by Shirley Mann
He told Bobby to sit in the front seat and then pushed the catch so that the hatch was open. Bobby suddenly dropped out of the bottom of the plane, into the arms of a waiting engineer, who was primed for the moment and was already laughing when her backside appeared above him.
‘And that’s what happens if you get it wrong,’ the tutor said with a certain amount of satisfaction to the giggling crowd.
Blushing with embarrassment, Bobby brushed herself off and stood next to the engineer. He was young and rather good-looking, she noticed, feeling it might have been less embarrassing if he had been fifty and ugly.
‘Fourth one today,’ he said triumphantly. ‘The others were a bit heavier though, and not as pretty. Maybe I could buy you a drink tonight?’ he said quietly into her ear.
‘Sorry, I’ve got the practical exam tomorrow and need to be on my best form,’ Bobby replied reluctantly. Maybe after all the tension she had been under, a night out with a good-looking engineer was exactly what she needed, but she had last-minute cramming to do and she wanted to get to bed early. ‘Maybe tomorrow night?’ she suggested.
His face lit up. ‘Sounds good to me, we can celebrate your success.’
‘Yep,’ she replied, ‘or commiserate.’
Audrey winked at her. ‘Think you’ve made a hit there,’ she said to Bobby. ‘Looks like you’ve fallen for him!’
Bobby grinned and took hold of her arm as they walked to get a well-deserved cup of tea.
Bobby spent the evening in the library, going through all her notes and imagining all sorts of problems that she could face as a pilot of a huge twin bomber. There were so many it was daunting. When she had started flying over the farm, she had never imagined she would get to this stage and a shiver of excitement went through her.
*
The following day’s test went well and Bobby’s examiner nodded approvingly when she performed the prescribed manoeuvres, making notes on his clipboard. Fortunately, the weather was kind to her but there were some sudden gusts as she came in to land. She kept repeating the mantra she had developed over her years in the ATA to herself. ‘As cool as a cucumber, as cool as a cucumber.’ Imagining the chilled salad vegetable had always, for some reason, taken the heat out of the situation for her and she knew that to panic always caused disaster, so she calmly veered the aircraft more into the wind and came to a standstill on the tarmac, looking a great deal more at ease than she felt.
‘Congratulations, First Officer Hollis, you are now qualified to fly Class IV aircraft,’ her examiner told her.
She could have kissed him but she managed to just smile gratefully and, apart from her shaking hands that struggled to get her out of her straps, there was no hint of what was going on inside her trembling body.
By the time she got back to her digs, she was skipping, humming a song.
Mrs Wilberforce, her hostess at White Waltham, was waiting and came out to greet her. ‘Did you pass, my dear?’
‘Yes, I did, Mrs Wilberforce,’ Bobby said, with an enormous grin.
‘Well, I’m sure that’s very good, dear. Well done.’
Bobby suspected that Mrs Wilberforce was not convinced by these young women doing men’s jobs, but at that moment, the young pilot could not have cared less.
‘I have had a telephone call,’ Mrs Wilberforce went on as they mounted the steps to the house.
‘A Mr Edward Turner is going to call round. He would like to take you out for dinner. He will be here at seven o’clock. ‘He sounded very commanding,’ she added.
Bobby stopped in her tracks. She had arranged to meet the nice engineer, whose name she could not remember, but there was not a moment’s doubt in her mind. She wanted to meet Edward.
Audrey was in the bedroom waiting for her. She was tense with excitement. In her hands she was holding her own qualification – she had passed that morning – but she held it behind her back until she saw Bobby’s face. As soon as she saw the huge smile that reflected her own, she relaxed and waved the piece of paper in the air like a Union Jack. Bobby did the same and they both collapsed in giggles onto their beds.
‘We did it, we did it!’ Audrey chanted, suddenly jumping onto the bed and bouncing up and down.
‘Shhh, you’ll have the force of Mrs Wilberforce on us,’ Bobby chuckled, and then paused. ‘Audrey, you could save my life. You know that nice engineer . . .’
