On a Wing and a Prayer

by Ruby Jackson

  She wondered if the beacon would be lit to warn of an air raid, then scolded herself for being silly. If she ever got time off she could get a train from Preston to London, and then another from London to Dartford. Cleo was in a place called Arundel. She’d have to look that up, but niggles in her brain hinted that Arundel was a lot closer to Dartford than it was to Preston. A really bright spot, however, was that Chrissy was here with her. To arrive at a new base and know not one person there would have been awful.

  ‘Pity we’re not in the same billet, Rose, but for me it’s lovely to know at least one person.’

  They were sitting in the canteen enjoying their dinner of corned beef, potatoes and carrots – at least Rose was. Chrissy was merely pushing her carrots around.

  ‘I’m delighted you’re here too,’ said Rose, ‘but you don’t look too happy, Chrissy. I’ll fetch us a nice cup of tea and you can tell me what’s bothering you…if you want to, that is.’

  She walked across to the tea trolley and poured two cups of tea. ‘Good heavens,’ she said aloud. ‘It’s too weak to run out of the pot.’

  ‘Very funny, Petrie. We’re lucky to be getting any tea at all. Kitchen does its best, but with rationing—’

  ‘Rationing? When was tea rationed?’

  ‘You been in outer space, girl?’ asked the irate cook. ‘At least two years.’

  ‘Since 1940? I was working in a munitions factory in ’40, but my parents sell tea, high-end market as well as the housewife’s choice, and I don’t remember a word about it.’

  ‘Parents don’t tell their offspring everything.’

  Rose thanked the cook, apologised for complaining and then walked back to her table, remembering recent conversations about parents and the sacrifices they were prepared to make for their children.

  ‘Here you go, Chrissy, can’t exactly stand a spoon up in it, but it’s hot, wet and sweet enough!’

  ‘Just the way I like it,’ said Chrissy with an attempt at a smile.

  Rose sat down beside her. ‘What is it? You can tell me and I’ll help if I can.’

  Chrissy looked at Rose for a long moment. ‘It’s my Alan,’ she said at last, ‘my son. I haven’t had a word from him in weeks and I’m worried sick.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘That’s it. I don’t know. He said in his last letter as he might be going overseas. Really excited, he was, and I pretended I were, an’ all. See the world: Paris, France, the mysterious East.’

  ‘Letters from overseas take much longer than from – where was he stationed?’

  ‘Aldershot.’

  ‘That must have been nice, not an awful long way from Guildford. Did he write to you in Guildford?’

  ‘Yes, but he won’t know this address if he didn’t get my letter telling him.’

  ‘That won’t matter, Chrissy. If he sends a letter to Guildford it’ll be sent on to you. Happens every day of the week, but try not to worry.’

  Rose knew all about worrying over absent loved ones. They had waited for letters from Ron, and Flora would always treasure the few he had written before his death in action. Rose could not speak of her brother’s death to anyone, and especially not to a woman who was worried about her only son.

  ‘My brother Phil’s at sea, Chrissy. Sometimes it’s months between letters and then five or six arrive at the same time. He numbers them now and so Mum knows if one’s missing. Sometimes they do get lost and sometimes the lost one turns up months later. And when my brother Sam was on active service, Mum got letters every week and then it was months between…It doesn’t mean he’s not writing, Chrissy, just that there’s a hold-up somewhere. You have to stay positive.’

  ‘I’m sorry to be such a nuisance, Rose. I’m trying to concentrate on the typing and the shorthand but then I start worrying about Alan and I can’t see the keys or the symbols – all I can see is Alan’s face.’

  That was what it must have been like for Mum and Dad with the boys. Did I give them half the sympathy I’m giving Chrissy? I hope so.

  ‘You haven’t touched your tea. Don’t blame you really. Doesn’t even smell like tea. We lived above the shop and if we weren’t smelling Mum’s baking, we were smelling tea leaves – lovely. Some of them’s really exotic, you know, from China and places like that.’ She picked up Chrissy’s cup. ‘I’ll fetch you another cuppa.’

  ‘No, this is fine, Rose. You’ve been a grand help.’

