by Milly Adams
It was what he had always said.
She patted the control panel. ‘Purr away, my little Dragonette, Uncle’s a nasty horrid man.’ It’s what she had dreamed of saying once more, if they survived. She patted her belly. Well, they had and soon there’d be a baby at Combe Lodge. She searched the autumn sky wondering if the few remaining Air Transport Auxiliary pilots were delivering any aircraft to the Continent, though everything was being wound down so quickly she rather doubted it. Still, there were a few aircraft powering through the sky, and one heading north, probably bound for Exeter Airport.
She peered down, seeing what looked like toy boats heading to and from the Channel Islands as though there had not been an absence of years. They would be carrying supplies, and returning evacuees. There were some fishing smacks too that would return to harbour at day’s end.
She continued towards Jersey and before long land was in sight. Behind her she heard Adam and John discussing the plans they had all put together for the airline. They would run the business in tandem with Eric and Adam’s fishing smacks, which could double as pleasure boats. They weren’t going to call it Adam and Eve’s Apple, as Old Davy had suggested, though Eddie had tormented her with the idea for some months before he had stopped the game.
From behind, a hand shifted her leather helmet, moving her earpiece, and Adam leaned forward and said, ‘I love you. Don’t worry, she could have really changed and now be the sister she could always have been.’
How did he know what she was thinking, beneath all the fluttering her mind was doing? ‘I know,’ she muttered. ‘Besides, nothing matters. We can buy her out now that John’s confessed he wants a share of the business. What’s the betting it’s the first thing she asks for, because I’m not sure I believe April’s talk of the new Hannah.’
All the time she was talking, she was alert to the wind, to the engine sounds, to the Dragonette’s feel. She looked around, up, and down as they flew over Jersey. How few trees there were now. But Olive had said they’d been needed for firewood. Damaged gun emplacements and fortifications were evident. Busy below were British troops, and boats flitted in and out of the harbour. She glanced down at the control panel. All was well.
Gradually she eased back on her speed and height as they passed over Haven Farm Bridge. She called, ‘Make sure you’re all strapped in, please, children, as we’ll be landing very shortly. Adam, when we land, don’t you dare move until John takes your weight – one knock on that stump and we’re back to square one. I’ll have to cut off the other one as punishment.’
Adam groaned, ‘She never changes, ever the lady.’
The Dragonette’s shadow flashed over fields as Bryony called, ‘Please, it’s important to tighten those straps. John will have a quick look around to check.’
Adam squeezed her shoulder once more before settling back. She straightened her helmet, descending into the wind, checking and rechecking her instruments, her height, her speed, easing the yoke, gently, gently. She saw Uncle Thomas and Aunt Olive arrive at the field, and her heart actually fluttered and the baby kicked. ‘Yes, little one, it’s your aunt and uncle,’ she murmured.
To her relief, Hannah was not there.
She landed the Dragon Rapide, feather-light, holding the aircraft steady as it rumbled along the mown grass, slowing with no yawing, until she drew it to a halt. Bryony switched off, and eased her shoulders in the silence. She stretched, then removed her helmet, her hair falling free. She returned the waves of the welcoming committee, hung up her helmet, then slipped back through the cabin where the passengers were undoing their straps. It was almost as it had always been, but in other ways, nothing was as it had been.
John had the cabin door open. He slipped on to the wing with the footstool, jumped to the ground and settled it firmly. Bryony led the way out on to the wing, carrying Adam’s crutches, and then to the ground. She held up a hand to Adam who had eased on to the wing, and was sitting on his backside. Uncle Thomas was running across the grass. He hesitated when he saw Adam’s stump, but then came on at a rush. He grabbed her husband as Adam eased himself from the wing, hugging him and looking up at Bryony. ‘A sight for sore eyes,’ he said. She had never seen her uncle cry, never seen him so thin. She stood, unsure suddenly, but then Aunt Olive reached her, enfolding her in her arms. She too was too thin, and too old.
