by Shirley Mann
‘Of course, sir. I’ve been wanting to go back ever since I was forced to leave,’ Marie said, tilting her chin up.
‘You will have to be extremely careful,’ Edward added and as she got up to go, he said, ‘Good luck, mademoiselle, your country is proud of you.’
Chapter 35
Gus was swinging the Lysander from left to right but he could not lose the Messerschmitt. It was tailing him with a dogged determination. He had delivered a ‘Jane’ to France – that cocky blonde he had brought out a few months earlier who he had now recognised from school, but he kept that information to himself. He was on his way back, but had had to divert north towards the Norfolk coast to avoid heavy fighting in the Channel. He was relieved to be away from the action and was feeling pleased the drop had all gone well when he suddenly felt his cockpit being shaken by gunfire.
He looked all around and then spotted the Messerschmitt behind him.
‘Damn,’ he exploded.
He was in the direct line of fire and needed to use all his skills to try to avoid a direct hit. He veered the aeroplane from one side to another, doing anything other than what the German might expect, but the Messerschmitt was not giving up.
Peering through the window, he reassured himself that he could not see any damage and checked his fuel gauge. Enough to get him to somewhere but not Tempsford. To lead an enemy aircraft to such a secret location was not an option. Most of the RAF did not even know of its existence.
‘Bugger, bugger, bugger,’ he shouted to the skies.
He opened his transmitter and said the words that might give him a ray of hope.
‘Hello Darky, Hello Darky, Hello Darky, this is F- Freddie, this is F- Freddie, this is F-Freddie. May I land?’
The word ‘Darky’ was used as a codeword to alert airfields that there was a aircraft in need of urgent assistance. In emergencies, the nearest airfield would pick up the signal and help them find their way home. It was a last resort system that had saved many airmen’s lives and Gus listened intently for a reply. He hoped he was near enough to an airfield for his message to be picked up.
But in the meantime, he had to lose this aeroplane that was mirroring his every move.
Gus went down as low as he dared, letting his wing tips almost touch the water to try to outmanoeuvre the enemy who was homing in on him. At that moment, he felt a huge shudder go through the aeroplane. He was hit.
He looked from side to side to see where the damage was. The gunfire had clipped the end of his starboard wing tip but there were no flames. Feeling strangely calm, he swung the aeroplane downwards again and found that the shattered wing tip actually gave him an advantage as the aircraft suddenly tipped to the port side. He was celebrating his unexpected luck when he looked up, just in time to see the Messerschmidt circling around to come in for the final kill.
Gus felt a searing anger – an anger that was directed at the pilot coming towards him, at the decision to take the machine gun off Lysanders to reduce weight, leaving him with no defence and finally, at a crazy war that, in just a few seconds time, would snuff out his life at the age of twenty-eight. He was just weighing up the odds of ditching into the cold, grey water below when he spotted two RAF Spitfires heading his way, aiming their fire at the German aircraft. While he concentrated on surviving the next few seconds, the two Spitfire pilots were weaving in and out above him, putting themselves between him and his foe. His concentration was divided between watching with a calm fascination and dealing with an aeroplane that was flying at a dangerous angle.
Above him, there was a burst of gunfire and the Messerschmidt broke into bits, like a china plate hit by a coconut at a fairground. It plunged into the water that only moments earlier, Gus had thought would embrace him in a wet shroud. He whooped with delight and waved his arms in triumph at the British pilot behind him. The Spitfire passed him and gave him a ‘thumbs up’ and then gave him a salute to acknowledge his brave tactics in trying to throw off the enemy. He watched the two aircraft head back south to where they had several more hours of providing protection to British shores and whispered his very weak but heartfelt thanks towards the tailfins of his saviours.
He had little time to feel any satisfaction as his own Lysander started to tilt and waver and he had to put all his efforts into flying with a lopsided aircraft. It was a tricky manoeuvre and although he had practised it in flying school, the reality of flying with a damaged wing under pressure was much more difficult than in practice.