  ‘Haven’t done anything but, Chrissy, maybe if you try to concentrate on how proud of his mum, the secretary, Alan’s going to be…’

  ‘I will, and thanks.’

  ‘Nice of you to join us, Petrie.’

  The senior mechanic was not pleased to see Rose walk in after he had started talking. She had been late leaving Chrissy and then her attention had been caught by the sight of a long line of army vehicles, each obviously in dire need of care and attention. Her heart had leaped with anticipation as she saw some vehicles that she recognised: an Austin light utility with its spare wheel anchored neatly on top of the driver’s cabin; a Bedford fifteen-hundredweight general service lorry. Each vehicle bore a large red L, and each one was surrounded by trainees and, surprisingly, soldiers. Everyone stood gazing hopefully into the engines, as if by merely looking they would understand all the mysteries inside.

  ‘Sorry, Sergeant, won’t happen again, sir.’

  ‘Better not, or you’re out on your ear. Keeping our vehicles moving is about as important a job as there is. What do you know about motorcycles?’

  For a second Rose felt faint as she saw again the young man pinned under the motorcycle, and heard his voice: ‘Urgent, please.’

  ‘Very little, sir.’ She thought quickly. ‘I’d recognise a Harley-Davidson. If you can’t lift it, you can’t ride it.’

  The sergeant’s face, red with anger, stared into Rose’s. ‘Is that a girly attempt at humour?’

  ‘No, sir. I heard it somewhere.’

  ‘Right, you’re a big girl, let’s see how many of them you can lift.’

  He led the way across the machine shop to where motorcycles in various stages of disrepair were lying. ‘Pick them up, Petrie, and if you value your skin, don’t drop any.’

  ‘I hardly think that’s a sensible use of Private Petrie’s abilities, Sergeant Norris.’ Neither Rose nor the sergeant had heard Junior Commander Strong enter. ‘As far as possible, I hope she will never need to lift a motorcycle but, in the meantime, a working knowledge of the engine would be helpful.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Good. Petrie, do try not to be late. The machines won’t repair themselves.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  The officer turned and walked out of the workroom, leaving Rose and Sergeant Norris looking at each other while everyone else determined to look anywhere but at them.

  ‘Get to it then, girl.’

  To Rose the smell of oil was almost as pleasant as that of exotic tea leaves from ‘the mysterious East’; she almost revelled in it. Soon her hands were oil- and grease-marked. As a qualified mechanic, Corporal Church instructed her painstakingly.

  ‘What have you worked on before, Rose?’ Corporal Church asked.

  ‘My dad’s van and the occasional old banger some of the lads had.’

  ‘This is your first bike, then?’

  Again Rose pictured the crashed motorcycle. ‘Yes, Corporal.’

  The corporal smiled, and her rather plain face seemed to light up with an inner glow. ‘Good start. We’ll take this one apart and put it back together again.’

  It sounded simple.

  ‘Bit fiddly,’ said Rose, an hour or so later as she handed over the unfinished job.

  ‘Maybe so, but you’re well on the way, Rose.’ Once more the mechanic surprised Rose with her friendly smile. ‘I’ll finish this off. While I’m doing that, you can clean those parts lying over there. Keep them in exactly the order you find them; in other words, pick up a part, clean said part, put it down exactly where it was t
o start with. Got it?’

  ‘Yes, Corporal.’

  For the rest of the afternoon, Rose scarcely lifted her head as she examined and cleaned the motorcycle parts. She found minor and, unfortunately, major dents in some pieces, but was pleased that she was able to repair them. Sally’s fingernails wouldn’t handle this little lot, she thought with a smile as she remembered her actress friend. She looked at her own long and very dirty fingers with their short blunt nails.

  ‘Better get used to it, Rose.’

  Rose smiled at the mechanic. ‘I’m admiring them, Corporal. These dirty hands bring me one step closer.’ She stopped, embarrassed.

  ‘Closer to what?’

  It was impossible to tell the exact truth, which was to be a driver, although, since she had not passed into the unit for drivers, Rose felt deep down that her dream was further away than ever. ‘To be a fully qualified mechanic,’ she said, crossing her fingers behind her back as she spoke.

