoter stations. Nonetheless, she was glad of the hard work because it gave her little time to think or brood over the fact that Francis had never replied to her letter. The ghosts had gone and even seeing Sandy again did nothing but revive happy memories. Meeting the rest of the 219 before they made ready to leave in the late spring did not cause the hurt that it once would have. They had tried to talk her into driving the bus once more.
“Ignore them,” Sandy joked over a beer in the Bay Horse. “They’re just sulking because they don’t get their tea and sandwiches anymore. They sit there, clutch their empty stomachs and whine like big girls. They think they’re special. I keep telling them that only fighter pilots are special and us Blenheim boys are just working class grunts.”
Faith punched him playfully. “You’ve whined as much as any of them, darling.”
“That’s because I’m the boss now. I’m allowed to whine about being discriminated against because of those flash buggers in their dainty little planes…show-offs.”
“Those Thunderbolts are hardly dainty, mind.”
He laughed. “That’s true enough. They’re like bloody tanks. Which is just as well, because they can get shot up and still make it back in one piece.” He looked at her. “How do you know about Thunderbolts?”
“I used to have a friend who flew them.”
“Used to? Did he…?”
“No, he’s still alive, as far as I know.”
“He’s the one I told you about, Sandy.” Faith nudged him.
“Ah, that bugger. Well I hope, for his sake, I don’t run into him.” He patted Ilona’s hand. “I’m sorry, Ilke, I shouldn’t have said that. I think I’ve had one beer too many. But you’re like a sister to me and I feel like clocking him one on your behalf.”
She managed a smile. “That’s all right. I’ll be fine.”
* * * *
Dear Ilke,
How is everything up in the snowy north? We’re nearly ready to ship out here, the last lot to leave Duxford. Would you believe it? Betty and I are heading back to Mildenhall. I’m relieved about that on the grounds of, well, you know…‘the devil you know’ and all that. We will miss the cushy billet, but I suppose we’ve been spoiled. We’ll certainly miss the pub, which brings me to the main reason for writing this letter. A few of us went there at the weekend for one last hurrah, before we all went our separate ways. We all missed you, I bought a sherry for you and drank it myself. Yes, it was that kind of evening. About halfway through the night, when everyone was getting a bit giggly, the door opens and Betty’s eyes just about popped out of her head, because she was sitting facing the door. She leaned across the table and whispered, “You’re never going to believe who’s just walked in.” I asked if Clark Gable had come to pick me up and carry me off and she said, “No, it’s Ilke’s Yank.”
So, trying not to be obvious, I turned around and, yup, there he was, larger than life, all smart in his Yank uniform, with his two friends, Harry and Richard. Lovely chaps, those two. Francis took one look at us and headed to the far end of the bar, I’m not sure that he recognized us, but Harry did. He gave us a little wave and said that he’d come and say hello and have a chat when he got the chance. We had to stop Betty from marching into the other bar because she was all for giving Francis a good talking to. I have to say, it was tempting to let her loose, but we thought better of it. I was hoping that he had recognized us and was feeling suitably guilty. After about an hour, Harry managed to make it back, which I think was quite brave because we were a bit loud by that time. He sat down. We made small talk for a little while, a
nd then he asked if we’d heard anything from you. I told him that you wrote regularly and that you were doing well at Catterick, all things considered. I said that, given the circumstances, it was probably just as well that you weren’t there in the pub. He glanced over his shoulder, checking to see if the coast was clear, I suppose, and said, “I don’t even know why he bothered to come here with us. He’s not said a word all night. He’s just sat in there staring at his beer.”
I said, “Guilty conscience?”
“I reckon so. Something’s been eating him since February. He never said much about what happened, but I figured it was something to do with Ilke. Did she say anything to you?”
“She’s said plenty to me,” says I, “but I can’t tell you. I’ll just say that she’s still hurting and you can tell him that from me. She wrote and told him where she was going and she’s never heard a word since.”
“I tried asking him about it, but he just clammed up. It’s a shame, because he was much better company when he was with her. Now, apart from when we’re working, he hardly says a word. I’d like to deck him, but I don’t want to get into trouble.”
I told him that most of the girls at the table would probably want to thump him too. He said he wanted his friend back. He missed the old Francis. Anyway, after that, Richard joined us for a little while until Francis turned up with a face like a wet weekend in Bognor, saying that they should get back. So I finally got a good look at him and, I have to say, Ilke, I hardly recognized him from that handsome, lovely man we’d met before. He was so grim and hard, and whatever courage the drink gave me, disappeared like Scotch mist, I wasn’t going to say anything to him. I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t. In any event, it probably would’ve made things worse. I’m hoping that Harry told him what I said.
I’m really sorry and upset that you two are in this state. It’s very sad, because you made such a handsome couple. I still reckon that he loves you but doesn’t want you to know. In fact, I’d be willing to bet my wages on that. I hope I haven’t upset you by telling you this, but I thought you would want to know…that he’s angry at the world and not just you. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that you’ll work it out between you one of these days.
I’d better go now. It’s nearly lights out and we have a busy moving day tomorrow.
Write soon and stay warm!
Lily
Ilona set down the letter with a sigh and stared out of the window of the lorry, at the endless rain. She folded the letter and put it away. The rain did not help. It just took her back to that cottage and those five days, when the world was reduced to the two of them.
Dear Lily,
Thanks for your letter. Things are fine up here, just a bit on the chilly side. There is still snow up on the moors and in the dales, and they look beautiful.