Cissie was on the wing, with Betty and Sol. John held out his arms. ‘Cissie first, then Betty, finally Sol.’ They jumped in turn into his arms, and he swung each child around before he set them down. They came to stand next to Bryony, and for once Cissie was quiet, and pressed against Bryony’s side, staring up at the aunt she had heard so much about.
Bryony said, ‘Aunt Olive, these are our children.’ Aunt Olive kissed each one as though they were the most precious things in all the world, which they were.
The pony and trap entered the field, with Clive flicking the reins. Bryony waved. He was very thin too. John was unloading the aircraft, and Clive brought the trap close, and helped, hauling the goods straight into the trap.
Aunt Olive pulled at Bryony’s sleeve. ‘Come, all of you. I have made biscuits, not very sweet, but we’ll drizzle honey on them as the rest of the cooks are doing. Or, children, perhaps first I’ll take you through to have a look at our piglets, shall I, while Bee goes to say hello to her sister? She will be in the kitchen. They can put water on the tea leaves, the first brew of the day.’
Bryony checked that Adam was all right. He was, having taken Clive’s place on the trap while Uncle Thomas chocked the Dragonette. The wind was keen, just as it so often was, here on the island. The women and children walked out on to the road towards the farm. Cissie was telling Sol that he couldn’t have pork because he was a Jew, but he could at least look at the piglets. He would think they were sweet. Betty said, ‘But I don’t want to think they’re sweet because I won’t want to eat bacon again.’
Aunt Olive and Bryony exchanged a smile. Aunt Olive took her hand. ‘You look well, and it’s such joy to see you pregnant. Poor dear Adam looks well, in spite of . . . Well, in spite of everything. Now, I just want you to listen to Hannah. She has changed, I swear to you, she has, and we love her in a way we did not before. She has stuck to her nursing, she has been part of our escape chain, in spite of having a child. She has cared for the wretched slave labourers at risk to herself, and her work is not yet quite done.’
Bryony said quietly, ‘Yes, you told me of Elizabeth, and I’m glad for Hannah’s sake, but she betrayed us. We could have died.’
Aunt Olive nodded. ‘She knows that, and the realisation is something she has had to live with. I believe that, along with other things, it has guided her onwards.’
They were at the farmyard. Aunt Olive gathered up the children, to take them to the sties. She nodded to the back door, but before Bryony could enter a child of about four flew out of the door. ‘Can I come, Aunt Olive?’
She was the image of Hannah, but blonde, but then Germans were.
Bryony instinctively looked away, then back as she heard Hannah say, ‘Put on your boots, Elizabeth. Come along now, you know the rules.’
Hannah was now standing at the back door, watching as her daughter did so, and then ran in pursuit of the others. ‘Hello, Bee,’ she said.
Bryony nodded. This was the woman who had . . . She stopped herself and said, ‘We’re to put the kettle on.’
Hannah disappeared into the kitchen. As Bryony prepared to follow she saw three men at the barn, watching. They were skeletal, thinner than anyone should be. When they saw her watching they fled inside.
In the kitchen Hannah waited; the kettle was on the range hob. She indicated a chair. Bryony sat. The kitchen looked almost the same, but shabby, and smaller. Her sister was similarly diminished and too thin, but held herself differently. Her shoulders were back, her head up, her gaze steady.
Hannah stood in front of the dresser. ‘I lied for years. Dad did not ask you to look after me. He was dead when I arrived. I d
idn’t want to be alone, I didn’t trust Mum to look after me, only you. I used you.’
Her gaze was still steady but Bryony avoided it, and instead looked out of the window, studying the clouds spinning across the sky.
‘I betrayed you when you came to fetch me. I was stupid, selfish and I could have had you killed. I can’t forgive myself, so I don’t expect you to. But I want you to know I’m sorry. Elizabeth is Hans’s child. Hans is dead. I’m sorry because I did love him, after a fashion, I think, but I hope he never told his parents of me, because I don’t want them coming to claim her. But if they do, I alone will deal with it.’