  Corporal Church stood up and stretched to her full height – which was considerably less than Rose’s. ‘A few weeks on bikes, Private Petrie. Do well and I’ll give you an ambulance. Get that going for us and I might just be able to find a staff car that needs a little tender care.’

  In spite of what she thought of as a bad start, Rose returned to her billet, a long and fairly wide Nissen hut, in a happy frame of mind. She had started to learn and had achieved a little. She had been reprimanded by the senior mechanic but admitted that she had been careless about time-keeping. He was right to tell me off, she told herself, and he took it on the chin when he caught it from the junior commander. And Corporal Church is a superb mechanic. I like her. There’s something about her, nice and calm and competent. I get the feeling that she’s very fair too.

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  If you’re planning on putting a packet of tea in my sock at Christmas, could I please have it a little early, like now? Food’s not bad; we had some decent gravy today, which covered up the smell of the corned beef very well, and hid the taste and all. I told you about Chrissy as trained with me. She’s here too, which is lovely because she’s a nice woman, but she’s worried sick about her son. A really good cuppa would make quite a difference, I think. He’s not long shipped out and she hasn’t had a letter since he left. Have you had a letter from our Phil?

  Rose stopped for a moment and shouted, ‘I wish this blasted war was over.’ Feeling slightly better, she returned to her letter.

  Has Daisy said anything about Tomas, about where his family is? That was another horror story when we were catching up with the news. A whole village in Bohemia, which I’m told is part of Czechoslovakia, was burned down and everybody killed. It’s called Lidice, the village that is. Really awful. I hope Tomas’s family isn’t from there. Good news is the Americans have defeated the Japanese at a place called Midway, which I think is an island in the Pacific Ocean. All our senior officers were cheering so it must be something special. It was Mr Fischer who used to explain all the news to Daisy, wasn’t it? Daisy said she bumped into him somewhere, didn’t she? Wonder where he is because I would really like someone to explain all this.

  I miss you. Today I got started on engines but they were motorcycle engines and I never worked on one before. The chief mechanic is pretty grumpy. No, actually that’s not fair, I was late and he was angry. Afraid I didn’t cover myself with glory as I just could not get the hang of what he was trying to explain and he got more and more impatient. I met a really nice mechanic though, a corporal, so we can’t be friends since I’m just a private, but there’s something about her, Mum, you know. You get a feeling sometimes, doesn’t matter if they’re rich or poor, but something in the face or the eyes tells you this is a good person. Well, that’s Corporal Church and she was ever so supportive.

  Say hello to everybody in your letters and remind our Daisy she’s got a twin sister in case she’s forgotten. Ha-ha.

  Love to all,

  Rose

  Rose finished her letter, put it in an envelope, which she addressed and sealed before looking around the room, aware for the first time in several minutes that other girls had entered the hut while she had been writing and were now making themselves comfortable on beds or chairs.

  ‘How you can concentrate, Rose?’ said Vera Harding, who was about the same age as Rose. ‘Who were you writing to, Laurence Olivier or Clark Gable?’

  ‘Top secret.’

  ‘If I’d annoyed the chief mechanic the way you did today, Rose,’ a second girl entered the conversation, ‘I’d have been studying the manual.’

  Immediately several voices joined in, some siding with Rose. ‘She’s wet behind the ear, Ella. Don’t worry, Rose, most of us cried for days the first time we had to work on an engine.’

  ‘Why did they accept you if you know nothing about motorcycles? I take it you have some experience with machines?’ Ella Barker went on.

  ‘Yes, I can drive and I—’

  ‘We can all drive.’ It was Ella again, like a dog after a bone.

  Rose looked at her for a time before replying. ‘I am so pleased for you,’ she said coldly, and smiled a little as Ella blushed.

  Several of the young women in the billet began to laugh.

  ‘Oh, Rose, oh, lovely English rose. At last someone who can give as good as she gets,’ said Vera. ‘Our Ella, Barker by name and barker by nature.’ She ignored Ella’s mutterings and continued, ‘Now, do come and tell us all about yourself, and all about the handsome soldier you were writing to.’

  ‘Sorry, Vera, I was writing home, and now I will study the manual.’