Contrary to what I thought, I am actually enjoying it here. Faith is still here and, at the moment, so is Ian’s old squadron. I thought that it would be hard to see them all again but it’s been lovely—no awkwardness or sorrow, just talking about old times and laughing. Faith’s boyfriend would also like to join the queue of people who want to thump Francis. He was Ian’s best friend and he told me, after he’d had one beer too many, the other night that he was my big brother and no one should treat me like that. I’m bewildered as to Francis’ behavior. Yes, he was upset when we parted, but this anger is a surprise to me. He didn’t seem angry when we said goodbye, just depressed. I think he’s had too much time to brood and has decided that the best thing to do is shut himself off from everybody, for reasons best known to himself. It hurts me to think that I’m the cause of this and I miss him, terribly. He is the only ghost left, now, and he won’t disappear. Those five days in the cottage were wonderful and magical and, sometimes, I sit here with my pen and paper and I want to write to him and tell him everything, but I have my pride, and I won’t do it, I can’t do it. I had hoped that, with time, he might see things differently, but time seems to have made things worse. It’s just as well I’m up here, far away where there is no chance that I will see him or anything that reminds me of him.
I hope you’ve both settled back in at Mildenhall all right. When the war is over, it will be strange going back to a sedentary life, and I’m not sure how I will manage. I love being able to drive all over the place, even in the bad weather. I’m looking forward to the summer because it’s beautiful here.
Take care of yourself and give my love to everyone.
Ilke
Ilona posted the letter and stared at the moors, sleeping under their winter blanket of snow. There was one more thing that she needed to do when summer returned there.
Chapter Twenty
“ACW Lowe, this is your lucky day,” Corporal Harris declared as Ilona walked into the depot office.
“Why’s that, Corporal Harris, Sir?”
“It’s a lovely, sunny day and you get to take a trip across the moors.”
“I do, sir?”
“There’s a salvage crew working on that Halifax that crashed the other day. They need food, because the job’s taking longer than it should, so they’ve just about run out. My guess is that they’re taking their time because the weather’s so nice.” He handed her a set of keys. “Take the utility vehicle and the food should be ready to pick up at the canteen. Here’s a map and don’t hurry back, it’s too nice to be stuck down here all day.”
She grinned. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’ve been working hard since you got here. You deserve a break, Lowe.”
“Thank you, sir.” She took the keys and the map and walked back out into the brilliant sunlight of the mid July morning. She ran back to the hut and rummaged under her cot for her case, digging for the shoebox. She knelt on the floor and lifted the lid. The photograph rested on top and she paused to look at it, at that moment caught in shades of gray, at a laughing Ilke who no longer existed and the man who had loved her. Underneath, the book had remained untouched and a slight gap in the pages marked the place where the dried piece of heather rested. She picked up the book and put the box away.
Back in the van, she studied the map and tried to work out whether it was even possible. She supposed she would recognize the place.
Ilona turned north on the Great North Road and on to Northallerton. From there, she found her way up onto the moors, following a narrow lane to the east. The warmth of the day meant that she could drive with the windows open and she rested her arm on the door, letting the wind cool her face. The moors were purple with heather and dotted with sheep that wandered aimlessly across the road, regarding the van with boredom and contempt. They took their time and Ilona breathed in the clean, sea-scented breeze. She couldn’t blame the salvage crew for wanting to linger up there. She leaned against the steering wheel and waited for the sheep, hearing the distant cry of a bird and the wind whispering through the grass. Eventually, the sheep cleared the road and she drove on until she found a track leading away to the north where, according to the map, she would find the salvage crew. After bumping along for a mile or two, she found the spot, marked by a lorry. Half a dozen men were scattered across a swathe of hillside, sorting through the grass and the heather for the shattered remnants of the hapless bomber. She wondered whether the crew had survived but, given the wide area the crew was searching and the smallness of the pieces already collected, she didn’t think that anyone had.
Ilona pulled up next to the lorry and someone spotted her, calling out to the others, “Hey, lads, the food’s here.”
She soon found that there were plenty of willing hands to unload the van and, before too long, she realized that the rest of the day was her own. She politely declined an invitation to stay for lunch and returned to the road. She paused, trying to work out which way she had to go. She turned back toward the west and took her time, searching for the proper turn-off, which was difficult because of the lack of directional signs. She made more than one wrong turning before she found the right road. After a little while the la
ndscape fell into place, once glimpsed landmarks became familiar to her, the crumbling remains of an old barn, even more derelict after three years, a clump of stunted, wind-twisted trees at a high and remote crossroads and, finally, a loosely scattered group of gray, lichen-covered stones at the end of a grassy track. She guided the van onto the track, parked and gazed blankly out of the open window for a while, listening to the wind and the birdsong. There were even bees, humming as they passed across the heather, and their familiar song tugged at her.
“The drowsy bees,” Ilona whispered, waiting until she could summon up the strength she needed. She picked up the book and ran her finger along the spine. She wondered how many times Ian had done the same thing and how many times he had thumbed through the pages. Once she had done this, it would just be another book on her shelf. With a shaky sigh, Ilona opened the door and climbed out, already feeling the tears begin to gather and burn. She remembered so much and he was all around her in the silent tumble of stones. She stood in the hollow where they had lain and gazed at the cloudless sky. It was a flawless summer day. Ian was very near and she felt the lightest of touches on her cheek and thought that she heard her name whispered with longing. She opened the book and read the poem aloud. It was too easy to remember Ian’s voice, reciting it to her in the small, warm hours of the night and up here, after a long and languid hour of lovemaking. Her voice was tight with the tears but she spoke the words as loud as she could.
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