She stopped. Bryony had nothing to say, there had been too many years of Hannah. She waited as the kettle simmered, building up steam, bubbling now.
Hannah said, ‘But, as always, I need something from you. I need to sell my share of my inheritance.’
Bryony relaxed back in her chair. She felt relieved because they were now on familiar ground. So, nothing had really changed. She waited, still saying nothing.
The kettle was whistling. Hannah picked up the oven cloth, grasped the handle and moved it from the hob, pouring water into the huge teapot. She shook the cloth out and hung it on the bar in front of the ovens.
She turned. ‘You see, we have three escapees here. Two are Russian. They cannot go home, because we understand, from things Sister Maria has heard via the mother house, that on their return they will be killed or imprisoned by Stalin’s regime. We have false papers for them, but they have no means of earning a living and we have no money. If, however, I sell my share of Combe Lodge, then it will set them up, to some extent. I don’t want to sell it all, just some.’
Bryony was listening closely. ‘You don’t want this for you, or your child, but for two strangers?’
Hannah shrugged. ‘Well, perhaps three. Not what you’re used to, is it?’
They could hear the sound of men’s voices, the shrill chatter of the children, and then they were all bundling into the kitchen, Adam swinging in on his crutches. He nodded to Hannah as he lowered himself on to a chair pulled back by John. Cissie was being led into the hall by Elizabeth; the other two followed. Aunt Olive carried the cake April had made. ‘John remembered this. Tea and cakes, what could be better. We’ll save mine until another day.’
Adam took Bryony’s hand under cover of the table. She squeezed back, and smiled. The conversation strayed into safer waters while beneath the surface Bryony tugged and delved into the truth or not of her sister’s request.
After an hour, John tapped his watch. He was right, they needed to return. Was anyone coming with them?’
She asked the question. There was a silence. Aunt Olive looked at Hannah, and then Uncle Thomas. Uncle Thomas suggested Bryony should come to take a last look at the false wall in the barn, which should come down soon, though it had served well enough throughout the war. Once in the barn, full of the scent of hay, he supported all that Hannah had said. He waited, before opening the door into the sty. Inside were the skeletal young men, sitting on camp beds, their arms resting on their knees. ‘They need to continue to hide, because now we have British authorities on the island and the agreement with Russia is that these lads must return to their homeland and Stalin’s regime. It is a fate they fear,’ he said. ‘We have procured papers, do not ask how, and they appear to be good enough. They need work, or money. We can provide neither. Hannah has the potential for some money, though, to give them a start.’ He nodded at the men, and led Bryony back into the barn, closing the door behind him.
Bryony gripped his arm as they walked into the farmyard. ‘So this is real? Not just a scheme, or more of her manipulation?’
Uncle Thomas shook his head. ‘Don’t be a daft sod, of course it’s a manipulation, but not for herself. One day she’ll tell you of her war. It began as not something to be proud of, but it became different.’
For a while she said nothing. Adam came then, swinging on his crutches through farmyard muck.
‘You could have gone round the edge,’ she yelled.
‘I’m in too much of a hurry to see you,’ he said, winking at Uncle Thomas, who laughed and left them to it. She told him. He leaned against the barn wall, unsure, and so they stayed until John came to see if they had taken root.
John flew them back, while Bryony sat beside Adam, holding his hand. ‘How good are good false papers?’ she whispered.
‘I wish I knew.’
‘I will telephone Mr Templer. He knows all sorts of people in London and was the one who put the word out about Timmo. It seems the best thing to do, but we’ll feed them up first. They can go in the cottage for now. I checked with John that it was all right with him.’
‘Hannah’s done a good job with their English.’
She looked at him, and grinned. ‘She’s done a good job on us.’
‘Yet again,’ Adam groaned. ‘But this time it is something that you, my girl, would have done.’
She looked around the aircraft. Cissie, Sol and Betty were chatting to the three men, who had each taken hold of Bryony’s hand when she had told them her plan, and held it to their lips. ‘We can never thank you.’