‘Do I ever? He’s gorgeous.’
‘Well, tonight’s your lucky night,’ Bobby told her. ‘Something, or actually someone, has come up and I can’t go on the date. Would you be my complete heroine and go out with him instead?’
Audrey pretended to look doubtful. ‘Well, I don’t know, it will be a real favour, obviously, but we Class IV pilots have to stick together. So all right, reluctantly, I’ll do it.’
Bobby threw her pillow at her.
The next hour was spent in the complete luxury of having fresh towels brought by the maid and being able to wash their hair in almost enough hot water.
‘I’m so grateful to Mr Wilberforce for dying and not needing bathwater,’ Audrey giggled. The two girls swapped the dregs of their lipstick, debated which outfits to wear and planned how they were going to sweep the unsuspecting men off their feet with their glamorous appearances. It reminded Bobby of pre-war days with Harriet. They seemed like a lifetime away.
‘I could get used to this,’ Audrey admitted, helping herself to two of Bobby’s hair slides. ‘A maid, fluffy towels and not having to rely on Eau de Cologne for my greasy locks.
‘Oh, and,’ she added, ‘a lovely young man to go out with. At Cosford, there are only women and sometimes I feel female solidarity is a somewhat overrated thing.’
By five to seven, Bobby was ready and waiting in the hallway, with her coat on. She suddenly felt really nervous. This was the man her father thought she was going to marry. She was shaking again, she realised, but was not sure whether it was due to her success in her exam or the fact that Edward was coming to see her. She was almost giddy.
Edward, too, felt more out of control than usual. He had been to Reading for a meeting and could not resist making a detour to White Waltham to see Bobby, whose anxiety about her exam in her letters had made him long to take her in his arms to give her confidence. He knew he was taking a risk and that if she had failed, she would not be in the mood to share a relaxing meal with him, but as soon as he drew up in his black car outside her digs, she ran out with her arms outstretched.
Edward’s mother had never hugged him in his life and his father was a distant figure, but the spontaneity of this wonderful woman in front of him made him bolder than he had ever been and he gathered her in towards him. She drew back, suddenly realising her exuberance was a little excessive, but it was too late, Edward was not going to let go.
‘Edward . . .’ she said gently, after a moment.
He immediately dropped his arms and shuffled backwards, his head down in embarrassment. ‘Sorry, sorry, I just . . .’
‘It’s all right, it was a nice hug and I deserve it,’ she finished with a flourish, ‘I passed, Edward, I passed.’
The awkward moment was over and he was able to gather his wits and shepherd her towards the car. The driver was smiling to himself, seeing this high-up civil servant in a new light. He could not wait to share this information with his mates back at the transport depot.
Edward took Bobby to a country house hotel just outside Reading; he did not want to share this evening with any other ATA pilots in a local pub. It was much posher than anywhere Bobby had ever been, in fact, she acknowledged, as her family never ate out, her experience of fine dining establishments was very limited.
Edward took her coat and handed it to the waiter. He pulled out the plush, red chair for her and she sat down, suddenly feeling like a schoolgirl.
He took command of the wine list and ordered a claret. ‘Is that all right with you, Bobby?’
She nodded, speechless. She had spotted the obligatory five-sh
illing menu introduced in 1942 by Lord Woolton at the entrance but the whole place shouted opulence nonetheless. Apart from the price of the menu, there was no sign of war deprivation here.
The waiter placed a white napkin on her lap with a flourish and stood to attention by the table.
He leaned forward and whispered in Edward’s ear, ‘I believe we managed to bag some pigeon today, sir. Would the lady like that, our chef does it with a particularly lovely sauce.’
Bobby nodded, looking around her. It was as if the war was not on and the unbidden vision of the Bisset’s kitchen with its turnip soup made her stomach suddenly lurch.
‘Oh Edward,’ she said, leaning forward to whisper, ‘this isn’t right. All those people with no food and we have all this,’ she waved her hand expansively.