The radio burst back into life. Somewhere, there was a WAAF who was doing her utmost to bring him in. He heard her calm voice telling him a station with a code he recognised as Coltishall was ready for him and giving him instructions for landing. Gus reached out and touched the transmitter in gratitude and replied.
‘Hello, I am coming in.’ He tried to keep his voice as calm as hers. Gus could hardly hear the reply but was determined to do everything he could to follow her instructions and get down in one piece so she would not have nightmares about the aircraft — and pilot — she had lost.
He limped over the coast, spotting Hickling Broad and then Barton Broad below him like welcome beacons on his starboard side. He was getting nearer but he was losing fuel. His fuel tank must have been hit.
Scanning the horizon, he spotted an airfield and checked his map. He sent a second message telling Coltishall that he was losing fuel.
‘Hello F-Freddie, we are ready for you.’ The WAAF then repeated the coordinates slowly, she was bringing him towards the airfield with her patient but insistent code that gave nothing away to a listening enemy. He knew she would have cleared the airfield of any other aircraft and would have the emergency services on standby. He was about to put his life in the hands of a young WAAF and the waiting ground crew.
The airfield was like a mirage and he concentrated on steadying the Lysander to bring her in. It wobbled towards the runway and then he suddenly realised he was bleeding.
His left leg had been hit and there was blood pouring from it. He looked at the dark stain in surprise; he had not felt any pain.
As he lurched onto the tarmac, he suddenly felt a searing pain from his leg. It was badly hurt and he was not sure he could stay conscious long enough to finish the job.
Gus’s aircraft bounced along the ground, veering off at the last minute onto the grass and he knew he was completely out of control. His survival now depended completely on his own skill and a great deal of luck.
He struggled to slow down, breathing a sigh of relief that the brakes were still, thankfully, in one piece and for an agonising few moments, he watched the control tower speed past his window. He struggled to decrease the speed until, at last, the plane shuddered to a halt and at that moment, he passed out.
The emergency vehicles raced to the Lysander to get there before it burst into flames. It was an aircraft that was particularly prone to sudden ignition, so the fire engine started immediately to douse the aircraft while the ambulancemen struggled to break open the Perspex with hammers, to get the pilot out.
Above them, in the control tower, as the sun rose, a WAAF was watching anxiously. After three nights of being on Darky watch, aware of action further south, she had jumped as the machine next to her burst into life. She had immediately felt the panic of the young pilot over the North Sea and had done her utmost to get him back safely, alerting the ground crew and directing the coastal defence planes towards his coordinates while continuously and firmly sending information so he could find her.
‘Please let him be all right,’ Harriet Marcham pleaded with God.
‘LACW Marcham, you should be off duty now.’ The voice of her superior penetrated her thoughts and she hurriedly signed off and left by the ‘out’ door just before the next shift came in through the ‘in’ door. They were not allowed to meet so that any disasters of the previous shift were not passed on to the girls who still had eight hours of tension to deal with.
It was as she was making her way to the locker room that
she heard the orderlies racing along the corridor in her direction. She automatically stood aside and then looked with disbelief at the features she had gazed at adoringly for so many of her schoolgirl years. She gasped as she realised the bloodied, unconscious figure on the gurney was Gus Prince.
‘Gus,’ she whispered, ‘Gus.’
She reached out her hand to take his, but the orderlies pushed past her, anxious to get their patient to the infirmary.
His eyes were closed and she could not tell if his chest was moving up and down. Harriet clasped her hand to her mouth to stop the scream that threatened to emerge. She had imagined their reunion so many times of late, but she had never imagined this.
She leaned back against the wall and slowly sank to the floor.
Chapter 36
Edward was exhausted. He spent his days doing his normal work and then, once the clock had struck six, he would start on the seemingly impossible task of trying to help causes closer to his heart. He hardly went home to his own flat, preferring to bed down on the leather sofa in his office. Mavis had secretly taken his shirts home to wash and carefully iron before bringing them back the following morning. It was only after three days that Edward realised that the cupboard where he kept one clean shirt was constantly being replenished with fresh ones.
He went out to her find her at her desk. ‘Miss Arbuckle . . . Mavis,’ he said, making her blush. ‘You are an absolute gem. I don’t deserve you.’
