‘I don’t think I dare . . .’ Jane was so frightened that her father would throw her out of her home again, that she hardly dared to go out at all now. ‘I mean, we’d be dancing with men. Me dad—’
‘Never mind your dad. I’m not asking him to come out with us. Just think, Jane, all those lovely soldiers home on leave or awaiting posting. They’ve already sent thousands to France, you know.’
‘Has Billy gone?’
Lizzie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I think he’s still training somewhere.’
‘Don’t you hear from him?’
‘About every two weeks and I write back, but there’s not much to say. Do come, Jane. We can have a bit of harmless fun. Mam’s out all the time now with this WVS.’
Surprisingly, Percy Arnold said very little. Jane told him she was going out with Lizzie. Lizzie and her mother were close to the Trippet family and he owed the return of his daughter to say nothing of his present livelihood to that family. So, Percy decided to hold his tongue, though he worried.
‘I hate to say it,’ Trip said, ‘but this war’s revived the economy.’
‘Maybe so, but what will happen when it’s all over? We’ll be in even more debt as a nation then.’
‘We’ll worry about that when we’ve got this little job done, Emily. By the way, what are we doing for Christmas this year? It’ll be a strange one.’
‘I don’t know if we can go to the hotel now that it’s been transformed. Your mother was telling me they’ve had their first patients.’
‘Have they really? Who?’
Emily’s face sobered. ‘A couple of soldiers and a pilot, who’d been doing a reconnaissance flight over France and had engine trouble. He got back over England, but then crash landed and broke his leg.’
They exchanged a glance, both thinking of Harry, but neither said anything.
‘I’ll have a word with Mother. See what they want us to do. We could always go and stay in one of the other hotels just so we can see a bit more of Lewis.’
‘What about inviting Nell and Steve to join us? I’m sure they’d like to spend Christmas with Simon.’
‘How would we get round the expense of a hotel? They’re too proud to let us pay for them.’
Emily was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Do you give any of your employees a Christmas bonus? I mean, Steve is working for you now, isn’t he?’
Trip’s eyes twinkled. ‘No, but I could. And they needn’t all be given the same amount. I’m sure they wouldn’t compare notes as to what anyone else received, but I’ll have a word with Mother first.’
‘I’d been thinking about that too,’ Constance said when he broached the subject, ‘but I’m sorry, Trip. It really isn’t convenient for anyone to stay as a guest now. All the rooms have been equipped for patients and, as you know, we have three installed already.’
And so it was discreetly and tactfully arranged that they would stay in a hotel in the village, close to the Ryans. Martha was in her element, insisting that everyone should come to The Candle House for Christmas lunch. ‘Though how I’ll fit you all in, I don’t know.’
But the crowded feeling would only add to the enjoyment, and Amy insisted that they should go to the smithy for a late tea. ‘It’s no good having it early, if my mother-in-law is providing lunch,’ she laughed, ‘everyone will be FRUTB.’
‘What’s that mean, Aunty Amy?’ Lewis asked and Amy tweaked his nose playfully.
‘Full Right Up To Busting.’
Then her face sobered. ‘I just wish Harry could get home. Lucy’s coming down for an hour or two in the afternoon and, if he came, we’d have everyone here.’
Forty-Seven
But Harry would not get home for Christmas. At the beginning of December he had been been posted to Elementary Flying Training School. He sent apologetic letters that he would not get leave, but there was no hiding his excitement.
Guess what, I’ve actually flown a Tiger Moth, but I won’t be allowed to go solo until my instructor thinks I’m ready . . . They’re a great bunch of lads here. I hope one or two of us get a posting together. We’re likely to go to Service Flying Training School about February. That’ll be a sixteen-week stint!
The letter addressed to Amy, Josh and the rest of the family was read out as they all lingered over mince pies at the end of Christmas Day lunch.
‘What a shame it wasn’t a Gipsy Moth, that would have been very special for him,’ Emily said and Josh and Amy exchanged a smile. ‘How much longer will his training be? Do you know?’