For a moment, Edward was horrified. He had so wanted to give Bobby a treat and now his plan was in danger of backfiring.
‘I just wanted you to have a break from the war, after all that you’ve been through,’ he stuttered.
‘Oh, that is so sweet of you, it’s just hard when I know what others are going through.’
He leant across and brushed a stray hair from her face. ‘Our being here cannot change what is happening out there and we are both doing our bit to try to help this war come to a satisfactory conclusion, but I wanted tonight to be special. I wanted to spoil you.’
For one panic-stricken moment, Bobby thought he was about to whip out a diamond ring and go down on one knee but he carried on, hurriedly reverting to a professional stance.
‘We know how hard France was for you and the office wanted to thank you.’
She breathed a sigh of relief that this was a semi-business arrangement and then realised her next feeling was one of disappointment. Oh dear, she thought, I don’t know what I want, let alone what he wants from me.”
During the meal, the conversation flowed as fast as the wine and Bobby felt a little tipsy, so that when Edward came up with his next idea, she was more than receptive.
‘I have to go back to London tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I am staying tonight at the pub in Marlow but I know you have two days off before you have to be back at Hamble and I was wondering whether you would like to come with . . . me.’
He stopped, realising how his proposition sounded.
‘Obviously, you would stay in a hotel, courtesy of the Foreign Office.’ He saw her face relax and then, he could not be sure, but maybe a look of disappointment? ‘But there are some sights I could show you.’
Bobby had never been to London and the thought of going was a thrilling prospect, especially with Edward, she realised, but then she hesitated. She was not sure where either of them wanted this road to lead.
Eventually, the combination of the wine and the success of the day won and she heard her voice saying, ‘Yes, I’d love to!’
Chapter 32
Gus was furious. He marched up and down the mess. He had just made his weekly telephone call to his mother, only to be regaled with the latest gossip from Salhouse, which she could not wait to share with him. She had heard, only this afternoon at the Red Cross meeting, that that independent miss, Roberta Hollis, was going to be married off to some civil servant called Edward Turner. Gus’s mother had failed to notice her son’s sudden silence until he abruptly told her he had to go, slamming down the phone, and leaving her staring at the receiver in surprise. A prompt call to Hamble told him exactly what he did not want to know; that First Officer Hollis had just that minute left with someone in a large black car to go to London.
There was only one person who could have persuaded her to go to London and that was this Edward ‘Toff’ Turner, he fumed. He winced as he thought of Bobby and some faceless bureaucrat character strolling up Pall Mall together. He felt he had been doing so well and then this pin-striped character had turned up on the scene. He could not believe it and banged his cigarette out noisily on the ashtray.
‘You OK?’ Walter asked, pausing on his way to get a cup of tea.
‘Yes . . . no, oh Walter, women! Don’t they drive you nuts?’
‘Constantly, mate, constantly. That’s why I need a slice of something sweet with this tea. I’ve been stood up for tonight. Maybe we should go to the pub and see who we can chat up there?’
Gus turned to face his friend. ‘Yep, that’s exactly what we’ll do, who needs ‘em. We’ve got missions tomorrow, let’s enjoy ourselves.’
*
By that time, Bobby was having the time of her life. Edward was an excellent, informed guide and he revelled in being able to take her round some of the sights. They both went quiet as they passed the ones that had been bombed and Bobby struggled to imagine their former grandeur. They strolled down The Strand towards Fleet Street and Ludgate Hill and eventually to St Paul’s Cathedral. She was completely overawed at the story of how firefighters had struggled for hours to keep St Paul’s free of the flames that threatened to engulf it from nearby St Paul’s Churchyard.
‘Churchill demanded it should be saved,’ Edward explained as they stood looking up at its huge dome.’ He looked at his watch.
‘Come on, I need to call in somewhere. I’m hoping for some news you might be interested in.’
Bobby was getting used to the mysterious nature of this tall man next to her, but his next words took her by surprise.