‘Yes, you do, sir,’ and emboldened by his relaxation of formalities, added. ‘And may I say, sir, you also deserve the love of that woman, whoever she is. I hope she appreciates you.’
Edward smiled and reached out his hand to put it gently on her shoulder. ‘Thank you, Mavis. I’m still working on that one.’
He got back to his desk and looked again at the letter from Bobby, telling him about her accident. She was anything but sorry for herself, just furious that her ankle prevented her from flying at this crucial time. The letters between them were becoming more relaxed than any conversation they had previously had, and Edward found it was easier to be himself when there was a Post Office between them.
*
Bobby was surprised at this new, chattier side to Edward and began to wait eagerly for his letters. They provided a welcome relief amid the dramatic – and terrifying – letters she had been getting from Harriet, proclaiming with a mix of triumph and terror that she had been the one to bring Gus Prince’s stricken aircraft home but that her last sight of him had been on a stretcher.
Bobby was stuck at home. Her ankle was badly broken, she could not put any weight on it for two weeks and she was not a good patient.
‘Aunt Agnes, could you get me the atlas please?
‘Mother, I could just do with that yellow cushion.’
‘Rachel, can I have a pen and paper? I need to write to Harriet and Gus.’
Mrs Hill raised her eyebrows to heaven while she listened to the constant list of jobs for them all to do. She had known this girl since birth. It was time for action.
‘Roberta Hollis,’ she said, rubbing her hands on the kitchen towel and marching into the pretty lemon-painted morning room, ‘you are being a pain in the neck. We’re all doing our best to look after you, but Elizé and I have all the summer fruits to bottle, Rachel is out queueing at the shops to try to get a bit of scrag end, and your mother is taking an old jumper apart to re-knit it. Now, here’s a jigsaw, don’t speak again until it’s done.’
Bobby grinned shamefacedly and took the box from her. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Hill. You’re absolutely right. I just can’t bear being stuck here, unable to move. I feel so useless.’
Mrs Hill gave her a warning look and turned on her heels. Bobby resigned herself to her task and started to turn all the pieces the same way to find the edges.
An hour later, Bobby had most of the framework done of the idyllic English village scene, but was bored. Then she heard the welcome sound of Harriet’s voice at the back door. She twitched with excitement at the prospect of a visitor and getting some news but Harriet seemed to be having a lengthy chat with Elizé and was in no hurry to come through to the morning room.
‘Harriet Marcham, are you coming in to see me or not?’ she called loudly through the doorway.
Harriet’s face appeared and Elizé peeped round her skirts.
‘I told you she was being very naughty,’ Elizé said, grinning.
‘I’m not, I’m just fed up.’ There was a definite childish pout to Bobby’s face.
‘Well, I’m heading to see Gus in the hospital next and I really don’t know what she’s moaning about compared to what he’s going through,’ Harriet told Elizé.
She went over to the chaise longue where Bobby was lying and sat down opposite. Elizé perched on the end.
‘This piece is in the wrong place,’ Harriet said, picking one of the cardboard pieces out of the jigsaw.
‘Never mind that, tell me what’s happening. How’s Gus?’
Harriet’s face clouded. ‘Not good, to be honest, Bobby. You know I told you that he’s in and out of consciousness. I go as much as I can, but I don’t get a great deal of time off. I’m only here today because I’ve done three nights at a stretch. I’m going on to the hospital after this.’
‘I so want to go and see him. Does he know you’re there when you visit?’
Harriet thought for a moment. She was thoroughly enjoying being the person at Gus Prince’s bedside. She had felt a guilty pleasure that Bobby was unable to join her.
‘I don’t know to be honest, but I want to be there when he does wake up.’ She looked so pathetic that Bobby put her hand out to cover hers.
‘Oh Harriet, what are we going to do with you?’
‘Mademoiselle Marcham can kiss him like in La Belle au Bois Dormant,’ Elizé piped up, remembering her mother telling her the fairy tale where the princess lay asleep for one hundred years.