Josh shook his head. ‘Several weeks, I should think. He might not even pass out to be a pilot.’
There were mixed feelings and no one dared to say anything, except Amy, who said quietly, ‘I hope he gets to do whatever he wants. We’ll just have to accept it, won’t we?’
Her quiet courage in accepting what her son would have to face was an example to them all.
George cleared his throat. ‘Did you read about the Graf Spee being scuttled last week by its crew on direct orders from Hitler because she was trapped in Montevideo harbour by three of our cruisers? At the moment, it seems most of the action is taking place at sea.’
‘Let’s hope,’ Josh said, getting up to help his mother clear the table, ‘that we can take command of the sea and prevent a battle in the air.’
‘I hope you’ve all enjoyed your lunch,’ Martha said, as she began to stack the plates together. ‘Because I hear rationing is to start in the New Year and then the queuing will begin. It’s doubtful we’ll get a feast like this again for years.’
Harry wrote spasmodically during the first months of the year, but then, at the end of May, he wrote:
I’ve got my wings and I’ll be going to an Operational Training Unit for about a month or so . . .
His family were not sure that they could share his enthusiasm when, at the same time as they received his news, the evacuation of Dunkirk took place and the focus changed to the battle in the air. Now, they all feared for his safety. But Harry was in his element when, a month later, he wrote to say he’d been posted down south to an operational station.
Although keen to meet his fellow officers and men, he had first to report his arrival. He stood smartly to attention in front of the adjutant’s desk in an office just outside the commanding officer’s room. The flight lieutenant was older than Harry had expected. His dark hair was thinning now, but his eyes were a steely blue and set close together. His nose was hooked, but what drew attention to his face was the jagged scar down his left cheek. Harry waited patiently, trying to avert his gaze from the man’s face. He seemed to be taking a long time to study the paperwork. At last he looked up and scrutinized Harry with a piercing look. ‘From Derbyshire, are you, lad?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Emboldened by hearing a northern twang in the man’s accent, Harry said, ‘And you’re from Yorkshire, somewhere in the Sheffield area, if I’m not mistaken.’
Flight Lieutenant Hartley’s expression hardened and it was a moment before he said curtly, ‘Aye, I was, but I left there years ago.’
‘You never quite lose the accent, though, do you, sir?’
The man fingered the jagged scar down the left-hand side of his face and murmured, ‘Apparently not.’ After a moment’s pause, he became brisk once more and issued several orders. A few minutes later, Harry saluted smartly and marched out of the office to seek the hut he would be sleeping in.
He did not see the flight lieutenant’s gaze following his progress across the parade ground, the tightening of the man’s mouth or the years of resentment glittering in his narrowed eyes.
‘Harry Ryan,’ Hartley murmured to the empty room. ‘Well, well, well.’
Harry soon settled in. He enjoyed the banter and relaxing with a drink in the mess and he enjoyed the flying, even the dangerous times. He learned how to fly in formation until they encountered the enemy and then it seemed to be every man for himself. He was not a dare-devil and respected the rules and regulations not only of
flying, but also of the life on the station too. Of course, he was no prude and enjoyed the nights out of the camp in the nearest town as much as any of the young men thrown together in such unusual circumstances, but there was always a figure at the back of his mind that kept him from getting too close to any of the girls he met.
He made a close friend of his room-mate, Barney Lingard, who teased him mercilessly. ‘Can’t have this. We’ve got to get you fitted up with one of the local beauties, Harry, old boy.’
Good naturedly, Harry shook his head and made the excuse, ‘I’ve got a girlfriend back home.’ If only that were true, he thought.
‘Ah well, in that case, we can’t have too many unfaithful types like me, now can we? What’s her name? Is she pretty?’
‘Very,’ Harry said, thinking of Lucy. ‘But there’s no way I’m telling you her name.’
‘Oho, frightened I’d steal her away,’ Barney guffawed. ‘You’re probably right. I’m known as a bit of a ladies’ man.’