She had said, ‘It’s my sister you should thank.’
Hannah and Elizabeth had seen them off, happy to remain in Jersey with Aunt Olive and Uncle Thomas, but more happy that Bryony would not buy Hannah out. Instead a share of Combe Lodge would remain hers, and the rest of the family would make sure these young men were secure, with a financial safety net, though probably the Millers would never know where they were. It was better that way.
Hannah had called out just before Bryony shut the Dragonette’s door. ‘We’ll be home for Christmas, and then Easter, if that’s all right with you, Bryony?’
‘Combe Lodge isn’t going anywhere, Hannah. It will always be waiting for you, and there are enough buildings to create a studio.’
Clive had walked across the field towards them at that point, and stood beside Hannah. Elizabeth had taken his hand, after he had lifted the child to his shoulders. Somehow Hannah and he looked a couple. Hannah had smiled, and at last met, and held her sister’s eyes. They had nodded at one another. Bryony said, ‘Or two studios, come to think of it.’
John was bringing the Dragonette in to land. Bryony leaned across to Cissie. ‘One day you’ll be flying the Dragonette, so listen to everything that John tells you. The war is over, the peace is beginning.’
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Read on for an insight into Sisters at War,
an interview with Milly, plus the chance to sign up to find
out more about Milly and our other saga authors. . .
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed Sisters at War. I was looking for an era which would allow sibling tensions to exist but to be overridden by changes beyond the girls’ control. Changes which meant the girls could develop independently, and perhaps reach a point at which they could find common ground. But what changes? Well, how about the occupation of the Channel Islands for one and the precarious world of the Air Transport Auxiliary for the other?
I am old enough to have grown up with my parents’ memories of their experiences during the Second World War. I’m sure that this will be greeted with the chorus, ‘Surely not, you look far too young.’
Well, nonetheless I did. My dad was a pilot in the RAF, and served start to finish. He was one of the lucky survivors. My cousin, Maureen, also flew but within the Air Transport Auxiliary. I have always found it a fascinating and courageous world. So why not use this as the backdrop for the eldest sister?
And as for the other sister, the intensely irritating Hannah? Life on Jersey in the war was another scenario which was suitably precarious and courageous, and what’s more, Hannah would be unable to rely on her big sister.
What about life on the armed trawlers for one of the romantic ‘leads’? It is a little known area of the war, but desperately hard, and the loss of life was high. It deserved to be written about. I
was on my way.
As for Combe Lodge in Devon: I lived in Somerset and then Dorset before moving nearer London, and am familiar with Devon’s rolling hills, its glorious climate, but I have never seen ‘Combe Lodge’. If I ever win the lottery I will hunt it down.
I confess I loved Bryony, but not so Hannah, though I could understand her because I was a middle child. Was I this irritating? Probably. Was I this good as an older sister? Probably not. But Hannah ‘got it together’ in the end. So now there is a way forward for them, as sisters at peace.
Lots of love
Interview with Milly
1. What made you want to become a writer?
I wanted to be a star, actually, but have had to accept I have no talent. But I can talk for England and tend to embellish, though my family say I fib. Clearly I was destined to be a writer.
2. Describe your writing routine and where you like to write.
Generally, I get the germ of an idea, then I research, after which I plan in detail, chapter by chapter. Throughout this stage I am out and about, having fun. Then I settle down to write at the dining room table, with the television on for company. And for as long as it takes, even breathing is a nuisance. Though I love the phone going, and emails pinging in, as I do believe in distraction.
3. What themes are you interested in when you’re writing?
I like to write about the balance of power in relationships, set in a social and political context.
4. Where do you get your inspiration from?
That’s the million-dollar question. It just comes. I suppose I’m naturally curious and notice things. Though others would say I’m nosy. I can live with that.
5. How do you manage to get inside the heads of your characters in order to portray them truthfully?
Research. I need to understand their world, actually swim amongst it, until I have captured the essence of it, then I can be them.
6. Do you base your characters on real people? And if not, where does the inspiration come from?