‘Elizé, we’re ready for the jars,’ Mrs Hill called from the kitchen and the little girl got up in excitement to go.
‘She seems to have settled in,’ Harriet said, watching her skip out of the room.
‘It’s unbelievable,’ Bobby remarked. ‘It’s like this place was the castle in Sleeping Beauty and she’s woken them all up. She’s still getting nightmares of course, but Aunt Agnes often takes her into her bed with her and cuddles her till she calms down.’
‘Aunt Agnes?’ Harriet said in disbelief.
‘Yes, and it’s not just her, my father has started taking her on his rounds on the farm. Elizé’s struck up a particular friendship with one of the Land Army girls, Hannah, I think her name is. Even mother seems to have found a new mission in life as a ‘grandmère’ and has finally accepted that Michel is not her son come back to life but – oh, I don’t know, any connection with Michel seems to galvanise her into action.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything from him, have you?’ Harriet asked.
‘Nope, you know what comms are like but I believe Edward may be onto it and I trust him.’
Harriet felt a little quiver in her stomach. As soon as she had seen the bloodied and battered body of Gus Prince, all those feelings that she had had as a child had flooded back but this time, she was a grown woman and this was not some playground game. Gus was fighting for his life and his frail and damaged figure in the hospital bed had unearthed an compelling need to protect him and bring him back into the world – a world where she would be waiting for him. She felt destiny had brought her to this moment and that this was the reason why, at the age of twenty-eight, she was still not married; no one else had ever made her feel like this.
Harriet looked sideways at Bobby, trying to read her emotions. She had stupidly handed Gus to her friend on a plate but then Bobby’s confidence in Edward gave her hope. It occurred to her that if Bobby got involved with Edward Turner, it could leave the coast clear for her with Gus.
Gus is just a typical male, she thought to herself, blinded by a mane of gorgeous
hair and the fact that she can fly. He’ll grow out of it. I just need to make sure I’m there when he does.
The visit was short, but it boosted Bobby. Once Harriet had gone to race off to the hospital, she made herself concentrate on the jigsaw until someone had time to offer her a cup of tea. Gus was in hospital; Harriet was exhausted with endless night shifts and all over France there were soldiers fighting yard by yard to expel the enemy. Bobby felt ashamed of herself.
*
Gus woke with a start and panicked. He did not know where he was. He tried to sit up, but a gentle hand stopped him.
‘Stay still, Gus, it’s all right. I’m here,’ Harriet whispered to him.
He looked confused but immediately felt calmed to see such a familiar, sweet face looking down on him. He tried to focus.
‘Harriet Marcham, is it really you? But you’re so . . . what are you doing here? Where am I?’
‘You had an accident. I was the WAAF who brought you in.’
Gus frowned. He remembered German gunfire and a wonderfully calm voice leading him to safety.
Gradually, the whole story came back to him and he leaned his head back and groaned.
Then he felt down to his leg. It was still there, he realised with relief, but he could not feel it.
‘My leg?’ he said, anxiously. ‘Harriet, tell me, will it be OK?’
‘I’ll get the nurse,’ Harriet said, not wanting to answer.
She looked over to the consulting room where Gus’s parents could be seen through the glass window. The doctor was sitting behind a desk, Gus’s father was pacing up and down, his mother was clutching a handkerchief to her face.
Chapter 37
Marie was hiding in the same doorway where Bobby had crouched earlier that year. She checked her watch. It was four o’clock in the morning, just before dawn and only a few hours before the hastily arranged rendezvous for the two French fugitives and the small boat off the Normandy coast. She was completely alert but getting nervous, they were running out of time before daylight. Marie mentally checked her arrangements one more time. They had had to be changed late last night when a platoon of German soldiers turned up to billet in the hamlet, exhausted from hand-to-hand fighting across Normandy and the urgency to get Raoul and Michel to safety had intensified. The Gestapo were going through villages, picking out anyone they suspected of having a connection with the Resistance. She did not know whether the Bisset cover had been blown or not, but several resistance fighters had been captured, and torture for information was a natural progression. Leaving them at large for one more day was certainly not an option.