Harry smiled. He liked Barney’s gung-ho attitude, but there was no way he was ever going to let him anywhere near Lucy, if he could help it.
‘Now we’ll get at ’em . . .’ he wrote, but this time, only to Lucy.
This is where all the action is. We’re only about twenty minutes from the south coast and a mate of mine has a little sports car, so if we get a few hours off, that’s where we go. The airfield has recently been enlarged and a lot of the villagers have left and we are billeted in their houses. Seems so unfair but there you are. That’s war, I suppose . . .
‘Do you think you’ll get a long enough leave soon to get home?’ she wrote back, but his reply was:
‘Doesn’t look like it. Things’ll soon hot up down here . . .’
‘Harry doesn’t say where he is or what he’s doing now. When he was training, his letters were so newsy and interesting,’ Amy said, standing in the middle of the kitchen with her son’s most recent letter in her hand.
Josh put his arm around her. ‘My darling, of course he can’t tell us anything now. If he did, he’d be in trouble and you wouldn’t receive his letter at all.’
Amy sighed heavily. ‘It’s just – it’s just that I’d like to know where he is. I do hope he’s not down south involved in this “battle for the skies”, as the papers keep calling it.’
The evacuation of over 380,000 soldiers from the beaches of Dunkirk had shocked the nation and now they knew, as Mr Churchill had told them, their hopes for salvation lay in the hands of young men like Harry.
Josh sighed and let his arm slip from her shoulders. He wished he could reassure her, but he was not going to lie. ‘He trained to be a pilot – a fighter pilot. You know that, so it’s quite possible that that is exactly where he is.’
Amy gave a little sob and covered her mouth with her hand. Josh enfolded her in his embrace once more and, though she did not actually shed tears, he could feel her trembling against his chest.
‘Come, it’s time we went to work. There are hungry patients to feed.’
Amy nodded and drew back from him. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being silly. There are countless parents all over the country in exactly the same position as us. I’m being selfish.’ Bravely, she smiled up at him. ‘Come on, then. Let’s get those lads fed. At least we’re doing our bit, aren’t we?’
As they walked hand in hand along the road towards Riversdale, Josh said, ‘And I’ll tell you who else is certainly doing her bit. Lucy.’
Amy was thoughtful for a moment before murmuring, ‘I know Nurse Adams is in charge, but it’s Lucy who organizes everything. I’ve seen her. Do you think there’s anything between her and Harry? She says she gets letters regularly from him.’
Josh wrinkled his brow. ‘I don’t know, love, but it’d be nice, wouldn’t it? She’s a lovely girl.’
Harry was flying high above the clouds in his Hurricane. The sun was glinting on the wings and he could just have been out for a joy ride, but he kept his attention focussed, glancing at the skies above and below and all around him. And then they were on him. Two Messerschmitts were bearing down on him out of the sun. The formation scattered and Harry banked to his left, but one of the enemy planes was on his tail. He twisted and dived, trying to shake his attacker off and then he saw another Hurricane on the tail of the German aircraft and the enemy gave up on Harry now as he concentrated on keeping out of trouble himself. Harry turned and followed the fight until he saw a burst of flame and the wing of the Messerschmitt blew off. The plane tumbled out of the sky, spiralling down and down until it was lost from Harry’s sight.
The Hurricane pilot who had come to his aid was now in trouble himself and it was Harry’s turn to try to help him. The rattle of gunfire left his guns and hit the enemy’s aircraft. It wheeled away and flew off. The dogfight went on until the remaining enemy aircraft withdrew to fly back across the Channel.
Landing back at the aerodrome, Harry climbed out of his aircraft and found that his legs were shaking. Barney was running across the airfield towards him. ‘You all right, old boy? I got the bastard who was trying to down you and then you saved my bacon. I reckon that’s a kill for you. Is it your first? I say, Harry, you look a bit green. Here, let’s get to debriefing and then we’ll go into the village for a pint. We’re not on ops tomorrow, so tonight we can get well and truly plastered. Come on, stick with Uncle Barney. He’ll look after you.’