  But for some time she was not allowed to return to her studies as various young women introduced themselves. By the time they all crowded around the wireless to listen to their favourite programmes, it seemed to Rose that she had known everyone in the billet, even the formidable Ella, for much longer than the short while she had been in Preston.

  Having worked very hard all day, the girls were quite happy to get into bed at lights out. Rose lay for some time going over the events of the day and the evening. I miss Mum and Dad and George, she thought to herself, but these women are all in the same boat as I am, and they’re making an effort – well, most of them – to get on with everyone else. I’ll learn all about motorbikes – if our Daisy can go from driving cars to flying a blooming great plane, I can learn about bikes. Again the image of the dispatch rider pinned under his bike came into her head. I’ll learn for you, she decided, and maybe I’ll even be brave enough to ride one of them…

  ‘I’m not promising,’ she whispered as she fell asleep.

  Next morning she joined several of her roommates for breakfast. From across the room she saw Chrissy, seemingly quite happily chatting to the women at her table. Rose waved and was delighted when Chrissy too raised her hand in greeting. Letters were delivered every day; maybe today she would hear from her son and maybe Rose Petrie would get a delivery of tea leaves.

  By the end of the first week, Rose was thoroughly enjoying the work and the companionship of all the other women. Work was going well, and Sergeant Norris had even congratulated her on her aptitude and application.

  ‘Well, well, teacher’s pet,’ laughed Vera as they walked back to their billet one evening after the last class. ‘Aptitude and application. He’ll have you a motorcycle dispatch rider before you can shake a stick.’

  ‘I sincerely hope not. It’s cars I want to drive, although ambulance drivers are needed, aren’t they?’

  ‘Every kind of driver is needed, Rose. Drivers have accidents; they get strafed or bombed just like any other soldier. There’s risks everywhere.’

  Vera had looked and sounded rather tense as she spoke, and Rose had the feeling that there was something on her mind. She decided to wait until her new friend was prepared to share it and so she decided to change the subject. ‘What are you wearing to the dance on Saturday night? I’ve only got one suitable frock with me and everyone will be tired of it after a while.’
/>   ‘I don’t dance.’

  Rose was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then she made up her mind. ‘I went to lots of dances at our local church hall and at the Palais,’ she said. ‘I bet there was a Palais in your town too, Vera, but could I just say that if you have religious reasons for not dancing then, of course, I’ll respect that, but…’ She stopped, wondering how best to carry on now that she had started. ‘But if you haven’t had time or opportunity to learn how to dance, I think I could teach you.’

  They had reached their hut. ‘We could have some tea and a listen to the wireless if no one’s having a lie-down,’ suggested Vera without answering Rose’s question.

  ‘Just time to have a shower and wash my hair.’ Ella, who also shared the billet, was on her way out as Rose and Vera went in.

  ‘We’ll save you some tea,’ Vera called after her, but Ella waved a hand as if to say, ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Hello, ladies, anyone for a cuppa?’ Vera addressed the women inside.

  ‘It’s made already, girls, and Susan’s mum sent a bar of chocolate,’ Ada Plumtree, the oldest ATS member in their hut, called to them. She counted quickly. ‘Two squares each if we eat quickly. Now, who’s going to the dance on Saturday? There’s rumours of Yanks in the area.’

  ‘Not Yanks, Poles,’ Susan argued, ‘but who cares, they’ll be as tall as the Yanks.’

  ‘But, unfortunately, a helluva lot poorer,’ Vera said, and everyone laughed.

  ‘You’re a married woman, Ada. You shouldn’t be interested in other men.’

  ‘I’m married, love, not dead. You going, Rose? There’s bound to be at least one taller than you.’

  The happy chattering went on as they relaxed after a full day of hard work.

  Ella came back from the shower room to join them. ‘Anyone got a spare towel? I dropped mine and it’s too wet to dry my hair. I can’t go into the lecture room with water dripping down my neck.’

  A dry towel was produced and Ella sat vigorously rubbing her short fair hair while the others talked of the various nationalities that might turn up at the base’s Saturday night dance. For many of them this dance would be the first frivolous evening they had spent in some time.