‘You remember that you’ve signed the Official Secrets Act?’ He looked sharply at her. He just needed to remind her.
‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘of course.’
‘Good, let’s go then.’
He took her arm and marched her off down Embankment towards the House of Commons, empty and forlorn after the government relocated parliament to Church House. The Blitz had done its damage to the Mother of Parliaments.
They arrived at a small door in St George’s Street. Edward knocked on the door and a marine opened it slightly.
‘Afternoon, sir, good to see you again.’
‘Afternoon, Lieutenant, I have a guest with me. She’s got clearance but needs to sign in.’
Bobby was taken to a desk where the Lieutenant, with a blush, pushed to one side a piece of embroidery he was doing to relieve the boredom. He gave her a pen and she signed her name and rank in the huge ledger that was there but had no idea what she was signing or where she was. The marine gave her a badge. Edward took his own out from his top pocket.
He gave her a boyish grin and motioned for her to walk down the corridor in front of him.
She glanced from side to side, seeing small rooms with desks, and walked past people in uniform scurrying backwards and forwards. It was an underground rabbit warren.
Edward led the way and every time he strolled through a corridor, people stood to one side to let him pass. He’s certainly well known here, Bobby thought.
He took her into a room with maps and a row of telephones in the middle. She looked at the maps; they had pieces of coloured wool connected by drawing pins. In front of her was the whole world and the enormity of the war suddenly struck her. There were pins from Norway to Russia, from Japan to Australia and from Paris to London. This was a strange place and seemed like a hive of activity but she had no idea what it was all for, and Edward did not tell her that this was where Churchill, the prime minister, and his advisors had moved to in order to run the war from a place of safety.
The phones rang constantly and men in uniform rushed to answer them, but Edward ploughed on, through corridor after corridor. She passed one room with a toilet vacant/engaged sign and wondering what that could be, she peered in to see a telephone on a desk.
‘That’s a transatlantic line,’ Edward whispered to her, mysteriously. Intrigued, Bobby longed to ask more but Edward had moved on. She felt she was watching a film at the pictures.
As they moved along the next corridor, she distinctly smelt the odour of a cigar.
‘Is that . . .?’ She stopped, dumbfounded.
‘Yes, probably. He’s in here most of the time,’ Edward replied
as if it were the most natural thing in the world to have just passed down the same corridor as Churchill.
‘If you hear three taps on the pipes, you’ll know he’s gone for his nap and we all have to be quiet until we hear two taps to say he’s awake,’ Edward whispered with a boyish grin. He pushed on towards a small room with one desk and a telephone. In it was a civilian who sprang to his feet when Edward pushed open the door.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ he said.
‘Yes, hello Matthews,’ Edward replied. ‘I’m looking for the latest information from the Normandy network. Do you have it?’
‘Yessir. It’s just come in. I think you’ve been expecting it.’
He handed over a piece of paper to Edward, who studied it with a frown. Then his face cleared.
‘We think we may have traced where she went,’ he announced triumphantly.
Bobby looked at him questioningly.
‘It’s Elizé’s mother, we’ve got a trace on the train that took her. We believe we may know where she is,’ he said, with a satisfied smile.
Bobby put her hand over her mouth, to stop herself squealing with delight.
‘Is she . . . is she all right?’ she nervously asked.
‘We don’t know, but there is a possibility she may still be alive,’ came the reply.
Bobby immediately envisaged little Elizé’s face when she told her.
Edward read on and his face clouded. She may have gone to Aincourt, the report said. He knew that prisoners from that camp were usually handed over to the Gestapo and then they would transit to Drancy internment camp and from there would be moved to extermination camps. It sent a shiver down his spine.
‘We can’t get to her, so don’t get Elizé’s hopes up,’ he said, trying to sound reassuring.
He thanked the officer and shepherded Bobby out.
As they emerged into the spring sunshine, she breathed the clear air with relief. Edward took her arm. He felt chilled. He had so hoped to give her some positive news.