This was the pattern for the next few weeks, though sometimes there was no trip to the local pub because they were flying every day. Harry was only too glad to throw himself on his bed and sleep and sleep.
But despite the tiredness and the danger, Harry still loved flying. He couldn’t wait for the order to scramble as they waited near the dispersal hut, dressed ready in their flying gear. It only took a moment when the bell clanged to run across the grass and climb into his aircraft. Up above the clouds, he felt free, without a care in the world – until he saw an enemy aircraft, which he was obliged to attack. Harry was not, by nature, a violent young man. He didn’t really relish this war as some did – like Barney did, if truth be told – but he had a strong sense of duty and patriotism. If they didn’t win this battle of the air, then an invasion of his beloved England was almost a certainty. But if they won and he survived – and such was the confidence of youth that it never really entered his mind that he would not – he planned to stay in the RAF. Compared to this, flying in peace-time would be magical.
Often when the order came, within minutes of being in the air he was involved in a dogfight over the Channel. Wheeling and diving, turning and twisting out of the way of the enemy’s guns and then fortune would turn and it was he who was the aggressor. And then, as fuel began to run low, they would land back at base, almost fall out of their aircraft and stagger towards the truck taking them to debriefing, their faces ashen, their eyes wide with fatigue and hardly daring look around them to count how many had made it back. Every time they went out, it seemed as if at least one or two did not return. On the rare occasion that everyone got back, it was cause for a celebration in the mess that night.
Letters arrived from home regularly, from his parents, from Emily and from Lucy. All of Harry’s letters had been opened and resealed and at first he thought this was the normal procedure until he noticed one day that Barney had not had his envelope opened.
‘Hey, why do mine get opened?’ Harry asked him.
Barney looked up. ‘Your letters, you mean? I think they open a few at random, just to check up on what’s being written to us. I’ve had a couple opened before now.’
‘But all mine have been opened. Every one of them. Look.’
He held out the envelope, which he had yet to open himself, but it was obvious that someone had already read his letter and crudely resealed it.
Barney shrugged. ‘You’re unlucky, mate, that’s all I can say. Why don’t you ask Hartley about it? All the mail comes through his office.’
Harry gazed at his letter, thinking. ‘I don’t reckon that b
loke likes me for some reason. I can’t think why. Still, not to worry. Next time I get leave, I’ll tell them all to mind what they’re writing.’
‘Don’t forget they’ll also read outgoing mail, probably even more thoroughly than that coming in.’
‘Mm, that’s a point, Barney. Thanks.’
Forty-Eight
The Battle of Britain, as it became called, raged through the summer and autumn of 1940, but by October, things were a little calmer, though for Harry there had been little let up. There had been no leave for weeks so at the end of October he applied for a pass.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t grant you leave just now,’ Hartley told him.
Harry opened his mouth to argue; Barney and several of the other aircrew had recently had leave.
‘Sir!’ he said tightly, saluted and marched from the office.
‘That man seems to have it in for me,’ he moaned to Barney. ‘I wonder if he’s behind me not getting any letters at all now. I haven’t had one from anyone for three weeks.’
‘You’re getting paranoid, old boy. Why don’t you wait till he’s on leave himself and then ask the CO,’ Barney advised.
‘Does Hartley ever go on leave?’
‘Oh yes, he disappears off up to the Smoke every few weeks. Haven’t you noticed?’
Harry shook his head, but now he watched and waited for Flight Lieutenant Hartley to take a day or two off. He applied for and was granted seventy-two hours.
‘Harry!’ Amy squealed with joy as her son, handsome in his blue uniform, walked in through the back door.
‘Hello, Mam.’ He picked her up and swung her round.
‘Why didn’t you let us know you were coming?’
‘Didn’t want to disappoint you in case all leave was cancelled at the last minute. It does happen sometimes. Where’s Dad?’
‘At Riversdale, of course. And your Granddad Bob is there too. He helps in the garden.’
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